prelude

Anisa

Vast fields of corn and wheat.

There were small plots marked by sticks or stones with no crops, just dirt. And, patchwork mishmashes of wheat, barley, corn, a different corn, something blue, and combinations thereof. And, obnoxiously novel vignettes, like a wide, shallow pool of green liquid with some crops floating in it, or bookshelves holding dirt and flowers, with mirrors on the ground and on the shelves directing light to them. There were also the plots corrupted by someone who blatantly didn’t understand magic: worthless mounds of stone, green sludge pools, dead, blue wheat.

“Why do you laugh, lady?” said the driver.

“Did I laugh?” said Anisa. “I didn’t realize.”

But, the vast majority was normal corn and wheat.

They arrived at the manor. Samantha tripped out the door, caught by her maid. “Welcome! Hi!” she said.

“Yes,” said Anisa. “Hello.”

“Again, my answer is no,” said Samantha, “but we wouldn’t want you to leave empty-handed!”

“Thank you,” said Anisa.

“Great!” said Samantha. “Peter! Hey, Peter! Peter!” she shouted to the side.

“Yeah, what?” shouted a shape far in a field.

“Anisa is here, deal with the horses!”

“What?”

“Get over here!”

Anisa looked to her driver. “Acknowledge?”

“Acknowledged, time is 10:31.”

“Were you not expecting us to be on time, Samantha?” asked Anisa.

“Oh, no, no, no, we’re just always quite busy around here.”

That would be shocking, if it were true. There was nothing to be busy with. Penbarrow was a few farming villages, its most notable feature was its proximity to the city of Felkner.

“Here, come, come in, we’ll show you inside. Joan, you have her luggage?”

The maid nodded. “I have prepared for this.” And she walked down the stairs and reached into the carriage and struggled to carry a medium trunk, eventually gaining a sufficient handhold and speedwalking up the stairs.

“You’re good, you’re good,” said Samantha, holding the door open. And Peter was now a human instead of a shape, though still far in the field. “What is it?” he shouted.

“Take the horses to the stable!”

“Ah, right, on it.”

“Are you coming in?” asked Samantha, and Anisa realized she had been frozen just outside the wagon, mesmerized by nothing.

The maid poured tea without request.

“Green Carmella, yes?” said Samantha.

“Viscount Black, actually,” said Anisa. “But it doesn’t matter.”

“Oh! Sorry about that!” said Samantha.

“It’s fine.” She wasn’t expecting tea at all. If she didn’t like it, she wouldn’t drink it. “If I don’t like it, I won’t drink it,” said Anisa.

“I blame Quincy.”

“Don’t we all.”

“He said you liked it.”

“I haven’t had it before, actually.” He always assumed he knew her…

“Well, an opportunity, then!”

“‘An opportunity’…” Anisa wafted, sniffed, sipped.

“And?”

“To be determined. I’ll require more samples, and an objective analysis.”

Samantha chuckled. “You’re allowed to have snap judgements, Anisa.”

“It is tea.”

Another laugh. “Fine, fine. How’s Felkner?”

“Very good. I have a cohort who listen and follow through with commands faithfully and efficiently. The population respects law enforcement. We have preliminary plans to expand housing northward.”

“I suppose you don’t need me anymore then, haha. That’s great to hear, great to hear. We’re doing a lot here, too, trying to find more efficient ways to grow food, and whatever food is the most efficient to grow.”

“Do you not have enough?”

“Oh, no, we have plenty. I wanted to give you the statistics we’ve gathered on how all our different methods affected crop growth. I’m sure it’s not as organized as—”

“Why are you doing that, then?” More aggressive than she was intending.

Samantha frowned. “Isn’t that what a princess is supposed to do? Isn’t that what you do? Gather statistics, make theories, and change policy based on the results?”

“I do it because I need to. People die if the guard can’t respond to problems quickly.”

“I guess I need to do it, too. People won’t die if I don’t, maybe, but they might get more time to do things they enjoy. Maybe I can open schools and force them to read. Quincy’s census is ongoing, but did you know we have a twenty-two percent literacy rate in Penbarrow? How did we kill Casse if so few people could coordinate with writing?”

Anisa sipped again. “I do still need you, Samantha.”

“I’m not going to Felkner to work for you. I like it here.”

“Not for me. With me. Over the Felkner Vanguard Guild. Those who claim to follow in the footsteps of the war veterans. Their temperaments refuse to accept me as sovereign.”

“I never understood that nomenclature. How are they ‘vanguarding’? Aren’t they mercenaries?”

“No, and they refused to change their name. Mercenary implies they do the will of others. A ‘vanguardist’, apparently, seeks out problems themselves, rather than waiting to be asked. As you can imagine, it’s stepping on my toes.”

“Impressive.” Loud sip. “I’d think you’d be thrilled. They autovigilantize, less work for you.”

“Don’t cast me as Reimond, Samantha. I want work.”

“I didn’t think I—”

“And no, having them around isn’t just more work. It’s a competing pole of legitimacy. I can’t eliminate it outright. You would fit as a consul.”

“I would ‘fit’? I’m fine where I am. I’m not another one of your pawns.”

Anisa again sipped. She wouldn’t press it. “Okay.”

It’d be good for Samantha to get away from Quincy, to meet other creatives, to be forced to be busy with productive administration, but…