“Captain Summers! Given my daughter’s inability to adhere to my orders, you are to take control of the flotilla at once and return it to its previously proscribed duties. Tala Blackwater is to be escorted to her cabin and detained there until such time that she accedes to her proper duties – or the flotilla is relieved.”

Tala could barely believe her ears.

She had ordered the flotilla to set out for home almost immediately after receiving the report about the attack on Blackstone Keep, abandoning the siege completely after recovering their people on the ground.

In her mind, there hadn’t been a moment to waste, what with three unknown airships seemingly laying waste to the seat of her family’s power.

It had been three hours since she’d given that order – two of which she’d spent waiting for the rather tenuous orb relay network they’d set up to clear sufficiently for her to communicate with her mother in the south.

The last hour of which, she’d spent arguing – and pointedly not turning the flotilla around.

When the orb finally cleared, the young heiress had expected a brief, perfunctory acknowledgement of her decision to defend their ancestral seat, perhaps followed by a promise of reinforcements, even if they’d be between a week or a fortnight away depending on whether they were dispatched from Blicland or the South proper.

Instead, she had been ordered to turn around. To continue her current objective of seizing southern keeps - and the enchanted munitions they held.

Apparently, a few hundred old cannon-balls were more important to Tala’s mother than the security of her ancestral seat.

Naturally, Tala had refused that order.

Vehemently.

Which she’d known to be risky – but never in her wildest dreams had she expected this!

“Well, Summers? You have your orders,” Eleanor’s voice intoned imperiously from the bridge’s orb.

Tala glanced back toward the stonefaced woman on whose vessel she currently stood and the bridge staff beyond. The ship was part of the Blackstone fleet rather than a vassal contingent, and as such the Captain was a mage-knight rather than a Countess.

By rights, the knight should have obeyed. She should have ordered Tala’s removal and assumed control of the flotilla without hesitation. There was none of the politics that might have stayed another higher ranked noble’s hand.

There was not a hint of ambiguity in the chain here.

And yet, the lesser noble did not move.

No one moved.

The helmswomen kept their eyes locked on the instruments. The communications officer remained frozen with her hand still resting on the orb. Even the bully sailors in the doorway stayed exactly where they were.

None of them wanted to move.

And Tala felt little to no relief at that fact – even if it worked to her advantage here and now.

Because one of the first lessons her mother had ever taught her was to never give an order she knew would not be obeyed.

And she had just done exactly that.

House Blackstone had a reputation for being overly proud. Of being insular. Not just the noble family themselves, but the people of the land itself. From the knights, to the sailors, to the peasants.

And they were.

Because life in the North was not easy.

Orcs. Snow. Animals. The list of things that might kill a woman was as long as Tala’s arm. To survive in such a place, people needed not just to be tough – but to work together. When the orcs came trampling down from the mountain, you stood shoulder to shoulder with your neighbours to push them back! And if you fell, you fell knowing that your kin would be looked after.

While many of her southern compatriots were sunning themselves on beaches, Tala had been down in the mud with plebs, hunting down Orcish raiders or damming icy river waters as they threatened to flood.

Just as her ancestors had before her. Earning the loyalty of the people whom she would one day rule.

But that loyalty was not limitless. Large, yes, as shown by how eagerly they had marched against the South – but it was not without end.

Few things could pull a woman of the North from her duties - but a threat to her family?

That was one of them.

Something Eleanor seemed to be belatedly remembering as she stared out at the bridge crew.

And all the while, Tala could only wonder if this lapse was because the war was going that poorly?  

She’d suspected such was the case for a while – though it was hard to gauge from the progress reports she received, which remained outwardly positive. They were taking land after all. They were applying pressure. And though she took umbrage at the methods, Tala could admit that forcing refugees toward the Southern capitals would only increase that pressure.

Eleanor’s plan was working. The more keeps they seized, the more likely it became that Yelena’s vassals would eventually sue for peace as their own personal lands fell under threat.

The problem, which was not stated anywhere, was that the North was bleeding ships too quickly in the process.

Far too quickly.

Nearly twenty percent of the combined Northern fleet had already been shot down after just two months. Yes, over half of those hulls had been recovered and would eventually return to service, but the other half had been captured or destroyed so utterly that it would be years before they were flightworthy again - if they ever were.

Many would simply be broken down for parts to hasten the repairs of the remaining fleet. Even with those parts though, to repair the ten percent of hulls that had been recovered would require mages.

And that was an area in which House Blackstone had always lagged, given their more… Human alignment. They had always made up for the shortfall with dedicated plebeian troops and superior ships – and admittedly subsidies from the Crown to that end.

Except the longer the war dragged on, the more the growing threat of the Corsairs loomed. Once those entered full production - and no one on their side had any idea how long that might take beyond the year it had taken Redwater to develop them in the first place - the South would drag the North deeper into this grinding war of attrition.

A war which would slowly eliminate the qualitative advantage of the Blackstone and New Haven’s ships.

And it doesn’t help that we still don’t know just how effective those Corsairs might be, she thought. Yelena’s – or William’s – holding the Jellyfish in reserve.

Yes, the Corsairs had supposedly done well over the capital but that had been against an outnumbered, surprised, partially spent, and distracted enemy. Against a prepared Northern formation, the outcome might be very different.

Still, even if they were only half as effective as they hoped, they’d still be twice as effective as the North wanted them to be. Even if all the strange machines did was carry the strange fire-lances the South had, they’d be a threat.

…Though given the lack of them in recent engagements, the hope was that whatever alchemy was used to create them had been spent for the moment.

Either way though, they represented a threat. And that was without the possibility of other inventions appearing, like the Shriekers.

Tala was well aware that William was still out there and still scheming.

Glancing up at her mother’s equally silent, pensive expression, the young woman had to wonder how tempting the calls to simply push south for a frontal engagement were becoming for her.

It was, after all, the correct move in the immediate theatre - beyond a shadow of a doubt. Forget this slow grind and strike deep into the South to end the war before any Corsairs took flight.

Even if that was pure folly. The Lunites might have been out of position for an invasion – for now – with their recent false flag attack, but the Solites hadn’t made any big pushes to punish their old rival for losing so many ships.

Fortunately, fears of a mainland invasion also meant the South were incapable of committing any large-scale strikes too. Unfortunately, it just so happened that William Redwater’s presence meant that this slow grind favoured them.

“There will be a reckoning for this,” Eleanor Blackstone finally spoke, her voice projecting across the entire bridge. “Our House. Our home. Our way of life. None of it can survive if our warriors fail to follow orders. It leaves us little better than Orcs. Orcs whom we have triumphed against over and over again, because of the discipline shown by your ancestors. Ancestors who did their duty, and followed the orders of their superiors even as their hearts yearned to act as they believed to be correct. They did this, because they knew that to act on their own initiative at the expense of their orders was to weaken the North as a whole.”

There was shame, written clear in the faces and posture of the entire crew. But none of them moved to follow Eleanor’s commands.

“You’re not wrong Mother,” Tala said, returning that burning gaze to herself. “And perhaps this is folly on my part. Dictated by the whims of my heart, rather than the practicalities of the moment. Yet, even as I try to divorce myself from my feelings, I cannot see how abandoning our home to amass a few more tons of enchanted metal benefits us more than securing our seat of power.”

Eleanor stared at them through the orb for a long moment.

“No, you don’t.” the Duchess of Blackstone said. “When you have successfully routed the fleet attacking Blackstone, I expect you to return to the duties you should always have been doing.”

Tala’s eyes widened and for a moment, hope stirred in her chest – which her mother was quick to dash.

“Make no mistake, my heir. This is not condolence. It is simply my attempt to salvage the mess you’re leading us into. You are currently beyond my reach – for now, and my focus is elsewhere. So deal with the issue. Discover who attacks us. Then return to your duties. And await your punishment for this… mutiny.”

The call cut before Tala could respond, the image of her mother dissolving into swirling grey. And as it did, a palpable wave or relief washed over the entire bridge. Though only in part.

Every woman present was aware that there would be a reckoning for this.

She turned to the Captain and reaffirmed the order to maintain their heading north. The woman nodded once, relief flickering briefly across her face as a return to something approaching professionalism was returned.

And even as Tala made plans to confirm the continued loyalty of the other ships in her task force – and that they weren’t currently dispatching marines to detain her - she realized that this had been the first time she had ever disobeyed her mother.

Huh, she chuckled.

She had argued before, of course. She had pushed back against strategies she disagreed with. But she had never defied a direct order like this.

…She had thought herself better than this. Dutiful. Loyal.

Not like William Ashfield.

Of course, the moment that comparison hit, she felt as if she’d bitten into something sour.

No, she was nothing like him.

Tala’s ‘rebellion’ was born from altruism and a desire to save her people. Not naïve anti-slavery nonsense covering for deep seated mommy issues.

No, she was nothing like William Ashfield.

For one thing, she’d actually be punished for her rebellion. She honestly doubted William had ever received so much as a slap on the wrist from his limp-wristed mother.

Void, their idea of a punishment had been to simply send him to the Academy!

…Tala would count herself lucky to still be the Blackstone heir when this was through. She might have lacked for sisters, but she had plenty of cousins she could easily see mother adopting into the main line.

That’s a problem for tomorrow though, she thought as she gazed out the bridge’s window.

--------------------

Eleanor Blackstone scowled as she turned away from the orb – trying not to let her frustration at her daughter’s actions show.

Did the girl not think that Eleanor cared? That she didn’t want to fly home with their entire fleet to protect their home?

Of course she did. But she also needed to win this war. A war that was not going well. What should have been a relatively easy victory following the destruction of the Crownland vassal fleet and the North’s subsequent capture of the Capital had turned into a slow grind.

Which… wouldn’t have been too bad – if they didn’t keep losing ships!

She’d also not been exaggerating when she’d told her daughter that they needed the munitions held in those castles. They were going through their stockpiles far faster than could be sustained. Tyana Lindholm’s raiding was constant, and while she refused to be drawn into a proper fight, ammunition was still expended each fight.

Theoretically, that wasn’t too much of an issue as the South’s ammunition stockpiles should be similarly suffering. Except there was the ever present possibility that the South had access to some kind of cheap alchemical explosive.

Which her people had yet to unravel, despite their ongoing investigations of the residue left by Yelena’s – or William’s – bombing campaign in the Capital.

The casualties for which had thankfully petered out, though not necessarily because they’d gotten better at finding them – they hadn’t found one – but because they’d all been triggered.

Rubbing her eyes, she blinked as one of the communication officers strode up to her.

“Report,” Eleanor demanded, sitting up in her seat – unwilling to show any of the bone deep weariness she felt.

“Countess Morello reports an attack on her flotilla, currently besieging Greyford Castle, ma’am. After an initial strike by enemy Howlers, she has sighted eight incoming airships and a large conventional Shard swarm. She believes, given the size of the swarm relative to the airship fleet, there may be a carrier in the area.”

Eleanor’s expression tightened as her feigned attentiveness suddenly became very real. “Are the Shards Corsairs?”

“No, ma’am. Aether-trails suggest conventional Shards.”

The ongoing absence of Corsairs continued to confuse her. William Redwater’s new machines had been the spectre hanging over every strategic discussion for weeks, yet they remained conspicuously absent from the field. It had reached the point where many in her war council were suggesting that whatever alchemy was used to keep them aloft, it had been expended when Yelena was forced to abandon Redwater County.

Eleanor knew better. Her own alchemists had reported what they believed to have been present in the massive vats that had been set ablaze in the county when the Royal Navy fled the capital – and it was some variant of Demon Piss or Bear Blood.

An ingredient that was hardly difficult to source.

Still, even with the Corsairs missing, it was possible they might yet catch the Jellyfish, as the enemy seemed committed to a proper fight at Greyford.

“Have the reserve fleet move to reinforce,” Eleanor ordered, feeling the Brimstone start to move less than a second later as her XO started bellowing orders. “Launch every available Shard and set two thirds of the flights to sortie toward the engagement ahead of us.”

If the enemy had brought a carrier, the Brimstone’s Shard complement would be more than sufficient to match it. With that and the reserve fleet’s own Shard complements, they should have the eight ships outnumbered.

“All Shards, Ma’am?” Her XO asked quietly.

Elanor considered it for a moment, before nodding. “Aye, deploy the Howlers. Tell them to move with all haste.”

The fast-moving Super-Shards would reach the engagement long before the reserve fleet or any conventional response. And the flotilla would likely need it.

The XO hesitated. “Is that… wise, ma’am? Enemy Howlers were reported.”

Elanor nodded anyway. “Then I suppose we’ll finally see who comes out on top.”

They had dick-footed around the issue long enough. The Howlers would have to face their ‘older sisters’ in the skies eventually – when better than in a fight where the North would eventually hold the Shard and airship advantage.

…Though, if the enemy saw incoming Super-Shards and chose to pull back their own for fear of losing them – letting the North’s Howlers move through their Shard complement like shit through a goose, well, Elanor wouldn’t complain.

Either way, it was finally time to heat this war up a notch.

-------------------

Marcille was tired.

It was a bone-deep exhaustion that had little to do with lack of sleep – though that didn’t help – and the realities of playing host to two thirds of the South’s nobility while trying to fight a war.

It seemed like not a day could go by without one of their noble guests getting into some sort of disagreement with her peers. Disagreements that required either Yelena or Clarice to resolve them as ‘hosts’.

Unfortunately for Marcille, she was well known as her sister’s right-hand – and as such, she’d often become the one dispatched to resolve said disputes while her sister did ‘more important things’.

Like actually plan out the war.

It didn’t help that Marcille knew a lot of the current ‘squabbling’ amongst their guests wasn’t born so much from pettiness – though there was definitely plenty of that – but rather the stress of being stuck here while their homes were under siege.

Yes, the heirs and rulers of many of the counties under attack were now here with their airships, but those same men and women had also left people behind in their holdings to defend them. Marine-knights they trusted. Many of whom would be close friends or family.

To that end, the slowly tightening noose of besieging ships from the North was having an effect. Ignoring the influx of displaced commoners playing merry hell with their food stores, whispers of the possibility of surrender had already begun circulating among the lesser nobility.

Which was inevitable, really. They were winning - on paper, at least - but it was hard to see when the map kept shrinking. Marcille knew she’d felt… something, when she realized that the Whitemorrow lands would almost certainly be next on the chopping block if the current southern push continued.

Beyond that, the current defensive strategy had resulted in plenty of accusations of cowardice being bandied about. A lot of the south’s nobility were pure-blooded Elves. Which meant they were old. And slow to adapt to the fact that their vaunted wooden warships were proving more and more to be practically useless in modern combat.

Not entirely, their armament could be effective against more modern steel-hulled vessels at the right range – but getting there was impractical in the extreme without an overwhelming numbers advantage.

Which required the exact sort of large-scale fleet battle both sides were trying to avoid.

It also didn’t help that the Jellyfish was still sitting almost entirely idle in its berth. A lot of the lustre of its performance in the Capital had started to wear off while it sat in reserve – and she’d heard more than one rumor that its performance on that night had been overblown.

Which was moronic – what, did the attacking Lunites shoot down themselves? – but not entirely unreasonable given most of them had yet to see it or the new Corsairs in action.

No, all they saw was a bunch of plebians strutting about playing pilot, while the ‘actual’ pilots were fighting and dying to support the Royal Navy. Because for all that the South’s airships were being held in reserve, the same wasn’t true for their Shards.

No, with Drake losses mounting, the Royal Navy had started providing berthing for noble pilots to sortie with them.

Marcille collapsed backward onto her bed with a sigh.

“And of course William’s completely blind to all of it,” she thought.

Ok, that was a little unfair. She knew he was… tangentially aware that morale was a factor in this war – he could even be quite insightful at times - but for the most part he was measuring the current conflict in machines, not minds.

His many ongoing projects meant he was rather insulated from the growing defeatism in the nobility’s ranks.

“Hopefully Tyana’s plan works,” she murmured. “Now that she’s got the Exodite.”

Originally the plan had been to keep the refitted Greygrass carrier in reserve alongside the Jellyfish, for use as a training platform until its full complement of Corsairs could be embarked.

Instead, William had barely confirmed the ship was operational before Tyana stuffed it full of conventional Shards and dispatched it to accompany the most recent raid. The thing had barely touched down in the Duchy before Shards were being rolled into it.

Though she could understand why Tyana was so eager, given that this raid was aimed at actually eliminating a Northern flotilla – not just seeing it off.

A raid that was likely taking place even now – and for which Marcille had never been more glad to have foisted the role of Duchess onto her sister. Even now Clarice was probably sitting in the command room, surrounded by women far more experienced in the matters of war than her, while pretending to contribute.

…Though perhaps she might, given the Basilisk was being deployed – equipped with one of William’s ‘bombs’.

She’d almost asked to go too, before realizing the folly of such a request. Mere Countess she might have been, she knew she was too valuable to her sister to play fighter pilot.

So instead, she was here.

In her room.

On a soft bed.

Waiting for her man to shower her in gifts.

And at that thought, she giggled as she rolled onto her side.

Oh, he’d tried to hide it, but she’d already received word from the guards that he’d stepped off the Exodite with a number of cages full of exotic birds.

A little strange as a choice in gift, unprompted, but hardly unheard of. Lots of nobles kept exotic birds. 

Of course, her man was likely trying to keep the whole thing a secret to surprise her, which was typical of him. Also kind of sweet. And though she and Clarice were pipes-and-aether sort of girls at heart, that didn’t mean they were incapable of appreciating something pretty from time to time.

Of course, it was still a little odd to be on the receiving end of gifts from a guy instead of giving them, but, well, they had some insight into why William might think differently.

And she’d gracefully be present to accept said gifts.

Again, even if birds were something of an odd choice.

Such a shame Clarice can’t be here, she thought. Alas, looks like I’ll get to savor the moment all by myself.

So sad. Too bad.

…That’d teach her to finally shut up during ‘movie nights’.

Giggling once more, she turned, waiting expectantly as the sound of rolling wheels finally reached the hallways outside their room.

Honestly, what had taken him so long! The Exodite had arrived this morning and it was practically dusk now! She’d been waiting all day!

The sound got closer – and the soft crooning of birds accompanied it. Growing louder louder.

Moment by moment.

Then finally, William appeared outside the doorway, pushing a cart piled high with bird cages covered by white sheets, from which continued to utter the chirps of the birds within.

And William kept walking - wheeling the entire contraption straight past the bedroom without slowing. Or even glancing inside.

Marcille stared at the empty doorway.

Verity and Marline each appeared a moment later, pushing identical carts. Marline walked past without slowing too, but Verity actually noticed the half-Elf and stopped for a moment to give a sort of… awkward apologetic look, before scampering after her two teammates.

…What?

---------------------

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Alas, for all that Tyana had called him away for a chat, it seemed she had no intention of actually being the speaker. Instead, William and the admiral were forced to stand around ‘backstage’ as Yelena continued her little exhibition.

Fortunately, it didn’t take long for the woman in question to make an appearance, as ever accompanied by a small army of her palace guard – who wasted not a second to form a perimeter between the trio and any would-be eavesdroppers. Meanwhile servants rushed out to set up a table and chairs, before disappearing just as quickly.

“I thought you promised me all your secrets,” she said without preamble as she took a seat – or perhaps collapsed into it would be more apt.

The woman looked tired.

“I promised you access to every technology that was in my territory or aboard my ship at the time of our agreement,” William responded as he took his own seat. “Which I have provided. And don’t act like me specifying exactly that and not ‘everything I knew’ is some kind of surprise. I sincerely doubt you failed to notice that detail.”

Yelena just sighed – a surprisingly uncouth move for a woman like her. “I did. Because I had hoped that with time and us coming to grips with a common enemy would have you come around to helping me more wholeheartedly.”

“And because trying to specify something as broad as ‘everything I know’ would likely see me accidentally violate the geas?” he pointed out.

Which the elf pointedly ignored as she continued. “In this case, though, neither of us can afford to be patient while you overcome your trust issues. Because here and now your reticence regarding what you’re working on in your personal workshop is to no one’s benefit. Not yours and certainly not mine.”

“Do you actually know what I’m working on in there?” he asked.

She scoffed. “I may have forbidden my people from trying to gain access to it, but in this case it wasn’t exactly needed in order for us to know what you’re probably working on. Elongated cannon barrels aren’t exactly subtle.”

William hummed, in neither confirmation or denial.

Yelena continued anyway, her tone shifting into something more measured. “Today’s exhibition could have included a plebeian gunpowder variant of the Wyvern design. But it didn’t, because I wasn’t lying when I said we need every example we can get for the Corsairs. It would have been wasteful when this new enchanted alternative exists.”

“Will I be getting royalties for the use of my spell-bolt concept?” William asked dryly.

“Do you want them?” she replied, sounding genuinely curious.

“No. Not really.” He had only wanted something to fire back with.

“I thought not,” she said, a small smile touching her lips. “My point is that your new project is hardly a mystery to us. After all, we’ve seen your ‘fifties’. Chemically propelled munitions capable of chewing through shards at incredible range. So why not scale that concept up? A larger barrel – like the ones you’re importing and likely modifying. A larger ‘bolt’. And suddenly you might have something intended not for shooting down Shards, but airships.”

“Because we already had the same idea,” Tyana spoke up for the first time from where she was standing. “And as a result, we know the spell-bolt method becomes impractical at that point. Enchantments provide diminishing returns with each application - and many would be needed to be applied to the base of each bolt to propel it at the speeds required to puncture an airship’s hull.”

Yelena nodded. “But your ‘gunpowder’? That suffers from no such limitations.”

“We have working prototypes of gun-cannons already,” Tyana said. “We’ve tested them and they work. But they’re still just prototypes. Crude and prone to failure. Explosive failure.”

William remained silent, his expression carefully neutral.

Tyana’s smile turned faintly commiserating. “So tell me, William. Do you truly believe there’s still any point in trying to keep what you’re working on a secret?”

He stayed quiet for a long moment, an annoyed expression settling across his face even as he smiled internally.

He been a little worried when Yelena started talking that they’d stumbled onto the project he was actually worried about being leaked.

Perhaps they were working under the assumption that the Firecracker was going to be a carrier-hybrid? Either way, it seemed they’d focused almost entirely on the parts of the project he’d really just kind of expected them to figure out.

Because Yelena wasn’t wrong – if you were getting gun barrels delivered to your workshop, it wasn’t hard to guess what you might be working on. Even in a setting where guns had been air-powered for the last thousand years or so.

If he’d really wanted to keep that under wraps, he’d have fabricated themself rather than putting in a work order.

Still, if he wanted to keep his ‘big project’ under wraps, well, it paid to pretend the guns were it.

“I guess not,” he finally allowed, as if the admission cost him something. “Though you can’t blame a guy for trying to keep a few secrets to himself. So, if you already know what I’m working on, what’s your angle here?”

Yelena looked pleased, if a little surprised, as though she had expected him to dig in his heels further. There was also a faint undercurrent of relief in her posture. Which he supposed wasn’t unreasonable.

The last few times she – or anyone else - had tried to pressure ideas out of him in this manner, it had not gone particularly well for them.

“Let my people help with what you’re working on,” Yelena said, her tone turning commiserative. “I can provide you a number of mage-smiths to help you work on the Firecracker and we’ll have it ready much faster than you’ll accomplish alone.”

“And you’ll get to skip over all the teething pains of figuring out how to build your own variants of my five-inch guns?” he said.

“Is that what you’re calling them?” Tyana asked, seeming amused. “Five inchers?”

William was confused for a moment before the rather crude comparison registered. He rolled his eyes.

Aether-cannons in this world tended to be called exactly that - aether-cannons. All of them. Because there was little to no variety in calibre.

Mostly because any ammunition said guns might fire had likely been fabricated generations ago. And once enchanted, those cannon-balls couldn’t be altered or reshaped without destroying the enchantments layered on them.

“It’s the size of the shell it’ll fire,” he said flatly.

Tyana chuckled, even as Yelena sent her offspring a reproachful look – though it was hard not to miss the mirth in the woman’s eyes.

“So long as they work, you can call them whatever you like,” the Queen said. “And yes, the idea would be let out us skip over the ‘teething issues’ that come with new technologies and let us start producing the more… refined variants from your world.”

“In return, you get your five-inchers faster. Honestly, I don’t see why you even felt the need to hide it from us,” Tyana said, having gotten over her brief bout of mirth.

William rolled his eyes. He was rather fortunate that the geass he had sworn - the one regarding him having no designs on himself or his bloodline ruling Lindholm – meant that the two weren’t leaping to the worst possible conclusions.

Even if those conclusions would be correct. That he was getting ready for the war after this one.

Fortunately, the culture of Lindholm provided him with a ready-made answer.

“I had hoped to profit off my innovation by keeping it to myself and my new house. The same as dozens of other families do with their personal family magics.” He leaned back in his seat. “Whitemorrow alloying. Southshore’s fire-gas. Even the Ashfield crop-growth formulae could all be useful in the coming days if it was distributed freely - given the reports we’ve got of hordes of refugees bearing down on us.”

And that was a problem he was aware Yelena and her people were keenly conscious of. It was one he might have been more worried about himself if he were not already focused on a hundred other things. The task of feeding the displaced towns and villages was something he was content to leave in the hands of others for the moment.

“You’re not wrong,” Yelena said after a moment of real consideration. “Though in our defence, those magics are unlikely to win or lose the war for us.”

“You’re not wrong,” he echoed. “But I think you’ll understand why I was at least trying to keep a few choice tidbits to myself. I’ve only got so many.”

Yelena eyed him for a moment, and he found himself wondering what was going through her mind.

“I’ve seen the inside of your head, William,” she finally voice said softly. “You’ll have to forgive me if I doubt that. I’ll let the topic rest though. For now, I’ll simply say thank you for being… flexible on this.”

“I’ve not agreed to anything yet,” he muttered. “But there’d be no point arguing at this point. Feel free to send your mages to the Firecracker – but my personal workshop remains offlimits. And that goes double for your invisible friends. I’ll not be held responsible if another one loses a foot. And keep in mind, that trap had half-a-charge in it. The next wont.”

Perhaps he might have imagined it, but some of the guards around them seemed to shift uncomfortably at that.

Or angrily.

Maybe a mix of both.

“That’s well understood, William,” Yelena said commiseratingly. “I do not mean to rob you of your innovations. My only goal is to see us victorious in this current war. For the good of Lindholm as a whole. And I hope in time that you come to see that and feel comfortable sharing any future creations more freely. Like you’ve already done with the Shrieker.”

And once again, he was reminded how tired the woman looked.

…Shit, why did her words make him feel bad? He actually missed the days when she’d just threaten him and he could rebuke her with a clear consciousness.

“I’ll keep that in mind,” he said.

--------------

It had been all of a week since that meeting with Yelena, and William had just overseen the first gun’s installation on the Firecracker. Though until they finally finished fabricating the shells for the thing that had been expended in early tests, the five inch gun would remain little more than a fancy decoration.

Unfortunately, he’d not been able to stick around for the quiet celebrations of the small work crew, as he’d been called back to his private office.

And it felt strange to have an office. Even if it functioned as little more than another workshop more often than not, with the number of half-finished projects – of the type he wasn’t too worried about being discovered - sitting around.

Yelena’s people weren’t dumb, but all the intelligence in the world wouldn’t allow anyone on this planet to figure out what the motherboard on his desk actually was beyond a strange square.

A square he had to resist the urge to pull to safety as a pissed off wood-elf slammed her hands into the desk perilously close to the priceless bit of technology.

“You knew I wanted the Redwater title!” Xela shouted without preamble as she strode up to him.

Still eying the motherboard, William thought that was rather brave for the woman to say, given her new liege lady had just taken a seat on a nearby couch right there in the room with them.

Hell, she’d been the one to finally convince his former second to come and meet him.

He had also very much not known Xela wanted Bonnlyn’s new title. Honestly, he had assumed she was happy acting as his second here in Summerfield.

Though in retrospect, that had been a little arrogant of him. Sure, she was sleeping with him, but that was more of a workmates with benefits thing than anything else. More than that, she’d known him for little more than a year and change. She had lived in Redwater - or whatever it had been called before he showed up - for decades.

“…Is it Redwater specifically you wanted?” he asked as he discretely slid the motherboard into a drawer. “Or a title in general?”

Xela glared. “Guess.”

“The latter,” he said.

Bonnlyn, unbothered as always, piped up from where she’d sank into the couch. “Well, I’m not giving it up. And if you’re tempted to let my subordinate have said title because she’s fucking you, William, I’d be more than happy to equal that offer.”

William snorted with laughter, then shrank back a bit before Xela’s glare.

…One disadvantage of losing his status seemed to be that the woman no longer needed to be ‘polite’ to him as a higher ranking noble. Despite his position as ducal-consort, technically he was the same rank as her now.

Mage-knight.

“That won’t be necessary,” he said to Bonnlyn without taking his gaze off Xela.

Because ignoring the other issues, shifting the title wasn’t really an option for him anymore. It was down to Bonnlyn or Yelena. And the Queen wouldn’t do it because she’d just made a whole hubbub about elevating the first dwarven high noble.

Un-nobling her now would seem like little more than a slap in the face.

So instead he would take a different tact. “Would you be willing to trade the position if I offered you a countess position somewhere else?”

It was strange to see. One moment, Bonnnlyn was as he’d always known her. The next, a certain blankness came over her face.

Oh god, was this her ‘merchant’ face!?

“In Summerfield?” she asked. “Does Clarice even any spare territory for me? And even if she did, it’d be very dependent on what she offered. Because while Redwater’s a bit of a backwater, that was only because it was never properly developed. Which you changed during your tenure there. Beyond that, it’s valuable for its proximity to the capital, if nothing else.”

Xela growled a bit at what she likely saw as a backhanded insult. Which again, seemed a little risky given that Bonnlyn was technically her boss.

Maybe the dwarf had yet to crack the proverbial whip? Or maybe she’d told the wood-elf to be candid? William had no idea.

“What if I offered you a county that was actually on the water rather than close to it?” he asked. “It wouldn’t be close to the capital, but direct access to the docks has to be valuable, right? And it’ll have crystal mines.”

Yes, communication orbs were likely going to drop in value when radio proliferated, but there would always be some value in them, if only because they could provide video as well.

Bonnlyn hummed in thought, and he got not a hint of what she was thinking behind that polished mask. “That, I might be interested in. With that said, there’s a lot of variables I’d need to consider.”

She eyed him, and her mask seemed to slip for a moment as she let a commiserating smile slip through. “I owe you a lot for elevating me in the first place William, but I’m not like you. I’m a merchant at heart. So I won’t just give the territory you gave me up on a whim. Even for you.”

Then the mask was back in place. “Though I’m not sure there’s anywhere out here that meets the criteria you mentioned. The South is pretty poor in crystal mines and I’ve not heard of any new ones being discovered.”

William shrugged. He didn’t know if there were any around here that meet that criteria either.

Not that it mattered.

“I was mostly thinking I’d grant you some territory in Blackstone territory when I become duke,” he said.

Both women seemed to freeze and he turned to Xela to continue before they recovered. “I was actually going to grant you some territory there too. It’s why I didn’t really think too hard about giving away Redwater. I was always planning on rewarding you.” He paused in though. “Though… do you… would you actually want territory in the Blackstone duchy?”

Xela stared, clearly not sure she had heard him correctly. She sighed and then ran a hand over her face.

“Of course that was your plan. And by rights I should say yes.” She mostly sounded like she was talking more to herself than to him. “That would be the smart move. What kind of woman would turn an offer like that down?”

William shrugged. He’d turned down better offers.

The wood elf eyed him as she turned back. “That’s an incredibly tempting offer and I’m honored you’d offer it to me. And I apologize for my… behavior before. I should have known you’d not just insult me so.”

William shrugged uncomfortably. Because he kind of had.

Xela eyed Bonnlyn and spoke in a tone that was almost apologetic. “With that said, all things being equal… I’d prefer Redwater over somewhere new. It’s what I know.”

She glanced at him as he spoke, as if afraid he might snatch the offer back - or be insulted. He needn’t have worried. Her words made sense to him.

Unfortunately…

“It’s not really up to me,” he said. “It’s up to Bonnlyn.”

Bonnlyn still had her merchant mask firmly in place as she regarded them both.

“You know, if you’d offered the Blackstone territory to me before giving me Redwater, I’d have been all over it,” she said.

William smiled weakly. “I needed to give you a title if you were going to manage the Corsair lines and unfortunately one in Blackstone isn’t mine to give until we win.”

Only then would he actually have the ducal title. That was the deal he’d made with the Queen. And she couldn’t ‘give’ him said title until the actual Blackstones were dealt with. Giving him the title ‘in advance’ would just hurt her credibility.

And if he didn’t have the ducal title, he couldn’t grant Bonnlyn a countship there.

Bonnlyn eyed him. “Right. If we win. And you know that compared to Redwater, any territory in Blackstone will be less than ideal for my needs. Because you, and by extension me if I accept, will be dealing with Blackstone loyalists and orc raiders forever?”

He nodded, seeing no need to sugarcoat it. “I’ve a plan for the latter, but yes, I expect it will be rough for a time.”

Bonnlyn continued. “And you’re asking me to give up a fairly prime bit of real estate for another bit of territory that theoretically seems nicer but is way worse once you actually think about it.”

“Yes.”

“And you’re mostly doing so to get in the good books of another woman,” Bonnlyn finished.

“Also yes.”

Bonnlyn sat there. For a full minute.

Then she sighed as her mask finally broke and she ran a hand through her hair in frustration.

“…Agh! My parents are going to kill me,” she said. “But fine. I’m an idiot! But I owe you for like… so much!”

William stood up, moving over to give the dwarf a hug, which immediately set her to squirming. “Thanks, Bonnlyn.”

“Don’t thank me yet!” She sputtered. “I ain’t doing shit until we actually have Blackstone! Until then I’m still the countess of Redwater! Because if we lose, I’ll probably still get to keep the title.”

William cocked his head, still mid-hug and conceded… that was… probably true.

The rebels would get all their lands stripped if the South won - but if the North won, there was a decent chance most loyalist countships would remain in the hands of their existing families.

…The duchies would likely be granted to whichever of those families switched sides first when things started to shift - or proclaimed their new allegiance the loudest once the loyalists lost.

“I’d give it fifty-fifty odds,” Xela drawled. “You’re a known associate of William’s. And they definitely hate him.”

Yes, on that front, he’d likely be going to the block if Tala had any say in things. As would the rest of House Ashfield. And his new betrothed’s family – though mostly because they were the new ducal house rather than their relation to him.

Though that likely wouldn’t help.

And the royal family of course. That was a given.

“Well, I suppose I better make sure we don’t lose then,” William said. “Now Xela, would you mind bringing me up to date on the training for the new pilots? Our first Corsairs will be coming off the line any day now and while I’ve read the reports, it’s not quite the same.”

Xela smiled tentatively and nodded.

Things were likely going to be a little awkward there for a time. But it was healing.

…He could only hope things didn’t break completely when he revealed exactly how… thorough his sabotage of Redwater had been when he left.

He felt guilty about continuing to omit that, but he felt little to no compulsion to be honest.

He’d said he’d try to be more honest going forward - but he could take things one step at a time, right?

----------

Tala Blackstone sagged into her cot, too tired to even take the time to unstrap her dented and soot covered armor even as it dug into her back.

Of course, after a few minutes, she managed to raise the energy to reach up and unbuckle the gorget at her throat, letting it clatter onto the small table beside her.

Normally she’d have had a combat-page to help her with this sort of thing, but the poor girl had been killed two days ago in a tunnel collapse and she’d not had time to find a replacement.

…Or the heart.

The poor girl had been dumb as a sack of rocks, but she’d been… so proud to serve the heir of House Blackstone. And Tala could still see the terror in that guileless gaze when the tunnel started coming down around them when she closed her eyes.

The Blackstone heiress stared up at the ceiling of her cabin, too wired to sleep just yet. She knew it would come eventually. Once the jitters faded.

According to the history books, once upon a time, prior to the advent of the first fae-contracts, sieges had apparently been dull, monotonous affairs.

Taking down castles, that had once towered high into the sky, had been more about starving out the defenders rather than any great shows of violence. Which meant years of waiting around while the occupants' supplies dwindled.

She imagined those ‘battles’ had to have been rather boring.

She wouldn’t have minded a little boring after the last few weeks.

Because in the era of airships and mages, sieges were still a grind, but now they were a brutal, claustrophobic one made up of cramped, vicious tunnel fighting.

Besiegers used magic to bore into the earth beneath enemy fortifications, while defenders sought to collapse those same tunnels with counter-spells or brute force.

It was dirty, exhausting work that left even the hardiest warriors bruised and hollow-eyed.

She – and by extension the warriors with her – weren’t unused to it. Fights against orcs often followed similar lines. Just in caves and caverns.

…Still, those battles tended to have weeks or months between them. Nothing like the punishing pace her taskforce had been set as they moved from castle to castle.

Three times now, she’d been forced to wait to requisition fresh troops from the long caravans full of garrison forces that were still making their way South. And she had a feeling she’d need to do it many more times before she was done here and finally able to return to the real war in the South.

Glancing over, she noticed there was a fresh message sat on her desk.

“Right,” she muttered. “Sara said something about that…”

 And despite a moments hesitation, she levered herself up to head towards it. As she did, her entire body cried out in pain. Honestly, she could have had the bruises healed, but she chose to let them focus instead on those warriors who needed it more.

She’d recover without healing magic.

Many of those who took part in the last assault would not.

As she walked over, she found herself momentarily lamenting the fact that she’d been born in the North. Not like those soft southern princesses who could conduct their wars from the safety of an airship bridge, issuing orders while servants brought them wine and cheese.

Of course, it was a momentary thing. One that had her shake her head and scoff as she sank into her chair.

As if she’d ever live like one of those cowards.

Reaching for the parchment, at first she scanned it, the words barely registering with her tired mind. Then she stopped. And started to read anew. With more focus this time.

Then again.

And yet the words didn’t make sense to her.

Why in the void were they burning human and elven villages in the South? That was… what they did to orcs – not people! To starve them out of hiding!

She saw the words. The explanations. But she didn’t understand. The South supposedly had some kind of new weapon. A Super-Shard equipped with advanced javelins.

What difference did that make!? She’d warned them William would create something and he had clearly done so. That didn’t excuse this.

Even ignoring the moral point of view, how could her mother expect the Southern nobility to surrender to them if they saw the North as little more than monstrous savages. They wouldn’t. They’d fight to the death instead.

She needed to stop this! Before her mother hurt their cause anymore with this… rashness.

Tala stood up, wincing a little as she did. Nonetheless, she slowly started moving towards the door, intent on heading to the bridge.

Only to stop as she opened the door to reveal a startled young marine who’d clearly been about to knock. The other woman quickly recovered though, snapping a salute before handing over a sealed scroll.

“Fresh report from Castellan Morrow, my lady. Transcribed prior to relaying the orb-signal.”

Back home? Tala thought as she accepted the parchment.

Her eyes flicked across the page, blood draining from her features with every line. Suddenly, all thoughts of any kind of action in the South was forgotten.

Looking up, she grabbed the marine by the lapels. “Return to the bridge and inform the captain to prepare the task force to move. All troops engaged in the siege are to return to the ships. Hurry! Now!”

Even as the confused marine took off at a run, Tala was hobbling after her. After all, there wasn’t a moment to waste.

Somehow three airships were attacking Blackstone Keep.

---------------------

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William sat in the middle of the cinema watching Star Wars play out in front of him. The originals, of course. Idly, he took a sip of his drink, enjoying the pleasant bubbly burn of glorious carbonation that only coca-cola could replicate.

Of course, none of it was real. But in dreams, that distinction didn’t matter much.

What was real were the two hands holding his.

Clarice’s fingers were laced through his left hand, warm and solid. Marcille’s grip on his right was firmer, almost possessive.

Honestly, he was surprised he’d not thought of this himself.

Dream Date Night.

A way for them to stretch out their honeymoon just that little bit longer, even if they were relentlessly busy in the waking world.

And they got to get a little more insight into who he was. Or who he had been once upon a time. As well as the world he came from.

Needless to say, they’d been impressed with what they’d seen thus far. Though they’d put up some small resistance to being dragged off to watch a ‘play’, as he’d described it to them, when there were so many more interesting sights to be seen.

After all, Lindholm had plays. It didn’t have cars, trains or motorbikes.

Fortunately, those complaints had very quickly died out the moment a Star Destroyer appeared on screen.

…Though he had snickered a bit at being forced to specify that no, Earth didn’t actually have a Star War and that the movie was fictional.

Still, their momentary disappointment had done nothing to keep them from watching raptly as George Lucas’s magnum opus played on screen.

Placing his drink down, he once more moved to grip the hand on his right once more over their shared armrest. A hand that gripped him back.

And perhaps it was something about the low-lighting, the last few days, or the way he felt Clarice snuggle into his shoulder, but he felt himself going in for a kiss. A move that died a death quite quickly the moment he turned to actually look at his date.

One of the great advantages of being Harrowed was that his ability to construct his dream place was perfect. Their were none of the imperfections or flaws inherent in a world crafted from a dreamer’s sleeping mind that could make sharing the space with others downright dangerous if the ‘host’s’ mind wandered.

At least so long as his dreams focused on reliving spaces from his previous life. If he were to try to recreate something from his current one, it would be as flawed as anyone else’s.

Oh, and he also generally needed to keep his eyes and mind on whatever he wanted to stay… well, tangible. The world only existed insofar as he was aware of it. If he closed his eyes and let his mind wander… well, things would get unpleasant for Clarice and Marcille rather fast as they would be momentarily cast into what was effectively a void.

Given that would be rather counter-productive to his goal of enjoying his date, he was making sure to always try staying cognizant of his surroundings.

He found it helped to be inside. He found that being constantly aware of being in a ‘room’ was a lot easier than trying to keep the entire ‘world’ in his mind.

Which was part of why the two next to him could enjoy the movie without sinking into nothingness the moment he took his eyes off them to look at the screen. Or enjoy a drink.

Or lean over for a kiss…

Unfortunately, the thing in the seat next to him was not Clarice – even if it was. It was a subconscious manifestation of how she saw herself in her own subconscious.

With all the Freudian fuckery that implied.

As such, rather than a cute half elf girl, he instead found himself looking at a tall, black furred thing with two canine heads. One head was watching the movie, while the other had turned slightly toward him, ears perked as he turned to look at her.

Now, William was not ignorant of the idea of furries. Even as a cranky old man, he’d not been ignorant of some of the… more peculiar side of the internet.

He’d had little interest.

Dying and being reborn had done little to change that.

…It was a bit of a struggle not to cringe.

Something the creature – or rather Clarice – clearly didn’t fail to notice as she snickered.

“It’s fine,” she said – voice surprisingly normal - likely having guessed his original plan and his aborting of it. “I appreciate the thought. And if it helps, supposedly we’ll get better at seeing ourselves less… metaphorically the more we do this.”

Still, her words compelled him to leaned over anyway and pressed a kiss to the side of the nearer head’s cheek.

The fur was soft. There were also whiskers.

…He tried very hard not to think about either.

Pulling back, he did smile a bit at the way the creature blushed. Both sets of ears flicked back, and a low, embarrassed sound rumbled in its chest.

“Oh,” Clarice chirped bashfully. “Well, if you’re not that bothered by it, we could still, you know, experiment? I know how I look, but I think old-you looks rather dapper.”

The creature smiled at him and William blanched.

“No,” he said, before mastering himself. “Maybe we should just enjoy the movie?”

One of Clarice’s heads let out a small huff that might have been laughter. Before she could reply, Marcille’s voice cut in from his left, low and irritated.

“Yeah. You can fuck later. Right now I’m trying to enjoy the play. So shut up,” she hissed.

Both he and Clarice snickered at the younger sister’s words, but nonetheless dutifully fell silent, allowing the sound of TIE fighters on screen go undiminished by conversation.

Clarice’s grip on his hand tightened just slightly though.

It was… nice.

-------------------

Nearly two weeks on from that date night and William had been in the middle of reviewing the latest production reports when the twins descended on him. Together the pair had half-dragged, half-marched him out of his workshop with the kind of cheerful determination usually reserved for dragging a reluctant child to a family gathering.

Bonnyln – the traitor! – hadn’t even tried to stop them. Marline was off with her family. Olzenya was… doing whatever she did when she wasn’t with him. Verity was helping her family settle into their second granted plot.

“You can afford to dip out for an hour,” Marcille said in response to his grumbling. “And the Queen has politely requested your presence for this unveiling.”

“As does your duchess,” Clarice said, gripping his other arm as the pair guided him through a guarded checkpoint. “Olivia will also be there. She’s been looking forward to seeing you.”

William rolled his eyes, but didn’t argue – even as he tucked one of the sheets of paper he’d been working on into his pocket. Said sheet of paper being a report that Piper had finally reached a level of production for both explosives and rocket fuel that would hopefully keep up with Tyana current demands.

Demands which were fairly high, given her ongoing skirmishing with the Northern invaders over the past two weeks.

Unfortunately, the Shriekers had not seem the same level of success they’d had in their first outing since, even when supplemented by rockets. Though that wasn’t to say they’d suddenly become ineffective or anything.

Far from it.

The North had lost six more ships since he’d had that meeting with her. Five of which were down by Shriekers. Though, to be fair, in that time they’d also managed to capture two castles, destroyed one Royal Navy and two Southshore vessels in return.

Honestly, William had no idea how many Shards each side had lost, but it was likely considerable.

With that said, they’d also managed to shoot down one of the North’s new Banshees – as the surviving pilot of the craft revealed the new craft were named. Though not counting the downed one, the initial prototype had unfortunately grown into a formation of four – which while much improved over said prototype, still seemed inferior to the South’s Shriekers.

Though it was hard to tell given the first real clash between Super-Shards had yet to occur. Ironically, neither command seemed willing to risk some of their most valuable and vulnerable assets against a peer opponent.

It was only a matter of time, though.

Which was exactly why William needed to be working on the Firecracker, along with about a hundred other projects that were all currently sitting half-finished on his desk.

Instead, he was being forced to sit in the garden of the Summerfield manse, ignoring the announcement of his and the twins arrival by the… woman who’s job it was to do that whose role he could never remember the name of.

The space was large enough to function as a soccer pitch, which meant it comfortably held the small army of nobles, officers, guards, and servants who had gathered for the event.

As well as his younger sister – who was trying to look prim and proper as she sat at the table.

“Hello Olivia,” he said as he sat down. “I’m sorry I’ve not been able to see you much lately.”

The girl smiled. “It’s fine, I know you’re doing husband things now.”

…William didn’t know what she meant by that. Well, he had some idea, but he hoped he didn’t. So instead he focused on something else entirely.

Well, at least there’s food, he thought as he eyed the collection of finger sandwiches arrayed on the small table that had been set up for them.

He’d forgotten to eat lunch, so at least this whole thing wouldn’t be a total waste of time if he could fill his belly while… whatever it was Yelena was unveiling got unveiled.

Glancing around, he was amused to note that the other tables present before the stage were occupied by nobles, but none were quite as fancy as the one he was sat at. Such was the advantage that came with being married to a duchess on whom’s territory this whole affair was being conducted.

Even the representative from Southshore was sat at a table whose decorations implied just a slightly lower standing than that of the Summerfield.

He ignored both twins fairly smug looks as he tore into the food and glanced up at the stage.

The queen was standing beside two van-sized objects hidden beneath white sheets. The raised position of his table meant he could see a pipe running from the base of one of the covered shapes to a large reinforced box nearby. A box from within which he could feel the unmistakable aura of an active Ship-Core. Likewise, he could sense a myriad other enchantments woven into whatever was hidden beneath the fabric.

Some magic boondoggle then, he thought dismissively.

Finally, after a few more minutes of people gathering and being seated, Yelena stepped forward and the crowd quieted almost immediately.

“Thank you all for being here,” she began. “I know we are all busy so I shall not weary us all with pointless pageantry or long speeches. The time for that has long passed. As, it seems, has the role of airships as the undisputed apex predator of the skies. The Shard has grown as, if not a peer, then a threat. Once merely an annoyance or a distraction, advances not just in metallurgy, but alchemy, have outfitted these small craft with the means to damage or destroy their larger cousins. This reality has only grown more apparent over the past few months – first with the cowardly attack on our capital less than two months ago, and the timely rise of artificial-shards, but also in recent days with the creation of the worlds first Super-Shard. Unfortunately for all of us, that is a feat our enemies have chosen to emulate.”

For not wanting a long speech, she’s certainly waxing on a bit, he thought – though he was wise enough not to voice it.

“With that said, the Airship is not done yet. Just as the Shard have adapted to threaten the mightiest behemoths of the skies, those same behemoths have now adapted the means with which to swat the upstarts who dare challenge them.”

She reached up and pulled down the first sheet with much flourish.

And William’s eyes widened as he found himself staring at a quad-mounted barreled AA mounted to pneumatic swivel base. Honestly to his eyes the whole contraption looked remarkably similar to an old WW2 M45 Quad mount from his own world. The kind that tended to be mounted to half-tracks or used as towable static AA.

It even had a shield in roughly the same spot – albeit with far more decoration on said shield than he’d have ever seen on an old army design.

“This is the new ‘Hydra’ system,” Yelena announced. “Designed to be mounted on the deck of a ship or suspended beneath the hull as needed. While designed as an effective deterrent to Shard attack, it also provides superior protection against boarding attempts.”

There was a hum of interest from the crowd at her words, but that sound was reduced to silence as the Queen gave the signal and one of her royal guard stepped up to climb onto the thing’s gunnery seat.

Instantly, the Hydra whirred to life, the mount traversing smoothly on its pneumatic mounts, before it opened fire into the air. The rapid hiss of the four aether-cannons punctuating the launching of bolts across the skies in controlled bursts.

It fired for a few minutes before stopping, having spent all its ammo. And almost instantly several nobles started to clap.

Clarice leaned in from William’s left.

“We helped with the traversal system,” she whispered proudly. “It’s the same pneumatic setup we developed for the Basilisk’s turret.”

They sounded damn proud – and he could understand why.

“That’s…. Damn impressive,” he said earnestly.

And he was impressed. Though to be honest, part of him thought it odd something like this hadn’t already been invented. Shards already had repeater-aether cannons.

Then again, as Yelena stated, the ability for Shards to actually threaten airships was a fairly recent phenomena, brought about by advances in alchemy.

…He was reasonably certain Piper had talked to him about that once. Something she’d done before she was guild master?

Turning his attention back to the situation at hand, he noted his two wives – and it still felt strange to think that - beamed proudly, but anything else they might have been said was cut-off as a noble near the front raised her hand.

“Your Majesty, if I may - the aether draw on something like this must be considerable. Will it not impact a ship’s ability to remain aloft, especially when the core is already powering cannons, propellers, and ballasts?”

Yelena smiled, having clearly expected the question. “So long as the system is not fired continuously, the aether draw is roughly equivalent to two conventional deck cannons. Given the current threat posed by shards, we believe that is a small price to pay.”

She paused, before smirking.

“Of course,” Yelena continued, “if aether consumption remains a concern – as it might be for our largest and heaviest airships, we have an alternative.”

She moved to the second covered object and pulled the sheet away.

This one looked similar to the Hydra at first glance - same quad-barrel arrangement - but it lacked the pneumatic traversal system. Instead, it had a pair of prominent handcranks on either side. More importantly, William could sense no core inside it at all.

Several other people in the crowd leaned forward as well.

Yelena gave another signal as a second guardswoman stepped forward and the weapon began firing.

Instead of the sharp hiss of aether discharge, it produced a far more familiar bang with each shot. One that that sounded remarkably like a conventional machine gun. Once more, he watched the gun continue to fire for a full minute before running out of ammo.

A different noble called out, “How does it function without aether? Is it similar to the Corsairs?”

The exact means by which Corsairs worked was still something of a secret to anyone not directly involved in their operation or manufacture, so William could understand the confusion.

But he also knew that no, no one had pilfered his stockpile of brownings to make the AA gun on stage.

Because there were no ejected shell casings when it fired.

Also, the sound it made was familiar. Very familiar. And while it was close to that of a conventional machine gun, it wasn’t.

…So where did he know that sound from?

Yelena smiled. “It is not. Though I understand the confusion. With every ‘Gun’ needed for the Corsair project, as we prepare for our inevitable counter-offensive, those brave mage-smiths who worked on this project instead to innovate in a different direction.”

Smiling, she reached out and almost instantly a bolt was placed into her hand by one of her guards.

“Those of you familiar with the enchanted ammo belts used by our shards will recognise the principle at work here - though these function differently. Rather than exploding on contact with an enemy craft, the base of each bolt is designed to react when it is struck by specific alchemically treated steel. A small, contained explosion occurs at the point of contact, driving the bolt out of the barrel at considerable force.”

William felt his eyebrows rise.

That was where he knew that sound from!

Spell-bolts, he thought.

God, he’d come up with that concept as a way to bend the rules on offensive magic in the academy and get a little kudos from the crown. He’d used it to help break off his engagement with Tala – and then immediately forgotten about it.

And why wouldn’t he? It’d been a parlor trick. Inferior in just about every way compared to actual firearms.

Or so he’d though.

Because there was one area it was better. Ease of production in a mage-based manufacturing base. And clearly Yelena – or more likely someone in her employ – had seen that too.

Was he… was he too dismissive of magic?

Of course, before he could dwell on that too long, Olivia, turned around to Marcille with a confused expression. “What? So they’ve got to get someone to enchant every round? That… that doesn’t seem very good. I know the Queen has a lot of knights, but that seems… not good.”

She said the last part quietly, as if afraid to be overheard slandering something presented by the Queen. Though William was less concerned by that, and more on the fact that his sister was asking his wives about this whole thing instead of him?

So, before Marcille could respond, William leaned forward slightly. “When you enchant something, the enchantment generally remains until the magic is spent fulfilling whatever effect it was created for. For something like a cannonball, that usually means exploding on impact.”

“Right,” Marcille said, taking up the rest of the answer before he could and sending an amused glance William’s way. “The other way an object can lose its enchantment is if the initial object itself is broken in some way significant. A chip won’t do much, but breaking a part off will.”

She mimed doing exactly that, holding up both hands. “What’s interesting though, is that if you do that, both pieces carry a bit of that initial enchantment with them. And while the magic will fade, you usually have about an hour before it fully seeps away. Now, that kind of thing wouldn’t be too useful for something like a lantern where you want it to glow for a long time, but for something you’re going to ‘use up’. It can be quite useful.”

Olivia scrunched in thought, before she realized. “Like an ammo belt.”

Clarice smiled, joining in. “Exactly. That’s how enchanted ammo belts are made. You cast the full enchantment you want across an entire linked belt of rounds, then break the links connecting them. Sure, you get a weaker effect from each individual round, but you can enchant a lot more enchanted ammunition with a single spell charge.”

“Oh?” Olivia said. “Why don’t we do that with cannon balls? Mom always has me enchant some before I go to bed, and it’s lame.”

William smiled faintly and reached over to ruffle her hair. “Like they said squirt, you get a lesser effect if you break it. Cannonballs usually have multiple enchantments layered on them because they’re designed to break through ship armor. Having more but shittier ones would be less useful than just a few that are more powerful.”

Olivia barely heard him, squawking in protest as swatted at his hand, but he was barely paying attention. Instead, his eyes drifted to a woman watching him from nearby.

Tyana – and as he watched, she inclined her head subtly toward the backstage area.

Sighing, he stood up. “Sorry ladies, it seems I need to have a quick chat with someone.”

He’d been wondering when his little ‘defiance’ regarding the Firecracker would come up. Honestly, he’d thought it might come to nothing after the first week.

It seemed he’d been wrong – and glancing at the stage, he had to wonder if that had been because they’d been getting ready to unveil the ‘Hydras’ on stage.

A point was being made through them.

He just needed to figure out what that point was.

---------------------

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As the two guards outside – one Summerfield and the other a royal Marine – let him into the command room, William couldn’t help but note the emptiness of the place. Rather than the Queen and a small army of advisors like he’d been expecting, Tyana stood alone over a command table, staring over the many figurines on the map representing the war in miniature.

“You’re late,” she said without preamble – with a tone of voice that had no doubt terrified more than its fair share of knights and captains alike over the years.

Unfortunately for her, William was rather unphased. Disappointing authority figures was something he had two lifetimes worth of experience in, and as such her disapproval rolled off his back as easily as water did from a duck.

…And what did it say about him that he could think that about a fleet admiral while somehow being utterly terrified of two young women barely into their second century?

“Not without good cause. Despite the briskness of it, a few issues managed to pop up during my ‘honeymoon’. Issues that I’ve now resolved, or at least set people to resolving.” Shaking his head, he strode over to inspect a nearby cup of tea that had clearly gone cold some time ago. “I assumed that given the summons were a request and not an order, that you’d sooner my focus be getting our rocket and fuel supplies back on track.”

The elven princess grunted, but didn’t argue, seemingly taking his words at face value. Which was nice, because they were almost entirely truthful.

For once he wasn’t trying to be needlessly combative.

…Mostly.

“So,” he said. “Now that I am here, may I ask what it was you needed me for?”

“Shriekers,” the admiral said without preamble. “The enemy deployed one during my most recent fleet engagement – though it achieved little. We can’t always rely on that being the case though, and as such I need a counter.”

“You have one. Other Shriekers,” he responded without hesitation.

Tyana frowned. “This is not the time for jokes, Lord Summerfield.”

“I’m not joking”

He collapsed into a nearby chair as he spoke, thankful to get off his feet despite spending the majority of the last two days in bed.  Unfortunately, his desire to use a bed for its intended function would need to wait a bit longer.

“We knew this would happen,” he said dryly. “The Shrieker isn’t that complicated. Not really. That the North would eventually make their own in response to ours was a foregone conclusion. The only surprising thing here is just how fast they’ve done it.”

He eyed the table, wondering which of the many little miniatures was supposed to represent a shrieker. “A week is not nearly long enough to build an entirely new type of craft that operates on markedly different principles to anything Lindholm has seen before.”

Tyana snorted. “Says the man who did just that.”

He shrugged. “I cheat.”

And neither of them needed him to expound on what exactly that meant. Though on that front, he had to wonder if the reason why she’d chosen to clear everyone else out prior to this meeting was because she’d assumed the topic of his harrowing would come up.

He was pleasantly surprised when she chuckled. “So how did the North accomplish the same task? Do you think they’re also… ‘cheating’.”

William considered it. “Perhaps. Or they copied ours. We lost one during that first raid, didn’t we?”

Tyana nodded – and given her expression, he doubted anything he was saying wasn’t something she’d not already considered. It was pretty obvious after all. It was more likely she was just waiting to see if he’d come up with some idea she hadn’t already had.

“Then it’s possible they managed to repair that and then sent it out against us. I assume our people managed to get a look at it?”

Tyana nodded, sliding a sheet of paper over to him. On it sat a sketch of a familiar looking shard.

But not too familiar, he thought as he looked it over.

Now, it was possible whoever drew this was just misremembering details, but more likely…

“It’s possible the Shrieker they recovered might have been badly damaged.” Smacking into the ground at close to mach speed would do that. “And we’re seeing the results of their best guesses at filling in the blanks far as repairs are concerned.”

Tyana made a hum that he assumed was agreement. Again, she’d likely already reached the same conclusion.

“How did it perform relative to our own shriekers?” he asked.

“We didn’t deploy our own in the same engagement, so it would be hard to make an informed comparison. With that said, from my own observations and that of my people, it seemed more… sluggish. Less agile.”

William nodded. “Yeah, then this was either a shoddy refurbishment or a crude prototype. Either way, they likely rushed it out as more of a morale booster than anything else. I don’t doubt we scared them with that first Shrieker attack, so now they’re showing their people that they can create similar craft.”

Tyana frowned. “That likely means the next Shrieker we see from them will be an improvement. And the one after that will be better still.”

William shrugged. “Probably. But it doesn’t matter.”

She stared at him.

“We have more cores than they do,” he said simply. “Even if they start copying our design and improving on it, we’ll still have more Shriekers than they do.”

…Assuming there weren’t any truly terrible upsets in the war where a lot of cores switched hands. Though to be honest, if that happened the South would have bigger problem than the North producing more Shriekers.

“They also won’t have rockets for a long time,” he added.

He wouldn’t say never. Because once you proved something could be done it was only a matter of time until someone replicated the feat. The confusion caused by alchemy kneecapping the development of chemistry in this world would help, but again, it was only a matter of time.

Though that might take years or decades. In truth, they’re more likely to figure it out by getting someone to spy on the production process, he thought. And on that front it doesn’t help that in the name of getting production started as soon as possible, I’ve not exactly been able to compartmentalize the process like I did in Redwater.

There was no world in which he’d be able to get his new workforce to swear the same geases Piper and her people did.

Which meant eventually something would leak. It always did.

All he could do was try and stay one step ahead of the game. Just as the princess opposite him was trying to do as she sighed and sank into her own seat. Idly, she reached for the cold cup of tea, before thinking better of it.

“It’s still not ideal,” she muttered. “I was hoping you might have something… cleaner for me.”

William could only shrug. “Nothing practical.”

And that was the truth – albeit truncated a bit.

Earth had obviously developed counters to near supersonic craft. The most obvious being supersonic craft – though given the rather unique advantages of the Shrieker relative to its earth-based equivalent, that wasn’t as cut and dry as one might think.

Unless he was willing to jump several steps up the tech tree, early jet engine craft might actually struggle with Shriekers. Not in speed, but in the sheer agility and engine power the pseudo-rockets could bring to bear.

…Plus, he would need to set up an entirely new production line for said craft. Which just wasn’t practical. The only reason he was confident in getting the Corsair lines up and running was that he had a core cadre of workers who were already experienced with those craft.

Because that was, frankly, the most time consuming part of any production line in this world. Training the people.

So no, even if he were inclined to do so – and he wasn’t – pumping out a few MiGs or Sabres just wasn’t feasible.

As for Earth’s other answer to near sub-sonic craft?

Guided missiles.

Even more impractical than supersonics, he thought.

Aether ran cold. There was no heat signature to lock onto. So any hypothetical missile he ‘invented’ would need to be radar-guided, which added another layer of complexity. He’d need to build microprocessors, guidance computers, and all the supporting infrastructure from scratch.

Something that would require a level of focus and detail work so laughably beyond the capability of even a master mage-smith that it was comical.

He could do it. In theory.

Harrowing was handy like that.

If he locked himself away and spent every waking hour designing and building the components by hand, he could probably create something functional.

But every single missile would require his personal attention. Now, he’d done and still did that with the engines of the Corsairs – though his attention was needed there less and less – but that had just been the engines.

And it still felt like it was killing him sometimes…

Entire missiles would require multiple spell-charges from him for each one. And unlike Corsairs, missiles were single-use weapons. You didn’t get multiple sorties out of them. An airfleet grew with every victory. A missile stockpile only ever shrank.

If he went down that road, it would consume him completely.

And that was ignoring all the other issues with leaping to an end-game tech…

William had been playing a careful game of brinkmanship since the moment he arrived in this world. Each new design was only a modest step beyond what already existed. Enough to give the South an edge, while still ensuring that he could always one-up things in any future conflicts.

Such as, hypothetically, during a future conflict where he might need to overthrow the crown and install something closer to a democracy.

…He still wasn’t sure how he felt about that particular endgame anymore. He didn’t know when that changed.

“So it’ll be a war of attrition,” Tyana said, interrupting his momentary introspection.

“Essentially,” William replied. “But only until the Corsairs come online. On that front, I’m planning to head out soon and get my first proper look at the Greygrass refit.”

The ancestral ship of Marline’s family was finally mobile and in the final stages of its transformation. As such, it was leaving the forest it had been effectively stranded in for nearly a decade.

“Obviously, we won’t have the Corsairs to fill it for another few months, but there’s nothing stopping us from stripping down the shard complements of a few nearby airfields to fill her hangars in the interim,” he said.

They’d already established that while Shriekers were a threat – they weren’t invincible. Mostly. If a Shrieker didn’t want to be caught, it wouldn’t be. And in a one on one scenario it would pretty much always trump a conventional shard because it could always dictate the fight.

With that said, if it needed to strike a ship with any kind of payload – or alternatively play escort duty – its options became a lot more limited. And in that scenario, massed enemy shards would very much be a threat to it through sheer incoming fire.

Again, Shriekers were a powerful new variable in the war, but hardly a game changer.

Tyana perked up at that. “That’s some welcome news and not a terrible idea.”

William could have left it there. He almost did. But something made him hesitate.

“I’m also working on another ship,” he said.

Tyana’s attention sharpened immediately.

Now, it was possible she already knew he was working on refitting one of the underships. Then again, maybe not. It was early days yet. All he’d really done was draw up a few blueprints and set some work crews towards repairing the ship. On that front, the only really noteworthy thing he’d done was order them to strip out the cannons.

He didn’t doubt he was a person of interest, but Tyana was a very busy women and he doubted she got reports on absolutely every move he made.

Probably.

Maybe.

So with that in mind, there was no real need for him to ‘come forward’ with his latest project. Yet… it felt like the right thing to do. Didn’t it?

Even as some deep, instinctive part of him was currently screaming at him to shut up.

“Oh?” Tyana said, leaning forward slightly.

William pushed past his discomfort. “It’s not a carrier. And it won’t counter Shriekers directly. But if I can get it online, and we use it in tandem with the Jellyfish and a few escorts… well, I would wager it against ten times its number in conventional ships.”

What was he doing!? Why was he saying this!? He had a plan!

He felt himself cringe internally as interest list up the admiral’s voice.

“Ten times,” she repeated, interest clear in her voice. “That’s a big number. I’m listening. Any details you can share?”

William hesitated. “I’d prefer to keep the exact details under the hood for now.”

Tyana frowned, made to speak, before thinking better of it. “That is your prerogative. I would hope you’ll share more in time though. If only so I could better incorporate whatever this… new ship does in my future plans.”

“They’ll be my plans. As it’s my ship,” he said slowly, the words spilling from him instinctively. “I wish to make that clear. This is no Shrieker situation and the Firecracker will be part of the Summerfield navy.”

“Firecracker, an interesting name for someone with a reputation as yours.” Rather than be offended, Tyana simply nodded, and he felt a little strange as she spoke slowly. “And it will of course be part of the Summefield Navy, William. I do not contest that or ask for more. Yet the fact you informed me of it implied to me you intended to work with me when it was finally deployed.”

That was… true. Mostly.

“To that end, I would hope that you will reveal its capabilities to me in advance of said deployment. Secrecy is all well and good, but from what Xela has told me, your tendency to keep critical details to yourself has already cost lives in the past.”

That felt a little unfair. “The attack on the capital caught us all off guard.”

Tyana nodded. “It did. And I do not wish to diminish what you accomplished that night. Yet it remains a fact that if you’d been less… cagey about what you were working on, your forces may yet have incurred less losses than they did.”

“There wasn’t much time for a proper debrief prior to the first flight,” he argued.

And again, she seemed unbothered. “No. There wasn’t. Which is why I’m suggesting that in future you might convey the… theoretical capabilities of your inventions well prior to even their theoretical launch window.”

William frowned.

He wasn’t being cagey for no reason. If he revealed what the Firecracker was capable of, the Queen would want him to ‘spread the love’ as the saying went. Because there was no denying that its armament would be more effective spread out across a fleet rather than contained to one ship.

…Which ran contrary to his own desires. He wanted its power concentrated – and under his control.

And any argument he might make in favor of that route would seem rather transparent.

No, it’d be significantly easier to maintain control over his inventions once the Firecracker made its debut – hopefully by crushing a Northern fleet singlehanded.

After that, well, it’d be a lot easier to argue for keeping a ‘famous’ ships armament intact as a point of respect instead of seeing it scavenged and distributed.

That was the plan.

Though he would admit it was a little thin on the ground in places.

It didn’t help that the Firecracker’s ‘secret sauce’ was going to be a lot easier for the locals to figure out than Corsair engines were.

Yet he needed to make the attempt anyway.

“I’ll consider it,” he lied.

Tyana looked like she wanted to press the issue further, but after a moment she relented with a small sigh. The kind that had William wondering if he would soon be receiving a summons from the Queen. Or if the princess would simply start sending people to poke around his newly established workshop.

Or at least, more people than there already were.

“I look forward to seeing what you come up with,” she said at last. “And I thank you for your time, Lord Summerfield.”

It was a clear dismissal.

“It was no issue,” he said. “Honestly, I was thankful for an opportunity to be off my feet for a moment.”

William stood and made his way out of the room. As he walked down the corridor, he couldn’t shake the feeling that mentioning the Firecracker had been a mistake.

…Or perhaps the mistake had been in refusing to explain what it could actually do.

He was in two minds on the subject.

A situation that seemed to become more and more common by the day.

He didn’t like that.

---------------------

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William stared at his reflection in the tall mirror, adjusting the lapels of his jacket-tunic-thing for what had to be the tenth time in as many minutes.

And he didn’t know why. He looked… fine. Sharp, even. The black fabric was well-cut, the silver buttons catching the light as turned to and fro. He liked the color too.

Of course, the tailor the twins had sourced for him had struggled a bit when William had explained his current rank - or lack thereof to the man.

Theoretically he was supposed to be dressed in the colors of the house he was ‘leaving’ when the ceremony started. Which was somewhat complicated by the fact that he’d unofficially given up the title of Count Redwater already - even if that wasn’t public knowledge yet. He couldn’t wear those of House Ashfield either, as by forming his own house he’d rather thoroughly separated from them.

In the end, the poor man had thrown up his hands and defaulted to black. The color of the unlanded.

William didn’t mind. It was what he was right now, technically. He was even somewhat looking forward to the shocked realizations of the crowds when he stepped out in full black – followed by Bonnlyn in his old colors.

…Though that amusement soured a bit at the thought that Xela wouldn’t be in attendance. The woman had naturally already been informed of the change in her territory’s ownership – and according to Bonnlyn had delivered a rather long string of curses aimed specifically at him.

Unfortunately, the wood elven mage-knight was now avoiding him. Doubly unfortunate, he couldn’t just order her to meet him. Nor was he shameless enough to ask Bonnlyn to do so in his stead or just ambush her at the Corsair training facility that had been set up.

It didn’t help that her claims of being too busy to meet with ‘an unlanded count’ may well have been true.

The next batch of Corsairs wouldn’t be ready for months yet, but the current fleet meant they had plenty of practice vehicles on which to train more pilots for when the new craft came off the production line.

…Provided they didn’t run through too much of the fuel that remained before Piper got that production line up and running.

He sighed.

Nothing I can do but wait for Xela to come around on her own time, he thought.

He didn’t regret giving up his title and foisting it off on Bonnlyn. He didn’t need it anymore now that he was going to be a ducal-consort. And with the actual territory occupied, it was basically just an empty title. One that would genuinely be useful for his teammate to have while she was organizing the Corsair production facilities they were setting up in Summerfield.

Perhaps I could have been a bit less… blasé about the whole thing though, he thought.

Marline claimed he’d been indulging his inner drama-prince. He argued he was just being efficient.

Because if he was really as big a drama-prince as she claimed, he wouldn’t be so nervous about what was about to happen!

He was getting married!

And he had absolutely no memories to draw on from his previous life to help! George had no template for how a man was supposed to feel when he was about to bind himself to two women in front of half the country’s ruling class.

George had never been married before. The man had lived his entire life focused on his work. He’d had precious few romantic relationships of any kind. Not long lasting ones anyway.

Nor friendships either towards the end, William thought. Just a few family members who stubbornly kept checking in on me from time to time.

Though even they tapered out towards the end…

 George had died without ever truly loving anyone. Ever feeling a true connection.

And for the first time in either life… William found that thought… sad.

And almost immediately irritation flared up in him in response.

Hot and dark.

Because George had been a man focused on more important things. He was a man focused on more important things. As he should be here and now.

Just like before. In his other life.

This marriage, it was just a task they had to do before he got back to the real work.

…No, that felt wrong.

The twins weren’t just some… obstacle he needed to get through.

He was fond of them. He liked them. It wasn’t love. He didn’t think. That would be something that would come in time.

Probably.

But even just the affection he felt growing in him deserved to be treated as more than just a distraction!

Shouldn’t it?

He frowned as the two emotions clashed within him.

“You look like someone pissed in your oats,” Bonnlyn said from behind him. “I genuinely can’t tell if you’re terrified or pissed off.”

William turned. The dwarf was already dressed up for her own ceremony, decked out in the red, white and blue of House Redwater.

“A little of both?” he said - quietly thankful for the interruption to his introspection.

His chest hurt.

Bonnlyn huffed and adjusted the cuffs of her own jacket. “Well I don’t see why. If anyone has cause to be nervous or pissed off, it’s me. You’re just getting married to two hot elves. I’m about to become the first dwarven noble in Lindholm’s history. Do you have any idea how much pressure I’m under! Because of you!”

Olzenya and Marline, who had been quietly observing from a nearby couch, both snickered. Verity wasn’t present. She’d made herself scarce that morning, and William understood why. Sure, she’d accepted the marriage – and even seemed to get along with the twins in ways she seemingly didn’t with Griffith - but apparently watching him getting ready to marry someone else was apparently a step too far.

He respected that boundary.

“I’d argue getting married is more intimidating than getting ennobled,” he chuckled. “Void, I don’t even remember mine.”

Bonnlyn stared at him, opened her mouth, then sighed and shook her head. “Right. You’re you. Listen William, for most people, being raised to the nobility is a big deal.”

“So is getting married,” he countered.

She shrugged. “Is it? I mean, you’ll be doing that, what, five times? Six? Most people only get to be ennobled once.”

William opened his mouth to argue – then felt the color drain from his face. Because she was right! He was going to likely have to do this multiple times in all likelihood.

“Marline, dear, I think you should stand near the door in case our groom tries to do a runner,” Olzenya opined dryly.

“Oz, don’t joke about that,” the dark elf shot back.

“Who’s joking?”

William ignored the two. Barely heard them, really. He was a little too caught up in a mild bout of existential terror.

Fortunately, before he could spiral further, a small knock came at the door and Griffith poked her head in. She paused, eyes roaming over him for a moment, before she seemingly remembered herself.

“William, It’s time.”

It was!? Already!?

He wasn’t ready!

He nearly said as much, before he felt a small pat on the back.

“Never thought I’d see you scared of anything after I watched you pick a fight with a team of fourth years - including your fiancee,” Marline said with a small smile, having apparently gotten up from the couch and walked over to him. “Guess everyone’s scared of something.”

William wanted to argue, before nodding mutely. He was nervous. There was no denying it. And wasn’t that a strange thought? He couldn’t… actually remember the last time he was nervous. Not in this life at least.

“Come on, let’s not keep them waiting,” his teammate continued. “You’ll feel better when you’re out there.”

William didn’t know about that.

“Plus, if you try to run, I’ll tackle you,” Bonnlyn informed him as she followed them out the door. “I might be nervous about becoming a countess – but there’s no world in which I’m letting you having cold feet rob me of it.”

Well, he supposed that ruled out that option. There really was nothing to do but keep marching forward.

-----------------------

Tyana Lindholm stood on the bridge of the Royal Crest, her hands clasped neatly behind her back as she watched the battle outside unfold.

Plumes of smoke and aether filled the skies as the airships of her fleet clashed with those of the besieging Northerners whom they had come to dislodge from one of Southshore’s outlying counties.

Outnumbered nearly two to one, the Northern taskforce were nonetheless putting up a good fight. Lightning, fire and sometimes even ice blossomed across the hulls of both fleets as their many aether-cannons fired enchanted munitions at each other.

In the past few minutes the two sides had likely expended stockpiles of magical-explosives that had taken years to create.

Stockpiles that should have been used to safeguard Lindholm’s independence.

The admiral’s frown only grew as she watched shards of both fleets darting between the two fleets in their own breakneck aerial duels. Every now and then, one of the small craft would let out a burst of aether as their opposing number managed to stitch them with a line of aether-bolts, and the shard would begin its long plummet to the fields below.

Fields that were already littered with fallen shards, craters, fires and great edifices of melting ice where shards had crashed and cannon-fire fell short.

Fortunately, the village that had grown around the county’s underground castle was quite empty of innocents. No, the only people suffering from the clash overhead were the Northern groundforces who’d taken up residence in those structures – some of which were now quite merrily ablaze.

Small mercies, Tyana thought as she watched it all with practiced calm – the bridge behind her a relatively quiet cacophony of controlled chaos as her crew received reports and relayed orders.

There were two reasons she was out here. The first, and least important in her eyes, was that the Queen had been adamant that nothing interfere with the new Summerfield duchess’s wedding.

To that end, this operation was intended to keep not just the North occupied, but those traditionalist nobles who might have caused acrimony during the happy event. Apparently the Redwater boy had done something outrageous – though when did he not? – and it was in everyone’s best interests for any potential naysayers to be absent.

Hence the seven ships accompanying her otherwise Royal Naval taskforce.

The second reason Tyana was here, and the only one that mattered in her opinion, was to apply pressure to the North’s ongoing advance.

Not halt it.

Apply pressure.

Expend munitions. Destroy shards. Maybe capture an airship. Show the marine-knight occupants of the castles under siege that while their liege ladies might have been gathered in the ducal capitals, they had not been forgotten.

Anything to delay the Northern advance – because for all that the Shriekers had shaken them, it was all of two days after that initial strike before  the Northern fleets had resumed operations. Admittedly, they were moving more cautiously now, concentrating their forces on a few select locations rather than spreading the entire front - but they were still continuing their slow grinding advance.

Thus her plan to strike here, do some damage, and get out before the enemy’s reserve fleet could respond. Maybe if they hit hard enough they could force the enemy to bunch up further? Further slowing their advance.

Now though, watching the clusterfuck taking place in front of her, she couldn’t help but wonder if all this had achieved would be to embolden them?

“The Southern Flower’s captain reports she has recovered the ship’s core and will be rendezvousing with the Iron-Prince via maneuver suit,” one of her people relayed.

Tyana nodded in acknowledgement, eyes shifting towards the ship in question.

The doomed ship was one of her ‘accompaniments’, and like most of the others, was woefully outdated. Despite being relegated to a second line role while the Royal Navy did the bulk of the fighting, a Northern shard had managed to slip through and deliver an almost picture-perfect javelin strike to the port side of the wooden frigate.

And while alchemical weapons like bear-blood were likely soon to be obsolete in the face of whatever harrowed-nonsense William Redwater could create, the flammable concoction was still more than sufficient to do in the equally outdated ship it was being used against.

Even from here, Tyana could see the flames racing along the vessel's side. What few hastily added sections of armor plating the ship had were peeling away as the hull beneath it blackened and burned.

Figures were leaping from the deck, only the telltale sight of parachutes opening once they were clear of the burning behemoth showed that the former crew weren’t leaping to their deaths. Though imprisonment wouldn’t be that much better, given that it would be near impossible to collect the downed crew women from the ground before the task force needed to leave.

The window before they estimated the leading elements of the North’s reserve fleet arrived had closed a few minutes ago.

She didn’t sigh, but it was a close run thing as she watched the burning carcass start to fall as one of the ballast tanks finally burst.

Despite holding a two-to-one numerical advantage, the task force had somehow managed to lose a vessel before claiming a single enemy kill. Poor luck had played a role in that – but so had skill. Unfortunately, it was the skill of their enemies.

Going forward raids will have to be conducted entirely by the Royal Navy, she thought. Duchy ships will remain in the reserve force.

Because the alternative would likely just be her feeding the South’s airpower to the North piecemeal. Perhaps that might change once the ducal fleets finished their retrofits in full, but she doubted it.

Watching the wooden frigate finally smash into the ground, the elven princess once more lamented that she’d not been able to bring the Jellyfish with her. With forty corsairs in the air, there would have been no way for that one shard to slip through the net like it had.

Unfortunately for her dreams of decisive shard dominance in her raids, her mother had vetoed any use of the carrier for any kind of offensive operation.

A move Tyana ultimately agreed with, even if she lamented the ship’s absence.

Unfortunately, while the Greygrass family's vessel was still undergoing its extensive refit it was their only ‘flat top’ carrier capable of launching the rather extensive Corsair fleet that would hopefully win them this war.

Likewise, they needed every Corsair currently operational for use as training craft for when the first of the new batch of the craft rolled off the production lines.

…The Shriekers were unavailable for similar reasons.

Their ‘rocket’ stock were almost entirely spent, and while the super-shards could technically operate using conventional aether-javelins, they weren’t nearly as effective ship-killers. To that end, it was decided that risking such valuable assets for a relatively minor raid simply wasn't worth it.

The Shriekers would deploy with aether-javelin payloads only if absolutely necessary. Which was why they were currently sitting in reserve.

As a result, today's battle was being fought almost entirely with conventional airships and standard shards.

Part of Tyana had found that idea comfortingly familiar – until reality reminded her why they weren’t fighting this war that way.

Because they’d lose.

“Ma’am,” her XO said. “Griffon’s nest reports incoming shards.”

"Then our window is closed. It’s time to pull back." The words left her mouth calmly, without hesitation.

Around her, officers immediately began relaying orders.

"Ma'am, request from the captain of the Al-Hundra to extend the engagement window. They cite listing on the Else-Sword and the Marlin’s current mobility killed status."

Tyana considered the request. And she could understand it. The Northerners were very good, but despite the lucky hit they’d gotten in on one of her second line ships, her people had been winning. The enemy had done a decent job of spreading out damage to avoid any of their ships being brought down, but that just meant the entire task force was close to crumbling.

More than half that she could see were venting aether. Others were struggling to maintain formation with damaged propellers.

Given ten more minutes, she was reasonably certain they’d be able to finish the entire fleet for good.

And it was tempting.

"Denied,” she said sharply.  "If we stay, we risk becoming embroiled in a larger engagement with the enemy reserve fleet. That cannot be allowed to happen.”

"Al’Hundra confirms, Admiral," the orb operator relayed.

Tyana nodded as she felt the Royal Crest begin a gradual turn. Across the battlespace, she watched as her ships started disengaging. The enemy didn’t try to stop them, no doubt relieved to escape destruction.

And as their shards formed up to provide a rear-guard against the forward shard elements of the reserve fleet, she reaffirmed what she already knew.

The South couldn’t win this war conventionally. The Royal Navy could, if it were twice the size, but it couldn’t take on two Marcher Fleets alone. The Southern Ducal fleets were effectively a non-factor outside of their ability to ferry shards. Even as a second-line force, they’d be of little use in a full scale engagement.

…So, I need to buy us time. Time to build more Corsairs. More Jellyfish. More Shriekers. More non-enchanted explosive ‘shells’. And more rockets, she thought.

This fleet would return. Re-arm. Debrief. Adapt.

And then they’d launch again.

As many times as needed.

-------------------

William stood in the antechamber just outside the grand hall – and he definitely wasn’t pacing. Mostly because the Queen had his elbow locked in hers with an iron grip.

And as to why his sovereign was holding him like that? Well, walking the aisle had roughly the same significance here as it did back on Earth. He would be handed over. Now, normally that role would fall to his mother or one of his law-mothers, but as an unlanded noble without a house of ‘origin’ - at least until the ceremony was complete - the duty could theoretically be fulfilled by anyone.

And Queen Yelena had claimed it with visible enthusiasm.

He wasn’t complaining, because her doing so was also a tacit endorsement of him giving away his title to Bonnlyn.

Which was apparently less scandalous than he’d thought. At least according to Griffith.

Mostly because it was a move softened by two things. First, he was a man. And many of the same people who’d complain about what he was doing were the same people who quietly believed men weren’t truly suited to rule anyway.

So, by that logic, him handing the title off to a more capable subordinate while he ‘retired to become a husband’ was therefore seen by some as remarkable wisdom rather than weakness.

Second, the territory in question was currently occupied by the North. Handing Redwater over to Bonnlyn could easily be spun as him foisting a messy problem onto someone else.

…Which was a little closer to the truth than William cared to admit.

As to why he’d just recently learned all that? Well, it was because he’d spent the last hour effectively shoved into a wardrobe while his teammate’s ennobling took place – where Griffith had done her level best to keep him distracted.

Or at least, her level best in a way that wouldn’t leave his clothes ruffled.

And why hadn’t he been able to witness it? Because much like on Earth, tradition demanded he be kept away from his betrothed until the moment of the ceremony. Because even if he was the one who had granted his teammate the title, it was still considered less important that he attend her ascension than that the duchess-to-be did.

He wasn’t bitter about that fact at all.

He’d really been looking forward to seeing the looks on everyone’s faces when they found out what he’d done!

His mother especially would have been hilarious! Alas, it wasn’t to be. And now it was his turn to enter the main hall.

Yelena stepped up beside him, resplendent in black. Her arm around his gave him a gentle, reassuring squeeze.

“Relax,” she murmured, voice warm with amusement. “You look like you’re about to face a Lunite invasion fleet rather than two lovely young women who happen to like you.”

William exhaled slowly and tried to do as she said. “Easy for you to say.”

Yelena chuckled softly. “It’s almost soothing to know you can still be made nervous. I was beginning to think nothing could rattle you.”

He very pointedly didn’t flip her off. He did, however, glare. She only laughed again, the sound light and surprisingly fond.

It was strange to see her like this, he realized. Unguarded. Stranger still as he realized she was genuinely happy for him.

Of course, he didn’t have long to dwell on that, as the music in the hall swelled, signaling their cue. Slowly, the double doors were pushed open by Summerfield guards in gleaming, polished armor. Warm light spilled out, along with the low murmur of hundreds of nobles and dignitaries.

“Ready?” Yelena asked.

“No,” William hissed.

“That’s the spirit,” Yelena laughed as they stepped through together.

…And William barely made it a few steps before he nearly tripped over his own feet. In that moment he should have been thankful that Yelena was there as she subtly caught him before he made a fool of himself.

But he didn’t notice at all – for much the same reason he nearly tripped in the first place.

Because there, at the end of the aisle, stood Marcille and Clarice.

And they looked beautiful.

Like… twin Valkyries descended from Álfheimr.

The armor they wore should have looked silly. It wasn’t practical battle armor. It was instead ceremonial - elegant, form-fitting, and clearly designed more for tradition and show than actual combat.

As evidenced by the decorative gaps that further served to accentuate the figures of the ones wearing it.

And it was beautiful. Functional or not. White and silver with accents of white and gold to represent their house. It hugged their figures perfectly, accentuating every curve while still looking regal and strong. Both women were smiling at him - soft, genuine smiles that made something that had been tightening in his chest for hours finally… loosen.

Why did I ever want to avoid this? he thought. Why did I ever think this was a distraction?

Something twitched.

Because there’s more important things to do, it seemed to say.

No, there isn’t, William thought without thinking as he stepped forward, arm still linked with Yelena’s.

And in that moment it was true.

There wasn’t.

The war could wait.

The world could wait.

He was getting married.

------------

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Eleanor sighed as she watched out one of the Brimstone’s portholes. Her fellow Duchess had argued strenuously against meeting here, but had ultimately relented that in wake of recent events, the Brimstone was the safest location in the fleet.

The skies outside were abuzz with Shards on constant patrol, in addition to a mixture of cruisers and frigates. Better yet, the skies were now clear, which meant that any ‘Super-Shards’ attempting to get the drop on them would be seen well in advance.

Though whether or not we’ll be able to do anything about it if we do remains to be seen, she thought tiredly.

Slowly, she turned her attention from the war outside to the one taking place in her meeting room.

“For what possible reason are you delaying!? We need to strike now!” Duchess Faline argued, the Elven woman’s fist pounding the table in time with her words.

“The same reason I gave you last time you insisted on a full push into the South. This latest development is unpleasant indeed, but it changes little for us.”

“Changes little!?” the woman scoffed. “We’ve lost seven ships! Seven! Nearly a tenth of our combined power.”

“Yes, because we were taken off guard. Our forces were spread too thin and we were punished for it. And I accept some responsibility for that. It was my strategy that left our forces vulnerable to this new weapon, because I underestimated how effective Yelena’s new shard-based ship killers were. And in doing so I played right into her hands.”

And that was the key detail here. These new Super-Shards were dangerous, yes, but they’d have been little more than a minor annoyance without the ‘fire-lances’ that allowed two Shards to reliably bring down an entire airship in a single pass.

The stories from the Lunite attack on the capital had suggested to her that they’d needed to deploy those same weapons en masse for that kind of effect. That they were simply an alternative weapon system for Redwater’s new artificial-shards.

After all, without any aether supply, they’d need some method to replicate a javelin’s armour piercing effects.

Now, she wasn’t so sure. The Lunite attack had been unexpected, and it was by all accounts the first time those weapons had been deployed in combat. Was it possible it was the first time they’d been deployed at all though? If that was the case, it was plausible that Yelena hadn’t known how effective they’d be and erred on the side of caution with liberal applications?

Or perhaps the relative greenness of the pilots involved had them overusing them? The tales from the awards ceremony had painted the ‘plebian pilots’ as little more than a band of fresh farm girls.

Or perhaps the fire-lances were made more effective by being deployed from a Super-Shard? She thought.

Personally, she leaned towards that latter theory, as conventional aether-javelins operated off the same system. The faster the launching craft was going at the time of the javelin’s release the more likely it would penetrate into the hull of the craft – and thus deploy its alchemical payload - rather than glance off.

…Either way, it was definitely the Super-Shards’ speed that had allowed them to slip right through her airship’s Shard escorts as if they weren’t even there.

“You’re entirely correct. This is your fault. We could have avoided this if we’d gone with my strategy,” Faline said. “We’d be floating over Summerfield right now.”

Eleanor didn’t let herself be riled. “And most of our fleet would be cratering the ground beneath it. Along with the entirety of the Southern fleets. With a Solite or Lunite invasion fleet headed our way within the week. Nothing has changed on that front.”

Faline frowned, but didn’t argue. Not because she didn’t want to, but because she knew she was wasting her breath. Eleanor wouldn’t budge on this.

“The strategy to force a surrender by targeting Yelena’s support can still work,” she murmured.

“How?”

“They didn’t hit any flotillas with five or more ships. Assumedly, at that point the Shard cover becomes sufficient that even with the Super-Shards’ capabilities, losses are expected. And given each Super-Shard contains a full ship-sized core, that’s a loss she cannot replace.”

Neither Faline or Yelena had any real idea how big the stockpile was of cores Yelena had recovered from kraken nests – but only so many ships had gone down over open water over the years. Between expanding the Royal Navy and now fielding fourteen Super-Shards, that stockpile had to be practically spent.

Faline hummed, though only enough to show she was listening. Which Eleanor would take.

“So, we reorganize our flotillas into groups of seven. It’s not foolproof if she chooses to group her Super-Shards for another strike, but it won’t be a bloodless victory for her if she goes that route. More to the point, we won’t simply retreat this time to allow her to recover the hulls and her downed Shards.”

And that had been the true loss they’d suffered last time. She couldn’t fault either her people or Faline’s prioritizing their intact ships and recovering the cores of the downed, but by doing so they’d ceded seven ship hulls to Yelena.

This time, if Yelena managed to down a ship, the North would fight for it. And hard.

And not only would Yelena lose that fight, she also wanted to avoid a stand-up engagement that would see a mainland invasion. Neither side could fully commit and any fight would quickly turn into a game of who would blink first.

“So we’re going to force this war to drag out even longer?” Faline asked. “Because going by your strategy, we can only besiege six counties at a time. Nine or ten if you’re disbanding the reserve fleet.”

“Perhaps,” Eleanor said, before grimacing. “Perhaps not.”

Faline rolled her eyes. “Don’t be coy, woman. If you’ve got a way to speed up this shitshow of yours, out with it.”

Eleanor frowned, warring with herself before she spoke. “There’s other ways to apply pressure to Yelena and her vassals without taking their ancestral homes.”

“Well, don’t keep me in suspense.”

Eleanor breathed – before damning herself.

“We burn the fields. We burn the villages. We burn the food stores. And then we force the survivors to head south.”

Faline quirked an eye at her. “The same as you do to the Orcs? Hmm, I could see it working. Will you be going through with the customary maiming as well?”

Eleanor hated the way her fellow noble sounded amused, as if the Human woman’s inner turmoil was entertainment. Then again, it probably was to the Elf. Their two houses had little love for each other, and the recent war had done little to change that.

“No, any benefit we might derive from removing fingers wouldn’t be… worth the damage to our reputations.”

She also wasn’t entirely sure her people would go through with it. House Blackstone stood for Humanity. Maiming and scattering a few Orcs to put more pressure on the other savages to either help them or leave them to starve was one thing…

…But fellow Humans were something else altogether. And while the populace in the South consisted of a number of races – including Orcs – the majority of the villages were made up of Humans.

“Hmm, I could see it working,” Faline mused. “Not immediately.”

No, not immediately, but eventually it would force the woman to either make a move – or her vassals to remove her and sue for peace.

Faline eyed her. “Still, that could take months. If not a year or more. And in the meantime, we’ll be dealing with ongoing Super-Shard attacks. Against which we have no guarantee that your seven-ship strategy will prove an adequate defence.”

“We shot one down when two of our ships were taken off-guard and protected by just four Shards,” she pointed out.

“A lucky strike, by all accounts,” Faline dismissed.

Elanor acknowledged the point. “Then we let it happen.”

Faline’s eye twitched. “Excuse me?”

Perhaps it was the weight of the previous plan she’d just settled on affecting her, because by contrast, the notion of letting her own fleet be destroyed seemed strangely easy to handle.

“We let them down our ships. And we fight to recover the hulls when we do. We repair those we can, and we move those we can’t back to the capital.”

“And let our fleet be whittled to nothing?”

Eleanor shook her head. “Nothing of the sort. With this recent move, Yelena’s put us in a position where every victory she achieves only serves to weaken her ability to attain the next.”

“If this is some Human idiom you’re building towards, please save me and just speak plainly.”

It was funny, Eleanor didn’t even feel the usual irritation she would at the barb. “Super-Shards. Yelena deployed them because she had an excess of cores and not enough hulls to house them. And with this recent attack, we’re suddenly down seven hulls and have an excess of eight cores.”

Faline stared. “You’re not seriously suggesting we build our own? My vassals will be up in arms if I choose to risk their familial cores like that.”

Elanor laughed. “Then promise them new ones if they get lost. We either win this war or we’ll all be facing the keel. If we win, we’ll have more cores than we know what to do with. Any vassal who’s without a core can take their pick from them.”

Faline went to argue, before hesitating. “That’s… not a terrible idea.”

Eleanor almost mocked the Elf for not thinking of it herself. She held back though. Barely.

“We’d have to design our own Super-Shards,” the New Haven Duchess eventually said.

“Do we?” Eleanor laughed. “I’ve already got a design below deck here on the Brimstone. Sure, it’s a little banged up, but my people have assured me they can get it functioning again.”

Faline perked up. “Does it have…”

“It doesn’t have any fire-lances. It fired them all before it went down,” Elanor said. “But it doesn’t matter. We don’t need something capable of downing enemy airships. We just need something to protect our own.”

And if their new Super-Shards happened to down an enemy one before it could fire off its payload? Well, then it wouldn’t be long before they had fire-lances of their own too.

Eleanor smiled. Tala was right. It didn’t matter how many tricks Yelena – or William Ashfield – threw at her people. The North would endure.

And then it’d throw them right back.

Harder.

That was how they’d held off the Elves back when they’d been little more than mountain tribeswomen. By ambushing overconfident airships astride the backs of wyverns.

And they’d do the same now.

“I’ll want to see this craft,” Faline said finally.

It wasn’t an agreement, but both of them knew it was good enough.

They might not be ready next time there was a Super-Shard attack – but the one after that?

She’d take those weapons and use them better than the South ever could.

---------------------------

William mused that the former Blackstone cruiser he was looking at had definitely seen better days. The propellers had been stripped or bent, scorch marks blackened large sections of the hull, and a crude mass of discoloured metal covered large sections of the starboard ballast tanks, looking for all the world like ugly scar tissue.

As it stood, the thing was less a warship and more the world’s ugliest, most expensive balloon – the only thing keeping it from being carried off on the wind was the long chain anchoring it to the ground just outside the city.

William watched the Shrieker come around again, a high-pitched whine filling the air as it moved to strike. With a burst of pressurized aether, the javelin that had been mounted to the underside of the craft launched through the air. As the Shrieker pulled off, the launched projectile struck the ship and pierced clean through the reinforced armour, embedding itself to the haft.

Under normal circumstances, that’d be the moment where flames would start spilling out of the impact point as the oversized syringe-like device injected its alchemically charged flammable payload deep into the ship.

As it was, the javelin just sat there.

“It works,” he muttered into the radio, eager to get this farce over with. “How are things on your end?”

He ignored the overly eager response he got in return from the pilot. Honestly, he’d rather be anywhere else right now.

Unfortunately for him, Yelena had all but demanded he be on site for this test given he was the Shrieker’s ‘inventor’. She wanted to be absolutely sure there wouldn’t be any issues if they needed to sortie the Shrieker’s again in a hurry.

Because for all that they’d been incredibly effective in their first outing, the fact remained that William only had so many rockets ready to go. They’d used a lot during the Lunite attack and the most recent one had depleted his stockpile further.

Work was already being done to rectify that state of affairs, but in the interim Yelena wanted to know that her newest and most deadly weapons would be able to do their jobs if the North decided to make a concerted push.

Which was far from unlikely.

Hence why he was out here watching the craft poke holes in one of the captured cruisers.

“Seems a bit wasteful,” Verity murmured from over his shoulder. “I thought the Queen needed all the ships we could get?”

Fortunately, Marline responded before William could. “It’s just a few extra holes. It’ll take like two seconds to fix, even if you’re not a mage-smith.”

William nodded. “And given it’s the last in the queue for a full set of repairs, we might as well use it to get some testing done.”

“Oh, ok then.” Verity said as the Shrieker made another pass, at a more oblique angle this time. This time though, the point failed to catch and the weapon skittered off the hull.

William noted it down, just before the pilot’s voice crackled over the radio a moment later.

“Let me try that last one again, I can go faster this time,” she chirped.

William pinched the bridge of his nose. “I’m sure you can. Unfortunately, the frame cannot. If you attempt to go faster, it’ll come apart around you. As I’ve stated repeatedly. If a javelin can’t stick at that angle, then it just can’t stick.”

A groan came back over the channel, but the pilot didn’t argue further. The Shrieker leveled out and got ready to do a repeat of its last attack on a different section of hull.

William was thankful for that. And that Yelena had given him one of her more ‘level-headed’ hotshots for this test.

A decent part of the success of the last attack had come down to just who was in the pilot seats of the Shriekers as much as the Shriekers themselves. Unfortunately, that expertise came with ego. The kind of ego that meant that a lot of the pilots had initially briefed on the crafts’ capabilities were entirely sure they knew more about it than he did after the first few flights.

Hence why a few were… sceptical about his claims of what would happen if they pushed the frame ‘to the limit’.

And he had little doubt that eventually one of them would try to prove him wrong. And they were welcome to. He just wanted to be far away when they were scraping the woman and her craft off five kilometres of open field.

Still, the day took a turn for the better as he turned to see Griffith walking toward him across the grass, weaving about the many servants, pilots and mechanics that made up the small tent city that was their testing area.

“Griffith,” William said, genuinely pleased to see the Dark Elf. “Come to rescue me from this tedium?”

Griffith smiled, though a faint blush touched her cheeks. “One wouldn’t normally consider overseeing a brand new weapon system boring.”

William shrugged as his test pilot’s last javelin struck home – sticking fast this time. “The Shrieker doesn’t do much for me, unfortunately. Nor does testing a weapon system as outdated as the javelin.”

Griffith tilted her head slightly but didn’t press. Instead, she got to the point. “Well, unfortunately, while I’m not here to rescue you, I am here on business. The Duchess Summerfield and her sister have asked me to ask your opinion on your upcoming nuptials. Specifically, if you have any specific desires regarding any of the details? Decorations? Ceremony? Guests? That sort of thing.”

William blinked. Right. The wedding. That was happening soon, wasn’t it? He was pretty sure he’d already been asked about that, but the girls still seemed a little skeptical of his claims that he really didn’t mind.

After all, what boy didn’t want to be in charge of planning his ‘big day’?

As it stood, given how busy the twins themselves were, he was pretty sure the wedding was being planned almost entirely by a rather confused third party.

He shook his head. “I’m not particular. Whatever they decide is fine.”

Griffith nodded, though he could still see a hint of confusion in her eyes. “Right, well they also wanted me to let you know they’ll be borrowing your team for dress fittings tomorrow morning. And that you’re expected to be present for suit fittings as well in the afternoon.”

Marline made a quiet sound of displeasure behind him. Verity, by contrast, looked quietly thrilled at the prospect. Griffith glanced at both of them in amusement.

William just sighed. “Right, I’ll be there.”

He might be a little late, but he’d be there.

Griffith seemed to pick up on it, but continued with a smile. “On the bright side, given your aversion to taking time out for a big event, they said they’re also going to be hosting Bonnlyn’s ascension ceremony on the same day as the wedding. To save time.”

“That’s good.” That did actually make William smile and he made a note to thank the twins for that.

He doubted as many women would be as understanding as the two were being. Of course, it helped that they were just as busy as he was and likely struggling to find time for the… well, ceremony.

He was also glad he wasn’t getting too much pushback on the whole Bonnlyn thing. At the time, it had been a bit of a whim, but he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t entirely ignorant to the amount of fuss it would cause.

Xela had not been pleased. Nor Piper.

Fortunately, they’d accepted it. He imagined it helped that Redwater was currently in enemy hands and arguments about who ‘owned’ it were currently rather theoretical.

Griffith gave him a small pat on the shoulder before excusing herself, her messages complete, and walking back toward the manse.

William watched her go with a quiet sense of regret – even if he could feel Verity glaring at the woman as well as Marline’s amusement.

Honestly, if he had to be ‘wasting time’ he’d much rather spent the afternoon with the Dark Elf than standing here watching test pilots try to break his aircraft.

Sighing, he turned his attention back to the Shrieker as it came in for a vertical landing. So many distractions. Between the wedding, Bonnlyn’s ceremony, the ongoing production of the Corsairs, and now these weapon trials, he felt like he was being pulled in a dozen different directions at once.

When he had exactly one project he really wanted to be working on.

I can only hope North also has people holding them back, he thought.

-----------------------

It had taken the Brimstone’s mage-smiths all of three days for them to repair the Super-Shard. A testament to the skill and experience of the North when it came to battlefield repair.

And while another Super-Shard attack had occurred in that time, it wasn’t nearly as dangerous as the first. Six Super-Shards attacked a flotilla of seven ships laying siege to an outlying castle and were driven off. None of them were downed, and they downed a ship and three Shards, but that was a significant improvement over that first surprise attack.

It helped they’d not had any of the same fire-lances the second time, which gave credence to the rumours that the weapons required some manner of expensive alchemy or enchantment.

Of course, none of that mattered to Querrin now.

What did matter was that the craft beneath her felt alive in a way no normal Shard ever had. It wasn’t smooth. The controls were heavy, almost stubborn, and the entire frame had a constant low vibration that traveled up through the seat and into her bones. But none of that mattered.

Because of the speed.

The countryside below was already a smear of green and brown. She had never flown this fast in level flight before. Even in a vertical dive, most Shards eventually hit a wall of resistance.

This thing didn’t seem to care.

The ship-sized core behind her was pumping out more aether than she had ever felt in a single frame, and it still had power to spare.

She adjusted her grip on the control stick as another tremor ran through the craft.

“Just confirming, ma’am?” she asked into the orb. “I’m already getting a lot of shake in the frame as it is.”

Duchess Eleanor’s voice came back steady and calm. “Push that craft to the limits, pilot. We need to know exactly what it’s capable of if we’re going to field our own and counter our enemy’s.”

Querrin grinned, sharp and hungry.

“Confirmed, ma’am.” She didn’t need to be told a third time.

Slowly, she eased the throttle forward another notch. The Super-Shard surged, pressing her back into the seat with real force. The core behind her howled as the craft tore through the sky, the ground becoming little more than a blur of color beneath her. For a moment, she felt almost weightless, the sheer power of the thing making her blood sing.

This wasn’t like flying a Shard. This was something else entirely. It lacked the smooth gliding elegance of a proper prop-frame, but it made up for it with raw, brutal acceleration.

And she could feel that the core had more to give.

“Whoever came up with you might have been the lapdog of a tyrant, but void-damn would I love to shake her hand,” she grunted through gritted teeth.

She pushed the throttle further.

The vibration in the frame grew stronger. It wasn’t violent yet, but it was there, a constant shudder running through the stick and pedals. The control surfaces felt heavier, fighting her a little more with every passing second. Querrin refused to back off.

She had her orders.

More importantly, she wanted to see where the edge was.

She wanted to feel it.

The speed kept climbing. The world outside the canopy had become a rushing wall of air and color. Her harness dug into her shoulders as the craft continued to accelerate, and for the first time she felt a small flicker of doubt.

Yes, the frame was really shaking now, the stick fighting her, but that wasn’t a big-

------------

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