Arthurian Cultivation

“Leave us, you feckless cur, and correct whatever tragic accident has befallen your wardrobe. Once you're properly attired, I expect you to head off and remind your uncle to treat his wife well and not use his nephew to wheedle attention from an old flame. Losing one of my girls to his charms was insult enough. A lack of commitment to his theft would be... unforgivable.” An older white-haired woman had appeared just behind his seat. Her voice was raspy and deep. She wore a fine peach overcoat and smelt of rare perfume.

The small figure had slipped in, ignoring every rune and all their senses. It was as if she’d always been there. Maeve would’ve demanded an explanation if not for the pressure she exuded. It was like her grandmother's power. Maeve was pinned in place by the weight of it, the spectator's box walls pressing in on them.

It was the Evil Eye, but without the rending talons of will that marked lesser cultivators' attempts. This technique impressed but one thing, the gulf in power. She was but a pebble before a mountain, and the mountain was watching her.

“-erk-” was all Tristan could manage, his face turning as purple as his shorts as the full pressure landed on him.

“Good, you understand. Now piss off.” The man launched himself from the room as the pressure eased. He careened down the hall, bouncing off walls in his haste. The terror in the peach coat paused and then called after him. “Also, if I find you near one of my girls, I’ll erase you from existence.”

“The best part is he doesn’t even know who my girls are,” she said with a throaty chuckle. “A poor introduction, but he looks just like his uncle, and I do rather loathe that man.” The woman sat and ate a pastry, the pressure receding. Rensliegh and Maeve shared a look. Some ancient monster had strolled into their midst, and they were at her mercy.

“Elaine, I expect you to have better judgement than ogling that man,” she admonished while pointing a cream puff at their surprisingly composed hostess.

“Please don’t jest. I have Ban. The cocky knave had a face that reminded me of someone else. Please let me introduce you. Lady Maeve, Madame Rensleigh, allow me to introduce Elder Nimue.”

“I’ve told you before, Elaine. Given you have agreed to aid my Coven, it's Miss Peaches. You, Madame, also have special permission to address me as such. If memory serves, you’re the reason that old scoundrel of an Artoss has a scar marring that perfect face he’s so proud of.”

“I did not realise that the wound lasted, but I am pleased to hear it did so, Miss Peaches.” Rensliegh was composed, signalling that they were safe. Maeve filed that bit of gossip away for later. She’d prod her governess about that when there wasn’t a wrinkly apocalypse right next to her.

“And me, Elder Nimue?” Maeve dared to ask. The little old woman reminded her uncomfortably of her grandmother. If she was like Gran, leaving Maeve out was an invitation to ask a question.

“Oh, that’s right. I suppose I did ask Little Morgs to keep quiet about it. I’m her cousin, so I think Auntie works best.” She pulled out a pipe and calmly began to pack it with tobacco, acting as if she’d not dropped hidden knowledge about cataclysmically powerful beings upon them.

Rensliegh closed her eyes, cycling through memories. Elaine focused her entire soul on a single pastry, clearly fighting not to react even as her glamour roiled. The honey coating on the puff pastry was already turning green and beginning to bubble.

“Oh, what a pleasant surprise. It is a pleasure to meet you, Auntie.” Maeve felt part of her soul trying to escape even as she pushed on through. It wasn’t so much being related to yet another ancient monster, it was the nickname. Why did the achingly powerful cultivators insist on her using nicknames?

“I’ve heard a little about you, Miss Peaches." Rensliegh said as she poured herself some tea, "Matriarch Chox hadn’t mentioned you were in the area, otherwise we’d have greeted you properly.”

“I prefer my privacy. She has a tendency to fuss, and we have differences of opinion. Like you, girl, what did she do to your body refinement? It's a lopsided mess. Come, sit down and let me look it over. Hmmm, that fellow may have been a waste of space, but at least he made this seat big enough for two. Niece of mine, come sit here. You, Rensliegh, sit down and stop hovering like a hawk.” The room shuffled around, their discussion briefly interrupted as Miss Peaches prodded Maeve a few times while sweeping her with glamour.

“We will talk about your body refinement later when there are not more pressing matters. It seems we have two problems. First, there are some vermin around. While I itch to wipe them away, I must not bring too much attention to myself here. So I will support this extermination, but only as an Elder Witch.”

“Your help as an Elder Witch, I’m sure, shall be plenty, Miss Peaches.” Lady Elaine nodded. She was still holding the pastry that had been struck by her poison glamour. The honey glowed with an unnatural green light, and the artful curls were shot through with inky black lines. Noticing the room's attention on it, she delicately placed it into a storage ring. Maeve reminded herself never to get on the wrong side of Elaine Fos.

“Do you mind me asking why, Auntie?” Maeve had finally got her ‘speaking to gran’ brain engaged. While asking this of someone so far above her in power could be courting suicide, she was confident it wasn’t going to be an issue. Her grandmother had once confided that she liked being asked questions, it gave her of an easy opportunity to brag.

“Oh, simple. I want to train up some competent apprentices. If I try to do it in my Coven, all I do is create a generation of grudges between those who get my attention and those that didn’t. I don’t want them finding out I’m here. If they do it will just fill my girls' heads with nonsense.” Miss Peaches grouched. Maeve winced. The way the woman said ‘my coven’ was not with the warm sense of belonging to a greater whole. It was a hard statement of ownership.

“They seem to think I only ever pick ‘geniuses’. Total hogwash. Give me average, hard-working girls every time over a genius. On that, I trust you and what was it? The Jackdaws? Can muddy the waters and keep my involvement here quiet?” She turned to Rensliegh.

“Of course, Miss Peaches, the Magpies would be happy to aid you.” Rensliegh was holding up well. She’d even risked correcting the name. Maeve knew that most would’ve just ignored it, and it seemed her ‘Auntie’ was of the same opinion. She nodded imperceptibly, undoubtedly happy to see some backbone.

“The majority of their power is focused in the Order of the Crystal Mountain, and Lord Roland’s stupid mansion.” There was a hint of a grin peeking round her pipe as she spoke. Maeve recognised the setup.

“What makes his mansion particularly stupid?”

“It’s on the edge of a bloody cliff. Shouldn’t be too hard to knock the damn thing off. Defensive runes won’t keep it up if there’s nothing below it.” The small grin her ‘Auntie’ now wore was an exact match to the same one her grandmother sometimes sported. Gran called it her 'problem-solving smile', the House Elder's knew it as 'the smile of impending overtime'. Elaine was going pale, and seemed to be whispering an apology to her husband.

“I can tell you’re related to Gran. What was the second problem?” Maeve asked as she had another pastry. They really were very good.

“Yes, it’s to do with that damp old biddy having her claws in this whole mess.” Maeve and Rensliegh blinked, unsure of whom she meant, but Elaine began to choke on her tea. A feat normally impossible for a Steel rank, given they barely had to breathe. Rensliegh patted the struggling woman on the back as Maeve untangled the message. Then the horror set in.

“Please, tell me you don’t mean the fae I think you mean?” Maeve asked, knowing full well the answer.

“You Knightly types always get your tabards in a twist whenever she’s mentioned. She’s not a goddess, and she has a pretty good sense of humour. Now, you two have had a light touch of her attention, I can tell, but you’re different, girl. You’re soaked in her magic. What happened?”

“If I’m honest, I fell in a lake. Not ‘the lake,’ you understand. The man who saved me was taken by her. That’s as close as I’ve come as far as I’m aware.” Maeve's skin prickled. She knew Gran had said she was mixed up in this, but to have such blatant confirmation...

“You’ve been looking for him, haven’t you? Morgs must’ve put you up to it. I assume it’s not just so you can say thanks?”

“No, well yes. Look, it’s complicated. At the time, I thought he was a Harkley. I was meant to marry him, but it was a trap. He spots this and jumps out a window. I almost ran him down and then I fell through some ice. He saves me, and the last I see of him is blood pouring out of his eyes, saying he’s off to die. Then he tells me he was never a Harkley and is leaving us a dossier of information. Info that even my grandmother was impressed by. Then she tells me he’s somehow not dead and the Lady has nabbed him. I've been looking for him since, he is smoke-gifted and—”

“Oh, that wily little shit,” Miss Peaches cursed round her pipe.

“What the Unseelie fuck!” Elaine’s muttered curse joined Miss Peaches. Both women paused, sat up straight, and then pretended nothing had happened.

“You both know something, don’t you? He's this Taliesin fellow isn't he?” Maeve asked. Neither reacted, both focused on their tea. She didn’t even bother with Miss Peaches, instead focusing on the weaker option, staring holes into Elaine. Finally, the old witch sighed.

“Spare Elaine. If what I suspect is true, she would be risking undue attention by saying anything more. I am older and can’t be pushed around so easily by the strings of fate. Taliesin is most likely the one you seek. You may be doused with the scent of her magic. That boy though—" She puffed heavily on her pipe.

"That boy had the water running through his very soul. This is the core of why us witches don’t trust her like you Knights, I'd hoped Morgs knew better. She toys with people, taking the best we humans have to offer and making them her playthings. You should leave him to whatever fate she has planned for him, but I doubt you will.” The woman sank into her peach coat, deep in thought.

“I don’t know what to do. I can’t help but feel I forced this upon him somehow. If I’d just let him escape, perhaps none of this would’ve happened. He even helped me break through a bottleneck. There’s a debt that demands my attention.” Maeve deflated. She had duty, honour, and Gran on one side and the advice of an equally powerful old monster on the other.

"I don't think I could stand just leaving him to his fate. To not even try and repay the debt. It's like a rasp across my blade." Maeve whispered.

“Like I said, she takes the best of us.” The old woman patted Maeve’s wrist. As she said that, Elaine moved to speak, but Miss Peaches stopped her gently. “Don’t worry about your daughter. I won’t say why, but she’ll be protected from the worst of it.”

They all sat in silence for a minute or so, consumed in their thoughts. Maeve had hundreds of questions, not least about whatever was going on with Lancelot Fos. She had fought Lancelot on a few occasions and had actually lost to her once when she’d used a staff. The Squire was technically brilliant, and while they’d shared only a few words, it had been enough to know she was a worthy successor to her parents.

Maeve felt the weight of an insurmountable problem press down. This was something her grandmother couldn’t help her with, a challenge that could crush her if she approached it wrong. It reminded her of the dark days of her bottleneck. Looking for a way out of the crushing pressure, she ran through their conversation. She didn’t find a solution but did find an oddity.

“Auntie, you seem to think quite highly of Taliesin, so why did you call him a ‘wily little shit’?” Maeve had found that puzzling.

“Well, that’s because somehow I keep owing him something. First, he helps save an apprentice of mine, then he reveals the rats to us, and now I find out he’s saved and aided my kin. The worst thing about it is he isn’t even trying to build up a debt between us. I’d call it a ploy by that watery tart, but she didn’t even have her hooks in him if you’re to be believed.” Miss Peaches thumped the table in anger, as both Rensliegh and Elaine began to choke on their tea. “Oh, do get over it, the pair of you.”

Maeve felt a rush of warmth, the weight that pressed down on her shifting. She felt like she had a grip on it. It was heavy, but there was a chance. She just needed to seize it. “Does that mean you’ll help?”

“Well…I admit training the apprentices, while important, has been a bit boring. And if both myself and Morgs put our minds to it, we might be able to work something out. She’ll feel this debt just as I will.” The old woman puffed on her pipe, acting like she was carefully assessing the risk. It was a lie, Maeve could see it. She had seen it all before. She wanted an excuse, a reason to get involved. Now it was time to test just how similar she was to Gran.

“Please, Auntie, can you help?” The voice and pitch were important. Not whiny or cutesy. It had to be said with just the right level of conviction, letting them know you were strong enough to accept a no but that it would devastate you. That was the voice Maeve had honed over many years.

“Yes, yes, fine. It’s my cursed debt anyway. I’d get to it without you interfering. If I do this, you’ll need to be careful. You can’t just run off after him. I’ll need to speak with Morgs.” She kept muttering to herself, and Maeve couldn’t hide her grin. Miss Peaches turned to look her over. “What matters now is we keep things small scale. The wider this spreads, the bigger the problem will be.”

“Ah, that may be a problem. I originally thought this was good news.”

“Elaine?”

“So Lancelot and Taliesin are likely heading off to recruit a giant spirit bear and save the missing prince of Albion from a fae realm.” The other three women turned to goggle at their host. Lady Elaine had been pushed far this last hour and rose to her full matronly power. “Don’t you dare look at me like that! I wanted to bring this up first, but I've not had the chance with all this talk of Fae and the secrets of my Liege."

She huffed to herself, "Honestly, I really thought finding a long-lost spirit bear would’ve been the biggest surprise of this conversation.”