Rikkard Receives Word of Stavroula's Third Edict Against Him

Geneva reclined at her desk while a wizened thrixlogia wound her fine copper hair into braids of sufficient intricacy to befit the Master Administrator of Advent. Across her office, an elderly middle administrator was consulting with the Saint of the Aspect, who was looking out the window across the gleaming city. Rikkard’s feet did not often touch the ground these days, even with his powered armor doffed as it was now. His hovering made the bowed old man at his flank appear even smaller compared to his powerful frame.

“Your holiness, without the Errors-” the administrator started.

Rikkard held up a finger to halt him. Around his waist he wore a loose-fitting robe of the Solian fashion, and from there up he was unburdened by vesture aside from a ceremonial mask of bronze. “Augmented. Logos does not err.” Rikkard said sternly.

“Y-yes, sir, my mistake. As I was saying, without the labor of the, uh, Augmented, the municipal maintenance crews are running thin. The machine spirits alone cannot be relied on to keep Advent afloat, as their work needs to be undone nearly as often as it provides benefit. If the Aspect truly wishes us to fly into battle scarcely half a year after recovering from our last conflict, we will need new engineers working sectors Z7, Z12 through 13, and the Callosal Commissure. What say Logos?”

Rikkard was silent a moment, drawing a lungful of sticky summer air while he pretended to consult with Primordius. Geneva’s eyes traced the many scars on his back, drawing connections between them as if she were inventing a new constellation. They abruptly stopped just below his right shoulder where the flawless skin of his unmarred right arm began.

“Have Eitrich instruct a handful of master engineers to take on orc apprentices, specifically those aligned to Verthag. Pair them with Aethians who haven’t been found to be of use elsewhere, so that they can interface with wiring when needed. The order will be master, then apprentice, then assistant. This is the logic.”

The administrator’s face fell slightly, but he knew better than to argue with the voice of the Aspect. With a flat tone, he thanked the Saint and took his leave.

Geneva excused her thrixlogia as well, anxious for a few moments alone with Rikkard. The moment the door closed behind the elderly woman, Geneva swept towards the window and placed her hands on Rikkard’s arm, silently demanding his attention. Rikkard swiveled his head around to ensure the two were indeed alone and that the door was shut tightly before he removed his mask with his free hand. She and Rikkard had steadily grown closer over the last six months and by now he was well-accustomed to her touching him like this.

Rikkard’s face was always difficult for her to read, but Geneva could feel his state of mind through the tips of her fingers against his skin. She could sense the paths by which his vital electricity traveled through the fibers of his flesh, and could read them the way an infernal crone could read her fortune in the locust wings of her tea. Rikkard was pent up with potential energy, waiting months to put an end to his long nightmare. Sidax, the monster he had helped create in his ignorance, was nearly within reach. She felt guilt writhe throughout his chest and spiral up his throat, threatening to strangle him if not for the buoying light of hope that seemed to radiate from his right arm.

“Rikkard” she said, cautiously, “I am concerned. I need to know, before you wield our city as a weapon, that you care more about our people than you do about your personal revenge. I need to know that our logic is aligned.”

Rikkard swallowed. She could feel the monster in his chest rise at her suggestion, its tendrils tightening around his neck. She felt doubt cascade from his crown like a cloudburst. Then, she felt him erect walls of resolve within his solar plexus. He nodded firmly. “Yes. The duty of sending Xengral back to his plane is shared by all who wish a future for this world, and for its children. But, to put an end to Sidax is my burden. To that goal, I will not allow anyone to lay down their life before my own.”

Geneva reached up and touched his face for a better feel of the workings of his mind, but the gesture suddenly clouded his nervous system with a more primal, animalistic urge that radiated downward from his brain stem. It traveled through her fingertips into her own body, and before she knew what was happening the two had locked eyes again, heat rising together in a disorienting feedback loop. She felt his resistance suddenly snap, dropping him to the ground with his full body weight. She felt a hand on her back as their lips made contact, and with this direct connection made, she could feel the warmth of her own body’s intense heat projected back to her through his nerves. She melted into him, and he into her, nearly losing themselves entirely.

Their ecstasy was shattered by a sharp knock at the door. Rikkard’s eyes shot open and he backed away, nearly tripping over an end table. Geneva shot a hand out toward the wall to steady herself, head and legs pounding. She took deep breaths and fought to get her racing pulse under control.

“I’m sorry,” Rikkard said, breathlessly, “I don’t... I didn’t... I don’t know what, I...”

He was unable to complete the thought before the knocking interrupted again, louder this time. He fumbled for his mask and sat behind Geneva’s desk rather than levitating in the open again. Geneva straightened her clothes and said with all the professionalism she could muster, “Come in.”

Geneva’s embarrassment quickly converted to annoyance when the door opened and she saw her father’s glowing artificial eyes and oxidized hair. The satyr’s bewitchment was still in effect on him, but as a precaution she had decided when she took office to make him Advent’s liaison for Aethian Intelligence and Reconnaissance, also known as AIR, in order to keep him busy. It was an occupation that he had taken to immediately, being the conspiratorial man that he was. He had immersed himself in the theatrics of the aethian spy network as easily as he had the office of Master Administator years prior.

“I apologize if I interrupted anything, my dear,” Heinrich said with a faint smile, “but our agent embedded in Silgate has sent us some troubling news.”

Geneva was immediately suspicious. Her father was addressing her but kept glancing to Rikkard. Heinrich did not like Rikkard even if he was forced to acknowledge the logic of his leadership. Whatever the information he was about to deliver, he was clearly savoring being the one to deliver it.

From behind his back Heinrich pulled a sheet of paper and slid it across her desk. Across the top in block letters Geneva could make out the words “Stavroula's Edict of Condemnation.” Rikkard’s face darkened as his eyes traveled down the page. He started back at the top and examined each word carefully, shaking his head. Geneva moved behind him and read the edict over his shoulder, becoming agitated as she absorbed its message.

“I thought you made peace with her. You said you parted amicably...” Geneva said, straightening up again.

“Yes,” said Rikkard, setting the page down and looking back through the window at a bloom of orange rising up from the horizon. “This is her name, but these are not her words. These are the words of one who is petty and spiteful. Stavroula’s words, they are...” he continued to stare with a far-off look in his eyes, rubbing his chin thoughtfully, “... sometimes clumsy, often painfully direct, but never petty. No. This stinks of the dishonorable, inbred buffoon who calls himself lord of this province. He did not need Stavroula’s name to give authority to this command. He simply wanted to hurt me.”

He watched as the sky outside turned to amber. Finally, he looked back to Heinrich, who had been quietly drinking in his discomfort. “Heinrich, Geneva, I think it’s time we aid Oswia in ridding themselves of Dolph Habbsberry. I want you to have all available AIR agents within range collecting information about this cretin as quickly as possible. I want to know how deep his relationship with the Warfather went. I want to know who among the Oswian nobility have quarrel with him. I want to know where his debts lie, and who the others are that he’s come into contact with who wound up worse off.”

“Alternatively,” Heinrich interjected, “I could simply have an assassin pay him a visit during the upcoming siege. We could easily make it appear to be the hand of Sidax.”

Rikkard shook his head. “No. I tried that once and I was punished for it. If Primordius is going to allow this to happen, we’ll have to go about it another way. The right way. Habbsberry must be slain by his own sword. We will simply help it along.”

Geneva gingerly placed a hand on Rikkard’s shoulder, trying to gauge his temperament. She sensed something new in him descending upon the guilt, loosening its grip: a grim determination.