Felix looked at the swatches spread across the table. His expression suggested he had just realized what he had agreed to.

  “The good news,” Vivian continued, “is that Mother will have opinions about everything. The flowers. The venue. The food. The music. The exact angle of the ceremonial candles.”

  “How is that good news?” Felix asked.

  “Because you won’t have to make decisions. She’ll make them for you.” Vivian smiled. “The bad news is that she’ll be worse for Katherine because she’s the younger daughter. I got the practice run. You get the full performance.”

  Katherine reached across the fabric swatches and squeezed Felix’s hand. “We’ll survive.”

  “Will we?”

  She shrugged. “Probably.”

  The food arrived and we rearranged the wedding planning materials to make room for plates. Felix seized the opportunity to reclaim his ale. He drank deeply while Katherine organized her lists into a more compact formation.

  “How long will you be gone for the Northern Kingdoms trip,” Claire asked. She had been quiet during the wedding discussion. Apparently, university had taught her when to observe and when to contribute.

  “Weeks at minimum,” I said. “Maybe longer depending on what we find.”

  “Right in the middle of wedding planning.” Tom shook his head with exaggerated sympathy. “Poor Felix. Abandoning his bride-to-be in her hour of need.”

  “I’m not abandoning anyone.” Felix glared at him. “Katherine understands.”

  “I do understand,” Katherine said. She had not looked up from reorganizing her lists. “Everything you accomplish out there helps our family’s standing. When you return with a successful royal contract, even Lady Penwright will have to acknowledge your value.”

  The mention of Felix’s mother cast a brief shadow over the table. Lady Penwright had not approved of the engagement. She had made that clear through pointed silences and conspicuous absences. Harold Penwright supported his son, but his wife remained difficult.

  “Has she come around at all?” Sarah asked.

  “Father says she’s processing.” Felix’s voice carried old frustration. “She’s been processing for six months. At this rate, she’ll finish processing around the time our grandchildren are born.”

  “She attended dinner last month,” Katherine said. “That’s progress.”

  “She attended dinner and spent the entire evening discussing how her friend’s son married a viscount’s daughter.” Felix shook his head. “She’s not subtle about her disappointment.”

  “Her disappointment is her problem,” Katherine said. Her tone suggested she did not care whether Lady Penwright came around or not. “We marry in six months regardless of her opinions. She can attend or she can explain to society why she missed her only son’s wedding.”

  Vivian raised her teacup in salute. “I like her.”

  “Everyone likes Katherine,” Tom said. “It’s Felix who’s the problem.”

  “Thank you for that observation,” mumbled Felix.

  “You’re welcome.”

  I ate my lunch and watched my friends navigate the complicated terrain of wedding planning. Felix had traded the relative simplicity of dungeon expeditions for the complex politics of joining two families. One family welcomed him with open arms. Then his mother tolerated his wife-to-be at best.

  Sarah’s shoulder brushed against mine. She leaned close and spoke quietly. “You’re thinking about something.”

  “Just observing.”

  “Observing what?”

  “How complicated all this is. Families and expectations and seventeen shades of cream.”

  She smiled. “Not all families are complicated.”

  “No?”

  “Mine likes you. My father thinks you’re sensible. My mother thinks you work too hard but approves of your dedication.” She squeezed my hand under the table. “When the time comes, we won’t need seventeen shades of anything.”

  The warmth of her hand spread through my chest. I squeezed back and said nothing. Some things did not need words.

  “So,” Katherine said after the plates had been cleared. She turned her attention to Tom and Claire. “When do you two plan to marry?”

  Tom choked on his ale. Claire patted his back with practiced ease.

  “We’re waiting,” Claire said. Her voice carried no defensiveness. “I have eighteen months left at university plus my graduation project. Marriage can wait until I’m finished.”

  “And after?” Vivian asked. “Will you stay in Westbridge?”

  “I’ll move here.” Claire glanced at Tom and her expression softened. “My work translates well to any location. Mathematical consultation doesn’t require a specific city. But Tom’s forge is here. His family is here. His life is here.”

  “Your life is here too,” Tom said quietly.

  “It will be,” she said. “Soon enough.”

  The patience between them was visible. They had counted the days and the months and the visits. They had written letters and made plans and waited. Eighteen months remained. Then the waiting would end.

  “How often do you visit?” Sarah asked.

  “Every six weeks if we can manage it,” Claire said. “Sometimes longer between visits when examinations or projects demand attention. Tom came to Westbridge for the winter festival. I came here for the spring market.”

  “The letters help,” Tom added. “She writes better than she thinks she does.”

  “I write mathematical proofs. Not exactly romantic poetry.”

  “You explained orbital mechanics using our relationship as a metaphor. That’s romantic to me.”

  Claire’s cheeks colored slightly. “You weren’t supposed to tell people about that.”

  “It was beautiful. Something about gravitational constants and inevitable convergence.”

  “Tom.”

  “I cried a little.”

  “You did not cry.”

  “I got something in my eye. While reading. About gravity.” Tom grinned. “It was very dusty that day.”

  The table laughed. Even Katherine set down her lists to enjoy the moment.

  “We’ve done the hard part,” Claire said once the laughter faded. “The distance. The time apart. What’s left is just finishing what I started.”

  Sarah looked at me. I knew what she saw. We had not faced years of separation. We had not counted down months until we could be together. Our path had been simpler.

  But we had our own future to build, one step at a time.

  Katherine produced a smaller list from somewhere within the larger organizational system. She handed it to Felix with the gravity of a general issuing orders.

  “These are the decisions you need to make while you’re away.”

  Felix took the paper and unfolded it. His expression shifted through several stages. Hope. Concern. Despair.

  “This is not a small list.”

  “It’s smaller than the full list.”

  “There are fourteen items on here.”

  “The full list has forty-seven.”

  Felix stared at the paper. Tom leaned over to read it and whistled.

  “Flower arrangements. Table linens. Invitation wording. Music selection for the processional.” Tom shook his head. “You’ll fight ward failures and plan a wedding at the same time.”

  “I can handle it,” Felix said. But he didn’t sound convinced.

  “Item seven is font selection for the place cards,” Tom continued reading. “Item nine is napkin folding styles.” He frowned. “There are napkin folding styles?”

  “There are nineteen napkin folding styles considered appropriate for formal occasions,” Katherine said. “I’ve narrowed it to three options. Felix just needs to choose one.”

  “The bishop’s mitre is traditional but feels dated,” Felix said. “The fleur-de-lis complements the centerpieces but might read as pretentious. The rosette is elegant without being ostentatious but your aunt used it at her wedding and I don’t know if that’s honoring tradition or lacking originality.”

  Katherine stared at him. “You’ve been thinking about this.”

  “I’ve been thinking about everything.”

  “Of course you can handle it.” Katherine took his hand and held it firmly. “And I’ll handle everything else while you’re gone. When you return, we’ll finalize together.”

  “What if I make the wrong choices?”

  “There are no wrong choices. Only choices that require explanation to my mother.”

  “That sounds like wrong choices with extra steps.”

  Vivian laughed. “Welcome to wedding planning!”

  The afternoon light had shifted while we talked and the lunch crowd at the Brass Monkey thinned as people returned to work and obligations. Our table remained occupied. The wedding materials stayed spread across the surface like a map of the months ahead.

  Felix looked at the list in his hand. Katherine looked at Felix. Tom and Claire exchanged a glance that held three years of patience and eighteen months of anticipation.

  Sarah’s hand found mine again under the table.

  We were all building futures along different paths and different timelines, but we walked them together.

  “To wedding planning,” Tom said. He raised his tankard. “May we all survive it.”

  “To complications,” Felix added.

  “To patience,” Claire said.

  “To lists,” Sarah finished. “May they always be smaller than expected.”

  “To family,” Katherine offered. “The ones we’re born with and the ones we choose.”

  That one landed and the table went quiet for half a breath before tankards rose in unison. Tom nodded. Sarah squeezed my hand. Felix looked at Katherine like she’d just solved something he’d been working on for years.

  We drank. The afternoon continued.

  Felix folded Katherine’s list and tucked it carefully into his notebook. He had thirteen more decisions to make in a foreign kingdom while redesigning their ward infrastructure. He would manage. He always did.

  But first we had a journey north to prepare for.

  The wedding would wait. The future would wait.

  Today we had lunch with friends and the comfortable chaos of lives intertwining.

  Chapter 5

  Foreign Considerations

  The shop felt strange with everything packed away.

  Felix and I had spent the morning organizing supplies into travel cases full of reference texts, ink samples, and documentation journals. The tools of our trade had been reduced to what could fit in a wagon. Whitmore watched from Erasmus’s desk and made occasional notes in his ledger.

  “The standing orders are filed,” I said. “Mrs. Henderson’s monthly preservation work is scheduled. The Thornton account expects delivery next week.”

  “I’m aware of your obligations.” Whitmore set down his quill. “I’ve been managing shops since before you were born.”

  “I wasn’t suggesting you couldn’t handle it.”

  “You suggested it very politely.” He stood and moved to the window and the morning light caught the grey in his hair. “Sit down, both of you. We need to discuss what you’re walking into.”

  Felix and I exchanged glances. We had expected this conversation. Whitmore had built toward it all week.

  “The Northern Kingdoms operate differently,” Whitmore began. “Their Guild structure is looser and less centralized. Individual masters hold more authority in their territories.”

  “That sounds like it could work in our favor,” Felix said. “Less bureaucracy to interfere.”

  “Less bureaucracy means less protection. Here, if a noble tries to pressure you into questionable work, you can appeal to Guild regulations. There, you’ll find the local master often serves at the noble’s pleasure.” Whitmore turned from the window. “You’ll be operating without the safety net you’re accustomed to.”

  “We handled Baron Aldwich’s situation,” I said. “Noble politics aren’t entirely new.”

  “Baron Aldwich was a minor noble in a familiar kingdom. You understood the context. The relationships. The unspoken rules.” Whitmore sat back down and folded his hands. “Keldrath has its own unspoken rules. Prince Duncan may be Adrian’s friend, but friendship between princes doesn’t guarantee friendship between their subjects.”

  “What should we watch for?” Felix had his notebook out. Of course he did.

  “Territorial glyphwrights who see you as a threat. Trade guilds protecting their interests. Nobles who resent outside interference.” Whitmore counted them on his fingers. “And anyone who benefits from the current situation remaining unchanged.”

  “The material suppliers,” I said. “If we solve the problem with local alternatives, someone loses their monopoly.”

  “Exactly. Your innovations will be scrutinized. Not everyone welcomes change, especially change that threatens established profit.”

  Felix wrote quickly. “Guild politics across borders. What are we actually allowed to do? Legally?”

  “Your journeyman certification is recognized throughout the allied kingdoms. You can practice your craft. You can take contracts. You can train others in techniques you’ve developed.” Whitmore paused. “You cannot establish a permanent presence without local Guild approval. You cannot undercut established pricing without cause. And you absolutely cannot disparage local methods publicly, even if they’re demonstrably inferior.”

  “So we can fix things, but we have to be diplomatic about it.”

  “You’re not just glyphwrights out there.” Whitmore’s voice carried weight. “You’re ambassadors for a different way of thinking. Every interaction reflects on Millbrook. On our Guild chapter. And on Erasmus and my reputations.”

  The mention of Erasmus hung in the air. He should have been here for this conversation. He should have been the one sending us off with warnings and wisdom.

  “What would Erasmus tell us?” I asked.

  Whitmore almost smiled. “He would tell you to trust your instincts. Document everything. And never make a promise you can’t keep, because in foreign territory, a broken promise becomes an international incident.”

  “That’s reassuring,” Felix muttered.

  “It’s realistic. You’ve earned this opportunity. Prince Adrian recommended you specifically because of what you accomplished in the eastern provinces.” Whitmore stood again. “Don’t make him regret that recommendation.”

  I found a quiet moment after Whitmore left to check my journal.

  The silver script still felt new. It had been several months since the examination in Westbridge and I still expected to see copper when I opened the cover. The pages fell open to my status and I traced the familiar lines with my finger.

  Marcus Fairwind

  Journeyman Glyphwright - Level 14

  Fairwind & Penwright: Innovative Wardwork

  Experience: 3,847/6,000

  Core Skills:

  Ward Creation: 56

  Ink Mixing: 37

  Theory: 48

  Copying: 35

  Rune Carving: 32

  Contract Writing: 24

  Innovation: 9

  Background Skills:

  Negotiation: 24

  Customer Reading: 30

  Contract Law: 16

  Supply Chain Knowledge: 20

  Memory: 33

  Merchant Skills: 28

  Diplomatic Mediation: 12

  Noble Etiquette: 7

  Threat Assessment: 15

  Dungeon Theory: 8

  Corruption Analysis: 4

  Corruption Handling: 5

  Network Design: 5

  Arbitrator Class Potential:

  Conflict Resolution: 13

  Faction Balancing: 9

  Stakes Assessment: 12

  The numbers had grown steadily since the eastern expedition. Ward Creation neared sixty. Innovation crept toward double digits. The Arbitrator skills that had appeared during the Baron situation continued to develop through customer negotiations and the occasional dispute resolution.

  Felix glanced over from his own packing. “Checking your progress?”

  “Habit.”

  “Good habit.” He pulled out his own journal and flipped it open. “I’m at level fifteen. Legal Framework Design hit eight last week. Katherine thinks I should specialize in contract work.”

  “You’d be good at it.”

  “I’d be bored by it.” He closed the journal and tucked it away. “Innovation is more interesting than interpretation. Even if the Guild doesn’t see it that way.”

  The Guild. We would need to think about intermediate applications, eventually. The traditional path required demonstrating competency in standard techniques before advancing. Our path had been anything but standard.

  The royal carriage arrived at midday.

  It rolled into Millbrook’s main square with all the subtlety of a peacock in a henhouse. Polished wood and brass fittings gleamed in the spring sunlight. The driver wore livery that probably cost more than our shop’s monthly income. Two horses pulled it, and both were groomed to perfection.

  “Well that’s not subtle,” Tom observed. He had closed the smithy early to see us off.

  “Royal carriages rarely are,” I said.

  The carriage had barely stopped before another group appeared from the southern road. Kyle’s Silver Compass Company rode in formation. Five adventurers and their horses moved with the easy coordination of people who had traveled together for years.

  Kyle spotted us first. He raised a hand in greeting and guided his horse toward the square.

  “Fairwind. Penwright.” He swung down from the saddle with practiced ease. “Ready for the north?”

  “As ready as we can be.” I clasped his offered hand. “How’s the armor holding up?”

  “Better than expected. The detection array you inscribed has been nearly flawless.” Kyle rolled his shoulder to demonstrate the ease of movement. “One minor issue. The magic purge triggered during a routine ward inspection. I don’t think it could tell the difference between a trap and ambient enchantment.”