So the ducal heirs of Pinking House and Greifir House have taken me aside to tell me that they support my candidacy as the Harigold heir.
And also that I was not nearly as subtle, artful or elegant as I thought. More accurate to say that they were benevolently amused by my graceless thrashing about.
But on the plus side, it seems this is a largely popular stance. Nathan as been so focused on the pickup artist aspect of his life that he's alienated most of the other houses. And for as flagrant and transparent as my efforts have been, everyone has seen that I'm at least willing to meet and discuss. Besides, I think a certain degree of bumpkinish clumsiness is expected of me.
Hey, if it gets me in the driver's seat, I'll play the rube for a little while. Leader of the House, then leader of the Faction, then leader of the coalition, then leader of the revolution. A clear path to me. But then nobody knows my parents will be stepping down soon. Nobody knows the Development Faction is about to centralize around a leader. And nobody in my faction knows they're about to join a coalition. And nobody who is organizing that coalition knows that I plan to be more than a figurehead. And nobody planning the revolt understands where it will end.
All of these are huge, heady, heavy thoughts to have lodged in a loop while I'm trying to integrate and ingratiate my way back into the birthday party. Yheta appeared as if by magic (hah) as soon as I stepped out of the drawing room, and with his elbow at my wrist we have promenaded the main floor, chatting with acquaintances, renewing familiarities, discussing possibilities, hinting at arrangements to be made.
"Oh, the riverboats of Nadhi? You'll be wanting to speak with Pichael Shaker, he's going to be arriving at the headlands in two weeks with no plans for the return voyage."
"I don't mind sharing at all, the shop was called Scents of Style, in Tarcelle. Send a buyer, it is all delightful and top-quality."
"As it turns out, yes I do know two good bookbinders in Broghton. Let me pass you their names..."
Junia and Millstrong had pointed out that I have contacts everywhere. What with one thing and another, I could be one of the most well-traveled people in all of Hearstwhile. Professional caravaneers may know four towns in two duchies, and a score of hamlets between them. And one of the best favors you can pass between aristocrats is a good introduction.
And there's also the small things. I pass a stiff-necked matron trying not to acknowledge that her curtain-sash skirt has gotten torn, the decorative bunches fallen in a long droop. I flick a little bippity-bobbity-boo at it to fix her fabrics, and I see her eye light up with gratitude while her expression refuses to acknowledge that she ever had been in need. A frazzled-looking caterer dealing with a serving-dish gone cold, I give him a nod and the metal warms itself.
Always make friends with the caterers if you're going to do more than a dozen galas per year. This team has been very accommodating to me ever since I rescued their ice sculpture during the tulip festival.
My strategy is largely simple: do small favors for everyone. Stay high profile. Be friendly and warm with everyone. Learn a gracious way to admit that you've forgotten someone's name. Never take a favor in exchange for a favor to be asked in the future. Never take sides in someone else's conflict. And don't ever answer any direct questions about the reveal of the Freckentop necromancy charges.
And now that I've been braced and briefed by the other Development heirs, I can see that there is a certain cant and aspect to most of the people about me. A certain expectant observation, I would call it.
I mentioned it to Yheta, who looks slightly abashed. "Er, yes," he said. "Moreso right now, but it has been a growing sentiment for some time." I resolve to put more skill levels into Awareness. Then I should have an easier time picking up on the subtext of people's social climate.
Heh, just listen to me. Before I died, I was very much "vibes" and "energy". Good vibes here, bad vibes there. I like his energy, hey man what's with this energy you're giving off. But now I've gone through ducal elocution lessons, and everything is about "discerning a demeanor" or "the character of this atmosphere". Means the same thing, just doesn't roll of the tongue as easily.
Still, it's all the same and in this venue it's all the more important. Reading a room has become an extremely valuable aptitude. Being a good judge of character is how you sink or swim in social environments here. And with an Awareness of 5, I'm passable. I'm going to need to be a lot more than passable pretty soon. Difficulties are going to increase. I'll need many more ranks in Awareness.
Maybe by the time I've got as many as Nathan probably does-.
Wait. Hang on.
"Is everything all right Natalie?"
Nathan's a rogue-track MC. He gets ten skills per level. Even if he's only level 5, and even if he's investing mostly in other skills, he's got to have an Awareness of 7 or 8, right? Definitely no less than my 5. So when Millstrong and Junia assure me that Nathan is clueless about what I'm doing in the social circuit, why the fuck would I ever assume that's true? He's got to be getting at least the same signals I am. Any plan that I make assuming that Nathan knows less than I do, is a bad plan.
"Sorry, Yheta," I brought out a bright smile for him. "Just in my thoughts again. You know me, I never really switch off."
"And isn't that the truth?" he chuckled. "Have you ever considered that you might relax some if you had a few drinks?"
I really have. I absolutely have. But even though this culture thinks that fifteen is a fine and proper age for drinking, to me it is scandalously young for that sort of thing. But more importantly I know far too many people that get chatty when they drink. And far too many people that lose the ability to tell how inebriated they are. Only one drink and they become convinced that they are as good as sober and they do not relieve that certainty until they are falling over their feet. I have never been drunk as Natalie Harigold. Not a single time. I do not know how alcohol would affect me.
But there is a non-zero chance that I'm the wrong kind. A non-zero chance I'd just teleport myself to some place and blow up some people or that I'd start a war or destroy my school. Because the pure truth is that Sober Natalie do not know know what Drunk Natalie would do with herself.
"Hey, hey check it out. Do you wanna hear something funny? This is all fake. We're in a video game and nobody knows it but me. Whole world's fake. And I can prove it!"
"So weird that all this is gonna be gone in just a few years. Three wars in five years, too much for any city to survive, right?"
"Man, they wanted me to take up fashion design. Can you believe that? I'll show 'em a thing or too. Wanna see Hearstwhile's first bodycon dress?"
The number of different ways that I could fuck my life up in a single evening is staggering. That's without mentioning something like "started a singularity void and got distracted and forgot about it for a couple hours". I have little idea what would happen, but flattening a city is not out of the realm of possibility. Once I've started the singularity, I can't shut it off without setting off the explosion. Someday I'll experiment with wine. In private. When I'm already relaxed and not in the middle of anything. Not for a long time.
What I'm getting at here is that Yheta's offer to get me drunk gets zero traction with me. I'm probably never going to take a drink he offers me. Not after what he did to Wendy. Which he's hoping I've already forgotten about. But I need to keep up a polite face. Even with murderers.
"Oh, Yheta, if I ever relaxed nobody would even recognize me anymore," I chuckled. "Now then, tell me about this tour you're going on once you graduate. How many major Snairlin holdings?"
The perfect distraction: ask him to talk about himself. Periodically interrupting to spare a word or a moment for a passing associate. And I could drop into autopilot, letting Yheta carry the conversation- well, to be more precise I was letting Yheta's ego control the conversation- while I made the polite "uh huh keep talking" kind of prompts that he was not going to examine too carefully.
So that would let me get back into my own head for a little bit. Even if he's lower level, Nathan is more skilled. I've got the higher stats- Strength, Intellect, Stamina- but he's going to be better than me at just about everything. Not just lying. Not just riding or weaving or writing. But detecting lies and subtext. Reading the writing on the wall, taking the temperature of the room. Puzzling out motives. Seeing the long game. He's built for subtlety. Hell, his build is primarily about manipulating people to do what he needs them to do. Strictly speaking, I should never assume that I'm not doing whatever he has manipulated me into doing. If every Thomas, Richard and Harold in this place knows my plans as well as this, then surely Nathan sees far more. What are the odds that I'm actually fooling him? That I'm keeping anything from him? That he doesn't already have his counterplay ready to go?
The problem is that I just cannot afford to think that way. If I assume he's already figured me out, I'm assuming he's already defeated me. Paralyzed by anxiety. I cannot build my plans with the assumption that I won't win.
I remembered my father's voice. "The easiest way to fail is to never start".
Good advice, Father. I'm gonna take over this family. And I won't let Nathan's shadow scare me away from trying.
That put a warm glow across my cheeks. Sometimes a decision feels good all by itself. Today I'm a big step closer to the important goals. I've got more support, I've got more awareness, and with that I can feel the atmosphere shift in my favor. Vibes. I've got people on my side, a lot of them. And some of the attention is very particular. A lot of winking oblique references.
"Good luck with everything this week, Lady Natalie," said a Skyback merchant who has been organizing an investment portfolio specifically for the event of a humiliation for the Freckentop household. I've made sure the word got out: this next week was going to be the big week.
Fortunately this is one of the events that is locked in. I hate predicting my plans on variables. I am sick and tired of having to work at plans and then have them not work. I hate improvising. Positive thinking, affirmations. I'm gonna kick the shit out of the Cachexia and I'm gonna show the world what the Freckentops did. My path through the crowds crossed in close proximity to Millstrong Greifir. "Lovely party," I complimented him.
The easiest way to fail is to never start. That is something I need to take to heart. Not just because I need to remind myself that Nathan is not any more infallible than I am. He's skilled, and smart, and very sneaky, but he's also a fifteen-year-old who does not realize that he's competing for the fate of the kingdom and the salvation of the world. I've tried telling him, but it just doesn't sink in for him. Besides he can only read the atmosphere of a room if he's in the room, and one of the main things that gets cited for why I'm the better candidate is that he's not putting in the hours, not making the appearances. He's not in the room.
The music was winding down, a chamber group that was finishing out Haydn's #100 in G was pretty good but I was detecting some trills that felt a little extra funky to me. I suspected they were also trained in something less clipped and precise. I paused, and with control of the air I lifted a horn case, and tapped it against their stage. It's crude, but it's percussion, and it's a beat. Bum. Bum. Bum. Bum. Less adagio, more allegro. A rustle of wind blew across the musicians, and they glanced around. Just me getting their attention. The beat kept going, a tempo for them. Bum bum bum bum.
And they took the hint. The conductor said something, or maybe the string players shared a certain look, I don't know. Musicians on stage have a strange alchemy and if you're not part of it you can never really see what part happens first. But the music started, and I could not suppress a grin. "Oh, this is my jam," I chuckled.
My hand slid along Yheta's sleeve, and my palm to his. Fingers laced. He started to react, turning to me, and I tugged, turning his whole body in place. He reached for balance, and my right hand caught him at he waist, steadying him- his free hand fell onto my shoulder as he tried to get his footing. I stepped forward and he was pushed back a foot, moving in my arms. And then the side, the box-step.
I normally only dance for card arrangements. It's a way to get a one-on-one conference planned out in advance. But I was feeling it now. And what am I going to do, just not dance to Guetta?
"You could let me lead," Yheta said in a small stifled voice.
"There'll be time for that," I said with a bright sweet smile. "Today I don't feel like following."
I've spent fifteen and a half years preparing. Planning. Considering, training, and laying the groundwork. And if I let it, that will consume me. For my entire Hearstwhile life, it's been "someday". And I'm still stuck in that mind frame. Preparing for the future, looking ahead, setting up the dominoes. It's all coming together. And I need to make sure that when it happens, I'm not still thinking about the wrong things. Still plotting. Still waiting. Still overthinking. It's finally time to start making the moves. My moves.
I stepped into a turn, rounding a corner, and the centripetal motion pushed Yheta back against my hand, and almost lifted him from the ground as we pivoted. My left hand held to his right, held out and high with a graceful supportive arch. My other hand at his back, guiding him through the steps, helping with his balance, even to hold him aloft when needed. He was just trying to keep up, and I watched his face. He was surprised, but he was not hating it.
Good. If he was going to throw a snit about taking the following position, he's got no business courting a princess with ambitions when his station is a viscount at best. He's going to die for Wendy, but not today.
In a way it's really a shame. For three years he was my rock, and I needed a rock during those years. A link to my younger life and Meadowtam, and it was really good for me. Stabilizing. I needed that and I looked at him with rose-colored glasses. I can understand why the goddess designated him as one of my love interests. But, I could have tried a sip of Bruce's drink, or Wendy's. I could have died too because he did not tell me he was sending poisoned drinks into our group. And that's bad enough. But he's made it clear that he is not learning anything from that experience, either about hasty lethal actions or about healthy communication. He is careless and he is going to keep being careless, and there are few things I can afford less than to keep careless people near me. I can't afford the danger he presents to me or to my plans. I've killed a member of the royal family for less.
"I like the way you look at me when we dance," he said, smiling wistfully as I swooped him across the floor. "It makes me feel very seen."
After putting up with so many parties where he would grab my arm and yank me around wherever he wanted me, this felt nice. It feels good to be leading, holding, supporting, deciding. It feels good to be in control of the situation, even if it is only a dance. The dance is only the beginning. I gave him a spin and a dip, and moved back to the frame and the steps.
The man in my arms is going to die. I need to arrange a credible transfer of his connections to myself, and then he gets a nice deep grave in a persimmon orchard in Zhudten. But today I want to smile and dance. The music reminds me of better times, better music. Dancing because I felt like it, and not to demonstrate to a room full of politicians that I am a well-trained show pony who has paid my dues and deserves to be spoken to like a human being.
Yheta was having trouble keeping up. Men aren't expected to prove their worth as dancers, but that's okay, I can march him through the paces, I'm strong and well-trained. A sliver of payback for all those times he towed me around behind him like a child's favorite toy. I can make him look good for the duration of a dance, at least.
I don't need to worry about the future when I'm dancing with him, I already know I'm going to kill him. I've even got an approximate timeline. So there is no future that needs me to worry about it. For once, I just let myself have a good time.
And I'm not even going to get upset about catching a glimpse of Casser Fucking Swamman standing in the crowd, staring at me with a very conflicted expression on his face. At least this time he knows better than to come within a swinging arm of me, good to see that I only need to dangle a man by his throat one time for him to start respecting my space.
"I don't think I ever appreciated what a good dancer you are," Yheta said, trying not to watch his feet like a student. We're using a waltz step in a closed frame, because nobody here is nearly ready to consider a couple's dance that lets you move bodies independently, but I've stepped it in to the tempo, feet almost flickering across the floor. It's fun, in a way that I don't often let myself have fun. This isn't about sorcery or a princess's training or academy lessons or my tutors. This one is just for me.
Bit by bit, I take a little more control over the world, and my life. Soon, I'll be able to do things for myself all the time.
What a nice thought. The support of the Greifir and Pinking is the start of something. And we're going to see it through.