B6 Chapter 648: An Accounting of Dues, pt. 2

After being poked, prodded, and measured in more ways than Kaius knew was possible, Julian led them out of the Workshop. Heading towards the palace, the lord took them along a path that snaked its way up the hillside. Flowering trees of orange and pink flanked the cobblestone, grown so dense that it was almost like being lost in a kaleidoscopic hedge maze.

Every few minutes a gap would appear in the growth, small paths that leaked perfumed air, or the rich scent of cherries, or overwhelming citrus from a jungle of carefully curated hidden gardens. Invariably, Julian would slow and tell them some such about it being a midnight luncheon garden, made by his eighteenth cousin five times removed, with terribly rare cultivars that could only be found there and the surface of the sun.

Kaius hadn’t been paying much attention. There was too much interesting artifice hidden around every stalk and bloom. Small boxes lay half buried in the root networks of trees, regulating the soil. Thin, braided plates glinted in the seams of the many decorative arches, venting hot, wet air one moment, and almost glacially dry breezes the next. They’d even slipped past a garden that glowed, the luminescent plants saved from the sun by cleverly enchanted trellises that held walls of shining bluebells aloft.

It was good, clean work. Expensive work — and there were gods’ knew how many acres of it, stretching across the entire grounds. Hells, the simple maintenance and upkeep of so many devices, even if they were relatively low powered and simple, would have been enough to keep a small legion of runewrights in constant work!

Somehow, the display of wealth still paled to the behemoth domes of stained glass and shining metal that loomed ever higher on the hill top. As far as statements of power went, the palace was as blunt and effective as dwarven cannon fire. Here, in the gardens, Baanswell vanished. Even the towering Wyrdwall was hidden by the blooms. You could never escape the palace, not in the gardens, and not in the city. It was always there, rising high above the masses, even in the darkest alleys farthest from its reach. Turn the right corner and you found it waiting, its glass dome shining like the eye of some great beast.

“How do you even live in there?” Kaius asked. “It must be like having an entire town to yourself.”

Following his gaze, Julian laughed.

“You’re more right than you know. There’s certainly a town's worth of staff, and plenty of relatives and close retainers spread throughout the wings. It’s not quite as large as you might think though. The central chamber is an open ballroom, used for official functions and events.”

Kaius wasn’t sure if having a ball room as large as most medium-sized keeps made the palace any more reasonable.

“Believe me, we’re all aware of its ostentation,” Julian assuaged. “It was built centuries ago. But what’s done is done, and it is rather pretty. The way the stars play through the glass of the main dome is something to see, I assure you.”

Soon enough, he got to see the splendour for himself. With Julian at the helm, they left the sprawling mosaic of private gardens as their path joined back onto the wide road that led to the palace entrance. Ten Silvers and two Golds stood guard before an immense door of herringboned oak and rosewood. The stone around it had been carved into the shape of two towering trees — the boughs meeting to form a natural arch.

Julian walked ahead without a care in the world, barely reacting as the guards stepped out of his path. The doors opened, the same assistant chamberlain who had seen them to the Workshop greeting them with a polite bow.

There was no entry hall — the entire godsdamn middle of the palace was a single, open room. Eight layers of floating floors wrapped their way around the walls, and a sea of banners hung down to proudly display the rising bloom of the House of Flowers. Gods, the place had to be twice the size of the Workingman’s Plaza! Mottled light streamed down from the stained glass dome far above, glinting off the brightly coloured mosaic floor. It was far too large for Kaius to see the pattern of — maybe if he was five floors up, on one of the upper mezzanines.

And yet, even with the gargantuan immensity of stone and glass, there was no echo. The hard leather souls of their boots clacked against the mosaic with a crisp retort, but the noise died quickly. Somehow, it made the space feel even larger.

“Do you like it?” Julian asked, looking up at the dome.

“It’s a little intimidating, and more than a little ridiculous — but it does look good,” Porkchop replied.

Julian laughed loudly, his voice filling the room easily. Kaius couldn’t make sense of it — a ward big enough to cover something this large should have left traces everywhere.

“It’s the stone,” Julian explained when he asked. “Whispering basalt. Only a first tier material, but highly sought after due to its properties — it’s great for acoustics.”

There was no doubt in Kaius’s mind that he was looking at enough of the stuff to bankrupt a small nation.

“What should we expect from the Duke? Is there any etiquette we should be aware of?” Ianmus asked. “I’m not sure if you’ve noticed, but some of our number can be a tad blunt — and I don’t think any of us would like to get on the wrong side of a sitting ruler of Greenseed.”

“I wouldn’t worry about it,” Julian replied. “My father is a politician, but only because he has to be. He has always valued capability and respect over etiquette and peerage. I thought it rather bizarre for his station for much of my life. Regrettably, recent events have proven the wisdom of his position.”

Julian almost made the Duke sound reasonable. Kaius would have to see it for himself, because he struggled to believe the young lord came from such stock, considering how comfortable the man was with intrigue.

This chapter appears on NovelPhoenix under the author's publishing account, but the copy here was taken without consent.

Then again, Julian would have grown up with far more whispers in his ear than just his parents’.

…

Sitting at a long dining table atop a sun-drenched balcony on the palace's top floor, Kaius groaned as a perfectly browned chunk of dragon steak all but melted in his mouth. Rich, buttery, with just a hint of salt water, it flooded his palette with a richness he had never experienced. Savouring the mouthful, he enjoyed the gentle rush of energy that swept through his body. Even the herbs that littered the cut were dense with magic — the work of quality ingredients and a Peak Steel chef.

“What is this?” Kaius asked, biting back a smile as he watched Porkchop restrain himself from swallowing his own multi-pound slab whole.

“What do you mean?” Julian replied. “We killed the damn thing.”

Duke Cedric Flowers IV laughed loudly. He was a bear of a man built like someone had squeezed two Julians into the same skin, with the exact same golden blonde hair — though his transitioned into a pair of tightly cropped mutton-chops.

“I see a good brush with death wasn’t enough to burn all of the wineblood from your veins. They killed it; you helped.”

Kaius could feel the man’s amusement. It radiated through the Peak Platinum’s aura in gentle currents, lapping at the edge of his Authority.

Julian glowered at his father’s admonishment.

Holding back a wince, Kaius mopped up the last of the red, sweet and spiced sauce on his plate and shoved another chunk of dragon meat into his mouth. Over the meal, he’d learned that Julian’s mother was from a northern ducal House known for its vineyards — and complex ‘politics’. Duke Cedric had made it quite clear he wasn’t exactly a fan of that side of the family.

A silver-haired man in a chef’s attire stepped forward, pouring more sauce onto his plate from a small pitcher.

“It pleases me that the good sirs and madame enjoy my work,” the man said, smiling as Kaius nodded emphatically. “Due to the leanness of the cut and strength of the connective tissue, I had it butter-braised overnight before flash searing it after a short rest.”

He’d braised the damn thing in butter? Kaius had to try that. Though, probably not with Silver meat from an actual dragon. At a certain point, ingredients got too difficult to prepare without a suite of relevant skills.

The Duke took a bite of his own steak and leaned back in his chair with a sigh of satisfaction.

“It’s been a while since I had a good dragon steak — it’s got a bit more tang to it than hydra or wyvern,” the Duke mused. “Surely this must be enough, Francis?”

The chef gave him a small smile. “Almost, my lord duke. I have a few more dishes I would like to trial, given the new wealth of our larder — but yes, I suspect I will be making the jump in the next few weeks.”

“You’re close to Silver?” Kenva guessed.

“He’d been at the cap for a decade,” Julian answered, raising his glass of wine to the man. “No matter how much we’ve pleaded, Francis has refused to evolve his class until he completed his ‘list’.”

“My first list, my lord,” Francis corrected with a smile, before he collected a serving tray and dipped away with a bow.

Washing down another bite with some wine, the Duke straightened and glanced at each of them in turn.

“Now that the introductions are over, and our meal is under way, it’s time for business. Thank you for saving my son — it was high time he pulled his head out of his ass and started making some allies from outside of our little backyard snakepit.”

“Father!”

The Duke held up a hand. “Julian, your own teammate tried to ram a knife into your spine. That does not speak to a history of deft diplomacy.”

“Someone poisoned his father with violet oleander — it only grows in our gardens!”

“A problem I am already investigating. I’ve already ruled out your mother and sister, and your younger siblings were children at the time. The point is that Edmund didn’t trust you. If he did, you could have resolved the matter and had an ally for life. Instead, your own teammate tried to ram a knife into your spine — and it nearly lost you the Wellspring at that.”

And just like that the air of the duke being a powerful, rich, but largely normal man vanished.

“I assume it’s not normal for a man to mention investigating his wife and children for murder with the levity of a light scolding?” Porkchop asked privately.

“No. It isn’t.”

To Kaius’s surprise, Julian accepted his father’s criticisms with a small huff and a long drink of his wine.

“We’re getting off track,” the Duke said, placing his cutlery down and turning his attention back to Kaius. “You have done my House a great service, and secured us much. My son has described you as a straightforward man — is he right?”

By a noble’s standards he probably had the tact and subtlety of an irontusk.

“I suppose I am.”

“Then I will be blunt. The four of you are talents of a level that is frankly terrifying. Several of my fellow dukes would seek to manipulate you if they were in my position, and many more of my peers across the continent would crush you while they still could.”

The duke held up a hand as Kaius bristled.

“I am not so foolish. Greenseed has prospered on having rich soil, and by being stable. Only the former is a certainty, especially in such uncertain times. I can see great value in fostering friendship with a group that will cast a long and deadly shadow in the years to come. Hence, naming you friend of the House. Do not fear to lean on my name — in fact, I would implore you to do so. It will only strengthen my shield when you batter down the doors to Mythril and beyond.”

Kaius gave the duke a contemplative look, very aware that Julian had said his father was blunt, not simple. His proposal made…an uncomfortable amount of sense, but there was far more to it than the man was saying.

The duke was right that leaning on the House of Flowers could well make their lives far easier when interesting with nobility in their travels — but as Cedric said, it would tie them closer.

“He has to know I detest half of what the nobility stand for, right?” Kaius said privately to his team.

“I suspect he does,” Ianmus replied.

“I do.”