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Chapter 4: The Deal
Part 3
Bettine's tent wasn’t a palace, but it was worlds more luxurious than her own simple quarters and all the other ones she’d been in so far. The first thing was the air. It was cooler and perfumed with something subtle and expensive… an ashy, pleasant burnt smell that was designed to dispel odour rather than mask it. There was a soft padding on the ground, covered by a thin material, possibly cotton. Hanging sheets and large pieces of furniture carved the space into rooms. Junelight supposed half the adornments in here were stolen—she spotted some decidedly Roythan table sets, some rugs that looked Massese and some cutlery that could have passed as Iskonn. Being the boss of a head family in the lead triad of a barbarian camp had its perks, she supposed.
An aide beckoned to her from the other end of the makeshift foyer. She followed, and was led to a room with an actual staircase, heading down. They had dug a basement, or a bunker. Thick beams held back cool earth, the steps fashioned out something similar. They arrived at a bona fide door, built into a frame that was built into the dirt. The aide knocked.
From within, “Let her through.”
The aide motioned, and June went.
Bettine’s quarters were small, but plush. Stone walled and candlelit, soft pelts covered the floor and a frightening array of shiny weaponry decorated the walls. There were chests, wardrobes, and—to top it all off—a four poster bed in the corner. Had she not just strolled through a musty tent village in the depths of the wilderness, Junelight could have convinced herself she’d just stepped into an ancient wardcastle.
The Head of Spark herself stood over a massive table, which was covered in maps, tokens, goblets and various stacks of paper. She wasn’t wearing her leadership regalia—just a simple grey shift. Her hair was still an impressive mass of braids and dreadlocks, orange baubled lock draping prettily on her shoulder. The violent little blaster lay in front of her on the table.
In the low light and the strange setting, she could have passed as a Roythan heiress.
“Apparently,” she said, eyes still scanning over the table, “I wanted to see you.”
June nodded. “Time is of the essence.”
“Close the door.”
Junelight did so, careful not to turn around all the way. The door clicked shut.
“Before you tell me why you’re here,” Bettine said, “I need you to understand that I’ve earned all of this.” She gestured to the room.
“It’s… very nice.”
“It’s downright excessive, compared to how the rest of the triad exists. It’s also tradition. Do you know how powerful Bayth-blasted tradition is?”
“Where did you learn that phrase?” Junelight said, before she could stop herself.
Bettine waved the question away, and went on. “Tradition, it’s a mountain. Takes a hundred thousand seasons to raise it, but once it’s there even the sun has to climb higher to bend its rays around. A river can’t split it, and the trees can do all but decorate it.” She flicked her strand of baubles. They jangled against her upper arm.
“In the eyes of all who stand before it, the mountain is eternal,” said Bettine. “You stood before that gathering, with all those triadic heads. Percent that are female?”
“Going to guess none,” June said.
“Yet here I am. I didn’t earn this easily. Do you believe that?”
“I do.”
“Which is all to say: while I certainly respect your ability and cunning, however it is you do it with your glowing tits and flashy eyes, I am not interested in dancing politics with you, madame witch,” Bettine leaned against the table, her posture casual, her tone deadly. “If you want to leverage my influence in this part of the world, you’re going to help me steer it and not the other way around. These people respond to tradition. That’s how you’re going to get what you want. And traditionally, you request to see any Head of Spark, let alone the Head of Spark.”
June didn’t move a muscle. "I understand. I apologize. It won’t happen a second time."
"Good. Now what have you learned that is so time sensitive?"
"The group that disrupted the town activity in the north. It’s the manner in which they did it."
"This couldn't have waited for my debriefing this afternoon?"
"Unfortunately not."
Bettine huffed and dragged a chair to the table. She sat down, faced June and twirled her wrist.
Junelight let out a breath, allowed some rigidity to ease out of her body, and said, “As you know, the pyre went up on time, as planned. I felt it as though I could see it plain. Their source of power—the stone in the centre of the temple—was simultaneously strengthened and made quite vulnerable, if you know how to crack it. Problem is, the townsfolk are now more edgy and guarded than anticipated.”
“Because of whatever the Seedwind did.”
"Right. First off, the townsfolk are under the impression that there's a large Fal— that there's a large and aggressive triadic Greatsparker force somewhere north of them."
Bettine scowled and consulted her table. "And which of them went ahead and planted that little nugget?"
"The younger one, Frix is his name, I think?" said June.
"Mm. How defensive are witches under such circumstances? If you’re going to help me take this town I can’t very well do it if the mountain outpost cities start to send aid. Last thing we need is to become our own self-fulfilling prophets and initiate an actual uprising against the triads.”
“No, that’s unlikely,” said June. “The regional Wardensquads wouldn’t mobilize unless there were sustained, full scale attacks, severe loss of life, that sort of thing. These towns are too remote. But—”
“Good. Given that we have disinformation in the field, I suppose the raid was rather less than stealthy?” asked Bettine.
“This kid, Frix, made contact with one of the Roythan locals. He tricked them into sounding the alarm and lighting the pyre.”
“With the ruse about the army,” Bettine said. “Clever, I suppose, but about as crosswind to orders as one gets. Tell me he wasn’t trying to impress the shoot-lead with this madcap creativity.”
“More like improvisation, to hear him tell it. That’s the second thing. Evidently this local intercepted the Seedwind group, and not by chance. They were anticipated.” Junelight came a little closer to the big table. “And that’s what concerns me most. The Roythans acting defensively like that, probing, scouting. You should know from your history with them: they don’t think that way. They stay as close as possible to the communal stones to maintain the best defense when threatened.”
“So this is one outlier, a local with a penchant for adventure.”
“Maybe. But what if they were tipped off? Plasivé knows I’m on xer trail. Xey have known for a while. Xey could have passed through and conferred with the townspeople.”
Bettine folded her arms and breathed out through her nose, glancing again at the big table. “You think it’s likely that this… what do you call it again? Soul-something?”
“Soulcrafter,” said June.
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