Amelia Thornheart-Chapter 130: Foiled Plans

“Convenient for you to turn up now, Sayyid Bastet,” Serena said, narrowing her eyes, refusing to humour the Arakian lord’s remark. Of course, while Serena maintained her control, Amelia produced a noise somewhere between a laugh and a snort that would have been ugly coming from anyone else.

Somehow, it sounded cute when her girlfriend did it.

“A friend told me Councillor Nasr’s men were looking for a Samino captain,” Menes replied, flicking his eyes to the whimpering official. “I took a walk and heard some screaming. I follow, and what do I find? You!” The Arakian clicked his tongue and tapped his horns. “Did I not tell you Ishaq was different? Is this violence ness—” Menes paused. “Ness—” he began once more, tilting his head slightly.

“Necessary?” Amelia offered.

“Yes! Is this violence necessary, my sayyidah?”

Before Serena could answer, she heard a pained groan. Secretary Maramba had managed to sit up, his bloodshot eyes looking not at her, but at Menes. He was clutching the bloodied stump of his arm, the vibrant colour—in Serena’s eyes—enhancing his bright Ishaqian dress. He spat out a lump of crimson. She was concerned for a moment that he’d suffered an internal injury, but relaxed when she realised he’d only bitten his tongue in the commotion.

“M-Menes Bastet!” Maramba snarled. “We know she’s with you! What dark plans are you two plotting together? If you think the Council—” Whatever threat the man was trying to communicate, it would need to wait, for Menes, moving quicker than Serena had ever seen him move, smoothly slipped into an unfamiliar stance and slammed his fist into Maramba's face. The secretary’s jaw shattered, his teeth went flying, and he rolled back unceremoniously, landing in a wretched heap of limbs—not all of them his.

Serena watched Menes until he met her eyes. He dusted his hands and gave her a questioning look. Sheathing her sword and crossing her arms, Serena mused, “Sayyid Bastet, is this violence necessary?” She even let the edges of her mouth curl up for extra effect.

Menes rolled his eyes, muttered something nonsensical about foreign women, before turning and kicking the bloody mass that was Secretary Maramba. “Get up, you fat fool!” It took only a few kicks before Maramba limped to his feet. “Idiot man! Attacking a friend of mine!” Menes snarled, letting out a string of Hakian curses that sounded as threatening as they did colourful and ending with, “Is Nasr’s gold worth bleeding to death for?”

“Help him, you rats!” Menes continued, turning and aiming his admonishments at the few guards that still had their limbs attached. “What did you fools think, to attack a Sayyidah?” Menes approached the collapsed guard captain. In one smooth motion, he ripped the man's shirt and tied a tourniquet around the stump. “Foolish man,” chided Menes as he worked. “All those years with that arm, now lost because you attacked a woman. What shame you have brought yourself!”

Serena watched as Menes took control of the situation. Stumps were wrapped, either by himself or the remaining guards who still had their senses. Surprisingly, the guards, who were moments ago attempting to detain her, were quite docile as they obeyed Menes’ orders. It wasn’t just them, but the crowd surrounding them offered up clean cloth and water when asked, and then dispersed when requested.

The civilians were jeering at us moments ago, Serena thought, and now they’re docile. How respected is Lord Bastet in a city that disrespects lords?

The now one-armed guards were already stabilising, their limited aura capabilities helping control the blood loss. Secretary Maramba—being a normal demon—was the worst, and Serena wondered if it was intentional that Menes didn’t prioritise him. Despite losing a lot of colour in his face, Maramba’s eyes were sharp. He looked like he wanted to complain as his men moved like obedient children under Menes’ glare. Whatever he wanted to say, he couldn’t, considering the shape of his jaw. Instead, he could only glare, his eyes flashing with something between fear and anger. Serena caught his gaze, only for the man to quickly look down at her feet. He then mumbled something incomprehensible, his eyes locked to something on the floor.

“Do you plan to keep that?” Menes asked, washing his bloodied hands and nodding to Serena’s feet.

She looked down. There, lying on the stone floor, undamaged except for the singular clean cut that detached it from Maramba’s body, was his arm. Serena shook her head. “I’ve regained my dignity,” she said, “as a woman.” She bent down, picked up the limb with two fingers and flicked it at Maramba, who scrambled to grab it with one hand. “I’ve no need for this lump of flesh.” She turned to Menes and asked, “But what use does he have for it?”

“If he has any sense, he will take it to the desert and bury it, as an offering and as atonement for his stupid ways.” Menes clicked his tongue, similar to how Serena did, but louder and with a deeper sense of disgust. “Then he may travel to one of the oases, and use their healing waters to regain his senses.”

“...There are healing waters?” Serena questioned. “Magical?”

“No, my sayyidah. Not in the way you think, but the desert waters, what little remains, are blessed with Pyrinn’s gaze. They have inside them… what do you call them… rocks?” Menes frowned. “In the water to help recover the body?”

“Minerals?” Serena offered. She glanced at Amelia. She always felt awkward committing violence in her girlfriend’s presence, aware of her predisposition to want to heal everything. Perhaps Amelia would have taken action if Menes hadn’t applied medical treatment. For now at least, Amelia seemed content to stand there and—if Serena wasn’t mistaken—look impressed.

Maybe Serena should cut off more arms in the future?

“Mmm, minerals.” Menes nodded. “Our hot springs are said to do the same, my sayyidah. You must try them while you are here. As a sayyidah, you will be able to bathe in the finest waters.” Menes sniffed and looked around. “Let us go somewhere we can talk without unwelcome ears.”

“Where?”

“My home, my sayyidah. It is not far.” Menes turned and approached Maramba. “Little rat, you must have felt confident to insult your superior. What was Nasr thinking?” Maramba didn’t reply, his jaw preventing him from producing anything coherent. Menes, undeterred by the lack of response, bent down and whispered in a quiet voice, “It is a scary time, I know. The city is worried that Rhaknam will punish us all. But this is not the way. Tell Nasr not to pursue this madness. He does not have as much support as he thinks.”

With that, Maramba, his men, and their collection of limbs shuffled away and out of sight. Menes looked after them for a moment before barking at the few loitering civilians and causing them to disperse as well, creating a little bit of privacy in what was once a busy market street.

“I have to get back to my ship,” Serena said, not exactly eager to prance about Ishaq with a cloaked black crystal any longer than she needed to.

“Let me show you some hos—hos—hospitality,” Menes said, struggling with the Imperial word, “I fear that if I leave you to go your way, you will receive more proposals and collect even more limbs. Ha ha!” Menes laughed loudly, proud of his jest.

“And your family?” Serena asked. She could see the value in sheltering at Menes’ home to evaluate their next steps. Then again, she didn’t know if it would be best to continue to the ship. Would there be another trap in their way? Menes was, as much as she didn’t like to admit it, a safe—or safer—option. She was sure he wasn’t on the Council’s side, considering how he rearranged Secretary Maramba’s face.

“Out till dark. They are doing festival preparations,” the Arakian lord said. “And I would like to know the story behind”—he waved his hand at the bloodstained floor—“this mess. Trust me, my sayyidah. Whatever has happened, the Council will hesitate before acting again. You have given them a bloody nose, and that’s all that is needed for them to scamper”—Menes motioned the scurrying of a rat with his hands—“away and hide until they become arrogant again.”

“Even so,” Serena said, coming to a decision. “I will continue to the Vengeance.”

Menes shook his head. “I insist, my sayyidah.”

“So do I.”

“I insist more.”

“So did Secretary Maramba.”

“Oh? You will cut off my arm as well?”

“I seem to be making it somewhat of a habit these days,” Serena said, smiling as she tapped the hilt of her sword.

“Bah! Even after our friendship, you refuse the hospitality of a fellow lord?”

“What are you really after, Menes?” Serena asked. “What do you want?”

“I’m…” The Arakian lord trailed off, frowning and folding his arms, his forehead creasing as if he bore the weight of a great concern.

“You’re…?” Serena tilted her head.

Menes took a deep breath before throwing his hands up. “I’m hungry!” he exclaimed. “And food tastes better when eaten with friends!”

“I’m hungry too!” Amelia chirped, shifting the disguised safe from one shoulder to the other.

“Ah, you too, my anisa? I can prepare the most delicious Ishaqian skewers. Your mouth will water once you smell them!”

“Mmm! I can’t wait!”

“I could eat,” Finella mumbled.

“Moving somewhere secure and reevaluating our options would make sense,” Daichi said cautiously. “We’re exposed here, Captain.”

Serena looked towards Mel. The junior officer nodded and said she agreed with Daichi, although Serena didn’t miss her hand unconsciously going to her stomach. Suppressing the urge to roll her eyes, she gave Menes a nod and said, “Lead the way.” 𝚏𝐫𝚎𝗲𝕨𝐞𝐛𝕟𝚘𝐯𝚎𝗹.𝕔𝐨𝗺

“Mmm.” Menes nodded and motioned for them to follow.

There’s something he wants to talk about, Serena realised. Maybe the crystal, or maybe something else. He’s pretending to be naive again. Or maybe he wasn’t. Maybe he was just a hungry Arakian lord. Whatever it was, Serena would find out.

They didn’t have to travel far. Although once Menes stopped and announced that they’d arrived, Serena had to check if he was joking. Of all the things Serena thought she might have expected of an Arakian lord’s estate, she hadn’t expected this.

“This is your home?” she asked, casting the Arakian a glance.

“Yes,” Menes said, his voice brimming with pride. “The greatest home a man can ask for, for the South's greatest wife and the South’s greatest children live here!” He turned and gave her a toothy grin. “I am the luckiest man alive, am I not, my sayyidah?”

“It’s more…” Serena paused momentarily, trying to find the right word. “It’s more modest than I thought it would be. You are a Cascadian Lord, after all.” Serena looked at the building's façade, entirely sandwiched in a line of buildings that resembled the ordinary residences of the locals. In fact, there was nothing she could see that distinguished Menes’ home from the home of any other citizen. “Wouldn’t your status require you to present with more…”

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“Wealth?” Menes asked. “Do you expect me to show off?”

“I was thinking more dignity,” Serena said. “In the East, a lord’s estate is supposed to show grandeur and style. It’s not so much about showing off as it is to respect their guests and show that they are valued.” Perhaps it was a good idea that Ishaq had no greatlords, for she couldn’t ever imagine Greatlord Oshiro visiting such a place.

“Ha!” Menes laughed. “Would you like me to roll out a yellow carpet? Like they do in Centralis, my sayyidah? Would you feel more comfortable then?” Menes reached up and placed a palm against the walls. “There are memories in this building, more valuable than all the gold in the Known World.”

“Poetic, Menes,” Serena said. “But there are holes in your wall. Holes that look suspiciously sized to your fist.”

Menes laughed. “My youngest likes to climb, so I made him some handholds.” The Arakian jabbed his chest with his thumb. “I am a good father, my sayyidah.” He formed a fist and rapped his knuckles against the stone. “Your Eastern ways of showing wealth are a sign of weakness here. In your eyes, I might lose dignity living in a humble home, my sayyidah, but in Ishaq, I gain honour. I live like my Ashendi ancestors, the great pyramid builders that pri—prio—that focused on their family above all else!”

“By building pyramids?” Serena challenged.

“Mura and her children are our parents, in a way,” Menes said with a shrug.

Amelia took a step forward. “I think it’s cosy!” she exclaimed, giving Menes an approving nod.

“Ah, kind words, my anisa. Let’s go in, shall we?” Menes produced a large iron key which he used to unlock the door with a heavy thunk. Pushing it open, he waved the group in. “After you, my sayyidah.”

Stepping inside, Serena took stock of the inside of the Bastet family home. The reception room they were in was—in her opinion—much more appropriate for a Lord. Thick tapestries with scenes of the Urda animal gods lined the walls, although their edges were frayed and torn in a manner that would have caused her Mother to twist her horns. The floor and walls were made of stone, but the abundance of thick rugs kept it from feeling too bare.

Menes closed the door. “Normally, we would take our shoes off, but given you might want to leave suddenly, I shall forgive you all if you don’t.” Menes kicked off his shoes and then reached out, rotating a crystal embedded in the wall. “We might not display the amount of wealth of Eastern Lords,” he said, “but these are the finest aetherlights you can cut from red. Yameni hands cut these, see how even their light is?”

Warm light filled the household. It was almost white light, but there was a touch of red that gave the house a warm, perhaps even homely, feel. Now that the room was brightly lit, she could see that some care had been taken in choosing the tapestry colours. The woven thread consisted of warm neutral colours; cream, beige, and even earthly tones of terracotta and soft greys. They melded so well together that Serena had to ask if the house was decorated with Manwese teng shua in mind.

“We don’t have a name for it,” Menes explained. “But it is a Southern tradition to balance the colours, to make your home feel welcoming to a guest. You Easterners seek to impress guests, but we only want to make them comfortable. You feel it, yes? The comfort?”

“...Yes,” Serena answered after some hesitation. “It’s cooler than I thought it would be.” Unlike the stuffy insides of the Vengeance, the Menes' home was cooler than outside. Asking him about it, she found out that the building’s shutters and rooms were laid out to catch and distribute the southerly breeze.

Menes locked the door and led them through the building. While the building was narrow, it was also tall, spread out over four floors. “Come, come,” he said, guiding them into a modest kitchen. “I will cook for you.”

“You’ll cook?” Serena felt her eyebrow raise. “Your staff aren’t home?”

“Staff?” Menes grinned. “I have no staff.”

“Then who cooks normally?”

“My wife does, my sayyidah. Why would I want my children to have anything other than food cooked by their parents?” Menes began pulling out kitchen utensils. “I cook when she is away, arguing in Parliament. I see you want to ask me, ‘Who cleans the building?’ so I’ll tell you. Our children do, and if they are busy doing what children do, I clean.”

“A Cascadian Lord like yourself really has no staff?” Serena queried, unable to keep the disbelief from her voice.

“Ha! Is that so strange? How many staff do you have, my sayyidah?”

“Dozens!” Amelia piped up, grinning, no doubt finding Serena’s surprise amusing. “Poro even has someone assigned to groom and feed him!”

“Who’s Poro?” Finella asked.

“The house peeka,” Amelia said. “He’s super sweet!”

To you, Serena thought. He scratches everyone else.

“Who needs so many workers?” Menes asked, raising an eyebrow. “You’re not the Empress, are you? Can’t your family look after their home themselves?”

“They… have more important things to do than maintain the house,” Serena argued. As far as she understood, the entire purpose of paying for staff was to free up time for the family to carry out their faithful duties.

“What could be more important than educating your children?” Menes asked, his expression one of confusion. “Than showing them the way?”

“I—” Serena opened her mouth to counter before closing it. After a moment of hesitation, she said, “I’m starting to understand that difference between Southern and Eastern culture, Menes.” Both were traditional, but within their traditions, they held different values and beliefs that manifested in wildly different ways. Menes evidently had different ideas of what was valuable in a child’s education.

What would her family think if she brought them here?

“Not all live like our family,” Menes said. “Visitors from Centralis and the East bring their customs. If you visit a Councillor's house, you will find it more to your liking. I’m told Councillor Nasr very much likes Fengra vases. He has many connections with merchants who run the Passage. He pays a protection fee so their ships are not targeted. He displays them for his guests to show off his wealth. That’s how he maintains his influence. With money.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

“Mmm.” Menes nodded. “Now sit, sit”—he funnelled them around the kitchen table—“and I will bring out the finest meats.” Menes opened a nearby door, filling the kitchen with cool air. Serena could see stacks of ice blocks, keeping the larder’s meat chilled in the same way the Vengeance’s kitchens did. “If you are short of coin, my anisa,” Menes explained to Amelia, “you can earn much with your ice magic producing blocks. Just don’t make too many, yes?” Menes laughed as he began cutting and seasoning the meat. “You might unbalance the economy.”

Pushing thoughts of Amelia conjuring up mountain-sized blocks of ice for pocket change out of her mind, Serena explained some of the events leading up to the encounter with Councillor Nasr’s men. She left out the detail of exactly what was in the crate, not wanting to share such information unless she had to, only describing it as ‘Valuable information regarding criminal activity’.

“How deep is the corruption that they would try and detain a Lord, Speaker, and captain of the Imperial Navy?” Serena asked. “The arrogance is unfathomable. They would have been killed on the spot if they tried that in the East. Not that anyone would try. No one would ever consider such an act. They were lucky to only lose a few limbs. Tsk! And to think he almost fooled me into thinking it would start a war!”

“You should have seen her move, Menes,” Amelia said suddenly, motioning Serena’s movements during the battle. “It was so smooth, like a dance!” Amelia grinned and flicked her dark brown hair back. “She was awesome!” Amelia finished with a wink.

Idiot, Serena thought, blinking slowly to maintain her emotions. I’m going to start blushing.

Once she had control over her heart, she asked the Arakian lord, “Will there be problems?”

“Perhaps if you acted in another time, when they weren’t so busy with the arcwhale stranding,” Menes began, “things might escalate. But I know the Council. Their obsession with bur—bur—bah!” Menes waved a dismissive hand. “Their obsession with paperwork gives them confidence. They think they are moral as long as they can justify something on paper. But this also makes them stupid. They keep forgetting what really makes someone strong in the South.” Menes looked over the group, curling one of his hands into a large fist, squeezed tight so the knuckles whitened. “Strength makes someone strong.”

“Will they retaliate?”

“Not in the way you are thinking, my sayyidah. They will not try and arrest you again, nor will they do anything to your ship. Even Nasr is not that much of a fool that he would try and detain an Imperial vessel. But…” Menes hummed as he skewered the meats and slid them into hot oil. Almost immediately, a full-bodied, tantalising aroma bloomed, making even Serena’s stomach growl. “They will try and protest your actions,” Menes continued, “and get in your way in whatever manner they can. Like a shadow, they will try and haunt you.”

“It’s not right,” Daichi said, speaking up from his side of the table. “We should challenge the Council directly, show them that we—”

“Not right! Not right!” someone chirped from the neighbouring room.

Serena’s hand went to the hilt of her sword. She kept her eyes in the doorway, saying to Menes, “I thought you said you were alone?”

“I said I had no staff, and my family were not back yet, my sayyidah.” Menes clicked his tongue. “But he is neither. Come, Solara! Did you smell the food?”

“Food! Food!” A flash of colour spiralled around the corner, almost giving Serena a face full of feathers. Solara, a brightly-coloured bird, settled on Menes’ shoulder. “Greetings!” the bird chirped. “Greetings!”

“Whoa!” Amelia’s eyes went wide. “You have a parrot?”

“Meet Solara,” Menes said happily. “He can be cheeky, and he’s smarter than he lets on, so talk nicely to him, yes?”

Reminds me of someone, Serena thought.

“He’s a Crystal-winged Macaw,” Menes said. “Very rare, and very picky. They choose their owners. This one chose me. You see how they decorate their wings with crystals? Their feathers hold them firm.” Menes twisted his body so the group could see how Solara’s wings sparkled; the embedded crystals were arranged in an ornate pattern down each wing.

“Wow, did you do that yourself, Solara?” Amelia asked. “I like your wings! They’re so pretty!”

“Solara pretty! Thank you!” Solara squawked.

“Oh, he likes you,” Menes said. “Normally, he pecks guests.”

Of course he does, Serena thought. First Poro, then Romulus, and now this bird. Does every animal in the Known World like Amelia?

“Now let’s eat!” Menes announced. He served up the cooked skewers, passing the steaming chunks of meat down the table. Even Solara got his own little dish, which he wasted no time jumping at and clawing apart.

Despite the sensational fragrance, Serena kept her posture and waited for the host's permission to begin eating. Glancing across the table, Amelia was practically drooling. Serena could hear her girlfriend’s stomach growl. Glancing at Menes, the Arakian looked over the table before declaring, “What are you waiting for? Eat! Eat!”

Taking a bite with as much elegance as she could, it was difficult not to act improperly. The molten juices, balanced with a marrow-deep savour that seemed almost impossible for such a simple-looking dish, beat any cooked meal she’d had at home. Thankfully, she could express her appreciation vicariously through Amelia, who wasted no time in moaning her compliments.

“I could die right now and be happy, as long as I died with this in my mouth,” Amelia said in between bites. “You’re an amazing cook, Menes!”

“Ha!” Menes chuckled. “That’s more like it! I told you, didn’t I? Once you’ve experienced Ishaq, you wouldn’t want to leave!” The Arakian tore chunks from his skewer, which, while a rather violent way of eating, was still somehow refined in a weird way. “Have you explored the city yet, my anisa?” he asked in between mouthfuls.

“Mmm!” Amelia nodded. “I’ve already seen so much!” She went on to recount to Menes her experience shopping in Ishaq with Mel, finishing with, “I even persuaded the arena officials to let Hinako—uh, she’s a mage friend—to let her debut! You should come watch, you won’t be disappointed, she’s really talented!”

Menes nodded, gesturing with his skewer now empty of meat. “I can do that. I sponsor the arena, my anisa. You could have asked me to secure your friend a place, but it seems like you have done it yourself. I normally only attend important events there, but I can make time for you and your friend.”

“Important events?” Serena questioned. “Such as?”

“We have a yearly tournament,” Menes explained. “The semi-finals were last week, while I was in the Passage. The finals were supposed to happen next month, but they’ve moved them up to next weekend. They want something to distract people from the arcwhale. As a sponsor, I award the final victor each year.”

Finals?

“That’s cool!” Amelia nodded.

Serena frowned, exchanging a look with Finella.

I caught the word ‘murder’ spoken from above.

Serena watched as realisation dawned on Finella’s face as quickly as it did on her own.

I heard a man say, ‘Lady Houk has the item. We’ll use it during the finals, to maximise the effect.’

“Menes,” Serena began.

“Yes, my sayyidah?”

“There’s something I need to tell you.”

“Mmm?”

Serena looked at Finella, then to the box, before returning to the Arakian lord.

“There’s a chance we just foiled your assassination.”