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She observes the new Keeper warily. A very unassuming woman, nothing in her stance suggesting a trained warrior, and an aura entirely devoid of the feel of magic. For all intents and purposes, she looks like a civilian.
A civilian that killed Redbeard.
Miranda cannot afford to underestimate this unknown.
"Heart Miranda?" Even the woman's voice is meek. A flawless cover.
"Yes." Miranda answers.
"Thank you for coming." The woman seems to be steeling herself for something. "I want to talk."
Miranda frowns minutely.
"I promise I only want to talk. I don't want to fight, or have the situation escalate, or- can we talk?"
What an odd start. Perhaps a strategy to make Miranda feel off balance- not that she'd ever admit to it's success.
"I know about you and Dheless."
Miranda's entire world turns sideways. Only years of unfailing cover save her from any tell. "I'm not sure I understand. We've investigated that threat."
"No, no. I mean you being a traitor and plotting against Avadon."
Miranda cannot not stop herself this time. She gapes.
The woman cringes. "Aw, shoot, I could have phrased that better. I mean- I want to talk about it. About you. Can you please not- yeah. Uh. Fuck I'm bad at this."
Miranda isn't sure if she should attack, run, or both. The odd phrasing and bizzare nonthreatening front seem to be an unfortunately good strategy.
"I know about your husband." The impossible woman adds, as if she hadn't just revealed years of Miranda's plotting to have been useless. "I'm very sorry about that. It's just... getting tens of thousands more people killed is a really bad way to deal with grief."
Miranda grits her teeth, a burst of anger clouding her vision. "How dare you-" She stops. In a few sentences, this woman has completely undermined her composure. She swallows, suddenly afraid.
"Please, can we talk? Just talk." The woman continues. "We can sit. Ok? And talk." She points towards chairs.
Talk. How utterly useless. Miranda sees right through it now. The woman is a master manipulator, a perfect adept of deception. No wonder she uncovered Miranda's plots.
They sit.
The despicable woman bears a disgustingly realistic nervous smile.
"Alright. I know you have a lot of justified grief- and anger- and a lot of emotions- about the Pact, and Avadon." The woman looks and feels repulsively harmless.
Miranda purses her lips. "Is there a point to this?"
"Yes! I mean- there are good ways to deal with strong emotions, and bad ways. I want to see if you can... well, I mean if you could explore better ways of coping."
Coping. What. Miranda's anger almost boils over.
"See, if you really badly undermine Avadon, war will break out. A lot of people will die, not just from the Pact. Most likely Avadon will reassert itself, and the world will be worse off than before."
"Avadon and the Pact will die." She hisses.
"Ah. I know you want that." The woman says, a horribly sympathetic expression on her soft, unsullied face. "It's not realistic, though. I-" The woman stops, considers something, then continues. "I saw it. That future."
What. The. Fuck. If Miranda thought nothing else could surprise her, then she is clearly mistaken, because that makes her splutter.
"I know it sounds crazy, but I saw it. A great war, civil war, many- well. Eventually, though, Avadon continues as it always has, and the Pact reestablishes borders. Dheless dies. It doesn't end well for you, either. I really don't wish anyone that kind of end. It's really bad."
"Eternity in the dungeons?" Miranda snorts, as if the world hasn't turned around and backwards.
"Oh, no. A Zephyr in the Corruption."
"A what?"
"Uh. A kind of ghost? It's a lot of suffering. Zero out of ten, do not recommend."
Maybe the woman is actually crazy. Powerful sorcerers often are. That could explain things.
"Yeah. So. You might not believe me, but- I really want to avoid it. I want you to have a better life, and also for everyone in the world, too."
Crazy. Or playing crazy. Miranda has to remember she is dealing with a mastermind. She gathers herself. "So what now?" Dungeon? Death? Double agent?
The woman blinks. "Now? I mean... I'd suggest a vacation for you. Like, actual vacation. Not work. Not plotting. Just think about yourself and the future and stuff."
"Vacation." Miranda repeats dumbly.
"Yea. Time off. Sleep. Write. I dunno. Paint maybe."
"Time off." She can't stop herself. She hasn't had time off in all her years in this miserable place.
"Yes. All this work and buried grief is really, really bad. I really want to avoid a lot of bad stuff happening, and that means you need to feel better."
Miranda barely recovers. "What is your game? What do you want? You can't be serious."
"I am. I want you to take time off- not to Dheless! No. To actually sleep. No vitality potions. Just rest. Actual rest."
Miranda starts to wonder if she's hallucinating. Maybe she did overdose on potions, or Nicodemus released some noxious gas, and any moment now she'll wake up.
The world continues to feel stubbornly real.
"Now." The impossible Keeper's brilliant, gleaming, horribly positive face says. "Since you won't be causing trouble in the Kva- I really hope you won't- I think the coast there would be a nice place. Beaches. Unless you really hate sand?"
Vacation is nice.
The first few days she'd been looking over her shoulder, wondering it was all just a ploy to get rid of her it without raising too much alarm in the Fortress. Then, when assassins failed to materialize, she thought it was a ploy to get to Dheless. Finally- after a definitely not poisoned bottle of fine wine was delivered to her, complements of the Keeper, with best wishes, she finally tried some of that "vacation" thing.
She's tanning on a lovely beach. The sun is shining, the breeze is blowing, and no one is pestering her with a million reports. If these are her last days, it's not a bad experience.
The local people are quite pleasant, too. While initially skittish- even without anything marking her as a Heart of Avadon, she is still an imposing sorceress- they warmed up soon enough. She thinks they warmed up. Her social interaction for the past... very long time... was limited mostly to work, work, the latest gossip of that affair between Hands, and more work. Regardless, they don't seem to avoid her quite as much, and the local innkeeper even passed her a few drinks on the house.
He said she looked like she needed it.
Miranda isn't sure of a lot of things anymore. Deprived of her position, she isn't sure about the state of the world. Was the Keeper cleaning up what she and Dheless had plotted? Was it all ruined? What is she doing here? She should run. Join the rebellion. While she can no longer steer Avadon, she has enough insight into it's workings to still be of some use.
Why is she still alive? What purpose does she have? What does the Keeper want from her? There is no point. No angle she can find. The stated reasons are inconceivable, but the earnestness with which they are carried out is so- so- it almost reminds Miranda of herself, so very, very long ago, when she still had hope.
It is impossible. No one gets to the position of Keeper- and certainly not succeeding Redbeard- with ideals. Madness is likely. Perhaps she need only wait to find the Fortress in ruins, when the new Keeper's clear insanity runs it's course.
Miranda switches positions for a more even tan. The beach is lovely. Whatever else, she will take a few moments to herself.
No one summons her back. No suggestions, overt or otherwise, or veiled threats, nothing. Occasional well wishes, and suggestions of places she might visit in the future. It's been three weeks, and Miranda is starting to go mad herself.
She makes her decision. She bids the locals farewell.
The local Pylon is a rough two days march from here. Close enough to be of use, but not close enough for quick pursuit, which is how she preferred it.
The pendant sings as she approaches, the Pylon's magic recognizing Miranda as one of it's own. She is still allowed within Avadon proper. She takes a moment to steel herself. She's ready. The magic flings her through the liminal spaces and into one of Avadon's portal rooms.
The guard greets her warmly. No one else is there. She should best move on. Her mask reasserts itself, and she marches determinedly towards the central staircase. No one stops her. A few curious looks, but her progress is unimpeded. She walks upstairs. The usual line of petitioners is waiting, though the air seems- odd.
The Keeper's hall is empty. Well, not empty- there are two servants cleaning.
Before Miranda can even ask, one of them faces her. "If you're looking for the Keeper, she should be in the dining hall."
How strange. "Yes. Thank you." Miranda turns back, through the petitioners' hall, and moves down the staircase. The corridors leading to the dining hall are increasingly more crowded the closer she gets. It's nearly impossible to enter the hall itself, though everyone is oddly quiet.
When she begins to ask someone shushes her. "We're waiting for the results." What results?
Patience. Miranda is nothing but patience.
The Keeper's voice- oh, how meek she still sounds- rises in the air. "Design twelve has won the most votes!"
Instantly a hubbub rises in the area. People are muttering and jostling and debating about designs and numbers.
"Clear! Clear!" Someone is shouting. A path emerges from the thicket- a set of guards, followed by that damnable woman.
Miranda tries to step back, but she isn't fast enough.
"Miranda!" Exclaims the Keeper. "You're back. You should have sent word."
Miranda falls in lockstep behind the Keeper.
"How was the vacation?" The question is so earnest. Miranda instantly remembers this is a master actor who murdered Redbeard.
"Fine."
The woman sighs. "Everyone answers like that. Not 'I saw this interesting thing' or 'I liked not getting fifteen stacks of parchment every morning.""
Miranda doesn't answer.
They head towards the stairs. The woman grimaces. "I don't even want to be Keeper, you know? I'd hand it off if I could. No one wants to, apparently. Not that I blame them."
Is that a play at getting Miranda to try? Sympathy?
The petitioners hall is exactly as she saw it earlier. "So, why are you back?"
"I-" Miranda tries to explain it. Why is she here? "I've decided to return."
"Fair enough." The Keeper settles down into the chair, eyeing the paperwork like she wants to set it on fire. "Do you want to jump right back into being a Heart? Maybe an Eye would be better. In the archives- or somewhere out? One of our outposts that don't exist? Rotations with the Pact army are also available."
She needs a moment to consider the options. There's one more question. "Who did you have replace me?"
"Heart Callan."
Miranda nods approvingly. Callan is loyal to Avadon. A true believer, and highly competent.
"Not Keeper material though." The Keeper continues. "Hanvar's council is pushy. Protus, though. Good politician."
Again, Miranda agrees with the assessment, though she thinks Protus is not powerful enough to be able to take the seat- and keep it.
"But enough about succession. Ideas about where you'd like to go?"
Miranda thinks. Resuming her duties as a Heart would be most familiar- but also incredibly taxing. She's not sure she can go through it again.
The Keeper thumbs her chin. "There's one more spot. Something I've been thinking on."
"Yes?"
"My assistant."
"I'm sorry?"
"Someone to help me with organization. The Hearts do a great job of compiling all these reports." She gestures at the table. "But I'm one person. I need like... it's called a secretary? A position where you make my schedule, set up appointments for me. Organize my time- and nudge me to work when I don't want to."
Miranda frowns. "A court administrator?"
"If that's what the person does, yes."
"That's... interesting."
"And- if I made a boneheaded choice, I'd appreciate an honest opinion."
"I see." It's tempting. At the very least, maybe Miranda can observe the Keeper's strange new sorcery.