Final Preparations

Zaida had been wrong; there was absolutely a difference to be found between Merridian's typical evening celebrations and the Harvest Season Festival. Relegated to the late hours of the day and only a few select streets and squares, those celebrations seemed humble compared to the all-encompassing event that was the Festival. From what she had seen, there was not a person nor place in Merridian that was not involved. Everybody was dressed up, and every façade was decorated for the occasion.

As the sun began its descent, a legion of ovens, cauldrons, and grills blasted the roads and alleys with the aromas of innumerable dinners and delicacies. Structures were washed polychrome by the dyed candles and illumination spells arranged about. A buzz arose from the whole of the city; a chorus of voices elevated in excitement, easy laughter, and amateurish singing.

Instead of appreciating any of this, Zaida stressed over how she was supposed to handle the night. She had committed - more or less - to spend the evening with three women. When she had found out that the Festival was held over the course of seven days, a spark of hope had ignited in her bosom. Perhaps she had misunderstood something, and each of the ladies had meant a different night. She posed the question to Edie, albeit with some details withheld to deny the other knight full awareness of her laughable predicament.

"Not all dates are held on the first night, are they?"

"Most are," Edie responded. "If you're uncertain what day your date was talking about, I'd imagine they meant tonight." It was late afternoon and she was helping Zaida into her party gown. Edie herself was adorned in something more often seen on men. Zaida thought the hat looked silly, plump and lopsided as it was; but she had seen it on plenty others in Merridian, so if the smaller woman looked a fool, she was not doing so alone.

Edie cinched the corset, squeezing a yelp out of Zaida.

"Ack! What is this? Do I have to wear it?"

"It's part of the dress," Edie explained. "Makes your hips look wide and good for childbearing."

"Ha-ha," Zaida laughed facetiously. "I think I'd rather breathe, thank you very much." She took to reaching behind herself in an effort to undo the garment. "Then you really don't think they meant another night?"

Seeing her struggle, Edie intervened to move things along. "They could have, but tonight is the night. People go out with their dates, enjoy the festivities, and shag. If the night doesn't go well, then they have six more days to find better partners, or party until they get over them." She pulled the corset off Zaida and tossed it aside before moving to fetch the undershirt. "If someone is planning on going on a date after the first night, then they probably are in a committed relationship with little risk of turning sour. They just pass up on the first night because they know the younger and newer couples or polycules are going to have the run of the place." Finishing with the underlayer, she passed Zaida her flats. "Why are you only asking about this now anyway? If your date did mean another night, then all this dressing up may be for nought."

The answer was that Zaida knew that Dvorah had been plenty clear about when their date was. It was Eposi and Marisol that had left some room for doubt - or, as Zaida saw it, hope.

"I... only just thought of it... Um, where's Tivra anyhow? You two are usually joined at the hip."

"She's on duty tonight," Edie explained. She grabbed the gown itself and helped a stooping Zaida get it over her head. "Couple that with what I said about tonight being busy for a lot of people, and... Ooh, she is not happy." Edie, on the other hand, was grinning ruthlessly.

Once the gown was on, Edie stepped behind Zaida to do up the back. However, she quickly encountered an issue.

"I think that corset may have been necessary after all," the smaller knight reported. "I can't get the laces to reach far enough to tie. You really didn't try on this dress before you got it, did you?"

"No, come on!" Zaida protested, turning to glimpse her own back in the mirror nearby. "This was the only thing big enough for me in this colour! I'm not going to let some foppish gag dictate my outfit!"

Edie studied her friend, tapping her chin in thought. "You could fasten it 'round your midsection with a belt. It'd be ugly as a demon's arse, but it'd keep your dress from hanging loose as a nun's habit."

Zaida agreed to give it a try and Edie provided her with the first leather belt she could find. The two of them took a moment to assess the look in the mirror. It was abhorrent: the worn brown of the belt clashing violently with the blue-purple of the dress.

"Yeah, no. That's not going to cut it," Edie observed.

Zaida undid the belt and threw it out of frustration. She cursed herself for not having made the time to get her look together before the Festival.

"You're going to want a sash," Sergei said from the barracks door. Zaida and Edie had not noticed him there. "You'll find a purple one in Haru's trunk. Go ahead and take it - he won't come back sober enough to notice."

Zaida bolted to the respective chest and threw it open. Sure enough, she found the exact piece Sergei was talking about. The man strolled over and got to securing it around her waist. When he was finished, the three of them reassessed in the mirror.

"It's perfect!" Zaida gave a small cheer.

"Wouldn't have pegged you for a fashion maven, Sergei," Edie mused.

"No? And after all the work I put into my own look..." he said deadpan. Zaida was certain she had never seen him out of uniform. "Are we set for the Festival then?"

Finally ready, the trio left the barracks as late afternoon gave in to early evening.

Isolt crested the staircase in the tavern at Boner's Square. Turning down the passage, her presence halted a handful of her royal knights. They had been headed for the stairs until she barred the way. She witnessed the deaths of their excited expressions; guilty looks left in their places. There was a moment of stillness as she scrutnised them, and they only shuffled in place.

"Going somewhere?" The words reached their ears like notes from an untuned violin.

"We were just... heading down... to observe the Festival, Milady..." they finished one another's sentence.

"Because that's what we came here to do?" Isolt inquired, raising an eyebrow. "We're here to revel with humans and make merry?"

The royal knights could only stir.

A loud tromping came as someone rushed up the stairs behind the captain. Madwick only stopped when he found he could not get around the lord herald.

"Ah, evening milady." He noted the knights behind her. "All." He sounded cheerful and smelled of drink. "If I could just make it to-"

"Why haven't you been working, Madwick?" Isolt nearly growled.

"Huh? Oh, don't need to. We're done."

"Pardon me?"

The royal knights all gulped heavily.

"Finished. Trap's all ssssss-et," the channeler elaborated.

"You finished with the local knight's plan?" Both her brows rose this time. "When?"

Madwick stifled a small burp. "Not three hour-ssssss ago. SSSSSS-pell. Clothes. Yep." He gave two thumbs up.

"That was days ago, Madwick. What were you doing three hours ago?"

"Clothes were day-ssssss ago. Today I finished the... the magic. Like laying the pull-thing for a ssssss-nare. All set now."

"That may account for the knights, but we still need the trust in the church undone too," she reminded him.

"Trust?" Madwick giggled. "No, no... not much trust..."

"What are you on about?"

"Um, milady?"

Isolt pivoted to face the royal knight that had spoken.

"Erm, he's kind of right. We've been hard at work, like you wanted..."

"The church's been falling to pieces," one of the others added. "They've nearly lost anyone who isn't actively bedding them."

The third spoke up. "Been hearing talk real treacherous like 'bout how they're thinking about leaving the church altogether. Folk feel they don't need the holy types to keep the demons out anymore."

This was all excellent news to Isolt. Had she started in a better mood, she may have jumped with joy. Instead, she took a deep breath and examined her subordinates once more. Madwick looked like he was one drink from needing a crutch to keep his footing, and the knights were a trio of children **** for mommy's permission. Was she the only one not slipping?

The lord herald gave an exasperated sigh. "Fine. Be on your way."

The royal knights retained their air of deference, but she could see their excitement in the way their eyes lit up. Madwick uprooted himself to continue his progress toward his room.

"BUT..." Isolt stopped them all. "We are going through with this TOMORROW. Be ready then, all of you."

The knights saluted before rushing off. Madwick said something appreciative containing the word 'milady', then bumped into a wall and promptly apologised to it. There were sounds of clumsy action from his room before he reemerged, greeted Isolt again, and somehow survived his descent of the stairs. The lord herald let out a weary sigh.

The largest room they had booked at the inn was also the finest. Hence, the royal knights employed it as both a de facto common room, and - in the evening - Isolt's quarters. This was why she found herself disappointed upon stepping into the chamber and finding Markil within.

The man was seated on a bench facing the opposite wall. His posture was anxious, elbows on knees and lips pressed to folded hands. His foot had been tapping rapidly until Isolt entered. Without a word, he gazed over to her then back to the wall.

Isolt closed the door and crossed the room to the desk near the back wall. The tapping returned. She arrived at a tall and slim object kept under a drape. She reached to pull the shroud away before stopping.

"I need to speak with our master," she declared without turning around.

"Go right ahead," came the distracted-sounding reply.

Isolt had not thought the word alone needed to be said aloud then, but this was Markil she was talking to. "I'll be liking some privacy."

"I promise not to look."

On a worse day, the lord herald would have lost it then and there and killed the man outright. She was very close to doing so, but she impressed herself with her own display of restraint. With a moment of centering, she delivered an even response.

"Markil, do you ever consider putting an effort into being more tolerable?"

The tapping stopped again. It was the man's turn to find a moment to choose his words. "Do you know how difficult it is?"

Isolt pivoted to face him. For the moment, he still stared into the wall.

"To be so close to the thing you want - the thing you need - and still be denied it? To have it danced under your nose, have it taunt you with its pretentiousness; and be incessantly reminded that there will be only consequences for you should you lose yourself and take it. Do you know that struggle?"

"As a matter of fact, I do," Isolt stated without hesitation. Minus the pretentiousness.

Markil finally looked at her. He studied his superior for a moment before a knowing grin crossed his face. "Ah, I suppose you do." He stood from his seat and followed slow paces to the door, pausing before he reached it. "It's enough to drive one mad, isn't it?"

"A weaker spirit, perhaps," Isolt said unsympathetically.

The humour left Markil's features. He leaned back and waved his hands in a gesture of sarcastic awe. "Truly, we'd be better off if the rest of us were like you, milady."

"Where are you going?" she asked, the authority in her voice yanking him back across the threshold. She wanted him out of the room, but she also wanted him out of trouble.

"I'm in a mood to break some noses, and there should be no shortage of drunks thinking themselves fit to take on the Demon Lord tonight." He spoke without fully turning around.

"We are on the precipice of success..." she said in a warning tone.

"I won't start anything," he promised with a wave. "Only finish," he muttered, pulling the portal shut.

Even after the door closed behind him, Isolt needed a moment for additional calming breaths. Thank the Lord they would be fulfilling their mission tomorrow. There was no way she could take another week of it.

With her composure restored, the captain of the royal knights did the bolt to the room then finally pulled down the drape. The obsidian mirror returned the expectant look she gave it. She took off her amulet and set it upon the nearby desk. Her demonic features were safely exhibited within the privacy of the room. Using the polished obsidian as a typical looking glass, she primmed herself, setting her uniform, hair, and wings proper. Once ready, she focused on the mirror, calling upon its sorcery to contact her master and idol.

The light that struck the mirror grew weaker, no longer reflecting but falling into the black entirely. From the void an image reemerged. Instead of a glassy twin of the world it faced, the mirror contained a shadowy likeness of that which commanded all demons.

Isolt's heart was struck with the same pang it always felt when first glimpsing the Demon Lord; that thrilled cocktail of admiration, desire, and just a hint of fear. "My Master, I have an update on the situation in Merridian to report."

The Demon Lord acknowledged her and invited her to continue. Those heart-swelling, spine-chilling tones reverberated between her ears.

"We are ready, my Lord. The city is ripe for your picking. Come tomorrow, my minions and I will deliver Merridian into your grasp, where it belongs." She did her best to keep her pride from tarnishing her disciplined presentation.

The ensuing praise from the Demon Lord resounded in Isolt's head like the most beauteous song imaginable. She was roused by the satisfaction in their words and timbre. It was almost enough to be a reward for her efforts over the past months.

"ThanK Y- Thank you," Isolt repeated herself to cover a voice crack.

The Demon Lord went on to tell the captain how they would direct the affair once Isolt's team delivered. She was to give the order in the afternoon the following day.

Isolt fought to follow along, resisting the temptation to float away on the clouds of her own delight. The Demon Lord commended her once more then severed their connection; their image fading back into the mirror. Isolt was faced with her own reflection again, a dreamy grin on the visage before her. Finding it dopey and unsightly, she wiped it away, only for it to steadily return at the thought of her wonderous master.

Her goal within reach and her Lord contented, the captain decided she was due for a pre-victory treat. She returned the drape to the mirror and opened her personal trunk. From beneath her other belongings she excavated her most prized gift from the Demon Lord. She did away with her armour and dress before settling on her bed with the sheath.

"Won't be needing this much longer, will I, Master?" she muttered to herself with a shiver.