Book 2: Chapter 29.1: Tea With Enemies

The suite was too quiet for morning.

No one bothered with breakfast. No one said “good morning.” Alex didn’t even hear the typical morning wisecrack from garret about the palace tea being tasting like powered seaweed. Devon sat cross-legged near the rune-plate, fingers tapping out glyphs in midair. Beside him was a blank piece of parchment and a bowl of this world’s citrus fruit closest to a lemon.

Kate was stretching absently by the balcony, still in sleepwear but making up a personal yoga routine regardless. Zach leaned against the wall with his eyes hovering around half-closed, his stern expression placid and unreadable as always. The rest sat at the long table, in various stats of disarray. They held mugs, plates of breakfast and in various stats of dress. Their over demeanor sour, like a war council that hadn’t yet won a battle and was desperate for a victory.

The knock came just after the sun cleared the window. Allie opened the door. A palace courier stood there, silver-trimmed robe freshly pressed, expression flat in that way only trained staff could manage. In his hands, a scroll. No seal adorned it, just a faint shimmer of living ink along the edge.

The servant bowed. “Your presence is requested at midday. The Palace Garden. Hosted jointly by House Caerwyn and the Church.” Then he was gone.

Garret looked around the room. “Anyone else feel like we’ve just been scheduled for execution over tea?”

Tom-Tom chirped up at that, “Tom-Tom likes tea. Bring some back for him. And any mushrooms you find.

Zach pushed off the wall with a shrug. “They’re giving us sun and flowers so no one sees the blood.”

Alex had already unrolled the scroll. The text shimmered faintly, confirming what they suspected, informal gathering, cross-faction discussion, public and private mingling permitted under observation. No big mentions or allies of deals being made. But everything said here would matter.

Kate moved toward the table, knotting her hair back. “This is it. Here’s were we need to be making the big plays.”

“We’ll need to move carefully, but yes,” Alex said. “No one’s expecting unity anymore, the preparation stage is behind us, its battle time.”

Eric nodded. “We set the duel with Azure Vault. Make it look like a show of strength, not a plea.”

“We hit Vess with the unexpected,” Devon said, voice flat. “She still thinks she owns us, that we’re game pieces. Let’s remind her we’re playing too.”

Allie looked to Holly. “Mother Theralyn might be the only voice in the Church who matters. We need her on record. In person.”

“We can’t push hard,” Holly added. “She wants peace, yes. But she’s surrounded by people who want a purge, we need subtle agreement.”

“So,” Kate said, “we smile. We drink their tea. We give them just enough truth to feel clever, and just enough fear to keep guessing. Then we act.”

Zach watched them all for a moment. Then, quietly, “And if it all goes up in flames?”

Alex didn’t look up, he smiled grinned and tapped the image of House Caewryn. “Then we make sure we’re the ones holding the matches.”

The team scattered, dressing, preparing, reviewing names and sigils and strategies like soldiers prepping for a battlefield, a battlefield without blades. Because by now, they knew the rules. This was how Terraxum made moves.

Not with sweeping declarations, but with flowers and tea parties

The walk the gardens outside was a rather short one. At the front, they passed two guards in ceremonial armor, one with a blindfold of golden thread wrapped over his head. It was a symbol of “impartial vigilance,” apparently. Alex wasn’t sure whether it was symbolism or satire. Neither felt very reassuring.

Then the garden revealed itself. Manicured stone paths curved like etchings in a sigil ring, winding through waist-high hedges and glass-leafed flowers. White marble arches arced overhead, all were covered in lazy vines that clung to the smooth stone like a substance that was pretending to be wild and natural but had given up half way through the farce. Petals drifted on the air, taking large arcing pathways downward in slow, sweeping spirals. It smelled like lavender, steel, and a twinge of nervous expectation.

Topiaries swayed and moved, shaped like abstract animals and birds, but the movement was too smooth to be wind. Enchantments of some kind, obviously.

And at the center of it all, sat a lone fountain. Round and multi-tiered, fed by water that didn’t splash downward, and instead rippled upward in smooth curves that mocked the concept of gravity. A dozen stone tables circled the fountain, placed as though at the hours of a clock. Each one was occupied, each held a different kind of power, and all of them were watching.

Alex exhaled once through his nose. “This isn’t a garden tea party,” he murmured. “It’s a sundial built to measure reputation.”

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A servant in muted blue robes gestured them forward with soft etiquette. The team stepped into the garden. Each of them had a plan. Each plan demanded different alliances, different enemies, different conversations. That meant splitting up. They knew this, they had agreed on it. That didn’t make the moment easier.

“No open duels. No breaking glasses,” Kate said as she passed Garret, smoothing the front of her dress.

“No promises,” Garret muttered, grinning tightly.

“Watch for the spice guild’s people,” Allie told Alex. “If Sanvek’s bought anyone else, we’ll smell it.”

“We just have to last until the vote,” Devon said, half to himself.

“We have to do more than last,” Eric countered. “We have to leave with leverage.”

Then they were gone. Split into motion. Alex watched as Devon moved toward the guild side tables near the far hedge were Vess Auralde sat, Garret in tow. Henry and Lance approached the sect representatives, already flanked by two Azure Vault warriors, Master Halaen waving them over with a smile. Allie and Holly angled toward the outer curve of the church delegation, navigating priests in robes that shimmered like pearl dust.

Each Strider became part of a different ring of conversation, like orbiting moons tugged by separate gravities.

Alex turned toward the eastern arch, toward a table where only on person sat. A woman he had met once before. The stone chair was cold beneath him when he sat down, cold to the point that it almost felt purposefuly so.

He crossed one leg over the other, his posture settingly into an easy-going display, like someone who’d been taught proper etiquette and chose when to not follow it. Across from him, Lady Verrianna Thorneth sat poised in her chair like a hawk on a branch. Her image cut a regal aura with predatory undertones. A lioness entirely prepared to kill something for breathing wrong.

The table between them held a carafe of blackfruit wine and two untouched glasses.

“You’ve adjusted well,” she said, voice smooth as polished steel. “To palace life, that is.”

Alex gave her a pleasant, unreadable nod. He knew what she really meant. They adjusted well to being prisoners. “The view’s better than back home.”

Verrianna smiled, just as he’d seen before in their first meeting. A smile which was all teeth, and an utter lack of warmth. She wore a sleeveless black coat with embossed thorn patterns. The cuffs of the sleeves bore the silver sigils of her house, etched into them like scars. “And the Crown’s accommodations, its provided entertainment?”

You mean this game of politics? He thought. But out loud he simply said, “Exciting and novel at first. But not, its been overdone.”

She watched him. Her eyes were the pale, clouded blue of glacier light, lovely in a way a trap someone had polished looked lovely. “And you believe yourself tested?”

Alex didn’t answer. Which was the answer. Verrianna refilled her own glass, letting the stem rest in her grip gently but casually, like it could shatter at any moment and she wouldn’t mind. “Some of your people are quite promising,” she said. “The tall one. Henry. His control is… old-school. I approve.”

He said nothing.

She went on. “And the big one. Lance, was it? The kind of soldier who dies well, I imagine.”

He smiled faintly. “You think we’re here to impress you.”

“I think you’re here because the Houses are still deciding if you’re threats or trophies.” Her tone held amusement, but there was weight behind it, irritation, frustration.

“Maybe both,” Alex said lightly. “A common theme in your circles.”

Verrianna’s expression froze for a fraction of a second. Then she leaned forward, voice lowering just enough. “You don’t have allies here, Commander. Not real ones. The martial sects respect strength, but strength without purpose is just noise. And the noble houses—” she flicked her fingers, dismissive “—they collect curiosities. Until they don’t.”

Off to their left, a uproarious laugh traveled from the table where Lance and Henry spoke to the Blue Vault sect. Master Halraen was clasping a hand on Henry’s shoulder, smiling.

Alex turned his attention back to lady Thorneth, and tilted his head. “And your House? What do you collect?”

She had to also notice the change at the table just as Alex had, but she didn’t blink. “Loyalty. Weapons. Weapons to be placed in those loyal hands.”

He let a silence sit between them, just long enough to be uncomfortable. Then, “I didn’t know loyalty came with conditions.”

She smiled again. “We’re offering you a choice. Surrender quietly. Work with us. Keep your team intact.”

“And in return?” he asked, tone bland.

“You do what you’re told.”

He let that sit. Then reached for the glass and turned it once. He didn’t drink, just studied the way the wine clung to the sides, the bubbles rising softly in the glass, like a test chamber filled with aether. “I’ll give you something in return,” he said, soft now. “An insight. I’ve been studying spell resonance lately, compression glyphs, recursive weave loops. Fascinating applications when paired with a leyline and stored in Arcane Beast Cores. Especially dangerous ones.”

Her eyes narrowed.

Alex didn’t look up. “There’s a theoretic spell I can assume some things about, pressure-stacking effects, containment wards. Use it wrong, and you vaporize a city block. Use it right, and you still need a vault made from pre-Age alloy just to keep the Beast Core stable.”

He met her gaze now. His glare was calm, cold. “Things like that? They never stay buried for long.”

Verrianna set her glass down too hard. It didn’t break, but it was enough to clink loudly across the garden, noticeable. She leaned forward a fraction, voice low and laced with acid. “Things like that have bite in their own right, talking about them can get you hurt.”

He didn’t answer.

The seconds ticked painfully by, like the slow rocking of bowling pins undecided on wehter they wanted to fall or remain upright after a throw. The wind shifted just enough to pull the enchanted petals from the archway above, and they drifted between them like curtains being drawn.

His attention was once again drowned out by a commotion at a table. He looked to see Devon and Garret smiling at a very flustered, and angry, Vess Auralde. The other Merchant Guilds stood around them, smirking, giggling, some even turning away to hide their laughs. Others were simply stood with shocked expressions.

Nice work guys.

Verrianna stood. She didn’t smile this time. There was n haughty performance, no attempt to save face. Just an exit. “Enjoy your stay, Commander,” she said quietly. “While it lasts.” She left without a glance backward.

He waited until she was out of sight, then finally released his breath through his nose. She knew. Maybe not everything, but enough. He’d played the card, or at least hinted at it, and her reaction told him everything. House Thorneth was in on the leyforge project. And now, they knew he knew.

Which meant the clock had just started ticking louder.

“That was dangerous, but it payed off.”

Yes, it was another gut feeling—

A sudden scream cut off his thought. Alex wheeled about just in time to see Eric falling to the ground among a group of house nobles. Even from the distance, he could see that Eric’s eye were glazed, and pink bubbles leaked from his mouth an ears.

Fuck!

He dashed from his seat, heading right for his friend.

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