Arcane magic is logical. Orderly. The underlying structure of Disboard permits simple changes at the behest of elementals, changes so small and fundamental that scientists have yet to find anything less complicated in their causality. Spells weave these threads into vast tapestries, chaining lesser effects together to form greater ones. Anyone with spirit circuits can be taught to do it, and anyone clever enough to understand the logic can permute it according to their own designs. Despite its counterintuitive properties, at its heart there is an appealing elegance.

Divine magic is bullshit. Gods can do impossible things if they want them hard enough. There must be some limit to their power – the universe has only been reshaped according to a god's desires once, and even then Tet exercised restraint – but elvish science cannot fathom where it lies.

Fiel can establish a mental bond with anyone she knows well at preposterously long distances. There is no point on Disboard from which she could not speak to Chloe, if she so desired. It's dumbfounding and slightly aggravating that divine communion is fueled not by lilims but by ritual.

Dark eddies swirl in the mist. The stonework seems to shiver and bend, writhing at the edges of sight until the whole room is subsumed by a uniform grey haze and disorienting humidity.

For a moment, nothing happens.

Another elf-maid emerges from the distance, far beyond what distance there exists to stand in. She wears a crown of twisted vines and an arrestingly green dress, stained black at the shoulder from the trickle of blood flowing from the corner of her mouth and rent to tatters below the knee. Her smile is nothing short of beatific, and her eyes…

Fiel meets her gaze fearlessly, ignoring the strain building up inside her spirit circuits.

"I've run into a serious problem. Another player has inferred Chloe is cheating from observing her play history and plans to use this fact against her. It is most advantageous for them to reveal this information at the final table, minimizing the number of remaining competitors after the disqualification, so I expect to have a few hours before I'm forced to react."

"Do you have other assets that can take her place?"

"Not without raising suspicion. Chloe Zell is widely believed to be the strongest gambler in the country, and all of her serious opponents are known quantities with public recognition. If she loses to a dark horse entrant there will be all kinds of accusations levied against both her and the winner. My current plan is to give her an overwhelming chip lead going into the final table, allowing her to win the crown fairly from that point on. I may also try to knock the conspirators out of the tournament, once I find them all."

That is, provided she can find a way to do it. The main thing she knows about these people is that they can identify poker cheaters, which makes even more cheating against them specifically a dicey proposition.

The goddess nods. "Very sensible of you. Thank you for keeping me appraised."

The conversation lapses into silence.

Is that it? Apparently that's it.

Fiel was not exactly expecting a miracle, but even a modicum of divine intervention at this late hour might tip the scales. It can't hurt to ask, and it's why she initiated this divination in the first place.

(It can absolutely hurt to ask, but Fiel has been blessed with a goddess unusually tolerant of mortal foibles and willing to help her personally. Clerics of other deities shy away from requesting miracles outside their god's domain, and for good reason.)

"Is there anything else you can do to ensure our success?"

Kainath frowns. The mist churns faster and the temperature rises further, though the divination remains stable.

"Not especially. You're in a castle at the heart of a city, and there are only two elves on the premises. My domain is ill-suited for this. Everything I could do, I did through you."

"In that case, th—"

"All right, all right, I'll try!" the goddess interrupts frantically. "I don't know how or when, but I shall do my best to make it work."

"Thank you. I appreciate it," Fiel says honestly.

That took less prodding than expected. She won't count on Kainath's assistance, variable as it may be, but having her on the lookout for an opportunity is better than a kick in the teeth, and it will hardly distract her from lying on a divan beside some idyllic pond while cute woodland animals and small children gambol nearby beneath the shade of ancient trees.

"Excuse you, I've been very productive today," Kainath says fondly. "This tax legislation isn't nearly maundering or vague enough to pass the senate, but it'll do for the initial committee review."

Not going to deny the rest of it?

"This is my work divan."

Hah hah hah, ugh. Fiel has ticked both of the boxes on this detour and she's going to wrap it up before she thinks anything else unflattering to her goddess runs out of stamina and faints in a human bathroom. The vertigo is already threatening to overwhelm her.

"I'll be in touch with you soon. Elven Gard forever."

"You worry too much, Fiel. It's not sacrilege unless I say it is."

Kainath gives her a brief but unquestionably material hug, in total contravention of divination magic's inability to transmit anything other than information.

"I believe in you," she whispers.

The communion dissipates like morning dew.

Hmm. There are more interested parties today than appeared at first blush, and therefore potentially more at stake.

However, if Kainath is unwilling to directly intervene by coming to Elkia City, her actions are unlikely to dramatically upset the status quo. The tournament remains unimportant.

The angel in the castle library resumes reading, pleased that the brewing crisis has failed to transpire.

Fiel drops to her knees, breathing hard, and waits for the black spots in her vision to subside.

Thirty seconds. Sixty seconds. Ninety seconds.

Once she's confident she can walk without swaying, Fiel makes her way back towards the ground floor. The rush of cool air outside the baths feels nice against her skin, and reminds her that she needs to dry off if she wants to avoid being inexplicably damp. She also needs to update Chloe, though she's not looking forward to it – the spell for tidying off is barely more than a cantrip, but telepathy will cause her inchoate headache to blossom spectacularly.

:Anything?:

:Sora excused himself to talk to the princess for a moment. I couldn't overhear them—:

— because he moved to avoid Chloe while plotting, of course he would, but could he have somehow known that Fiel was distracted? Does he even know she exists? What is Sora thinking right this second?

Juno's fur is so soft it's not even funny. She's purring again – what does it mean when a cat furry does that, is it the same as petting a regular cat or does it have cultural nuances? Nobody here seems to think it's weird or scandalous, but most of the people here are humans who might not know anything about the furry way of life. The best person to ask might be Maria, or maybe Stephanie once the dust settles. Man, everyone here loves the sound of their own voice. Ah, that was a joke just now, time for a polite laugh.

(Sora is also reading from what looks like a servant's notebook every now and then, filled with tally columns labelled with types of food. If you didn't know exactly where that notebook came from it would be completely innocuous, albeit slightly out of place in the hands of a man dressed like a baron. The meaning of those numbers isn't quite materializing in his stream of thought, but the details are clearly important.)

Fiel's spirit circuits are already complaining from overuse and another active scan isn't going to help, but she's not going to find a better opportunity by waiting. She disrupts Sora's thought process as he reads, gently pushing his attention towards the werebeast and the conversation at the same time, and waits for him to reorient. What was Princess Stephanie writing about?

Sora takes a deep breath and forces himself to relax, bringing the ink on the page back into focus. Now is not the time to get distracted for real.