"Where are we going?" Olivia asked. Olan had led her out of the Wandering Fool at a brisk pace, continuing to keep silent and serious in a way she had seldom seen from her oldest sibling.

"Sharrot's Meeting House," Olan answered tersely. "It's time to put an end to this idiocy."

"Uhm?"

Olan didn't respond to the unspoken question, and Olivia followed him quietly, thinking.

What idiocy was Olan referring to? The duel was the most obvious thing, considering the timing. But what was done was done, there was no way Arthur was going to back out of the duel now that Olivia had thrown the gauntlet down, and she couldn't either, not with the Argent Order's reputation on the line.

So was this just some attempt to intervene against Arthur's behavior in general? An effort to pour oil over troubled waters? No, that didn't line up. Olan would know as well as Olivia that such an attempt onArthur was a waste of time and energy.

Their destination only raised more questions. Olivia had never been to Sharrot's but she was aware of the place by reputation. Opened originally as a cafe, the Meeting House was known for its secure, warded, solid stone rooms, ideal for doing private, and even clandestine, business. Several solicitors, bankers, and brokers did business exclusively out of Sharrot's, and it was rumored that they were joined by some significantly more dubious, but similarly wealthy, patrons as well.

The Meeting House itself was a large stone building, complete with carved columns supporting a lofted second floor. That second floor, the main open dining space of Sharrot's, had a wall of windows–the only ones in the entire building, as the private rooms were kept secure, enshrined in granite and marble and iron and runes.

Olan went through the front door of Sharrot's without pausing or so much as exchanging a look with the doorman. The lack of argument or confrontation only proved that Olan was, apparently, quite familiar to the staff. Inside, the lobby was large, all in rich, dark wood tones. A half-dozen young men in neat uniforms worked behind counters, sheafs of parchment, bottles of ink, and an assortment of other paraphernalia declaring them as scribes. A number of similarly well-appointed women in crisp dresses filed in and out of a side door, either returning used dishes or carrying trays loaded with steaming teapots and fine porcelain cups.

Though the pair drew a few looks, none of Sharrot's employees approached either of the siblings as Olan briskly strode to the left side of the room. There, at one of a handful of small tables at the base of a staircase, was Deved. Olivia had met Olan's partner a couple times in the months since she had returned to Elliven, and found him to be a warm, charming man with a mind like a razor.

Though commonborn, Deved had worked for years to make himself a successful merchant, and while he was no battle-gifted, Olivia knew that he had survived the roads of the heartlands by himself multiple times, a feat many would-be merchants failed to replicate. Since he and Olan had both begun to see each other and gone into business together (Olivia still wasn't sure which had happened first), his cunning and business insight had helped Olan go from a struggling artisan to one of Elliven's premier jewelers.

Deved stood up as they approached, already reaching into a satchel at his side before Olan got to the man. They shared little more than a quick, warm look, both men clearly focused on business, before Deved started shoving portfolios into Olan's hands.

"The contract, signed, countersigned, and finalized," he said, Olan opening the first portfolio and smiling with brief satisfaction while Deved continued. "The reports you asked for–and seventy-three percent, before you ask."

"Excellent," Olan said, not bothering to review the second portfolio himself.

"And the proposals–for the House, Arthur personally, and the Order."

Olan reviewed those three sheets of parchment much more closely, Deved taking advantage of the pause to flash a quick grin and a wink to Olivia.

"This is lower than I suggested," Olan said, not taking his eyes from one of the proposals.

"Still more than he deserves," Deved said tartly.

Olan hummed a sound that was neither agreement or denial, and turned to the next sheet.

"Okay," Olivia finally said, "everyone needs to slow down a moment and explain what's happening."

Deved's eyes widened, and he looked at Olan, surprised. "You didn't tell her?"

"We were in a bit of a rush."

Deved rolled his eyes. "Well unfortunately Oli, we don't have any time to go over it right now, so you'll just need to roll with it. They're waiting upstairs."

"Of course this is the one time he shows up on time," Olan muttered. "I'm sorry Oli, but you're just going to have to trust me, okay? Just stay quiet and let me take the lead."

Olivia frowned. Had nearly anyone else asked that of her, she would've refused. There was too much going on and Olivia knew far too little about any of it. But… This was Olan. If there was anyone in the world Olivia trusted, outside of Adeline and her cadre, it was her siblings.

"Okay," she said. "Don't make me regret this."

#

Olivia may have preferred fighting and dueling to manipulating and socializing, but that didn't mean she was hopeless in more subtle confrontations. Even if she hadn't flourished as a courtier the way some of her peers had, she was still a child of the High Court, and she knew her way around subterfuge.

So, as Olan led her and Deved up to a sealed room on Sharrot's third floor, she had pieced together some of what was happening. When Olan opened the door, she wasn't surprised to see Arthur sitting in the austere meeting chamber, and Alyssia's inclusion at his right hand wasn't all too surprising either. Although Olan was the eldest of the three, Alyssia–for better or worse–had always been the most dedicated to the family name and the most likely to inherit. Oli knew all too well that was the only reason his older sister put up with Arthur's behavior.

Much more surprising was the woman sitting to Arthur's left. Deliah Dennan was a singularly striking woman–it was her height Olivia and Alyssia had inherited, and the mixture of Arsiletian gold and Westerletian brown gave her skin a positively glowing hue, an echo of which was visible in the bronze coloring Oli and her siblings shared. She wore a beautiful dress, the deep red complimenting her skin and her long, curling brown hair, and she looked as absent and bored as Olivia always remembered her.

Deliah and Arthur's marriage had been one of political convenience, and Olivia was under no illusions that either of them carried any real fondness for each other. Deliah was even more a dedicated socialite than Arthur, often leaving for extended visits to her family abroad, and spending nearly every night in Elliven at some manner of ball, fete, dinner party, or other excuse to be out of the house–and every day in her bed chambers, recovering from the night before. She had been more than happy to leave the care of her children to a procession of maids and the tender mercies of her husband.

Deliah hadn't bothered to show up when Olivia had invited her to lunch prior to leaving the city. Though her rejection had stung at the time, it had been a faint feeling even then, and time had only further weakened its strength. Now, over a year later and an entirely different person, Olivia found herself feeling all but nothing when she looked at the woman who had brought her into the world. She was little more than a stranger.

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Olan greeted his father with a nod that reminded Olivia of nothing more than a fencer saluting his opponent, and gestured for her to take a seat at the end of the table, slightly removed from the rest of the family, but closest to Olan and Alyssia. Olan himself sat opposite Arthur, with Deved opposite Deliah.

"What is-"

Alyssia immediately put a hand on Arthur's shoulder, and the older man shot her a glare–but he clearly rethought his words before he continued.

"What is that one doing here?"

Well. Leave it to Arthur Dennan to find a way to demean her without misgendering her.

"I invited Olivia Argent here to make amends," Olan explained. His tone was crisp, clear, and professional–farcry from the rude snort Arthur replied with.

"I doubt that's going to happen, Olan. The pride of the tin knights-"

"Is still nothing compared to yours," Olan finished for him. He slapped one sheet of parchment on the table, facing her father. "Let me be very clear. I have here a proposal for apology and restitution on behalf of our family for your words to the Argent Order. It will make clear your intent to make amends for your insults, and put an end to this unsavory business with no need for bloodshed or financial reparations. I implore you to sign it, Father."

Arthur rolled his eyes, but he snatched up the proposal, reading through it quickly. Even from across the table, Olivia could see an ugly rage growing in his eyes, barely hidden by his facade of civility.

"Preposterous," Arthur said, slapping the parchment back down. "I refuse, as you should've known I would."

Olan sighed. "I did," he admitted, "but I still wanted to make my best effort. No more carrot, then." Olan held out a hand, and Deved passed him the portfolio Olan had reviewed downstairs. "This," he explained, "is a contract with the Emerald Order, freshly signed just this afternoon by Lady Tillibel. It arranges for Olan's Fine Accessories to be the sole crafter of Emerald Order insignia for the next ten years, as well as arranging for us to be the Order's primary contact point for all jewelry in perpetuity."

Arthur snatched up the portfolio this time, eyes wide. He flipped it open, reading with intent eyes as quickly as possible, his face growing more pale with each passing second. "Olan…" he breathed. "These sums…"

"Are significant," Olan agreed. "In fact," he paused for a moment, taking the second portfolio from Deved, "with House Dennan's sixty percent stake in my company, this now means I provide seventy-three percent of our house's monthly income–a portion likely only to increase in the coming days, based on the trend we're seeing from the High Court."

Arthur looked up from the Emerald Order contract, his eyes narrowed. "And what is that supposed to mean?"

"Word has already spread about Gerrot's refusal to support you in the duel with the Argent Order–and of the defection of most of your other supposed allies in the wake of that refusal. As the majority of your financial transactions with the Court nobility were based on favors and handshakes rather than contracts, it's all too likely that many of our other investments and income streams are going to dry up in the coming days. We still have some few holdings and stakes, but those are in relatively low margin businesses unlikely to make a difference to our overall solvency."

Olivia blinked. She could only barely follow all of this–and looking at the small frown on Alyssia's face, she was faring little better.

"That doesn't matter," Arthur said, waving a hand. "With a deal like this…"

"A deal we're going to lose, if things continue as they are," Olan interrupted. "That contract includes an honor clause–the Emerald Order will not do business with a house in bad standing or facing potential charges."

Arthur's mouth parted, just slightly, and Olivia thought that he had come to some realization she had missed. And based on the glimmer in Alyssia's eyes, he wasn't the only one.

"Let me be clear," Olan said. "You've put our House in an unwinnable situation, Father. For years now, you have focused your efforts on prestige, reputation, and favor rather than hard deals and gold–and now, all of your efforts have come to naught, as your hard won allies are abandoning us as quickly as they can. This farce of a duel not only made that loss of favor obvious, it has put our only source of long term liquidity in jeopardy. Even should you win your duel, our House's relationship with the Chivalric Orders–and potentially the Crown–will never recover. And should you lose, which I've been assured seems likely by those who know anything about these things, we will not only lose our contract with the Emerald Order, we'll be forced to pay reparations to the Argent–in amounts likely to bankrupt us.

"As of this moment, House Dennan is doomed."

Olan let the declaration hang in the air for a long moment, and Olivia could see the full weight of that truth settle on everyone in the room. Arthur's shoulders slumped, some sort of vitality leaving him, and even Deliah seemed to have tuned in to the conversation for the first time, her face severe as she turned a glare on Arthur.

Olivia could scarcely believe it. To have her own fears confirmed was bad enough–but the House's situation was so much worse than she had imagined!

"There is one way out," Alyssia said, her voice loud in the tense silence.

"There is," Olan agreed. Deved slid forward another sheet of parchment, right between Arthur and Deliah. "This proposal will have you forsake the title of House Lord, effective immediately, abdicating the role to me. Yourself and Mother will both be expected to leave Elliven before the first frost, so that Alyssia and I can go about salvaging what we can of the House. You'll have rights to a tithe of the House coffers for the remainder of your life–enough so that you both can no doubt live out your lives comfortably, perhaps with Mother's family.

"I've similarly prepared a proposal for the Argent Order to settle their grievances in exchange for a tithe stake in my business going forward–and as this solution will allow us to keep the Emerald Order contract, even that small slice of our profits should prove significant."

"A deal I'd be more than happy to accept," Olivia rushed to say, a smile fighting its way onto her face.

"Unacceptable," Arthur muttered, unable to tear his eyes from the proposal.

"Hmm?"

"I said, unacceptable!" Arthur shouted, getting to his feet. His chair fell to the ground behind him with a clatter. "This is my House! I will not be bullied out of it, much less by my own son!"

"This isn't bullying, Father," Olan said, somehow maintaining his calm in the face of the furious uproar. "Though I can see how you'd mistake it as such, since it's ever been your favorite approach to diplomacy. This is simply business."

"I can't help but agree," Deliah said, her voice smooth, her dark eyes thoughtful. "I must say, Arthur… I knew you'd made a butchering of our books, but to have the full extent laid out like this… I can't help but agree with Olan."

Arthur turned on her, anger now augmented by shock. "What did you just say to me?"

"I don't much feel like repeating myself. I am just relieved that somehow, our children seem to have come out well despite your best efforts. If my choices are watching this family come to ruin or simply leaving Elliven with a promise of comfortable wealth for the rest of my life, I know which I am likely to take. Olan, dear, do you have a pen?"

"It doesn't matter!" Arthur shouted. "I refuse! I will not sign this blasphemy of a document!"

Deliah blew out a slow breath, and Olan arched an eyebrow, gesturing that he wouldn't interrupt her. "Arthur, as always, you seem to be missing the subtext. Olan's deal is more than fair–and should you refuse, he'll merely need to take matters into his own hands. I am sure this is a better offer than we'd get after he simply seizes control of the family and forces you out."

The anger drained from Arthur's face by degrees. His mouth worked soundlessly a few times, as if trying, and failing, to rebut. Finally, he said, "That cannot seriously be your intention?"

"It's my preference, if I'm being honest," Deved said. "Olan convinced me to try his way first. But if you insist on refusing…" The smile the handsome man gave Arthur had none of the soft charm Olivia was used to from Olan's partner. It was the smile of a hunting cat preparing to pounce.

#

Ten minutes later, a dejected, ruined Arthur Dennan, pale in the face and red around the eyes, left Sharrot's Meeting Hall.

Five minutes after that, the new Lord of House Dennan emerged, arm-in-arm with his partner. Behind them, Alyssia followed, more relaxed than she had been in what felt like years, walking close to the knight that was her sister, easy smiles on their faces as they chatted lightly.

None of them needed to talk about what had just happened. Already, they had put Arthur Dennan behind them–and more than taking away his money, his title, his prestige, that complete disregard for the man who had claimed to be their father was the best revenge they could've served him.

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