Their new quarters occupied an entire floor of a townhouse in Amaranth's Second Tier, where cobblestone streets gleamed with regular cleaning and window boxes bloomed with flowers that clearly received professional attention. The building itself stood four stories of honey-colored stone, with wrought-iron balconies and glass that caught morning light like captured jewels.

"This is ours?" Kindle asked, staring up at windows that sparkled with recent washing.

"The third floor," confirmed Henrik, the house manager who'd met them at the entrance with keys and what appeared to be an instruction manual. He was a spare, thin man with a gray mustache that curled over a pinched mouth. "Lady Cordelia thought you'd appreciate the space and natural light."

The entrance hall featured marble floors polished to mirror brightness and a staircase that curved upward in carved mahogany elegance. Oil paintings lined the walls—not masterpieces, but quality work that created atmosphere without demanding attention.

"Third floor," Pyra repeated, already bounding up the stairs two at a time. "Come on, let's see what we've got!"

The apartment revealed itself as they climbed—sitting room with windows facing the street, dining area with table for eight, kitchen equipped with both mundane and magical appliances. The bedrooms were individual spaces rather than shared quarters, each with its own window and enough room for personal belongings that went beyond basic necessities.

"Individual beds," Ember said, opening the door to what was clearly intended as her space. "Individual wardrobes. Individual everything."

"Privacy," Cinder added, examining her own room with obvious approval. "Actual privacy."

"And this," Henrik announced with visible pride, opening the final door, "is the specialized accommodation."

Spark's room had been designed by someone who understood fire salamander psychology. Stone floors inlaid with heat-conducting metals created natural warming zones. Wall alcoves provided climbing opportunities and hiding places. A central fireplace connected to flue systems that would vent smoke while containing heat. Built-in feeding stations offered both flame sources and spaces for solid food.

Most importantly, the entire room was constructed from fire-resistant materials that could withstand salamander enthusiasm without triggering regulatory violations.

"This is incredible," Pyra breathed, kneeling beside the fireplace where Spark was already investigating the new flame sources with obvious delight. "It's perfect for him!"

Spark chirped approval as it discovered a climbing wall designed specifically for creatures with claws, then settled beside the fireplace with contented trills that suggested a very happy salamander.

"Professional installation," Henrik explained. "Our contractors specialize in magical creature housing. Full regulatory compliance, plus amenities designed for salamander wellbeing."

"How much did this cost?" Ash asked, though her tone suggested she was afraid to know.

"House Brightblade considers it an investment in productive partnership," Henrik replied diplomatically. "Lady Cordelia believes that comfortable living situations enhance professional performance."

They toured the rest of the apartment with growing amazement. The kitchen contained ingredients they recognized alongside exotic items that probably required special permits to purchase. The sitting room featured furniture that balanced comfort with durability. The dining area could accommodate entertaining, though Henrik mentioned that most social obligations would occur at House Brightblade properties.

"Speaking of social obligations," Henrik continued, producing a leather portfolio from somewhere within his immaculate jacket, "Lady Cordelia asked me to provide your calendar for the coming week."

The calendar was written in elegant script on paper that felt expensive beneath their fingers. Each day contained appointments, social functions, and obligations that had been arranged without their input or consultation.

"Tomorrow evening," Ember read aloud, "introductory reception with House Brightblade associates. Thursday afternoon, cultural exhibition at the Meridian Gallery. Saturday, formal dinner with visiting dignitaries."

"Visiting dignitaries," Kindle repeated with growing alarm.

"Representatives from House Norine and House Almeida," Henrik explained. "Important political relationships that benefit from careful cultivation."

"We didn't agree to political relationships," Cinder pointed out.

"Your contract includes participation in select social functions," Henrik replied with the patience of someone who'd clearly had this conversation before. "These gatherings serve multiple purposes—relationship building, cultural enrichment, and opportunities for your professional advancement."

"Professional advancement," Ash said slowly.

"Amaranth's society operates through personal connections. Meeting influential people creates opportunities that might not otherwise arise." Henrik paused, studying their expressions with careful scrutiny. "Lady Cordelia has spent considerable effort arranging introductions that could benefit your long-term career prospects."

The calendar continued through the week with the sort of packed schedule that left little time for personal activities. Each entry specified times, locations, and dress codes that covered everything from preferred colors to acceptable levels of skin exposure.

"Is all of our socializing going to be like this?" Pyra asked, staring at the page with dismay.

"Lady Cordelia recognizes that your current circumstances offer limited opportunities for independent leisure," Henrik said. "Once certain social obligations are met, your schedule will offer more flexibility."

"What about Guild missions?" Ash asked.

"Coordinated through House Brightblade's scheduling office," Henrik replied. "Your Guild obligations remain priority, but we'll ensure they don't conflict with important social commitments."

"Who decides what's important?" Kindle asked.

"Lady Cordelia, in consultation with family advisors." Henrik's tone suggested this was reasonable rather than concerning. "She has extensive experience managing multiple priorities."

"Our priorities," Cinder clarified.

"Your priorities as they relate to House Brightblade's interests," Henrik agreed pleasantly.

The conversation continued with Henrik providing helpful information about house policies, neighborhood amenities, and services available to sponsored individuals. He was knowledgeable, efficient, and clearly accustomed to having his instructions followed without question. They spent the next hour absorbing details that made their new living arrangement feel less like an apartment and more like a stage with actors who hadn't read the script.

"One final item," Henrik said as he prepared to depart. "Security protocols. This building maintains discretionary monitoring for resident safety. Nothing invasive, but House Brightblade takes responsibility for protecting valuable associates."

"Monitoring," Ember repeated.

"Standard precautions. Protective enchantments, surveillance scrying, magical detection wards. We'll know if you're experiencing emergencies and respond accordingly. With discretion, of course."

The other four were watching Ember with expressions that suggested Henrik might be facing imminent immolation. Ember took a deep breath and forced calmness into her voice.

"How frequently will we be monitored?"

"Constantly," Henrik replied without concern.

"No," Ember said.

"I beg your pardon?"

"This isn't negotiable," she replied. "I will not live under observation. Neither will the others."

"Lady Cordelia expects the highest standards of care," Henrik said, his tone shifting towards strained patience. "And House Brightblade takes security seriously—especially for individuals representing our family's interests."

"Lady Cordelia's expectations are irrelevant to our privacy," Ember said. "I understand your policies, and we appreciate Lady Cordelia's attention to our safety. We are not negotiating this requirement."

Henrik frowned with evident displeasure, as if he were experiencing what would certainly become a recurring annoyance.

"Lady Cordelia will be displeased."

"Then she can express her displeasure to us personally."

They watched Henrik leave through windows that sparkled with recent cleaning. He hesitated at the street, looking up as if expecting some change of heart that would bring Ember sprinting after him.

Ember's scowl deepened. Henrik sighed, then vanished into the afternoon crowds.

"This is going to be complicated," Cinder observed without sympathy.

"We're compromised," Ash said, running her hand along a mahogany table that was probably worth more than their previous living quarters.

"This place is fantastic," Pyra pointed out. "Spark loves its room, and we've got personal space for the first time since..."

She trailed off, not specifying exactly how long their personal space had been lacking. They all knew. The months since they'd arrived in this new world had eroded their individual boundaries. Personal space felt like an abstract concept from a prior existence.

The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement.

"We have privacy," Cinder corrected. "Temporary and conditional privacy."

"At least we're compromised in comfort," Kindle said, returning from the kitchen with what appeared to be chocolate torte on an actual silver serving tray. She presented it with a flourish.

The sisters-selves stared at chocolate delicacies that looked like something from a formal dessert course. Thin curls of crystalized sugar adorned mirror-black frosting, while fresh berries contrasted with the richness of each miniature cake.

"Are these for us?" Ash asked.

"Someone put them in our kitchen," Kindle confirmed, selecting a silver serving fork and extracting a perfect bite of cake. She chewed experimentally, then closed her eyes in apparent bliss.

"If it's poison," she continued, "this is how I want to go."

They settled around the table where Henrik had recently laid out his calendar, exchanging the leather portfolio for what was definitely the best chocolate torte any of them had ever experienced.

"We need ground rules," Ash said, eyeing Pyra's hand as it crept towards the serving tray for a third helping.

"We do," Ember agreed. "First—nobody gets kidnapped or indebted without telling the rest of us immediately."

"I was going to save indebtedness for an emergency," Cinder muttered.

"Second," Ember continued, "nobody signs any more contracts without all of us present and in complete agreement."

"What about dinner guest lists?" Ash asked. "Or joint tea service?"

Ember reached across the table, plucked a torte from the tray, and stuffed it into Ash's mouth with more force than strictly necessary. Ash coughed, chewed, swallowed, then dabbed her lips with a linen napkin that definitely hadn't come from their previous living arrangements.

"Point taken," Ash acknowledged.

"Third," Ember said, "no secret romantic entanglements. We tell each other if we're falling for someone, especially if there's any chance of complications."

"What kind of complications?" Cinder asked, then scowled. "Wait, don't answer that. I know exactly what kind of complications you mean."

"What if we fall for the same person?" Kindle asked. "It's not like our tastes are exactly varied."

"I don't know about that," Pyra said around a mouthful of torte. "Remember Malik?"

"The bard from the caravan a while back?" Kindle considered. "I thought he was cute, but a little... flashy?"

"He wasn't flashy," Ember said. "He was theatrical."

"Showy," Ash countered.

"Expressive," Cinder corrected.

"Dramatic," Kindle contributed.

"Wonder what he's up to nowadays?" Pyra asked, selecting another torte despite Ash's glare.

"I would be very surprised if he isn't halfway across the continent," Ash replied, "surrounded by adoring admirers and far away from us."

"As it should be," Ember said. "I'd have throttled him inside a day."

"He did seem like he might be high-maintenance," Cinder agreed.

"And lastly," Ember said, retrieving the conversation, "we don't antagonize House Brightblade unnecessarily. I know Marcus manipulated us into this sponsorship, but Lady Cordelia and Lord Aldric don't seem like bad people."

"I'll reserve judgment on the 'good' question," Ash said, "but I concede on 'bad'."

"Probably 'neutral to benevolent'," Kindle murmured.

"Agree," Cinder nodded.

"At least Spark is happy," Pyra said, gently scratching behind the salamander's horns.

"Spark doesn't understand what we've traded for its happiness," Ember replied. "Ignorance is bliss."

The House Brightblade private club occupied a building in the noble quarter that had been designed to impress without ostentation—elegant stonework, understated decorative elements, and the sort of architectural confidence that came from not needing to advertise quality to people who already understood it.

The interiors felt more like a high-end hotel than a club, with a foyer that blended muted colors and natural light into an atmosphere of exclusive welcome. A desk clerk took their names—after the fifth time, she stopped asking for a family name—and ushered them to a salon lined with bookcases and furnished with enough reading chairs to create multiple intimate spaces.

A buffet table at one end offered refreshments that ranged from morning pastries to afternoon sandwiches and evening canapés.

"Come on," Ember said, tugging at the beaded dress that had arrived with the evening's instructions. "It's just a reception. In and out, less than an hour, we smile, we do some hand waving, and we disappear into the night."

"Just another mission, right?" Pyra asked, clearly uncomfortable in the gown Cordelia's tailor had delivered.

"Absolutely," Ash agreed, though the tension in her shoulders suggested she was also uncomfortable. The gowns they'd been sent were gorgeous... and unsuited for quick movement.

"Another mission," Cinder said, striding towards the buffet table. "Shall we get started?"

The main salon buzzed with voices engaged in what sounded like a lot of important conversations. House Brightblade's noble relatives clustered in groups of three or four—well-dressed, immaculately groomed, projecting an air of effortless privilege.

Their associates stood out from the crowd by their outfits that, while clearly expensive, had been selected to contrast rather than blend with the surroundings. Wealthy merchants, minor nobility, and those with both money and aspirations milled around in bright colors and sharp edges.

The five kept to the edges of the crowd, ignoring subtle looks directed their way while scanning dishes piled with marinated vegetables, tender meats, and fancy cheese.

"Do these biscuits have peppers?" Pyra asked, poking at a piece of toast piled with thinly sliced meat and cheese. "Or some kind of fancy pickled jam?"

"Eat later," Ember hissed. "Look noble now. Remember, these people are watching us."

"We don't know which people," Cinder replied. "And if all we're doing is being decorative, there's no reason not to eat."

"Welcome to the collection," said a woman who approached with paint-stained fingers and eyes that held the focused intensity of someone accustomed to seeing the world through artistic interpretation. "I'm Lydia Westbrook. House Brightblade has sponsored my work for three years."

"Nice to meet you, Lady Westbrook," Ember replied. "I'm Ember, and these are my—"

Lydia waved the introductions aside with a careless gesture. "No need for a recitation of lineages, darlings. We're all sponsored creatives here. No nobility to impress."

The five exchanged glances. Finally, Ash said, carefully, "You don't know who we are, then?"

Lydia scanned their faces, then dismissed them with another wave of her paint-stained hand. "You'll be Guild adventurers, of course. Your gowns mark you as Cordelia's finds." She raised an eyebrow. "There are at least seven different factions here tonight. Try to keep notes."

"Factions?" Cinder asked. "What's the gathering for?"

"For the Brightblades to flex their influence through their chosen associates," Lydia said. "For the rest of us to attempt to navigate a sea of agendas that change based on who you're talking to. Oh, and to give the nobility an opportunity to share gossip they won't admit is the actual reason for gatherings like this."

As if to punctuate Lydia's statement, two women in elaborate ball gowns glided past, voices pitched low as they nodded towards a group of three individuals clustered near the edge of the room. Lydia sighed with dramatic exaggeration.

"It's all tiresome, of course, but the Brightblades do make it more bearable than the rest. If you're going to be a pawn, it might as well be in a game where you're appreciated. Though the social obligations occasionally interfere with creative flow."

"Social obligations," Ember said. "Like tonight?"

"Like most nights," confirmed a man who joined their conversation with the easy confidence of someone accustomed to physical challenges. "Thomas Aldridge. House Brightblade sponsors my competitive achievements in various athletic pursuits."

Thomas was tall, broad-shouldered, and moved with the confidence of someone who was used to being among the most physically capable people in the room. His clothing was expensive, but not ostentatious, which meant he probably didn't need to flaunt his resources.

"Athletic pursuits," Kindle said. "What kind of competitions?"

"Combat sports, endurance challenges, demonstrations of enhanced human capability," Thomas replied. "House Brightblade's associates enjoy entertainment that showcases exceptional talent."

"Entertainment," Cinder said with growing understanding. "Like gladiators?"

"It's not so savage as all that," Thomas reassured her. "And nobody dies in competitive circumstances. Well, almost never."

"House Brightblade cares deeply about those they support," Lydia added, nudging Thomas with more affection than admonishment. "We're sponsored associates, not bought assets."

"Unusually enlightened among noble families," Thomas admitted. "Sponsorship has provided opportunities that wouldn't otherwise exist—endurance running across frozen mountains, water resistance while swimming between islands, and some competitive tree-climbing tournaments that would surprise you."

"What happens if you lose?" Pyra asked with interest.

"There's usually a prize for finishing within a certain time range," Thomas replied. "Certain victory thresholds qualify for a complete payout. Finishing is more important than winning, though sponsorship bonuses do increase significantly for certain first-place outcomes."

"The Brightblades understand the value of supportive patronage," Lydia said, popping a piece of cheese into her mouth like she was delivering punctuation. "We give them cultural capital. They give us resources, support, and sometimes physical protection from those who would damage us."

"Have you been attacked before?" Pyra asked with immediate interest.

"In my line of work, there's always the risk of an overenthusiastic fan who gets a little too aggressive," Thomas said, offering Pyra a piece of cheese which she accepted with obvious delight.

Lydia shrugged with nonchalance. "I prefer to let my work speak for itself, but some admirers feel that sponsorship indicates a tacit willingness to receive their particular brand of appreciation. Fortunately, Cordelia has influence and resources that can be deployed to ensure the safety of valuable assets."

"That's what we are!" Pyra said around a mouthful of meat and cheese. "Valuable assets!"

Cinder elbowed Pyra, who coughed in surprise, then chewed more slowly.

"How do you manage the obligations?" Ember asked.

"Carefully," Lydia replied. "Lord and Lady Brightblade are genuinely supportive patrons, but their son has... different ideas about how sponsored individuals should contribute to family interests."

"Marcus," Pyra said.

"You know him?" Thomas asked with raised eyebrows.

"We've met."

"Then you understand the complications," Lydia replied with a sympathetic look. "Marcus views sponsorship as acquisition rather than partnership."

"I take it you and Marcus don't get along?" Ash asked carefully.

"Oh, he's courteous enough to my face. And he rarely goes against his mother's wishes directly. But he takes liberties with my time and talent that Cordelia wouldn't approve."

"Like what?"

"Certain works he asks me to paint," Lydia answered. "Not exactly scandalous, but also not appropriate for general viewing." Lydia adjusted the cuffs of her blouse as if to emphasize the separation between herself and her patron. "I keep the details out of Cordelia's ears, for everyone's sake."

"That sounds complicated," Ember said.

"Patronage is complicated," Lydia replied with a shrug. "I avoid Marcus as much as I can."

"Maybe we'll get lucky," Ember said.

They didn't get lucky.

The conversation was interrupted by the arrival of Marcus himself, who entered the salon with the confident bearing of someone surveying his domain. His gaze found them immediately, and his smile carried satisfaction that seemed inappropriate for a casual social gathering.

"Our newest acquisitions," he announced to the room in general. "The famous Fragmented Flame, now properly associated with House Brightblade quality."

"Marcus," Ember said with forced politeness.

"Ladies, please come with me," he replied with an expansive gesture that clearly wasn't intended as request. "There are several of my associates who are very curious to meet you all."

"Why?" Ash asked.

Marcus's smile slipped, then returned. "Because you're the most exciting addition to House Brightblade patronage in recent years," he replied with warmth that bordered on insincerity. "Your celebrity status makes you a desirable commodity."

"Commodity," Ember repeated without comment.

Marcus frowned, then replaced it with a forced smile.

"You know what I mean. Please—let me introduce you. It's only polite for allies to socialize."

It was a trap. They all knew it was a trap. But despite their knowledge and unease, Ember nodded to the others and allowed Marcus to lead the way through the salon.

If you find any errors ( broken links, non-standard content, etc.. ), Please let us know < report chapter > so we can fix it as soon as possible.