The pre-dawn chill in Benedetto’s sub-level workshop bit into Eliana's skin. Eliana watched his face tighten. Her reckless meddling, her blind insistence that every scowl could be smoothed away, had steered them straight toward the executioner's block.
“Cogsworth, are the lower wards truly secure?” Benedetto demanded, rising with sudden force despite the strain knotting his brow. His metal hand flexed, a low hum emanating from its internal gears. “No trace of the residual energies from the Orrery’s collapse. No anomalous spectral signatures.”
“Affirmative, my lord,” Cogsworth intoned, his optical lenses glowing a steady viridian. “All identified points of instability have been shunted into auxiliary containment fields. Thermal and ethereal fluctuations reduced to acceptable parameters within the public-facing areas. However, the clockwork garden sentries remain… lively.”
Benedetto swore under his breath, a low, guttural sound. “Fine. We’ll call them a ‘robust perimeter defense.’ As for the cold spots… we’ll claim it’s a new atmospheric regulation system. And the phantoms—” He cut himself off, running a hand over his face. “They must not be seen.” He looked at Eliana, his gaze piercing. “You. You caused this immediate inspection, Vettori. Your attempts to ‘mend’ what you don’t understand. This is on you.”
Eliana flinched. The words were a physical blow, but they were true. Her throat tightened, but she met his stare. “Then I will fix it.” Her voice, though a little shaky, held a steel he hadn’t heard before. “What does the Guild expect to see?”
Benedetto paused, surprised by her sudden resolve. “Innovation. A house that hasn’t crumbled. They want to ensure I’m still capable of contributing, not just rotting away with a curse. They expect a demonstration of… controlled genius. Not chaos.”
“Controlled genius,” Eliana repeated, a strange glint entering her eyes. “Right. Cogsworth, prepare a lavish breakfast in the grand dining salon. We shall greet them with Ostellian hospitality. Benedetto, you must present yourself as… the visionary you are. Scarred, yes, but unbowed.”
He scoffed, though his hard expression shifted slightly. “You think a few polite words and a pastry will fool the Artisan’s Guild?”
“It’s a start,” she countered, already imagining the angles. “They expect a beast. Let’s show them a titan.”
—
The arrival of the Guild delegation was heralded by the grinding of ornate carriage wheels on the crumbling Sforza gravel. Guild Prefect Vancroft, a woman whose stern features seemed carved from polished basalt, led the trio. Behind her, Scholar Renzo Faelan clutched a leather-bound folio, nervously glancing about, while Senior Artisan Lexion Kade, fingers stained with alchemical pigments, appraised the decaying facade with open disdain.
Giulia Orsini was already there, positioned in the antechamber, a picture of poised disdain. She raised a perfectly sculpted eyebrow as Eliana descended the main staircase, adjusting the folds of her gown. “Look at the little Wren. Already making a nest, are we? Or perhaps just kicking up more dust for the inspectors.” Her gaze dropped to the shadows beneath Eliana’s eyes. “Rough night?”
“Good morning, Giulia,” Eliana replied with forced cheer. “Always a pleasure to see you. I trust you’ve found the Sforza hospitality to your liking?” She swept past, offering a curtsey to the approaching delegation. “Welcome, esteemed members of the Artisan’s Guild. I am Eliana Vettori, sister to Livia, and fiancée to Benedetto di Sforza. He awaits you in the dining salon, eager to demonstrate the latest advancements in Sforza magi-tech.”
Prefect Vancroft squinted, taking in the faded grandeur. “Advancements, Lady Eliana? We have heard… whispers.”
“Ah, yes, the whispers,” Eliana said, a knowing smile playing on her lips. “Such is the fate of true innovators. They’re often misunderstood. Come, allow me to illuminate.”
As they moved through the main hall, a brass garden maintenance spider, one of the more agitated contraptions, suddenly smashed through a nearby window, its multi-jointed limbs flailing wildly and spitting sparks. Renzo Faelan yelped, nearly dropping his folio. Lexion Kade’s expression hardened.
“Aha!” Eliana exclaimed, as if this were precisely on cue. “Observe, Prefect, Scholar, Artisan! The Sforza House’s Dynamic Security Patrol! Our latest innovation in autonomous perimeter defense. These units are programmed for rapid, unpredictable patrols, ensuring no threat, no matter how minor, can ever breach our inner sanctum. A truly organic, rather than merely reactive, security system.”
Giulia, observing from the antechamber, blinked. The mechanical chassis slammed into a suit of ancient armor, sending it clattering, before righting itself with a high-pitched metallic shriek. Eliana didn’t miss a beat. “Still calibrating its environmental awareness, of course. Early stages, but the potential is immense.”
Prefect Vancroft watched the contraption trundle away, a thoughtful frown replacing her initial skepticism. “Unconventional, Lady Eliana. But… indeed, robust.”
In the dining salon, Benedetto was a picture of brooding power, standing by a grand, empty fireplace. As the delegation entered, a profound chill swept through the room, making Renzo visibly shiver.
“Ah, the ambient cryo-stasis system!” Eliana announced, beaming. “Benedetto has found that maintaining a precise, sub-zero ethereal field in key areas greatly enhances the stability of certain sensitive magi-tech components. It also, quite conveniently, acts as a natural preservative for delicate foodstuffs and an invigorating atmospheric regulator for… particularly intense intellectual pursuits. Wouldn’t you agree, Benedetto?”
Benedetto merely grunted, a sound that could be interpreted as anything from agreement to exasperation. But he didn’t contradict her. His dark eyes, however, showed a glint of incredulous amusement as he watched her perform.
Giulia, who had followed the procession, stared at Eliana. The younger Vettori sister, the naive fool, was spinning brilliant falsehoods, converting disaster into cutting-edge design with effortless brass. A true Vettori, after all. Perhaps there was more to her than a pretty, empty head. A grudging respect began to form.
The inspection continued, a dizzying dance of Eliana’s quick thinking and Benedetto’s gruff, minimal affirmations. She rebranded wavering spectral apparitions in the hallway as ‘subtle ethereal indicators of ley-line flux,’ and the pervasive dust as ‘nanoparticle filtration accumulation.’
Later, as Benedetto reluctantly gave the Guild members a controlled tour of his main laboratory – carefully avoiding the sub-level – Eliana excused herself. Her mind was buzzing, a new clarity emerging from the fear. The rules. Livia’s rules. They were not for reforming Benedetto. They were something else. She had to find Livia’s journal, the true one, the one her sister must have kept secret from her family.
She remembered Livia’s study, where she had found the first set of 'rules.' It was a mess of half-finished projects and forgotten scrolls. Hidden behind a loose panel in Livia’s writing desk, she found it: a slim, leather-bound journal, its pages filled with elegant script that was undeniably Livia’s.
Eliana’s fingers trembled as she opened it. The entries detailed Livia’s growing unease, her observations of the curse’s subtle encroachments, and her desperate attempts to understand its nature. The ‘rules,’ Eliana realized with a sickening lurch, weren’t guides to a happy marriage. They were warnings. Diagnostics. Each one a measure of the curse’s progression.
She read on, barely breathing, as Livia wrote of searching for a counter-curse, of realizing the danger to Benedetto, and to herself. Livia hadn't fled in fear, but to find a cure. Eliana’s goal, once a childish fantasy of domestic bliss, solidified into a desperate mission to save the man she now saw, not as a beast to be tamed, but as a victim to be rescued.
The final entry was scrawled in a frantic, uncharacteristic slant:
*“The curse’s heart is not in the house. It’s inside the Grand Orrery’s primary drive gear, the one he keeps closest to him.”*