Deep within a frozen chamber at the heart of Aquina Castle, neither subpar singing nor the occasional quacking of a duck could disturb the tense atmosphere which pervaded the scene.
An elven sword saint. Silver hair and blue eyes. The name Ophelia.
The title Snow Dancer.
Here was the one the fae count had warned us of.
The woman who'd stolen the Crown of Winter from the Frozen Palace—and not only lived to tell the tale, but be able to smile about it.
Indeed … hers was the smile of both a talented thief and a seasoned killer.
Even an untrained eye could sense the deadly competence this woman possessed. Hers was the poise of a woman accustomed to victory. The glint in her keen eyes was a silent warning only achievable by those who'd done more than simply survive.
They thrived.
I knew it before she moved.
And I knew it more when she finally did.
In a motion as fluid as water, the Snow Dancer unsheathed her sword. An elven masterwork, as most elven weapons were.
Designed to be wielded with one or both hands, it boasted a single-edged blade, a feather light frame, and a slight curve to mirror the contours of the leaves which grew only where elves chose to reside. They were weapons prized and sought by our soldiers, surpassing the work of even our castle smiths.
This woman's sword boasted more than elven steel, though.
It boasted a blade which shone with a light as unforgiving as the ice which froze the Ducal Guard around us, and a sapphire pommel so edged that it could be used as a weapon. Even amongst elven blades, hers was a thing of brutal, bloody art.
The Snow Dancer held her wintry blade aloft, its gleam a worthy match against the moonlight emanating from Starlight Grace. And so our fates were sealed. For despite their splendour, swords were not made to be things of art.
Ophelia the Snow Dancer raised her gleaming weapon.
And then … provided me with badly needed ambient lighting as I used Starlight Grace to lockpick a magical keyhole.
“I can't believe what I'm seeing,” said Ophelia, her bright sword steady even as she looked on with her mouth open. “I heard a click. That's the first pin done.”
“Ohohohohoho!” I raised my free hand to my mouth, barely covering it as I ensured that none of my laughter was muted. “As expected! I'm a genius! Do you see, Coppelia?! Behold as I demonstrate my ability to utilise my sword for purposes far beyond its intended usage!”
“I never doubted you for a moment,” replied my future handmaiden from behind a dozen layers of snow fortifications she'd built for herself. “I always knew a sword could be used as a lockpick and would never result in us dying horribly.”
Beside me, Ophelia shook her head. The expression she wore was the same as my tutors when about to quibble over a rare and minor error.
“That might still happen. Aside from how ridiculous it is as a tool, the amateurism I see is killing me.”
“Ohohoh … amateurism?” I replied, smiling without a hint of stress as I toyed with whatever deadly defences were implemented in this keyhole I was blindly … skilfully fiddling with. “Perhaps you're mistaking the correct word for overwhelming natural talent?”
Indeed, whether it was using my sword as a garden shovel, a paintbrush, or now even a lockpick, I could prove my unworldly ability to perform any task so long as I put even a fraction of my genius mind into it!
Ohohoho! I didn't even intend on taking up this highly inappropriate venture beyond this demonstration! It was just yet another gift I was burdened with!
Others may pick locks to steal riches! I picked locks to put my doubters to shame!
“All I see is an overwhelming talent for poking and prodding,” said Ophelia, frowning. “A lock isn't something to toy with like a fat child's waist.”
I was appalled.
“Poking and prodding! Do you believe I'd be able to circumvent the layers of deadly magical defences contained within this keyhole if I didn't possess the hands of a seamstress? No, Snow Dancer. I'm not poking and prodding. I'm sewing.”
The elven woman responded by leaning in closer, eyeballing the keyhole with a look of obvious boredom as she identified the correct notches and grooves I would shortly be navigating myself.
Her nosiness was joined by the duck, whose presence as a blue-eyed, crystal beaked magical bird with acid arrows sticking from its head was only a footnote in the presence of a sword saint, a princess and a clockwork doll.
“Oh, okay. Sewing. That makes sense. Because this is totally a woollen sweater you're making … it's not, by the way. And I should know. They're really hard to make. I'm stunned we haven't all been blown up yet.”
Again, I laughed—both at her lack of sewing skills and her imagination.
Meanwhile, Coppelia started work on another layer of snow fortifications.
“There's little difference between picking a lock and sewing a sweater. They both employ finger dexterity and an eye for imperfections. Even the ebb and flow of the motion is similar … wait. Do you hear that?”
“Hear what?”
Click.
“The sound of me being an unrivalled genius! Ohohohoho!”
The Snow Dancer's cheeks twitched.
She turned her face away, blinded by the sheer power of my blessed ability to do absolutely anything brought before me.
“I mean, I am the best lockpicker in the kingdom,” she said, flicking her silver her back. “It's natural it rubs off on someone I'm personally babysitting.”
“My, is that how you refer to backseating? I see what they say is true. For every saddle, there's a rider and a hypocrite.”
“Quite the honor student, eh? You realise I don't need to teach you how to pick a lock, right? And for free, too! If I charged for lessons, I wouldn't need to steal anything ever again!”
“You charging for lessons would simply be the gravest robbery. Your unsolicited lesson consisted of informing me to carefully feel with my gut. Does it appear as if I've taken that to heart? Am I currently slowly and methodically rubbing my stomach against this keyhole?”
“Lockpicking requires more than the ability to sew. Or whatever you call randomly poking about until you hit one of the correct pins while somehow dodging all the magical runes. It requires strong intuition tempered with patience. The first door one must pick is the one to prudence.”
And yet, I could easily discern from her expression that I was well on my way to sewing my way past this keyhole.
Ohohoho! The satisfaction I'd receive from this was palpable! Yet another entry added to my long list of accolades!
Still … as wonderful as it was that I was broadening my sewing skills in the realm of clandestine activities, there was clearly something that I needed to address here.
“Ophelia,” I said, pausing to allow the next click of my genius to be heard. “Is there any particular reason you're currently assisting, if poorly, in bypassing the security to Aquina's deepest vault?”
The Snow Dancer shrugged.
“It seemed like fun.”
I pursed my lips.
“Fun. I see. Well, it's my understanding that you were responsible for the theft of the Crown of Winter. Are you not under the command of Duke Valance, and thus directly responsible for aiding and abetting his plans for secession?”
The Snow Dancer wore a look of feigned shock. I thought nothing of it, seeing worse each day at court.
“Excuse me! That man doesn't command me. I'm a free spirit!”
“A free spirit guilty of treason against the Kingdom of Tirea, then?”
“Me? Treason? Absolutely not.”
“So you deny the accusations laid at your feet?”
“Of course I do.” Ophelia waved as though firing a servant. “I have no beef with the kingdom. Yes, the Duke may be plotting some grand scheme involving the Crown of Winter and the overthrowing of the realm. And yes, I may have helped out slightly. But I totally reject any suggestion of personally committing treason. Not while the T word has never been explicitly mentioned to me. Until then? Supposition.”
I was appalled.
Far from being enamoured with the prospect of charming this sword saint to my side, such a blasé attitude to duty only sat poorly with me!
Loyalty was the single most important attribute any high-ranking goon could have! If she was going to steal from the fae, jeopardise the kingdom and fulfil Duke Valence's ambitions of independence, then she needed to commit to it! The thought of my family's rule being threatened by tepid plotters was insulting!
“If you have no intention of committing treason, then why would you ply your trade for the Duchy of Aquina?”
The Snow Dancer shrugged.
I regretted whatever answer I was about to hear.
“I just do what sounds fun. And as long as the Duke keeps giving me crazy missions and never explicitly mentions treason, I have no reason to say no. I can live in my cottage and remain when all the mess from the Duke's plans blows over. Isn't that right, Duck A?”
Quack, quack.
Beside us, the magical duck looked up.
I willed myself not to touch one of the magical runes in the keyhole just to see if it'd survive the resulting explosion.
“... Duck A?” I queried, after a long moment.
“Yep. This is my friendly, ordinary duck.”
“It has glowing blue eyes and a crystalline beak.”
“It's currently in its moulting phase.”
I tightly closed my eyes.
Yes, indeed ... the kingdom had a lunatic for a sword saint.
Very well. That's … That's fine.
I … I could still use her! If not as an ally, then as an example that none may step beyond the authority of the kingdom!
Indeed, a highly public showing of allegiance was in order, beginning with a denouncement of Duke Valence before the royal court as we divvied up the Duchy of Aquina to more loyal retainers!
… Followed by her steadfast repentance as she put her sword wielding skills to use cutting up bars of soap!
Ohohoho!
Indeed, not even a sword saint was exempt from my boot of authority! Once she'd testified against the errant Duke, I'd sentence her into joining my soap making enterprise as a highly skilled fabricator of shapes!
“You have committed treason, no matter how you choose to define it,” I told her simply. “Be aware that your verdict is set in stone, but the length of your sentence isn't. Should you prove useful in quelling the complaints of the nobility when we strip Aquina bare, then I'll generously consider a minor reduction in the number of soap bars you'll be required to craft for me.”
The Snow Dancer smiled.
Had she any idea of the number of soap bars which awaited her, she wouldn't be.
“You will, huh? Should I finally ask who you are … or should I make an educated guess first?”
I looked up from the keyhole, offering a royal smile capable of breaking scores of ankles as peasants fled before me. My current record was 21. That'd been a fine crowd.
“You only need to know I happen to take treason very seriously, Snow Dancer.”
“She's an E-rank adventurer,” added Coppelia, as always, very unhelpfully.
For a moment, the elven woman only smiled.
Then, she eyeballed Starlight Grace as it effortlessly earned another satisfying click from the keyhole.
“An adventurer, huh?” she said. “The sword says more than you do. And the ohohohos as well … so right now, all I'm wondering is why you'd be here without a whole bunch of decorative guards in fancy armour.”
I winced.
These people! If they couldn't laugh properly, then don't try to imitate it!
“I do not require guards to deal with a bandit in a castle. Only a boot … and a bottomless coin pouch as I recover all the taxes that have been evaded.”
Suddenly, the Snow Dancer giggled.
“I mean, you've basically described me, but with a cottage instead of a castle.”
“Excuse me?”
“Going by definition, I'm definitely a bandit, right? I basically only steal stuff and never pay taxes.”
My sword ceased prodding and poking … I mean, sewing.
Instead, I pulled Starlight Grace from the keyhole, then rose before looking plainly at the self-professed bandit.
“Why do you not pay tax?” I asked simply. “As a sword saint, you have no lack of crowns. I shall permit you an explanation, provided that it's five words or fewer.”
Ophelia counted with her fingers, before clicking them with a smile.
“Why should I pay taxes?”
A moment of silence passed.
Then, outrage and indignation fought to be the first to rush out of my lips.
“Why … Why should you?!” I threw my arms up. Ophelia's shadow cast by Starlight Grace stretched across the snow. “You must pay taxes because that is your obligation as a citizen of this kingdom! Without those taxes, soldiers cannot be paid, roads cannot be paved, and freshly imported feather duvets from the Summer Kingdoms cannot be commissioned!”
The Snow Dancer shrugged.
“I mean, the truth is that if you're an A-rank sword saint, you're kind of exempt from taxes. That's just for the weak. And the poor, I guess. Which tax inspector is going to huff at me? I'm super strong.”
Ophelia leaned forwards, her sword still illuminating the keyhole I no longer cared about as she offered a smile as mischievous as it was beautiful.
“Hey, I'll let you in on a little secret, too! Far from not paying taxes, I once burgled the Royal Treasury. I mean … that's pretty much the opposite of taxation, isn't it?”
I slowly stepped towards the Snow Dancer, my every joint creaking with disbelief.
And yet even though she was assuredly right before me, I could scarcely make out the outline of her figure behind the curtain of red that had shrouded my vision.
The only sound I heard as outrage engulfed me was Coppelia scrambling to build up the snow atop her fortifications. And then the quack of a duck as it leaped behind the newly made wall to join her.
The lullaby had ceased. Which was just as well.
After all, there was a more appropriate tune for funerals.
Deep within a frozen chamber at the heart of Aquina Castle, neither subpar singing nor the occasional quacking of a duck could disturb the tense atmosphere which pervaded the scene.
An elven sword saint. Silver hair and blue eyes. The name Ophelia.
The title Snow Dancer.
Here was the one the fae count had warned us of.
The woman who'd stolen the Crown of Winter from the Frozen Palace—and not only lived to tell the tale, but be able to smile about it.
Indeed … hers was the smile of both a talented thief and a seasoned killer.
Even an untrained eye could sense the deadly competence this woman possessed. Hers was the poise of a woman accustomed to victory. The glint in her keen eyes was a silent warning only achievable by those who'd done more than simply survive.
They thrived.
I knew it before she moved.
And I knew it more when she finally did.
In a motion as fluid as water, the Snow Dancer unsheathed her sword. An elven masterwork, as most elven weapons were.
Designed to be wielded with one or both hands, it boasted a single-edged blade, a feather light frame, and a slight curve to mirror the contours of the leaves which grew only where elves chose to reside. They were weapons prized and sought by our soldiers, surpassing the work of even our castle smiths.
This woman's sword boasted more than elven steel, though.
It boasted a blade which shone with a light as unforgiving as the ice which froze the Ducal Guard around us, and a sapphire pommel so edged that it could be used as a weapon. Even amongst elven blades, hers was a thing of brutal, bloody art.
The Snow Dancer held her wintry blade aloft, its gleam a worthy match against the moonlight emanating from Starlight Grace. And so our fates were sealed. For despite their splendour, swords were not made to be things of art.
Ophelia the Snow Dancer raised her gleaming weapon.
And then … provided me with badly needed ambient lighting as I used Starlight Grace to lockpick a magical keyhole.
“I can't believe what I'm seeing,” said Ophelia, her bright sword steady even as she looked on with her mouth open. “I heard a click. That's the first pin done.”
“Ohohohohoho!” I raised my free hand to my mouth, barely covering it as I ensured that none of my laughter was muted. “As expected! I'm a genius! Do you see, Coppelia?! Behold as I demonstrate my ability to utilise my sword for purposes far beyond its intended usage!”
“I never doubted you for a moment,” replied my future handmaiden from behind a dozen layers of snow fortifications she'd built for herself. “I always knew a sword could be used as a lockpick and would never result in us dying horribly.”
Beside me, Ophelia shook her head. The expression she wore was the same as my tutors when about to quibble over a rare and minor error.
“That might still happen. Aside from how ridiculous it is as a tool, the amateurism I see is killing me.”
“Ohohoh … amateurism?” I replied, smiling without a hint of stress as I toyed with whatever deadly defences were implemented in this keyhole I was blindly … skilfully fiddling with. “Perhaps you're mistaking the correct word for overwhelming natural talent?”
Indeed, whether it was using my sword as a garden shovel, a paintbrush, or now even a lockpick, I could prove my unworldly ability to perform any task so long as I put even a fraction of my genius mind into it!
Ohohoho! I didn't even intend on taking up this highly inappropriate venture beyond this demonstration! It was just yet another gift I was burdened with!
Others may pick locks to steal riches! I picked locks to put my doubters to shame!
“All I see is an overwhelming talent for poking and prodding,” said Ophelia, frowning. “A lock isn't something to toy with like a fat child's waist.”
I was appalled.
“Poking and prodding! Do you believe I'd be able to circumvent the layers of deadly magical defences contained within this keyhole if I didn't possess the hands of a seamstress? No, Snow Dancer. I'm not poking and prodding. I'm sewing.”
The elven woman responded by leaning in closer, eyeballing the keyhole with a look of obvious boredom as she identified the correct notches and grooves I would shortly be navigating myself.
Her nosiness was joined by the duck, whose presence as a blue-eyed, crystal beaked magical bird with acid arrows sticking from its head was only a footnote in the presence of a sword saint, a princess and a clockwork doll.
“Oh, okay. Sewing. That makes sense. Because this is totally a woollen sweater you're making … it's not, by the way. And I should know. They're really hard to make. I'm stunned we haven't all been blown up yet.”
Again, I laughed—both at her lack of sewing skills and her imagination.
Meanwhile, Coppelia started work on another layer of snow fortifications.
“There's little difference between picking a lock and sewing a sweater. They both employ finger dexterity and an eye for imperfections. Even the ebb and flow of the motion is similar … wait. Do you hear that?”
“Hear what?”
Click.
“The sound of me being an unrivalled genius! Ohohohoho!”
The Snow Dancer's cheeks twitched.
She turned her face away, blinded by the sheer power of my blessed ability to do absolutely anything brought before me.
“I mean, I am the best lockpicker in the kingdom,” she said, flicking her silver her back. “It's natural it rubs off on someone I'm personally babysitting.”
“My, is that how you refer to backseating? I see what they say is true. For every saddle, there's a rider and a hypocrite.”
“Quite the honor student, eh? You realise I don't need to teach you how to pick a lock, right? And for free, too! If I charged for lessons, I wouldn't need to steal anything ever again!”
“You charging for lessons would simply be the gravest robbery. Your unsolicited lesson consisted of informing me to carefully feel with my gut. Does it appear as if I've taken that to heart? Am I currently slowly and methodically rubbing my stomach against this keyhole?”
“Lockpicking requires more than the ability to sew. Or whatever you call randomly poking about until you hit one of the correct pins while somehow dodging all the magical runes. It requires strong intuition tempered with patience. The first door one must pick is the one to prudence.”
And yet, I could easily discern from her expression that I was well on my way to sewing my way past this keyhole.
Ohohoho! The satisfaction I'd receive from this was palpable! Yet another entry added to my long list of accolades!
Still … as wonderful as it was that I was broadening my sewing skills in the realm of clandestine activities, there was clearly something that I needed to address here.
“Ophelia,” I said, pausing to allow the next click of my genius to be heard. “Is there any particular reason you're currently assisting, if poorly, in bypassing the security to Aquina's deepest vault?”
The Snow Dancer shrugged.
“It seemed like fun.”
I pursed my lips.
“Fun. I see. Well, it's my understanding that you were responsible for the theft of the Crown of Winter. Are you not under the command of Duke Valance, and thus directly responsible for aiding and abetting his plans for secession?”
The Snow Dancer wore a look of feigned shock. I thought nothing of it, seeing worse each day at court.
“Excuse me! That man doesn't command me. I'm a free spirit!”
“A free spirit guilty of treason against the Kingdom of Tirea, then?”
“Me? Treason? Absolutely not.”
“So you deny the accusations laid at your feet?”
“Of course I do.” Ophelia waved as though firing a servant. “I have no beef with the kingdom. Yes, the Duke may be plotting some grand scheme involving the Crown of Winter and the overthrowing of the realm. And yes, I may have helped out slightly. But I totally reject any suggestion of personally committing treason. Not while the T word has never been explicitly mentioned to me. Until then? Supposition.”
I was appalled.
Far from being enamoured with the prospect of charming this sword saint to my side, such a blasé attitude to duty only sat poorly with me!
Loyalty was the single most important attribute any high-ranking goon could have! If she was going to steal from the fae, jeopardise the kingdom and fulfil Duke Valence's ambitions of independence, then she needed to commit to it! The thought of my family's rule being threatened by tepid plotters was insulting!
“If you have no intention of committing treason, then why would you ply your trade for the Duchy of Aquina?”
The Snow Dancer shrugged.
I regretted whatever answer I was about to hear.
“I just do what sounds fun. And as long as the Duke keeps giving me crazy missions and never explicitly mentions treason, I have no reason to say no. I can live in my cottage and remain when all the mess from the Duke's plans blows over. Isn't that right, Duck A?”
Quack, quack.
Beside us, the magical duck looked up.
I willed myself not to touch one of the magical runes in the keyhole just to see if it'd survive the resulting explosion.
“... Duck A?” I queried, after a long moment.
“Yep. This is my friendly, ordinary duck.”
“It has glowing blue eyes and a crystalline beak.”
“It's currently in its moulting phase.”
I tightly closed my eyes.
Yes, indeed ... the kingdom had a lunatic for a sword saint.
Very well. That's … That's fine.
I … I could still use her! If not as an ally, then as an example that none may step beyond the authority of the kingdom!
Indeed, a highly public showing of allegiance was in order, beginning with a denouncement of Duke Valence before the royal court as we divvied up the Duchy of Aquina to more loyal retainers!
… Followed by her steadfast repentance as she put her sword wielding skills to use cutting up bars of soap!
Ohohoho!
Indeed, not even a sword saint was exempt from my boot of authority! Once she'd testified against the errant Duke, I'd sentence her into joining my soap making enterprise as a highly skilled fabricator of shapes!
“You have committed treason, no matter how you choose to define it,” I told her simply. “Be aware that your verdict is set in stone, but the length of your sentence isn't. Should you prove useful in quelling the complaints of the nobility when we strip Aquina bare, then I'll generously consider a minor reduction in the number of soap bars you'll be required to craft for me.”
The Snow Dancer smiled.
Had she any idea of the number of soap bars which awaited her, she wouldn't be.
“You will, huh? Should I finally ask who you are … or should I make an educated guess first?”
I looked up from the keyhole, offering a royal smile capable of breaking scores of ankles as peasants fled before me. My current record was 21. That'd been a fine crowd.
“You only need to know I happen to take treason very seriously, Snow Dancer.”
“She's an E-rank adventurer,” added Coppelia, as always, very unhelpfully.
For a moment, the elven woman only smiled.
Then, she eyeballed Starlight Grace as it effortlessly earned another satisfying click from the keyhole.
“An adventurer, huh?” she said. “The sword says more than you do. And the ohohohos as well … so right now, all I'm wondering is why you'd be here without a whole bunch of decorative guards in fancy armour.”
I winced.
These people! If they couldn't laugh properly, then don't try to imitate it!
“I do not require guards to deal with a bandit in a castle. Only a boot … and a bottomless coin pouch as I recover all the taxes that have been evaded.”
Suddenly, the Snow Dancer giggled.
“I mean, you've basically described me, but with a cottage instead of a castle.”
“Excuse me?”
“Going by definition, I'm definitely a bandit, right? I basically only steal stuff and never pay taxes.”
My sword ceased prodding and poking … I mean, sewing.
Instead, I pulled Starlight Grace from the keyhole, then rose before looking plainly at the self-professed bandit.
“Why do you not pay tax?” I asked simply. “As a sword saint, you have no lack of crowns. I shall permit you an explanation, provided that it's five words or fewer.”
Ophelia counted with her fingers, before clicking them with a smile.
“Why should I pay taxes?”
A moment of silence passed.
Then, outrage and indignation fought to be the first to rush out of my lips.
“Why … Why should you?!” I threw my arms up. Ophelia's shadow cast by Starlight Grace stretched across the snow. “You must pay taxes because that is your obligation as a citizen of this kingdom! Without those taxes, soldiers cannot be paid, roads cannot be paved, and freshly imported feather duvets from the Summer Kingdoms cannot be commissioned!”
The Snow Dancer shrugged.
“I mean, the truth is that if you're an A-rank sword saint, you're kind of exempt from taxes. That's just for the weak. And the poor, I guess. Which tax inspector is going to huff at me? I'm super strong.”
Ophelia leaned forwards, her sword still illuminating the keyhole I no longer cared about as she offered a smile as mischievous as it was beautiful.
“Hey, I'll let you in on a little secret, too! Far from not paying taxes, I once burgled the Royal Treasury. I mean … that's pretty much the opposite of taxation, isn't it?”
I slowly stepped towards the Snow Dancer, my every joint creaking with disbelief.
And yet even though she was assuredly right before me, I could scarcely make out the outline of her figure behind the curtain of red that had shrouded my vision.
The only sound I heard as outrage engulfed me was Coppelia scrambling to build up the snow atop her fortifications. And then the quack of a duck as it leaped behind the newly made wall to join her.
The lullaby had ceased. Which was just as well.
After all, there was a more appropriate tune for funerals.
