- <> -

  "...and confirm the menu for the week with the kitchen, inspect the second floor, uh... What else? I suppose assigning someone to inventory the cellar storage would be a good idea, when was the last time we counted the supplies?"

  A weary face eyed the notebook with scrutinising eyes, the round glasses sitting on the tip of her nose; who else could it be? Moira was walking through the corridor of the first floor, the western wing, a shiny fountain pen with a white body in her right and a slightly worn-out notebook in her left hand. Then, she suddenly stopped as one of the floorboards beneath her feet squeaked particularly loud this time.

  "Do we have the budget to commit to some renovations? Almost the entire floor has begun to bug me out already..."

  The head maid scoffed as she used her feet to press down on each of the floorboards around her, the sounds which they made only served to produce full-fledged groans out of her mouth, the words inscripted in the nonsensical sounds a clear cover for cusses. "Old piece of firewood.” She hissed, her posture drooping ever so slightly with each squeak of the floor, “Why are we even keeping this place alive?" Moira rolled her head on her shoulders, rubbing her neck with her right hand, shuffling her way further down the corridor. Her hand still held the pen.

  She tilted her head from one side to the other, wincing each time. "It would be easier to tear this down and build a proper estate at this point...” Her fingers ran from the nape and up towards the base of the skull, which was obscured by her hair, “Even better — why don't we move everything to Kolanaren? It's much more efficient anyway." The hand gradually slid away from the neck and Moira looked at the notebook again, ready to use the pen again, though her eyes froze for a moment to examine the tip of the tool. It wasn't as clean anymore, a flew tiny drops a blemish on the metal, “...At least the Usurbruk and Shaezot Countdoms have no issues with having their administrations set up in their capitals...”

  "Guh..." Moira dropped the notebook and let it hang on the string around her neck, dabbing her fingers at the place that her right hand rubbed previously with her left, and upon repeated inspection, she saw a spot of ink on the tips of her fingers, "Goodness, I hope it's not visible." The eyebags under her eyes strained when the eyelids lifted, the expression of discomfort spreading across her face as she tried to find a place to put away the pen, for a lack of a fitting pocket on her uniform. "Erm... Uh...?" Moira looked to the thin edge of the wall panelling that was just above her hip level, so she put the rather bulky pen on the scarce area of the wooden structure.

  Afterwards, Moira took half a step from the wall and pulled out a clean, white handkerchief from the pocket of her skirt, quickly trying to remove the ink from her fingers, but not from her neck. The maid could've placed the pen on the floor, but she wouldn't want to strain her back anymore than she already did.

  The pen fell onto the floor, however, and that forced a slow turn of the head and a snap of the eyes to the floor. "Tsk..." It could've been her entire reaction, but then some of the ink oozed out of the fountain tip, and her gold eyes widened as the dark fluid left a sizable puddle right to the side of her. "For—! For-! For...!! SAKE!" Sucking her lips in to hide the profanity from whoever the bug could hear her right now.

  Moira lifted her glasses and massaged her closed eyes, such was her habit... of doing it with her left hand. As if hot coal her hand shot away from her face a mere couple of seconds later, the other hand instantly dropping the glasses that now hung by the end pieces at her ears. "Phew..." The fingers restlessly rolled, the right hand tightly grasping the handkerchief with the ring finger, Moira's breath came out in a slow drag, allowing the shoulders to slag down in an exasperated slouch.

  The maid made haste to place another tentative touch onto her eyes from left to right, a sigh of relief replacing the heavy and tiresome groans as she found no evidence of contamination on the eyelids; the ink had already dried up on her fingers.

  The ink on the floor hasn't yet dried, though. As the glasses rose back onto her nose, the new dilemma she faced flooded the relief with a new wave of annoyance.

  "It isn't even noon yet!"

  Moira would have liked to exclaim while squatting down to her knees, but making even more noise could prove counterproductive with this sullying predicament posted upfront of her. Such Moira had to resort to trilling her lips and attempting to wipe away the ink with the handkerchief to no avail, only spreading it around the boards more, unwillingly letting the wood soak up what had remained.

  With the boards deemed a lost case, the maid reached down, "I wonder if it's not broken now or something." The pen lost contact with the ground, and the hankie was now in her left hand and the pen in her right, the keen eyes examining the intricate piece for any signs of external damage, "Looks alright..." But her tone did not sound at all confident as the whisper-volume denied assurance.

  The head maid proceeded to survey the damages, her verdict being: "I don't want to bother with this anymore.” It did not take a long while of contemplation for her to turn away, “No one should suspect me if I leave now." Such, her stoic face moved away from the scene.

  The crime might've been purposely ignored, but the soaked handkerchief still had to be taken care of somehow — so she opened the last page of the notebook, spread the fabric across the paper and closed the notebook slowly, careful not to drop the pen and making sure to squeeze the thing together tightly. Moira nodded profusely as she shook and held the notebook at different angles, the hankie stayed put inside, sticking to the paper and abiding by the laws of physics.

  It was a major point that the handkerchief did not fall out once the notebook was allowed to hang from the string, too. "Now that this is taken care of, I suppose that I should move on, finally." Moira said, restarting her way through the hallway with the pen squeezed in hand.

  A door eventually made her stop, which consequently silenced the creaking that ate away at her nerves so much. With a lean and a step forward she turned the doorknob and pushed the door in, and before her mouth managed a word, it fell agape. "Goodness gracious, what is this??" Escaped her lips, the sight of piling books and endless expanse of papers crowded the rather modest space of the servant lodging.

  Her voice could only be described as a mix of awe, trepidation and mild terror. "Is she even inside here?" Moira took a few steps in, looking down and around from wall to wall. The books were many, and so were the maid's thoughts:

  “Do we even have that many books in the library?”

  Moira scoffed to herself, it was a stupid question to ask.

  “Of course we do have that many, that place has two floors, obviously there are a ton of books there...”

  With that said, her brows did not lower a bit as she observed the area more and more.

  “Still, how long would it take for a single person to haul that amount of books alone?”

  Carefully passing through the short towers of books, she made sure not to hit any of them accidentally, leaning from side to side, the single room accommodation felt like some sort of chamber with the only source of lighting being the partially revealed window, the rest of it covered by the curtain. To the right there was the bed, the sheets not quite carefully pulled over it, and to the left of the window was a wardrobe, in front of it the smaller kind of work desk with a chair adjacent to it. Overall not a classy arrangement.

  The maid picked up one of the books, the title was quite straight forward: "Necessary and Important Etiquette?" Was noted verbally, and the book flipped open to reveal the publisher and the address of the publishing house, "The Commonwealth?” Moira shuddered a fraction, “Geez, if it's those snobs making these books, then the contents are strict no doubt.” She closed the book, placed it where she took it from and went over to the table, where Sobrana herself was sitting. Though, it would be better described as lying face first on an open book, as her arms were not even in place to support her face, just hanging to the sides.

  Moira carefully pulled out the book from under her sister's face, and set the pen she held this entire time next to the book, contents of which she did not care enough to check. "I think you'll need this more than I..." Her voice was gentle as she spoke, the now free right hand patting the head of the sniffling Sobrana, whose nose was squished between the table and her head. The passed out young lady was still dressed in her uniform, the shoulders heaving up and down with laboured intensity, as the deviated nose restricted her well enough.

  "I hope it isn't actually broken."

  In turn, Moira's thoughts were anything but gentle. "Well, let's get you to bed before you catch a cold." The head maid awkwardly reached around her sister's body, the backrest a significant obstruction.

  In this uncomfortable position, Moira tightly hugged Sobrana and with considerable effort pulled herself back, feeling something in the overworked joints, stopping barely before the limp body managed to slide off the table and onto the floor. "Ugh..." With a grunt, she stopped, pulling back and setting her sister back into place, or at least Moira attempted to push her in a more comfortable position.

  The maid’s expression turned morbid, the bleak sentiment slipping past the lips. "Since when was I this weak?" Arms were stretched to the sides at that moment, and afterwards, the spine slowly twisted to the right. At one point, a collection of audible, deep cracking noises permeated through the room, and that made Moira freeze in place, but gradually she twisted her spine back the other away until the same cracking didn't fill her ears.

  The older sister leaned forward, supporting herself by pushing into the knees. "I suspect that you just gained a little weight, that's all." A sort of excuse got mumbled, aimed at the sleeping figure with a dreary tone, "You ought to exercise sometimes, you can't let your body deteriorate at such a young age..." Moira walked around the chair and towards the window, aiming to close it.

  She pulled aside the blank curtains and checked out the books that prevented the window from swinging open. A flush of rosy colour rose up her cheeks and she scrambled to close the window, the handle turned swiftly and the maid closed the curtains fully. "You can't be having those kinds of books on display!" She whisper-shouted as the feet shuffled to get closer to the exit, "Did I just confess to reading that book?!" Such Moira pressed her hands against her temples, as the title of the book itself was inconspicuous; the sleeping one was still out cold, and so the embarrassment was provoked from rising memories, it would appear, "Why did I say tha—?!"

  The young woman didn't notice the tower of books she was walking towards, and so she had tripped and pushed it over, the clutter followed her descent and slightly cushioned the clumsy fall that didn't include the hands for protection, "GUOH!!" A loud exclamation ruffled the air, and it even made some dust blow up into the air.

  “Why do we even have these damn books in the library? What if the young ladies find those?”

  The sudden crash offset the previous topic away from Moira’s mind, and the same could be addressed towards the barely-blush that was a visage to her face previously. Hasty to stand up, the maid pushed herself up from the floor with her hands and examined the notebook for any signs of damage, but there weren't any, thankfully. Her right hand then let go of the notebook, the string around the neck strained again, and the fingers palpated her lower back through the multiple layers of fabric, "Did I pop my back? Doesn't hurt as much now." A silent grumble and Moira's face was now away from the floor, the gold eyes daring not to look at the mess, a single quiet remark suite to the departure: "Clean that up yourself, damn you and your books, you hear?!" That was borderline silent.

  All the while Sobrana still slept, the door closed, and the morning of the day off that the more curious little sister had turned out to be eventful. but not for her, apparently.

  Someone particular sat on a chair made of polished metal and soft cushions. She indulged in small chocolate pyramids with intricate designs molded into their surface, her pale face and round glasses — which had a thread come around her neck — were both engrossed into a book written in words made up using an unfamiliar alphabet. The murkish grey eyes of the woman blinked twice, and the metal forceps that she used to pick up the chocolate pieces drifted towards her mouth, the hands covered by gloves a tone lighter than the very chocolate that now went past her lips. A waistcoat around her torso was made of the same exquisite fabric as the gloves, although thicker. Posh frills cascaded down from her neck and to her chest, the moderately puffed sleeves the colour of white, as is the frilled collar. One leg was over the other under the long pleated skirt, and her silver hair was put into a high ponytail.

  Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on the original website.

  "So, Countess Usurbruk." Her guest was none other than the plump and kind-faced Count Domialle, a thick dark-brown mustache and a silly hat with quite a wide brim and a few pretty feathers stuck up from it sat across the round table, his round nose dipping down slightly as he gazed at the forceps that transported the chocolate to Faleya's mouth in a continuous stream. Soon, Domialle cleared his throat and inquisitively asked: "How was the king's reaction to your little charms?" His tone came out sounding of unmasked curiosity.

  Faleya didn't glance a single eye away from the book, several pairs of which also resided on the table beside the bowl, labeled in the identical unfamiliar script. "Did you perhaps employ a slura this time?" Faleya almost fell off her chair, recoiling back from her exaggerated perplexion, "How preposterous of you, Toyran-se, sir.” She shook her head in condemnation, “As if I'd waste time and effort to use a slura on some withering old guy! A jonruc is more than enough for an old goofball like Wasuen." That statement was followed by a scoff and a slap of a book being shut. Sir Domialle, on the other hand, did not seem to share the same sentiment as the Countess, "Now that is quite rude to make such remarks about our new ally." The plump Count crossed his arms over his chest and leaned his head back, the feathers of the hat swishing lightly.

  With a skew of her brow, she carried on to judge: "Oh spare me this infantility — I'd rather split my tongue than call a royal my ally. At the very best, that continental is now a lucky convenience." Faleya now lifted her eyes, staring up at the silly display of clothing, flicking her left wrist to the side as she leaned onto the table, a smirk sparking up on her face and brows coming together in her landmark cockiness, "But besides that, I suppose that you are freshly come from the Commonwealth?" A deep and slow laugh played behind Domialle's downwards smile and he placed a hand on his heart, "I believe that it is quite noticeable, isn’t it? A fine addition to my collection. Such amazing products have surfaced lately on the hats market in Hapios." Faleya also chuckled, reaching her right hand with the forceps towards the bowl of chocolate. It used to be full, but not anymore.

  "Hapios..." She laid a chocolate pyramid into her mouth and chewed it thoroughly before speaking again, "I'd bet a few dozen that you've met with Dan'el and got made a clown again, how else could you buy something so ridiculous?" Toyran-se was not once pleased by such sudden — not — change of tone in the Countess's voice. That remark made him raise the pitch of his own voice, "Oh well, the only thing ridiculous here is your consumption of delights.” Now it was him who gesticulated his distaste in broad motions, “I have brought them as a gift, but in no way would that mean that a lady of your stature should indulge so thoughtlessly, think of your figure."

  The Countess raised both her brows in response and slightly lowered her head, the dome bobbing slowly as her eyes looked around the room, eventually coming to meet the Count's again. "I only see two people in this room, and only one who would benefit from laying off delicacies." Toyran-se closed his eyes and sighed, lowering his hands to his stomach. He bit the inside of his lip and prepared to talk, "I..." — "Walked right into that yourself, I know, you do that often."

  Faleya straightened out and left the forceps on the table, throwing her arms up to the sides, shrugging slightly but speaking nonetheless. "But that is not what we should be talking about. What did you come here for? I suppose I know the reason already, but let's get to the actual topic quicker.” With a brief pause, she provided an addition to her previous words, “The details of the expedition itself are best sought after with Yeterikon." Domialle cleared his throat and opened his eyes, "Of course." The Count took off his silly hat and set it aside on the table, revealing a rather neat short set of dark-brown hair, speaking while rubbing his hands together, the eyes were lowered with a calm expression. "There is no better place to discuss diplomacy and trade than the Usurbruk Countdom."

  Faleya raised her chin, "Ahh, so you are here to be useful!" The Countess pinched her index fingers and thumbs together, squeezing her eyes shut and rhythmically pumping her hands back and forth, "Simply spectacular, oh how I longed for times where people come to me and actually do something themselves..." Toyran-se ignored the little display and allowed Faleya to return to her more poised self, which happened rather quickly. "Otherwise, I had already thought of contacting you, since we need as many levers to this game as we can get, that means activating even some of the unexpected pawns." The Count leaned forward in the chair, "I am pleased to hear that the Domialle Countdom has been included in your schemes, but you cannot be implying that Zatlanem and Nukaten will be involved much more then they are now." The Countess only shook her head, "Even the cowardly filth from Zatlanem will have to be of use in some way. In such precarious situations I'll find a way to employ most of what we have, because it can only get worse." Elsewise of the Count, the Countess eased in her seat instead, "To make it less worse, I will take all the appropriate steps of mitigation. I'll even make peace with the RCBSK, I've made an appointment with the brat next week."

  "Ho-hooooo..." He was surprised to say the least, "For you to take a backstep at the Central bank, how unexpected." Faleya, however, steeled the same expression as before, “Count, sir...” She pointed at him subtly, "You are a fool, you see? Not an idiot — an idiot is a manner to describe someone like Baron Zatlanem, someone challenged intellectually. A fool is a trait of character..." Now she took a chocolate with her hand, "And I am neither, that is why I know when is the time to swallow my pride and actually do shit, whereas a fool like you would be too busy getting offended." The Count furrowed his brows, then lifted them in understanding only to furrow them again, "..." Faleya kept quiet and waited until Toyran-se returned from wander, "That is how it is, adaptation is key. Why do you think the previous Monarch got murked?"

  She shrugged and took another chocolate, "Stagnation and oppression, that's how you get yourself killed. All it takes is for one influential person to turn on you and boom! Gone and done." Faleya looked aside, "That is also why we should try to be different from the way the royalty ruled, at least look like we do. I am versed in that well, and for the past three years, I guess everyone is managing just fine as well.” She couldn’t help but add a witty “I hope.” Afterwards, and then carried on as if no comments were made, “Worries of collapse should never leave your head, though." Her right tentatively began to reach towards the forceps again, "Not you, not anyone else. If we were to sleep on our job, we would get mauled like a chicken in a pig pen, that is why I prefer the position of a crow instead." Toyran-se's expression sulked just enough to notice, and he squeezed his left hand multiple times.

  Domialle looked up, agreeably replying. "I see your point, It won't be something hard to accomplish." Once a more easy eye contact was established, Faleya pulled her smirk back up propping her head up with her left hand, "Shall we converse about the possible application of Domialle Countdom's efforts to the common cause?" She didn't let the Count answer that question, instead she herself started to list things off: "What I will propose: Chocolate, wine, artisan products, anything to curl the toes of the rich and wasteful would do. In those aspects you precede me in experience by a large margin, I hope I will be able to find proper products to flatter actually indulgent minds, how does that sound to you?"

  It indeed sounded more like directions than an inquiry, coming from her even more so. Nevertheless Toyran-se had not been deterred by the apparent rudeness, finally speaking once the Countess herself slowed to a halt, "It would make sense to cater to the richer echelons, I would not mind diverting a part of the internal market for such a cause." The Countess waved her right hand to the side, "We don't need anything luxurious now, and won't need it for the foreseeable future: it is best that we convert the useless into useful.” Faleya then resumed her hand’s approach towards the forceps, but decided on postponing it as more words came out of her mouth, “I'll leave it to you to establish formal trade contact with the Rannette kingdom once we get the change, but before then, please create a comprehensive list of produce you'd think would be great for export. Additionally it would not hurt to collect samples of the continental products to see how our competition will be, better start expensive and regulate our way down to see how it goes."

  The Count did not need a long time to consider, given how he had turned to reply right away. "Consider it done, our collections have no equals, I doubt the continent has better quality in any of our accommodated categories!" Faleya shrugged her shoulders and leaned onto the table again, "The south island had far better products than Domialle, yours were just cheaper." The Count's eyes rolled back for a moment before he gently flinched forward and exhaled quickly, "I see." He said while nodding quickly. Faleya continued to speak her mind without losing her mark, however, "The issues I'll have to bring up with the Central bank are a whole nother beast... Embargo on gold and magical equipment would be mandatory in our case.” The Countess tapped on the table with her finger, though it swiftly transpired into winded rolls of all her digits, “Then we have to collect the old ships from around the coalition, repair some of the ones already in the docks. If all goes well we might have a viable trade fleet in a month or two. All hope is that we don't get a surprise visit from the continentals." Toyran-se nodded at the words about the ships, but hummed to the words about the possible surprise visit, "What makes you think that the kingdom would come to do a visit in such a manner?"

  Countess Usurbruk pondered a little bit about the topic. "I would not bet on them doing a surprise visit like we did, it is plain rude. But a quick delegation could be sent to us as courtesy.” Pulling back from her finger rolls and rubbing her chin, “I don't know their diplomatic customs, but a mutual connection via envoys in the least would be a logical conclusion. Otherwise, they should notify us before they depart in order to give us time to prepare. It is important that they do it later than sooner." In thought, the Count raised the silly hat back to his head, "Then it is best to convene with Marpha in this regard." Faleya freed up her hands upon hearing this proposition, "I have already spoken to her about this, she began fabricating possible plans of action even before we left the island."

  Toyran-se pulled at his mustache, "That is suited for her nature, likely Marpha's ideas will bear fruit just as many of her schemes did before." Faleya had not expressed scepticism in the usual cocky manner, perhaps it was clear acknowledgement of the Duchess's ability to organise. The smirk had not waned, but to argue the Countess had now no reason. "That would be obvious, Yeterikon's efforts are the reason behind Ranesairan's stability.” Now she stuffed a chocolate pyramid into her mouth, disregarding the forceps altogether, “What's left to us is maintaining that stability and maybe trying to get some of our needs met." The Count groaned quietly as he leaned over the table, extending his hand forward, "That is how it should be, let us part for the day." The Countess responded in kind, standing up and extending her own hand to shake the plump man's. "That concludes your visit, Count Domialle, I am hoping to see you well and healthy wherever we might stumble upon each other again."

  As the wide form pulled away from the table and made its way towards the door, the one which was located opposite of where the Countess sat, leaving the scene entirely. Once Toyran-se left, quiet and calm came awash what was actually a parlor this whole time — the one on top of the Erteri city administration, the shape of a half circle with an open view of the city itself, the building multiple floors higher than all surrounding it. Faleya put another chocolate into her mouth without using the forceps, and soon she discarded her gloves onto the table, silently looking out at the brick structures far beyond the guard rails of the parlor, some plants growing by the metal railing providing a lively feeling with the trimmed ivy a lush display of greenery in the otherwise harsh mix of soft pastels of Erteri.

  The Countess leisurely leaned back in the chair, her neck bending back with her head over the backrest of the chair, her eyes closing quickly and the sounds of carriages, people walking and talking filled the vicinity in a pleasant ambient cacophony. She sighed deeply...

  ...The sigh swiftly turned into a groan, her eyes squeezing hard as her arms dripped down to the sides.

  "Uuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuugh..."

  "I fucking HATE this shit..." Her face contorted into various kinds of distressed caricatures, the groans gradually shifting into tearless crying with the arms rising, the hands shaking profusely with trembling fingers, "Uwaaaaaaaaaaaah! Ughaaaaaaaa!! GAAAAAAAAAAAH!!!" Faleya threw up her hands, freezing for a moment to catch her breath, as the screams were not at all made with the thought of her vocal well-being in mind. Faleya’s body swung to the side and she stood up, taking a step away from the table in a stumble, curling her fingers while trying to pull apart an invisible orb of pure anger in front of her face, the lower lip locked between her teeth in a straining bite, the face a sneering parody. The sounds emanating from the Countess could only be described as a whistling kettle, until it turned to a ratcheting "Kakakakakakakakakakakaka...!" but soon her fingers clapped together, and not the hands.

  "What am I supposed to dooooooooaaaaAAAAAAAAAAAAH??" An emotional exclamation escaped the worrisome mouth, the two hands stuck to the head above the forehead, pulling down on the hair without clawing them out. Another straining groan, like a wooden chair being pulled across a wooden floor, came afterwards, accompanied by a different kind of sound: "EEEEkhekhe... iminibahanibuubbaborubrbimmaimiiAAHAAAAAAAAAAH! I FUCKING HATE IT!!! I HATE THIS ISLAAAAAAND!!! I HATE THE CONTINENT!!!" Faleya screamed, her hands rubbing her face violently for a good while as nonsense continuously was procured from her maw, “WHAT AM I SUPPOSED TO DO??!”

  The Countess squatted down, covering her face fully with her hands, taking deep but shallow sounding breaths while also swallowing a few times, "...I don't wanna be here anymoooooooooor...!" A raspy inhale marked another tearless, singular cry, "But I can't leeeeaaaaaveeeeee...!" At last, a shake of the head, and the arms dropped again as the countess moaned deathly, "Nowhere to goooo... Nowhere to hiiiide... Allwhere I goooo... Always I found~"

  It took her another minute of quiet breathing to stand up and go over to the door on the opposite side of the exit that Count Domialle took. There was a long string coming from a small pipe to the side and above the door. Faleya pulled the string many times, and barely audible sounds of multiple bells and shuffling, even stomping feet clearly ascended the stairs, trying to reach the top in a frenzy.

  The Countess did not want to wait right now, no, and so she didn't, voicing a request with painfully hoarse sounding shouts:

  "PREPARE ME A HOT BAAAATH! NOW!!!"

  - <> -