Cooper was in his element. A half dozen reference books in three languages were spread across the low table in front of him, a mug of drinking chocolate rested by his hand, and his friends were joining him in the endeavor, recognizing his hard work.

"So it's just a big tree, yeah?" Gabrielle said.

Mostly appreciating his hard work.

"Yes and no. There's a center node, or focus, which is usually but not always a tree. It's more like a living forest–"

"Aren't all forests living?" Gabrielle cut him off again.

Cooper lost a battle with his self-restraint and flicked a pillow at her in retaliation. "A sentient forest then, all the pieces within feeding information and power into the central node. Allegedly they can get strong enough they can communicate with humans directly. The journal with that account is suspect though, some of the other details don't check out."

"Didn't it throw a boulder at Laurel?" Eric asked. "That seems like communicating to me."

"Yes, well…" It was no use, he'd lost the rhythm now and he wouldn't be getting it back any time soon.

"It's a giant magic forest! Who cares about the details? It will be full of treasures and resources for Cooper and me." Rebecca was laying upside down, with her head dangling off one of the couches, playing a game of keepaway with Flint.

"There's a bit more to it than that," Cooper tried. It was no use, the whole group was chatting about what they would find. Instead of resisting, Cooper went along with the rest. It was kind of fun trying to guess.

"When are you thinking of doing the trip?" Helene asked. "My next contract isn't for another few weeks if you're going soon."

He shook his head, busy savoring the hot chocolate, which had cooled to the perfect temperature while they talked. "Can't. It's considered rude to enter a Forest Monarch's realm during winter, when most trees are conserving energy. Any guardians the Monarch has will take offense and run us off."

"Wait, we aren't sure if they can even communicate but we know they care about etiquette?" Eric was allegedly doing his own research, but even the most diligent student among them was easily distracted by an upcoming adventure.

"If magic was easy to understand, everyone would do it," Cooper pretended he hadn't spent hours trying to answer the same question.

"Spring then," Gabrielle said. The look in her eyes said she had ideas and wasn't going to shy away from sharing them. "Who all is going? Rebecca obviously because she's all about nature stuff. Flint too," she added after a chittering objection from their most adorable sect member. "Cooper because I guess we are hoping something there has some poison."

"And I think the whole thing sounds fascinating. It's an adventure in our backyard that we've ignored for years." Cooper wanted all his motivations out in the open.

"Cool. By spring I'm guessing Helene will be back on the trade routes?"

A nod from the quiet water cultivator. "Spending time at sea is too useful."

"And profitable," Gabrielle added, "she'll be richer than all of us. But back to it, that leaves me, Eric, and Leander."

"I AM GOING."

The stone Leander had created to replace his original gift from Laurel was not quite as advanced. The lack of easy-to-use volume controls was the most notable struggle. Leander's contributions were either whisper-quiet or deafening.

"You and me then Eric." Gabrielle rubbed her ears after the onslaught.

"I have an anatomy class I'm taking at the University this spring. Not sure I'll be able to go."

He looked devastated, prompting a round of enthusiastic head pats from Flint and assurances from the rest of them.

"Me and Leander then. But I expect a trip to some magic volcanoes at some point."

"Deal," Rebecca said, nudging Gabrielle. "You can watch how much better I am at elemental foraging."

The politer rivalry the two of them had settled into was a boon to the whole sect. Now they spent their time pushing each other in cultivating, and occasionally challenging each other to obscure tasks rather than bitter sniping taking over each meal they sat through together.

"We should see if we can get the army to join in too," Cooper said. "Ask if any of their cultivators want to come. Then we can get paid for it too."

"Oh, great idea. Didn't Reina take a wood aspect?"

"I think so."

Leaning in, Cooper joined Gabrielle in a discussion of their travel logistics. He could feel the excitement bubbling up inside him. It had been months since he left the city, and even that was just a trip to his parent's estate for the birth of his new nephew. Every part of him was itching for something new, something incredible. They were still months away but he couldn't wait.

*********

The palace was always a fraught environment. Most of the time she visited, it was for a productive meeting where the sect was able to collaborate with the King and his council. The rest were unpleasant memories with everything Laurel held important hanging in the balance. Today was shaping up to be part of the latter. Martin and her were marching onto a battlefield.

The Midwinter celebrations at the palace were notorious. Even getting an invite was the ultimate status symbol in Meristan high-society. A mountain the sect had climbed in the last few years. Politicking was far from her comfort zone, but like anything else over the years, Laurel had learned. There were more than a few noble families that owed the sect a favor, or were looking for a way to weasel their way into her good graces.

The day-long party would be as beautiful as it was dangerous. Alliances would be formed and dynasties toppled on the back of what happened here.

The sect had earned an invite when Verilia became a City in truth. The years since that occasion had just cemented her opinion of the event as a way to contain the destruction that ambitious nobles could get up to when left unchecked.

After getting used to the manufactured drama, Laurel had come to appreciate the event for the battlefield it was. And when it got too boring, she fantasized about how these pampered nobles would react if they were forced to survive in the wilderness, or face down a spirit beast with only their wits to fall back on.

"Try to look like you enjoy it," Martin said from where he walked behind her.

Laurel shoved him but took the advice and relaxed her face anyway. "Why did Annette skip out on this again? Isn't stuff like this her favorite thing?"

"Her mom laid down the law, apparently. Her whole family is in the city for the holiday and they're having a feast."

"Oh, we should invite them to dinner at the sect at some point soon, it's been a while, and the Radas are more fun than anyone you or I will talk to today."

"I still say we try to recruit John. That guy screams earth cultivator if anyone does."

"You think? He spends all his time at sea."

"That's just a job." Martin offered their embossed invitation to the guard at the door. "He doesn't love it."

"How do you know?"

"What do you mean, how do I know? Who else would know?"

"Excuse me, sir, madam? Do you have any attendants or luggage you'd like us to take care of?" The brave servant interrupted their conversation.

"Oh no, we have it handled."

They would be changing outfits at least twice over the course of the day. The whole production was ridiculous, and most of the attendees would have brought a trunk of luggage and some assistants to make the illusion happen. Every day of her life Laurel was thankful she had her tattoo, and this was no exception.

They were shown onto the grand balcony. Jutting out of the top of the cliffs, the ocean spreading out to the horizon, but far enough below that the tang of salt air was a pleasant reminder instead of an olfactory assault. A few ice floes were visible in the distance, making the port dangerous at this time of year.

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Turning to the side, she had an unparalleled vision of the city, cascading behind the palace like a cape. From here she could see the mana pillars reflecting the light like small jewels glittering throughout. Ringing the balcony were a half dozen of the pillars. Their effect was tailored to be environmental, keeping the balcony at a brisk but not cold temperature for the nobles and influential already milling about.

"To war," Martin said.

Laurel plucked a glass of champagne mixed with fruit juice off a passing tray and clinked it against Martin's. "To war."

They split apart to wade into the battlefield. Laurel's first targets were near the edge of the balcony, at the farthest point, looking out towards the ocean.

"Not a bad view," she said.

"Laurel! You're correct of course. And let us thank you for being the reason we're celebrating out here instead of that stuffy old ballroom." Madame Sarsenne was as effusive as always.

Spending time with the formidable couple always left her impressed Cooper had grown up as normal-seeming as he had. Though he also joined what a recent fringe-newspaper article had called a 'magic cult' at the first opportunity, so perhaps normal was the wrong word. The sect's reputation was doing well these days, but a few people still liked to criticize from time to time.

She greeted Lord Sarsenne and chatted with the pair for a few moments. The couple had become staunch allies of the sect as soon as their youngest made it clear it was more than a passing interest for him. They had remained steadfast ever since. Laurel's relative success in high society could be attributed in large part to the powerful nobles' favor that fell like rain on any of their children's pursuits.

It was too early in the day for business, so conversation stayed light. Only those without the correct sophistication, Laurel had learned, would make any sort of move during the morning session. Instead this arena was to see and be seen, show support by conversing, and snubbing any enemies with a carefully turned head.

After a few minutes Laurel moved on. Just as asserting any plot was gauche this morning, so too was monopolizing anyone's time. Her next victims were a group of younger children of some of the minor noble houses. Martin couldn't stand the group, which was why they fell to her in the first place, but Laurel found a certain amount of charm amongst them. Too brash for true friendship, but she could appreciate trying to make their way in a world where any sort of inheritance was a far off dream. There was still the influence and safety net of their families, but Laurel found the group at least tolerable. They had skills or professions, usually, and at least some vague understanding of how the world worked.

Not so for some of the other young nobles. The heirs-apparent, children, and hangers-on of the major noble houses were a different breed entirely. Not all of them were arrogant, or even unkind, but to a one they were ruthlessly ambitious. Laurel found the constant gamesmanship annoying. Perversely, Martin reveled in it. She was happy to leave him to it. As she drifted along the balcony she could hear raucous laughter from the crowd Martin had gathered.

She let it fade to the back of her mind, her prey was near at hand.

"Madam Charon, a pleasure as always."

"Elisette, please, I insist. I'm too fond of your Quartermaster for anything else. The turmoil after your new guild started was absolutely delicious. Inspiration for more paintings than I have hours in the day."

"Oh? Are you working on anything specific at the moment?"

"Tsk. It's a secret as always. But you'll be getting an invite to the gallery for the opening, don't worry."

"I wouldn't miss it."

"Now tell me," Elisette demanded, "anyone surprising on the guest list? This winter has been far too quiet in the gossip rags. Never a good sign."

Laurel snorted and snagged a bacon-filled pastry puff off a passing tray. "So far just the usual suspects. What about you?"

"A little birdie told me that Lady Tarea has been seen about town with the Fairhaven's oldest. I do believe her intended will be here today as well. Rumor has it he returned to the city just yesterday."

"I'll have to look forward to some entertainment this afternoon then."

"Cheers to that."

Laurel toasted the woman and continued her circuit. It was going to be a long day.

**********

The king took his place at the head table, allowing the rest of them to finally sit at their own. Martin had already scoped out his lunch companions, a few of the more astute nobles, a higher up in the Merchant Guild he had never learned the name of, and an idiot. Martin was fairly sure the idiot was related to someone important but listening to the boy talk was generally too burdensome to bother with.

After a ponderous toast to the new year, the first course came out. This was a full half of the reason Martin agreed to come to this farce every year at all. The food was exceptional. The palace had poached one of the cooks in the city that had started cultivating before he could snag them for their sect, or get them to join the guild. It was still low-level, but every time he had food with mana-rich ingredients it felt just a bit like coming home. And they tasted better. Actually it was mostly the taste. If they ever figured out spirit wine then it would be like home.

The salad was a naked display of wealth. Fresh produce this deep in winter was still a luxury for most in the city. Martin savored each bite. When he had given the meal enough attention, he slipped into the conversation going on around him.

"It will mean war." The merchant was talking in a low voice, as though he was sharing a secret, despite the fact anyone with a functioning brain would reach the same conclusion. "The sanctions are already extreme. A complete lack of direct trade. Well, it's only a matter of time before we need to either war, or give in."

"You're likely right, if not in the particulars. Laskar keeps pushing, and we have to respond, or risk getting swallowed up ourselves." Lord Anthony was old enough that his grandchildren were attending this event as well. His word held enough weight to send the rest of their dinner companions shifting in their seats.

"That's ridiculous." Oh good, the idiot was chiming in. "There's an entire ocean between here and there. Let Laskar do what they want with the petty kingdoms out in the fringes, they'll never be able to do the same here."

Martin stared. Lord Anthony stared. Even the merchant who had led them down this path was watching the young fool like he was a peculiar species of insect, never before discovered.

"That's a dangerous view to hold, lad." Lord Anthony was the one to break the standoff. "If they can consolidate a base that large, fending them off will be a job and a half. It's a long coastline and they can keep throwing ships at it."

"Besides, it's not the recent expansionism that's most of the problem." Martin joined in after appreciating the first few spoonfuls of their bisque. "The whole thing isn't being driven by territory, it's being driven by cultivation. Magic to you. I doubt they're really ready to consolidate that much new land, but if they can hold the territory magically, they'll be able to subjugate the rest easily."

"You're more informed than I, Master Martin," Lord Anthony said.

"It's about knowing the theory. Cities get more powerful when you work on the magic, you've all seen that here in Verilia." The merchant and the noble nodded at his makeshift lecture. The idiot was just waiting to interrupt.

"Well, by the nature of the beast, there can only be so many of each type of settlement. Anywhere with enough people and time can become a City, but the number of Capitals is limited by the number of Cities and some other magic things that don't matter right now. For World Capitals, there can only be one per planet. And when it's established there's some level of magical control over the rest of the world."

"How can we know that? Are there other planets with magic?" The merchant was asking good questions. Martin might need to learn his name.

"We know some of it from information within the Core, and some from the occasional visitor from other planets. There are a lot of them out there but they can't come here easily with where our magic is at right now.

"The point is, no one is fully certain of what a World Capital entails, but it's safe to say territory will be part of it. In the magic sense, not the political sense."

"Yeah, sure. Convenient that it's a bunch of magic stuff dragging the rest of us into meddling in affairs that aren't ours." Well at least the idiot was living down to his reputation. Wouldn't want any surprises over a truly excellent meal.

"Sounds like it's going to be our business soon. Unless you want the Laskarians in charge of Merista, which I most certainly do not." A glimmer of an old soldier peaked out behind the noble's well-trimmed grey beard. Maybe the pirate raids a few decades back, or one of the many unacknowledged naval scuffles with 'privateers' from Laskar.

The debate, such as it was, petered out after that. The idiot tried a few times to make a point but the merchant or the noble shut each of them down so thoroughly he eventually gave up. Which left the rest of them to discuss magical infrastructure over a fish dish, made from one of the species that migrated to the local waters during winter, topped with a sauce made from some spiritual plants Martin didn't think he'd ever eaten before.

"A wall," Martin was saying. "The mana shield is great, but it should be held in reserve for magical attacks. A wall would be better for the waves. We've been lucky that it's only been one horde so far, and we haven't seen any of the weirder variants yet."

"You're saying a few hundred giant octopi climbing up the cliffs wasn't weird?" The merchant asked.

"Nah.That one was easy. Will be even easier the longer we have cultivators in the city getting stronger."

"So you'll be proposing a wall in the next open session then?" Lord Anthony said.

"Maybe. Maybe next year's instead. Not sure yet. But I want to get started. I've been priming the magic for ages, I just need rocks now."

The main was a ragout of aurora elk, the herds nearby still going strong, served over a bed of creamy rice, but the star of the meal was the dessert. And Martin himself. He was always the main attraction. A layered masterpiece of flaky pastry, cream, and complicated chocolate work topped off the feast fabulously. And Martin was one step closer to his grandmaster project as well. He would get that wall built one political brick at a time.

********

It was time for the sharks to show their teeth. Now that most people were sated and had taken their fill of the afternoon amusements, the real politicking would begin. Laurel's goals this year were simple. War was coming, anyone could see that. Whether it was the kind with raging battles or the kind waged in the shadows, it would be here soon enough. If it wasn't already. There was no stopping it, short of every member of the Order of Decorra showing a change of heart, and deposing the Laskarian Emperor. All Laurel had to do was make sure the Meristans were falling into line.

"Madame Stormblade, always a pleasure when you join our little soirees." The voice was one Laurel wished she didn't recognize.

"Lady Wistrea, I didn't realize you were hosting." The harpy was far too easy with claiming a closer relation to power than she actually had.

"The noble events in general, was what I meant."

"Yes of course, silly of me," Laurel said.

"You know, a little birdie told me something just last week, I thought you should hear."

"Oh?"

"You know the grubby little merchant company that's been spending years trying to lobby for a locomotive?"

"Of course," Laurel murmured. Conversations with Lady Wistrea did not, generally speaking, require a great deal of input on the part of other participants. Laurel would be making her excuses if not for the fact that her gossip was usually correct. There had been one merchant house in particular petitioning the palace for funding to build a track system across the country, with palace funding of course.

"The rumor was they approached your sect to make a magical component."

Again, correct, if simplified. "None of the members in our sect currently have the skillset to do the project justice." Left unsaid was that Devon did have that skillset, and had sent the same company packing when they asked him because the man in charge was 'an imbecile', and told them to come back when they had secured the funding and a better project manager.

"Well, because we're such good friends I wanted to warn you, the project was just approved, the palace will be announcing it soon. And if my sources are correct, another group was awarded the contract."

"Unlucky for the Eternal Archive," she said with a fake smile.

Laurel had given up years ago on trying to explain to the average Meristan what a sect actually was. They would figure it out at some point. That Laurel was not running a new type of merchant conglomerate was hard for the nobility to grasp and place into the power structures in their head.

"I look forward to seeing the results," she said. Lady Wistrea was a professional gossip, and so her mask never slipped at Laurel's deadpan response. The only betrayal of her annoyance was an involuntary twitch in the muscles under her eye.

Something tugged at Laurel's subconscious and she excused herself from the conversation. Her first instinct was to blanket the area in her spiritual perception, immobilize everyone she found and go from there. What she did instead was let herself drift to the edge of the gardens, where the evening's entertainment was located. She stopped on occasion to chat with the other guests, fending off or deftly accepting requests for favors. When one of the waitstaff passed with refreshments, she took them. And all along she got closer and closer to her target.

The area she was in was left in shadow. No one was supposed to be using it, though the occasional giggle or hushed exclamation revealed plenty of activity nearby. Her wanderings led her to a wall, placed to separate the private gardens for the royals from those made public in events like this one. Her fingers trailed across the brick, her smile serene. If anyone saw her they would assume she was taking a break from the festivities, or meeting someone for a tryst behind the roses.

She reached her target at an unassuming section of wall, exactly the same as all the others. With little fanfare, she threw herself to the other side. The cultivator waiting for her had time to widen his eyes before a well-placed blow to the head and a spike of mana sent him to the ground, unconscious.

"Fuck." Laurel probably should have waited to knock him out until she dragged him somewhere convenient.

Without much else for it, she tossed the body over her shoulder and made her way back inside. The first servant she came across tried to run.

"Wait! I'm the Sectmaster of the Eternal Archive. I found this guy in the bushes."

"Yes, ma'am," the poor girl squeaked.

Laurel sighed. How did a boring event get more tedious at the discovery of a hidden spy?

"Can you please fetch some guards? Discreetly?"

She ran off without saying anything else, so Laurel had to hope that was a yes. The body was awkward to carry, the weight was fine but the man was taller than Laurel by a good margin, making it hard to maneuver. Giving up, she just dropped him on the floor. Their mystery guest's cultivation was at the adept stage, if only just, the body reinforcement meant he would be fine.

By the time a squad of guards appeared, Laurel had the unconscious man trussed up, cultivation-suppressing manacles attached for good measure. With a few quick orders, the guards were dispersed. Some would drag the man to a cell to be used for interrogation, the rest would, quietly, inform the king and the rest of the council.

They were prepared for this, a half dozen contingencies in place for just such an occasion. But she couldn't say it wasn't disappointing. Her peaceful bubble focusing entirely on her sect and the Core was about to be popped. Assassins meant war was no longer on the horizon. Whatever official declarations said, this was a first strike, and they would need to respond.

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