The Confrontation

It had been nearly a week since the Vanguard and Commission had set out to the new Zone, and Lirena along with them. Yvonne returned to her regular work, which consisted of orders for businesses and personal use. She made more than a few cast-iron pans and kettles for the various people in the Low ward, and while it wasn’t as interesting as armor and weapons, it made her living expenses quite easily.

She did have the fortune of breaking up such orders with an one additional one she was assisting with - a harvest festival was around the corner, and she had been asked to replicate some old and worn metalwork decorations that were to be strewn about the central square of the Low ward, a task she happily took on.

She had been to the capital harvest festival before, and it was a joyous event to be sure, but to call it a harvest festival was, she felt, a bit misleading. The harvests were being done in villages like her hometown, the city was merely replicating those displays as seasonal crops flowed into the market.

Still, it was a grand time, and Yvonne was happy to work for the cause. That the work would be sort of an advertisement for her business was just a bonus.

The chime sounded at her door and she paused to call to the customer without looking.

“Welcome! Be with you in just a minute, can’t let this cool just yet!” She hammered the metal spirals of the fencing she was working on into a shape of her satisfaction, then dipped it in the nearby pool to cool it.

She placed the steaming metal against a sheet of metal on the rack and turned around, but felt some hesitation at the sight of a tall, blond nobleman glaring at her. “How may I help you, sir?” She asked as she took off her gloves.

The man bore no emotion on his face as he began to speak. “Yvonne Darlain, I presume,” he said, leaving no room for questioning.

“Yes sir, that’s the name on the building,” she answered cautiously. “May I ask what brings you here?”

He fanned himself, clearly uncomfortable in the heat. Yvonne took a moment to open the shutters on the windows as she had done with Lirena.

“You were in the Upperside recently.” Again without any hint of a question.

“Aye, sir.”

“With my daughter.” His face was already impassive, but his eyes seemed especially cold with that sentence.

“Aye, sir,” she repeated as it dawned on her who the man must be. “Then I presume you are Nicholai Barton?”

He nodded, but pressed on. “And what would one of your people need with anything in Upperside?”

“Lire- the young Miss Barton took it upon herself to show me around the district. Additional payment for the work I did on her sword, as I was unfamiliar with the area,” Yvonne said. It wasn’t a lie, but his tone and questions gave her a sense of unease.

“So your claim is that she took pity on you?” He sneered.

Easy, Yvonne, he’s probably trying to rile you, she thought and carefully considered her words. “That was not the impression I had, sir.”

“And on top of being seen in public with her, you then start an altercation with a member of a noble house in the streets. No sense of decency, clearly,” he said, ignoring her answer.

“I would call that description of it unfair. The man kicked me with my back turned, and the young miss told him off. That was the extent of our interaction,” Yvonne said. Had I known he’d just go sob to her father though, maybe I should have let him show up with a few welts.

“Well, your interaction is more than enough to show me that no good will come of you being near Lirena. She even deigned to choose your services over a far superior, more provisioned smith,” he said.

Yvonne’s put her arms behind her back to hide her clenching fists. “I trust the young Miss Barton has the refined taste worthy of her station, and so I took her satisfaction with my work as a mark of pride.”

Inflate his ego, there will be time to vent later.

The older man scoffed. “More pity no doubt. I do not know what your aims are with my daughter. Maybe you wish to rise above your peers with her patronage. Perhaps a woman in your profession has some…” he looked her over. “...Degeneracy you wish to enact. But it will not happen again. Am I clear?”

Yvonne felt her face flush as her anger smoldered. “I believe your intention is clear, sir, yes.”

His face shifted in an instant from mere condescension to utter contempt. “Magus take your weaseling words, dirt woman,” he spat. “Do not come near my daughter again, or I will use my vast resources to destroy this little shop of yours!”

Too bad for you that she plans to stop by here when she’s back in the city.

Yvonne walked back to the window and closed it again. “That seems like a poor use of the wealth at your disposal if you ask me, but if that’s what you want, there’s nothing my status or savings can do anyway.” She spun around and went back to her forge and began stoking the fires in it both to return to work and to heat the building. “But I have an order to fulfill for the people of this ward, and I do not take kindly to slurs being thrown at me, so I’m going to ask you to leave.”

Nicolai was already visibly becoming uncomfortably warm. “Very well. It would not do me any good to remain in this place anyway. You have your warning.” He left without another word, the bell chiming once again on his exit.

Yvonne gritted her teeth, listening for signs of him leaving before she continued. Hoof clops and the wheels of what she presumed was a carriage could be faintly heard, and she let out a primal scream of her pent-up frustration and pounded her fist on the anvil, instantly thankful that she struck a cooler part of the metal.

She could drown herself in her work, she knew. She had done it before, since the act itself was cathartic, as was the happiness it would bring her customers.

She had no idea how she could possibly deal with his threat, but there was one thing she knew for certain - she didn’t want to stop seeing Lirena.