My translation stuff

Stella headed home with Varrell and Typica after her dinner with Greggs. “That was terrifying,” Varrell said. “That’s not how you treat someone of his rank.” “I was being honest with him, which was exactly what he wanted. I had a good time, anyway.” “You spoiled the meal for everyone,” Typica said. “Didn’t you notice the hateful stares of Mr. Greggs’s men?” “That did put me in quite a good mood. I knew they wouldn’t actually do anything. Their real job is to make their master look important.” “All right,” Varrell said. “Enough with the disguises, witch. Reveal yourself!” Stella laughed. He sounded so serious. “This is me. I really am just a skinny little girl. Anyway, Varrell, would you carry me the rest of the way? I’m tired.” Varrell frowned. “Why?” “Right back at you. Are you embarrassed of picking me up in front of your sister?” “As you wish, Master,” Varrell said, sighing. Then he knelt and—careful not to wrinkle her dress—hoisted her onto his shoulder. “Happy?” “Quite.” Typica ...

Greggs Georgia, ruler of Peasbury, had just come across the most difficult choice of his life. “What did they say?” he asked his secretary. “They’re equally divided on which side you should take. They do, however, unanimously urge you to stay out of this war.” “Yet again they ask me to do the impossible. I should be accustomed to it by now.” Hands clasped before his face, Greggs closed his eyes and lost himself in thought. Greggs’s money came from the taxes he imposed on business owners in the Central District, and his power from the nobles and landowners living in the North District (Greggs had been one of them, once). Peasbury depended, in an essential manner, on the support of the nearby farming villages to function. In a city-state such as the Peasbury of old, each member of the nobility held an inordinate amount of power. They didn’t defer to the ruler but merely acknowledged him as their representative. Greggs was not their king. Because of that, mediating their interests was a c...