Book 2: Chapter 29.2: Tea With Enemies

The gardens bent inward near five o’clock part of the fountain, a flower section hugged the curve tightly, giving space for stone pillars grown with blueleaf and edged with runes that hummed low like tuning forks. The air smelled strongly of iron and citrus. Master Halraen stood at the far side of the table, arms crossed behind his back, posture sharp even while at rest. He looked like someone who had never once considered slouching, even while asleep.

Henry and Lance approached together, one quiet and steady, the other carrying a faint smirk that was almost always sincere.

“Master Halraen,” Henry said, dipping his head in greeting.

The Azure Vault sect leader returned the nod, eyes narrowing with a subtle, curious tilt. “Striders,” he replied. “You carry yourselves better than most nobles here. That’s not meant as a compliment. Just a fact.”

“We’ll take it anyway,” Lance said lightly.

A thin smile ghosted across Halraen’s lips. Then it was gone. “It feel as though you had avoided me the last day, please don’t tell me I have offended you,” he said to Henry. “My invitation for sharing pointers between fighter still stands.”

Henry inclined his head again. “That’s why I came. I wanted to propose something.”

Halraen raised an eyebrow. “A duel then?”

Henry didn’t hesitate. “Yes, of duel of skills, respectful, measured.”

“A lesson in pain?” Halraen asked, eyebrow raising. “Or proof of ego?”

“Opportunity,” Henry said flatly. “For both of us.”

Lance stepped forward a half pace. “Actually, we had something public in mind.” The words hung between them like a challenge, causing Halraen’s mouth to tighten.

“We’d prefer to make it a public demonstration,” Lance continued, tone easy. “Visibility works both ways. If your disciple wins, they’ve defeated one of the Worldstriders. That matters, it gives face.”

“And if they lose?” Halraen asked, sharp now, clearly unsure of their intentions.

Henry stepped in and answered. “Then you chose a junior disciple. One still learning. No dishonor in that, just growth, and teaching lessons in defeat.”

Silence followed Henry’s explanation. Then Halraen tapped a finger against the stone table. A steady rhythm, once, twice, then still. “You maneuver with care,” the master said. “More than most warriors.”

Lance didn’t flinch at that. “We choose our first blow carefully before we strike.”

Halraen eyed him. “You know as well as anyone, the greatest fights happen long before the first blow.” Then his gaze slid to Henry. “And who fights?”

“Kate,” Henry said.

Halraen scoffed. “The iron girl? She’s a blade without a scabbard. Too independent. Unruly.”

“No,” Lance said quietly. “She’s focused. She led us through the Dark Den when everything was falling apart. She didn’t panic, and she didn’t flinch. She gave orders that got all of us out alive, even when it meant walking through corpses, literally.”

Halraen studied him, but didn’t say a word in response.

“Letting her fight means your disciple stands against a figurehead,” Lance added. “A symbol. If they win, it’s real victory. And if they lose… well, she’s a politician, right?”

Halraen made a sound somewhere between a grunt and a laugh. “You’re clever, for someone who smiles too much.”

Lance grinned wider. “We all play roles.”

The sect leader turned, reached into his coat, and produced a folded scroll wrapped in black-and-blue ribbon. He placed it on the table and unfurled its contents.

“Dueling contract,” he said. “To test ones worth, display strength and courage. Not to kill.”

Henry reached for it. “Agreed.”

They both pressed their thumbprint to the surface. The runes glowed, seared, and vanished, the contract sealed. Many of the surrounding warriors of the Azue Vault sect gave a cheer once the contract was made. Halraen didn’t say anything else. Instead, he stepped around the table, clapped Henry once, hard, on the shoulder. A gesture of comradery, of respect.

Lance exhaled. “That went better than expected.”

“He’s a sect leader,” Henry said. “He only respects people who do what they say.”

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“Exactly right,” Halraen said. He puffed up his chest and smiled down at Henry now. “After this little public match, you and I must get together to cross blades as well. I’m a looking forward to seeing what you can do.”

A sudden commotion caught the tables ear and eyes. Everyone looked to see Devon and Garret smirking at Vess Auralde. The crowd around the two men reacting both pleased and also taken aback. Henry and Lance only smiled at each other.

“It seems victories are occurring for many of you Striders today.” Halraen said.

Lance raised his glass in response. “It appears that is so. I’d guess you have no lost love for Miss Auralde being brought down a step?

Halraen raised his own glass. “The only complaint I would give, is having to carry the extra weight of all the gold I would save against her abysmal price gouging.”

That got quite a few chuckles as everyone drank. The pleasantries continued on between the men, many of the lower ranked sect members showing interest in Lance and Henry’s experiences as soldiers. No doubt trying to learn of their home world, but those question felt less malicious and more curious when coming from fellow warriors, rather than noble houses.

The gallantry and fun was cut abruptly as a scream echoed over the garden. Henry and Lance were able to catch the last glimpses of Eric falling to the ground, then a blur of movement as Alex rushed forward through the crowd towards his prone form.

***

The merchant rings near the southern arch were louder than the others, full of gold-threaded robes and silver-plated smiles. Wealth had a scent here, fruit oils and parchment ink, spiced smoke from hookah stems carved out of exotic woods. No less than the martial duels or the council halls, this was a battlefield. Devon already hated it.

Vess Auralde found them before they could find a table. She moved like a dance she’d rehearsed a thousand times, two steps ahead of herself, always half-finished with the previous manipulation and moving on to the next before anyone realized they were already involved. Her consortium followed behind her like silk shadows, draped in Auralde colors, empty smiles pressed into their faces.

“Ah, Devon,” she called, loud enough to draw attention. “I was hoping to find you before the others got to your ear.”

Devon smiled, thin, flat, forced. “You’ve already got my hand, remember?”

Vess laughed too easily, drawing a few chuckles from the Merchant Guild observers watching from the sideline tables. It was all theater. She knew it, he knew it.

Garret hovered just a step behind, eyes already flicking through the nearby faces, exits, and guard positions. Casual but alert.

“I thought,” Vess continued, “perhaps we might finally put pen to parchment? A simple public declaration of goodwill. Of partnership.” Her voice coiled just the right amount of condescension into the last word.

She pulled out a scroll, a rich vellum blank, flanked with anchoring runes in gold thread. Devon took it with slow fingers and placed it on the table nearby. “And here I thought you’d never ask.”

That earned another ripple of interest. She’d baited him into making this public. A win on parchment, for everyone to see. But Devon was already moving.

“Everyone written as we had discussed before, of course?,” he said casually, reaching into his coat to produce a glyph stylus.

Vess gave a knowing smile and produced a lavish stylus of her own. “By all means.”

A raucous laugh pulled everyone’s gave as Halraen clapped Henry’s shoulder nearby. The men happily sharing drinks and compliments. It was all the distraction that they needed.

Garret swiftly pulled a blank scroll from his clothes, the same scroll Devon was preparing early during breakfast. With everone eyeing the atble of martial warriors, he gave a subtle flourish and unrolled the new scroll and slid Vess; away and out of sight. Once everyone turned back, garret was simply gawking ot the scroll on the table and fumbling with it like it was his first time handling royal documents. No one noticed the change, not even Vess. She did of course, still have suspicions, and examined the scroll, taking it from Garret’s hands.

There were no hidden glyphs or runes. No secret enchantments or even a trce of aether energy on the paper. Everything properly in order.

The writing began. Quick incantations were made for binding, flashes of ink that shimmered faintly began to grow across the parchment as the two of them worked to solidify the agreement. Vess took the lead of course, dictating most of the clauses herself. After a minute, they were done, the contract solidified.

In front of everyone, as planned, they both signed. Devon signed second, elegant and slow. Vess sealed hers with a flourish and a swish, loud enough that half the ring turned to witness it.

“You’ve made the right decision,” she said, smug and sharp. “Your talents need the right platform. I’ll ensure you have everything you need.”

“I know,” Devon replied calmly. “That’s why we made sure to clarify the terms.”

He looked to Garret and grinned. Then, with casual confidence, he held the scroll over a nearby candle’s heat. Not enough to burn it, just to provide warmth. Enough to activate the citrus-oil ink Devon had used hours earlier, when he’d been “scribbling” on parchments with his lunch fruit.

The scroll shimmered, then slowly lines began to appear. Beneath the glyphs Vess had written, read and approved. A new clause emerged in faint golden ink. A full paragraph. Then another.

Vess blinked. “What is this—?”

Garret read aloud. “Clause Seven: Vess Auralde’s Consortium shall yield fifteen percent of any and all commerce linked to foreign innovation, including, but not limited to, otherworldly-based technology or Aether-mechanical replications thereof, to the Worldstrider detachment for indefinite term.”

Devon beamed. “That’s us.”

The laugh that rippled across the ring wasn’t loud, but it was obvious who they were laughing at. A few Guild envoys chuckled behind raised goblets. One woman full-on grinned into her ledger.

“You tricked me,” Vess hissed, eyes flashing.

“No,” Devon said. “You got sloppy. You assumed we didn’t know how your contracts work. But we have… context of our own, back home.” He stepped forward slightly, voice still low and civil. He swirled his drink in his hand, this world’s version of lemonade, citrusy, sour and sweet. “You used inferred consent, Vess. That glass tube trick? Very clever. We just responded in kind.”

“I’ll dispute this.”

Devon shrugged. “Feel free. But this scroll was signed in public. Watched by everyone here. Recorded by three of your peers. The glyphs are valid. The seals registered.”

The nearby Guild representative, an older man with merchant tokens braided into his hair, stepped forward, offering a formal hand. “We’ll be taking this,” he said smoothly, lifting the contract.

“And we’ll review both parties’ actions, regarding this and other contracts made between them in the past,” he added, his tone far too polite to be friendly.

Vess didn’t reply. Her smile was frozen now, no more warmth beneath the gloss. Her entourage murmured behind her, uncertain.

Devon nodded once. “You wanted a show, Vess. I just gave you a better one.”

She didn’t anything, and she didn’t stay, not after that. She turned, stiff and seething, retreating with a stiff rebuke to her second in command as they walked away.

Garret leaned over and whispered, “You think she’s gonna kill us later?”

Then a loud scream broke the reverie.

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