Sexy Steampunk Babes

William certainly didn’t remember a dining table being present the last time he was in Griffith’s office.

Hell, how did they even get it through the door? He thought idly as he reached for a buttered scone.

As he did, his eyes briefly passed over the third member of their little post-match meeting.

Griffith was staring at him, as she’d been doing from the moment he’d been escorted in here. Her eyes peered at him like he was some kind of puzzle she couldn’t quite put together.

Which, while understandable, was more than a little eerie.

Still, that was at least a step up from the other person at the table.

Queen Yelena Lindholm was looking at him like a particularly juicy cut of meat. Which he supposed was also understandable, given that he’d effectively just saved her nation from a rather messy civil war.

For a time at least…

The loss of him and the Summerfield duchy by proxy was a rather large setback to the Blackstone’s plans for an easy coup, but they weren’t quite a deathblow.

Access to the Summerfield duchy would have simply made it a sure thing. Now the results of such a conflict were more… hazy.

“How long do you think I’ve managed to buy us?” he asked casually.

Griffith twitched at the casualness of his words, but in his defence, there was a reason this particular meeting was being kept under wraps. It allowed him a certain sort of glibness he’d never be allowed in a more public venue.

This was a negotiation after all.

Certainly, Yelena could have picked a more public venue to browbeat him into accepting her demands without too much trouble – but that would be a short term victory for her, one that would sour their relationship beyond repair.

And given that the woman had just been given a front row seat to watch what happened to those who tried to force him into arrangements he didn’t much care for...

No, this was about as close to a negotiation of equals as the two could possibly have.

The queen’s smile was all teeth. “A few years, perhaps. Any attempt to declare war now would be seen less as your ex-fiance’s mother championing the cause of her traditionalists and more a petulant attempt to soothe the pride of her heir.”

She shrugged. “Few enough ladies, even those deep in her camp, would be willing to pledge ships to such a flimsy cause. Not least of all because the humiliating defeat of the woman’s heir will have shaken their faith in the competency of Blackstone leadership.”

William nodded absently. “As planned. After all, if the own woman’s heir is so incompetent that she could be defeated by a mere first year boy, what must the state of her other forces be?”

“Exactly,” Yelena stated with excitement. “Never mind that your ex-fiancé was a talented mage-knight, one with a long list of victories to her name prior to her most recent loss. The opinion of high society is a fickle beast with a decidedly short memory.”

She paused, sobering slightly. “Today that is to our benefit, but tomorrow it will serve to aid our enemies.”

William nodded. Indeed, he could already see the narrative forming. Tala would be pulled out of her classes and sent either North or West for a year or more. There she’d achieve a few ‘crushing victories’ against either orcs or sky pirates and return a conquering hero ‘redeemed’ through a baptism by fire. Her most recent loss would in turn be blamed on the incompetence of the Academy’s teaching staff.

…Still, that gave them time.

“Two years at least then,” he said.

Yelena nodded. “Ignoring any other unexpected upsets, that seems a reasonable timeframe.”

“Not a lot of time to bring our own forces up to a standard where they could match the New Haven and Blackstone fleets,” Griffith said. “The temporary perception of incompetence on the part of our enemies will not make it so.”

Neither he nor Yelena could argue that point.

In theory the South held a numbers advantage, at two duchies to three, but that wasn’t strictly two in practice given the Northern Duchesses’ positions as marcher ladies.

Given the constant threat of ‘pirates’ to the West or orc rebels to the North East, both Northern duchies maintained navies in excess of their southern counterparts.

Indeed, they were required to as part of their liege levy.

In turn, the combined weight of both the Southern duchesses and the Crown was supposed to act as a counter-weight to that power. Plus the historical enmity between the pro-Elvish House New Haven and the pro-Human Blackstones.

No one ever expected the pair to find common cause in maintaining the slave trade.

Nor the fact that the ongoing conflicts with their disparate enemies would strengthen them over time rather than weaken them.

As evidenced by House Blackstone’s performance in the last two conflicts against the Solites and Lunites.

Rather than showing up a tired and wary force, their sailors and marine-knights – hardened by generations of conflict against the mountain orcs of their home – acted as the vanguard in both counter-assaults.

To devastating effect.

It was no exaggeration to say that the House Blackstone won the war near singlehandedly. Burgeoning their reputation to previously unseen heights. To the extent that William couldn’t help but wonder if said victories were what ultimately gave Eleanor Blackstone the confidence to challenge the crown on the issue of slavery but a few years later.

He certainly knew his current opinion on the disparity in military power between the North and South was borne of its performance in that conflict.

“Perhaps not under normal circumstances,” Yelena said, drawing his thoughts back to the conversation at hand. “Even with access to a veritable bounty of mithril cores provided by William’s invention, the fact of the matter is that the royal hangers currently only have three empty hulls ready for restoration into full airships.”

Which would bring the Royal Navy up to thirty-five airships from thirty-two.

Sixteen in the hands of Crownland countesses.

Nineteen in the royal navy.

…Though that assumed all three of those hulls were slated for the royal navy and one wasn’t being set aside for him. Which was unlikely given his contributions to the Crown.

Just forming a new noble house and elevating him to a count in his own right wasn’t nearly enough of a reward for gaining Lindholm access to dozens of mithril cores.

So, he thought. Seventeen vassal airships, eighteen royal navy ships and… assuming a standard loadout, somewhere around seventy or eighty shards.

He frowned.

A not insignificant short term number change, but hardly game changing.

Especially given that both Northern houses would each have perhaps a little less than thirty ships to their name between their vassal houses and ducal fleets.

“A tonnage increase of just under a tenth. Less than a twentieth if we include the Summerfield and Southshore fleets,” he muttered.

“Short term,” Yelena reminded him. “Those are just the ships I could have put into service within a week if provided the appropriate cores. More than that, there are at least four other hulls dotted across Lindholm that I know of that belong to houses that have… fallen onto hard times. Houses that could certainly be convinced to join our cause by providing them a lease to new cores.”

Three, William mentally corrected as he had little doubt Marline’s family’s ship was included in that number.

“A fifth or a tenth increase in tonnage then,” William acknowledged. “Do you think that’ll be enough to make a difference?”

“Not reliably,” the Queen admitted. “Even prior to your… intervention, the loyalist faction already had a numbers advantage. The sad reality is that the current dichotomy in our forces is more an issue of skill than tonnage.”

Griffith’s face twitched indignantly, but Yelena cut her friend off before she could speak. “Make no mistake, while I’d happily place my Royal Navy up against either the Blackstone or New Haven fleets, I wouldn’t wager it against both simultaneously. And whichever we left unmolested would likely to cut through my ducal vassals like a hot knife through butter.”

The woman leaned back, blowing out a breath in a distinctly unladylike fashion. “For ancestor’s sake, some of their countesses still have wooden hulled ships. Wooden hulls! The damn things are more showpieces than weapons of war.”

William acknowledged the point. Certainly, in order for a house to remain a noble house in good standing, they needed to possess an airship powered by an aether core. That was written into law. What wasn’t written into law was the exact level of combat readiness of said ship relative to its peers.

With that in mind, more than a few of the South’s more inland houses – protected from pirates by their coastal neighbours and orcs by their northern ones – had allowed their warships to fall behind somewhat.

After all, the upgrading of a wooden galley into a true ironclad was neither a fast nor a cheap process. And it wasn’t like wooden galleys were suddenly useless.

Upgrades could wait.

…Right up until they couldn’t.

That was the issue with military equipment. It had an unfortunate tendency towards being useless right up until it became absolutely vital.

Unless you’ve got a constant low-level war going on, William thought.

Which the North did. Attrition alone meant that there ships were newer on average, as craft were brought down, had their cores recovered, and were then provided and given a fresh hull.

Nominally a ruinously expensive process, but the continued growth of the North’s slave trading practices had made the war… almost profitable.

Plus there’s the royal subsidies both duchesses received for being Sunland houses, William thought.

Hell, the royal hanger’s strategic reserve of hulls existed to be slated for the Northern fleets prior to the recent rise in tensions.

Yelena sat up. “We can and will build more hulls. The treasury can afford it now that I’m not paying my enemies to build a fleet to oppose me.

“But that requires time,” William said.

“We could see about sourcing hulls from overseas,” Griffith said quietly.

Though as she did, William couldn’t help but think about just how far this conversation had deviated from his initial question. Nominally the whole thing was so over his head it wasn’t funny.

Had Yelena simply allowed herself to be swept up into it? Or was this some sort of negotiation tactic on her part?

By showing him just how dire the strategic situation still was, was she hoping to force some kind of concession from him that he might otherwise balk at.

He didn’t know.

“It’s worth a shot,” the Queen said, giving him no clue as to her true motives. “But doubt we’ll have much luck. My people tell me the Solites and Lunites are gearing up for another go at each other. I figure we’ve got a few months at most.”

William could believe that. It’d been long enough that a new generation would be just about ready to be thrown into the meatgrinder.

That was generally how the continental conflict had gone for the last eight hundred years. A constant ebb and flow.

At this point it was almost like clockwork.

I actually wouldn’t be too surprised if Blackstones were planning to wait for the next bout to kick off in earnest before they launched their originally planned coup, William thought. Perhaps with the duchess of Summerfield suffering an unfortunate accident to kick off the Summerfield succession crisis.

The Blackstones were ambitious, not stupid after all. There was no point in them overthrowing the Crown, only to be invaded by Lunites or Solites in turn.

“Dwarf holds?” Griffith queried.

“Same problem,” Yelena scoffed. “I checked. The waiting list for hulls is measured in years. And don’t even mention Old Growth.”

This time it was Griffith who scoffed.

And William could understand why. The wood elves were dangerous enough on their home turf, but the less said about the druid’s abilities outside it the better.

With that said, he did have an idea. “A few mithril cores might change minds.”

Both women still, a look of confusion slipping over their features. A state that remained the case for Griffith, while Yelena actually turned contemplative.

“Trade mithril for steel hulls,” the woman said, as if tasting the words. “That’s insane. Truly deeply insane.” She smiled. “I’ll consider it.

Griffith looked momentarily affronted as she glanced at her friend, before shaking her head.

Then, though, a change seemed to come over the room as Yelena turned towards him – and William suddenly knew with bone deep certainty that they’d finally reached the true reason for him being here.

“That said, as novel as a suggestion as you’ve just provided, I can’t help but be curious as to what other ‘short term’ advantages I might be able to eke out of you, William.”

“Short term?” he asked.

“Short term,” the woman repeated as she tapped a nearby crystal orb.

A crystal orb that flared to life to reveal a birds-eye-view of yesterday’s match. The beginning specifically, the one in which he’d effectively jury-rigged an impromptu radio-speaker system from a spare dagger.

On the orb he watched his actions with a vague sense of disinterest.

He’d had three spell slots available to him and he’d used them all.

One slot had been an earth spell, intended to provide him with stone-skin. He’d used that to create a string of ear-beads connected by a thin wire.

They’d needed to be connected so he could enchant them all at once.

The next, a fire spell, intended to provide the propulsion for his spell-bolts. Instead, he’d used it to enchant the connected beads with the ability to receive and then repeat vibrations.

In short, a simple speaker system.

Finally, he’d had a lightning spell, either intended to be used for flashbangs or another type of spell-bolt propulsion.

Those he’d used to make the beads propagate electromagnetic radio waves to both trigger and respond to the aforementioned vibrations.

In short, a simple radio receiver and transmitter system.

Finally he snapped the connected buds from each other, weakening the enchantment in the process. That was fine. The buds didn’t need much transmission power nor ability to create noise. The arena was only so big and the buds would be right in his teammate’s ears.

And sure, by shattering the object into five pieces he’d made it so the enchantment would fade into nothing within the hour, but he didn’t need an hour.

He didn’t even need half that long.

“I don’t recognize the rest of it, but breaking an enchanted object is almost considered heresy in some circles,” Yelena observed.

Of course it was. The whole point of enchanting an object was to provide some means for a mage to cast ‘more spells’ than their daily allotment allowed. Something that was rendered moot by breaking the enchanted object as it made the spell within start to fade.

And that was ignoring the fact that physical material made for a shoddy medium for magic. Just by attempting to imbue physical matter with magical properties, the spell could weakened by more than a third.

What was once a devastating fireball would instead become little more than a flash of fire.

Mages got around that limitation by piling spells on-top of one another as best they could, but that meant you were effectively spending three times as many spells slots to attain to attain a result similar to what you could achieve with just one if you cast ‘in person’.

It was slow and inefficient in the extreme… while still being incredibly valuable.

It was no exaggeration to say that a house’s supply of enchanted cannonballs was in many ways more valuable than its treasury.

To that end, enchanting an object… just to break it?

Well, he could well understand why that might seem a little confusing from the outside looking in.

“I’ve never been much for tradition,” William said slowly, allowing the dance to play out.

Yelena nodded. “I suppose not, but surely you know that outside of earth-magic, there are rules against bringing enchanted items into the arena?”

He shook his head. “As you said. Bringing them in. I enchanted the item while inside the arena.”

In the starting area admittedly, but it counted.

“Hmmm.”

“I’d also point out that by that standard, supplying enchanted ammunition would be against the rules,” William said.

Yelena waved her hand dismissively. “Earth magic. Most cadets have enchanted armor to that effect and the rules allow for it. Me enchanting your ammunition to be more… effective in its role was simply an extension of that ruling.”

Now William had to wonder just who was playing hard and fast with the rules?

“Are the Blackstones not accepting that?” he asked.

The Queen quirked an eyebrow at him at the obvious change of topic from his radio, before she decided to magnanimously allow it.

“Not at all, they’re crying foul play on both the wax front and your new weapon. Fortunately for us, I acquired my permissions for the wax in advance and have ample means to prove your new weapon isn’t enchanted. Mostly through the Instructors who were sworn in on it prior to the bout.”

“None of whom are from House Blackstone,” William pointed out.

The high elf shrugged. “I don’t care or need to convince them. Just everyone else.”

Yeah, William could understand that. His attack on the Blackstone’s reputation was about hurting them in the eyes of other houses more than anything else.

“How long do you think we have before the Spell-Bolt’s design leaks or they figure it out on their own?” he asked.

Yelena glanced over at Griffith who sat up. “It will happen sooner rather than later. It was always a risk given the simplicity of the design. Such is simply the nature of the beast. At the very least, our foes will not be able to replicate the design openly which gives us the edge in manufacturing for now.”

Once more she was peering at him like he was a puzzle to be solved and it was all he could do not to puff up smugly at her expression. Oh, she’d certainly not tried to hide her disdain at him choosing to unveil said weapon in an academy match – and now she was undoubtedly rethinking that disdain as she realized just how deep his plans went.

“…And that assumes you don’t have other toys to show us,” the Queen said, drawing his attention back to the conversation at hand. “Like whatever you did to be able to instantly communicate with your team from across the arena with just three spells. Or the particular means you used to kill a beast that is almost entirely immune to magic, deep underwater… and the size of a galleon – by yourself.”

…And whether that method could in turn be applied to other things.

Like enemy warships.

Or fortresses.

Still, this was it.

The meat of the conversation.

And for just a moment William had to wonder just how many invisible guardswomen were in the room with him.

He’d be offended if it was less than six.

Because there was no way he was going to be allowed to walk out of this room without giving away a lot of information.

“I have conditions,” he said.

Once more Griffith frowned at his glibness – it probably offended her that he wasn’t just performing his patriotic duty and handing the methods over while hoping for a reward for such leal service.

She was a loyal idealist that way.

Yelena had no such expectation. “Of course.”

“I already have a mithril core in my possession, so it goes without saying that I want to be elevated into my own house.”

“Of course,” Yelena said easily.

“I also want one of those ship hulls you were just talking about.”

At that the woman hesitated, but only for a second. “Agreed.”

“Land, of course. Somewhere near the capital while I finish my schooling,” he said.

The woman twitched. “You still intend to complete your education?”

“It’s useful to me,” he said entirely truthfully.

As a testing ground for his designs, if nothing else. The fact of the matter was that the Academy and the capital in general had some of the best facilities in the country.

He’d need that.

More to the point, he wanted the contacts provided by continuing to attend with other nobles.

“Easily done,” Yelena said with a slightly quirked eyebrow.

“An introduction to the alchemists guild.”

“The alchemist’s guild?” The woman said, no doubt thinking about the positively decrepit organization – and why he might be interested in it.

And in turn if that related to how he’d killed Al’Hundra.

Even if common logic said otherwise. The homeopathic potions created by alchemy might not have used ‘fae magic’, but they were still magic.

Which meant any kind of explosive or poison would fail if one attempted to use it on a kraken.

Still, it was a clue he was sure his nation’s sovereign was storing away.

“Done,” she said finally. “Out of curiosity, would this in any way be related to the recent destruction of an alchemy lab and the death of two academy servants who definitely shouldn’t have been there?”

William shrugged. “Not at all. As I understand, it was an old building and alchemy materials have a tendency to be volatile. To me that whole thing sounds like an unfortunate accident resulting from people playing with things they really didn’t understand.”

“Quite,” Yelena didn’t quite snort.

He nodded, content, before he moved onto his most contentious ‘request’. “Finally, I’d like you to give up on whatever plans you have to tie me into your powerbase via marriage.”

“Impossible.” Her reply was instantanious. “At this point in time you’re too valuable. I literally cannot afford to leave you as a free agent.” Her tone turned commiserating. “Rest assured though, it will be a beneficial match.”

She raised a finger. “All the funds you could want. The ears of the city’s greatest guilds. Fuck, given what I’ve heard of your early years, as many lovers of as many types as you might wish for. Admittedly, whichever of my daughters I match you to might be less pleased about that last item, but they’d understand.” She paused. “It’s clear to me you have a love of invention. Accept my offer and I will give you the means to see that dream fulfilled in its entirety.”

All under her thumb. Likely ensconced within the Palace somewhere. His words conveyed through the servants there. Whatever resources he created or cultivated ultimately answering to the crown.

…As would any organization he created.

And he couldn’t have that.

Sure, his goals aligned with the Crown for now, but that wouldn’t always be the case.

Slavery was but one problem he intended to solve after all.

So no, he needed to cultivate his own power base.

One that truly answered to him.

To that end, he needed his own house. As free and independent as possible.

“I recall my mother saying much the same thing,” William said dryly. “Admittedly not the lovers part, or the inventions bit, but about her wanting the best for me. And I believed her when she said it. Marrying Tala Blackstone would have seen me set for life. Able to live in great comfort until my dying day.”

He eyed the high-elf opposite him. “Yet I declined regardless. As I am declining now.”

“I’m afraid that’s not an option,” Yelena said, and to her credit she sounded truly regretful.

He smiled. “As I recall she said much the same. And how did that work out for her?”

Something dangerous flashed across the queen’s eyes, the military woman within coming to the fore. “That almost sounded like a threat, William.”

He stared back. “Take it as you will.”

The elf sighed. “And here I thought we understood each other. Yet now I am reminded that for all your brilliance, you’re still just a young man. Likely high on your recent, admittedly well earned, successes.”

She raised a finger and ten palace guardswomen shimmered into existence around the room.

“I am not your mother, William.” Yelena said. “I am indebted to you. Grateful to you. I have a duty to reward you for services rendered. Yet, before all of that, I have a duty to my nation. A duty that requires me to place you into my power. Because, unlike your mother, I understand not just the opportunity you represent, but the threat as well.”

He was unbothered. “I assume that’s a polite way of saying that without the counterbalance of the Blackstone’s protecting me any longer, there’s nothing stopping you from simply… disappearing me if I don’t play ball?”

Across from him, Griffith shifted uncomfortably as Yelena looked solemnly regretful. “You know the threat we’re up against here William. One way or another, I’ll have what’s in your head. Just as I’ll deny that information to my enemies. To that end, as much as I’d much rather use the carrot, the fact of the matter is that my duty to my country requires me to use the whip if you refuse to accept it.”

He understood that. Truly he did. He could give the woman all the assurances in the world that he was on her side, but this situation was simply beyond trust. His autonomy was simply a variable that she couldn’t afford with the stakes so high.

She would not and could not let him leave this room without a guarantee that he’d soon be encloistered within the palace – either in a guest room or the dungeon.

And that was now.

He wondered how bad she’d be when he really got to work?

…Fortunately, he had a means of cutting this little power play off at the pass.

“Then let me save you a little heartache,” he said slowly. “There’s no possible way of you getting total control over my autonomy without also seeing your opponents gain access to the same weapons you’re hoping will give you the means of triumphing over them.”

Yelena eyed him. “And why’s that? Because let me assure you, I have a few dungeons in my palace that, while quite nice to live in, wouldn’t allow for even an errant whisper to escape.”

“Because said errant whisper is already out,” he said slowly. “And while it’s contained in a little hidey-hole, it will only continue to do so just so long as I continue to make public appearances.”

A sudden chill crept into the air.

“You provided the means to someone else,” Griffith said slowly.

“Not quite,” he said. “Just a package to a third party, with some instructions to open should I… disappear.”

“Who!?”

William felt himself shoved down into his seat by the two palace guard beside him as Yelena stood up.

“Truth be told,” he grunted. “I don’t remember the organization’s name. Bonnlyn probably would. Her family set up the meeting.”

“The Mecant girl.” Yelena sagged at his words. “One of the banking clans.”

Indeed. One of the banking clans. Based out of the Western Dwarf holds.

And with that knowledge he knew there was not a hint of a doubt in the Queen’s mind that William’s words would come true if he didn’t continue to be seen in public.

More to the point, it wasn’t a group she could bully into coughing up whatever he’d provided them.

Ignoring the natural stubbornness of dwarves, the banking clans were oath-sworn to protect their client’s contracts.

“Release him,” Yelena said tiredly – and instantly the pressure on his shoulders relented as the two guards stepped back professionally.

Drawing himself up, as he patted down his uniform, William had to resist the urge not to smirk as the two elves stared warily at him.

Finally, after allowing the silence to drag a bit longer, he spoke.

“So? Is it safe to say that marriage is no longer on the table?” He paused. “Oh, and as an addendum, one of my other conditions is that I’d like to use that orb there.” He pointed to the object on the table, one that was still repeating his radio-creating actions on repeat. “I imagine my mother is rather upset with me right now, and if I don’t speak to my younger sister soon, I can’t help but think of what our mother might tell her.”

The two elves – and the palace guard for that matter – continued to simply stare at him.

“You can even listen in if you want,” he said. “I promise not to drop any information that might see our entire nation destroyed by civil war.”

Yelena sagged in her seat. “Just… do it, you madman.” She leaned backward, staring at the ceiling. “Blackmailed by an eighteen year old. Gods above, my ancestors are probably spinning in their graves. I can only pray you’re as much of a headache for our enemies as you are for me.”

William said nothing, just smiling, as he leaned over the table to pull the communication orb closer – though he did send an errant wink in Griffith’s direction.

Eliciting a fiery blush.

“And quit flirting with one of my instructors,” Yelena groused. “Seeing as you apparently don’t want to get married to anyone connected to me.”

William resisted the urge to chuckle.

It was nice to know that under all the audacity and agelessness of his nation’s queen, she was apparently also a sore loser.

It was… humanising.

So much so that he wasn’t even all that sore about the threat of being kidnapped.

That was just how the game was played after all.