The Resigned Dilettante
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Chapter 105: The Equinoctial
🕑 Added 2025-09-10 19:31:17 +0000 UTCSer Terry doesn’t try to recruit me. He does end up talking with me after law class, but it’s just to tell me he’ll be gone during the break, so regretfully he can’t socialize with me during it. I act surprised and thank him for proactively informing me.
So, I guess I’ll be following in secret after all.
A few days pass, and then it’s the Equinoctial. Allan drops me off with forced cheer in the park that Princep Talia is supposed to pick me up at. He offers to stay until she comes, but I tell him to go ahead. After all, if Talia doesn’t come, I’ll be screwed, so no real point in backup plans.
I feel ridiculously conspicuous standing under the oversized statue of… some Arkothan oppressor – probably – wearing my party configuration. Once again, Allan spent too much time fiddling with the enchantments on my clothes to create an eye-catching effect. Rather than going with another ‘stationary’ pattern on my cloak though, he went with a sort of strange silver mirror effect. One that reflects the surroundings much more smoothly than the slight folds and curves of the cloak should allow and which somehow randomly omits whole people or objects.
I have no idea how he managed to get such a complex effect from the combined magic items.
The rest of my clothes are a simpler purple per Talia’s request to match the rest of her entourage, though the shade does shift very gradually in sort of waves, going from nearly black to nearly white but always noticeably purple.
Talia is late, but I control my nerves. It’s not until a quarter of an hour past the appointed time that her trio, now a quintet, of carriages rolls up to me. The window opens and the Princep’s face appears.
“Did you make any progress?” she asks, curtly.
“I’ve been invited to a study group with only your brother and three others. It hasn’t met yet, but it should be simple to progress when it does.”
She shrugs. “I guess that’s more than I could reasonably expect. Get in, but mind the lance,” she says and opens the door to reveal a short lance leaning through the other window.
She’s wearing armour. Just a breast plate on the outside, though she has a chain shirt peeking out from under her clothes, and there’s a helmet on the seat next to her, and she, of course, has her sword and whip, an extra dagger and a mace on her belt. Coming out of her hair is an array of purple feathers… no, not her hair, her head. Did she use a body modification ritual for the effect, or is she somehow reversing the extension of personhood she has with her companion? I’ve never heard of the latter working like this, but I don’t know much about the details of being a chevalier, and her trace divinity might be involved regardless.
Reimbach is, of course, reclined on her shoulder again. I permit myself one nervous look at the creature, then resolve to pay it no mind.
Why am I riding with her? I expected her to stick me in a back carriage and have someone else explain everything. Is she still assessing me, or is there some issue I need to know?
“Greetings, your highness,” I say, now perfectly polite. “Am I to take your attire as an indication of what to expect?”
“Hm? Oh, no. I’m just trying to remind mother that she should use me more, and the rest of them that I’m always ready to be used.”
“I see,” I say. I hadn’t been under the impression that purges of the nobility were common in the empire. Perhaps she’s saying that they should be, or maybe she just wants people to think that’s what she’s saying? Or maybe I’m completely misunderstanding what she’s suggesting the target of her use should be.
“Anyways,” she continues, “I wanted to let you know what to expect and what will be expected of you. You may do as you want and I won’t punish you, but I think you’ll be safest if you just stick near the back of my entourage and speak only if spoken to.”
“And do you expect me to be spoken to, your highness?”
She shrugs. “You are the lowest ranked member of my attendants, so probably not. But then again, people will likely be curious about your conflict with Vincent. My siblings especially.”
“I see… though that does remind me. How did Princep Cecilia know about my interaction with Princep Vincent?”
She shrugs. “Well, I did mention it to a few siblings.”
“Ah… I suppose my claim that you helped cause this mess was more accurate than I thought.”
“To a degree. There were servants there too, so it certainly spread from them, just likely not as directly.”
“You don’t select servants for discretion, your highness?” I ask.
She shakes no. “If you select for discretion, then even minor indiscretion becomes a betrayal, and once they betray me in a minor way, they’re more likely to betray me in a major one. So, it’s best not to care, with a few exceptions.”
I nod. “I suppose that makes sense.”
“Good. Now, my line, if asked, will be that you are in my entourage out of a desire for neutrality, expressing support neither for nor against my dear brother. Did your intention differ?”
“No, your highness.”
“Good.”
“…And if Princep Vincent addresses me, your highness?”
She shrugs. “He shouldn’t. I warned him against it, and I’ll chastise him if he does. That said, he’ll almost certainly want to talk to me. When he does, don’t look directly at him, but don’t conspicuously look away either. About ten degrees to the side should be fine.”
I nod in acknowledgement, and she continues to go over various other scenarios and suggestions. None of which are mandates, and all of which could have been handled by one of her subordinates. She probably just wanted to assess me herself again to make sure I won’t do something to embarrass her. Which I guess my relatively sedate responses have passed muster, if only by virtue of being too boring to offend.
A knock comes from the driver, and Talia dons her helmet with a playful smile. “Well,” she says, “time to make an entrance.” Then she opens the door and leaps out and up.
The moment she leaves, Reimbach drops from her shoulder and expands to the size of a horse – positioning itself under her so she lands mounted. Then it expands more, growing until it towers over the carriage – several times its height with her lance likewise lengthening to match.
Having reached the desired size, it ambles forward in a grotesque mockery of mammalian locomotion. It doesn’t bother with knees. Rather than bending the limb to bring it forward, it simply absorbs it back into the main body then generates a new one in a seemingly random spot to repeat the process, resulting in the presence of three to nine brown furry limbs at any given time.
Well, I suppose that answers my question about whether her divinity is being spread to it. A normal morphic chimaera (a being I never thought could have cause to be given the description ‘normal’) could do pretty much everything Reimbach just did (minus the apparent mass change) just much more slowly. Though I’ve never encountered one myself, from what I’ve read, even a fast changer would require several minutes to change its size from shoulder cat to mount, not the span of a breath it took this one. Even each individual limb would take tens of seconds to morph – hardly adequate for a method of walking.
A ‘normal’ morphic chimaera is dangerous because of its ability to optimize itself into ferocious forms to suit the environment and its prey. Not to mention extremely rapid healing and a smorgasbord of extremely potent, often unique, toxins that it can generate the glands for at will. But this thing? It’s dangerous not in the optimization, but in the flux.
No wonder it was able to break through our lines by itself. Could I even kill this thing with a liquifying beam before it got me? Maybe if I cut it in half. It wouldn’t kill it, since the brain is diffused, but it might disorientate it long enough for me to overwhelm its regeneration. That is assuming that its strange physiology wouldn’t let it revert the liquid flesh back into a solid.
People – pedestrians and carriages alike – scurry out of the way of the hulking… I suppose spider-monkey-cat is the best description of the current form. Others still scurry to get a better look at Talia. Then we arrive at the gate to the centremost section where the palace is located. The guards beckon us through without having to stop like the rest, but rather than stoop, she simply climbs over the walls – separating us for a moment as we use the usual method of gate traversal.
There aren’t nearly as many gawkers, nor as much traffic on the other side, so we’re able to pick up the pace and arrive at our destination, the imperial palace, in only a few minutes. Rows of guards stand at attention along our route as we near the entrance, where a series of carriages are disgorging extravagantly attired nobles. One said noble sees us coming and frantically motions their driver to make room for us only seconds after they alight.
Once her highness’s carriages all come to a stop, we all get out and rush into formation behind her. I expected her to dismount to enter, but as it turns out, the entrance is absurdly tall. In fact, it seems she had her mount grow to precisely the correct height so that her head nearly brushes the top of the doorway as she goes through – I can almost imagine her smiling as she reaches up and taps the frame as she does.
The raucous room suddenly goes still at our entrance, save for those scurrying out of Talia’s way. Reimbach shrinks with every step it takes until it reaches the centre of the room where it reaches its original size and reverses the mounting relationship by climbing on Talia’s shoulder – she steping off her changing mount as casually as going down a flight of stairs.
A moment later, one of her more senior entourage comes up behind her and takes her helmet and lance. Her face revealed, she smiles and waves at the guests, causing an immediate return to the prior boisterous sound levels.
I didn’t get a good look as I came in, as I was struggling to keep up with the deadly beast, but I could tell that everyone was terrified by that entrance – no doubt the intended effect. It wasn’t just the sheer physicality of Reimbach either. Rather, it seems to have sparked some previously buried fear. Perhaps the high-ranking nobility take the possibility of a purge more seriously than I thought. They did happen before Celeste took the throne. Maybe her potential to return to the ways of her ancestors lingers in the minds of her most likely victims.
Slow rhythmic clapping draws my attention to an approaching man accompanied by his own entourage. Or at least I think it’s a man from the bushy pseudo-beard, as it appears to be an anthropomorphic storm cloud, complete with flashes of miniature lightning and little drops of water falling from him and leaving little puddles in his wake.
“And I thought I made an entrance, dear sister. Careful now, if you go too far, mother might forbid terrorizing our lesser altogether and spoil the fun.” The storm cloud says with a slight resonance to his voice.
Talia gives him a predatory grin. “Dear brother Nigel, I’ve always thought you were a bit damp. Glad you finally have the sense to admit it.”
The stormcloud moves as if laughing, but no laughter comes. Rather, his body courses with lightning and thunder fills the room with each exhale.
“That was a neat effect,” Talia says as a seemingly sincere compliment. “Did you develop it recently?”
The stormcloud smiles. “I did! I was actually developing it for the summer solstice, but there were some details that I couldn’t get right in time.”
“Hrm, well, knowing you, I’m sure nobody else would have noticed.”
“Yes, but isn’t that the only notice that matters?”
“Hm, quite. Well, brother, it’s good to see you descend from your musty tower.”
“And good to see you ascend from your muddy training fields.”
I can’t tell if they’re verbally sparing or are legitimately glad to see each other and are expressing affection.
“Indeed,” Talia says with a passive smile. “We should talk later, away from so many eyes.”
“Agreed.” Nigel nods, and they both walk past each other.
The proceeding party is much more sedate than I imagined, at least for Talia and co.. The nobles still seem a bit terrified from her entrance, and so are hesitant to approach her – presumably assuming that she’s in a sour mood. Contrary to that assumption, Talia is the epitome of pleasantry to the nobles she approaches – which somehow makes it worse.
A few more siblings pop up for a chat, including Vincent. I follow Talia’s advice though, and he leaves without incident besides a brief glare upon arrival and parting.
I really have nothing to do besides staying near my Princep and looking the part, which gives me plenty of time to appreciate the aesthetics of the party like Allan wants (who I do see a few times performing his standard flirtations). In general, the attires are magical, by which I mean they could not be replicated by mundane effort.
The storm cloud effect is probably the most spectacular, but a few do come close. One woman is dressed as an ecology: Covered in leaves and flowers with insects and small lizards scurrying over her – the latter consuming a seemingly endless supply of the former – and humming birds darting around gathering nectar from the flowers. Another two seem derivative from each other until I realize that they’re supposed to be taken as a pair to represent the sun and the moon. The ‘sun’ having a light effect covering their entire body except their face, which causes a glare when looking at it, but otherwise does not seem to illuminate the room more than a few dozen candles would. The ‘moon’ likewise has the glare effect, though less painful and only on one half of their body, with the other half being impenetrable darkness. I only realize that the darkness is always on the opposite side from the ‘sun’ about half an hour in, when they finally get close enough together that I can observe them together.
Neither of these two examples has any discernible clothes on, apparently relying solely on the magic for their dignity (though I’m sure they have something hidden by the effects). They aren’t alone in this style, though there is, of course, no shortage of extravagant regular clothing – most of which have their own eye-catching effect layered on, such as hair moving as if it’s underwater. It’s amazing. I really do feel inconspicuous with my cloak’s effect. In fact, any less spectacular of effect and I would likely feel more attention grabbing. I’ll have to compliment Allan’s expertise later.
Beyond the costumes though, everything is bright. The lights certainly, but also just the attitude. Everyone seems… if not happy, pleased to be here. Likewise, the decorations of the great hall are all sparkling. Gold and silver are of course plentiful, with a few ornaments like the grand chandelier in the centre of the room seemingly of more valuable substances – appearing to be liquid silver suspended into a functioning form. What’s not a precious metal is still valuable, such as the glossy marble floors and walls or the tables made from ornately carved wood. Even the servants are attired better than some nobles elsewhere.
As much as I hate how much this display came from the expense of conquered kingdoms like Caethlon, even I can’t help but find it pleasant. Perhaps it’s the music, or just that I’m achieving my goal of passing through the event without notice.
Suddenly, said music stops, and a shrill melodic wailing sound loud enough to drown out the myriad conversations takes its place. Everyone immediately freezes, then self-organize into orderly rows based on social hierarchy, with the Princeps and their entourages at the front. Moments later a figure in red and gold crests the grand staircase and everyone bows – the empress has arrived at her celebration.
