The Ogre Strength Fairy and the Eldest 'Son'
Chapter 289 - A Scheming Wife-In-Arms With Performances In Mind & Wagging Tongues To Find

Chapter 289: Chapter 289 - A Scheming Wife-In-Arms With Performances In Mind & Wagging Tongues To Find

The walk back to the grounds was done with Elua’s important items - mostly food and pillows - packed into a rucksack that Qatrand insisted on wearing. The Yecine ’heir’ cradled her wife in her arms this time... the petite brunette nestled against her chest with a satisfied smile and a hand lazily placed on her beloved’s collar.

Each little pause in their journey, another soft kiss was exchanged. Yet Qatrand couldn’t help but notice the other pattern emerging because of these affectionate moments.

"That’s the seventh bird you’ve sent off since we made it to your camp."

A face tilted with feigned ’innocence’ when she folded another tiny slip of paper and tucked it into the leg band of the Skydancer that waited on the small cultivator’s head. The iridescent bird colored like dawn’s light chirped once before taking flight into the slowly deepening dark.

"Have you been counting my messages to others instead of my kisses to you? I’m wounded, my fortress."

The swordswoman rapidly adjusted her grip, intentionally jostling the cute girl in her arms. Her El’s dramatic, indignant squeak made her smile. There was no way she actually thought she would be dropped - or be scared of falling.

"I’ve been counting both. Which is why I noticed the second largest pattern."

Three of her wife’s different avian companions had returned and were sent off once more. Each bore responses that Elua read with poorly concealed satisfaction... and obvious attempts to ’cover’ the text. Whatever scheme she was orchestrating had clearly progressed according to plan.

"You say that like I’m some puzzle to you. It’s really nothing bad... this time. Important preparations just require regular confirmations of timeliness."

Qatrand really wanted to take the bait about what other ’bad’ times she may not have been told about, but she managed to keep on track.

"Preparations for what exactly?"

"For a proper farewell for those still waiting, of course."

Small fingers traced the line of the tall girl’s jaw. The touch was deliberately distracting... or so the rascal’s spirit made sure she knew. The little pulses of ’misbehaving’ was the best way to pull her attention and the mint eyed heiress had clearly figured that out.

"Maybe something worth remembering during our... limited separation."

"And you won’t tell me more than that?"

The brunette’s smile turned enigmatic before she dropped her facade completely.

"Only that there will be a performance tomorrow evening. The rest is a surprise."

"Should I be concerned?"

"Not at all. I’m being perfectly reasonable this time."

Qat couldn’t help but laugh at her wife’s foreign definition of ’reasonable’. The Yecine looked down at the girl with unhidden fond exasperation. To think the ancient cultivator did not have *certain* solid lines in her heart which she based that word off of would be something her husband-wife would never do.

Yet, their history had shown a pretty flexible interpretation, at best, to society’s modern standards of things within the girl. It mostly amounted to Elua er Goltbred holding back completely so as not to stand out negatively.

Hiding herself and her whims through misdirection. Of others - and of herself.

’I wonder if she knows her eyes are quivering...’

"I trust you."

Three simple words in response made the ancient cultivator’s breathing stop. She shut her eyes and buried her face against Qatrand’s shoulder. It didn’t hide the sudden surge of twisting and kicking emotion those words still evoked after all this time.

But it did allow her to take in a deep, full breath of her favorite scent in this world. The one that her most loved one naturally put off, lodged in the dark suit jackets she always wore. Fingers crumpled the edge of the black collar, not wanting to ever let go.

Not understanding how she could deserve this.

⟠ ⟠ ⟠

Corde hez Iralev stood at the edge of the competition field. She observed workers clearing her stage and others starting to mass for some *other* reason. While keeping her eyes on that, she also watched coordinated movements of several older Void Defense Society members as they ran through defensive formations.

She was about to call out a correction to a subtle flaw that might lead to deadly consequences, when she sensed someone approaching from behind and to her side. The Frozen Duskblade turned to find Ondua er Goltbred walking to stand next to her. His expression at being noticed was friendly despite the tension that had characterized her previous interactions with his daughter.

’Perhaps he has not noticed... or he has, but she has not complained enough for him to do anything. Or...’

"Impressive display earlier. The mortals are still talking about it."

The swordswoman acknowledged the compliment with a slight nod before turning to look back at the stage. Flashes of where she felt she could have done better, moved more smoothly or faster, struck with more force... still circled like phantoms in her mind.

The bar for ’impressive’ was subjective - and to the adopted Iralev she had not met or exceeded it this time. However...

"It served its purpose. Sometimes a reminder of what we’re capable of helps maintain order during evacuation. During the times the weak can only sit there, protected."

"Indeed."

The ’Hero of the Last Descent’ seemed to be considering his next words carefully. He was a lot more obvious about things like his expression and feelings than his wife or daughter who Corde felt managed each showing. It wasn’t a quality she particularly disliked in him, though it did make her feel bad for the man.

That part she did dislike - for it felt like using that pity was part of a plot by those women.

"My family would be honored if you would join us tomorrow evening. To stand and watch, alongside us, another kind of display."

"Another display?"

This caught her attention and her eyes narrowed. She did not begrudge someone trying to steal her final spotlight, if that was what the girl was ultimately doing. The woman was a warrior and not a performer or politician.

But she did *not* think Elua was so simple.

"My daughter had arranged for a talented troupe to perform. She felt it would be a shame if they had prepared for nothing, so they are working on making it happen before most of us depart for our assignments."

He pointed at the workers that had been waiting for the venue staff to clear the area. The link to what was happening solved one mystery, but extended many more. The brunette pulled out and offered a small, formally sealed invitation.

"Given your position and your... interest in young Qatrand, we thought you might wish to attend as well."

Corde accepted the piece of parchment while noting the elegant seal impressed into the iridescent wax - the bird motif distinctly different from the standard Goltbred crest. The lack of the family’s design on this almost proved it was the work of the eldest daughter. While in *plain* wax, she had seen this stamping before in the administrative pavilion.

"This is interesting timing, with evacuation already underway."

"My daughter has always had her own sense of appropriate timing."

A smile touched Ondua’s lips as he shook his head. Something halfway between proud and bemused. It only made her pity him more.

"As it is, the coordinators agreed it wouldn’t interfere with schedules. Those with immediate departures will already be gone, while those with later rail assignments could use the diversion. Just like the mortals needed today."

The swordswoman turned the invitation over in her hands, casually checking for any hidden marks while weighing more than just the physical object. An opportunity to observe the Goltbred heiress in yet another context... this time outright orchestrating a specific event... could prove valuable when she tried convincing her mentee.

"Please extend my thanks. I would be pleased to attend."

"Great. I was already excited to see this, but now we’ll get to brag about who we watched it with!"

The man chuckled and quickly departed with her acceptance. Corde returned her gaze to the practicing cultivators, but her thoughts remained on whatever performance waited tomorrow. Her eyes ticked to the workers starting to modify the current stage.

’What are you planning now, little manipulative strategist?’

The Goltbred girl continued to defy easy categorization. Everything the woman had heard and seen herself painted her as abnormal. That alone made her worth watching. Reminded her of someone.

"Brag...? Right. There were two of... *those* there."

Upon remembering that the man she was just talking to and his excitable female friend were fans... The Frozen Duskblade began to weigh the value of attending once more.

⟠ ⟠ ⟠

"You helped paint... *WHAT*?"

Fusand winced at his mentor’s sudden increase in volume. The woman who had been calmly discussing their early evacuation preparations just moments ago now leaned forward with alarming intensity, her eyes wide with excitement.

"It was just a simple backdrop. Elua suggested I might help with-"

"A backdrop for the performance he just mentioned earlier? The one Corde is attending by that look on his face?"

The young man immediately regretted his slip.

When Nohre had been called away by his master’s personal servant, he’d thought a conversation with Zyris about what they’d been up to would be a safe distraction while waiting. But then the Goltbred Patriarch came in with a silly smirk that *almost* looked like the one the brunette man wore at breakfast.

Now the orphan desperately wished his ’unlabeled relationship’ hadn’t left him alone with the suddenly energetic woman. It was a whole different kind of ’intense’ than he was used to!

"I... I really wasn’t supposed to mention specifics..."

"Oh, this is perfect! You must take me there immediately to see it!"

The sandy haired teenager shifted uncomfortably in his seat, feeling it might be best to *try* and outrun what he might be getting pulled into.

"I don’t think that’s a good idea. S-she was very clear about-"

"My dear Fusand."

Zyris placed both hands on his shoulders. Her expression was *deadly* serious. He hadn’t even been able to stand to his feet! He knew he was only an Enchanter, but the difference in strength and speed despite his youth was so great...

"This is likely the last opportunity I will have to see Corde hez Iralev. Every day is precious. If there’s anything I can do to contribute to a performance she’ll be *watching*, it would be my absolute honor."

The conviction scared him more than he would ever admit. He’d been trying not to think about anyone he’d met here failing to come back. The rates of death were low, but not zero.

"Ah... but..."

The woman rapidly changed tactics! The corners of her eyes began to water.

"Please? I have steady hands. I could help with painting too, or costumes, or... anything really!"

The young spiritualist sighed, recognizing that he was fighting a losing battle. That he had had lost the moment his tongue wagged. Their master hadn’t explicitly forbidden bringing others to help. All she said was not to share exact details of the performance content.

’They are in a time crunch. I suppose there might be some tasks that need extra hands...’

"Lead the way!"

As if she knew she won even without him saying anything, Zyris er Talcres had already pulled him to her feet and grabbed a cloak... vibrating with excitement and bouncing on her heels like she was seven again.