Chapter 9 (Patreon)

Chapter 9

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Over the capital, it was raining again, or rather a fine drizzle, and all the light sources in it turned into long stretched streaks. Here were the navigation lights that burst into view with sharp strokes, as if they would freeze for a moment, only to disappear again in a smeared red blotch. With this beating, they set the rhythm to the otherwise unfamiliarly empty and austere sky above the imperial palace. The palace, through this water suspension, looked like a giant orange fire of smeared light in the dark circle of the gardens.

"There's absolutely nothing to see," Taer muttered grudgingly, and activating her internal connection, she added louder so her friend could hear her. "Let's just say I owe you a tour.

Rima didn't answer, looking at herself meticulously in the small mirror. This was the tenth time she'd done this clearly nervous.

"One minute to arrival, sword." A warning from the pilot sounded in her headphones, and Taer, regretfully turning off the external view monitor, ran a glance over her uniform just in case. The Lord will be accompanied by the emperor's daughter, after all.

"Do I look all right?" To be sure, she asked Rima, sitting across from her, who was also wearing a uniform and a knight's cloak over her shoulders for the occasion.

"One could cut oneself on you. You're so flawless." Her friend assured her, not taking her eyes off her mirror, though.

The vehicles slowed down, and it became quieter in the cabin. Taër took off her headset, already able to communicate without it, and quickly fixed her hair. Rima frantically followed her example. From the look of her, her friend was on the verge of hysteria:

"Calm down. You don't have to worry so much." Taer tried to cheer her up. She was a little nervous herself, but she tried not to show it. "You're always great in society."

"I'm about to be introduced to the Emperor's daughter!" Rima's eyes widened. "I've been a squire for less than two decades, and now this. I could die of horror. I am to be presented to the princess!" She froze and asked again with a frightened look. "She can be called a princess, can't she?"

"No." Taer shook her head. "Only Lady Niazur, or if she is in uniform, by rank, Peleng Admiral Niazur."

She herself never understood the subtleties, but the protocol department was literally screaming at her to never refer to Lord Cassard's escort as a princess, or worse, as a "young mother".

"I'm definitely going to embarrass myself," Rima whispered. "Maybe I'll just hide in here."

"Don't be silly. All the more reason for you to take care of this new 'handmaiden' of the lord."

The vehicles swayed softly through yet another palace force shield and came to a halt.

A wide side door split open exactly in the middle, up and down, forming a visor and a landing ramp, and Taer descended to the base of the grand staircase of the imperial palace. The air was humid and cool even though the shields surrounding the palace kept out the drizzle, and the thin layer of slowly flowing water made them look like giant glass domes.

The greeters were there. A few steps up the stairs, standing with the lord was a girl in a navy admiral's uniform, in which Taer immediately recognized Lady Niazur, and two in the black and purple uniform of the House Fyron Guard, Sir Ulter Ralval with whom she had had much contact while preparing the arrival of the Lord, and an older man of medium height with a flabby face, with a large wide nose that made the closely set brown eyes seem smaller than they really were. It must have been the head of the local House of Fyron representation, Count Barazu, whom the lord had warned her about. With Count Barazu, she had had little contact and only by correspondence, and it was most likely led by a secretary.

Emphasized away from such dignitaries stood a girl in a modest blue maid's dress with a ribbon over her shoulder, most likely the lord's maid assigned by the court to this onstum. Next to her was a group of droids with the lord's luggage.

"Allow me to introduce." Lord Cassard said with a smile. He was clearly glad to see her.

"The First Blade of the Great House Fyron's Guard, Daim Taer Diltar. The First Blade of my domain and the man to whom I repeatedly owe my life. And her squire, Rima Talariv."

"Pleased to meet you," Taer answered as Lord Cassard introduced his companions:

Lady Niazur, as one would expect from a person of her position, was impenetrable and coldly polite, and the maid was to her likeness. Sir Ulter was nervous and very anxious about something, but Count Barazu was clearly struggling to hide his emotions and even tried to reflexively cover his face with his palm.

The reason for such a violent reaction was also perfectly understandable. It was all about the vehicles in which they arrived. Three light landing bots: large, angular, awkward machines covered with a jumble of power cables and attachments looked wild and inappropriate near the front steps of the imperial palace.

And what bloodshed it cost to get them access to the palace grounds... The palace security service naturally fell into a stupor when they found out exactly what she was going to fly for the lord, and for nearly four days its representatives literally crawled on the bots to make sure they were safe. Ter, however, did not regret the effort. Yes, they look wild, but the level of protection is incomparable to even the most protected representative-class apparatus, and no problems with placement. There's room for a power team in armor if you want, or resuscitation equipment.

The introductions and farewells were over rather quickly, and the departing men began to get into their vehicles: Rima, with the lord's new servant, in the first, and she with the lord and Sir Ulter and Count Barazu in the second. As Taer realized these two from the representation, so wanted to talk with the lord about something that they agreed to ride with him here and there. Otherwise, combining the schedules did not work.

"Here, put these on." Taer handed out the headphones as the guests settled into the deep landing chairs. "It's pretty noisy in the cabin during acceleration, and you can at least communicate normally with them."

"It's like going back twenty years, and it's war all over again." Count Barazu, still not wearing his headphones, twisted them in his hands, looking around the interior of the bot with a combination of bewilderment and squeamish disgust on his face. "I suppose our departure from the palace will be a highlight of the society pages. I understand, Lord Cassard, we all have our quirks, but there must be a time and a place for every quirk. Such things," the count grimaced as if it was something very unpleasant, "have no place at official events."

"I was shot by a missile the other day." There was a serene smile on the lord's face; the count's grouchiness clearly didn't bother him. "And that's the only option I could find that could survive some hits without a problem."

"Well, that's no reason..." The count was indignant, but the vehicles went beyond the power shields of the palace, and he had to interrupt to put on and turn on the headphones, it took him long and clumsy, and when his voice was heard again on the intercom, it sounded much more annoyed:

"I don't know who advised you on this crap, but you've got to get all this nonsense out of your head. Immediately. You are now the First Lord of the High Side. You represent in the capital not only your clan but the entire House in such a high position. Your image, your reputation, is no longer just your own business, but the business of the entire House."

"It was my idea." Taer intervened. She was beginning to get a little annoyed by this lecture. "I insisted that Lord Cassard use these vehicles."

Count Barazu interrupted, looking at Taer in surprise as if he did not expect that she could talk at all:

"Is that so? Very well. It is quite natural that such a young girl, not spoiled by the high society by virtue of her origin, is not aware of the questions of diplomatic etiquette and manners accepted in high society - this comes with experience. In the meantime, just don't give advice that is not within your competence."

The Count was about to turn back to the lord without waiting for a response, probably believing that the question was closed when he heard Taer's answer:

"I am Cassard's First Blade. Matters of the lord's security are my competence."

He froze, then turned to her again and stared at her from head to toe, as if he had seen something strange before him:

"I believe that you, young lady, possess certain unquestionable virtues," the Count said at last, fixing his gaze on her chest, "for which Lord Cassard, known for his keen judgment, deemed it possible to appoint you to such a high office. However, it will be absolutely better for all if you continue to do what your virtues dispose you to do and leave the advice to people whose virtues dispose them to these matters."

The count said all this, looking down at her with undisguised squeamishness.

The elderly scum. Taer's hands involuntarily clenched into fists. Does he dare say I got my place through the lord's bed?

She felt herself literally drunk with rage, she wanted to destroy it, to tear its jaws open. With a slight jolt, the perception booster turned on, the world became slow and grainy, and the sounds became lingering. The guider went to work, ready to grant the wish. In Taer's mind flashed an incredibly realistic vision of her easily, with one hand, effortlessly ripping the Count's lower jaw off, the ligaments and skin bursting, blood spurting to the sides and her tongue falling out of the open wound. How she pulls him out of the chair by his hair, only to have his own jaw in her eyes full of animal horror.

And she saw this picture in the smallest detail as if it had already happened: a slowly settling body with its tongue hanging out and teeth in place of its bloodshot eyes. And the sight of that blood, that grotesque wound, gave her a sense of calm and "rightness," anger receding.

That's what terrified her. Her reaction to this horror and this fear paralyzed her into stopping.

Thanks to the acceleration, her body only had time to swing forward when she froze and clung to the armrests of the chair with all her might to prevent herself from realizing what she had planned. Taer did not know how long this struggle lasted - the passage of time is difficult to gauge with the acceleration running, but at some point, it was over. She managed to feel a trace of regret because:

Interesting image. When the guider and the acceleration shut down, and she suppressed her convulsive sigh, she heard the Lord's voice:

"...one of the virtues of Daim Diltar that I especially appreciate is that she has saved my life three times, and for that reason, I greatly value her advice in all matters concerning safety. I cannot say the same about you, Count Barazu, your advice in this area is of no interest to me at all."

"How dare you..." Count Barazu was literally panting with indignation, storming the lord with an angry look, and to Taer's relief, clearly not noticing her condition. "Boy, I fought..."

"Fine, but we're not at war," the lord interrupted him rudely. "And we're not discussing hostilities. If you have anything to say about my assignment, speak quickly because you've already bored me."

The Count froze, glaring angrily at the lord, and then defiantly took a few deep breaths and exhalations and continued:

"Good. As I said before, your appointment is not a favor from the emperor to you personally but his way of apologizing to all of House Fyron for what happened. Because attacking you is, first and foremost, an attack on the interests of the House. And this apology from the emperor gives us a unique opportunity..."

"Let's talk about the appointment." The lord defiantly interrupted the count again. "I have little interest in your unique capabilities."

The Count was only able to continue again after another round of exhaled breaths:

"As Lord of the High Side, you are in charge of the Squadron of the Capital's Domain, the trial and investigation of blood feuds, and the affairs of the noble militia." The count growled in a low voice. "The first function in peacetime means nothing at all and is purely ceremonial. The second creates some influence but is limited by the rarity of crimes classified as blood feuds among the nobility of the capital and the possibility of appealing to the court of the emperor. The third, however, is most important because it allows the balance of military power between the great Houses to be influenced. After all, their fleets formally belong to the Noble Militia, which is commanded by the First Lord of the High Side."

"I understand." The lord nodded graciously. "A representative function, followed by a function no one needs, because of rarity, and an opportunity to play along with the native House Fyron."

"You don't understand anything!" The Count hissed indignantly. "This is extremely important! It is the Lord of the High Side who submits petitions to the Emperor for the purchase or transfer of warships. The Emperor may not sign them, of course. But what is submitted to him is up to you, and it is a tremendous power. We have a unique opportunity to override in our favor the decision to decommission and sell the Catchers that Pell dragged through. It's complicated, responsible, and not an easy matter. No one expects you to handle it yourself, so you will appoint a man whom I will indicate by the Small Arm of the First Lord."

"Sir Ulter already told me about the "small arm". The lord nodded toward the Representative of the House who sitting quietly in his chair, transferring a frightened look from the lord to the count. "As I understand this man will have to be near me most of the time, so it would be better if it will be Daim Diltar.

"But she doesn't know anything about it." The Count raised his voice so high that he could be heard not only in the headphones, he overrode the hum of the working thrust generators as well

"Of course." The lord nodded calmly. "For she can save my life. Your man can give me priceless advice from out of state. If I deem him suitable, of course. Send me his personnel file for review."

"One minute to arrival." It sounded in Taer's headphones, on a closed channel, but it was clear that they were close to the tower. The vehicles slowed, and the noise in the cabin diminished rapidly.

"What do you think you're doing, Lord Cassard!" The Count Barazu shouted. "You are behaving like a capricious child! You will stop squirming at once, and you will appoint whom I say and do as I say! And you will appear before me tomorrow, and you will listen carefully to what I tell you!"

"Or what?" The lord asked nonchalantly, unbuckling his straps and rising from his chair as the bot came to a stop.

"You don't think there's any solution for you?" The Count squinted angrily.

"Well, come at once with your solution, and we'll talk there." The lord calmly offered as he headed for the exit. "True, tomorrow won't be possible anyway. I have a meeting with Lady Pell. The Emperor has asked her to help me get used to my position."

"How with Pell?" Sincerely surprised Count Barazu. "His Majesty asked for her? There is a reason for that. You must be extremely careful with her, you literally need my man by your side, or you will inevitably make mistakes."

"We'll discuss it after we meet your solution." Tossed the lord over his shoulder, already stepping out of the bot. "For now, I've lost all desire to listen to you."

Taer also rose from her chair, and as she passed the Count, she couldn't help but slap him:

"You're very lucky today, Count." Quietly she muttered, admiring the rapidly spreading red stain on Barazu's cheek. "You may consider it a challenge to a duel. If you're too old to hold a sword, I'll gladly kill the appointed defender of your family."

When Taer got out of the boat, Sir Ulter jumped out after her:

"Please accept my apologies." With sincere regret, he bowed his head. "Usually the Count, quite a courteous man. It's just that he attaches a great deal of importance to the public's impression of our House and..." Sir Ulter stopped it was obvious he was very upset. He apologized again and jumped back into the vehicle.

As the doors of the boat were closing, the angry cries of Count Barazu could be heard:

"A duel?! A duel?! Two infantile idiots!"

"They're all a bit jumpy in the capital." The lord shared as he glanced at the departing vehicles that were to take the Count and Sir Ulter back to the palace. "First Nadina throwing me a tantrum, now this old soldier. You got yourself all worked up for nothing, by the way." He added in a halftone, leaning toward her. "You don't have the nerve to react to every old idiot."

"'I felt like I wanted to kill him," Taer whispered, trying not to look the lord in the eye.

"Well, if you want, I will order him, as then, to Baroness Istar. I do not spare anything for you," he whispered back with a smile.

"I do." Even more quietly, Taer answered because she really wanted him dead. Even more, she wanted to kill him personally, with her own hands literally crushing him, turning him into a filthy brown slurry.

She said it very quietly, but the lord froze. His eyebrows went up in surprise. He obviously heard her words:

"Are you serious?" He asked again.

Taer shook her head furiously in response:

"No." She literally squeezed it out of her because she really wanted to say, Yes! Seriously!

"Good," smiled the lord with a relieved smile, "and I almost believed it. I mean, you know I really appreciate your integrity, but there's no need to storm every bump. There are too many bumps, and you're the only one. And we didn't come here to fight, we came here to wait out the mess back home. So spit on everything and don't pay attention to idiots."

Taer nodded in response, fearing that if she spoke now, the lord would know for sure that something was wrong with her.

"Come on, then, show me what's what." Said the lord, looking around with interest. They were now in a large receiving portal with walls of milky white marble trimmed with golden vines. It was just above the middle of the tower and allowed those arriving to fly right in. It was quite advantageous from a security point of view.

"Are these the local servants?" Asked the lord with a nod toward the group of white liverymen who huddled near the elevator area, hesitant to approach.

"Yes." Taer nodded. "And the head of your local Office." She added, taking a closer look at the gathering.

"Then let's go get acquainted." He suggested, heading in their direction.

The introduction was entirely predictable. Equally predictably, the head of the local Office, Mr. Mellpurr, went to the lord with complaints:

"I must point out, my lord, that this tower is a historical monument! It is 400 years old, the same age as the imperial palace!"

"Yes?" The lord seemed genuinely interested.

"Yes," Mellpurr answered him and turned his accusing finger to Taer. "And the rebuilding under Daim Diltar's guidance is a crime, a blasphemy!

"Oh, that's terrible." The lord sympathized with him, "You know I'm very reverent about historical monuments."

"Yes?" Mr. Mellpour's eyes lit up with hope.

"Yes." Absolutely serious, the lord nodded to him. "But I am even more reverent about my ability to go on living. That's why everything Daim Diltar does gets my full support, as she does it to allow me to continue living."

Taer wasn't even angry about Mellpurr's accusation at this point. She couldn't care less, she could feel her hands beginning to tremble, and all she could think about was how to make it go unnoticed.

"You know, I have to run." She lied in an apologetic tone, pulling the lord aside. "Rima, she can show you around, and Mr. Mellpurr, though nerdy, really does know the history of almost every Cassard estate on the planet."

"Is something wrong?" Asked the lord anxiously, gazing into her eyes. "Are you all right?"

"I just haven't slept in six days." Said Taer, the plain truth. "And no, nothing's wrong. It's just that we have a lot of guards, weapons, and Carpathians in armor. It's not the norm at all in the capital. A lot of bureaucratic nonsense arises, nothing serious, but it's often my presence or signature needed."

"Sixth day, it's just awful. You must not be yourself from hunger and all. If you have to, run and take care of yourself. As soon as you get a chance, go sleep."

"Sure." She nodded quickly and rushed to the elevator as quickly as she could. Already alone in the cabin, she extended her palm forward, her hand not even trembling but rather shaking.

Once up on the floor, Taer rushed to her room and collapsed on her bed. Her whole body was shaking, and, worst of all, she couldn't tell if it was a reaction to the activation of the guider or if she was pounding with disgust at herself and her desires:

I didn't just want to kill him. Taer thought, feeling the tears begin to flow. I wanted to mutilate. And maybe "mutilate" was too mild a word for something that was coming back to her mind, so detailed and detailed that it made her physically sick. And I wanted it so badly that my guider was activated, and that's not supposed to activate, only when it's dangerous.

But I didn't do anything. She persuaded herself, in tears. I stopped. People have strange urges, but I stopped.

But the longer she talked herself into it, the more she realized that she was a natural psycho dangerous to others, and the worse it got.

It wasn't just a strange desire. I started to act. I had to stop myself. Another moment and I would have really ripped his jaw out. She did not doubt that she would have been able to do it.

She was getting worse, the tremors wouldn't subside, and she felt so sick with self-loathing that she thought she was going to vomit.

She had to do something. She staggered to the medicine cabinet and began frantically rummaging through it, scattering packages and jars on the floor. Soon she found what she was looking for, and hurriedly opened the package and swallowed three pills, the maximum dose of the strongest sedative she had.

Taer returned to the bed and lay there listening to what she felt. The shivering had subsided but was not completely gone, her breathing gradually became intermittent, as if she were forcing herself to take each successive breath, and there was a fear that grew more intense by the minute. She imagined what would happen if she were seen like this: disheveled, in her uniform, face red with tears, trembling, panting.

How disgusting. And this is the First Blade of the Domain? A noble knight? The pride of House Fyron? She shuddered in disgust. Disgusting.

There was only one way to save face before it was too late, while she still looked human and had some control:

After all, what was the point of putting it off? She thought, staring blankly at the ceiling. It's not going to get any better. The symptoms are only getting worse. Whether I go crazy now or in two decades, what difference does it make? It's got to stop, that's all. At least as long as I can do it with dignity.

She pulled her blaster from the holster on her belt, cocked the readiness lever, and placed it next to her on the pillow at maximum power.

She needs to wash her face, put on a fresh uniform, and that's it. Thought Taer, as if in a trance, looking at the flickering charge figures on the back of her blaster.

She wondered if there was some way to explain herself to the lord, but she couldn't find the words. Any explanation for what she'd done would have killed the whole idea of leaving with dignity. She would look in his eyes like some ridiculous, pathetic lunatic with vile, disgusting desires.

That's what you are. What have you got to lose? She said to herself, feeling herself start to cry again. Really, what have I got to lose? I'm already an abominable lunatic.

She struggled to get out of bed. She was clearly having trouble coordinating her movements, but she didn't care anymore. She opened the first aid kit again; there was a backup kit and the first aid kit assembled for the lord. There was the Fenote.

With unruly hands, she opened the jar of dark blue capsules and took one out to see the light. The capsule sparkled slightly. Taer always remembered that she had a Fenote in her room, and she had been tempted several times to take it again because then she felt good in the castle. She felt all-powerful, and maybe even more importantly, she understood everything then. But she always refused, fearing that it might make things worse for her psyche:

But now I have nothing to lose. She thought, chewing the capsule. Her mouth burned with a sharp, cold, incomparable taste, so strong that her cheekbones cramped slightly. Wormwood. That's what the lord used to call it.

The word seemed surprisingly appropriate to her. Nausea receded. Staring at the point, Taer chewed another capsule. The taste was so vivid that it was hard to think of anything else, like how disgusting she was. She ate another one, then another. Her cheekbones cramped, and her tongue went numb, but that didn't stop her. She ate a few more capsules, wiggling her unruly jaw with difficulty. She didn't even count them. Seven? Nine?

What is the difference?

She collapsed back onto the bed and stared at the ceiling.

Soon the trembling was gone, and most importantly, her head was filled with coolness, as if a clean, fresh wind was blowing there, strong and steady. This wind gave her strength. It filled her with clarity. It felt good. It felt very good to her. It was not high, but an incredible relief, as if there had never been any problems at all:

Finally. Taer's mental laughter shimmered in her consciousness and spilled over into real laughter. She felt all-powerful again. Crystalline, icy, ringing joy was beating within her again. Everything trembled under her gaze, the ceiling couldn't hold it, and it shook as if trying to dodge her eyes, but it couldn't. It shattered like a kaleidoscope, shattering into infinite versions of itself.

Reality is so fragile. She laughed, reveling in her strength, her understanding.

Somewhere at the very edge of the blinding icy torrent into which her consciousness had turned, she felt a tiny, frightened Taer with her tiny ridiculous problems, but she was so insignificant that she didn't want to be distracted by that little thing. After all, she didn't have any problems. The lord valued her. She could ask him for a medical leave of absence at any time and get it right away. She had a title. She had plenty of money. She had already made a career, and there was simply nowhere higher to jump. This tiny little Taer, instead of reveling in her ridiculous fears, and holding on to a place she didn't know what to do with, could have just walked away at any time. She could isolate herself from possible activations. She could hire professionals for induced reactions and start corrective therapy. She could provide herself with any medication and analyze her dreams as much as she wanted, as much Fenote as she wanted, and as much as she tried to come back to normal with the ability to return at any moment.

But it was stupid anyway. Little Taer was not the norm at all. It was obvious to her now that there was nothing to be scared of at all, that she couldn't be scared in principle:

After all, I am - the scariest beast in the woods.

She extracted herself from the bed and made her way to the bathroom. It was absolutely obvious that she was going to bleed. It wasn't clear whether she was flying or walking - the world was just moving around her.

Taer stopped at the sink. She couldn't feel it, but she could see a bright scarlet stream of blood coming out of her nose. It became clear to her:

I'm not losing my mind. I'm going back to normal. She smiled as she looked at her bloody mouth and the scarlet drops dripping from her chin. I'll be me again.

She lifted her face as if exposing it to the invisible rain. Now she would be herself:

No, not now. Here.

The ice stream that formed her consciousness came crashing down on her in a rumbling waterfall, becoming infinitely larger. She became infinitely bigger. This is me, every second of me. This is the ocean of time.

Taer knew her body was beginning to fall, for she was time, and she just wasn't up to it.

Shame. She knew the floor couldn't take the hit. It was too fragile. Everything is too fragile around me. Such a shame.

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