The Resigned Dilettante
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Chapter 99: Protracted engagement
🕑 Added 2025-08-11 01:49:02 +0000 UTCPrincep Cecilia does not show for the Dialectical Magicalism club. Erika is upset at the disinterest from her royal patron, but I think everyone else is relieved, except Ligryn, who seems troubled for some other reason.
The session is once again just everyone giving reports on their findings. Ligryn passes again, which upsets Erika more, but she doesn’t reprimand her. Instead, she decides to take her frustration out on me for some unknown reason. Fortunately, I’m better prepared this week and report my initial findings on my plant grower spell’s effect on soil quality. She still seems irritated with me, but is forced to admit to the quality of my report.
The party Princep Talia is supposed to attend is tomorrow at noon, so once the club is over, I go back to Allan’s house instead of the dorm. He isn’t in, so I just go to bed after a quick study and bath session.
In the morning though, he’s at his normal breakfast spot greeting me with a smile, though not his usual irritating one. There’s some worry in it, and it’s not hard to guess why. I brace myself, knowing where the conversation is headed. Really though, I’m just glad he managed to get back in time from whatever lover he was with last night.
“Good morning,” I say, sitting down, “you seem even more anxious than I am.”
“Eh, I suppose… Are you sure you want to do this?”
“Are you only asking that because Greg arranged it?”
“…Yes,” he admits. “You know my feelings about him. He’s a snake, and eventually he will betray you.”
I shake my head, inserting a spoon to peel my boiled egg as I speak. “He is a snake, but he won’t betray me. At least not intentionally. Though it is pretty inevitable that he’ll manoeuvre me in a way that’s functionally the same as a betrayal purely by accident.”
“Then why do you keep him as a client?”
I shrug. “Because his services will outweigh his pseudo betrayals.” I give him a pointed look suggesting that I think the same of him, but look away chagrined as I realize it’s not true… Or well, at least not in the same way.
“Well…” he says, staring into his breakfast wine then back to me, “I suppose I can trust your intuition about him for this party at least. Just… Greg does know I’ll destroy him if something happens to you?”
I don’t know if he does, and if he did, I don’t know if it would be the incentive Allan thinks it is. In fact, Greg might be tempted to betray me just to get Allan to react. Though I believe him when he says I’ve overridden his rivalry with Allan. “Just… don’t worry about it, Allan.”
“…Fine,” he says, but I know he doesn’t mean it, “but you still haven’t told me where you’re going exactly.”
I shrug, having always meant to share it with him, and pull out the invitation. The table is too long to just hand it to him, so I cast guidance on him and throw the letter with a flick of the wrist, sending it in a gentle arc which he catches casually between two fingers.
He raises his eye at the stunt. “Just hand it to one of the servants next time, and definitely never do that around others.”
I shrug. “It’s practice.”
“…Fine,” he says and turns his attention to the letter. “Marquis Marrihal… Good. I prepared a range of gifts matched to the hosts of the different events today, and would have been annoyed if Greg found something I didn’t even know about. You will take a bottle of wine I know she’s partial to as a gift from you, and a small painting as a gift from me.”
“Ah… Sorry I didn’t specify the event in the letter and save you some effort.”
He shakes his head. “It’s fine. I can always gift the other sets later or use them myself.”
I nod appreciative, though I know he went through the effort to compensate from losing to Greg. Still, it is nice to be reminded that he’s reliable about these things.
…
Marquis Marrihal’s party was described as a small luncheon on the invitation, but there are at least two dozen carriages lined up on the street. Naturally I have my driver drop me off then go to the back of the line with instructions to come back when one of my birds tells her to.
I feel awkward as I step out, with far too many eyes on me. Allan, unlike Marcus, does not feel that using magic clothing is cheating, but only when used to their proper potential. He spent a full hour fiddling with the colour settings to create a ‘casual yet sophisticated look’. The most eye-catching effect is the cloak, which uses both its own enchantment and Tanyth’s clasp to create a pattern that moves, or rather doesn’t move, with me. A repeating pattern of black and white lines that seem to remain stationary in space as I walk as if they were projected by some external source. Frankly, it's vomit inducing, but he claims it’s the newest style for those who can afford it.
However, the enchantments on my clothes under the cloak are far too slow to replicate the effect, so Allan went with a different approach there. In contrast to the straight black and white lines at right angles, Allan created a sort of oil in dark water rainbow effect. Coloured lines ripple slowly through the outfit against a black backdrop.
He said the effect is supposed to create a sort of oyster shell containing a murky abyss, but regardless, it’s far too eye catching for my taste. I considered changing the pattern on the way, but I suppose I’ll need to get used to it as he claims even flashier styles will be expected at the Equinoctial.
The Marquis, a middle-aged woman in an elaborate skyblue dress and towering white hair, is standing by the door greeting her guests.
“A Linhal original? How delightful.” She says, peeking under the loose wrapping at the painting of a woman accompanied by a boar in an arboreal setting. I think it’s a story about one of the gods, but I can’t quite place it.
“Yes, my cousin was most grateful for you hosting me.”
“Yes, of course. Mind, while I must admit to his talent, this gathering isn’t one for those who carry on like him. I do hope you don’t follow his more wanton behaviour.”
“I wouldn’t know anything about that,” I say, reassuringly.
“Good, good. Well, do enjoy yourself.”
Taking it for the dismissal that it is, I make a polite half bow and move past her to let the other guest have their chance to be greeted. I’m a bit irked at her attitude toward Allan, but control myself knowing it’s hardly unique.
Princep Talia hasn’t arrived yet, so I end up just circling the large garden which makes up the party grounds – nervously nibbling on hors d’oeuvres and making polite conversation. However, my worry that Greg may have made a mistake is relieved after about a half hour with her arrival along with a small entourage.
On her hip hangs a heavily enchanted whip, and on her other an equally enchanted long sword. She has mid length fiery purple hair and wears a startling white leather overcoat, which, despite having no pattern to achieve it, seems to have the same projection effect as my cloak. Underneath is a purple riding outfit whose pattern seems to pulsate with energy despite remaining still. On her shoulder…
On her shoulder rests a creature that causes irrational dread. Some mammal that seems a strange cross between a cat and a monkey, or maybe ferret features, but with too long limbs. It rests contentedly, wrapped around the back of her neck, seemingly asleep except when its eyes infrequently flash open as if boredly amused at the various partygoers.
Per Allan’s advice, I don’t join the rush of people offering adulation upon her arrival (whom she greets in a very Allan-like manner) but instead circle around waiting for a chance to be drawn in ‘naturally’. I’m a bit nervous about this approach, but Allan is soon proved correct as she quickly moves past the initial group to mingle with others. Fortunately, my chance to approach arrives as one of the guests, a young woman, asks for story time with admiring eyes.
“Will you tell us about Pelinthor?”
“Surely you’ve heard the story?” the Princep asks dismissively.
“Yes, but it would be marvellous to hear how you snatched victory from the jaws of defeat with your own words.”
The Princep, despite feigning indifference, seems very pleased at the request. “All, I’ll tell it again, but only for you.” She winks at the woman, causing her to blush. “All right, let’s see, where to begin. The Battle of Pelinthor Pass – Caethlon’s last hope for a major victory in the field. Though I should correct you on one point: I didn’t snatch victory from defeat, because we didn’t win that battle. At best I would call it a draw, and some reasonably call it our only defeat. All I really did was stop it from being a catastrophe.”
She raises her voice to be heard, drawing several others to her conversation circle, which I take the opportunity to join.
“First, let us praise the enemy. The Caethlian tactics that set up the battle were very good. In fact, their tactics throughout the whole of the short campaign were sound, but Pelinthor was a step above. Some even call it brilliant, though that would be ignoring the mistakes we made.
“To start, we have to go back to a few days prior to the battle when several groups led by Caethlian mages performed a series of attacks on our supply lines. This is when we made our first mistake. You see, we needed to detach mages from the main army to protect the lines, but we detached too many.
“Not to be overly critical of our generals though. It wasn’t a big mistake, just a costly one. They reasonably assumed that the Caethlian strategy would be entirely skirmish based. That they would use their superior knowledge of the land to wear us down with raids and only use their main army to slow ours via positioning. We figured that even if they did try something, our mages would still outnumber theirs two to one, and our mundanes ten to one.
“We didn’t realize it was a feint, and that the raiding mages would all rush back to rejoin their main force after the initial attacks.
“This brings us to the pass. We chose it to cross the mountains because it was the widest spot available. Some say we blundered into it because we were in a rush to advance to deny the enemy time to whittle us down. This is partially true, but our real mistake was underestimating the enemy’s capacity for illusion magic. We simply didn’t believe that they would be capable of successfully concealing an entire army. Though part of this mistake was due to not realizing how many mages were with their main army, and because our wyvern scouts were split chasing the raiders.
“The battle went exactly like you would imagine an ambush at a pass would go. They waited for us to get far enough up, then rained spell and arrows on us. We had about the same number of mages at the start, but that didn’t last long. Most spells aren’t affected too much by gravity, but their arrows gave them an advantage in overwhelming our area shields.
“I knew our general were about to order a retreat, which was probably the right move. It’s a strange boast, but our army is the best at retreating in the world. Downplaying my accomplishment, we probably would have only lost about twice what we did if we had retreated, as they wouldn’t be able to effectively pursue with their cavalry.”
Someone, I think a fellow student, speaks up. “I thought the Hyclions were the best at retreating.”
This results in a few laughs, but Talia raises her hand for silence, though with a slight smile. “I see what you mean, but that’s not exactly what I’m talking about. The Hyclions are very good at hit and run tactics, but their retreats are only good when they’re planned out ahead of time. I’m talking about retreating impromptu in the middle of battle without turning it into a rout. Very few armies can do this, and only ours can do it reliably.
“But, ignoring this, instead of waiting for the order, I led my cavalry wing in a charge. As you probably all know, only I made it to the enemy. The rest were either killed or incapacitated.” She gives a sombre, thoughtful look before immediately perking back up. “But, as it turned out, I alone sufficed.”
Suddenly, the creature on her shoulders raises its head and lets out a sort of half meow and half growl.
Talia chuckles, scratching the creature’s chin. “Yes, yes, I mean, I and Reimbach here sufficed.”
“The creature was with you, your highness?” a middle aged man asks.
“Why of course, Reimbach is my mount after all.”
“I see… Forgive me, I assumed your mount was… well, a mount.”
“Only when they want to be.” She smiles playfully.
I stare in shock, realizing the implication of her statement. The creature is clearly a morphic chimera. Highly dangerous even normally. One bound to a chevalier though? I shudder to think how she might be boosting it. Just the normal strength et al combat set would be terrifying, but might she also be boosting its ability to transform? Making the changes faster or more drastic? On that note, they’re supposed to be quite heavy. It’s conceivable that she might just be so strong that she doesn’t notice a half ton creature on her shoulder, but I doubt it. Clearly, it’s capable of altering its mass, but I’ve never heard of a Chevalier who had that ability to such a degree. Is she sharing her traces of divinity with it as well as her chevalier magic? If so, no wonder she could break our position by herself. The thing could probably kill everyone in this room, and there’d be nothing we could do about it.
“Well,” the Princep continues, “Their mages were divided into three lines, and I went after the closest one. Reimbach and I cut through their mundanes and knights in front, climbed a cliff and then we were on them. They tried to run, but we didn’t let them. None escaped.
“Seeing that, the rest of their army decided to run. It wasn’t nearly as orderly as we would have done, but we weren’t in a position to take advantage. Ultimately though, it didn’t matter. Even had I not intervened, they would have needed four or five more Pelinthors to stop the conquest, and they simply ran out of good terrain to have them.
“Still, that didn’t stop them from being bitter about it despite having inflicted far more casualties on us. In their view, they would have had us, if only they accounted for me…” her smiling turns from charming to wistful. “It’s a pity mother wouldn’t let me stay after the conquest. If she had, the rebellion would have ended in a year, and we never would have lost the chimeric masters.”
I stop myself from scoffing, but ‘Reimbach’ snaps their head towards me anyways. Talia, sensing the disturbance, slowly looks at me with a catlike grin. “You think I make an idle boast, don’t you? Just martial bluster? That I think I would have succeeded where so many failed just with my strength of arms? Well, that’s half true. The rebels hated me, you see. My mere presence would have drawn them out. They would have sent cell after cell to their deaths trying to kill me if I were in reach. They would have weakened themselves until the point of collapse.”
She’s… probably right. They definitely hated her enough for self-destruction. The only partisan that might have stood a chance (assuming her divinity is shared with her mount) would have been Tanyth, and only with her armour, which I don’t remember if she had during the first year. I doubt that many would be stupid enough to throw themselves at her, but we needed every cell we had during that time. If even ten percent were destroyed, the entire resistance might have collapsed before it even got going. Still, that does raise questions.
“I see what you mean, your highness,” I say as meekly as I can, “but surely you told her Majesty that? Why would she withdraw you anyways?”
“Hmmm, why indeed?” she says, clearly thinking she knows the answer. “At first I thought it was just misplaced parental affection, but no. Mother does love all her children as she should, but she is always calculating too.”
The blood drains from my face. “Are you saying that the empress wanted to protract the rebellion?”
She raises a finger to her lips in a quieting/thinking gesture. “Now, why should she want to do that? Surely you aren’t suggesting that my mother would deliberately waste Arkothian lives, are you?”
I feel my hands shake, but force stillness with my boons. “Of course not. I suppose I misunderstood your meanings, your highness.”
She suddenly smiles reassuringly. “Fret not, the error in communication was surely mine. Though I don’t believe we’ve been introduced.”
“…Malichi Monhal, your highness,” I respond stiffly.
She chews the name for remembrance then suddenly widens in delight. “Monhal? Now isn’t that a coincidence? I believe we have something to talk about, no? If you would kindly stay in the premises, I’ll send someone to fetch you in a while.”
With that, she walks away, taking her entourage to charm another group and leaving me standing still as I try to recover my nerves from what I’ve learned and her attention. Sighing, I grab a drink from a server and take a rude gulp.
This isn’t going to plan, but I suppose it’s not a disaster quite yet.
Comments
Dilettante
Your welcome, and thank you.
Batty Corvina
Thank you for the chapter. She seems far more dangerous than the other princeps so far.
