Chapter 52
Morning suited paperwork better than evening.
Dara had decided this with great authority after Prince Valerius stayed through dinner the night before, during which she had discussed roads, drainage, market permits, district attractions, fish, and possibly too many ideas involving rare birds.
By the time he left, even she had been forced to admit that beginning a full administrative review at night would have been foolish.
Unacceptable, obviously.
But foolish.
So now, washed, dressed, properly fed, and armed with tea, Dara entered the household records room prepared for battle.
Bernard was already there. Naturally.
He stood at the long table with several stacks of reports arranged in clean rows before him: road summaries, petition copies, district maps, market ledgers, sanitation complaints, and budget overviews.
Beside him stood a young woman Dara had never met before.
She was twenty, with dark brown hair braided neatly and pinned at the back of her head in a style too practical to be decorative but too precise to be careless.
Her face was soft and round, her complexion warm, and her brown eyes bright behind a pair of small spectacles perched neatly on her nose.
She wore an ink-blue dress with modest cuffs, a narrow belt at her waist, and a silver writing case clipped at her side like a knight’s dagger.
Promising. Very promising.
The young woman curtsied the moment Dara entered. “My lady.”
Bernard bowed. “My lady. May I present my granddaughter, Miss Elowra Holt.”
Dara looked at Elowra. Elowra looked back with polite composure—not timid, not overeager, but alert, like a person who had already mentally sorted the room into categories and found three shelves wanting.
Dara’s interest sharpened. “Miss Holt.”
“My lady.”
“I understand you recently finished your schooling and are interested in assisting Bernard.”
“Yes, my lady.”
“And civic administration?”
“Yes, my lady.”
Cai appeared upside down above the far bookcase in a shimmer of gold. “Oh,” he said. “She answers quickly.”
Dara agreed. That could be either competence or terror.
Possibly both.
“Can you read ledgers, summarize reports, and identify repeated complaints?” Dara asked.
“Yes, my lady.”
“Keep secrets?”
Elowra’s expression shifted—not much, just enough to suggest mild offense. “I am Bernard Holt’s granddaughter, my lady.”
Dara stared at her.
Then slowly smiled.
Excellent.
Bernard’s expression did not change, but Dara was almost certain he was proud.
Cai floated lower. “She passed.”
“She did,” Dara murmured.
Elowra blinked.
Dara cleared her throat. “I would like to see how you organize material.”
Elowra’s eyes brightened, only slightly, but enough. “Yes, my lady.”
Bernard gestured toward the first set of papers. “I took the liberty of arranging the reports by department.”
“I see that,” Dara said.
Elowra stepped forward with careful confidence. “I prepared secondary slips last night, my lady, in case you wished to sort by urgency instead of department.”
Dara turned to her. “You prepared what?”
Elowra reached into the writing case at her belt and withdrew a small packet of neatly cut labels tied with string.
“Urgency markers, my lady. Red for immediate public risk, amber for financial obstruction, blue for repeated petitions, green for projects with possible revenue recovery, and black for matters involving suspicious delay.”
Silence.
Dara stared.
Bernard looked faintly satisfied.
Cai floated beside Dara’s shoulder, eyes wide. “You found another one.”
Dara slowly accepted the packet. The labels were cut evenly. The ink was clean. The categories were excellent.
She looked at Elowra again. “Miss Holt.”
“Yes, my lady?”
“Are you aware that you may be terrifying?”
Elowra paused, then said with perfect seriousness, “Only administratively, my lady.”
Dara inhaled.
Oh no.
She was perfect.
Bernard 2.0 indeed.
“Good,” Dara said. “Very good.”
Elowra’s cheeks colored faintly, but her posture remained steady.
Dara moved toward the table. “Then we begin with roads and drainage. Anything involving trade routes, flooded streets, unsafe crossings, or repeat complaints should be marked first.”
“Yes, my lady.” Elowra immediately selected two labels. “Would you prefer revenue-related road repairs separated from public safety repairs, or grouped together under priority routes?”
Dara stopped again.
Bernard’s eyes gleamed.
Cai whispered, “Keep her.”
Dara did not need to be told.
“Separated,” Dara said. “But cross-referenced.”
Elowra nodded once, already writing. “Of course, my lady.”
Dara turned to Bernard. “You trained her.”
Bernard’s expression remained dignified. “She has always been diligent.”
“That was not a denial.”
“No, my lady.”
Dara almost laughed.
Almost.
Instead, she took her seat at the head of the table like a woman preparing to invade a country through its filing system.
Bernard stood to her left. Elowra took position near the reports, quill ready. Cai settled invisibly atop a stack of maps, tail flicking with interest.
Dara looked over the documents before her. Ambervale had been rotting politely for years—smiling through neglect, filing away complaints, holding meetings, delaying repairs, excusing incompetence.
Now, at last, she had authority.
She had Bernard.
She had Elowra Holt and her terrifying little labels.
Dara reached for the first report. “Let’s begin.”
Elowra opened a fresh ledger. Bernard uncapped the ink. Cai grinned.
And the first cut into Ambervale’s polite decay began with paperwork.