Taking Enefiat Trazom to the Auditioneer's Hall was a masterstroke and a triumph, obviously. This was a concert and dinner, held by the organization to drum up support and interest for its upcoming season. If their chairman could mention casually in conversation that two-hundred aristocrats showed up for the announcement dinner that would go over well with the donors, investors, and applicants. Basically, they throw a party to tempt us to attend, and after we've attended they use our presence to generate interest from the merchant and business echelons who bring the actual money. The aristocrats bring the pageantry, the institute brings the dinner and drinks, and everybody wins.

  As soon as he came in the front door the whole tenor of the evening changed. The chairman clasped his hands in front of his chest like he was in love, the sight of the musician at this party meant more than every other hobnob and highborn in this room. And he arrived on my invitation as a plus-one. So, my credit just got boosted to a huge degree.

  Rather than the main performance space or the concert hall itself we were in one of the event galleries, which I think is normally used for weddings and art showings. But the acoustics were well-suited to the chamber orchestra that held the stage space, about two-dozen players there. The strings were tuned down and the brass section was just three mute-horns and two baritones, the winds were just playing softer. They wanted to make themselves heard but as an accompaniment, not to overwhelm the space or drown out conversations.

  But all those conversations stopped when Trazom walked in. His manner and face were distinct and recognizable, he was one of the most portraited people in the kingdom. The band played on, but I could see them nudging each other and pointing.

  I was dressed well, and nobody cared. That's fine, I'm getting better mileage as arm candy than any of the sponsorship committee is getting for organizing the event. I cheated my look: I went with a basic black and a sash, matched to his cummerbund and pocket-square. This made us look like a prepared couple, because he's in a black tuxedo. Sure it's a cheap trick matching black to a tuxedo but the thing is that it works and it's a really dynamic look if you can pull it off. For example, if you're leukistic-pale and look good in a sleeveless.

  One of the hired heralds approached as we got off our carriages and checked our invitations. He gave a quick nod, glanced between us. "Your hosts have elected to forego reception and proceed to seating," he said in the humble and professional tones of someone doing a necessary job around important people. I hardly ever actually hear it, honestly. But what that means is that instead of the station-based progression of introductions, were were being brought in first-come-first served.

  Trazom started to slow-roll his walk and Yheta was going to push ahead, but I caught Elica's eye and we both had the same plan, so she tugged back on him and I tugged forward on mine, and Trazom and I took front position, up the red-carpeted walk and straight through the vestibule. Our cards were handed off to a runner that got them to the primary herald just before we got there.

  "Now arriving! Lady Natalie Francine Daria Harigold, Princess of Meadowtam, Second Heir of Duke Matthew Harigold and Duchess Thamsin Harigold, Earl of Falloweast, Countess of Caintwell, Countess of Raintall, Protectress of Zhudten, Dame of the Realm, Twenty-Sixth Heir to the Crown of Hearstwhile," he paused, mischievously, and passed me a sneaky sidelong before adding, "esquire. And with her, Sir Enefiat Trazom, Knight of the Realm, Honoree of the Crown of Arts, Recipient of Crossed Wreaths, the Star of Hearster, Colonel of the Royal Guard, Doctor of Arts."

  We walked in and hit the receiving line, sharing pleasantries and small talk and thanks for having us with all the members of the sponsorship committee, basically a who's-who of well-established busybodies that like being involved in things. The actual leadership of the Hall was overjoyed and fell all over themselves for Trazom, I just stood next to him and basked. He fielded it all like a professional, this is basically his bread and butter. He's the only real celebrity, so he's gotten really good at being a celebrity.

  "Now arriving! Lady Elica Dandston, Earl of Withstanding, Ninth Heir to the Duke of Brunbling and Baroness of Withstanding Hill, Dame of the Realm. And with her, Sir Yheta Snairlin of House Snairlin, Knight Valiant, Knight Meritorious, Second Heir of the House of Snairlin."

  Elica and Yheta came in next after us, and started batting cleanup. If you're ever going through a receiving line, that's the enviable position: put yourself right behind the biggest sensation. While Trazom and I were running smack into one "I can't believe you're here!" we responded with "so kind of you to have us" and "I just couldn't stay away!", Elica and Yheta were walking through a dazed row of "Can you believe that Enefiat Trazom is here?!!" where they could practice the witty follow-up. "We shared a carriage," "he's taller in person", "we brought him just for you", "best imposter I've seen in a while", things like that. Just having some fun with it.

  I saw one of the grand dames at the end of the line tugging off the rings and bracelets from her right hand and stowing them in her clutch. Trazom got to her, lifted her hand and kissed her knuckles and she blushed so hard... then with a businesslike efficiency she took that glove off and held it in her other hand as she greeted me. Oh, that glove is going into a shrine for sure.

  Finishing the receiving line and stepping through into the dining hall was like coming out of an airlock, but we both hit it with steady aplomb, walking at a dignified and decorous pace towards an appropriate corner to collect ourselves. "I am sorry if that was trying," he said to me, pitching his voice down not to carry very far.

  "I've had worse," I assured him. "I'm an old hand at this, remember? Just a little rusty."

  Raised in the public eye, taught to compose myself at social gatherings of severe propriety. This is not necessarily my favorite environment, but it's not one I'm untrained in. Yheta and Elica caught up to us a moment later, just beaming. For real, you want the position right behind the big spectacle, it's a lot easier and more fun.

  Elica was straightening her gloves. "No dance cards. A shame."

  "It's a concert and dinner," I said, a little distracted. "Dancing would not fit in."

  She shrugged. "There's music. We could dance anyway."

  I shot a wicked petty little smile. "With no cards? Where anyone can just cut in?"

  She glared at me and gripped Yheta's arm a little tighter, protective.

  We were only given that one minute to ourselves before the wave of public attention crested and crashed on us, foaming and frothing with fake laughter and offers of watered-down drinks. We clung to our respective partners and navigated the currents. For Trazom I found myself pulled into many conversations about the upcoming musical program for the year, several interlocked series with running themes that would define the something something honestly season production is not a subject that fascinates me but Trazom sure had about a hundred opinions about it.

  And then some complete scumbag walked up next to me from the other side, and dabbed his lips with a pocket-square to call my attention to his Aumerje colors and the tie-tacks pinned to it indicating the Ebonder and Skyback colors. Which is quite fair, because I'm wearing a combination of Harigold, Aumerje and Ebonder colors- add some black to my usual red-white and it becomes a clear statement of intent. And now that I've flown the flags, it's time to begin negotiations.

  "Good evening, Princess," the lecher said, smiling oozily at me. "I am the very forgettable Crichard Pentle, of the merchant wing of House Aumerje. What a lovely outfit you're wearing."

  Double meaning: he is calling attention to my use of colors to signify alliance of houses, and also to do that very guy thing of calling attention to clothes to imply wanting to see the clothes gone. Creeeeeeep.

  "Ah, Mister Pentle. A pleasure to make your acquaintance. I regret if I do chance to forget you, but prefer the conversation should be memorable."

  Translated: if you don't want me to bring your name into this that's fine, but if you're bringing a message make it a good one.

  "Indeed. Regrettably all of my most memorable conversations these days are at a negotiating table. That is the capacity in which I serve the House, you see."

  Doesn't need much translation. He's here to cut deals.

  "Up until recently I've little experience with that industry, but I've been learning from a classmate of mine, Rabert Frantlin." I accepted a glass of water from a passing waiter.

  So, are you part of the same faction and are you picking up where he leaves off?

  "I am acquainted with the Frantlins of Nhullit," said with a slimy smirk. "I find myself on the same side of the table often these days."

  Oh good. We're on the same page.

  "He's a very bright lad. Has a great future ahead of him I'm sure," I said. "A great negotiator, sure to be in charge of some very big affairs some day. Do you negotiate very... large... deals, Mister Pentle?"

  Gross. I'm flirting with him. But only as a way to find out how much authority he has to commit House resources.

  He laughed at that. "Ah, my investments show enormous growth, Lady Harigold, but just because I'm at the table does not mean I sign the checks."

  Gross. He's flirting back. But ultimately he's a messenger to make sure we've got similar goals, he's not going to finalize an arrangement. Not surprising, it's still early days.

  "I'm sure that day will come soon for you, Mister Pentle. Perhaps by the middle of next year. At the latest." I finished my drink.

  Here's a timeline.

  "You think that soon?"

  Just what he said.

  "Well, as I said, the latest. Generally the writing is on the wall far before things are made official."

  I don't want to push that deadline close.

  "It depends on what is being made official," he said, cagily.

  "Did you know that I have a brother, Mister Pentle?" I said, seemingly changing the subject. I handed the empty glass to another waiter with an empty tray.

  "Yes milady. An older twin brother, as I recall."

  "So it is said," I replied, folding my arms. "But one baby looks very alike another, do they not? Maybe everyone has been mistaken."

  "Ah," he said, his beady little eyes twinkling. "Your brother is known to be much accomplished, and well-established...."

  "Make no mistake," I said firmly. "I love my brother. I will see no harm come to him or my family. But he is hardly the only accomplished Harigold heir."

  "But only one Harigold heir would be able to negotiate deals on behalf of Meadowtam," he said.

  "Whichever one is found to be the inheriting heir," I said. "After the fact."

  And with that, I'm declaring a war.

  "I have been doing some reading relevant that topic," Crichard Pentle said.

  He's been expecting me to say this.

  "My brother is a very likable young man," I said. "One of the first things everyone says of him. Warm. Good-hearted. Kind. And, wise, in most ways. He's very good at making friends. But I would contend that my talent is for making the right friends."

  He's got his allies. I have mine.

  "And yet things remain friendly between the two of you?"

  "We may disagree without being disagreeable."

  I am willing to make a push, but only if it does not endanger Nathan.

  "That could be hard for some to understand," Pentle pointed out.

  He's telling me that Nathan might not accept my terms.

  "I am good at making myself understood to Nathan," I assured him.

  Leave that part to me.

  Crichard Pentle smirked. "And is that official?"

  "If I'm official, that's official."

  Translated: Make me queen and I'll handle my brother.

  He paused, and glanced down at the untouched whiskey-rocks in his hand. "You certainly have big plans for the future."

  "Everyone has big plans for the future," I said. "Some people choose to make their plans come true."

  He moved his glass to his left hand, and I unfolded my arms. He reached, I took, and we shook on it. He released me, and tossed back his drink. "Formidable," he said, holding my eyes. He raised the glass between us, the legs tapering in the candlelight. "Young, but strong," he said, with an approving nod. "If you'll excuse me, I need to get some checks signed."

  "Will I see you again, the forgettable Crichard Pentle?"

  "Not in this capacity," he said. "I travel. I am sure you'll meet more memorable people, the kind that sign checks."

  "Thank you," I said, and nodded to him.

  I watched the bastard walk away. Enefiat Trazom leaned towards my shoulder, having just disengaged from the program director. "Gods, that sounded like such a boring conversation," he said. "Let's get some hors d'oeuvres."

  He held my arm and I let him lead me away to pick up some plates of finger foods. He looked at me, concerned. "Are you all right? You're shaking like a leaf! You must be exhausted from the day you've had. Should we leave early?"

  I smiled weakly. "Not yet," I said. "We have to see this through."

  I took a plate of grilled shrimp on crackers, topped with cream cheese and a compote, and snacked on them very slowly while I followed The Famous around and played my part. I laughed when I needed to and nodded along, helping the flow of conversation. Long experience, I can do this part by rote, even with my mind a million miles away.

  The thing about heroes is that they are reactive. Even the most forward-thinking and self-starting crusader is motivated by an injustice from without. The virtuous rebels need an evil empire to challenge. The underdog boxer needs a corrupt promoter to defeat. The knight in shining ardour can't do much until a dragon steals the maiden fair. Always, they are beholden to the status quo, the idea that the world is good and that bad things that happen to it can be stopped; the good people saved.

  If someone declares themselves the hero but decides the world itself is bad, that is at best an antihero and more likely a delusional genocidal terrorist. So, the good hero needs a good world that is menaced by specific and discrete threats that can be defeated.

  Villains and rivals, they don't need anything of the sort. We don't need an enemy, we just need an opportunity. So Nathan needs to wait for an entire year before he can respond to my moves. He's not going to even know what I've done. But I've started wheels in motion. I've made myself part of something. This was the first real step in a chain of events that ends in a sneak attack next year.

  Maybe this is what it means to have been set here with knowledge of how the game is played. When I take initiative, I'm not positioning myself as a hero. If I had played the part as Nathan, the protagonist, would I be able to use future knowledge as the virtuous hero, the noble knight? If I launched preemptive strikes against the Blind, or against some of the Houses, or against Kralcit or the other antagonists... would I be the bad guy again?

  If I had tracked down Kralcit before she attacked my family, and blown her up before she provoked me, that would be a wanton, motiveless murder. If I picked my enemies among the houses and started slaughtering them long before their plans came to fruition, that's just an ambush or an assassination. You can't hit back first. You can either prevent the damage from being done, or you can keep your hands clean. You can't do both. That's the trolley problem. Do you stay blameless, or do you prevent harm?

  Years ago I stayed still. I was keeping my hands off the levers. I knew who the bad guys are and I chose not to do anything about it. Hands clean. Let the trolley run.

  Ymily died. Dozens of others. I almost died, Nathan, my parents. Because I wanted to keep my hands clean. Because playing the part of the good girl, the heroine, was more important to me than taking the fight to the enemy. I wanted to be a heroine. I wanted to be a paragon. And I thought that staying quiet and reacting to bad guys was worth it. I ignored my knowledge of the future. Dark days in Meadowtam, and Harigold House. I could have stopped it.

  If I had been willing to be the bad guy.

  Instead I thought that reaction was worth it. Fighting back after I had been wronged. Pursuing the vendetta instead of preventing harm. If I'm going to save the world, I need to be prepared to be the villain of the story. Heroes get there too late.

  Right now there's a berry blight in Meadowtam. It started while I was in prison. Because I fought back instead of fighting forward. Hundreds of thousands of lives ended or ruined for the sake of my virtue. I could have fought, killed, prevented this. And now the blight is started, and everything that follows from it...

  Because I didn't think that Nathan would understand.

  I can't live the rest of this life trying not to disappoint him. It's my job to fix the mess and his job is to have his hands clean when it's all over.

  "Right Natalie?"

  "Oh, absolutely," I chuckled, stifling a laugh with the back of my hand. From the tone of voice I knew exactly how to respond. I had no idea what we were talking about. Trazom was here with two high-placed gentry from Eyellon, and they all seemed to be having a great conversation. I know that I've been mimicking body language and expressions for a while now.

  "Well, if you all insist," Trazom said, and with a big smile he walked over towards the orchestra to sit with them for a set.

  [ Quest Checkpoint Complete. Advancement: The Famous ]

  I turned to the two Eyellons and gave them a "you must excuse me now," and headed off to find Yheta and Elica. I had finished my shrimp canapé plate, so I handed that over to a busman and looked across the crowd.

  Eugh. Too many people, too tightly packed. I closed my eyes, and tuned in on sorcerous senses. Four tiny citrines and four tiny tourmalines all in a row.

  There.

  I slid through the crowd and found myself with my roommate and The Mafioso. "Well, there you are!" I said. "Trazom ditched me to run away with his first love, so I thought I'd find the two of you until music gives him back to me."

  Elica laughed with me, and then the two of us stood by patiently while Yheta discussed business with a young lady from Nhullit house. Elica heard him discussing an apprentice-trading deal between guilds of two townships. I listened while he outlined troop movements and reserve soldiers.

  This is the world I'm moving into.