61 – Niceties

Distracted by the incident with the strange man Tobin—and more importantly, his dagger—Vivi took a second longer to respond than she should have. She forcefully shook away the uneasy feelings and refocused.

She tried to remember the advice Rafael had given her leading up to this meeting. He’d had plenty to say, both about how the Duke might act and how she should.

“Yes. I wanted to apologize on behalf of my apprentice and the man known as William Trent. I hope we can set aside those unfortunate events and come to a mutually agreeable solution, one that benefits both of our houses.”

The words—crafted by Rafael, of course—grated on her to speak, but she wasn’t here seeking pointless, vindictive satisfaction. She wanted to, with minimal headache and fallout, solve the feud between Duke Caldimore and William, and hopefully Saffra too. Though depending on whether the Duke truly believed Saffra had attacked his daughter, and perhaps whether Saffra had, that might be impossible. So getting William out of prison was her real goal.

“Indeed,” Duke Caldimore said. “I’m sure it is in neither of our interests for a feud to break out between two families of our standing.” He watched her carefully, walking out from behind his desk to stand beside it. “Particularly, it would be unwise of me to quarrel with a woman of your personal strength. I understand my family has already offered you insult during your passage to Meridian.”

His family. Meaning Barnaby. So the Duke had learned about that. Rafael had informed her, prior to this meeting, that the odds would be high. Enough time had passed that an event as significant as the Convoy’s derailing had reached properly informed ears; it had involved too many civilians to not spread like wildfire.

How much did he know, though? The intelligence Rafael himself had received, through his Web, was an accurate reporting of events—though the mage in question had simply been an ‘unknown demonic archmage’. That the Sorceress had returned certainly wasn’t what people had assumed.

Vivi briefly didn’t know how to respond, because she had little positive to say about Barnaby Caldimore. He had antagonized her and refused to allow his White Glove aid in the battle, instead staying holed up in the Lounge. But bringing up her distaste of that man wouldn’t help settle matters with the Duke.

She chose her words as tactfully as she could. “I would, indeed, prefer no further conflict between us,” she reiterated. “My previous interactions with your family notwithstanding.”

He seemed pleased that she didn’t try to deny his suspicion. She might have, but Rafael had insisted otherwise. The Duke was too intelligent to not make the obvious connection. There were only so many demonic archmages going around…as in two, total. A third and fourth—if she tried to pretend she and the Convoy mage were different—both matching the description of ‘short female with curled horns and long straight white hair’ didn’t strain credulity so much as break it entirely.

“I must congratulate you,” the Duke said. “Your long sabbatical proved fruitful. To climb a hundred levels, at your rank, would be an achievement, even across a century. Three hundred is breathtaking.”

Three hundred added to nine hundred…he believed her to be somewhere in the twelve hundreds. That was likely an underestimate of the power she had displayed. Thankfully, mages at twelve hundred and higher were so rare that their strength was poorly understood. She had one-shot the Ghul-Feather, but mages with proper preparation were perhaps the most likely class type to do that, even at an equal level to their opponent. Lifting the Convoy and placing it on its tracks was a more telling feat, but even another archmage might struggle to quantify what it revealed her as. Especially when specialties and skills muddied the water. Perhaps she possessed a high-level System-granted skill that improved only [Greater Telekinesis]. Strange, if so, but not outside the realm of possibility.

Rafael had told her to expect to be labeled as between twelve and thirteen hundred. Fourteen hundred put her on equal footing with Aeris, so that would be too unbelievable—people would default to reasonable explanations first, and a lower-level mage with a telekinesis specialty was much more probable than a peak-strength archmage appearing from nowhere.

Also possible was that the reports were dramatized. Who knew what really happened at the Convoy? Even Barnaby, Damon’s relative, could only be trusted to a degree.

Still, she didn’t want to give the Duke any ammunition, and being vague about one’s level was wholly standard; nobody would think twice if she refused to acknowledge how strong she was.

“Your congratulations are appreciated,” was all she said.

The Duke studied her. “I must admit that seeing such monumental success in others has always stung my pride. I have long striven to reach that lofty achievement of a Title, but fallen short, despite all my efforts. What is it, do you think, that separates us?”

There was, interestingly, a hint of frustration, if not suppressed anger, in his voice.

Not for the first time, Vivi appreciated the aloof mask this body provided, because she briefly had no idea how to respond. “It changes by the person,” she eventually settled on. “There is no universal path to growth.”

The response felt underwhelming, and the Duke seemed to agree—though not because the words lacked insight.

“I suppose truth is often unsatisfying,” he said. “Alas, I digress, and when I said I wouldn’t waste your time. William Trent, and your…apprentice. I do so wonder how that came about, but it is not my place to question.”

He waited for her to explain. She didn’t.

He continued, “I am not a man to suffer disrespect, and far less one to meekly ignore an assault on my own flesh and blood. Yet I recognize the follies of youth. There are, however, mistakes that cannot be forgiven, even by age. Would you not agree? This young woman you’ve taken under your wing—she was given a privileged spot at the Institute, her tuition and supplies paid, an education that boys and girls across the world only dream of. And she returns that generosity by attacking a fellow student? My daughter. Perhaps she has grown with her time away and whatever hardship she faced following her expulsion. I can appreciate, even admire, a growth in one’s character. But to brush aside such grave offense merely because I was offered a token of apology? No, I do not think that will happen, Lady Keresi.”

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Vivi stilled at the firm disgust in the Duke’s voice. Rafael had said that it was unlikely the man would apply much pressure, and that he might ignore Saffra’s involvement entirely. That the sum of coin they had offered would almost certainly sway his opinion in what was, ultimately, a debacle not worth feuding with a notable demonic house over. This was far more direct, and dismissive of the bribe, than Rafael had told her to expect.

“I don’t demand forgiveness for what transpired between your daughter and my apprentice.” Vivi’s tone was a shade colder than she knew it should be. “I merely wish to extend an apology. And bring a certain imprisonment to an end.”

“Hm. Yes. William, then. Do you personally find it outrageous, Lady Keresi, the demands I made of him? An apology for the slanderous words he offered me?”

Vivi knew not to answer that question honestly, but she really wanted to. That it was the social norm of this time period, and that he could have acted worse, did not, in her eyes, absolve him. She just acknowledged the complexity of the situation, and that she couldn’t view his actions in the same light as if they had taken place back on Earth.

There was nothing keeping her from lying, thankfully.

“I do not,” she said.

“Oh?” He raised an eyebrow. “I see.” Vivi suspected he had easily seen through the falsehood, despite her stoic mask. “I must say, nevertheless, that I find myself insulted by the offer. Not just for what it represents, but the sum itself. It is a paltry offering to sweep aside such a grave offense, no?”

Rafael had been nearly certain this man would go to lengths to avoid bad blood—essentially roll over, if in a way that preserved his dignity. Had Rafael’s appraisal of this man been so incorrect? She found that hard to believe.