9. Things Get Complicated
Things Get Complicated
Timeline: Forty-five hours after the Spousal Audit
Ke?lhem
Two days later, the legal bundle from Tower Hall arrived via special magical pigeon.
Clack-clack-clack. The bird tapped its beak on our window, alerting us to the delivery as we readied to leave for the market that morning.
Inside the postal pouch rested three parchments—one bearing a couple of ink stamps, a thick wax seal and an elaborate, illegible signature.
A complete overkill in terms of officiality.
Since the interview, Elian had existed in a state of heightened nervousness.
Left to his own devices, he would have skipped proper meals, surviving on steady rations of sweet scones and cakes.
Despite his spiked sugar cravings, I took it as a personal challenge to get some hot soup into him at least once a day. His stress diet made my teeth hurt.
“You read it,” he said, his hands shaking as he thrust the paper towards me. “I dare not look.”
I nodded and scanned the text, pleased to put my newly acquired literacy skills to the test. The neatness of Cholerius’ handwriting made that task all the easier.
“How about that? Ninety points. A resounding victory. We’ve passed, as I said we would.
” I smiled, glancing down at him. “Well done, pumpkin.”
“You will never let that go, will you?” he groaned, his high cheekbones flushing pink. I found that mortification looked very fetching on him.
I couldn’t help but scoop him up in my arms to console him, pressing him against the edge of the kitchen table to treat him to a little bit of tongue work and groping until his sulking melted into soft, breathless sighs—sounds highly corruptive to my composure.
Alas, the time didn’t allow us the chance to take it where we wanted it to go.
“What are those two other parchments?” Elian asked several minutes later, his voice still a little husky as he smoothed down his crumpled robe.
Settie had recently enlightened me that the specific shade of the garments he favoured was called teal.
The colour suited Elian perfectly, bringing out the delicate pallor of his skin, his black hair, and his dark, angular eyes, framed with curtains of lashes.
Who knew I’d ever find myself caring about, or even noticing, something as frivolous as a nuance of colour?
Two weeks prior, I wouldn't have given a damn.
I picked up the additional sheets to give them a quick scan. “My residency permit. And my contract as Chief of Marketplace Security.” I shrugged, though a slow grin pulled at my mouth. “Ha. Seems I am officially a citizen of Everend with an honest job besides.”
Elian stilled, his expression growing into something sober. “Congratulations, Chief Renyés.” He hugged me, a glimmer in his eyes. He tilted his head, testing the words aloud. “Chief Renyés. That has a very respectable ring to it.”
I snorted, but deep inside, a strange wave of warmth caught me off guard.
The sensation felt oddly similar to the day I’d received my promotion to lieutenant—the first major milestone of my military career, the turning point that had once meant everything to me.
Back then, I had considered a sabre in my hand and an army uniform on my back the only things that could ever give my life meaning.
Yet here I stood, stunned to realise an appointment as a glorified watchman at what could be described as a massive, pastel-coloured funfair excited me just as much as receiving the command of the High Vanguard.
Commander Renyés—once a renowned strategist, the brightest tactical mind of his era, as they said—now reduced to policing candyfloss queues and runaway magical anvils.
It was absurd, but I had never felt happier and more settled.
“Let’s celebrate,” Elian declared, his anxiety evaporating as he grabbed his satchel and slung it across his shoulder. “How about stopping at Aisling’s stall for breakfast? I’ll treat you to some of those wild mushroom pies you like.”
“Mmm, you’d better,” I said, laying the documents on the table. “I still don't have a single piece of silver to my name.”
I paused by the door as the ridiculousness of the situation finally caught up to me. I erupted into a deep belly laugh.
Startled, Elian blinked and paused, his eyes growing wide as though he’d been captivated by the sound. “Goddess, I think this is the first time I've ever heard you laugh out loud. Properly, I mean. But whatever is the matter?”
“I’ve just realised,” I said, shaking my head as I ushered him out into the morning sun, “I’m about to accept a binding municipal contract without even asking what it pays.”
Elian
It came to me later that night.
Without warning, like a sudden blow to my temple.
The calculations manifested in my mind—unequivocal, definite, clear.
It all clicked with perfect sense. The structural framework for the spell.
The exact mix of the resin compounds. The right saturation of colours for the crystalline tip.
And the perfect timber to support the required burning time. How could I have not seen it before?
I had no doubts—I knew the blueprint was right. I just knew it would work.
By the time it took Kill’em and Settie to complete a single evening game of Warlords of the Alghatran, I’d finished making the entire prototype of the Match of Interdimensional Return.
I studied it as it lay pristine on my workshop counter. I stared at it for a long time until my vision blurred. Or perhaps I’d just had a cry but didn’t want to admit it. My thoughts wandered into the void, a stone in my stomach.
Then, having found a fresh friction strip to go with it–definitely not skipping that step this time–I placed both items inside the satin-lined golden box I used on occasion for luxuries, top-tier matchsticks or custom-made talismans.
Finally, I hid the box on the highest shelf underneath the lavender canopy and didn’t tell a soul.