《Queenscage》


 Beginning

    <hr>


    History is written by the victors.


    - ORIGIN UNKNOWN


    <hr>


    ¡°The Queen¡¯s Cage. Some call it a brutal, primal gladiator sport that should be left behind like the sins of our ancestors. Others call it a much needed tradition for the ascension of the worthy. Some even ask - what really happens behind those bars, where the Chosen of the Gods are made to fight? And why are we not allowed to see it, yet only allowed to applaud the Victors?¡±


    ¡°Controversial,¡± spat the Censor. ¡°Next.¡±


    The Writer¡¯s speech halted, and she faced the man dressed in the Imperial¡¯s golden yellow with a pained look. ¡°But it draws attention,¡± she protested, ¡°it fits the criteria, I looked it over-¡±


    The robed man standing behind the podium didn¡¯t flinch, his expression only hardening. ¡°I said, next.¡±


    And so the Writer slunked away, and another took her place.


    ¡°The Queen¡¯s Cage. A display of the true glory of the Olympians and our Empire of Eternity. A game of a waltz to the music of our ancestors. The winners are rewarded not just a seat to the Imperial Throne, but a chance to conduct a symphony of their own, to dance a tango of a patriot and live the night with a gliding sound of the revellazo.¡±Reading on Amazon or a pirate site? This novel is from Royal Road. Support the author by reading it there.


    ¡°Flowery. Coercive. Takes the metaphor too far,¡± the silver-haired Censor said. ¡°Next.¡±


    ¡°Coercive? I-¡±


    This Writer cut himself off as he saw the Censor¡¯s eyes flicker in warning.


    ¡°We are releasing an Imperial paper on the Cage¡¯s Victor, not an advertisement to try and get Chosen and get yourself killed.¡± The older man¡¯s words were biting. ¡°Next.¡±


    Another Writer, this time one without the curious light in their eyes.


    ¡°Imperial Princess Seraphina Queenscage. We know nothing about her, just as we know nothing about what happens behind the bars of the Cage when the doors close. But we do know that she is now sixth in line to the Golden Throne, and currently the most talked about person in the Empire, a duke¡¯s daughter.¡±


    The Writer¡¯s eyes glowed, and they smiled just as the Censor flinched.


    ¡°Cagekeeper,¡± the old man hissed, clambering to his feet.


    The Cagekeeper¡¯s smile grew wider. Their golden eyes were leaking with light, like orbs made out of the sun, haunting and unnatural.


    ¡°What they don¡¯t tell you is that Seraphina Marksman Queenscage killed five people by her own hands and watched as those who trusted her died. She has done much worse than murder - she has tortured, betrayed, kidnapped, backstabbed. We, watchers of the Footage, call her the Marionette-Maker.¡±


    The Cagekeeper blinked as the Censor''s fists curled.


    ¡°The Last Person Standing, the Liar, the winner of the Hundredth Queen¡¯s Cage, Seraphina the Insatiable,¡± they said.


    The Watcher¡¯s lips curled.


    ¡°What did she say? ¡®The Queen¡¯s Cage. Some call it a brutal, primal gladiator sport that should be left behind like the sins of our ancestors. Others call it a much needed tradition for the ascension of the worthy. Some even ask - what really happens behind those bars, where the Chosen of the Gods are made to fight? And why are we not allowed to see it, yet only allowed to applaud the Victors?¡¯¡± they quoted. A dry laugh that shook the world to its bones.


    ¡°It is because history is written by the Victors. And if you do not win, you lose.¡±


    <hr>

 1. Crown I

    <hr>


    In the shape of crowns, man''s desires are wrought in.


    - KATO VERSE


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    THE MOMENT I HAD STEPPED OUT OF THE CAGE, I hadn¡¯t remembered feeling particularly victorious.


    I had lied, I had betrayed, and I had backstabbed - murdered, tortured, kidnapped. I had heard the screams of the innocent, and it was as if the Gods had bottled the sound up and uncorked the vial every single day as the fire and blood and desperation replayed in my ears.


    Looting their dead bodies and burying them - not because it was the right thing to do, but because blood attracted flies and with fire came smoke - had become second nature.


    I had never liked being a part of the Gods¡¯ play.


    I had never liked being just an ink blot on the scrolls of history.


    I had never liked being part of something bigger, and I had never liked being reminded of it.


    That day, I hadn¡¯t relished the roars and cheers of the Colosseum, the thousands of Imperials¡¯ reactions at my return. I hadn¡¯t paid much attention to the announcer¡¯s voice booming as he congratulated my arrival.


    The thud of my crimson-speckled boot landing on the platform still echoed in my ears.


    That day, the screams replayed again, and it was the stabbing and the lying and the calculating - Gods, all the calculating - all over again, and so I closed my eyes, hoping that the Hints would go away.


    It may have appeared as if I was simply basking in the light of being an Imperial candidate, of a new surname and a chance at a new life, of a shot at sitting on the Chryselephantine Throne that anyone could only dream of.


    Appearances were deceiving.


    I heard the Hints, again - the stories, in the people¡¯s mutters and sounds and yells. But I couldn¡¯t bring myself to delve in them, to lose myself in their worlds like I always had even though I detested the whole concept of being involved in matters larger than myself.


    The medical term for it was shock, I realized. It was as if I was in control, but I wasn¡¯t - the reflexes were there, but the consciousness wasn¡¯t as I stared out at the pillars of the arena.


    I could name all the architectural elements of the structure, name all the architects that made them along with their favorite flavor of tea, I could recite the Empire¡¯s history of two thousand years including most of the minor events, but that day¡­


    Pinpointing the day, but not the moment, when I had neared the edge of insanity, was easy enough - but what exactly had pushed me off that cliff eluded me still.


    Trying to bring myself to look at my hands, they were shaking ever so slightly. With the murder of the final contestant, I had won, I said to myself, opening my eyes.


    Seraphina Queenscage, now. I had the possession of a writ declaring my claim to the Throne, I had now power and influence and wealth beyond my imagination. I had the blessing of the Gods, I was Chosen.


    It was probably that day I had realized.


    The sun shone down upon me, the rays touching my bruised and blistered face as if Helios himself was trying to comfort me. The light touched the filth in the depths of my soul, the very soul that even that Athena had classified as broken. As I looked up into the fiery orb, in all its glory, and cursed the sky it belonged to, I had realized.


    That day, I had won.


    And that day, I had lost.


    <hr>


    ¡°Imperial Princess Seraphina. The Prince is visiting.¡±


    The lady-in-waiting called out.


    An inkblot on her right sleeve, right-handed, the ink took more seconds to dry. Cheap ink for an Imperial maid and lesser noble, written letter to her family using the resources at hand. Overnight stay at a lover¡¯s house. A commoner lover. A fling.


    ¡°Wait.¡± A short, curt response escaped my lips. More words were unnecessary, as I set down the book I was reading. It was a short piece that argued for the use of guerilla tactics towards the end of the Forsaken Invasion, against many scholars.


    The writer was eccentric, by the looks of it - an ¡®ecstatic¡¯ used when there was a more proper term available, the arrangement of the sentences - but they brought up valid, although controversial topics. Usually, most of the dusty Scholars preferred to address complicated, conservative stratagems from dustier wars like the Skirmish. But it was interesting.


    It was my Ability that had compelled me to pick it up, probably a sign from Athena that could be interpreted in a thousand different ways. Another Hint for the future, a haphazard object that the Gods threw in my path.


    The Prince. There was only one Prince that didn¡¯t consider me an eyesore, and it was the one I was trying to kill at the moment.


    He¡¯s still alive?


    I considered abducting a Poisonmaster to look it over, but my brew had never failed me before. Arathis had probably discovered it and would retaliate. It was a game of ours, I supposed.


    The maidservant - no, lady-in-waiting - obeyed my command, and reached towards the door handle to inform Ara when they suddenly flung open, hitting her square in the nose.


    ¡°Sera!¡± the Forsaken smiled toothily. His stark white hair had taken some getting used to, but so had the fact that he was probably responsible for the death of all eleven Chosen. Ruthless, murderous, and one of the most treacherous people I knew, my brother was. Not blood related, alas, just a shared surname and a similar background as one of the winners of the Queen¡¯s Cage.


    ¡°Ara,¡± I greeted, ¡°you¡¯re not dead.¡±


    ¡°Yes, I am not, my clever little sister,¡± Arathis agreed as he helped himself to the couch, barely casting a glance at the noble¡¯s daughter he had undoubtedly injured. Compliments, bad news. The ever-so-slight emphasizing of ¡®sister.¡¯


    ¡°Astounding observation skills. I saw the poison you put in my tea. Quite a pretty brew - you¡¯re a genius for thinking of crushing sarawolf¡¯s leaves and mixing them with an invisibility potion so I wouldn¡¯t see them amongst the tea leaves. Even more genius for recruiting the person who provides my teabags and making them seal it inside." He added, "Thorough, too, for getting the teapot handle.¡±


    Compliments meant next to nothing from others if they didn¡¯t get the job done.


    Compliments from Arathis, however, were compliments meant to be taken.


    ¡°The balm was sticky,¡± I concluded as I frowned. ¡°I¡¯ll work on that. Thanks, brother.¡±


    With the thank you, Arathis¡¯ grin widened.


    ¡°Josie and the others are setting up a tea party - she refuses to call it that, but it¡¯s obvious she¡¯s setting up another honey trap for Cyrus. Honestly, will she never learn? That guy¡¯s barely interested in anything aside from killing and swinging that damn sword.¡± Ara rolled his eyes. ¡°And it¡¯s not the fun kind of killing either, but the Cyrus kind of killing, like, who-¡±


    ¡°Does that?¡± I finished. I paused. ¡°Cyrus,¡± I answered the question.


    Arathis made a face.


    ¡°If I wanted to kill Cyrus,¡± he pondered, ¡°I wouldn¡¯t use honey traps. I¡¯d wear him down, mental attrition, lures. He wouldn¡¯t see a common mugger coming, so if a small thief took his sword and led him to an alley-¡±


    ¡°His Ability,¡± I pointed out. ¡°Also, he¡¯s hard to kill. Annoying, too.¡± I accompanied the astute observation with another face.


    ¡°I got three sentences out of ya!¡± Ara gasped in mock-joy. ¡°But you¡¯re wrong, dear sister, he-¡±


    I shrugged. ¡°I know. His moral superiority complex. He wouldn¡¯t use a sword on just a small-time thief. But psychological warfare won¡¯t work if he has the Lightning King.¡±


    Arathis¡¯ face fell, just for a bit. ¡°Don¡¯t ruin my fantasies,¡± he whined. ¡°That¡¯s mean.¡±


    But, of course, he was just acting.


    I was, too.


    Today, he was the Ara persona he donned most of the time - childish, maybe a tad whiny, playful. He seemed weak, like I could easily crush him in my fist and slit his throat in his sleep. But that was why most everyone aside from the Victors were dragged along by him like dogs on a leash.


    They humored him, acting like they were playing along with a child instead of a mass murderer that toyed with powerful personages the same way he ate monster organs for breakfast. The wrong thing to assume about him was that he killed for shits and giggles - there was always a ploy, always a trap, and if you assumed that he would make an exception for you, your assumption was wrong.


    The thing about Arathis was to never, ever believe what he was saying. If he wanted to, he could probably burn down the Empire and earn the Throne if Greta wasn¡¯t in the way. But there Greta was, and it was lucky Arathis¡¯ ambitions never stretched beyond the average catastrophe...or so it seemed.


    ¡°Bleh. Let¡¯s not talk about these things.¡± Ara winked. ¡°I don¡¯t want to be a spoilsport. Josie¡¯s asked me to invite you to the tea party. Greta¡¯s coming.¡±


    ¡°Invited or coming?¡±


    ¡°She and Orion got into an argument, and Orion¡¯s at the party, so she¡¯s probably coming to beat Orion up. Or burn her playthings at the stake in public as a warning against us again, not sure.¡± Slight undertones of resentment, undoubtedly towards Greta. Not a sense of inferiority, just annoyance. His hand moved towards his hair. Restlessness, the Hints told me. I never could read further than the emotions he felt at the surface, which was also a problem.


    ¡°Alright. Now?¡± My eyes ventured towards the clock.


    ¡°For lunch. Everything¡¯s prepared. Food is really good, too, by the looks of it.¡±Support the author by searching for the original publication of this novel.


    ¡°Anything aside from monster organs? I¡¯m on a diet.¡± I never liked eating monsters, but Arathis and his race did and my sisterly persona didn¡¯t want to offend him.


    Ara offered, ¡°there¡¯re sandwiches.¡±


    Good enough. The party was important.


    ¡°I¡¯m coming,¡± I decided.


    ¡°Good choice. Let¡¯s go.¡± Ara stood up and offered his arm, which I accepted. The maid¡¯s nose that had been bloodied by his entrance was still red, liquid flowing from her nostrils as she ushered to open the doors. She was a lesser noble¡¯s daughter, but she had heard the Imperial rumors, no doubt. Which meant she was tactful, although the lover bit threw me off a little¡­


    Oh, well. If she would pose a problem in the future, I would ask Mercy to kill her.


    My brother¡¯s arm circling around my own, I assumed a faint, sisterly smile as we headed towards the tea party hosted by my favorite sister in the entire world.


    <hr>


    ¡°Sera!¡± Josephine squealed.


    ¡°Josie,¡± I greeted, forcing a natural smile to touch my lips. I let it vanish, however, as I met the eyes of the others seated around the table.


    ¡°Cyrus, Orion,¡± I acknowledged.


    Cyrus grunted. ¡°Why is she here?¡± Emphasis on here. He has spies, my Ability whispered incessantly. Arathis? My paranoia slowly creeped in, but it was quickly vetoed by further Reading. Hands tightening on his sword. Senses a threat. Eyes flickering, uneasiness. A recent betrayal, likely from an aide.


    He was always the type to trust easily among the currently existing Victors. His tone was much more hostile than usual. I would need to send someone to probe further, I mentally scheduled.


    ¡°Seraphina.¡± Orion, who I was slightly on better terms with, decided to reply blandly. He had seen thirty-six years, but had never liked me in the three months I¡¯d been here. Bland welcome. Even tone suggests no love lost, although respectful. No fear.


    Cyrus frowned. I never could Read any of the Victors much, to my regrets. Cyrus was one of the better ones in terms of impulsivity - better for me, at least, worse for him. In terms of terrible personality, though, he lost to even Greta.


    Armed with a superiority and inferiority complex and a very sharp sword, he practically radiated raw power. We weren¡¯t allowed to Watch each other¡¯s Footage, but I was willing to bet quite a large amount that he strong-armed and strategized his way to victory.


    My slight smile didn¡¯t falter.


    The atmosphere always crackled with electricity when he was around, and I never wanted to acknowledge it enough to ask him to stop. Dark hair covering ¡°brooding¡± blue eyes, the Paladin - as the Cagekeepers called him - was admittedly handsome enough. But there was a reason why I never liked to look at his face for long, and it wasn¡¯t because of his ass for a personality.


    I didn¡¯t let my eyes linger across the Ninety-Seventh Victor¡¯s face. ¡°With such a warm welcome, how could I not?¡±


    ¡°Sarcasm!¡± Josephine crowed victoriously. ¡°By the Gods, our youngest sister¡¯s having a good day!¡±


    The beautiful Ninety-Eighth Victor was dressed in thin fabric that most would barely classify as clothes, but I was sure that even if she was wearing a sack Josie would draw eyes. With the caramel skin of the East and bright, unusual golden eyes that belonged to many Eurusans, Josie¡¯s unparalleled beauty was probably the reason why she had drawn Aphrodite¡¯s attention.


    Arathis smiled as he collapsed on a chair. The pale-haired Forsaken nodded in agreement, ¡°the next thing you know, I bet Greta¡¯ll walk in and - no, it¡¯s too impossible, I can¡¯t even imagine it.¡±


    I raised an eyebrow, smiling amusedly. ¡°What?¡±


    Arathis leaned in conspiratally as I took the seat beside him. ¡°Who knows, maybe today¡¯s the day,¡± he said in a loud whisper, ¡°Greta Highlander smiles.¡±


    I snorted, while Josephine collapsed into a fit of laughter. Even Orion¡¯s lips twitched, as Cyrus looked on the view with the same stony expression. Greta the Great smiling? There would come a day.


    My Ability whispered to me in warning.


    Right, it would be best not to take the Acting too far.


    ¡°By the Gods, how did you manage to get the rest of the boys here?¡± Arathis asked Josie, after he popped a raw, bloody square into his mouth. Josephine snickered, as she cast a look at Orion and wiggled her eyebrows.


    ¡°I know someone who knows someone who knows Orion¡¯s current toy,¡± Josephine said, reaching for a sandwich. ¡°It was more a matter of calling some people and stationing them near his house, sending an invitation, and lo and behold, he came.¡±


    Orion clicked his tongue like he was reprimanding a kid. We were all kids to him, I supposed. ¡°Don¡¯t call him a toy.¡±


    My eyebrows arched higher. ¡°Older brother has a lover?¡± I let my mouth drop open. ¡°Take it back, Arathis. Your prediction might come true.¡±


    ¡°Hear, hear, I¡¯ll keep an eye out for Her Greatness Highlander,¡± said the Forsaken, curiously glancing at the older brother in question. Calculation. It wasn¡¯t just curiosity that glimmered in both Josephine and Arathis¡¯ gazes, it was that ruthless glint of an opportunity.


    Toys among the Imperial Victors were common according to the history books, even though I disliked the practice myself. But the fact that Orion didn¡¯t use the toy title, and the fact that he came to the gatherings he hated just in case Josephine would hurt him - which everyone knew she had no qualms about - was interesting.


    I said interesting, everyone heard leverage.


    The dark-skinned predator snarled. ¡°He isn¡¯t my lover.¡±


    ¡°Sure sounds like one to me,¡± chipped in Josephine. ¡°Or is it unrequited, the attachment?¡± Attachment, not affection or love. Suggests problems with romantic ventures. It was obvious, though, that fact. It was a pity Cagekeepers couldn¡¯t be bribed - I would¡¯ve liked to see Josie¡¯s footage.


    Orion sounded irritated, although he toned it down. I could still hear the simmering anger beneath his voice - he was obviously mad at Josie for making it public, and for good reason as any one of us could start a massacre unprovoked. He was mad at himself, too, by the looks of it, for letting him lose his temper.


    ¡°No. Nothing of the sort. He¡¯s boring, and I¡¯m bored.¡± Change of the subject, a slight misdirection. Doesn¡¯t want Josie to sink her claws into him, caution. Interesting. Very, very interesting.


    I decided to play along. ¡°Then why is Oldest Imperial Brother here? Does he have a lover, too?¡± I said it nonchalantly, in my usual flat tone.


    The group obviously knew that I was helping Orion - I saw Arathis¡¯ and Josephine¡¯s smiles flicker, and Orion¡¯s eyebrows lift a bit in surprise - but they seemed to be going along with the conversation¡¯s flow, which was the safe choice for everyone.


    From the Hints, Ara and Josie had planned this beforehand to take Orion down a notch. But just because I was friendly with them didn¡¯t mean I would help them every step of the way - I would find out more about Orion¡¯s secret lover, and both of them would try to manipulate me, but it was better to do things on my own terms.


    Cyrus didn¡¯t look pleased at having the attention suddenly on him. But his fingers twitched - recent betrayal - and I pinpointed the reason for his discomfort. He stayed silent.


    ¡°Ah...I did recently hear about the backstabbing.¡± I tutted. ¡°Really a shame-¡±


    ¡°Stop it.¡± The electric atmosphere increased, and I could feel my skin prickle as my placid smile grew wider. Cyrus met my eyes, and I could see regret that he hadn¡¯t realized I was probing on purpose.


    The fact that he had even reacted at all, like Orion, was surprising. Something was going on, and if the commonalities added up...A male. Cyrus being recently betrayed. Orion harboring a secret lover. My Hints pieced themselves together as I burst into a bright, satisfied smile. Cyrus flinched, but perhaps that was just what he wanted me to think, that he was unsettled.


    I watched Arathis¡¯ and Josie¡¯s amused eyes on me as I pieced the most likely result together.


    A love triangle.


    This was going to be very, very interesting.


    I had only been here three months, but the Palace was a place of deceit. Sure, there was blood, and screams, and the odd person on fire, but this...I could work with. Lies and misdirection, I thought as I poured myself a cup of tea, was just my chalice of wine.


    <hr>


    Mercy frowned. Her real name wasn¡¯t Mercy, of course - it was Xanthe Nameless, but we both much preferred Mercy, what with our similar sense of humor. (It was ironic, given the fact that she was an assassin, but the fact that I recruited my dead lover¡¯s sister - and the fact that the aforementioned lover¡¯s death was my fault - was ironic in itself.)


    ¡°So,¡± she clarified, ¡°you want me to scout your sister¡¯s guards and see if there¡¯s anywhere unusual that they swarm?¡±


    I didn¡¯t correct her on the sister part - although the Victors were a tad murderous for a family, they were now my legal relatives.


    ¡°A bit more complicated,¡± I said, sparse in my words, ¡°they¡¯re smarter than that.¡± I was back on my bed, fiddling with my blade as I analyzed the map rolled out on the mattress. Mercy was lounging lazily on the window seat, like she usually was at night, and I blinked.


    The map was a good map, I decided after scanning it. The Hints only divulged its origin and background, but it was fairly accurate and overlapped with the many geographic tomes I visualized in my head.


    I closed my eyes, rooting in my head for the information I needed as I finally found the correct volume and date I had seen the map I needed. I mentally traced a ragged paper, with elaborate ink sketched upon it, as I laid out the formation of the Emperor¡¯s capital city in my head. Possible paths blazed to life, supported by my Hints and my memory - this way, that way - until I sighed and opened my eyes again.


    ¡°Along the Port, likely.¡± The Hints reinforced my conclusion, my Ability humming as it confirmed my conclusion. Orion said he was boring. Boring, for him, means routine, the Hint reminded me. Routine, and Orion was an archer who hated drills.


    A Dockworker? It was the most boring job a person could have, but why was Cyrus and Orion down on the docks? They were Imperial Princes, with the Queenscage surname, unless¡­


    ¡°Prioritize finding the person,¡± I said. ¡°There¡¯s something that my older brothers are up to, and Arathis and Josie know it.¡± Which was the reason behind the tea party. The younger Victors wanted to warn them into submission, and I had made a bad call by not letting them.


    ¡°A Dockworker whose home is swarmed by hidden Imperial Guards. Involved in a likely disguised shipment that involves weapons,¡± I decided. My Ability answered with a hum as I shot my Wisdom into my conclusion, picking apart the idea.


    How did I not notice? A bad call - no wonder my Hints hadn¡¯t reinforced it. I hadn¡¯t noticed, getting myself swept up in triumph - you are too arrogant, Athena¡¯s whispers came back to me.


    I saw Mercy nod. ¡°Shall I send the Scouts?¡± she questioned, referring to the five or six hidden people she had under her wing.


    ¡°No. Use the homeless system. And the Seraphs.¡± Both systems that he had suggested. It was no use getting sidetracked - I was already late, had made a bad call, and was in a disadvantageous situation, surrounded by enemies who everyone called my family. But I was at least comfortable, I whispered to myself. Better lies and deceit than being stuck behind those bars again. Never again would I be imprisoned. Never again. Never again. Never again. Never.


    Mercy¡¯s nod snapped me out of it.


    Good. I wasn¡¯t going to go down another spiral again. I couldn¡¯t afford to.


    ¡°I¡¯ll come after you¡¯ve scouted the area.¡± My decision was accompanied by a resonance, however faint. Scouting the area was always the best thing to do when uncertain, just as information was one of the most important things you could have. Information. Piece everything together, logically.


    Was I angry at Arathis and Josephine from keeping this for me? No, I couldn¡¯t be, I answered myself as I organized my thoughts rationally. I had no right to, because we didn¡¯t trust each other. All of us Victors, try as we might, could never truly trust someone - off-track, Seraphina, I chided myself.


    I suspected that they both liked me - I liked them, too - but if I was an obstacle in their path they would get rid of me. A logical decision. One I would make. I clung to knowing things, was one thing I had noticed about myself. A weakness. Knowledge wasn¡¯t power. Knowing what to do with it was.


    My Ability flared to life, again, as Mercy went away. Love was unreliable blackmail material, usually. But Orion¡¯s interest, along with Cyrus¡¯ trust, were hard to earn.


    An outlier, I then decided, like Greta.


    Outliers were dangerous.


    I had edged very close to spirals today, and this was important. Every day was important, but my Ability pulled at the person¡¯s existence, tugging at it like a pet dog trying to show me a bone they had brought back.


    It was important. I couldn¡¯t afford to lose it to spirals. And so I did what I always did when nearing the cliff - a habit developed back then, a habit to keep her from falling asleep - and closed my eyes. A board of Queen¡¯s Crown, the pieces replaced by the figures of people and the Scenarios replaced by the current situation.


    I moved a Paladin forward, just as I flipped the board and sent a fleet of Soldiers against myself as a distraction, which I obviously would not allow.


    Simulations.


    As I shifted the Archer¡¯s Arrow and went for the offensive, I furthered myself from the edge of the spiral.


    Outliers were dangerous.


    The slash of a knife, the blood dripping from a pale throat; the boy¡¯s lingering smile, his foot on the edge of a cliff; a girl¡¯s last cry, her throat beneath my hands.


    I shook my thoughts out of it as I continued playing.


    Keep moving the pieces forward. Keep attacking, defending. Keep going.


    I had never been satisfied with just being a part of the Gods¡¯ play.


    I had never wanted to be reduced to just an ink blot on the scrolls of history.


    I had never hated being part of something bigger, because I wanted to be bigger.


    But I had made a bad call.


    <hr>

 2. Crown II

    <hr>


    Fortune has no choice but to favor the last ones standing.


    - EMPEROR ANGELO THE AVENGER, FIRST OF HER NAME


    <hr>


    THE GODS HAD NEVER FAVORED ARATHIS DELAWAR.


    He knew this as a fact.


    And also because Hades told him.


    But it was a mistake to trust a God.


    The God of the Underworld, his face a grotesque patchwork of shifting souls and cruel dark orbs beneath the cage of his helm, was a horrifying sight. Gods often were, although mortals often eluded themselves into thinking the Olympians beautiful. No, Gods were monsters, just like the values they symbolized.


    Death. A dark drapery swooped itself around Hades¡¯ skin - a twisting of loose robes - and the Helm of Darkness emanated an aura of more than just death - the feathery wings of a fear-bird bloomed in Arathis¡¯ stomach, an emotion that Arathis usually never knew but relished in.


    ¡°My Liege.¡± The words were said breathily, yet with a hint of wicked glee that destroyed the respectful connotation¡¯s purpose.


    Hades¡¯ eyes narrowed, the abyss-like gaze peering into more than just Arathis¡¯ soul, evaluating his existence itself. You.


    ¡°Yes, me,¡± the Forsaken agreed.


    The irreverent Chosen.


    The walker of my path.


    You.


    Arathis let a smile come to his face, and it was easy. The horror felt in his bones, the panic and terror that crept up on his skin that was more than just emotion, it was a certainty that he was in the face of a true God. Oh, how interesting it all was. A shiver down his spine.


    ¡°Yes, me,¡± the puppeteer repeated.


    The Lord of Death blinked, a human action belonging to an inhuman being.


    What do you want?


    The words echoed with the finality of someone asking their victim for their last words.


    A question that would¡¯ve sounded irritatedly snappish if it came from any other, a question that would¡¯ve warranted a sarcastic answer from any other. But Hades was not any other God, and Arathis didn''t consider himself as any other Chosen. The want was laced with a vaguer definition than desire, but Gods were Gods, and Arathis was not one, so what was the use of trying to understand one?


    Being a God wasn¡¯t nearly interesting enough, to the Forsaken.


    ¡°I desire to live by my will.¡± It was a diplomatic answer for an un-diplomatic person like himself, but people had never classified Arathis into any one category. Or, at least, they had never classified him correctly.


    A strange desire, for an Oathbreaker.


    Arathis¡¯ smile grew wider at the use of the title he despised.


    ¡°A common desire, for a human,¡± he conceded.


    Why were Oaths made, if not to be broken? The whispers at night from those who had died by his promises never got a reaction from him - if he was a better person, perhaps, they would¡¯ve haunted his dreams.


    The girl who had trusted him so blindingly, the Chosen who had taken him as an dispensable meat shield of a foreign healer from the depths of Tartarus, and the killer that Arathis had fashioned out of their imagination.


    And so Arathis had played on their paranoia, played them all with his words, and played with them to their shallow graves.


    And it was so, very intriguing.


    Your tongue should be cut.


    ¡°If for the sole reason that it is powerful, My Liege, what of the Gods?¡±


    The pale-haired Forsaken looked the God of the Underworld in the eyes, the playful expression still on his features.


    Impudent, reprimanded the Olympian, yet his tone was still even. There was no reaction, not a glimmer of amusement nor hatred.


    You have not used your Ability once, Hades noted. What should I take it as?


    Most said the Gods did not ask questions, nor did they provide answers.


    The Lord of Death was not called Death for a good reason, for that was Thanatos. The Trickster who had lured his wife with a mere pomegranate, a distant entity that meddled not in mortal affairs yet did not allow what was his to be taken. Hades¡¯ embrace was not an embrace, his existence a horrifying truth that one could master Death but could not escape it.


    Arathis blinked.


    ¡°I dare not tell my liege what he should think,¡± he said, ¡°but I myself am quite proud.¡±


    Proud of your self-reliance?


    ¡°Proud of the fact that I do not need the Gods to fulfill my desires.¡± Arathis couldn¡¯t see the God¡¯s full face beneath the gnarled surface of the metal helm, but Hades¡¯ eyes flickered with an almost hideous emotion that sent shivers down Arathis¡¯ spine. It was not anger, nor it was hate or amusement. Again.


    Arathis was tempted, just a bit, to try and see the strings attached to the Lord of the Underworld - discover the desires, motivations of the legendary figure that was one of the three Sovereigns.


    But then his temptation was fought over by his pragmatism, and the fact that his death wouldn¡¯t be very interesting. Besides, he had something new to play with.


    I have killed for less, said the other.


    ¡°That means that your tolerance has grown,¡± answered Arathis. If it was another beside him - Josephine, Cyrus, maybe even Orion and that-very-interesting Seraphina - they would¡¯ve cautioned him not to antagonize a God.


    No, that was incorrect - if Arathis wasn¡¯t in the way of most of their desires, they would¡¯ve cared enough to warn him not to antagonize a God.


    But warnings were unnecessary, the whole dance of words unnecessary and useless, because the Olympian knew, and the Forsaken knew Hades knew. And most unnecessary things weren¡¯t interesting enough for Arathis to indulge in them.


    And so Arathis pressed, ¡°what do you want?¡±


    The Empire¡¯s Verses said that if a servant was cruel, the master was crueler, and Imperial sayings - for all their depressingly brutal wisdom - were, for the most part, true.


    Thatanos was not cruel. Death was ugly, and scarcely interesting, but it wasn¡¯t cruel.


    Hades, on the other hand, was both interesting and horrifying, and so Arathis had decided to accept his patronage. When the Sovereign of the Deep offered his hand, one acceptance was all it took to transform a runaway Forsaken into an Imperial Prince.


    One acceptance was all it had taken.


    Do not ask the Gods when you know the answer.


    Finality, which meant that Hades would be leaving.


    Most would say there had been no purpose to the entire meeting. Hades had not insulted or praised him, or imparted any profound words of wisdom that weren¡¯t in reply to Arathis¡¯ provocations.


    But then they would be wrong.


    Farewell, Oathbreaker.


    And so Arathis watched the gaze glimmer, and with a whirl of the God¡¯s robes the void-dream was dispelled. The puppeteer was left once again on his bed, staring at the ceiling. The smile on his face vanished, his expression a blank slate as Arathis Delawar blinked.


    Why were Oaths made, if not to be broken?


    <hr>


    Castor the Dockworker frowned. Of all the people he had gotten himself involved with, he just had to get involved in matters of the fucking Imperials. And worse, two of them were fucking interested in him.


    The late thirties hadn''t been kind to him - he had been cursed with a sailor¡¯s mouth, a brusque temper, and an orphan from the south Cardinal Stronghold of Notus.


    There were four Cardinal Strongholds in the Empire, each situated in a cardinal direction, along with the two Strongholds of Old. Notus, the South Wind, was a place that Castor''d liked to forget.


    But there was no use in thinking about the past, when the present that Castor was in meant that he was fucked. Very, very fucked.


    Just handle the crates, Nero had said. It¡¯s a big shipment, but it¡¯s nothing important. Castor had noticed Nero¡¯s sweaty palms when he¡¯d said that, but Castor had blamed it on the heat. The Docks were always humid, and the position of a Piermanager was anything but relaxing, and so Castor had ignored it.


    A mistake, ignoring things. You¡¯d think a couple years of working in the East Quarter would¡¯ve hammered the sayings of the Fishers - trust no one in this Empire, they said, least of all the person who rules it - but Castor had never wanted to indulge himself in such paranoia.


    At least, until now.


    The second-in-line to the Golden Throne of the Empire Eoina was sitting right in front of him, and Castor had no idea what to do.


    For a week, Orion and Cyrus had played their games, and finally Castor had enough. It was a test, Castor had realized, as the Minotaur had appeared in front of him and Castor chose to cower behind Orion. Cyrus was a warm person, friendly to Castor, but his smile had cracked that moment and immediately the Dockworker had been discarded.


    ¡°Cyrus feels betrayed,¡± remarked the solitary prince.


    The Second Imperial Prince lounged on the ragged couch of the Dockworker¡¯s room. Orion Queenscage - but the second the last name had escaped Castor¡¯s lips, the Victor had nocked an arrow and smiled that tranquil half-smile. A threat.


    Orion liked him, Castor knew, but still the prince with the bow was a Chosen of Artemis and a Victor of the Cage.


    Castor blinked. ¡°He shouldn¡¯t,¡± the Dockworker said mildly. ¡°But, if you¡¯ll have my honest opinion-¡± Orion gave a nod ¡°-that was a stupid test - crown, wreath, and tome considered -and I would appreciate it if you left me alone.¡±


    Orion didn¡¯t seem offended, as he gave a laugh.


    ¡°You can¡¯t see them?¡± the archer laughed, his amber eyes meeting Castor¡¯s own.


    Immediately, the Dockworker¡¯s reflexes tensed, as the Fishers¡¯ nagging echoed in his ears. Min empist¨¦vesai kan¨¦nan se aft¨ªn tin aftokrator¨ªa, Castor reminded himself of the Fishers as he stared into those predatory eyes.


    An Imperial Prince of the Empire Eoina certainly counted among those Imperial.


    ¡°No, I don¡¯t,¡± the man said, tentatively. ¡°What ¡®them¡¯ do you mean?¡±


    The prince stoically grinned - if there was ever such an expression - amusedly. His neutral expression was carved on his light brown skin, and he was admittedly handsome in the kind of way that aging Huntsmen were.


    Perhaps it was treason, to compare the prince to a commoner, but the prince looked like a Woodsman¡¯s son - dark hair and tanned muscles, his calluses were the only indication to his almost forty years of age.You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.


    The only things that made him seem out of place was the expensive tunic on his person that was likely worth more drachmas than Castor would ever be paid, and bow with the quiver of arrows that always seemed to be strapped to his back.


    ¡°You are being watched,¡± said Orion, ¡°by my...siblings.¡± The eyes of the prince flickered. ¡°I have returned from a gathering, and it seems your place has been leaked. If I know them well - and I¡¯ve known most of them for at least five years - Josephine¡¯s Guards are all over your place. With no doubt, Arathis has his eye on you already and Seraphina¡¯s Scouts are probably scouring the Docks for your location right this very second.¡±


    Castor spluttered. ¡°Excuse me?¡±


    He had already met two Queenscages, which was more than a thousand lifetimes of Imperial royals he¡¯d ever care to see. Both had seemed equally dangerous, and Castor cared not for the fact that he entertained them, rather more for the fact that he would die no matter what he did.


    The Dockworker had been sent to supervise the other Workers carrying the crates, and Nero¡¯s sweaty, nervous figure had been spotted by a mysterious cloaked man. Castor would¡¯ve been properly content with pretending that he didn¡¯t see anything, if one of the other Workers hadn¡¯t tripped and let the crate¡¯s contents scatter all over the harbor¡¯s ground.


    And then Castor got involved in fucking high treason, and of course the Morai didn¡¯t let him pretend like he didn¡¯t see anything.


    Rifles and knives made of Stygian steel - Forsaken-made weapons - were what had been in the crates. Orion had come shortly after, the first one to discover it, and it had all blown up from there.


    ¡°Yes,¡± the prince responded, drily, ¡°it¡¯s quite a messy family affair, isn¡¯t it?"


    The way Orion said family reminded Castor of the way that the Dockworkers said Harbormasters - they inevitably encountered each other, were associated with one another and had some mutual agreement of not bothering each other, but were still in the way of each other¡¯s jobs.


    Family.


    Queenscages weren¡¯t blood-related, Castor remembered just the surname of Victors who survived the Cage and earned a claim to the Throne. Victors were powerful, the myths whispered, the Chosen of the Gods. The ones who could manipulate the will of the Anothen¡¯s sky with their Abilities.


    But the fact that Orion seemed so remarkably solid startled Castor.


    It was hard to believe the legends of mortals when you were one yourself.


    After all, humanity was an ugly thing.


    ¡°Are they going to kill me?¡± A mere Dockworker who had stumbled upon a secret, and the war-hardened royals who hungered after the Throne. Death was an inevitable conclusion.


    ¡°You and your pragmatic words,¡± observed Orion, ¡°it really makes me wonder about your past.¡± A glint, and then it disappeared.


    You wouldn¡¯t want to, replied Castor internally.


    But then the prince continued leisurely, ¡°No, maybe not kill. They might abduct you, since they¡¯ve caught on to my attachment to you, but it really does depend which of my siblings get ahold of you.¡±


    Castor blinked. ¡°It would help,¡± the Dockworker said slowly, ¡°if you expanded on that particularly unsettling conclusion.¡±


    Orion snorted quietly, but he did it with an unusually regal grace, which flummoxed the poor Dockworker greatly.


    ¡°If Cyrus gets ahold of you, he might not do much because his feelings are hurt and he probably still likes you,¡± pointed out the archer. Castor winced. He had thought it was a lingering admiration, and it made him feel a bit guilty. He was feeling guilty, hurting a Chosen¡¯s feelings? ¡°If it¡¯s Josephine, though, she¡¯ll seduce you and likely succeed in making you spill everything.¡± Orion snorted. ¡°Youngsters these days.¡±


    Imperial Princess Josephine Queenscage, Castor placed, the Ninety-Eighth Victor. Chosen of Aphrodite and...was it fourth in line to the Golden Throne? But rumors of her beauty resembling the heavens had spread to every corner of the Empire. Gods, there were even poems about her. Castor sighed. The Dockworker was deeply in over his head, and the look on Orion¡¯s face meant the Prince knew.


    ¡°If it¡¯s Arathis, he¡¯ll turn you into his pet and twist your mind so you trust him completely - and then he¡¯ll discard you if he no longer finds you interesting,¡± continued Orion, almost on a roll, ¡°trust me, he¡¯s much smarter than he looks. If it¡¯s Seraphina, though¡­¡± The archer pondered for a second. ¡°She¡¯ll give you a quick death, since she¡¯s still green off the Cage,¡± Orion decided, ¡°if you were of use to her...after she uses you like a Soldier in one of her Crown games, of course, if my impressions are true.¡±


    Castor resisted the urge to gulp.


    Legends were legends, after all.


    There had been dissent, to foreigners winning two of the six Cages that had occurred during the current Emperor¡¯s reign. One Forsaken, of all regions outside of the Empire, from the Union of the Forbidden, Tartarus. Castor hadn¡¯t heard many good things about the half-Republica Cyrus, either, but he had turned out to be alright.


    But, based on Orion¡¯s descriptions, the others didn¡¯t seem very appealing.


    The most recent winner, Seraphina from the ducal Marksman family, seemed like the best shot. Seventeen, young, slightly more naive and less dangerous? Castor dared to hope.


    ¡°Highlander, though¡­¡± Orion¡¯s amber eyes gleamed again, like a hawk. ¡°If you see even a trace of Greta the Great-¡± Orion paused, and his lips quirked as if this moniker were the amusing thing on the continent ¡°-you will die. It¡¯s more a matter of how and when.¡± Matter-of-fact.


    The archer met his eyes - for all that the Castor thought himself mature for his thirty-some years of age, this peer suddenly seemed like a God who had accumulated millenia of wisdom. But then Castor remembered that the Queen¡¯s Cage selected Chosen only above sixteen, with no strict requirements, so the Dockworker supposed, with the right ointments...


    ¡°Right.¡± Castor nodded, trying not to find wrinkles in the Prince¡¯s face. Gods, how did he keep his skin so smooth? ¡°But what was that about Imperial Princess Josephine surrounding me again?¡±


    The former noble tried to be polite, like his parents - adoptive parents, he internally corrected - had taught him, with all the courtesy he could muster,


    ¡°My sister has Guards all over your place,¡± the archer repeated. ¡°I¡¯m surprised you haven¡¯t noticed. They¡¯ll probably report back to her if you even piss a brighter yellow than usual - and then she¡¯ll use that as some kind of alluring fantasy.¡± A coarse comparison, but Castor had the feeling it was true.


    Well, that was fucking scary.


    Castor, formerly of Notus, tried not to gulp again, and gave a shaky smile.


    ¡°Right.¡±


    <hr>


    And so Before, there was a ruler and a subject.


    One day, the Ruler stood out on their balcony, and looked out on their city, their nation of glory, and decided to descend upon their people to observe, and watch.


    ¡°In glory and in ruin,¡± they decided, ¡°I will accept all the same. For they are my people, and so the Gods have ordained.¡±


    A cloak they donned and a mask they wore, and so the Ruler slipped into the ranks of their people, in disguise. Light were their steps and steady were their smiles, and they stopped at a Fisher¡¯s booth, and asked, ¡°O kind Fisher, what do you speak of the Ruler?¡±


    The Fisher looked at their gloves, golden-embroidered, and of suspicion he replied, ¡°The Ruler is glorious, and brings light to our kingdom.¡±


    The Ruler, heart light with praise, nodded to the Fisher and continued to the Tradeplace, where they encountered a wealthy Merchant. And so the Ruler asked again, ¡°O kind Merchant, what do you speak of our Ruler?¡±


    The Merchant looked at them, and of suspicion she replied - for the Ruler had not disguised their golden boots - ¡°The Ruler is wise, and provides knowledge to our kingdom.¡±


    The Ruler, head light with praise, nodded to the Merchant and continued to the Slums. There they saw horror inflicted upon their Subjects, but still they observed, and so melancholic singled out a single Subject with eyes of dark.


    ¡°O kind Subject, what do you speak of our Ruler?¡±


    The Subject smiled and answered, ¡°The Ruler is blind to the sins of their Subjects, but those of power usually are, for they are the bringers of Justice.¡±


    The Ruler was surprised, and asked, ¡°Why so?¡±


    Ignoring the question, the Subject continued, ¡°The Ruler is also deaf, to the cries of their Subjects, but those in power usually are, for they cannot hear all.¡±


    The Ruler, struck, asked again, ¡°Why so?¡±


    Ignoring the question, the Subject continued yet again, ¡°And last of all, the Ruler is mute, for those in power usually are, but they are the soldiers of Gods.¡± And so his dark eyes peered into the Ruler¡¯s own, ¡°And so, Fair Ruler, I grace you with the most holy light of all - the truth. And lo may you bear it, for our nation - whether in glory or in ruin.¡±(...)


    <hr>


    And so I watched my Tutor as she finished the fairy tale¡¯s fragment.


    I studied Medeia, and I cursed internally that the only Hint my Ability gave me was that she was having a bad morning. She was always having a bad morning.


    ¡°Thoughts,¡± the Tutor ordered.


    ¡°Lessons, or thoughts?¡± Laced with snark, I regretted it as Medeia¡¯s eyes gleamed and the dagger in her hand plunged into my shoulder. I didn¡¯t hiss - the pain I had gotten used to, even before the Cage - but I glanced at the embedded blade.


    It wasn¡¯t too deep or shallow, and Medeia missed the vital arteries on purpose, but the blood was irritating. Stains were irritating.


    I couldn¡¯t reach for it, since my hands were bound, but I pretended to think.


    ¡°The Ruler was stupid,¡± I pointed out, ¡°for not disguising their boots or gloves. If they really wanted an honest response, they would¡¯ve pressed further - they¡¯re sheltered, too, for not knowing that not a single Merchant¡¯s a patriot.¡± I smiled, but still the Tutor remained unfazed, her gaze undaunting.


    ¡°The Ruler¡¯s first mistake was stepping out of their palace at all,¡± I said.


    ¡°Do you say this because you know the story¡¯s end?¡± Medeia pressed.


    ¡°I say this because to not know the sentiment of your own citizens means that there are snakes whispering them in your ear instead.¡± I shrugged, which was difficult to do with my hands tied. ¡°Unless you snap them by the spine, they¡¯ll always be there. No - the Ruler¡¯s first mistake was not getting rid of the people polluting their palace.¡±


    I met Medeia¡¯s now-satisfied smile. ¡°And that¡¯s why they¡¯re dead.¡±


    <hr>


    Accompanied by my lady-in-waitings and an entourage of Guards, I massaged my wrists and glanced at my now-bandaged shoulder. Yesterday¡¯s tea party was a mistake. And I didn¡¯t like mistakes. Mercy¡¯s Scouts had reported the following morning after a small operation - there had been a Dockworker, a shipment that went awry, and it was likely I myself would have to confront the Piermanager in charge.


    I stopped to greet a noble passerby just as my eyes flickered. My Ability hummed - gunpowder flecks on her wrists, twitching eye, heading towards Cyrus¡¯ Residence - ¡°Ah, Lady Roxane.¡± I smiled.


    Something about it evidently made her wary, as Cyrus¡¯ minion halted and bowed higher than what was considered polite. You¡¯d think she¡¯d gotten used to me the three months I¡¯d been here, but no, Lady Roxane Evlogia had never been the warm type. She disliked me. I couldn''t say I was surprised.


    ¡°Ah, Princess Seraphina.¡± She blinked.


    One lady-in-waiting corrected her, ¡°Imperial Princess Seraphina.¡±


    Gods, I knew they weren¡¯t useless after all. I made a mental note to interact with them more.


    Roxane ignored her, as was custom when you considered someone a lesser.


    ¡°How is Cyrus?¡± I asked evenly, ¡°I¡¯ve heard he¡¯s been up to quite something in the Docks. Especially after that unfortunate incident with the shipment and that Dockworker, it¡¯s best he focus on...emotionally recuperating.¡±


    The red-haired duchess¡¯ daughter was cautious. ¡°Right, that unfortunate incident.¡± She tested the word out, looking in my eyes to see what I knew.


    Fun.


    I only continued smiling tranquilly, adding, ¡°Please, tell my brother that my door is always open. And as is the invitation.¡± There had been no such invitation, and Roxane and Cyrus knew that, but I continued.


    "Siblings shouldn¡¯t fight. At the end of the day, we all love each other." I sighed. "I only hope that Older Brother keeps that in mind."


    I was lying through my teeth there, and Roxane fighting to keep the incredulity out of her gaze meant she knew. ¡°As new as I am to the family, I also hope he and Oldest Brother make up soon.¡±


    My lips almost twitched - if my lie were any more bald-faced, I could prance around and do away with my hair too, I thought.


    Lady Roxane nodded. ¡°I¡¯ll be sure to convey your...concerns to Lord Cyrus.¡±


    Concerns. I almost snorted.


    I had much more things in store for Lady Roxane than just conveying concerns.


    After she passed me by, I whispered to one of my smarter ladies-in-waiting, ¡°Lady Roxane might run into a spot of trouble...It would really be a pity if her reputation in the social circles was blemished.¡±


    The lady-in-waiting nodded - Alyssa, a count¡¯s daughter, I remembered - and I used my Ability on her. As no Hints of any malevolence appeared, aside from the usual noble greed, I sent her off on her way.


    ¡°Tell Lady Mercy to meet me at the dress-shop,¡± I said. ¡°Reconvene with Celeste after the orphanage visit.¡± I had gotten Mercy adopted by a baron, with some of the money my father gave me not to associate myself with the Marksman name.


    Smuggling Mercy into the palace had been no small feat, especially recruiting Scouts as well as establishing a front business that hid the Seraphs, but it had been accomplished.


    The lady-in-waiting who I had referred to rushed off, and I was left with two.


    It had taken a couple of weeks and more than a couple stumbles, but the Seraph - Mercy insisted that it sounded alright, but it was quite obvious that I was behind it what with the shared name - was now rooted in the capital.


    I had one of my Seraphs, the ever-so-dependable Macedon, on the task; he managed to con his way to - I mean, secure a meeting with Nero, one of the supervising personnel of the shipment that had gone awry.


    There were three possibilities for why Cyrus had chosen a more low-key dock: one - it was illegal, and smaller Piers were easier to deceive with the right papers; two - it was bait, for a fish much bigger than just Orion; and three¡­


    Well, let¡¯s just hope it wasn¡¯t three, because that meant that Cyrus was more than just a powerful lightning freak.


    But, of course, it likely was three.


    ¡°Alia, run through my schedule,¡± I said briskly, ¡°and Celeste, go to the Physician again for some more healing balm.¡± The golden-haired latter scurried away, while the dark-haired former rattled off events.


    ¡°Today¡¯s Daystart¡¯s composed of Your Highness¡¯ Imperial Politics lessons-¡±


    ¡°-Which I¡¯ve just finished,¡± I said airily.


    ¡°-And accompanied by that would be your Dayhept visit to the orphanage-¡±


    After throwing off my guards, it would be just an interrogation session.


    ¡°-And after that would be a visit to the boutique for the envoy¡¯s visit-¡±


    Click.


    ¡°What did you just say?¡± I interrupted.


    Alia blinked, surprised. ¡°A...visit to the boutique for the envoy¡¯s visit next week?¡±


    Republica envoy. Cyrus¡¯ half-Republica, hates his noble family to the point of no return. Dockworkers. He¡¯s trying to mess it up, I considered. But what¡¯s inside the crates? What discovery would hurt the Republic¡¯s relationship with the Empire?


    My Ability whispered, Enemy.


    And so I hurried to the Docks.


    Gods, Cyrus, what are you doing with the Union? I whispered.


    Revenge, whispered my Ability, as an answer to my question.


    All is consumed in the pursuit of revenge.


    <hr>

 3. Crown III

    <hr>


    An eye for an eye, demands the man born blind.


    - FORSAKEN PROVERB


    <hr>


    "LAZARUS," I SAID TO MY PERSONAL GUARD as the carriage rattled. ¡°Repeat.¡±


    The stoic Guard - who, coincidentally, moonlighted as one of my Seraph lieutenants, cleared his throat.


    ¡°Narkisa will put on the veil and pretend to be you while staying with the kids and the others,¡± he said, gesturing to the woman beside me, ¡°while we¡¯ll go to the Docks.¡±


    ¡°Good.¡± I didn¡¯t allow myself to relax. There were only four active Seraphs so far - my infiltrator, Narkisa; my Guard, Lazarus; my confidenceman and runner of my legitimate business, Macedon; and my blade, assassin, and Scout-leader, Mercy.


    It had taken weeks to establish a good rapport and system that worked from the recruits I had personally weeded out, but it had been established all the same and there were loyal subordinates. Of course, it helped that they were paid very well.


    ¡°Narkisa, are you confident?¡± I turned to the dark-haired beauty.


    A nod.


    As the Carriage stopped to a halt, and the Guards said, ¡°My lady, we have arrived,¡± I smiled.


    Dark eyes, an infiltrator, eyes darting for entrances and exits, a thief. Hidden personas. ¡°Through glory and ruin, Narkisa.¡±


    An Oath, old-fashioned yet strong.


    Hesitation, reluctance. Possible shifting loyalties. A decision made.


    The infiltrator put on the veil and shrouded my Ability.


    ¡°Through glory and ruin, Your Highness.¡±


    And so the woman left the carriage, and I was left with Lazarus.


    One of the Guards called good-naturedly, ¡°Lazarus, are you leaving with the beauty?¡± Obviously, Narkisa was out of ear-shot and he was referring to the actual Narkisa.


    ¡°Her Highness told me to drop off Sir Narkisa at Sir Macedon¡¯s,¡± replied Lazarus as his gaze shifted back to me. I had secured honorary knighthoods for the duo, although it had cost them quite a chip off their salaries.


    I nodded, approving the excuse. Lazarus was undoubtedly going to ask if I would make him swear an Oath as well.


    ¡°You know me well, Lazarus,¡± I said.


    ¡°I¡¯ve known Your Highness since the Marksman Duchy, Your Highness.¡±


    Known, but Lazarus had been just one of the talented Guards that had tossed a sympathetic smile or two my way. I had only poached him because he was easy to rein in, had an alarming amount of connections, and was satisfied with the pay.


    I peered at him. ¡°Do you want a salary increase, too?¡± I asked, causing Lazarus¡¯ expressions to flicker as I let an amused smile spread across my face. ¡°Don¡¯t worry,¡± I said, as the carriage started up again, ¡°I won¡¯t force you to swear an Oath if you are unwilling.¡±


    Breaking Oaths had consequences, although it depended on the severity of the Oath - through glory and ruin was a significant one, it wasn¡¯t enough to invoke the wrath of the Gods if broken. Maybe some bad luck with future paths since it was a Fealty Oath, but...


    I was obviously suggesting to Lazarus, however, that it would be better for his standing with me if he swore one. With the upcoming storm - if my Ability was right, and it was never wrong - to weather, having the loyalty of the people I had under my command would be beneficial.


    And so the Guard bent his knee - Gods, I froze my features and didn¡¯t let surprise seep in - and looked up.


    He thinks being by our side will be beneficial, whispered my Ability.


    ¡°I swear Fealty by the Gods, to Imperial Princess Seraphina Marksman Queenscage, to be by her side as her subordinate through glory and ruin, till death do us part.¡±


    We¡¯ve only been partnered for three months. There¡¯s an ulterior motive, I insisted back.


    The Oath was familiar, and rather than Lazarus¡¯ face I saw his face, his lips mouthing the words.


    I swear by the Gods, to Lady Seraphina Marksman, to be by her side as her partner through glory and ruin, until death do us part. He had smiled. Isn¡¯t it quite contrary, swearing an Oath inside a Cage?


    I had smiled. You may rise, I had added, jokingly.


    ¡°You may rise,¡± I echoed, meeting the Guard¡¯s eyes.


    It is contrary, I had smiled. But then again¡­


    I could practically see his electric-blue eyes, finishing my sentence.


    The Queen¡¯s Cage is nothing if not contrary, isn¡¯t it...Sera?


    ¡°Your Highness?¡± Lazarus blinked, confused, as his voice broke me out of my reverie.


    He¡¯s hiding something.


    ¡°Thank you, Sir Lazarus,¡± I said, calmly. ¡°I accept your Oath of Fealty. May you be by my side, through glory and ruin.¡±


    Get out of my head, Caspian Nameless.


    You¡¯re dead for a reason.


    You were the reason, my Ability said back.


    Shut up.


    <hr>


    It had been established: Cyrus was dealing with the Forsaken, those who occupied the Union of the Forbidden, in order to destroy the relationship between the Republic and the Empire.


    At least, that was the most likely scenario. My Ability didn¡¯t reinforce my conclusion, but merely hummed in agreement. There was more, I realized, and I was utterly inexperienced.


    Three months of getting used to any political climate would be enough for some, I supposed, but the utter lack of political power I had accumulated was getting in my way.


    I had wanted to stay out of the others¡¯ way, as was Wise, and wait for them to murder each other.


    But I hadn¡¯t considered their own individual motives. That was why I had been blindsided - I hadn¡¯t considered their own backgrounds, or probed enough in their activities enough to be familiar with them to make a decision.


    I hadn¡¯t been acting like the Sixth Imperial Princess of the Empire, but rather had followed what was Wise for my survival, and both were an either-or.


    Yes, they were an either-or, my Ability agreed.


    But the sweaty Piermanager in front of me wasn¡¯t budging.


    ¡°I¡¯m sure you¡¯re aware, My Lady-¡± I wasn¡¯t stupid enough to expose my identity just yet, but I was sure he knew that I was a noble, which only confirmed everything further.


    ¡°I¡¯m sure you¡¯re aware, Face Nero,¡± I interrupted, putting emphasis on the commoner courtesy, ¡°that you are in no position to negotiate with me. I do not care what Cyrus has promised you, and I do not care what Orion has said to you. What I do care about, however, is that if you continue to be difficult, I will slit you and your loved ones¡¯ throats in your sleep."


    I kept my tone casual.


    Nero Vas, the Piermanager, shifted on his knees. ¡°My Lady-¡±


    Shifty eyes. Close to the breaking point. Self-preservationist. Doesn¡¯t care about loved ones.


    ¡°I could turn you in for high treason, you know,¡± I continued, nonchalantly, ¡°for dealing with the Union. It¡¯s against the law. And let me tell you - the Guard will not be as lenient as I am.¡±


    Break.


    ¡°My Lady!¡± Nero suddenly sobbed, as if a switch had been flipped. ¡°It was against my will!¡± Then, desperate, he reached for my skirts. I avoided his lunge with a slight step to the left, leaving him on the floor. ¡°If I sell them out, Prince Cyrus-¡±


    ¡°He will not approach me,¡± I said. ¡°He knew you would squeal, which means that its a part of his plan.¡± Console, my Ability whispered, he will be useful. ¡°You will be alright. For now. But if you disobey me-¡±


    ¡°Yes, My Lady!¡± Nero cried, ¡°I¡¯ll do anything for you! Please don¡¯t kill me!¡±


    I motioned to Lazarus to secure the files - the Guard was confused, but no protest had escaped his lips. I knew somewhat what he was thinking - the Guard could¡¯ve easily just tackled Nero to the floor, and the Scouts could¡¯ve just raided the place without the Seraph interfering. But no, this matter would have to be seen in person.


    ¡°What was in the crates?¡± I interrogated Nero calmly.


    ¡°F-F-Forsaken weapons! Made from Stygian metal!¡±


    Ah.


    Weapons.


    ¡°Do you have any left, or did Cyrus take away the crates?¡±


    ¡°The Prince took them all way, and the shipper-¡±


    ¡°The shipper was likely one of Cyrus¡¯ front businesses,¡± I mused. ¡°And the manufacturer¡¯s in the Union, but-¡±


    Nero¡¯s eyes gleamed. ¡°There was a problem! With the shipping documents!¡± Aha. ¡°I made them file it right, and you wouldn¡¯t see the mistake without me, but-"


    An attempt to make himself seem useful.


    My Ability flared, and suddenly I could see the Crownboard in front of me again. An offered Soldier, a lure. This was too easy. A trap, bait. I took it all the same, even though my Ability insisted that it wasn¡¯t Wise. Nero was obviously manipulated to say this. Paladin to Triple Squareright? A single Troop Squareforward, retaliation, Mirrored?


    An Opening move.


    And you never wanted to play Crown with me, Cyrus, I muttered. It was obviously his handiwork. For shame. A smile flitted to my lips.


    ¡°An Actor, squareforward,¡± I decided, my voice full of dancing mirth. ¡°Lazarus, send Narkisa to infiltrate Cyrus¡¯ ranks. Make sure she¡¯s properly covered, spare little expense.¡±


    The Guard nodded.


    My Opening move. If it failed, then well - I would be rid of one more rotten apple.


    ¡°Tell me about any Dockworkers who¡¯ve been in any strange contact with the Princes,¡± I ordered. After compiling a list, I smiled again.


    And so I reached under my dress, pulled out a sharp knife, and slit the Piermanager¡¯s throat. He went down. Dousing the body with the kerosene we kept around, Lazarus set the body on fire.


    A message.


    What fun.


    <hr>


    Did you know this text is from a different site? Read the official version to support the creator.


    Duke Matthias Marksman hated Legacies. More specifically, he hated things he left behind, because when you looked at the result of the Duke Marksman¡¯s long and lengthy actions, anyone would agree that his hate was justified.


    Legacies ran in noble blood - when members of society grew old and grey, they needed to leave things behind. And that was where ¡®Legacies¡¯ came in. They were adequately named, Matthias of the Second Isle supposed, and most younger generations knew the name but had little concern for the matter.


    Then Heir Designate, Glory Prince Rocco Queenscage III had invaded a small kingdom of the Republic to help his father¡¯s Legacy. But, in the end, Matthias remembered, Rocco had been told on the Emperor¡¯s deathbed, that the Emperor¡¯s true Legacy had been Rocco; and that the command to start an invasion - the start of the Skirmish - between two of the continent¡¯s largest powers had just been to solidify Rocco¡¯s name.


    Matthias had also remembered that, out of a need for getting back at his Imperial Father, Rocco had killed himself shortly after, destroying that Emperor''s legacy tragically.


    To the point where people compared Matthias¡¯ Legacy efforts to the Emperor¡¯s, it was agreed upon in high society that the Duke of Marksman was likely going to die Legacy-less. The equivalent of dying without an ancestral portrait, which was just-


    ¡°Matthias?¡± the beautiful lady peered. ¡°Are you thinking about your Legacies again?¡±


    Matthias blinked. ¡°No,¡± he lied to his wife.


    ¡°Also, I heard that you tried to pay Seraphina off to not associate herself with our name again.¡±


    Matthias avoided the Duchess¡¯ searing gaze. ¡°I didn¡¯t,¡± the Duke lied again. A long pause. ¡°She accepted the drachmas, but she didn¡¯t say there wouldn¡¯t be any future payments necessary,¡± Matthias admitted.


    ¡°Matthias!¡± the Duchess cried, scandalized. ¡°If you continue believing her, all the Duchy¡¯s coffers will be empty before Yearend, mark my words! Did you, at least, make her sign a contract? Or maybe even swear an Oath?¡±


    Silence.


    ¡°I married a man,¡± Theadora Williams said, aghast, ¡°who got scammed by his own daughter?¡±


    Matthias stiffened. ¡°She¡¯s not our daughter!¡±


    ¡°Oh, shut up, Matthias! We may disown her all we like, and she was never loved in this household, but she¡¯s an Imperial royal now! If she gets favored by the Emperor - if she even manages to kill all the other royals and gets named Heir Designate - that won¡¯t stop her!¡± Theadora spat back.


    ¡°She isn¡¯t that capable, I tell you!¡± Matthias insisted. ¡°She made it through the Cage because we gave her the duchy¡¯s resources-¡±


    Theadora interrupted, ¡°We barely gave her tutors! Are you telling me that you¡¯re taking credit for Seraphina slaughtering eleven other Chosen when we all barely helped?¡± A breath. ¡°We didn¡¯t expect her to gain an Ability! We didn¡¯t expect her to even be capable of managing the Duchy! And we most certainly didn¡¯t expect her to become an Imperial Princess-¡±


    Theadora paused, gathering her words.


    ¡°They said,¡± the Duchess said, her hands on her lap and dark hair up in ribbons, ¡°that when she came out of the Cage, she looked like an animal. Not one of those tamable ones, either - a wolf, after battle, that¡¯s what the nobles who were at the Coliseum said.¡± Theadora met the Duke¡¯s eyes. ¡°And she was still hungry for blood.¡±


    Matthias¡¯ lips moved. ¡°We missed an opportunity, Thea,¡± he said, voice tinged with regret and somewhat of fear. ¡°But you don¡¯t have to rub it in my face.¡±


    ¡°You missed an opportunity,¡± Theadora of Eurus corrected. Her golden eyes glinted. ¡°You didn¡¯t want to take the time to tame her, and treated her like a dog when she was a wolf. Now the Duchy is for the worse. That means that I still might have a chance to bring her back to the Isle.¡± The dark-haired duchess met her husband¡¯s eyes.


    The Duke observed her admiringly. ¡°Now this, my Thea, is why I admire you. You make use of every opportunity. Your insights-¡±


    The Duchess snorted. ¡°Your attempts at flattery are noted, my dear Mat, but not taken into consideration. Flattery does not change, nor make up for, the fact that you got scammed.¡±


    Theodora said the last word with a distaste that seemed to emanate from every syllable. ¡°Besides, you know the only reason why I stick around is because you cheated me into swearing a Godsbroken Oath. Scamming does seem to run in the family - just not my branch.¡±


    ¡°I was young back then!¡± Matthias protested. ¡°I didn¡¯t know!¡±


    ¡°But then again, what you said back then was very compelling.¡± The Duchess pondered the quandary of accurate remembrance, her head tilted. ¡°What was it again? ¡®To be a good leader-¡¯¡±


    ¡°¡®They say you have to take credit for your partner¡¯s successes and condemn them for your failures,¡¯¡± Matthius of the Second Isle, the Duke Marksman quoted, ¡°¡®So-¡¯¡±


    ¡°¡®Will you be my partner, Theadora Williams?¡¯¡± Theadora of Eurus, the Duchess Marksman finished, ¡°¡®And let us steal from and condemn each other, through glory and ruin?¡¯ That was the most romantic thing you ever said in the course of our marriage, and that was before we even courted. Of course I accepted.¡±


    ¡°In the course of our marriage?¡±


    <hr>


    The Cagekeeper did not remember their former name. They did not remember their former face, or anything before the Light came. They remembered the Titan, the mangled, almost unsightly yet beautiful source of light. Blinding, revealing light. Then they remembered the bliss, the ecstasy at being delivered a purpose, a sense of self. The Light had cleansed them of all their sins and past, of their mistakes, and had introduced himself.


    I am the Titan of the East, had said the Light. The Observer, the Darkness in the Light, Pillar of Kato. You may address me as Lord Hyperion, and you are now a Keeper of the Queen¡¯s Cage.


    The Light had continued, searing into the Cagekeeper¡¯s skin, into their veins, their being, cleansing their existence and scorching into their brain like an unchained beast of purity.


    The Light knew all, saw all, and would claim those under its rays. It ravaged and plundered, it was unforgivable and did not know mercy, but it cleansed and shone.


    What should your name be? the Light had mused to himself. The being had pulled closer to the Cagekeeper, and had almost smiled, only the expression seemed so monstrously mortal on someone so not.


    You seem so fascinated with my Light, my little one, had said the Light. And so your name shall be Fos. Obey the rules, Watch the Footage, and Keep the Cage. That is your duty, dear Fos.


    Fos watched, until they were snapped out of their reverie as another Cagekeeper shook him. ¡°Keeper Fos?¡± said the other Keeper. ¡°Are you conscious enough to continue to Obey your Duty?¡± she continued, questioning. There was no concern in her eyes, and if there were, Fos themselves would¡¯ve been concerned. Cagekeepers did not have time for concern - they were to Watch, and Record, and Obey.


    ¡°Yes, I am conscious enough, Keeper Afaneia. Have you finished your File?¡±


    ¡°No, Keeper Fos. I will finish it by Dayend.¡±


    ¡°May I inquire about your collected observations, Keeper Afaneia? This may help me perform my Duty further.¡±


    ¡°Of course, Keeper Fos.¡± Afaneia cleared her throat. ¡°Victor Seraphina Marksman-¡±


    ¡°My sincere apologies for interrupting, Keeper Afaneia,¡± said Fos, blandly, ¡°but the Lord has expressed a preference to use their project names instead of their personal ones.¡±


    Afaneia didn¡¯t seem offended. ¡°Thank you for your input and informing me on the Lord¡¯s preferences. It allows me to perform my Duty further.¡±


    ¡°I accept your thanks. Please, continue.¡±


    ¡°The Actor,¡± began Afaneia, ¡°has demonstrated no sense of the concept the Outsiders call ¡®camaraderie¡¯ for any of her Chosen teammates. The only affection she seemed to display is for Chosen Caspian Nameless, who took his own life after both came to the conclusion that there was no way for two Victors to emerge. This seems to have impacted the Actor greatly, as one of her listed weaknesses seems to be cliffs.¡±


    Cagekeeper Fos nodded, sagely, as Afaneia continued.


    ¡°The Actor has also demonstrated a willingness to use others, along with an exhibited tendency to view problems as a game of Queen¡¯s Crown. She also has mentioned aloud, while conversing with other Chosen, how she views her Ability as a separate entity, which may hint at an unstable mental state.¡±


    Fos followed along as Afaneia finished, ¡°All in all, the Actor seems like a turbulent individual-¡± she paused, and tried for a better metaphor. ¡°Like those Outside have an instrument called the revellazo, she is one of those bell-strings stretched too tight,¡± the Cagekeeper concluded, ¡°and-¡±


    Afaneia¡¯s body suddenly lurched, like a marionette on strings, as the Cagekeeper - Fos knew not her hair color, or facial features, as all seemed like a Blur to all of the Keepers - flinched, like she was¡­


    ¡°Recalibrating,¡± Fos whispered as they slumped down in that familiar bow. They could feel the Light¡¯s eyes, in the body of Afaneia¡¯s, and he was looking at Fos. The gaze of the Light. Searing, scorching, tearing apart and purifying. Cleansing.


    ¡°We greet you, to skotadi sto fos,¡± said Fos, drawing the attention of the other Cagekeepers in the Dome, who followed their lead.


    ¡°We greet you, to skotadi sto fos,¡± chanted the other Keepers in unison.


    You must keep an eye on the Actor, said the Light. When she snaps, the Empire will either rise or fall.


    And then the Light disappeared.


    <hr>


    ¡°What do you know,¡± I asked the Dressmaker, ¡°about the Republic?¡±


    ¡°A lot of things, Your Highness,¡± said the Republica Dressmaker briskly. She reached for her measuring string, and stretched it around my waist while taking note of my measurements. ¡°What would you like to know?¡±


    The books said a lot of things, but books were sometimes biased. The Roma Republic and the Empire Eoina - most just called it the Eternal Empire, or just the Empire - had been entering a friendly diplomatic relationship these past few years.


    Of course, most just called it a guise as the Republica probably just wanted to use the Empire¡¯s resources - and Chosen - to conquer the Union and swallow it up in the Republic¡¯s territory; but none of the Republica diplomats had conveyed any sign of that apparently, according to Orion, who I had asked a couple days ago and had been at most of the summits.


    But there had to be something behind the visit.


    ¡°Anything that the books do not,¡± I replied, ¡°and mayhaps the odd cultural tidbit about Heroes - of course, if you have that knowledge at your disposal, Face Cerenia.¡±


    The Roma Republic - or the Republic Roma - was still one of the continent¡¯s three major powers, and occupied quite a large chunk of it. It had a similar culture, along with their own Gods - reportedly, people had noticed much similarity between our own, which had caused a large religious dispute only a year ago - but didn¡¯t have Abilities in the way that we did.


    They had Heroes, instead, given almost supernatural strength and agility by their Gods, but never the ability to control forces of nature or any other non-physical abilities. But, apparently, the Heroes were nothing to scoff at.


    Cerenia shrugged as she continued around the shop. ¡°They are revered, Your Highness,¡± she replied, ¡°but not really as feared or as rare as living Chosen are.¡± Right, they didn¡¯t have the Cage to root out the strongest. ¡°Living Heroes are rare in daily life, but they¡¯re the sense of, my son¡¯s army commander¡¯s a Hero! Rather than, I have seen a Hero! You may take my life! Because in the Republic-¡±


    ¡°Heroes aren¡¯t legends,¡± I summed up. ¡°Good to know. Thank you, Face Cerenia.¡±


    ¡°The honor is mine, Your Highness.¡±


    Cerenia Aurena¡¯s dresses were renowned throughout nobility, and many had been hesitant at first to even look at a commoner¡¯s clothing, much less a foreign commoner, but it was Josephine herself that had taken to the Republica¡¯s workshop and had made her popular.


    Josie was one of the reigning queens of social circles, and she had done her magic - Cerenia¡¯s boutique was now one of the most popular in both the East Quarter and the entire Isle, and rumor had it Cerenia herself was even approaching a knighthood.


    I had told her to talk to me normally, with only the courtesies, and she had agreed - surprisingly easily, considering the fact that I was an Imperial Princess and could easily lop off her head if I wanted to.


    My status warranted Cerenia personally measured me, too, so there was that. She was a good, albeit a tad irritating, source of information, a better source of Republica information.


    Cerenia finished measuring, and she was onto the dress design, letting her assistants fetch a paper and charcoal as she traced a figure similar to mine.


    ¡°What color would you like the dresses, Your Highness?¡± she asked, looking at me.


    She broke etiquette, my Ability said, she considers you an equal. She made eye contact. She is arrogant.


    Yes, she is arrogant, I replied. But that can work in my favor.


    She thought she could rise to the level of an Imperial Princess - twitching of the eyes and fluttering eyelashes demonstrating disdain, tapping of the fingers indicating she has nothing better to do, smudged powder. Seeing a lover. Not planning for my arrival, thinks it a chore.


    It was a blessing and a curse, not being able to turn my Ability off. Elias, another Athena¡¯s Chosen, had coined the term Drawback. All of the Chosen, whether same Olympians or not, had unique Abilities each time with and Elias was one of my more admired Analysts. ¡°Dark purple.¡±


    Cerenia¡¯s eyes blinked. ¡°But that¡¯s a Republica holy color, Your Highness,¡± she said, slowly. ¡°Only the Republica¡¯s Praetor and those of their family can wear that color.¡±


    Well, at least she isn¡¯t actively seeking my downfall.


    ¡°Gold, then. Tulle, gossamer, silk. Not too exposing of a neckline, not too wide of a skirt either. Simple, with some Imperial designs. Maybe an owl and an olive leaf or two. Good enough?¡± I looked at Cerenia¡¯s rough design, found it satisfactory, and nodded towards the directions of my lady-in-waitings.


    Cerenia passed the papers to them, and Alia and Celeste¡¯s shrewd eyes skimmed over the design as all of them nitpicked it.


    I looked at Mercy, who was by my side.


    ¡°Soldier? Actor? Paladin?¡± I asked, casually.


    Mercy shook her head. ¡°Neither. She¡¯s your sister¡¯s piece, and after you¡¯ve disturbed your other siblings¡¯ boards, it might not be the wisest move.¡±


    I wrinkled my nose. ¡°It¡¯s not fun, trying not to offend people.¡±


    Mercy didn¡¯t reply, or rebuke me - in truth, I knew that being careful to places that you were new to wasn¡¯t fun. And Mercy knew that I knew, so why say anything?


    ¡°I¡¯ll go to the East Quarter again,¡± I decided. ¡°Has the fire already been put out?¡±


    ¡°Lazarus¡¯ brother was part of the Brigade that was sent to put it out. It has all been handled, and all the file documents have been sent to Mace for further processing. I sent some of my Scouts, and there seems to be no trace left.¡± Mercy paused, and I was further illuminated on Lazarus'' startlingly many connections. Oh, well, at least he was Oath-sworn to me now.


    ¡°You should evoke no suspicion if you visit the site a few hours later publicly. However, privately may be an issue, since Guards are still lingering at the site, since the fire spread a bit. Visiting the Dockworker should be no problem, though.¡±


    And you got it all done in an hour. Impressive.


    I smiled at the efficiency. I liked efficiency. Efficiency meant that I could burn things down faster. ¡°Narkisa?¡±


    ¡°I''ve requested Macedon to provide a cover, and she¡¯s getting in persona at this very moment. Infiltration will be ready by the week.¡± Mercy peered at me. ¡°Are you trying to get her caught? A test?¡±


    I shrugged. ¡°She took an Oath. I expect her to fulfill it.¡±


    Test of loyalty.


    ¡°Alright.¡± Mercy nodded. She didn¡¯t question me, as she continued, ¡°Who would you like to bring?¡±


    ¡°You. Ask Lazarus to bring the Scouts and partner with Macedon in order to probe out the documents and prepare for the envoy¡¯s arrival. Greta will probably handle it, since she¡¯s used to it, but information is appreciated.¡± I paused. ¡°I will try to ascertain the depth of the reason behind Cyrus¡¯ anti-Republica sentiments. Ask Alyssa to get an apology gift for him after she¡¯s done with the task I gave her.¡±


    ¡°What kind of apology gift?¡±


    ¡°You know, the, sorry I disrupted your Crownboard and pursuit for revenge, I was just really interested in what you were doing, type of gift.¡±


    ¡°Right. I¡¯ll ask my Scouts to take care of it. I¡¯ll get small candies delivered to Lady Roxane¡¯s as well.¡±


    I grinned. ¡°You know me well.¡± I casted a glance at the lady-in-waitings and Cerenia, who seemed to be almost finished, and called, "Leave Face Cerena alone, I¡¯m sure whatever she¡¯ll make will be perfectly aligned with my demands. Celeste, Alia, get ready to head to the Docks."


    Cerenia¡¯s eyes were on me.


    Misdirection using truth.


    ¡°May I ask, Your Highness, why we are heading to the Docks?¡± Mercy asked, on cue and in persona. She¡¯d hit the play straight on the mark.


    ¡°To threaten my brother¡¯s lover, of course.¡± I smiled brightly. ¡°Now, let us be off.¡±


    <hr>

 4. Interlude: Cage

    <hr>


    Only speak of the devil to be ready to murder them when they appear.


    - VISAVAN PROVERB, ORIGIN UNKNOWN


    <hr>


    The Cage door closes, the slam¡¯s echo lingers with the sound of finality. The filaments making up the gargantuan lid of the Cage are wide and the gaps between them reinforced with magic shields, and I realize that on a better day I would¡¯ve stopped to observe the magic machinery behind it.


    The Third Isle is a piece of land the size of the Infinite City, but dense with lush jungle and the faint roars of monsters. Monsters. Living monsters. The tropical smell of humidity taints the air, the feeling warm, lingering, and oppressive, as the twelve people on the flat platform all look at each other in careful consideration.


    The Duke Marksman used to bring back live prey from his hunting games. One time, it was a pair of wildcats. In the cage, they circled each other with suspicion, just like us.


    Only, the two tore each other apart before long.


    One of them, a red haired girl, speaks first, ¡°Let¡¯s not kill each other just yet. A bloodbath would be counterproductive. Introductions?¡± She seems open enough, her face candid and honest. She seems confident, too. A natural leader.


    Appearances are deceiving, I remind myself. My Ability tells me that she¡¯s much less keen than she leads on. Her tone remains steady, but hides much.


    ¡°Truce? Not a chance,¡± snorts an older boy. His face is pinched and resembles a shrew, but his eyes glitter. ¡°We¡¯re all here to kill each other, plain and simple.¡±


    I watch as a beautiful, dark-haired girl darts into the bushes, ignoring the exchange, and she is followed by four more Chosen as they slip into the underbrush. I curse internally that they hadn¡¯t shown their Abilities before leaving - I missed out on a chance.


    Eight remain, and we are all paranoid. All of our eyes flicker to each other in suspicion, and our hands are tightly clenched over our weapons. I, too, have a strong grip on my dagger, my other hand resting on the hilt of a hidden gun.


    ¡°I¡¯m Vivianna Bloodthorn, Chosen of Hera,¡± the girl offers.


    A dark-skinned older girl balls her free hands into a fist - the other holds a spear - but follows with a tight smile. ¡°Maia Kareen, Chosen of Ares.¡±


    Kareen. A name of a merchant family, but the older girl¡¯s calluses hint at much more.


    The others are hesitant, but an innocent-looking young boy with porcelain skin speaks up. ¡°Jonas, Chosen of Hephaestus.¡± He doesn¡¯t offer his last name.


    Smart.


    Suspicious.


    The older boy spits on the platform, but doesn¡¯t attack anyone as he leaves. Seven left. A pity, really - he should¡¯ve learned their names and Abilities before. I only stick around to gather information, and I recognize a couple others who do the same.


    My Ability is somewhat foreign, but I¡¯ve experimented and I recognize that the red-haired girl isn¡¯t confident at all, the Chosen of Ares is hesitant to fight, and the young Jonas is much smarter than he looks.


    ¡°Iason Angelo, Chosen of Apollo,¡± another says, this one an archer.


    ¡°Halkyone, Chosen of Artemis,¡± a slender girl adds - also an archer.


    I open my lips at last. There was a one in five chance, or around that specific number, that my ploy would work. ¡°Seraphina Marksman, Chosen of Poseidon.¡± Halkyone seems to recognize the name, and I recognize the slender girl¡¯s features to be of the Second Isle.


    My Ability offers more, that Halkyone has bad ties with the duchy. Oh, well. Jonas seems to place the surname, as well. One in five. Would I regret this decision?


    Maybe but it was a fun choice.


    ¡°Caspian Nameless, Chosen of Athena,¡± the last one, a boy with sparkling eyes, says. He meets my eyes with a smile, just long enough so it isn''t suspicious, and I feel amusement bloom. He played along, I say to myself, like I would do. He¡¯s dangerous. And similar to me.


    And so my Ability returns the question, ¡®so what would you do if you were him?¡¯


    I¡¯m half-expecting it as Caspian¡¯s eyelashes flutter, and barely a second after his introduction, I watch as he puts his hands on Jonas and flips him over in a brutal takedown.


    The sickly boy falls to the ground with a sickening crack of bone, and Caspian aims his knife at the boy¡¯s pale throat. I see Maia¡¯s hold on her spear tighten, but she¡¯s confused, hesitant. Slow. She has quick reflexes, but doesn¡¯t seem to have as large of a protest to the killing as Iason and Vivianna, who immediately lunge at him.


    Oh, well. I rush to help my partner-in-crime, even though my Ability blares in my ears not to, it isn¡¯t Wise.


    Brandishing my dagger, I tackle Iason to the ground before he gets a chance to reach for the arrows on his back. I use him as a human shield in case a long-ranger throws a projectile at me, but both Maia and Halkyone don¡¯t seem to be particularly obliged to come to Jonas¡¯ rescue.


    I can¡¯t handle two at the same time, and I see Vivianna at the corner of my eye summon a - is that a Godsbroken peacock? - creature to her rescue, and they shimmer with power, which means that they¡¯re a part of her Ability.


    The peacocks are surprisingly fierce, with their myriad of pretty green-and-blue feathers brimming with power, and they attack Caspian before the fatal injury is made on Jonas.


    Iason struggles in my grip, but his mouth is open and he says, ¡°Heal.¡± I can feel the Ability flow towards the direction of Jonas, and I curse as I scowl at my hostage. He''s the stubborn, righteous type that I can''t turn, my Ability says.


    ¡°Does your ability rely on your vocal cords?¡± I ask him, coldly. It¡¯s one of the options, since Apollo is a patron of music.


    He stiffens, and I don¡¯t need Hints to tell me that I¡¯m right.


    ¡°Knife it is, then,¡± I decide, and aim my blade in the other hand towards his vocal cords, and I feel blood splatter out as the knife sinks its way past skin. I aim at the direction of the voice-box, the place marked in the anatomy drawings I¡¯ve studied, and slice it with practiced precision.


    The practice did pay off, I think to myself. The dagger encounters sinewy obstacles, but I¡¯m lucky it¡¯s sharp. I feel Iason gurgle, crimson bubbling up from his neck, as I let him go.


    Maia and Halkyone¡¯s gazes turn to me. I can feel Iason¡¯s neck bleeding out, then move to his arrows and snap them in half just in case. They gape.


    ¡°You¡­¡± Maia¡¯s voice is barely a whisper. ¡°You did that?¡±


    I ignore them, as I approach Caspian, who seems to be neck-deep in trouble. The peacocks interfere with his sight, as Vivianna ruthlessly swings at him with dual blades. Jonas is using his Ability, a strange one - summoning metal golems the size of small trees from left and right, the sickly Chosen¡¯s hand occasionally going to his bleeding throat.


    The wound runs deep, but isn¡¯t fatal. Unfortunate. I dodge a golem - it¡¯s made of complicated machinery and metal, cogs and bits of pieces worthy of a Chosen of the Forge, and I think to myself that I would''ve liked to study it, in better hours - and I see its eyes glow.


    Tumbling out of its line of sight, flames are shot at the place I was a second before. Fire breath? Caspian seems to be struggling, but why isn¡¯t he using his Ability? I dispatch a peacock, the green-feathered animal falling to the ground, as I move closer.


    ¡°Why did you do that?¡± Vivianna is demanding, as she continues lunging. Caspian is dodging, but he can¡¯t keep it up as more golems appear.


    ¡°He¡¯s dangerous,¡± says the boy, shrugging. His eyes flicker to me, and then flicker to Vivianna in a manner that means that we¡¯re splitting the enemies up. But then I narrowly dodge an arrow, which means that Halkyone¡¯s finally decided where she stands.


    Retreat, I mouth to Caspian, and the dark-haired boy nods slightly in agreement. We¡¯re outnumbered, outmatched, but we¡¯ve taken a player out of the game.


    I still don¡¯t know when exactly we decided to team up, but then Caspian moves in the direction that the others didn¡¯t head, the way with the most monster growls, but I don¡¯t challenge him.


    My Ability¡¯s still screaming for me, screaming that it¡¯s a bad decision, don¡¯t follow him, it¡¯s isn¡¯t Wise, but I ignore it and so we disappear into the jungle.


    ~


    ¡°So," Caspian says. We ran for a while, through the jungle, until we both there formed an unspoken agreement that we were far enough.


    I look at Caspian. ¡°So,¡± I reply in return, raising an eyebrow.


    ¡°I think the most important agenda would be our short term survival,¡± says the boy, ¡°then we can discuss why we switched Gods and what we plan to do with the premise going forward.¡±


    He says this with a playful smile, and I observe his nose is crooked. It isn¡¯t a childhood injury. Based on what I know of him, he wouldn¡¯t let other people hit him. Sensitive past, whispers my Ability. He-


    I cut it off, shove it into a corner of my head.


    ¡°Right,¡± I respond, with as friendly of a lip twitch I can muster. ¡°Food, shelter, water. Water¡¯s probably most important first. Since you¡¯re a Chosen of Poseidon, I¡¯m hoping you have a water-detecting Ability. If not, then we¡¯re fucked.¡±


    Caspian doesn¡¯t seem to be fazed at my coarseness. Someone who grew up used to coarse language.


    ¡°Yeah, my Ability¡¯s related to water. I do hope you understand that I¡¯m not going to share any details, but I think I detect a small stream nearby. We¡¯re in the direction of the monsters, but as long as we don¡¯t hear any sounds we should be fine...I think.¡±This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.


    ¡°Lead the way,¡± I say. ¡°Caspian, right?¡±


    ¡°Yeah. You can call me Cas.¡± My Ability¡¯s back - it never goes away for long. He¡¯s trying to build trust. Trying to get you to trust him. Emotion.


    ¡°Right. Call me Sera. After we find water, the next best step would be building a shelter, finding firewood for fire, and then finding a source of food to eat. Good enough plan so far?¡±


    I follow Cas, my Ability reading him for any sign that he might be leading me into a trap. He isn¡¯t dumb, I know that for sure. Adaptable. Powerful. But I would be a fool to trust him easily.


    ¡°Good enough,¡± he agrees, his back still facing towards me. I still have my knife - I could easily backstab him. But I don¡¯t know his Ability, he seems to be a good fighter, and he seems useful so far.


    A long silence, as we trudge on.


    ¡°Wanna form a partnership?¡± I ask, as I observe the terrain. Dark, leafy greens but I don¡¯t see any threatening wildlife so far. There¡¯s not even any bugs or snakes, a surprising observation. Based on what I¡¯ve read - or at least according to the Explorers fool enough to visit the Union¡¯s rainforests under the name of ¡®research¡¯ - rainforests are home to a variety of animals.


    The monsters probably ate them all, I reason, and after all, the Third Isle¡¯s a magic spooky island. I¡¯ve also delved deep into studies about said magic, and there¡¯ve been a few interesting conclusions people¡¯ve made that give way to a lot of options.


    But the serene emeralds of the island unnerve me.


    ¡°Depends-¡±


    At least, until the roar of a monster breaks through the peace.


    It startles me, but not in the way that I flinch. I blink.


    ¡°Hey, Cas,¡± I say, calmly, ¡°is the stream closer to the monsters, or further away from them?¡±


    ~


    The stream turns out to be less than a stream. More of a clear, very tiny line of water. But at least it¡¯s drinkable, I think, as Cas arrives back at our designated campsite.


    We call it a campsite, but it¡¯s a sorry excuse for one, I suppose. I¡¯ve read survival tomes, and I manage to construct them based on the words that echo in my head and the ink sketches that flare in my memory.


    It¡¯s triangular, and barely big enough for two people, but it¡¯s well-hidden in the underbrush and it keeps the rain out. The wood is kept together through smaller ties that I make with - you guessed it - smaller wood. And leaves.


    I observe a lack of description in my thoughts.


    Cas arrives with firewood.


    ¡°Do you know how to light a fire?¡± I ask him.


    He nods. ¡°I¡¯ll do it.¡±


    A silence, as he grips two branches and rubs them together. Maybe it¡¯s his Ability, but the absurd idea somehow works. Flames crackle to life on the campfire we¡¯ve made. Moisture?


    ¡°As I was saying before,¡± I say, ¡°would you be willing to enter a partnership with me?¡±


    ¡°Before I was interrupted, I was going to say it depends on the terms.¡± Cas sits, cross-legged, on the moist floor next to me.


    ¡°Keep each other from dying while continuing with the Ability-swap schtick?¡± I propose.


    ¡°About that,¡± says the boy. I look at him. Fairly good-looking, with that wild look in his eyes that promises that there¡¯s more to it than his playful exterior.


    I shut out my Ability¡¯s whispers, and try to gain an impression without it. Something unique, to distinguish him in case we¡¯re put in a scenario where we have to tell each other apart in this vast island.


    He¡¯s the best option, for a partner.


    I acted on impulse, back then - Vivianna¡¯s powerful, and she obviously has an insecurity that would¡¯ve made her easier to use. But now she¡¯s against me.


    Halkyone¡¯s way too indecisive, and that rules her out. Iason I crippled, but even before then his righteousness would¡¯ve struck him out of the list immediately.


    Maia¡¯s the next probable candidate, but my Ability practically screams that she¡¯s turbulent, which means that turning her would take time, and effort.


    The others that disappeared into the bush? I barely know any of them, which means that finding out more about them would take time, and effort.


    Time I don¡¯t have.


    My Ability says that I¡¯m lazy, that I can¡¯t afford to be.


    Perhaps I am relying too much on my personal feelings, but I like him well enough.


    Cas is unpredictable, but he¡¯s competent and flexible. My Ability says that it would be better to find someone compatible with my combat methods - a vague term, for my self-taught stabbing - and go on from there. Long-rangers-


    ¡°If we¡¯re going to switch Abilities,¡± Cas says, ¡°we have to know each other¡¯s. And I¡¯m not sure I trust you that much just yet.¡± The grin still stays on his face, and I stamp out the test fire.


    ¡°Right. Didn¡¯t think so, you¡¯re not that stupid,¡± I agree. ¡°But if we¡¯re going to be partners, we have to set boundaries. The act can follow later, if you¡¯re willing.¡± He¡¯s obviously not, My Ability says.


    ¡°Okay.¡± Cas looks back at me. ¡°Don¡¯t mention my parents, but sister¡¯s okay. I come from the East Quarter, but my family used to be rich before I was born. I can steal things, hide things, and I¡¯m mostly good at taking people by surprise. I have nightmares, sometimes. I don¡¯t care about winning, or becoming the Victor, which means that I¡¯m not very hung up on dying.¡±


    I absorb the information. ¡°Right.¡± I pause. ¡°I have family, but they¡¯re not really family, so it¡¯s not a touchy subject. I know things, since I¡¯ve read a lot of books. I can make predictions, make some vague impression of strategies. I¡¯m alright with becoming the Victor, but right now I just want to survive.¡± I look at him. ¡°Do you want to survive?¡±


    He obviously knows that I¡¯m trying to find common ground.


    ¡°Not particularly,¡± he replies. ¡°My liege told me to come here, so I did.¡± His tone suggests there¡¯s more to it - ¡®My liege¡¯ doesn¡¯t vibrate with the capitalized courtesy. ¡°Just running on impulse at the moment.¡±


    ¡°As long as you don¡¯t have an impulse to kill me in my sleep, I think we¡¯re all good. Truce?¡± I offer.


    My Ability comes back, and it blares, Stray eye twitch. Unsurity. Distrust.


    Cas chuckles. ¡°A little too late for that, don¡¯t you think? But yeah, truce.¡±


    A pause, as I voice my next thought aloud, casually.


    ¡°Ya think monsters are edible?¡±


    ~


    ¡°This is a bad idea,¡± Cas remarks.


    ¡°Right,¡± I agree as we both huddle behind a viridian fern. After my world-shattering question, we marked stones and branches in enigmatic trials so we didn¡¯t lose the way to our site, headed out towards the direction of least amount of sounds, and arrived at an empty grove.


    I scan the sight.


    In the middle of the empty grove sits a lone creature. I say creature, but it is what it is - a monster.


    I recognize it as a harpy, from the illustrations the more artistically-inclined Victors have made. It has the face of a woman, but its cheeks are sallow and its eyes shrunken, hunger in its gaze - the visage of skin stretched too tight. Feathery wings sprout from its back, resembling that of a crow¡¯s. It¡¯s the size of a human, probably an adolescent. Claws stretch out from its talons, and I mark the claws off as the first thing to attack.


    First the wings so it can¡¯t escape, then the claws so it can¡¯t fight back. And then it would be time to see whether it was edible.


    Would it be rash, to see if other harpies would flock? Would the death of one monster attract the others? All possibilities exist, I tell myself. The Hints tell me that the talons are poisonous, but nothing other than that.


    I¡¯m still suspicious, but I say, ¡°I¡¯ll go for the claws, you go for the wings.¡±


    ¡°Right. On a count of three...two...one¡­¡±


    And then we lunge, tackling the harpy to the ground.


    I find myself gripping the talons - they feel like chicken feet, belonging to an avian bird¡¯s - and plunge my knife into them, lopping the hands off. Blood spurts out, and I¡¯m slightly surprised to find that it¡¯s a dark, coal-colored liquid. It feels cold.


    My blade severs the limbs easily enough, but it squawks in pain, guttural bird noises erupting from its human lips. The talons are lacerated, and I scooch to help Cas with the wings.


    Its avian bottom half is almost unnerving, like a chicken or a crow.


    Cas is smart, and he quickly tightens a hold on its mouth - so the cries don¡¯t draw attention - as he uses the other hand to saw away at its feathers. Crimson wisps flutter to the ground, and dark liquid is everywhere. His knife is efficient, and sharp, and the now-detached wings fall to the ground.


    It doesn¡¯t stand a chance.


    It writhes, now wingless and talonless, with no way to fight back or flee, as I deliver the killing blow, slitting its throat and so it stops. We look at each other, and then the body.


    Dark stains the grassy ground, but we say nothing as we heave the dead body, careful not to let bloodstains leave a trail. We follow the laid stones and leaves back to the camp, where Cas lights a fire again.


    ¡°You skin it, or should I?¡± I ask. ¡°I know how to, in theory, but-¡±


    ¡°I skin, you cook.¡± Cas looks up at me.


    It¡¯s now late in the afternoon, approaching evening. Around eight hours have passed since we¡¯ve been shoved into the cage.


    I have to kill him, someday. I know that. My Ability knows that.


    It would be nice, being crowned Victor.


    But I like Caspian well enough so far.


    ¡°Right. Is there any way to store some meat?¡± I ask, curiously. ¡°Dry it in the sun? For rations? Jerky?¡±


    Cas considers it. ¡°If it¡¯s edible, in this heat, it should, hypothetically, be possible.¡± He snorts. ¡°Eating harpy meat. Who would¡¯ve thought?¡±


    I don¡¯t answer, although I look, amused.


    While Cas butchers the harpy almost methodically - I take note of the harpy¡¯s organs placements - I pick up a large branch and start to cleave it into a spit. The smell shouldn¡¯t attract many monsters, but I¡¯m still very, very paranoid.


    ¡°You think the blood or meat will smell?¡± I voice. The wood gives way as I carefully hack at the branch. ¡°Maybe it¡¯ll attract monsters. We¡¯re right at the cusp of their den.¡±


    ¡°Nah, I don¡¯t think so,¡± Cas replies, hands now stained with jet-black monster blood. ¡°But we can use the skins for something. Reinforcing the tent?¡±


    Paper. Records.


    ¡°I¡¯ve studied monsters, before,¡± I say, calmly. ¡°Some Victors have written records about what¡¯s on the island. They say it resembles what¡¯s in Tartarus, and there¡¯s a similar ¡®Source¡¯ here. Harpies, Minotaurs, centaurs, there¡¯s even Hydras. Analysts from the Republic¡¯s border have studied the anatomy, but there¡¯s nothing much on whether there¡¯s a deviation from the Forsaken monsters or the ones here.¡±


    ¡°And? What are you trying to get at?¡± Cas doesn¡¯t sound hostile.


    ¡°I think that one of our best bets to survive in this particular site is to study the patterns of the monsters,¡± I say. ¡°Their anatomy, their weapons, their habits. Write them down, keep records using the harpy skins and their blood for ink. I can memorize anything I¡¯ve written down once.¡±


    Cas sounds willing enough. ¡°So I hunt the monsters, bring them back, and you take them apart?¡±


    I shrug, as I keep my eyes on the branch. ¡°If you don¡¯t want to reveal your Ability, you can hunt them alone. But if you don¡¯t come back within a couple hours, I¡¯ll continue on assuming you¡¯re dead.¡±


    Cas continues to hack at the harpy, and I tear my gaze from the woodcarving and to the organs that he¡¯s collecting. Is that a gizzard? Harpies have gizzards?


    ¡°What will you do?¡± he asks. ¡°How do I know you won¡¯t just rob me and leave me to die?¡± His tone is casual, the question anything but.


    ¡°You don¡¯t. If you¡¯re going to give someone trust, you should receive it in turn,¡± I say, glancing closely at the gizzards. Is that a harpy heart? I make a mental note to observe it later.


    My Ability whispers, He¡¯s going to be beneficial. You should be careful-


    ¡°Want to swear an Oath?¡± I interrupt it, my voice a bit bright.


    The dark-haired thief turns, and his tan skin shifts under the light of the citrus-turning sky. His eyes glitter bright blue, still with that mischievous, dangerous glint in his eyes. He¡¯s wearing the breeches and tattered shirt that most in the Empire wear, but Cas¡¯ movements are quick and sleek, like an otter. Or an assassin.


    ¡°I swear by the Gods, to Lady Seraphina Marksman, to be by her side as her partner through glory and ruin, until death do us part,¡± he says.


    His irises almost glow, and I decide to ignore my Ability yet again - a habit that I¡¯ve become used to in his presence. A dangerous habit.


    Swearing that deep an Oath, by the Gods?


    Unpredictable.


    He has an angle, a motive, and I can¡¯t do anything until I discern it.


    Cas smiles, almost roguishly, but it sends a shiver down my spine - this moment is important, my Ability insists. ¡°Isn¡¯t it quite contrary, swearing an Oath inside a Cage?¡±


    ¡°You may rise,¡± I feel my lips say, amused.


    Amused? Confusion was never a good look on me, making me revert back to my actual emotions.


    ¡°It is contrary,¡± I say, almost on reflex. ¡°But then gain¡­¡±


    The stranger smiles.


    ¡°The Queen¡¯s Cage is nothing if not contrary, isn¡¯t it...Sera?¡±


    _

 5. Wreath I

    <hr>


    Once bitten, make them pay three times the price.


    - FORSAKEN PROVERB


    <hr>


    HONOR. LOYALTY. PRESTIGE.


    Praetor Julian Romanus had known these words for as long as he could remember.


    To maintain honor was to maintain the grace of House Roma. To maintain honor was to make it so your own name and the House¡¯s was accompanied by fanfare and glory, to guard the image of the Consul and the Republic.


    Honor came in many forms, in ruthlessness and in mercy, and Julian was taught to never betray it. Prioritize the whole over self. The House over the individual. The Republic over the citizen. That was what he was taught.


    There was a difference between a Republica and a Roma, just as there was a difference between the plebeians and the patricians. Branch Romanus, of House Roma, were a long, long lineage of Heroes. Every drop of Julian Romanus¡¯ blood was blue and true, and so he wasn¡¯t surprised when the second he marched into the streets of Honos, he was the target of fervent gazes.


    To return from war was familiar.


    The horse¡¯s breathing pulsed under Julian¡¯s legs, and he rode the pale stallion alongside the placed war flags, all painted the Republic¡¯s vibrant crimson, his armor clinking as he moved. The platin metal was uncomfortable, but it was familiar, and as were the loud chants amongst the raucous music.


    ¡°Praetor! Praetor! Praetor!¡±


    ¡°Romanus! Romanus! Romanus!¡±


    ¡°Grace and honor to the Republic!¡±


    Julian had heard curses of the Empire ring out, too, composed of curses that it was the Republic that were the ones fighting the monsters while the Empire did nothing but laze around. Julian begged to differ, however - their neighbors participated in a competition far more brutal than war, but of course he didn¡¯t let the opinion escape his lips.


    For it would stain his honor.


    It would stain House Roma¡¯s honor.


    And so the procession continued, his Romulus Army behind him, and Julian remained silent. As it slowed, Julian¡¯s hands gripped tighter on the reins and pulled at Ralla¡¯s neck, and the horse whinnied, and performed a move the praetor¡¯s instructor called a levade.


    As Ralla stayed there with dramatic precision, the Praetor of Romulus performed a military salute to the masses, which was met with an uproar, and so Julian Romanus, Son of Marcellus, Son of Octavian, headed towards the castle.


    _____________________________________________________________________________


    ¡°That was dramatic,¡± commented his father.


    Consul Marcellus Romanus had been handsome in his military campaign days, a fact that Julian¡¯s mother never seemed to tire of repeating. Perhaps it was a justification for marrying a ruthless monster. Silver was gnawing at the dark hair on the Consul of Romulus¡¯s temple, and the purple of the Senate robes the Consul wore gleamed in the sunlight the same way a trophy did. Badges after badges of military achievements glinted on his father¡¯s chest, framed with gold and years of war with the Union.


    Some of them Julian himself had gotten, but there was only the five-rayed star that he eyed for longer than necessary.


    ¡°It was needed.¡± Julian was careful not to phrase it as a protest, or a justification. Justifications were only needed when you questioned your decisions. ¡°Things are getting messy at the border, Your Consulship. High morale makes all the difference.¡±


    The Consul of Romulus inclined his head. ¡°Please, indulge me, Praetor of Romulus.¡± Indulge me. Not report, not a command, yet still spoken in that iron tone that he adopted when engaging in conversation with his subordinates.


    It was easier destroying Minotaur caves than speaking with his father.


    ¡°The Agamemnon of the Union has always been at odds with the Clytemnestra, as Your Consulship is aware of,¡± said Julian, carefully, ¡°however, just a week ago, a Forsaken unit of thirty thousand that was supposedly stationed at Tartarus marched towards the border and established a temporary fortress there."


    A pause.


    "It seems like the result of an argument," the praetor continued, "the outcome of it being a permanent stronghold is uncertain, but not out of the question." A beat. Julian tried not to observe his father¡¯s expression as he trudged on. ¡°Intelligence suggests that it was dispatched due to the growing horde of monsters, and to reduce the numbers on their side.¡±


    ¡°And so we¡¯re cooperating, indirectly, with the Forsaken,¡± the Consul mused. He peered at Julian. ¡°Have you discovered what exactly is causing the new Waves?¡±


    ¡°As we know, monsters only spawn from two Sources-¡±


    ¡°The Third Isle of the Empire, and the Union,¡± his father finished, lazily. ¡°I know. Get to the point, Praetor.¡±


    The boy-praetor maintained his calm expression. ¡°It seems,¡± Julian said, as gingerly as he could while cradling the information, ¡°that the Source in Dark Forest on the Union¡¯s side of the border is...enlarging.¡±


    A pause.


    ¡°Analysts have come up with a theory, based on past observations,¡± he continued. If his father hadn¡¯t wanted to hear the rest of it, he would¡¯ve stopped Julian. ¡°As we know it, the Source is a gap between the part of the Underworld that harbors dead monsters, and our world, and the ¡®portal¡¯ between it resurrects them. The Forsaken call it ''the Glorydark.''"


    The praetor felt the worlds spill from his lips. "But, on instances where people who bring death with them rise to power, the Waves seem to increase. That has been observed in the examples of Emperor Lysimachos, the Agamemnon Cesas, the election of the Consul Maximus-"


    ¡°Are other members of the Senate aware of this fact?¡± Of course, his father was referring to the gaggle of patricians along the other Praetor and Consul that oversaw the Republic.


    ¡°The Praetor of Romus,¡± answered Julian, trying not to let his dislike seep through.


    His father¡¯s snow-tinged eyebrows furrowed. ¡°And Valerius, too, by now.¡± And sothe Consul disappeared and was replaced by the general, who gave his son one last, final order.


    ¡°I will ask the Senate for an audience. You will come forward.¡±


    ______________________________________________________________________________


    Julian never liked patricians - which was ironic, since he was one himself. The noble blue-bloods of Republica society were either obsessed with wine or whichever gender they took their fancy to, and most of them had never known war. Some of them were smart enough, but¡­


    ¡°I volunteer Julian Romanus as a replacement for Patrician Hortensia.¡±


    ¡°I concede.¡±


    ¡°I concede.¡±


    ¡°I deny.¡±


    ¡°I concede.¡±


    ¡°I concede.¡±


    Julian didn¡¯t let his face show any of the irritation that was blooming in his chest. Of course it was a ploy - every word that came out of his father¡¯s lips were a ploy. But Julian couldn¡¯t deny that Consul Marcellus cared for House Roma¡¯s honor more than Julian himself did.


    Honor.


    After the ¡°I concede¡±s and ¡°I deny¡±s ended, his father shot a bemused look at Consul Valerius, who looked mildly disgruntled as Julian¡¯s father announced, ¡°The Senate has decided. Praetor of the Romulus Regiment of the Legion, Julian Maximus Romanus, you are now instated as temporary envoy. You set off tomorrow, and your arrival to the Empire Eoina should take place in a week.¡±


    Honor. Loyalty. Prestige.


    Praetor Julian Romanus had known these words for as long as he could remember.


    Diplomacy?


    It would be a nice break.


    <hr>


    The Agamemnon Vitejie Aundray always hated his predecessors.


    Take Cesas, for example. Cesas the Foolish, the Minotaur-Assed, the Impotent - you could take your pick of his many titles.


    Also of House Vitejie - his great-great-granduncle, Aundray remembered with a wince.


    The bullheaded Agamemnon who locked his Clytemnestra in a cell, started a coup, and tried to storm into the Dark Forest to conquer the Glorydark in the name of Kronos. Of course, he had gotten nearly a good third of the Union¡¯s population killed - but, then again, after the Escapade, Cesas¡¯ Clan of House Vitejie had never recovered.


    Which was how Aundray¡¯s Clan, the Aun, had risen to power.


    Aundray didn''t like the Aun much, either, so he was no hypocrite - too many Kato missionaries, and for sure much too many messy religious, anti-Anothen disputes that led to the mostly Kato supremacist result that made up the Clan today. Most - if not all - of those who resided in the Union believed in the Titans and were Kato, disdaining the Olympians and the Imperials while tolerating the Republica, who opened their borders to both Beliefs.


    Again, this made it highly impractical for diplomatic negotations.


    But it wasn¡¯t as if Aundray particularly preferred his contemporaries, either - he spent most of his days fighting with them, in fact, with House Desarta - the Clytemnestra¡¯s family - the Clytemnestra¡¯s goons, the Clytemnestra- The more he thought about it, the more Aundray realized that the root of his problems were all related to the woman in front of him.


    ¡°Vitejie Aundray,¡± she greeted as she slid into the seat.


    Not, Your Majesty, the Agamemnon - not even Aundray, his first name.


    Aundray, who had been about to say, Your Majesty, the Clytemnestra on impulse suddenly snapped his mouth shut. ¡°Desarta Aceline,¡± he returned, coolly.


    The conflict hadn¡¯t been his fault, anyway - Aceline had refused to budge on the Glorydark, like most of her ilk of House Desarta, calling the Glorydark a ¡°religious monument sent by the Imprisoned Titans in Tartarus¡± like it wasn¡¯t the source spawning the monsters that had plagued the Dark Forest for centuries.


    The only thing good about it was that the monsters were a source of food.


    Aundray sighed, internally.


    He sometimes wondered where the Aceline from his childhood went - or, more specifically, when the Clytemnestra Desarta had taken her place.


    Cool-headed and ruthless, Aundray¡¯s fellow monarch as designated by the Dark Below was an almost unshakeable presence. Gone were her bright smiles when Aundray showered her with gifts from when Imperial Concocters and Physicians came, and gone were the craggy tree-pieces that she brought as bouquets to him.


    Now, there was only the icy, dark-eyed woman that refused to budge on matters as simple as what to have for dinner, and who dressed in sacred colors like black and gold every day.


    Black and gold were wedding and mourning colors.


    The Agamemnon and the Clytemnestra weren¡¯t married, no - it wasn¡¯t as simple as designated ¡®King¡¯ and ¡®Queen.¡¯ Aundray heard that people from other continents often liked to classify one gender as weaker, that they - well, at least their delegations - thought there was a difference between the two titles.


    The Union was a dyarchy just as the Empire was ruled by the Emperor, and the Republica¡¯s Senate were asses with egos the size of Minotaurs.


    Aundray took a fork and speared a nearby harpy gizzard, plopping it in his mouth as the Clytemnestra pursed her lips.


    ¡°Delawar Arathis,¡± she said, finally.


    Aundray raised an eyebrow. ¡°The Prince?¡± There was a trap in every one of Aceline¡¯s words, and he wouldn¡¯t let the fact that he had won a small victory get to him.


    ¡°See, even you see him as an Imperial Prince and not one of us,¡± Aceline pointed out, sipping wine out of a chalice. ¡°Our relations with the Republica with the platin trade are going smoothly, but the Empire¡¯s diplomatic relationship with us is strained, and-¡±


    ¡°Commerce and trade are your department,¡± Aundray reminded.


    ¡°But diplomacy is yours,¡± Aceline corrected.


    Minotaur¡¯s arse.


    ¡°I¡¯m assuming this has something to do with the fact that you refuse to acknowledge the problem of the Glorydark?¡± Aundray asked, letting spite color his tone just a bit as he gulped another gizzard down with a cup of wine.


    Aceline said evenly, ¡°This isn¡¯t just the Glorydark at stake, Aundray, it has religious connotations that-¡±


    ¡°You mean to say,¡± the Agamennon replied, ¡°that because of your Clan¡¯s Beliefs, you endanger our people?¡± Aundray felt his words cold, almost bitterly so. He met his childhood friend¡¯s eyes and pushed the statement forward. ¡°I will not let you do so.¡±


    ¡°Aundray-¡± Aceline corrected herself after seeing the look in his eyes, ¡°No, Your Majesty the Agamemnon-¡±


    ¡°I can tolerate,¡± the dark-skinned Agamemnon said quietly, his pale Forsaken hair glistening under the light of the Dome, ¡°the fact your Clan is behind the genocide of the Anothen amongst the people. I can tolerate the fact that Clan Ace manipulates our people and their Beliefs. I tolerate this because I see the benefits, and tolerate the demerits.¡±


    Aceline was waiting for him to finish.


    ¡°But I cannot tolerate,¡± Vitajie Aundray enunciated, his voice steely, ¡°that you prioritize your beliefs over the Union¡¯s people. We are equals, Clytemnestra. We test each other, that is our nature - but we work to rule the people, not serve ourselves.¡±


    And so the Agamemnon left the room in a whirl and a flash, leaving a half-eaten plate of harpy gizzards behind, as the Clytemnestra Desarta Aceline whispered,


    ¡°Are you watching, Those Below? This is what happens when a man of science exists to rule, not serve.¡±


    <hr>


    ¡°You don¡¯t look very unique,¡± I said, honestly.


    The Dockworker blinked. ¡°Thank you, Your Highness,¡± he replied cautiously.


    Of course, I said that he didn¡¯t look very unique, but then again I spent my days usually seeing a Chosen of Aphrodite. I had never been particularly good at describing beauty, and Josephine¡¯s defined both the Sky Above and words, but the Dockworker was, admittedly, pretty.


    Hard work had defined his pale muscles, lean under the afternoon - or was it evening? - light that streamed through his Livings¡¯ windows. Pale blue eyes blinked beneath long eyelashes, and his face was a plain of gaunt, yet alluring angles. If he cleaned up, he would do very nicely.


    But his demeanor was strange. The Dockworker seemed like a noble, in all but courtesy and name, and his formalities along with that familar rigid, measured posture hinted at a fine upbringing.


    He was undoubtedly Imperial, though I heard not of a son his age from any recently fallen Noble House - if his House had fallen a long time ago, there was a possibility that his brow and hands would be beaten, and his eyes tired and weary. He was commanding, and regal, even when his body was crouched into a bow at the sight of me, and his cautious, measured words meant-


    ¡°I¡¯m not going to be very polite,¡± I warned coldly. ¡°Older and Oldest Brothers probably were as polite as they could be, and I will not be. Which fallen Noble House do you hail from?¡±


    ¡°None,¡± replied the Dockworker.


    A stray twitch.


    ¡°If you tell one more lie, I¡¯ll rip out your vocal cords, string them in a guitar, and play at your funeral to the tune of screams, as those who come to it and with any association to you are burned alive at the stake upon your shallow grave.¡± Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.


    One of my more creative threats.


    ¡°I hail from no Noble House.¡±


    He believes it a half-truth, my Ability said.


    ¡°Were you adopted, then?¡± I inquired.


    ¡°Yes.¡±


    It seemed like a truth, but his eyes, steady yet flickering, slow blinks. A mistruth.


    It was the truth, but he believes it to be a lie because his heart believes that he was truly part of their family.


    ¡°Into which House, and what skills have you?¡±


    ¡°Geminin, and I know how to carry crates, and supervise people carrying crates,¡± said the Dockworker.


    Geminin...was it that small barony near Notus? Better known for its trade caravans and routes, it was a wealthy merchant family that was given a noble writ, became a barony for a short while, and reportedly fell back on hard times and collapsed.


    ¡°Well, Castor Geminin of Notus, what brought you to the Isles?¡± I peered.


    ¡°My adopted mother migrated here after Geminin¡¯s fall,¡± replied Castor, ¡°and I work as a Dockworker - no more, no less. I¡¯m quite sure that my life bears no interest to the Imperial royals.¡±


    I snorted. ¡°Godsbroken, Face Castor,¡± I swore mildly, ¡°it would help if you cooperated. If I hurt you, Orion¡¯ll come after me, I¡¯ll be shot by a volley of arrows that just happened to be there, and my corpse¡¯ll be hung on the Palace¡¯s rooftops like some sick flag of glory. You¡¯d like to see that, wouldn¡¯t you?¡±


    Familiarity by coarseness. Mildness, but not too mild. Power, but not overbearing. That was the best approach, my Hints told me.


    Castor shifted. The edge of discomfort, intelligence, proud yet broken at the same time. He was on the floor, still in a bow, while Mercy was by my side.


    ¡°You¡¯re trying to probe me, and see if you have a use for me,¡± he finally said. ¡°I would prefer if I wasn¡¯t used as a Crownpiece in one of your games, Your Highness.¡±


    ¡°Funny that you say that, really,¡± I said, my tone hardening just a bit, as I shifted into a more firm character. ¡°Let¡¯s make a bet. Are you a gambling man, Castor?¡± I discarded the courtesy.


    ¡°Not really,¡± said the Dockworker, ¡°and I don¡¯t play Crown, either, but I have a feeling that I don¡¯t have a choice, Your Highness.¡±


    ¡°Good, trust your gut,¡± I approved as I gestured for Mercy to bring out the mini-Crownboard that we always brought around. As she set up the pieces on the small wooden table, I openly watched Castor¡¯s reaction.


    He obviously knew that she was an assassin, or of the stealthy sort, and I could see the Dockworker¡¯s eyes scanning and picking apart Mercy¡¯s quiet movements. Assessing. Well, at least he wasn¡¯t stupid.


    "Let¡¯s play a game," I offered, "you win, I answer three questions. I win, you answer three questions."


    ¡°What makes you think that I¡¯ll agree?¡±


    ¡°What makes you think that you won¡¯t?¡± I challenged, quietly. ¡°It¡¯s just a game. The fate of the Empire doesn¡¯t rest on whether you win or lose. We aren''t the Morai.¡±


    Castor¡¯s eyes flickered, but he scuttled to the table with a sigh. ¡°I guess so, Your Highness.¡±


    As Mercy finished placing the final Queen, I slid down from the couch and onto the floor, so that the pieces were eye-level. My back ramrod straight as the former Geminin noble¡¯s eyes blinked with surprise, I gestured. ¡°Light starts.¡±


    Then the Dockworker calmed, and he slid forward a Troop of Soldiers - a familiar cluster of metal-curved pieces huddling together - two Squareforwards, as they marched towards my Circle. A safe Opening move. Stable.


    I placed a single Soldier four Squareforwards, freeing up my left Paladin and Actor, as I voiced my thoughts. ¡°Wraith¡¯s Opening. A nice choice. What¡¯s a smart man like you doing with Stygian weapons, I wonder.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t know much,¡± Castor grumbled, ¡°and I¡¯m not telling what I know, Your Highness. The archer¡¯ll-¡±


    ¡°Feel betrayed like Cyrus was? You¡¯ve only known him a week, and he feels hurt that you chose Orion. At first, I thought it was a lover that stabbed him in the back. You probably remind him of someone,¡± I concluded, as Castor made his next move. Another Troop of Soldiers.


    ¡°I didn¡¯t choose anyone,¡± the Dockworker said in a tone half-way between a snap and a growl, although not directed at me. ¡°They shoved me in front of a Minotaur, so I hid behind the archer since the other Prince didn¡¯t seem to have as many weapons. Then after, the other Prince got all huffy.¡±


    ¡°Cyrus could¡¯ve killed that Minotaur without using his Ability, so his reaction is understandable, if he really did like you. Orion could¡¯ve killed that Minotaur without using his arrows or his Ability, so you probably made the right choice in terms of power, if that makes you feel better.¡±


    I used an Actor to infiltrate the Troop¡¯s ranks, and Castor¡¯s frown deepened.


    Castor admitted, ¡°It doesn¡¯t, but I¡¯ll trust you, Your Highness.¡±


    He couldn¡¯t retaliate against the Actor unless the piece was ¡®discovered,¡¯ and Castor¡¯s Soldiers were part of a Troop, which meant Discovering Squares were limited.


    He finally conceded with gruffly shoving a Paladin forward to guard his Circle.


    ¡°A mistake, to do that,¡± I mused, ¡°trust.¡± Even before I entered the Cage, that was a hard thing to find in the Empire. ¡°Notus does have more Republica values, then, if I¡¯m correct.¡± I used my Paladin to remove his guarding Paladin, which made the Dockworker¡¯s eye twitch.


    ¡°If you mean all of them being bullheaded freaks who go on about honor and loyalty, you¡¯re right. It¡¯s a cultural difference, probably. The more Imperial you are, the less honor and loyalty you have,¡± Castor replied.


    He hesitated, as he asked, ¡°If it¡¯s not too sensitive a question, what¡¯s the Cage like?¡± A probe, two steps shy of a test. Backed by curiosity.


    I let a smile flit across my lips. ¡°Once the bars come down, it¡¯s a bloodbath. And you can¡¯t get out until there¡¯s only one person left.¡± I didn¡¯t let my memories start a spiral. I couldn¡¯t.


    ¡°There¡¯re traitors, and betrayers, who puppet and use their Abilities. There¡¯re monsters in human skin,¡± I recounted calmly, faces slipping by, ¡°innocents, and we run from the monsters, hide, and then kill each other simply because we are Chosen. The Chosen of the Gods are just glorified humans with powers. No more, no less - crown, wreath, and tome considered.¡±


    I blinked, as I let my Ability slide the experience past. Spirals are bad, my Ability said. Yes, I agreed. Spirals are bad.


    ¡°But if you want me to talk about my memories there, I have no good ones. Good people I¡¯ve met, perhaps, but no good memories.¡± I edged every single word with indifference, and didn¡¯t let emotion leak into it. It was unnecessary, to provide more than what was needed. Or wanted, I thought, as I let my eyebrows dance mischievously.


    ¡°Is that one question?¡±


    A mixture of emotions spread across Castor¡¯s face - I could name all of them, shame, confusion, anger - and then they were quieted, as the Dockworker swore, his voice a whisper, ¡°Godsbroken. Is that what every Victor has to go through?¡±


    ¡°We are called the Victors,¡± I said, eyeing Castor¡¯s steady yet somewhat shaky hand reach towards a Crownpiece. ¡°We win, we enter the Palace, and then we either win again, or die.¡± I shrugged. ¡°My siblings and I are better than most,¡± I admitted, ¡°we haven¡¯t killed each other yet, because none of us really have the ambition or desire to be named Heir Designate. Well, maybe except Greta the Great.¡±


    I considered the sentence for a bit, as I tried to Read his expression.


    Pity.


    Keep your feelings in check, my Ability reminded, as I continued.


    ¡°I don¡¯t know how we were meant to turn out, but we keep each other in check,¡± I admitted. ¡°We balance each other out, as green as I am, and we fit together.¡± At least, that¡¯s what I¡¯ve noticed. ¡°We don¡¯t trust each other, and some of us don¡¯t like each other, but then again that¡¯s what family¡¯s for.¡± Don¡¯t be too honest, I rebuked myself. Maybe it was Castor¡¯s demeanor that made my lips loose.


    You¡¯re creating a lure, an established relationship, not a friend.


    ¡°But,¡± I concluded lightly, ¡°we¡¯re strangers, me and you. And, in the end, family can be strangers just as well.¡± I paused, snorting. ¡°Don¡¯t let my monologue disturb you, make a move.¡±


    The Dockworker hastily did so, but obviously he was unsettled as I amusedly destroyed his Troop. And then Castor moved again, but it was silent. Everything was silent. I couldn¡¯t even feel Mercy, and so I smiled.


    This time it was cold and toothy, Caspian¡¯s bone-chilling smile that he had taught me in all its unsettling glory. It was the smile I had flashed at people before I killed them, the smile he had worn before death.


    I placed the waiting Paladin from the beginning into the Circle, and knocked the Dockworker¡¯s Queen to the ground, stealing the crown.


    I win.


    ¡°But I will kill them, if the need arises - and I¡¯m sure the Gods will make that need very, very accessible.¡± I continued grinning, and met the former Geminin¡¯s eyes. ¡°So, Castor of Notus, what will it be?¡±


    <hr>


    Emperor Nikephoros the Nightbidden had never been the best father.


    The three Elysian Isles, and the Cardinal Fortresses, along with the strongholds of the Empire Eternal housed most of the continent¡¯s most paranoid, treacherous traitors - it was almost endearing, the fact that the more backstabbing you did the closer you were to being a true patriot.


    It was strange, how they were supposed to be the ones who Believed in the Olympians of old in all their might, the Twelve Thrones.


    Those of the Empire were of the Anothen, but with all the tales and lore that saw the light prevail, the Emperor had yet to see an Imperial without a shred of darkness in them.


    Even him.


    Especially him.


    Nikephoros remembered that before all this, before he had entered the Cage himself around fifty years ago, before he had become a Victor and had betrayed his own lawful siblings, he had been a Sailor¡¯s son.


    His mother had been a mighty Captain, his father the owner of an inn in the East Quarter, and they had been happy enough. But as the years piled on top of each other, and the grey slowly consumed the Emperor¡¯s beard, Nikephoros¡¯ memories of their faces became hazier.


    But he did remember the fact that it had all started the day Hera had reached her hand to him. But the Emperor never liked to linger on that.


    ¡°Greta.¡± He frowned, the expression touching his brows just barely, as his fingers tightened around the scroll. ¡°Do you have an explanation for why not one, but three of your younger siblings are involved in the making of Forsaken weapons?¡±


    ¡°Not three,¡± his daughter corrected, ¡°just the one.¡±


    All knew that the Emperor was a celibate, not by choice but by law, and that meant that for all the people like to proclaim that the Victors and the Emperor were a family, in truth they were and weren¡¯t at the same time.


    Before the others came, Greta and Orion were as close to children as the Emperor could get - they all had got on well enough, and ate meals together, inquired about each other¡¯s days, and occasionally gave advice to each other on how to kill someone depending on their status.


    The Emperor was sixty, now, and he was getting old - Greta was around forty, Orion in his late thirties, Cyrus in his early thirties, Josephine in her late twenties, Arathis in his early twenties, and finally the latest addition of Seraphina at seventeen.


    When Cyrus had come, they all were fine; but with the additions of Josephine and Arathis, the Emperor had to admit that he had grown apart from them.


    But for all their age differences, the Victors were said to address each other as siblings without any hesitation in the word.


    Greta Highlander Queenscage, Nikephoros remembered, had been a stubborn grey-eyed teenager when she¡¯d first entered the Palace. How his daughter had changed. Grown up. Although the fact still remained that she hated her nickname that Orion had given her as a child.


    She spent weeks trying to poison him, the Nightbidden fondly recalled.


    ¡°Cyrus was the one who started it,¡± Dionysus¡¯ Chosen explained. ¡°And Orion discovered it, but did not say anything and aided him a bit. Arathis and Josephine found out, and hosted a tea party to interfere; but Seraphina unwittingly helped Cyrus and Orion, got wind of it, and reportedly set fire to the Pier where the shipment was sent.¡±


    The Emperor looked slightly amused at the summary of events, but then a dark look passed across his face.


    ¡°Stygian metal is nothing to be trifled with,¡± he warned. ¡°Cyrus shouldn¡¯t be meddling with the Union¡¯s gadgets unless he¡¯s trying to cause trouble with the Republic¡¯s envoys. And if he is, you must stop him.¡±


    ¡°But if it comes down to it, Father,¡± Greta said, ¡°you might need to directly interfere.¡±


    ¡°Let¡¯s hope it doesn''t, then,¡± replied the ruler of the Empire. ¡°How¡¯re the envoy preparations going? Is everyone doing their lessons well? How¡¯s the Army reforms coming along? I hear you got promoted to Major, too.¡±


    Greta winced at the slowly-spoken questions. ¡°The preparations are going well,¡± she answered the first, ¡°I will need to finish coordinating clothes between us, and we will all be fine. Everyone is keeping up from their lessons..." she trailed off.


    "Cyrus recently finished his course with good marks; the Army reforms are going a bit rockily, but not so much that I cannot handle it," she continued, "and yes, I am currently Major Highlander of the Imperial Army.¡± She paused.


    ¡°I only joined recently, but I will be deployed to Notus sometime soon, if the negotiations with the Republic go well.¡±


    The Emperor of Eoina, sixty-year-old Nikephoros Adamos Queenscage of the First Isle, smiled. ¡°I¡¯m proud of you, daughter.¡±


    The Chosen of Dionysus, the Ninety-Fifth Victor, Greta Highlander Queenscage of the First Isle, returned the gaze, but not the smile. ¡°Thank you, Father.¡±


    <hr>


    Cyrus Halgrove Queenscage of Boreas wasn¡¯t sure what his youngest sister was doing.


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry,¡± she said, not a flicker of remorse in her eyes or her words. ¡°I didn¡¯t mean to blow up your pier.¡±


    Seraphina Marksman Queenscage¡¯s gaze fluttered to the red-haired Lady Roxane¡¯s triumphant look, and then clarified, ¡°I¡¯m saying sorry for the damage I caused, not the actions that made me do it. I¡¯ll still be looking for the weapons, by the way. It¡¯ll be a fun hunt.¡±


    His youngest sister, Seraphina, was beautiful - not in that conventional sense, or the otherworldly way Josephine was, but in that wispy, sharp way that made you think twice about approaching her.


    She never seemed all there - it was similar to the illusion of a blade at midnight that you thought was part of a dream, Cyrus found, before it broke through skin and you were dead, bleeding out on your bedroom floor.


    Her eyes were a cold dark blue, not bright with life but glimmered with it still, because how could a dead person live? The orbs were piercing, almost all-knowing, flickering to Cyrus¡¯ shifting hands like they were putting together some sort of thousand-piece puzzle, or reading a difficult tome.


    They made him uncomfortable.


    You could say that family meant nothing to the Third-in-Line - he was exiled by his Republica family, and had fled to the Empire, where he quickly took up an occupation as a small-time bandit, before the lightning had started to coarse through his veins and he came a Chosen of the God-King.


    Being a Bandit was a simple life - not like the throes of deceit that the Palace revelled in. You threaten someone, take their money, and run away.


    Here, you threatened someone, and they threatened you back - with an arsenal of information that they gathered through your traitors, more than one very shiny weapon, and glistened words you had no idea the meaning of.


    ¡°Fun?¡± Cyrus raised an eyebrow.


    Family meant nothing, but the Imperial royals were his family by law and by decree, and so he indulged them. Revenge, however -


    ¡°You keep refusing to play Crown with me,¡± Seraphina pointed out. Her voice was laced with what the Prince recognized as her emotional equivalent of a childish pout. ¡°It¡¯s boring around here, so why not participate in a scavenger hunt to pass the time until you assassinate the Republic¡¯s envoys?¡±


    Roxane stiffened. Cyrus shot her a warning look. In front of the others - Seraphina, especially - even a tiny move wouldn¡¯t escape their grasp. And so the Hundredth Victor¡¯s blue eyes flickered, and she smiled. Cyrus almost flinched, again.


    He was thirty one, and had been hardened as much as he could be through the Cage, his straightforward nature dwindling over the years. His Liege hadn¡¯t visited him for many Daycycles, but the Prince could feel the startling yet familiar hum in the air.


    Collect, and act.


    He could summon Lightning. He could use the bolts to fry the Imperial Princess, set fire to her bones as the stark, powerful white light charged her with enough to burn her to ashes. The crackling in his veins and tingling of his spine could easily do so.


    And he had tried to, when Seraphina had first arrived. But as if she had read his movements before he made them, she had easily dodged.


    ¡°Assassinate? I have no idea what you¡¯re talking about,¡± replied Cyrus, calmly.


    None of the Victors knew each other¡¯s Abilities, though, even though Cyrus got the gist of what they could be used for. Orion¡¯s was an archery Ability, one that likely provided him with perfect aim or made his arrows always hit his target.


    Josephine¡¯s was complicated, but likely increased either the love, affection, or lust of her target; Arathis hadn¡¯t even used his Ability even once before, but since he was Hades¡¯ Chosen Cyrus guessed something death related...


    Seraphina was likely some kind of Analyst-type, prediction-related Ability; and Great - while she had arguably the most powerful, Cyrus himself shuddered at the insane - this was literal - Drawback.


    Seraphina, however - her Drawback remained unknown, a fact of frustration for Cyrus. Collect and act, boy, Olysseus had said. The Bandit leader had slammed the lesson into him - Cyrus¡¯ teenage years were spent as a thief, before His Liege the Lightning King picked him up and sent him to the Cage.


    Collect information and act accordingly.


    It was a sore point, the fact that Cyrus didn¡¯t know.


    ¡°You¡¯re an exile,¡± said Seraphina.


    Exile. Exile. Exile.


    ¡°You are banished. You are unworthy.¡±


    A hiss, a crack of the whip.


    A storm.


    Cyrus felt the familiar memories trickle in, and instantly the air turned electric. A distant rumble, as the storm brewed his storm. Exile. A storm. Unworthy. Crackle, his veins soared and sang, and he could remember the rain on his skin-


    Roxane¡¯s hand came down on his shoulder, and Cyrus could feel the humming in the air as his fingernails dug in the chair. Seraphina was observing. Anger rose.


    ¡°What did you say?¡± he hissed.


    Exile. Exile. Exile.


    ¡°You are unworthy.¡±


    A hiss, a crack of the whip.


    A storm.


    You are unworthy.


    You are unworthy.


    You are an exile.


    Seraphina blinked. ¡°I was stating the truth,¡± she said, her voice devoid of emotion but her enunciation careful, and Cyrus could see that she was preparing for something. She wanted to probe him. She was collecting.


    Hate surged, and Cyrus¡¯ control threatened to dissipate again. Collect and act.


    She was collecting. She was similar to Olysseus, and that was what irritated him. Cyrus remembered the old man¡¯s last expression, before his family came and set fire to the ground. It was that day, that his fear had hardened into something much cooler.Hate and anger, anger and hate.


    Power didn¡¯t sing, but it roared as that sensation trickled through his arms and hands once more. The air turned more than electric, it was full of the desire, that craving to see his family on his knees and see him now.


    He wasn¡¯t an exile, he was accepted, he had won, he was a hero and they should see him as such. He was worthy, and Cyrus would show them all. He would strip their flesh from their bones, and use their skeletons to-


    Collect, and act.


    Are you finished collecting, boy?


    Olysseus¡¯ booming voice echoed again - fire, death, despair, hate - and Cyrus breathed, shakily. ¡°Don¡¯t say that,¡± he felt himself snarl, as if the animal he had put on a chain that he had finally let loose in the Cage was speaking through him. You aren¡¯t finished collecting.


    Seraphina blinked, slowly. ¡°Alright. I won¡¯t. Would an apology suffice or do you want me to leave?¡± she asked the question calmly, but then again Cyrus had never seen her not calm. Just like Olysseus. Collect, and act.


    TELL HER TO LEAVE.


    ¡°A deal,¡± Cyrus managed to get out, gruffly. He could feel Roxane behind him flinch. ¡°Tell me your Ability¡¯s Drawback, and I¡¯ll tell you whether I plan to assassinate the Republica envoys or not.¡± Tell me your weakness, and I¡¯ll tell you if I want to start a war.


    Collect, then act.


    Seraphina¡¯s eyes turned not ice-cold, but that feeling, the feeling that Cyrus was looking at a statue enchanted to feel out every single word that he spoke, returned.


    He could feel that it was a part of her Drawback, that it was something related to it. Cyrus couldn¡¯t ask His Liege either - this was too small a matter to go to the Lightning King.


    ¡°Alright,¡± the princess across from him agreed, decisively, ¡°but you go first.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re pushing it.¡±


    Seraphina smiled. ¡°Okay.¡± She blinked. ¡°I can¡¯t turn mine off.¡±


    It was almost - what was that feeling when you were expecting something larger and was somewhat disappointed? An analysis Ability that relied on predictions, that you couldn¡¯t turn off. What would it be like, living with that?


    Drawbacks were usually related to the Chosen¡¯s patron Gods, too - Athena. Goddess of wisdom and warfare.


    How, and why?


    ¡°Well, then,¡± Cyrus replied, ¡°A deal''s a deal. I¡¯m planning to assassinate my mother.¡±


    <hr>

 6. Wreath II

    <hr>


    In the land of the revered, the feared are king*


    - EMPEROR LYSIMACHOS THE INSANE, LAST OF HIS NAME


    <hr>


    *the complete, original saying, was reportedly, "famous legends like me are naturally cowardly, you fucker!" in response to his Personal Guard''s inquiries, before Emperor Lysimachos hid in his Palace while ordering the mass genocide known as the Imperial Slaughter


    <hr>


    <blockquote>


    Drawbacks


    A Private, Informal Study + Analysis conducted and written by Analyst Dantaleus Icarus Queesncage, Chosen of Athena


    The issue of the lack of analysis broached upon this topic of Abilities. is likely due to the scarcity of living and willing Victors participating in these analyses, and lack of living and willing Victors conducting them.


    Abilities are, in short form, powers. Every five years, twelve are Chosen by each of the Olympians, and are given the Abilities of Gods, but are not Gods, and this is because of one reason: Drawbacks.


    It can be seen that all Abilities are given a Drawback, or a limitation, if you must, on the way they is used.


    And thus, I take my own Ability into consideration.


    Called Strategise - or at least that is the most apt term available (an interesting observation that can be made is that most Abilities are named after Actions) - my Ability is, in summary, being able to see most strategic moves available to both enemies and myself.


    I have observed that its Drawback is that it only offers the top three most likely moves available to both sides, and so it can be Blindsided (a capitalized term) by an enemy choosing the more unpredictable, and riskier, strategies.


    This limitation, or ''Drawback'' is found in all Abilities, and is usually discovered through either experience, or in this case, experimentation.


    After asking after two others of my fellow Victors, and conducting a series of trials along with much research, I have hypothesized the three statements below:


    ---> The Drawback has to be related to the virtues that your Patron deity (see other terms: Liege, Olympian, etc.) displays or promotes.


    ----> The Drawback¡¯s effects are equal, in one category or another, to the Ability¡¯s potential power


    ----> Every Ability has a Drawback.


    The term ¡°Drawback¡± meets its first usage in this study. Former terms have been used to refer to this - most of these statements are drawn from Republica Analyst Varacia Aquila¡¯s musings on this matter, who remark it as a ¡°proof that we mortals cannot handle so much burden from the Gods¡± (referring to the Republic Anothen¡¯s version of Olympians).


    Number 1 can be proven on various instances, such as, for example, Dionysus¡¯ Chosen displaying Abilities related to wine, madness, or revelry; Zeus¡¯ Chosen displaying lightning-related, ruling Abilities; and Athena¡¯s Chosen often being gifted with strategy-related Abilities.


    An instance cannot be named where this is disproved to the point where it affects the hypothesis.


    Number 2 can also be proved, although by including less evidence. Readers can refer to the Law of Equity, coined by Analyst Varacia Aquila, that every motion made in the Universe has an equal and opposite reaction - if used in this case, this could include motions made using Abilities (refer to Page 2).


    If a reader looks closer at the Republic, it can be used an example - Republica¡¯s Heroes, with bolstered strength, intelligence, etc., have a shortened life expectancy. Rare is a Hero who lives past fifty years of age.


    The Empire¡¯s Chosen seems to meet no obstacles in this (Emperor Ulysses the Great lived until seventy), perhaps because of the Drawbacks already imposed upon their Abilities. The more powerful an Ability is (in terms of both physical and mental impact, when measured to the Icarus scale, which I go in depth into in another study), the heavier their hypothetical Drawbacks seem to be.


    Number 3 can be proved by simply the fact that our mortal bodies cannot hold the full power of the Gods. If not, we Victors would be "more than Victors - [we] would be Gods," as said by Valacia Aquila.


    But we are not, and the reason is our Drawbacks. And thus, Page 1 of this study concludes.


    - Analyst Dantaleus Icarus, the Forty-Sixth Victor of the Queen''s Cage


    Acredited with the coinage of the term ''Drawback,'' and the formation of the statements of the ''Drawback Theory'' as well as the ''Icarus Scale,'' Dantaleus Icarus was of the three existing Chosen Analysts recorded in history. He reportedly refused to be addressed as Imperial Prince, despised the Queenscage surname, and referred to himself as ''Analyst Icarus'' instead.


    Icarus published many studies in his time, but his private, ''informal'' studies were only unearthed after his death, after then Glory Prince Lysimachos threw Icarus'' papers off the Palace''s balcony with a reported cry, "That''s what you get for making me participate in those, you dead asshole!"


    Murdered by Emperor Lysimachos the Insane when Lysimachos rose to power.


    </blockquote>


    <hr>


    PAST


    Opportunity.


    It was a lesson that had been beaten into me from long ago.


    The Duke and Duchess didn¡¯t care about me.


    I knew - not because they told me, but because all the hints were there.


    I would show up to social gatherings, pretend that I was their beloved daughter, find the niches between words and seize every window of opportunity to bolster their name, and they would think I was merely upholding my duty as an average member of the ever-so-illustrious House Marksman, duchy of the Second Isle.


    I was just enough. Not more, not less.


    And I was alright with that.


    I had to be alright with that.


    I could be more, and it would be fun, but if you spent your life pondering the intricacies of what could be instead of what was, you would often accomplish nothing.


    At least, that was what the books said. And I believed them - for what would be the use, anyway? Instead of holding tea parties, I spent my early childhood reading odysseys of the Chosen and the myths of Gods.


    At around ages ten and eleven, I upgraded to Angelo the Avenger¡¯s trysts at the Republica border, Dantaleus¡¯ analyses on both war and peace, and took comfort in Aquila''s cynicism while indulging in reading military strategies as well as philosophies of self and being.


    I learned, and I knew, but it was the only fun I could have.


    I hungered for knowledge, making it impossible for the thirst to be satiated when I finished all the books in the library at fourteen. I called it a thirst, but perhaps it was the only thing keeping me sane while pretending to be what I wasn''t.


    Pretending was tiring.


    I observed the maids and the footmen, embedding social cues and body language while educating myself on the art of piecing things together. Their lives were stories broken into puzzle pieces, and I enjoyed the task of putting them together.


    Soon, rumors got around that I was going crazy, staring at people.


    So the Duke and Duchess provided tutors with harsh whips for tongues, who taught me everything I ever wanted. They engaged me in debates, reprimanded me both physically and verbally when I got something wrong, but they were there to keep me entertained. I got into knives at fifteen. Throwing blades, but not in the way that swordsmen did (I asked for a former mercenary as a teacher, and after my request was approved - albeit reluctantly - I got her).


    I wasn¡¯t particularly attached to her, but she taught me human anatomy. Where to hit, how to stab, how to tackle. How to kill, although theoretically, since I was forbidden from learning darker things like torture - which was all well and good since torturing people got blood on myself. We practiced on complicated strawmen, and it was interesting, but it wasn¡¯t fun.


    Learning was interesting, but it wasn¡¯t fun.


    I turned sixteen.


    I knew most of everything, dabbled in most of everything, and became interested in poisons that year. I asked for a former Concocter, and there I learned the names of most poisonous herbs and how to brew everything from minor healing potions - although I never really paid attention to those - to toxins, which were slightly more interesting.


    Of course, I was also banned from learning any forbidden poisons. After learning from her for half a year, a retired Merchant was brought in to teach me the art of commerce.


    I soaked knowledge in - at least, the interesting bits and pieces - and lived. I never stopped trying to stare at people, I just learned how to do it better.


    From the corner of my eye, through the reflection of a glass. How they acted, how they talked, where they came from, what they did. It was how I passed the time.


    Opportunity. On my seventeenth birthday, someone insulted me.


    A Baron''s son. A person who thought that their family could reach the prestige of a centuries-old clan. Arrogance, the childishness of folly.


    I could¡¯ve dealt with it if they insulted my name - of course, I would¡¯ve still retaliated, but my heart wouldn¡¯t be in it - but they insulted me. My knowledge.


    The tomes said that man needed a purpose, a ''power'' to be able to think themselves capable and keep themselves sane. Knowledge. My supposed power.


    Do you really not hear the rumors? You really do know nothing.


    I didn¡¯t remember their name, but I did remember that they ended up dying horribly. By my hands, of course. Slipping away from my Guards, a knife.


    My first kill.


    The Duke and Duchess hadn¡¯t minded, although they had let me know their disapproval. The servants and the residents of the Second Isle started avoiding me, and my social reputation plummeted. Did you hear, the baron''s son supposedly died by Lady Seraphina''s own hands. She''s only sixteen.


    And then the nightmares started.


    After I closed my eyes, it all began the same.


    I would be in darkness, utter darkness. And then there would be a door. I would open it, and it would lead to the Marksman library. Then, I would stroll to a shelf, pick a book off it seemingly randomly, and would flicker it open.


    Always the same title - A List of Nobles in the Empire Eoina. My dream self would flip through its pages, stop at the nobles under Emperor Nikephoros¡¯ reign, and look at it.


    House Marksman - Matthias Marksman, Theadora Williams Marksman. A small ¡°childless¡± was scribbled under their names.


    Then the realization that my existence was erased would come crashing down, and I would awaken, unable to fall asleep again.


    The nightmares continued for months, coming every week, as I tried to find a cure for it. It had started off only mildly annoying, but it had planted a paranoia in me that grew as time passed. I had requested for A List of Nobles in the Empire Eoina to be placed on my bedside table so I could skim through it every night, but the doubt hadn¡¯t gone away.


    Time passed, and I tried every concoction, elixir, and method available. When that cliff came within my reach, that cliff that some called insanity appeared within my view, and I started towards it, Athena had visited.


    She had given me an Ability, told me I was arrogant and that knowledge wasn¡¯t power, knowing what to do what it was, and plunged me into the Tartarus that was the Queen¡¯s Cage. I had seen it as an opportunity. It was more of a condemnation.


    I had won, had discovered what I found fun - Crown, fell in my own sense of love, and then been plunged into another Tartarus again.


    I really couldn¡¯t catch a break.


    <hr>


    PRESENT


    I SPENT MOST OF MY DAYHEPT reading, writing, and making money.


    I had a lot of money. My monthly Imperial allowance, my requisition of some portion of the duchy''s funds, etc., but my company''s funds were also a good chunk of my accounts.


    Macedon - last name unknown - was a good man. He ran my company, made me money, and was somewhat of a traitorous greedy arse, but he was a good man.


    ¡°You¡¯re a good man, Macedon,¡± I told him.


    Macedon looked bland - tall, gangly, and dark-haired, the man was, around twenty or so years. Young, but with sharp eyes, almost as sharp as mine, if I was going to be brutally honest.


    But Gods, he was one of my biggest assets. He made money, whether it was tricking Merchants - legally, of course - into signing contracts that our front company provided, metaphorically imprisoning them in our clutches; or whether it was gathering information, forging papers, trading, or covering up my tracks whenever I killed a particularly important person.


    Would you believe he was just a small-time swindler three months ago?


    ¡°You¡¯re only saying that because I make you money, Sera,¡± he chuckled.


    ¡°That¡¯s part of the reason,¡± I said, bemused, ¡°but you¡¯re a good man.¡± I patted him affectionately on the shoulder, while Lazarus scowled at the display and Narkisa shifted in her seat.


    Lazarus never liked the man, while Narkisa - well, Narkisa was feeling particularly uneasy after I¡¯d sent her into the lion¡¯s den, and my Ability definitely read some resentment in her posture. Oh, well.


    Macedon wiggled his eyebrows. ¡°Praise me, my Princess,¡± he joked, and, after a pause, added, ¡°we should get to business, though.¡±


    That was all well and good, because Lazarus¡¯ hand twitched as Macedon said the endearment.


    ¡°Tell me what I need to sign off on,¡± I said lazily, leaning against a couch. Seventeen-year-olds couldn¡¯t technically run businesses according to Imperial law, and although I was pretty sure I was capable of doing so, there was a lot on my plate.


    Macedon was my proxy, but the signing off I was referring to required me to do so personally. If I was right - and I usually was - the services of Macedon¡¯s information gatherers would be direly in demand.


    Everyone wanted to know what the envoys were here for, and contacting an agency affiliated with an Imperial Princess was a way with a larger chance of success - success in this case being not charged for treason. Even some nobles employed my agency, but usually the real powers had efficient resources of their own. It reminded me that I hadn¡¯t shown up for social events very often in recent weeks - oh, well. I should probably ask Alyssa for that.


    Or one of my other ladies, who I¡¯ve recently been trying to get to know - they were surprised that I was, out of the blue, but wielding power also meant wielding societal influence. But it wasn''t Wise to want to attain power so rashly, Ability whispered. You already have enough.


    ¡°Baron Cirillo sent a proxy. He wants to incorporate one of his own as a Palace maid.¡±


    Cirillo, of-


    ¡°Which Stronghold was it, again?¡± I asked, even though I know the answer. ¡°Eurus, Zephyr, Boreas, Notus?¡±


    ¡°Not a Cardinal one, I¡¯m afraid,¡± replied Macedon, ¡°and since the Marksman Duchy occupies the Second Isle, the barony of Cirillo originates from Doxa.¡±


    ¡°Evlogia.¡± I frowned slightly, not letting the twist of disdain touch my face.


    ¡°You think they¡¯re behind this?¡± Lazarus raised an eyebrow. ¡°I mean, you did hit Lady Roxane pretty hard, so it isn¡¯t out of the question¡­¡±


    I waved a hand. ¡°I just insinuated that it would be bad if her reputation got ruined. Alyssa did the rest.¡± My lips twitched. ¡°Sleeping with Cyrus, though? It¡¯d be a wonder if he focused on anything but himself. All it stirred up was some engagement talk. She¡¯s probably happy.¡±


    Bait, which she took.


    Narkisa blinked. ¡°The rumor spread to the knights,¡± she said, her grudge still displayed through her body language but not her tone. ¡°She moves fast. The connotation¡¯s still negative, though. Some people are accusing Lady Roxane of being pregnant, now-¡±


    ¡°The proposal?¡± Macedon prompted, as if I wasn¡¯t thinking about it at the same time. But then again, I was usually thinking about multiple things at once.


    ¡°Reject anything below a count. Don¡¯t have enough time to follow the op,¡± I said, ¡°since the documents from Nero didn¡¯t turn anything up, any source on the Union¡¯s manufacturers?¡±


    ¡°I planted a caravan - or at least, what I could muster of a caravan - and bribed some Republica Merchants near Notus with potions to put some of our people near their platin shipments.¡± Macedon blinked, letting me fill in the blanks. Greed for money, he¡¯s planning to-


    ¡°Don¡¯t hit the platin merchants,¡± I warned. ¡°We¡¯ll branch out soon enough, but we don¡¯t want to anger any Republica while their envoys are still here. Besides, the plan¡¯ll take too long. Use the caravan to incorporate themselves slowly into Republica Merchants instead.¡±


    Disappointment, as the man pouted. Resentment.


    I was sowing seeds of resentment in two valuable lieutenants - which was useful, other than the fact that it was fun. I would need to push them to the brink - three lazy months, fattening them up with the benefits, wouldn¡¯t ensure loyalty. No, I would make one of them turn, make an example out of the traitor, and pressure the other into swearing an Oath of Fealty in the Gods¡¯ name.


    ¡°Which reminds me,¡± I mused, ¡°we might not need to prioritize the manufacturer first and foremost, after all.¡± Manufacturer is a priority. Suspicion. My Ability was practically pushing me towards it, but this wasn¡¯t a task for Macedon or Narkisa.


    Mace raised an eyebrow. ¡°You want me to get ready for the envoys?¡±


    I nodded, and he continued, ¡°Speaking of the envoys-¡± he had obviously been withholding the information until now because it wasn¡¯t important to his own profits ¡°-a little birdie told me there¡¯s been a change in personnel.¡±


    ¡°Right. Personnel.¡± My tone, although light, implied that Macedon better start talking.


    My head ran through the list of likely options, I had studied and memorized most of their patricians after that enlightening talk with Cerenia. The Halgroves, the Avenarius, likely the envoys would be some offspring of higher-ranked patricians from the Branches of House Roma - they wouldn¡¯t send a Consul, maybe a-


    Macedon cleared his throat. ¡°There¡¯s word that a Praetor¡¯s joining the envoy¡¯s ranks.¡±


    I blinked. ¡°You guys won¡¯t tattle to the Palace¡¯s Tutors for me swearing, right?¡±


    Add emotion, flesh out your persona, my Ability reminded.The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement.


    Shakes of heads.


    ¡°Fuck,¡± I swore. ¡°Fucking piece of Godsbroken shit.¡±


    <hr>


    ¡°What?¡± I balanced my voice so the remark came out between a light tease and an amused snap. ¡°Speak your mind, Laz.¡±


    I could read his body language easily. He obviously was questioning-


    ¡°Your movements seem practiced,¡± he hedged, reluctantly.


    He could be the age of my father, but younger - maybe an older brother, of sorts, even though I had an abundance of siblings. Dark hair, like most Imperials, with an amicable enough personality. I felt no personal connection to him, but it was more than strange he had sworn an Oath.


    ¡°They are,¡± I replied. Half-honesty was a good policy when it came to supposedly loyal subordinates. ¡°But not so much practiced, as regulated.¡±


    ¡°You regulate your movements.¡±


    ¡°Yeah. You learn to,¡± I replied, casually. I did it unconsciously, even before the Cage and the Ability and the Chosen by Athena schtick. Knowledge wasn¡¯t power, but how you used it was.


    Lazarus¡¯ face looked pained. Guilt.


    ¡°Look, I¡¯m sorry I didn¡¯t do anything to help you back at the duchy,¡± said the Guard, ¡°I really-¡±


    ¡°Laz,¡± I interrupted, my face still bland as the carriage went back to the Palace rattled. ¡°Do you want me to be honest, or act honest?¡±


    Lazarus hesitated. ¡°Be honest.¡± Act honest, his body language suggested.


    ¡°I don¡¯t give a damn,¡± I replied evenly, snorting. ¡°I didn¡¯t care about you enough to give a damn back then, and I sure as Below don¡¯t care about you or it enough to give a damn right now. You are my subordinate, not my friend. It¡¯s not my job to care about you, just as it¡¯s not your job to care about me.¡±


    The Guard¡¯s face looked a bit more pained, and he winced, as I continued.


    "If everyone on the Isle looked down on me and barely remembered my name? It was no skin off your back, so of course you didn''t scratch it." I snorted. "I¡¯m wasting my breath to explain this to you, so you better get this in your head - Even if you took an Oath out of guilt, you still took an Oath and I expect you to be responsible for it. Do your job."


    And then I put on my usual persona, and looked at the Guard who was looking at me as if my emotions were some sort of horrifying yet fascinating thing to be studied.


    ¡°Got that?¡± I added, lightly, in my usual tone.


    ¡°So that¡¯s not the real Seraphina?¡± Lazarus got more confused, but filling him in on my personality came with the job.


    ¡°No, but it shouldn¡¯t matter,¡± I replied, lips twitching. It usually doesn¡¯t. I looked at him. ¡°Are you particularly loyal to the rest of the Seraph?¡±


    Newfound respect - or was it fear? My Ability couldn¡¯t tell - wriggled its way on Lazarus¡¯ face. ¡°Are you telling me to betray them?¡±


    I grinned. ¡°I¡¯m telling you to act like an Imperial,¡± I said, and Lazarus¡¯ lips twitched. ¡°We need all hands on the metaphorical deck if we¡¯re going to wait out this shitstorm.¡±


    ¡°The envoy¡¯s arrival, ma¡¯am?¡±


    I snorted at the ma¡¯am. Ma¡¯am, to a seventeen-year-old girl. ¡°My brother¡¯s trying to kill one of them, a Praetor¡¯s coming along, there¡¯s definitely something going on with the Republic and the Union, and a high chance of a war starting. If that isn¡¯t a shitstorm, I don¡¯t know what is.¡± I gave a laugh.


    Lazarus looked perplexed, now.


    ¡°What are we going to do, ma¡¯am?¡±


    ¡°Wait out the shitstorm, of course,¡± I replied, easily. ¡°Then after, we find enemies and kill them.¡±


    It was just a question of finding them, or making them.


    But either way it was going to be fun.


    <hr>


    Castor had rejected my offer, unfortunately.


    It was hilarious, though, that he felt guilty. It was even more hilarious that Orion - in some twisted show of Imperial favoritism - managed to smuggle him in as a butler. Castor. A Imperial Residence butler.


    I swear, it almost made me convinced that the acquiring of a stress-relief toy was in order, except for the fact that it was ¡°inhumane¡± and Macedon¡¯s Public Relations team - composed of one person - had already crafted out a persona for me I couldn¡¯t disrupt.


    Oh, well.


    ¡°Ara!¡± I burst into his Imperial Residence. ¡°Let¡¯s go kill things!¡±


    But then my gaze drifted from the luxurious columns to the people in the middle, which was a pale-blonde woman who was either in her late thirties or early forties dressed in Imperial robes, and a grinning Forsaken who was being held in a stranglehold. A bunch of attendants - I assumed Arathis¡¯ attendants, which were presumably hard to find because of his race - were lying on the floor, bloodied and dead, some of them as if they had¡­


    Clawed themselves to death.


    Greta the Great, my oldest sister, had used her Ability, and had a furious - I said furious, but it was an ice-cold expression - look on her face, her white-gold hair speckled with blood. Of course, I immediately began running possible scenarios in my head.


    I kept the smile on my face. ¡°Bad time?¡± I asked.


    ¡°Yes,¡± Arathis replied at the same time as Greta said, ¡°No.¡±


    I crossed out some options using the process of elimination, flopping on the divan, as I scooched away from the blood. ¡°Greta has seniority,¡± I explained to Arathis¡¯ mock-heartbroken expression. ¡°What¡¯s the situation?¡±


    ¡°I heard you got stabbed by the Tutors,¡± said the woman, one arm still looped around Arathis¡¯ neck. All Imperials had that glowy sheen of youth due to the antibiotic skin potions that we were made to drink, courtesy of Imperial Concoters. My Ability said nothing about her, not even betraying a single reason why she would be strangling Ara, which said something.


    ¡°Are you asking how¡¯s the wound, or why I¡¯m failing?¡± I asked, unperturbed to the scene. Arathis obviously had it under control, and I didn¡¯t want to piss off Greta anymore than the occasional snark.


    I was afraid of her.


    And with good reason.


    For all I bluffed sometimes, and was desensitized to bloodshed, I was scared of many things. I kept my thirst for power in check, because Athena had warned that although I relied on my Ability, I didn¡¯t listen to it at times, viewing my reliance as a weakness when it wasn¡¯t. My so very mortal arrogance that I could rise on my own without depending on the Gods was endearing, My Liege had said, but unfounded.


    It hurt my pride a bit, that.


    My Ability told me much. But it never told me what to do with the knowledge it gave me.


    So it was understandable, I thought to myself, that I didn¡¯t want to play Crown against an opponent that I had no knowledge about.


    A justification, my Ability returned. Justifications are only needed when-


    Oh, shut up.


    It wasn¡¯t that I didn¡¯t want to play against Greta - it would be fun, much fun - but I was afraid. The real Seraphina was afraid, and so I let her take the reins on Greta-related matters.


    ¡°You are doing surprisingly well,¡± she finally replied.


    ¡°Huh. Thanks, sis.¡± My eyes fluttered towards Ara, who gave a grin that I returned. ¡°So, er, is Ara going to be free to kill things anytime soon?¡± I asked, ¡°or am I going to have to leave you to it?¡±


    I didn¡¯t direct the question to any specific person, and Arathis answered, ¡°Nah, Oldest Sister was just getting on my case for not wanting to wear matching outfits.¡± He spat the last word with the same kind of disgust Mercy would¡¯ve said torture.


    ¡°And then she murdered all my attendants,¡± he added. ¡°Do you know how hard it was to find ones that tried to assassinate me at least decently?¡±


    ¡°Okay, maybe the attendant murder was a bit overkill,¡± I admitted, earning a glare from Greta. ¡°But sis is right - you know, power in numbers and clothes make the Imperial and all that. Since Cyrus¡¯ planning to murder one of the envoys, and a Praetor¡¯s coming along, we at least have to watch in style.¡±


    None of them were surprised at the information, which was expected.


    ¡°I get the style thing,¡± Arathis replied, ¡°but we have to match. I don¡¯t even look good in Imperial bronze.¡± Honesty, eagerness, well-masked uneasiness.


    ¡°I¡¯ll take you to Orion¡¯s Residence so we talk to Castor if you wear it,¡± I volunteered.


    Greta watched the exchange impassively. She got angry enough to use her Ability - and that unsettling Drawback - over matching clothes? one of my more curious counterparts questioned. There¡¯s more to it- I immediately shut that train of thought down.


    Do not attempt to Read Greta Highlander.


    Do not poke around Greta Highlander.


    And do not play games with Greta Highlander, my Ability hammered into my head.


    Even if it would be fun.


    Even if it would be fun.


    Ara pondered my offer. ¡°We ask Josie and it¡¯s a done deal,¡± he accepted.He¡¯s playing an angle.


    Who cares? I thought back. Let him play me. It matters not what persona I¡¯m in - all it matters is that I survive. Surviving is what¡¯s Wise.


    Surviving and retaining power isn¡¯t the same thing, it bit back.


    ¡°The deal is struck?¡± I offered.


    ¡°The deal is struck.¡±


    And so Arathis was released, and Greta stormed out of the pool of carnage she made of the Fifth Imperial Residence.


    <hr>


    It was an uneventful day, except for the fact that I was visited by a Goddess in a vision and told my Imperial Father was dying.


    You of conflict and desire, said Athena, bow before me.


    You couldn¡¯t put a label to what the Olympians made you feel. I didn¡¯t relish the wave of fear that came with every dreamscape visit - this time, it wasn''t a dream - my vision had gone hazy while I was eating lunch, and here I was, subjected to an aura that forced me to submit and in front of a Goddess.


    Athena¡¯s Aegis and spear radiated eons of war and peace, blood shed in the names of kings and heroes, strength and submission and the call of war. Her grey eyes pierced through me, and I had no doubt she could see through the very fabric of my existence, the very threads that interconnected from my self to my being.


    She was wearing a traditional chiton, the fabric shifting as pieces of heavy armor were strapped to her shoulders. An owl with feathers of brown and beige perched on her shoulder, its beak and talons sharp, as the shifting snake-head of the bronze shield on Athena¡¯s hand forced me to freeze, to submit.


    You could question the compatibility of the Goddess of warfare, wisdom, and crafts with someone as conflicting as myself who had never been in an actual war, and I would agree.


    Every other Victor¡¯s Ability was something to marvel at, something almost fitting, but I never understood the pizzazz about having Hints scattered throughout your vision that you couldn¡¯t ignore.


    But they said the Morai and the Olympians knew you better than you knew yourself.


    Oh, well.


    I bowed.


    Do you know the reason your neighbors send messengers?


    ¡°I know of possibilities.¡±


    Possibilities are not enough. Do you know what is Wise?


    ¡°I do not know enough. Please, enlighten me, My Liege.¡±


    The Source, as you call it, expands when a Harbinger of Slaughter starts to rise to power.


    ¡°Right. A Harbinger. I¡¯m assuming it¡¯s expanding now?¡±


    You are correct.


    Shelve that, for later.


    Harbinger. I dispatched my Ability to think at the same time as I did.


    A person or thing that signals the arrival of another. Arrival of Slaughter, in this case. Slaughterers needed to have power, to be able to Slaughter - what did an Olympian classify as a Slaughter? A catastrophe, to be able to - a powerful person with Abilities, rising to power, which means someone else has to step down - both my trains of thought arrived at the conclusion at the same time.


    ¡°The Emperor is dying.¡±


    My eyes widened, out of their own volition, just a fraction.


    ¡°The current Emperor of the Empire Eoina is dying, and someone-¡±


    The oldest, the one with the most political power, closest to the Emperor -Greta.


    ¡°Greta plans to get named Heir Designate.¡±


    To name herself Heir Designate the only way- the only way-


    ¡°She plans to slaughter all of the Victors, and get herself named Heir Designate.¡±


    I wasn¡¯t finished yet, and Athena knew it. The Republica envoy. The Republic¡¯s borders - the Source expanding - were shared with the Union - the dark Forest- A Praetor, a high military rank getting sent - envoys, to ask us for power - the arrival of the Harbinger-


    The Hints were all aflame.


    Consider the Present, Athena said.


    The Source expanding.


    The Republica envoys¡¯ arrival.


    A Praetor getting sent, on the way.


    The Past.


    An Imperial Prince buying weapons to disrupt.


    A planned assassination, provided weapons.


    A Dockworker, a pawn.


    The Future.


    The Emperor dying.


    The Harbinger, Greta, rising to power.


    The death of Victors, Greta on Nikephoros¡¯ throne.


    Connections gleamed, threading and weaving together.


    What do you see?


    ¡°The Source is expanding because Nikephoros is dying, and there¡¯s an opportunity for Greta to kill all of the Victors and get named Heir Designate. The envoys were sent because the Source is expanding. The Praetor¡¯s getting sent because some in the Republic want to ask us, the Victors, to bolster their military against the increasing monsters.¡±


    My eyes widened, again.


    ¡°The Imperial Prince is buying weapons to disrupt the military request, to spite his family. The assassination is a distraction, because he¡¯s been planning this for a while now - the reason he feels betrayed isn¡¯t because of his attachment to Castor, it¡¯s because he needs someone to reveal the weapons. The weapons are provided by someone in the Union, who wants to see this all fall.¡±


    I continued, breathlessly.


    ¡°If everything goes according to all of their plans, the Republic and the Empire¡¯s relations will be severed, Greta will rise to the throne and use Cyrus¡¯ excuse to attack the Republic and seize it, and give the person in the Union who gave the weapons to Cyrus power. If everything goes according to all their plans, I and the other Victors will die and the continent will fall into Chaos.¡±


    I had been playing too small of a Crownboard.


    A war is coming.


    Athena¡¯s voice was full of mirth, as if she wanted to applaud but couldn¡¯t.


    She hadn''t confirmed or denied my conclusions.


    Now, what will you do?


    There was only one thing left to do, if they were playing a game of Crown with nations.


    ¡°Topple their board.¡±


    <hr>


    An Allegory of the Boy Who Flew Into The Sun, Author Unknown


    _______________________________________________________


    In the city there was a thief,


    With name none he was known by,


    And so with a click of his boots,


    His smile, but a whisper shy,


    His gloves and face were quick and sly,


    But silent entrance brief-


    As his eyes were snared, and he was caught-


    By the owner of the wares he sought.


    And so the owner asked of him,


    ¡°Answer three questions, and go free,¡±


    And so the thief accepted, with an outstretched limb-


    ¡°What do you wish for?¡± asked the owner,


    A twinkle in her eye, and the thief replied in glee,


    ¡°Nothing,¡± said he easily, ¡°for I already exist.¡±


    ¡°And so?¡± the ware-owner challenged,


    ¡°Why do you exist?¡±


    ¡°I do not know,¡± said he, ¡°for the Gods¡¯ will I cannot resist.¡±


    ¡°Why do you wish to exist? Of death do you fear?¡±


    The thief smirked, ¡°It is human arrogance-


    To hope that the reaper does not come,


    The mortals put on their wax wings, and fly


    Towards the sky, a God they desire to become-


    Renewed with purpose, they search,


    For what makes life worth living, in the Sun-


    But then they fall, as the waves consume all,


    For they all jump off the cliff,


    As if Icarus won.¡±


    The ware-owner asked again, ¡°Are you not the same?¡±


    ¡°If I am,¡± the thief replied, ¡°the Gods are the ones to blame.¡±


    ¡°Why the Gods?¡± scoffed the owner,


    ¡°Answer again, then you are free.¡±


    ¡°They feed us the illusion of glory,


    Provide us the kings of old,


    They spin a tale of dust and story,


    And say that what awaits us is gold,


    As if they hadn¡¯t put into our heads,


    That wearing a crown like seeing the Sun,


    As if they hadn¡¯t strung Fate¡¯s threads,


    To make us so we can be undone.¡±


    Then the thief said, ¡°I will go,¡±


    ¡°Not yet,¡± the owner insisted,


    ¡°Answer again,¡± said she, ¡°why is it not your burden?¡±


    The thief laughed.


    ¡°It is not my burden to bear,


    Nor my secret to keep, for my existence will be


    Erased, the scrolls of my name bare,


    They pit us against each other in glee,


    Death is the villain, for in stories they write,


    History is not written by the Victors,


    The humans they created a blight-


    History is written by the predictors,


    For only the Gods who survive all ends.¡±


    <hr>


    Greta was told that she was Chosen because she was closer to insanity than most.


    And as a person who had seen countless instances of insanity, Greta believed that, contrary to popular belief, there were only two possible reasons why a person could go mad. Greta defined insane, of course, as thinking themselves capable of going against the Gods.


    Avarice.


    Wanting more than the Gods could give you, and then going insane when you realized it was impossible to achieve that want. These wants could range from power, love, revenge, to just material money - those who succumbed to greed had wants, whether lofty or earthly, and when they failed to achieve them, their mind would go snap.


    Arrogance.


    Thinking themselves capable of playing the Gods, then going insane when the Gods played them. These were the ones who got a kick out of controlling and ordering people, with a tremendous amount of ego in the field of doing so, and idle hands caused them to turn towards the beings who ruled.


    Greta was told that she was Chosen also because she had an uncanny ability to control her sanity. She, at the time, had been unsure whether to take it as an insult or a compliment. Over the years, she had firmly decided to consider it as neither.


    ¡°Father.¡± Greta Highlander was yet again beside her imperial Father, the old man¡¯s beard frost-eaten and his ceremonial long chiton pristine, the only personalized ornament on him being the golden peacock insignia that glittered at his breast.


    The Emperor wore a crown of laurels, the leaves painstakingly crafted and handed down through the years, but Greta had no doubt that the unassuming circlet had seen more carnage than anyone else in the Empire.


    Nikephoros the Nightbidden had assumed his name through surviving more nights - and assassinations - than most in his position, which was an admirable feat, if you considered the fact that most of the people who surrounded him were traitors.


    His face seemingly weather-worn, and the gaze in his eye - the gaze that showed he ruled an Empire of backstabbers - had faded in recent months, and Greta hadn¡¯t been surprised when she had been informed that he was dying.


    Really, the more startling fact had been that he was poisoning himself.


    ¡°Greta.¡± The kindly old man smiled - it was an expression that bordered fatherly, and it almost hid the note of disapproval in his voice. Almost, Greta thought to herself, as he continued, ¡°What did I say about killing your siblings?¡±


    Greta ignored the question.


    ¡°The Republica envoys are on their way,¡± she replied. ¡°The Consul Romanus has agreed to our offer, and he¡¯s already poisoned and substituted Hortensia Halgrove with his son the Praetor. He assures me that the Senate only thinks that the Praetor¡¯s there to speed the military matters along and that Cyrus¡¯ attempted assassination is enough excuse to declare war. Everything is going according to plan, Father.¡±


    Nikephoros peered at Greta, but sighed.


    ¡°Sometimes, not on my better days, I wonder if I¡¯ve put too much of a burden on you. Uniting the continent was my dream, not yours,¡± the Emperor said, sadly. ¡°It was a childish fancy, and one I sometimes wish I hadn¡¯t told you about.¡±


    ¡°It is too late, Father,¡± Greta replied, evenly, ¡°to use guilt to stop me.¡±


    She had seen far too much of a future unbridled and unfettered with flimsy power struggles, of useless prejudice and battles of carnage where you were faced with the option to win, or die.


    Of a future where the Queen¡¯s Cage was but a primal blot in history, where the Anothen and the Kato were one, and people could succumb not to greed or love, but necessary existence.


    What if you could turn your back in the Empire¡¯s streets without getting stabbed? Imagine that, Nikephoros had said one day after a Court meeting, and that night Greta had spun that scenario into a dream and desire that threatened to swallow everything.


    Where war was not sport but a tool, and everything was a cog in a well-oiled machine. Where everything was necessary.


    As much as Greta had seen - and expressed distaste at - many humans who relished in flesh and wine, she was one of them.


    The difference wasn¡¯t that she could break their minds easily at the cost of her own - it was that she imagined a world without the Gods, and her mind was already broken.


    ¡°It¡¯s far too late,¡± Greta corrected herself, ¡°to stop me.¡±


    <hr>

 7. Wreath III

    <hr>


    Dulce et decorum est, pro patria mori.


    - VANDALIZED REPUBLICA ARCH.


    Translation - It is sweet and fitting, to die for one¡¯s country.


    <hr>


    Death, Verse I


    The ferryman¡¯s fare is but a small price,


    The souls of the damned churn beneath the waters,


    For the hated beloved, the beloved but mice,


    For here begins the era of slaughter.


    The river Styx circles true, the wails of death,


    The passengers so pass through the mighty keep,


    For a coin beneath a tongue, a solemn breath,


    For ye who pass here are in the reaper¡¯s sleep.


    Death, Verse II


    The funeral¡¯s fare neither ashes nor glory,


    The wings of death, a swoop of the soul,


    For the price neither great, nor the thirteen story,


    For a coin ¡®neath the tongue, not a newborn foal.


    <hr>


    <blockquote>


    Then Heir Designate, Glory Prince Rocco Queenscage III, Chosen of Hephaestus, invaded a small kingdom of the Republic on orders of the Emperor to help his father¡¯s Legacy. It resulted in a victory, and Rocco¡¯s Ability along with his skills made him take Notus temporarily. However, he was interrupted by news of the Emperor¡¯s death, and he rushed back to the Isles.


    Rocco was told on the Emperor¡¯s deathbed that the Emperor¡¯s true Legacy had been Rocco; and that the command to start an invasion between two of the continent¡¯s largest powers had just been to solidify Rocco¡¯s name. While the Glory Prince was preoccupied, Republica generals took back Notus - then known as Keto - and imprisoned all his soldiers. It was then that Rocco earned the moniker, ¡°Rocco the Ruiner.¡±


    Rocco killed himself shortly after, whether to spite the Emperor or due to pressure, the reason is unknown; he left the aftermath of the Skirmish to his daughter, Angelo, listed then as Rocco¡¯s Heir Designate. Under Angelo the Avenger¡¯s reign, however, diplomatic negotiations began but as they did not go anywhere, Angelo ignored the Republica diplomats sent and charged to take over the then-territory of Notus.


    Using renowned tactics like the Angelo¡¯s Pass and the Weaver¡¯s Embrace, she paved the way against Republica¡¯s generals and took the Fortress of Notus after no less than six Daycycles. During Emperor Angelo - Angelo had made clear her preference in the title - and her reign, the Empire prospered and, after the Thirty-Ninth Queen¡¯s Cage occurred, the Empire continued once again. This whole series of events was known as the Skirmish.


    - Records of the Skirmish, Author Unknown (27 P.Q.C)


    </blockquote>


    <hr>


    YOU COULD SAY THAT REPUBLICA SENTIMENT was easy to turn.


    You didn¡¯t like someone? Accuse them of not being a patriot.


    If they were actually a patriot? Then accuse them of treason.


    Marcellus Amadeus Romanus, Son of Octavian, son of Augustus, knew that there was beauty in simplicity, just as there was also beauty in efficiently dealing with political rivals.


    Every step, whether in his military campaigns or his patrician career, every stroke of good fortune and every table that was turned, could be reversed as easily as the flip of a coin.


    In fact, the Republica denarius, Consul Romanus thought to himself, was fitting in the way that the sayings emblazoned on both sides were drastically different.


    It was a writer of old¡¯s quote, of some work or other - ¡°lasciate ogne speranza¡± on one side, ¡°voi ch''intrate¡± on the other.


    Abandon all hope, ye who enter here.


    It was supposed to be poetic, Marcellus considered - if you got the ye who enter here side first, you would be filled with hope at an instruction - only to be told to abandon it. If you got the abandon all hope side, you would scoff at such an instruction - only to wonder where you were entering when you flipped it.


    But there was nothing poetic about false hope.


    ¡°Evander,¡± Marcellus replied, ¡°my brother in arms, my comrade. Are you a patriot?¡±


    The Consul of Remus, Valerius Evander Romus, snorted. ¡°You of all people would know the answer, Amadeus,¡± he snorted. ¡°Maybe before, I was - dulce et decorum est, after all - before we were sent to the border. I may be loyal to my Branch of House Roma, to my name, but to the fatherland?¡± Valerius snorted again. ¡°My patriotism means little, in the scale of things.¡±


    ¡°But are you a patriot?¡± Still the other pressed.


    Valerius raised an eyebrow. ¡°I feel no speck of loyalty or affection for this bloodstained land and its politics,¡± he said, slowly, as if he were explaining something to a small child. ¡°No, I¡¯m not a fucking patriot. What, are you going to record that and tell all of the patricians now?¡±


    ¡°The people of the land would be heartbroken if they knew their revered Consul and ruler didn¡¯t care about them,¡± Marcellus pointed out, amused yet ignoring his friend''s question.


    ¡°Says you of all people, Amadeus.¡± Valerius shook his head, but a smile was on his face. ¡°We¡¯re here to drink, not talk about those bullshit politics. We can do the interrogating, getting pissed at each other, and pretending we¡¯re both old farts at Senate meetings, alright?¡±


    Marcellus¡¯ lips twitched, forming the beginnings of a half-smile. ¡°Alright, old friend. Just this once.¡± The Consul of Romulus slid his empty cup forward, and immediately it was filled by the other. The honey-colored liquid hovered at the brim, and Marcellus picked up the glass, threw his head back and down the wine went.


    They drank, filling and emptying, for a long time. A comfortable silence.


    ¡°Evander.¡±


    ¡°Hm?¡±


    ¡°I sold out the Republic.¡±


    ¡°Mm.¡±


    ¡°I slipped something in Hortensia¡¯s drink, and worked together with an Imperial who wants to conquer the continent in exchange for leaving me alive.¡±


    A pause.


    Anti-Imperial sentiment had been manipulated and regulated throughout the Republic''s history by the patricians to keep the plebeians in line and the enlistment rates high. The alienation would have to be great, but not too much of an outright discrimination. Everything in moderation, except cruelty in war, that was what Marcellus had been taught.


    The diplomatic highway to the Empire would have to be open, and that applied especially to the source¡¯s suspected enlarging. Marcellus had pretended to be considering the unexpected obstacle informed by Julian, as if he hadn¡¯t been informed weeks ago in a letter written by an Imperial Princess that the increasing amount of waves were due to a ¡°Harbinger.¡±


    The closer death comes, the wider the hole gets between the Underworld, had said the writing. And it sometimes comes in the forms of people. These people, according to My Liege, who is known by the name ¡®Bacchus¡¯ in your nation, are called Harbingers.


    Greta Highlander Queenscage, the woman who was apparently most likely to get named Heir Designate. Her Ability had something to do with madness, had said the Consul¡¯s sources, and required her to sacrifice her own mind. A person who named Gods casually.


    I know the location of one such Harbinger.


    I offer to you, with this letter, a deal.


    In exchange for keeping in check the Harbinger, I ask of you your cooperation in expediting my plans.


    Will you accept, Consul?


    Any sane person would have rejected it, waving away her concerns as balderdash. But Marcellus¡¯ gut and years of experience told him much.


    ¡°Am I a monster, Evander?¡± Marcellus¡¯ voice had been even and casual through everything, as if he were asking someone whether they thought it would rain.


    It was a habit he had cultivated, to sound casual while talking about these things, as if doubt was an everyday occurrence and nothing but a mild annoyance. But it was a foreign feeling, doubt. Marcellus hadn¡¯t asked whether he was doing the right thing, because justifications were only needed when you doubted your actions. It wasn¡¯t doubting his actions, Marcellus was talking about, and he was sure Valerius knew.


    ¡°By all the Gods, Jupiter and Saturn,¡± was the reply, followed by a snort, ¡°you know what they say, Amadeus - Tartarus is empty, and all the monsters are here. It¡¯s just a matter of when we go down to check, but either way it doesn¡¯t matter if you¡¯re one of them.¡±


    And so, Marcellus Amadeus Romanus, Consul of Romulus, Son of Octavian, son of Augustus, laughed.


    <hr>


    Most times, in a fiction odyssey, a Chosen discovered a revelation in the evening, pondered the depths of it before bed, and got visited by their God in a dream. It was probably the best-case scenario, and one I had participated in a couple times.


    But this time, I blacked out while eating lunch and drinking tea with my lady-in-waitings, and when the vision finished it was like blinking myself out of a trance, only I had dropped the teacup on myself and tea had spilled everywhere.


    The envoys were coming tomorrow, and I would die then.


    Cyrus would try to kill them.


    They would try to kill us, and in response, Greta would kill us all.


    ¡°Alyssa, Alia, Celeste, all of you-¡± I looked at their gaping mouths and one of them scrambled for towelettes ¡°-leave me. Call Mercy.¡±


    They were surprised, but all of them meekly obeyed, some of them concerned that they had done something wrong.


    My hands weren¡¯t steady. Not visibly shaky, but they weren¡¯t steady. It was a sign, and a bad one, that I had just been hoodwinked.


    Not hoodwinked, what was the word that Dantaleus used - Blindsided.


    Even though I was used to plotting, it reminded me how inexperienced I was. It was like I was drinking a chalice of a wine I fancied - although technically I was underage - but then I fumbled due to the chalice¡¯s weight and the wine spilled everywhere.


    Blindsided.


    And the fact that not all of my conclusions were reinforced meant that I was well and truly fucked.


    <hr>


    Narkisa had no surname, but did have a job, a boss that she was currently resenting, and a rather large smidgeon of talent.


    Of course, with that talent came the awareness that they were in a tight situation.


    The fact that the Imperial Princess Seraphina, Sixth-in-line, had called them to the Palace without the usual discretion, along with the fact that she had an irritated expression on her face, proved that.


    The Imperial Princess was pretty, yes, but in that otherworldly way like a ghost in a horror story, with almost unnaturally piercing blue eyes. Eyes like they were seeing right through Narkisa¡¯s soul, but in that unperturbed way like the serene waters of a lake.


    Dark hair and light caramel skin, with a voice that was always in that light, playful tone. Narkisa had heard that voice threaten and act on those threats, but her tone always remained the same, the princess¡¯ expression always bland yet not stoic.


    It was as if the Victor had achieved a balanced ratio to feeling emotion and showing it.


    ¡°Narkisa,¡± Seraphina greeted. Her gaze was darting, fleeting, which was unusual. ¡°Macedon.¡±


    The Imperial Princess leaned back, her robes¡¯ silks bleeding on the lounge. ¡°Would you like to know the truth or the situation?¡±


    A choice.


    She always offered a choice, but it was never really a choice. It was always a test of some sort, and Narkisa hated it, even if she knew it was justified.


    ¡°The situation,¡± Narkisa felt herself saying.


    Macedon agreed, ¡°The situation.¡±


    If they picked the truth, they would be subject to a cluster of Imperial secrets and around their necks the noose of treason would be tightened.


    But if Seraphina said she would tell the truth, it would likely be the truth, even if their reactions to it would be measured. Assessed.


    ¡°Right.¡± Seraphina blinked. ¡°Tomorrow, the envoys will arrive. Someone will try to attack them. I can¡¯t let that happen, because then someone else will attack me, I¡¯ll die, and your bills won¡¯t get paid.¡±


    I can¡¯t let that happen, not I won¡¯t let that happen.


    Narkisa felt that there was something behind the choice of words. Seraphina was uncertain, and that was enough to scare Narkisa.


    I¡¯ll die. She said that phrase with an unshakeable certainty, as if she knew she was in over her head but couldn¡¯t do anything about it.


    It was a firm resignation, but there was something brimming beneath her words that Narkisa couldn¡¯t pinpoint, even if the spy was adept at reading social cues.


    A seventeen-year-old, outsmarting her.


    ¡°What are your orders?¡± the spy asked.


    ¡°Your current assignment is cancelled, since you wouldn¡¯t get anywhere, anyways,¡± Seraphina waved her off.


    Well, at least she was honest.


    ¡°You and Macedon focus on getting your hands on any Republica information you have. The members of their Senate - how many people were at their last orgy, what color their piss is - any and all goes. Focus on their Praetors, especially. I expect a file on their strengths and weaknesses within the hour.¡±


    Giving them a time limit? Also unusual.


    Macedon evidently recognized that, as the stringy man said, ¡°Will we get a raise?¡±


    ¡°When we¡¯re done,¡± Seraphina promised, ¡°the whole country might hate us, but we¡¯ll be damn rich.¡±


    A smile spread across the man''s face.


    ¡°What¡¯s the aim of this operation?¡± Narkisa questioned.


    Seraphina smiled, amused. Everything about today was unusual, including her smile, and Narkisa finally recognized the anticipation in her tone.


    ¡°If I tell you,¡± the Imperial Princess said, ¡°wouldn''t it defeat the whole purpose of being unpredictable?¡±


    <hr>


    As it turned out, most members of the Republica¡¯s Senate were very fond of orgies.


    I shuffled through the files.


    According to the roughly assembled, yet surprisingly detailed papers, instead of nobles, there were patricians.


    Branches weren¡¯t necessarily higher-ranked on paper, but people whose lineage dated back to the Republic¡¯s founding were considered around the level of Imperial duchy Houses. Stolen story; please report.


    Interesting.


    Apparently, all Branches were all part of a single House, which meant that all patricians were technically related, and thus rarely intermarried - offspring were usually spawned off greater military or mercantile families, to bolster ties with commercial entities.


    In a way, it was strange yet familiar.


    The Senate was the Republic¡¯s idea of ¡°choice by the people,¡± if not a select few. Originally, most of the Senate¡¯s patricians came from military backgrounds, but as time went on the glory of military power remained, yet the appeal declined.


    However, the main Branches of Romanus and Romus - respectively founded by both Romulus and Remus - stuck to it.


    Also interesting.


    It was complicated, I realized, but I already had the gist of it from my studies. Consuls, the equivalent of kings there, and were ¡°elected¡± by the Senate every four years.


    The current Consuls were men by the name of Marcellus Romanus and Valerius Romus, and the Praetors were their children, Julian Romanus and Cecilia Romus.


    But the question arose, which Praetor was sent?


    My conclusions had led me to the boy-praetor, Julian Romanus, who had more military experience under his belt. If my guesses were right, Cyrus¡¯ mother was somewhere in the envoy, was replaced, or-


    There were much too many unknown variables at play. If I wanted to make an unpredictable choice, it would need to be a restrained one - adding a scorpion to a bag of snakes would prove as much danger to the scorpion as the snakes, or so I was told.


    I could set the Empire on fire. It would be too cliche - Lysimachos already did that, what with his attempted genocide of Imperial Kato - but it would somewhat effectively draw attention.


    I could also target the Praetor, plant a discreet dizzying balm on his person, and make him swear a Fealty Oath, sign a marriage contract, or cause some other scandal. I could use the Cardinal duchies - Cadmus, of the east Eurus; Hyacinth, of the west Zephyr; Athinon, of the north Boreas; maybe even Notus¡¯ Lords, if I was feeling risky enough. I had heard word of Doxa sending word that the Evlogia duchess - poor Roxane¡¯s mother - would arrive to help herd - I mean, delegate - the envoys.


    There was a world to play with, if I ignored the pieces of my siblings. But I couldn¡¯t.


    Greta practically ruled Boreas, with her strong ties with the marquessates and counties that dotted the North, along with the Highlander smell that lingered on the Athinon duchy. Cyrus¡¯ influence extended to Doxa, with Roxane¡¯s power - his commercial influence, likely partnered with Roxane¡¯s business sense, led to him having a tight partnership with the Evlogia duchy.


    Josephine¡¯s parties and gathered societal influence held sway in the capital, and she had her claws in practically every rumor along with a stranglehold on the Eternal City¡¯s red-light district; Orion was usually solitary, but he did command some of the Imperial Army¡¯s forces with his renowned archery. Arathis could pop in most nobles¡¯ homes without getting attacked, with his unpredictability and how people underestimated him, but he did have a lot of political connections, especially on the second Isle.


    I tried to remain quiet, but I did have a hand in quite a few pies, with my information-gathering agency. If you ignored our renowned eccentric personalities, the Imperials were everywhere. It might¡¯ve seemed at first like a small chess game between family members, but we were everywhere and we were dangerous.


    They were everywhere, and they were dangerous.


    So much so that most families below the duchies and a few marquessates usually didn¡¯t dare look Greta and Orion in the eye.


    But I was the Sixth-in-line, apparently overshadowed by my predecessors.


    Perhaps, it was time to draw attention.


    <hr>


    <blockquote>


    The Elysian Isles - these three isles float atop Lake Ichor, one of the Empire¡¯s greatest cities. Aionos, the Eternal City and the capital, is the first - a center of both commercial and political might. Inevita, more often referred to as the Second Isle, is the second - a former military stronghold, it is now a scenic, blossoming island-city. And last, the Third Isle, more often than not called ¡°the Cage,¡± home to the Empire¡¯s one and only longtime competition for those worthy of taking on the Imperial mantle, the Queen¡¯s Cage.


    The practice and legalization of the Queen¡¯s Cage was due to the First Emperor, name unknown, after receiving a declaration from the Gods and the Queen Hera herself. The Twelve then turned the Third Isle into a battlefield of the Chosen, choosing every five years those above sixteen to compete. The Empire¡¯s Cagekeepers keep track of the young, watching the Footage as the last one standing is called ¡°the Victor.¡± The title of the Victor currently belongs to five individuals, a larger amount than most.


    The Victors will battle out, and eventually the last one standing amongst them will be named Heir Designate, and given the title ¡°Glory Prince.¡±


    Those of the Empire more commonly practice the Belief Anothen, placing their faith in the Gods and the Twelve, after the Slaughter - ordered by Emperor Lysimachos the Insane - that wiped out most of the Kato population.


    The Empire¡¯s history is long and illustrious, boasting many historical figures like Empress Angelo the Avenger, Glory Prince Rocco and Imperial Prince Dantaleus[...]


    - Excerpt from ''A Brief History of the Empire Eoina,'' published 60 P.Q.C.


    criticized for presenting inaccurate information after addressing Angelo the Avenger as "Empress," and Dantaleus as "Imperial Prince"; faced scorn from many when it was revealed that the writer was a Lysimachos apologist.


    </blockquote>


    <hr>


    It wasn¡¯t surprising that the Imperial chef was suspicious of me.


    It was surprising, however, that he heard me out.


    ¡°Right,¡± I said, seemingly sheepish as I discreetly signalled the ladies-in-waiting to intimidate the staff into moving, ¡°so I¡¯ve heard that one of the envoys, Praetor Julian, is¡­well, his eyes are apparently the dreamiest.¡±


    I forced myself to swoon, ¡°and his features are so chiseled! His statuesque figure in his cape, and his muscles¡­¡±


    The Chef looked unconvinced. ¡°Right.¡±


    ¡°And, er¡­¡± I motioned for him to come closer. ¡°I¡¯m only seventeen, and I know it¡¯s illegal, but I¡¯ve heard that his-¡±


    The Chef coughed, interrupting me. Well, at least I didn¡¯t have to go there. ¡°So you,¡± he said, ¡°want me to let you slip an aphrodisiac into a diplomat¡¯s meal?¡±


    I nodded.


    ¡°You, a Chosen of the Gods who won the Queen¡¯s Cage?¡±


    I pouted. ¡°Face-¡± I looked at his uniform ¡°-Hawthorne, I¡¯m sure this sounds kind of far-fetched, but¡­¡± I let melancholy touch my eyes as Alyssa snuck behind him, herbs in hand.


    ¡°Josephine gets all the attention,¡± I confessed. ¡°I¡¯m always second - or third, or even last - in archery, murder, arson, politics, even business. I just...don¡¯t want to lose out on this one.¡±


    Hawthorne sighed. Exasperation, mixed with tension. Apprehension. ¡°Your Highness,¡± he said, trying to sound reassuring and failing, ¡°I¡¯m sure all your siblings care about you. They just don¡¯t-¡±


    ¡°But they don¡¯t,¡± I wailed, semi-loudly. ¡°The last time I had someone interested in me, he was nearly burned at the stake.¡± Of course, I had been the one to tie him there, but they always said semantics were unnecessary to dwell on.


    Alyssa signalled that she was done, and I gave her a faint nod.


    The Chef¡¯s eyes widened, and he shifted uncomfortably. ¡°I-¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry,¡± I said, sniffing, ¡°I¡¯m sure I¡¯m boring you. Everyone says I look creepy.¡±


    Hawthorne benevolently refrained from saying, Yes, you are, which his body language was flaring - I made a mental note to ask someone to give him a raise - and sighed.


    ¡°Some people do gossip about your appearance,¡± he admitted, as if I was unaware, ¡°but it¡¯s not because you look creepy. You just look a bit...intimidating.¡± He paused. ¡°But, Your Highness, I¡¯m sure there are many people out there who find you attractive. You just have to find the right one.¡±


    ¡°Really?¡±


    After finishing up with Hawthorne - Gods, he really was quite a chap - we left the kitchen.


    Alyssa remarked in approval, ¡°Gods, that was some mighty fine acting.¡±


    Alia smacked her. ¡°Don¡¯t speak casually to Her Highness,¡± she scolded Alyssa.


    They seemed like good friends, even if Alyssa was of higher rank. Pity.


    I smiled, wryly. ¡°It¡¯s alright. You guys can call me by my name, and speak casually if you¡¯d like. I¡¯ve been polishing up on my skills.¡±


    ¡°So, what was inside the powder?¡± Celeste tried, tentatively. They didn¡¯t ask where Mercy was - they were smart enough to know that the answer would likely put them in danger - but I answered them honestly.


    ¡°Crushed rhododendron,¡± I replied. ¡°I¡¯m told one of the envoys¡¯ parents is a gardener, and are particularly fond of them.¡±


    Surprising, considering what it could mean.


    One meaning was love, generosity, and cheer. Based on my ladies'' expressions, I could tell they knew the other.


    Danger, beware.


    <hr>


    ¡°Nameless¡± was a surname given to the abandoned.


    Xanthe, however, considered it a surname like any other.


    Xanthe Nameless.


    Mercy, the Princess had named her with a smile on her face. Xanthe grew up with only her brother, in the orphanage, before she was ¡®abandoned¡¯ yet again as he was Chosen by Poseidon. And truly abandoned after he passed away in the Cage.


    The Princess had loved him, and said the name Cas with the bittersweetness of someone who had loved and lost.


    The Hundredth Victor had said that in the end, when the last person was killed and only Seraphina and Caspian were left, he himself had chosen to commit suicide.


    Xanthe would be a fool not to suspect that Seraphina killed him, but then again, the pay was steady and the only time Seraphina seemed truly genuine and solid was when the Princess talked about her days with Xanthe¡¯s brother.


    And so Xanthe had trusted, and she hadn¡¯t regretted her decision any more than she regretted anything, really.


    Regrets were useless.


    She had regretted being born. Regretted letting her brother go. Regretted everything. But then her brother died, and she had no choice.


    She turned eighteen and was kicked out of the orphanage, and she had no choice. Did regrets give her a choice?


    They had no use.


    Xanthe was Princess Seraphina¡¯s blade that knew no mercy.


    In a way, she was a mercy itself.


    If Xanthe was sent instead of Princess Seraphina herself, that in itself was a mercy.


    And so Mercy watched as the evening rays of the sun swallowed the slums she used to live in like a hungry dawn-serpent. The view would be almost like a painting, perhaps one of those that hung in the Imperial palace, if not for the decrepit structures and tattered bodies on the street it featured.


    Hallowed rosy light cast its touch on the shriveled skeletons of children as they shivered in corners, as if Helios¡¯ arms were a healing contact instead of a reminder that the suffering wouldn¡¯t end.


    Mercy didn¡¯t feel indebted to slum-children the way Xanthe did, but in some way, the way the sun thought itself holy, as if showing itself would delay death, made her angry. Most of them would be dead, or worse, before dawn.


    Mercy pushed the feeling down, as she ignored the sleazy look in some of the greedy Merchants¡¯ eyes - they were likely only here to snatch up children for some pleasure trade or trafficking ring, with promises of gold and fortune and a location nearer to the Imperial Palace.


    Some of them had been very convincing, Mercy remembered, until she had pickpocketed them and hightailed it out of there.


    But today, she wasn¡¯t a Nameless anymore. She was here for information. Trudging over to a familiar, hunched figure in rags, Mercy leaned down and whispered, ¡°Glory to the Sixth.¡±


    ¡°Yeah, yeah, she who comes from myth,¡± the figure grumbled. ¡°I don¡¯t see why we have to use that catchphrase. It¡¯s corny, and we already know each other.¡±


    Xanthe agreed, but it was made by Mace, so there was really no choice.


    Mercy shrugged. ¡°Not my problem, Aen,¡± she replied, nonchalantly. ¡°Fork over the information, and you¡¯ll get your pay.¡±


    Aen muttered something under his breath, and then said, ¡°Some of our spotters have located Baron Cirillo roughing up some of our guys. He didn¡¯t take well to our rejection of his offer, saying, and I quote, ¡®that Princess thinks she¡¯s all high and mighty? I¡¯ll show-¡¯¡±


    ¡°Right, right.¡± Mercy waved the feeble attempt at a threat off. ¡°Are any of the others moving?¡± By others, she of course meant the-


    ¡°Big players?¡± Aen scoffed. ¡°None of their ilk would be caught dead here, but¡­¡± the homeless man deepened his already-permanent frown. ¡°I saw an Evlogia footman stumble in one of the bars. Paid off the pleasure-man he was with and apparently he managed to slip that the Duchess is making a move.¡±


    Mercy raised an eyebrow. ¡°Anything more behind it?¡± she pressed. ¡°Doxa¡¯s to the west, and it¡¯s a Daycycle journey to get here. There needs to be something bigger, Aen.¡±


    Aen held up his hands. ¡°Look, I¡¯m just telling ya-¡±


    A beat too fast, and Mercy was already whipping out her knife and pressing it against the man¡¯s filthy throat.


    ¡°You know something, Aen,¡± she hissed. ¡°Tell me.¡± Crimson beads pooling against the sharp cut, as Aen swallowed.


    ¡°Ya know, I sometimes forget that you¡¯re one of them,¡± he said casually. ¡°One of them man-eaters. I see it in the Princess¡¯ eyes, ya know, that barely-chained monster, and I see something being born in you. I know a slum-dweller when I see one, and you¡¯re-¡±


    Mercy dug deeper. ¡°Talk.¡±


    Aen¡¯s voice was hoarse, but he continued, ¡°I expect a raise.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯ll be up for debate. I won¡¯t repeat myself twice.¡±


    Aen laughed, the sound brittle. ¡°You¡¯re desperate, aren¡¯t you? Her Highness probably is, too, and I don¡¯t blame you.¡±


    A silence, as Mercy¡¯s blade sank deeper.


    ¡°The Duchess is meeting them at the gate, to see if some of them are compatible with her duchy,¡± the homeless man replied, finally. ¡°Now, where¡¯s my-¡±


    A slash of the knife, and Aen¡¯s voice was cut off. Blood pooled from underneath the rags, and Mercy looked down at the corpse coolly.


    After a pause of deliberation, the assassin crouched down and picked up her blade again, sawing off at the skin at the base of the head. It was lacerated, and soon was a floppy tongue.


    It was a punishment, known to most in the slums.


    Mercy kicked the body to a corner, placing the head and tongue separately beside it.


    A person who talked back. A person who would cross the River Styx without a coin underneath their tongue.


    And so the Sixth-in-line¡¯s Blade of Mercy pushed her origins and humanity aside, as she left the blood-stained alley, onto the next.


    Regrets were useless.


    <hr>


    I never liked family time. At least, not with the entire family. And certainly not with my biological family.


    So you could imagine my discomfort when I was faced with both.


    ¡°Duchess Theadora,¡± I greeted, politely. ¡°Duke Matthias.¡±


    The woman¡¯s face had on a familiar, bright mask; while the man¡¯s had on an uncomfortable glare.


    Arathis chirped, ¡°So it¡¯s Sixth Mother and Sixth Father!¡±


    Orion looked between my neutral interactions with my parents, and his amber eyes narrowed. He had always been perceptive - perhaps it was his archer¡¯s eyes. I met his eyes with my ever-placid facade, as I lifted my eyebrows just a bit.


    He knew. Not just the lack of a relationship between me and my biological parents, but everything. Greta, Cyrus.


    Dangerous.


    Orion¡¯s eyes narrowed further, and I let a smile flicker across my face as I replied to Arathis warmly, ¡°That¡¯s correct.¡± I turned to them. ¡°Your graces, are you joining us for dinner?¡±


    As I addressed them, the Duke¡¯s hand automatically flew to the pouch at his waist. I let out a small amused snort, which the Duchess Theadora noticed. She was always perceptive, too.


    I had been planning to read Greta, and probe her, but I couldn¡¯t do that outright around the Marksmen - knowing them, they would take it as an opportunity, and it wasn¡¯t as fun playing along with them.


    Besides, I had already assigned my Crownpieces already.


    ¡°No, we¡¯re here to get my money back,¡± snorted Matthias. ¡°You-¡±


    ¡°Might I remind you, Duke,¡± I said, pleasantly, ¡°that I have upheld my end of the deal. As I see no reason to break it, I must repeat again, Your Grace - are you joining us for dinner? It must¡¯ve been a long journey from Inevita.¡±


    I could feel everyone¡¯s gazes on me, even the Emperor.


    Family dinners were rare, but unexpectedly- but if Nikephoros was in on it, expectedly - the Emperor had called one. And it had just began, before someone meekly announced the Marksmen¡¯s arrival.


    Theadora sternly, yet silently, reprimanded Matthias, before saying, ¡°If it¡¯s not too intrusive, dinner sounds lovely. If His Imperial Majesty allows it¡­?¡±


    Nikephoros inclined his head, and so dinner continued.


    <hr>


    I spent the night running through games again.


    Tomorrow would be a storm.


    <hr>


    All roads led to the Eternal City of the First Isle, apparently, according to the rather irritating Imperial guide that had been assigned to Julian.


    He was half-Republica, of course, and Julian wasn¡¯t surprised. Irritating foreigners usually didn¡¯t survive long.


    The rather luxurious carriage that Julian was currently riding in, loaned from the Republica treasury to each of the delegated representatives, provided a view through wispy curtains of sparkling azure waters, presumably of the Lake Ichor.


    Allegedly - and the Praetor said allegedly, since he didn¡¯t trust the weaselly guide¡¯s information any more than he trusted greens to handle a Minotaur without pissing their pants - it was said to be made of the blood of the Gods.


    Apparently, Imperials valued dramatic flair.


    From far away, the three city-size floating pieces of land were strange.


    The Eternal City was a fusion of buildings almost arranged in tiers - the upper, more intricately built structures of a metal that resembled Republica platin but with a gold sheen, and the lower ones of squat, neat brick.


    The Palace at the top was a grandiose, almost jutting structure with a long, thin spire protruding from a cathedral-like castle, sloping curves embedded with gems and all.


    As Julian watched the carriage pursue a smooth path across the bridge and to the gates of the Eternal City, his thoughts went back to mutters of the passerby from the towns the vehicle left behind. ¡°Envoys? What for?¡± as they saw the crimson crest emblazoned on its wheels.


    But the boy-praetor frowned and let out a deep sigh, for all his eighteen-some years of age. The younger you rose in the ranks, the more respected you were as the brighter your future was - Julian had spent more time defending the Republica stronghold of Gloria from the incoming Waves than most patricians.


    House Roma¡¯s Romanus branch was an old bloodline, that was traced back to the founding of the Republic and the establishment of the two Armies.


    Julian¡¯s high military and noble rank meant that his carriage was at the front, so he was the first to halt, and the delegation behind him followed his lead.


    And so the Praetor of Romulus opened the carriage door and stepped outside, and was immediately faced with a weaselly Imperial. Pinch-faced, yet clear-eyed, the woman was obviously of an important sort - Julian had taken some time to look over the Empire¡¯s nobles, and he recognized the emblem of a ducal household.


    Evlogia, the duchy of Doxa. Her flame-haired locks were harshly pinned up in a bun, along with complementing flowing robes - the guards that followed her were draped in gold liveries, mingling with the duchy¡¯s personal emblem: a rising dawn insignia.


    The woman bent her head. ¡°I introduce myself as Duchess Alina de Evlogia, of the Duchy of Doxa. I am here to greet your arrival, and I hope you have not waited long.¡±


    She said this in the Republica dialect, which Julian appreciated. Imperi was strange to speak, even if he was fluent.


    ¡°I introduce myself as Praetor of Romulus, Julian Marius Romanus, of the Romanus branch of House Roma,¡± Julian returned, sparing the Republica courtesy of informing the Duchess of his lineage. ¡°We have just arrived, and we thank you for your prompt greeting.¡±


    A clearing of the throat. Julian turned to the patrician, not letting his annoyance seep into his voice. ¡°I introduce her as the Patrician Cassia, Alberta Octavia Cassia, of the Cassia branch of House Roma.¡±


    Cassia inclined her head a bit lower, and greeted, ¡°It is a pleasure.¡±


    ¡°Mine, as well,¡± replied the Duchess.


    Before the other could clear his throat, Julian added, ¡°I introduce him as the Patrician Summanus, Titus Severan Summanus, of the Summanus branch of House Roma.¡±


    The lecherous old man grinned. ¡°You mar-¡±


    Julian shot him a threatening look before he could go on with his shenanigans, and the patrician¡¯s mouth snapped shut. ¡°He says it¡¯s a pleasure, as well,¡± the boy-praetor spoke for him, eyeing the old man threateningly.


    Amusement twinkled in the Duchess¡¯ eyes, before it disappeared. ¡°Likewise, likewise,¡± she replied. ¡°My Guards will follow your entourage as a precaution to the Palace, where we shall meet again. A banquet will be prepared shortly, unless your need for rest is hard-pressed?¡± She phrased the last sentence as a question, to which Julian smiled.


    ¡°No need,¡± the praetor smiled, continuing in Imperi, ¡°It¡¯d be a pleasure.¡±


    He didn¡¯t use the word honored. That was basically shouting out in the Republic, ¡°I¡¯m inferior! I will be indebted into your service!¡±


    And with that, Julian boarded his carriage again, shooting the Patrician Summanus a hard-earned cautionary glare - back in the Republic, his sleazy ways were notorious - before exchanging looks with the Patrician Cassia - she was level-headed, but a bit too sneaky - before settling in.


    So the entourage moved forward again, this time taking a road decorated in both Republica crimson and Imperial gold, with tasteful flowers dotted here and there.


    This was the road away from the brick houses, which Julian caught on as they swerved around gold manors. Were they purposefully displaying Imperial wealth as an intimidation tactic? Or were they ¡°compassionately¡± ignoring the slums of the Eternal City in order to ¡°provide a smooth journey?¡±


    It was strange. But not strange enough to bring up.


    The Palace was a gargantuan, golden mass, curved and strange in the way that Republica architecture wasn¡¯t - thin columns topped with less ornate decor, yet if not for the simplistic elegance Julian would¡¯ve called it tacky.


    Gems were everywhere, studded into the sides, and it radiated splendour.


    Like Julian said, tacky.


    He kept the distaste out of his expression as he slammed up the stoic one that he¡¯d learned to adopt, through the years. To keep morale high, even if a Wave that came was larger than the last. They didn¡¯t need to know his panic, or when Julian¡¯s praetorian purple cape seemed heavier than ever.


    ¡°We announce,¡± said a loud voice, ¡°the arrival of the envoys!¡±


    <hr>

 8. Interlude: Throne

    <hr>


    Jack of all trades, master of trade.


    - SOURCE UNKNOWN


    <hr>


    "YOU KNOW," I SAY TO CAS, WHILE BITING INTO MY SHARE of our dried harpy bits, ¡°we haven¡¯t crashed into any other Chosen, and it¡¯s been three days. Don¡¯t you think that it¡¯s a bit dangerous?¡± Suspicious? Weird?


    Cas shrugs. ¡°You want to seek them out?¡± he asks, casually. Caution. Thinks it¡¯s a bad idea.


    He¡¯s shirtless, but we¡¯re both comfortable enough with each other, I think. If he tries anything, though, it would be my first time castrating someone.


    And us both being the cautious people are, I have yet to learn his actual Ability.


    ¡°Who knows, maybe some of them are making alliances and trying to find us,¡± I reply, swallowing the dry, familiar meat. ¡°We¡¯ve already recorded most of the monsters in our range. It¡¯ll be best to watch some of them, assuming they don¡¯t have a locating Ability of some sort.¡±


    The ¡®records¡¯ I¡¯m referring to are harpy skins and leaves scrawled over with dark monster blood using a small bone stylus that was the remnant of a finger bone.


    We¡¯ve encountered harpies, rabid griffins, but all of them were small - Cas informed me that there were scyllas and charybdi in the waters, and for once I felt glad we¡¯re deep in the jungle and not there.


    But then I remember that we¡¯re closer to the monsters, and then I frown.


    I take apart and dissect the small creatures - not really monsters, just creatures - Cas manages to take by surprise, and I note down their organs, skeletal structures, and weak points as best as I can.


    And then, we memorize their anatomy, go out to hunt - Cas goes alone, sometimes, if I¡¯ve made a discovery - and soon enough, we¡¯ve got a large stockpile and a water stream.


    I still get the feeling that we¡¯ve only scraped the top of the icicle, but we¡¯ve been lucky so far. Too lucky.


    The rainforest - or is it a jungle? - has a sleepy lull to it, like it¡¯s luring us to go to sleep, with moist drops lingering on fern-colored shrubbery and the unnerving lack of insects, snakes, and birds.


    It¡¯s as if it¡¯s waiting for the optimal time to strike, and I tell myself it¡¯s paranoia - I¡¯ve fallen asleep multiple times, with Cas keeping watch and vice versa - but my Ability agrees it¡¯s not.


    It¡¯s too quiet.


    ¡°It would be the better thing to do,¡± Cas concludes, ¡°but-¡±


    A long, loud scream, ripping through the jungle.


    Close. Very close.


    A human scream.


    We exchange a glance, and instantly Cas puts a finger to his lips. He¡¯s better at moving stealthily, as if he¡¯s used to slipping over obstacles unseen.


    I follow as he slinks through the trees, that mischievous glint in his eyes hardening, a cold smile on his face like he enjoys it.


    We quickly approach the scene, stepping delicately, and I duck behind a thick tree trunk. Godsbroken Chosen.


    That was exactly what was in our eyeview.


    Jonas, the Chosen of Hephaestus that reminded me of cut glass, is ganging up on a lithe Chosen. His neck wound, courtesy of Caspian, is still fresh. The golem summoner.


    Triumph. Arrogance. Satisfaction, the surprisingly dainty Forge-touched projects.


    This should be interesting.


    I watch as the pale-skinned boy controls his mechanical golems, his hands moving in discreet motions as the mechanical structures slowly advance, blocking the Chosen¡¯s path of escape.


    Star-shaped gears like a machine made of clockwork, clicking together with stems attaching. Steam-powered?


    I assumed since the way my Ability was given - here you go, a vague, metaphysical concept, use it to kill people - Jonas¡¯ would be a lot less material, in the sense that it would be more magically powered, using the impossible as a foundation.


    But based on what I see, the machinery looked possible - but the power source...The golden orb, my Ability hisses. Golden orb - Godly power? If Hephaestus-


    Cas elbows me, gesturing me to stop drooling over the golems. I shoot back a glare, but tear my eyes away from the theoretical and continued watching.


    The slim Chosen had their arm torn off - that was probably the reason behind the scream - with large, unblinking eyes underneath the blood.


    They seem calm, I note. As if they had already accepted their death.


    No - As if they had seen Death, my Ability replies. Shoving the conclusion into my mind - ¡°Chosen of Hades, I think,¡± I whisper, extremely quietly, in Cas¡¯ ear. Cas nods.


    The golems aren¡¯t fast, but they¡¯re strong, and soon enough the other has nowhere to escape.


    I tense, as my reflexes prickle - left - as I drag Cas along with me sharply. Air bends in a whipping crack, as an arrow implants itself into the bushes right where we were before.


    My widened eyes meet Cas¡¯, and he¡¯s similarly looking out at the clearing - the sound we make when we move exposes us, and we have no choice but to watch, slowly standing up, as two others advance into the clearing.


    Halkyone, and Maia.


    All gazes turn to us, and I remember to casually stretch, as if we planned to get caught all along. Cas sports that unnerving grin, but his shoulders are tense and his hands are twitchy, as he also smiles.


    The pale-necked archer looks extremely surprised - a flicker of fear appears in those olive eyes - the dark-skinned spearhandler does a double-take between Jonas and us, and Jonas just raises an eyebrow.


    ¡°Jonas, long time no see.¡± Cas lifts up a hand in friendly greeting, as if they were old companions.


    ¡°Correct me if I''m wrong,¡± the golem summoner replies, airily. ¡°But the last time we saw each other was what-¡± Jonas cocks his head to the side, as if deep in thought ¡°-two days ago? When you tried to kill me?¡±


    ¡°Three,¡± I correct, placidly, as I use my Ability to scan the scene.


    Halkyone flinches as my eyes pass her, and I let my lips twitch in amusement. Fear, anger, uprisal.


    Maia¡¯s caution grows. Turbulent. Mixed feelings. More concerned about the surroundings. I blink. We could run for it, deeper- ¡°Is Iason alright? Vivianna, too?¡±


    Halkyone spits, ¡°You cut his vocal cords, how do you expect-¡±


    Maia interrupts, tentatively. ¡°Halkyone, don¡¯t be too loud. We¡¯re near the monsters.¡± But her fist clenches on the spear. ¡°Why are you here?¡±


    ¡°Killing monsters. Eating them. Why else?¡± Cas asks. ¡°It¡¯s a pity we know you guys. I was hoping for a change in food. Harpy gizzard gets old. Chosen meat-¡±


    ¡°Humans?¡± Halkyone squeaks, her bluster gone. ¡°You guys are cannibals?¡±


    I warn, mostly for the sake of theater, ¡°Cas. No need to antagonize our friends.¡± I draw out the last word, casting a diplomatic glance towards Jonas, whose eyebrow is still arched, and getting a higher arch in return. ¡°Besides, we¡¯re interrupting the show. Let the people murder in peace.¡±


    Cas shrugs. ¡°Fine by me,¡± he drawls. If it was another, I would¡¯ve been worried. But no, he knows that I''m going for a hook, line, and sinker. ¡°They¡¯re probably not willing to trade information anyway, unless-¡± He leaves the suggestion open.


    A ploy.


    Bait.


    Hook.


    When you¡¯re starting diplomatic negotiations, the one thing you have to remember, the unnamed author of Diplomacy Basics had written, is that ¡°negotiations¡± are just a fancy name for two swindlers trying to get the most benefits out of each other.


    In the end, it all boils down to who needs what most.


    We don¡¯t need to convince all of them, I think, just two. Just two.


    ¡°We¡¯re not taking your bait,¡± Jonas huffs, but his eyes are sly. ¡°My neck still hurts.¡±


    Compensation? Fat chance.


    ¡°Like Cas said, it¡¯s fine by us,¡± I reply. It really is. Unless they have-


    ¡°We have information about the other Chosen,¡± Maia replies, calmly. Good girl. ¡°We don¡¯t have to kill each other...yet.¡±


    The ¡®yet¡¯ is obviously a warning, which I ignore. I clap my hands together. Halkyone flinches again. She really is scared.


    ¡°Right, then. Two deals are on the table. One: you tell me their-¡± I point towards the half-dead Chosen ¡°-Ability and I¡¯ll take them off your hands.¡±


    Cas interjects, ¡°Two: for every Chosen - excluding the three here, and ourselves - you tell us the name of, we¡¯ll give you one monster¡¯s weak point. For every Ability - again, excluding the three here, and ourselves - two.¡±


    Line.


    Jonas snorts. ¡°It¡¯s a ripoff, I tell you.¡±


    Maia and Halkyone are easy to scare.


    If they had ventured a bit deeper into the jungle and found only harpies, they would¡¯ve realised the reality of the real danger being at the jungle¡¯s heart. But they hadn¡¯t, and from the looks of it, it was their first time walking this deep.


    They¡¯re scared, and Jonas acted individually, so they were easier to convince.


    We have to exude an aura of experience, capability. Only people like us are able to survive.


    Maia shifts, uneasily. Now that I look closer, her hair is coiffed, but not to the point where it was inconvenient. Her armor¡¯s strapped closely and professionally to her skin, which meant she had prepared.


    A type that values preparation, but not to the point of being a strategist. A warrior.


    She seems experienced with the spear.


    A Guard¡¯s daughter, probably, but no livery in sight.


    Halkyone¡¯s the type I dislike - mentally weak, succumbs easily to the environment around her if not shielded by powerful people, but has supposedly strong beliefs. A typical sixteen-year-old youth, but I¡¯m not one to judge.


    Personal preferences aside, she seems good with the bow, and nimble. She¡¯s mustered guts, judging from the arrow she shot.


    ¡°Like I said, two deals,¡± I say. ¡°You can take both, one, or neither.¡± I glance at the bloodied, one-armed Chosen. ¡°I like...he? She? Something else? Them?¡± I check.


    An extremely small, painful nod at the last one.


    ¡°Yeah, I like them. They seem cool,¡± I say, brightly.


    Cas doesn¡¯t disagree.


    ¡°Cool?¡± Halkyone repeats. ¡°He went into our camp and stole our supplies!¡± He-¡±


    ¡°They,¡± Cas and I correct in unison.


    ¡°-pissed off Vivianna!¡± the archer continues, ignoring me. ¡°He needs to face the repercussions!¡±


    I raise an eyebrow. ¡°Angering the redhead¡¯s lese-majeste now?¡± I ask curtly, turning to Cas. ¡°I didn¡¯t know. Did you know?¡±


    ¡°As far as I know, the Emperor¡¯s still alive,¡± he replies, casually. ¡°I-¡±


    Jonas stops Halkyone from continuing. ¡°If you want them, you can take them,¡± he offers, a cunning smile still on his face. ¡°But what will you give in return for their Ability?¡±


    Ah.


    ¡°Two weak points,¡± Cas butts in, holding up two fingers before I open my mouth. ¡°No more, no less.¡±


    ¡°Alright,¡± Jonas agrees. At least he recognizes the concession. ¡°That Chosen-¡± he points at the one-armed person in the center of his golems, still writhing in pain ¡°-can blend into shadows. Temporarily. A useful skill, if it weren¡¯t so weak. I don¡¯t know what¡¯ll you use them for, but if I ever catch them near the camp again, I¡¯ll kill them.¡±


    ¡°Of course,¡± I reply immediately. ¡°Cas, you can take them back to camp. Make sure not to leave a blood trail.¡± I turn to receive a nod, and Jonas parts the golems. Both of our hands are still on our dagger-hilts.


    I turn back again, and see the three Chosen.


    ¡°Pleasure doing business with you,¡± I say.


    Even if you¡¯ll try to follow us to ambush our camp and kill us in our sleep.


    <hr>


    ¡°Why?¡±


    ¡°Why they¡¯re trying to kill us, why Sera¡¯s a pyromaniac, ow-¡± Cas is interrupted by a smack from me ¡°-or why we exist on this continent? I dunno, you¡¯re going to have to be specific.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m not a pyromaniac,¡± I reply, honestly, ¡°Setting things on fire is cliche. Dramatically leaping off cliffs while you set things on fire¡¯s where it¡¯s at.¡± Cas wrinkles his nose, and is about to retort, when he¡¯s interrupted by the Hades¡¯ Chosen.


    ¡°Why did you save me?¡± they clarify.


    ¡°Because we want to sacrifice your other arm in a ritual for the glory of the Empire,¡± I say as I snort, sarcastically.


    ¡°What Sera is saying,¡± Cas says, as I shoot him a dirty look, ¡°is that we would like information.¡±


    They raise an eyebrow. No awkwardness, no fear. ¡°Or else, what? You¡¯ll kill me?¡±


    I shrug. ¡°Killing you is cliche, too. I imagine it hurt when your arm got ripped off. You¡¯ve seen death, haven¡¯t you?¡± You take comfort in it. ¡°I can make sure you want to see Your Liege again. Or not. It¡¯s your choice.¡±


    ¡°Right, you¡¯re threatening me,¡± they reply, dryly. I pretend to look offended, like I wasn¡¯t threatening them, even though I was. ¡°Oh Gods, no,¡± I say, as if the mere thought of it affronts me. Cas snorts. I shoot him a warning look.


    ¡°¡®Not¡¯ means you can go, free of charge,¡± I add. ¡°What¡¯s your name?¡±


    They raise an eyebrow. ¡°Kage,¡± they say. ¡°But most call me Ski¨¢. And you are threatening me.¡±


    Cas guffaws. I turn to him. He knows? He knows, my Ability whispers.


    ¡°No way you¡¯re the Ski¨¢,¡± he says, his tone incredulous. ¡°Ski¨¢¡¯s an actual Thief, with a capital ¡®T.¡¯ The Ski¨¢? A lanky kid like you?¡±


    I refrain from reminding Cas that they¡¯re the same age as him, and look questioningly at him. ¡°I¡¯m guessing Ski¨¢¡¯s someone special?¡±


    Cas looks at me for a second. ¡°I keep forgetting you¡¯re from Inevita,¡± he says, before continuing, ¡°the Eternal City has four quarters - the Fisher Quarter, or the East, the Merchant Quarter, or the West, the Upper Quarter, and the Lower Quarter. Ski¨¢¡¯s renowned for frequenting the Merchant Quarter at night.¡±


    I know the Quarters but Skia...


    ¡°By frequenting, I assume you mean stealing from,¡± I reply, turning to Kage.


    Then how did they get caught?


    ¡°That¡¯s a pretty nifty trick, tho, Kags. How long can your Ability work? What¡¯s the Drawback?¡±


    Kage raises an eyebrow at the nickname. ¡°My arm stump¡¯s still bleeding,¡± they point out, even though it has nothing to do with the question.


    I already asked Cas to mislead both Vivianna¡¯s minions and Jonas, along with Kage themselves, so our tracks are covered up enough.


    I have an idea of what herbs I need to stop the bleeding, but one: it¡¯s Unwise to spend effort to save a person that¡¯s not useful, my Ability reminds me, and two: you have no idea whether the herbs can be found in the jungle.This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.


    ¡°Yeah, then tell us before you bleed out, then,¡± Cas says, his arms crossed.


    ¡°Play nice,¡± I scold him. I turn to Kage. ¡°Kags,¡± I begin, ¡°I¡¯ll try to heal you, alright? I know plants. A trade - information for the healing, alright?" My tone was light and airy. Humor me.


    Kage snorts.


    ¡°Right, let me at least pretend to believe you for a minute,¡± they rasp, coughing, before they continue, ¡°Vivianna and her cronies - the girls by the names Maia and Halkyone, and that guy Iason and the outlier Jonas whatever - have set up camp fifty miles in that direction, give or take.¡± They turn their head a bit towards the east.


    Ah.


    ¡°Aphrodite and Zeus¡¯ Chosen - a tallish guy named Aria and a shortish girl named Sonata, who know each other by the way - seem to be the lieutenants of some kind of military-driven, four-member group hundred or so miles in the west.¡±


    Truth enough, my Ability says based on their body language.


    But body language can lie.


    My memory flashes back to the beautiful dark-haired girl, and remembers the brutish-looking boy.


    ¡°Ah, that guy who said we¡¯re doomed to kill each other or something of the sort, and that pretty girl with the braids?¡± I ask, placing the names to the faces.


    Kage nods.


    Now that I think about it, I hadn¡¯t seen much of them before they disappeared.


    They had disappeared at separate times, even if, looking back on it, they had moved familiarily, but - I had pegged most of the Chosens¡¯ discomfort as being-plunged-in-an-arena-full-of-strangers kind of discomfort, but there was still the possibility that it was I-know-you-and-now-I-have-to-kill-you kind of discomfort, too.


    It was a Godsbroken coincidence, though.


    ¡°So five of them, and then four of them, and then us three.¡± I raise an eyebrow. ¡°Most of them seem like the rogue type, though. How did Aria and Sonata manage to rein them in? And Aria and Sonata? Are they practically screaming that they¡¯re partners, now?¡±


    And how did you transport yourself across the entire isle within three days?


    An unspoken question.


    Kage shifts. ¡°I¡¯ll answer those questions after you stop my arm bleeding,¡± they say.


    I snort. ¡°Petrimor for numbness, carrionbane for stopping the blood, and sani berries for cleaning the germs. Mash up the petrimor first, and then apply. Sani berry juice is acidic, so it¡¯ll hurt. Carrionbane¡¯s only applied last.¡±


    I recite the herbs boredly, plucking the information from a corner of my head as Cas lets out a low whistle, impressed. Kage looks as if they''re noting it down. Too obvious.


    For a double agent, they¡¯re really doing a terrible job.


    ¡°I¡¯ll draw them for you,¡± I add, out of generosity, ¡°but you¡¯ll have to find them yourself.¡± A neutral pause. Right. ¡°And you have around twenty minutes before you die of blood loss, so you better be quick.¡±


    <hr>


    ¡°You¡¯re a walking contradiction,¡± Cas comments.


    ¡°Thanks,¡± I smile, as warmly as if he had confessed that he fell in love with me at first sight. ¡°I love you, too,¡± I add, patting his arm affectionately.


    Cas smiles, amused, as he lifts his other hand and traps my fingers in his, lacing them together like an old married couple. ¡°Of course you do.¡±


    I snort as I let him go along with the schtick, not feeling the book-described butterflies, but rather a strange familiarity.


    His touch felt comfortable, for a person I¡¯ve only known for three days.


    Strange.


    Oh, well.


    Kage snorts, their arm newly bandaged. ¡°Get a room.¡±


    ¡°Why, you don¡¯t want to watch?¡± I ask, airily. Cas twitches with amusement, but he doesn¡¯t let go and I continue, ¡°What do you know about Aria and Sonata?¡±


    Aside from the fact that you¡¯re spying for them.


    They were obviously here to feed me information, whether unknowingly or not. Their actions and purpose reeked of a master manipulator¡¯s touch, but everything was so delicate.


    The move, the Crownpiece, was carefully crafted like a porcelain made an experienced sculptor¡¯s steady hands.


    An offer, that concessions could be made.


    Kage was a Soldier that the Queen from inside the Circle offered.


    But who was the Queen?


    Who wore the Crown, Aria, Sonata, or...someone else?


    You can¡¯t rule out the possibility of a third party, my Ability demands of me, or the possibility that Kage can be that third party.


    Ah, good old paranoia.


    ¡°Aria¡¯s the aggressive type,¡± they begin, ¡°he¡¯s strong. Brutal. His Ability has something to do with him, pretty much - Zeus¡¯ Chosen. Sonata¡¯s more of the calculative type - smart. Cool. Kinda like you, actually, but not as crazy.¡±


    Crazy.


    I feel almost pleased. They think I¡¯m insane?


    ¡°You know what,¡± I say. ¡°They obviously want me to come over.¡± A trap? Probably. ¡°We should greet our neighbors.¡±


    I feel Cas frown from behind me, as he casually slips his hand from mine.


    ¡°I think it¡¯s a bad idea,¡± he says lightly. I think it¡¯s a bad idea, not it¡¯s a bad idea.


    I lean closer, and ask in a low voice that they¡¯ll undoubtedly hear, ¡°Who do you think¡¯s their owner?¡±


    ¡°Ski¨¢ works for no one,¡± Cas whispers back. ¡°But anyone can be used.¡±


    Anyone can be used.


    It gets a twitch out of Kage, which we both notice.


    Ah, bad history?


    I turn, so the Hades¡¯ Chosen doesn¡¯t see my amused smile. But Cas does, and his eyebrow twitches in that way they do before he does his smile, except he holds back.


    ¡°Want to give the dog back to their owner?¡± he whispers, this time making an effort to be quiet.


    ¡°Make the dog start a turf war?¡± I propose.


    But either way, a dog was a dog, albeit a pretty one.


    <hr>


    Vivianna Bloodthorn sighs.


    ¡°So, you¡¯re telling me,¡± she repeats, ¡°that you encountered two other Chosen?¡±


    Maia nods, while Halkyone blinks in a hesitant yes. Jonas, a Godsbroken ¡®epitome of shiftiness,¡¯ as the Mother would¡¯ve called him, grudgingly with some sort of respect, was tampering with his golems, like he¡¯d been doing for the past three days.


    It¡¯s the same process, Vivianna notes, from what she¡¯s seen - he pokes at the glowing golden orb, it sparks with something and his finger bounces back, and he moves to a different spot while implementing the process once more. Sometimes the vase takes a break between repeats, to think.


    A vase.


    Mother collected them, the familiar memory blazing in Vivianna¡¯s mind, a row of pretty shapes in unique twists. Some were made of the Eastern-imported porcelain, others of expensive Republica platin studded with the rubies that House Bloodthorn specialized in.


    Few did not know of the Viscountess Bloodthorn¡¯s vase-collecting frenzy, the Bloodthorn¡¯s funds being split between the expansion of the House and Mother¡¯s ever-growing hobby. It was an obsession, really, the rows of vases empty of flowers when that was their purpose.


    Vivianna always thought of the display shelf that they sat on as undeniably ostentatious, even now.


    But nobody questions Mother, Vivianna reminds herself as she raises an eyebrow. Nobody.


    Especially when the Viscountess bought a new vase every time she crushed an enemy.


    ¡°And, pray tell, you made a deal with them?¡±


    My blood, Mother would say, do not ask questions you know the answer to.


    They are not deserving of confirming your knowledge.


    Maia shifts, but a flicker of irritation makes it way on her face.


    Jonas snorts.


    But Halkyone replies meekly, ¡°Yeah. Sorry.¡±


    And then Maia tugs Halkyone away, and Jonas approaches Vivianna, and suddenly her day becomes a lot worse.


    Jonas - last name unprovided - reminds Vivianna of the Viscountess¡¯ prized vase. A monstrosity of Imperial gold, ivory, platin, and porcelain, shoved into one stunning structure that had nearly depleted the viscounty¡¯s funds when purchased.


    Both looked very fragile, very expensive, and were very dangerous when broken.


    ¡°You know,¡± he says, a grin on his face, ¡°we hate it when you treat us like subordinates. We all have an equal chance of killing you, you know.¡±


    Vivianna doesn¡¯t let the revelation startle her, but still her placid expression remains. Treat your friends as subordinates, and most will follow you, Mother whispers.


    Was Mother wrong?


    ¡°Speak for yourself.¡± A pause. ¡°And maybe Maia,¡± the noble adds.


    The merchant¡¯s daughter with the spear.


    Jonas shrugs. ¡°As long as you know, my Lady Bloodthorn,¡± he replies with a smirk on his face.


    ¡°I do,¡± Hera¡¯s Chosen replies, ¡°just as I know your tinkering with that golden core in your golems means something you¡¯re not telling me.¡±


    The pale Chosen smiles.


    Vivianna doesn¡¯t like that smile.


    Her fingers twitch, tempted to summon a peacock and watch it peck the shifty Forge-touched to death.


    ¡°I could tell you,¡± said Hephastus¡¯ Chosen, ¡°for a price.¡±


    ¡°I would tell you to shove that price up your pretty arse,¡± replied the other in a clipped tone, ¡°but we are being diplomatic here. Please, do tell.¡±


    Jonas raised an eyebrow. ¡°You think my arse is pretty?¡± he asks, mock-sweetly, before he continues, surprisingly.


    He¡¯s up to something.


    ¡°That golden orb-¡± the Forge-touched gestures towards the source powering his golems ¡°-is made of the same material as the barrier between the cage¡¯s bars.¡±


    Vivianna recalls the scouting trips made towards the Third Isle¡¯s borders. ¡°The one that makes it so we can¡¯t go through the gaps between the Cage? The invisible barrier that appears only when touched?¡±


    She feels her Mother tut disapprovingly.


    Remember what I said, Vivianna.


    ¡°It¡¯s some material of the Gods,¡± replies Jonas. ¡°Every Ability is unique, so the other Forge-touched wouldn¡¯t have these golems.¡±


    ¡°It isn¡¯t surprising there aren¡¯t many analyses or papers written on this - Forge-touched rarely survive the Cage,¡± Vivianna murmurs.


    Jonas waits for a beat, letting her figure it out, before speaking again.


    ¡°If there¡¯s a way to destroy the golden orbs,¡± he finishes, a bit impatiently, ¡°there¡¯s a way to escape the Cage.¡±


    Escaping the Cage, instead of waiting for it to open?


    She feels Mother¡¯s words echo - there are two things that are practically suicide in the Empire: going against me, and going against the Gods¡¯ will.


    Ignoring the first part, the Gods put them in here.


    There had never been a Cage without a Victor.


    If they escaped, what would they do? Jump of the Isle, swim the waters of Lake Ichor, and what? What if they managed to even get through the miles of expanse between the Cage and Inevita, what would they do?


    Vivianna looks at Jonas¡¯ eyes, and sees a vase. She was trained to think of people as vases, with one breaking point that she would need to find.


    Jonas might be the type, that liked finding things, making things, finding how they work. If this was a test-


    He¡¯s dangerous, had said the blue-eyed boy wielding the blades. Caspian, the wild card¡¯s partner.


    ¡®Seraphina,¡¯ the one of three wild cards that were floating around. The one who had a noble killed for a single insult, and the one who had helped trying to kill Jonas.


    Mother liked to play cards, too. She had a terrible - or excellent, if you thought about it - poker face, but won every single time.


    Act like Mother.


    The Viscountess¡¯ daughter feels her lips move. ¡°Are-¡±


    Perhaps it would become a trademark, that her enemies would pick up, Vivianna Bloodthorn thinks with amusement.


    ¡°-you a gambling man, Jonas?¡±


    <hr>


    Rayan Moreau was never the patient type. ¡°Sonata,¡± he hisses in a low voice, ¡°what the fuck are you doing?¡±


    Arden Valynse was always the patient type. ¡°There, there, Aria.¡± The beautifully murderous, stunningly idiotic, and calculatingly malevolent girl was draped across a makeshift chair across from Rayan.


    They had both been Nameless, once, until Rayan was adopted by a Guard and Arden by a brothel owner, and given surnames to match their new lives at fourteen. Gone were the times of barely functioning organs, of the gnawing hunger in their bellies and bones, replaced with food and shelter and a warm family.


    Well, a warm enough family. Rayan¡¯s strict mother and Guard father loved him enough, with Sir Damien Moreau¡¯s reputation firm and steady. Hot-tempered, arrogant, but firm with the rapier strapped to his waist.


    ¡°Sonata,¡± he says, warningly, ¡°you sent Kage away on a reconnaissance mission without my permission?¡±


    ¡°Permission?¡± Arden - Sonata, technically - asks, languidly. ¡°I need your permission now, R- Aria? You really haven¡¯t changed in these two years. Still the bossy type, I see.¡±


    Rayan, about to spit a retort, is interrupted by a smiling green-eyed girl.


    ¡°Sonata? Aria? Are you alright?¡± Lia, Chosen of Dionysus, asks sweetly.


    Gods. Rayan grits his teeth, his rapier hand twitching as he considers slicing the God of Revelry¡¯s Chosen to death. ¡°We-¡±


    ¡°A lover¡¯s spat,¡± Euthalia, Demeter¡¯s Chosen, drawls from her sleeping area. ¡°No need to worry, Lia - unless you¡¯re interested in becoming lovers with someone?¡±


    The surprisingly flirty Chosen who practically hounded everyone into calling her Thalia wriggles her eyebrows, and Cecilia blushes.


    ¡°Oh, fuck off, Thalia,¡± Rayan says, venomously. ¡°I¡¯m-¡±


    ¡°Disagreeing with a perfectly rational decision,¡± Arden cuts in, putting a hand on his shoulder.


    Rayan twitches. ¡°This is a temporary alliance, Arden. That means I can kill you whenever I want,¡± he threatens, ignoring Lia¡¯s stricken face. ¡°And if you don¡¯t get that Godsbroken hand off me, you won¡¯t have a hand at all.¡±


    Arden¡¯s hand doesn¡¯t move.


    Rayan reaches for his rapier.


    ¡°Come on, you love me too much to kill me,¡± Arden says, still relaxed, as she leans closer, her voice a whisper. ¡°A united front, Aria. You¡¯ve sworn an Oath. Kage is dispensable to my plan. You are not.¡±


    Yet.


    An unspoken word.


    It was always ¡®yet¡¯ with her.


    ¡°Do you realize-¡± Rayan blusters ¡°-how twisted this Cage is? For fucking Gods¡¯ sake, Hera threw Hephaestus off Olympus and look at their Chosen, all buddy-buddy now! Look, Poseidon and Athena supposedly argued over an entire city and are enemies, and their Chosen? They¡¯re basically fucking each other, supposedly!¡±


    ¡°Supposedly,¡± Thalia unhelpfully adds.


    ¡°Oh, FUCK OFF-¡±


    ¡°Moreau.¡±


    Arden¡¯s voice is uncharacteristically firm, and Euthalia¡¯s ¡°oh, he¡¯s in trouble¡± did nothing to ?extinguish the fire in her eyes.


    Aphrodite, Goddess of Love, Beauty, and Pleasure was technically the oldest Olympian, born of Ouranos¡¯ ichor. Although Rayan knows himself of Arden¡¯s indisputable age, there¡¯s something ancient, formidable lurking in her eyes as Arden tightens her hold on his shoulder almost painfully.


    Something ancient that even the Lightning King inside him is enthralled by.


    ¡°Fine,¡± Rayan feels himself snapping. And he storms off.


    <hr>


    An Outsider¡¯s Impression of ¡®Visava¡¯ [Imperi Translation]


    Íâ¹úÈË¶Ô '' ±ØÈö°Í '' µÄÓ¡Ïó


    Written by Shangguan Ming (ÉϹÙÚ¤)


    Translated by Vanna, Analyst


    ×Ú½Ì [Religion]


    Among those of Visava, religion is not considered of cultural importance, but merely a tool of power, wielded by those in power. There is no clear definition of the religion they call ''Anothen'' - Imperi for ''above'' - nor the religion they call ''Kato'' - Imperi for ''below.''


    he Empire Eoina boasts the continent¡¯s largest Anothen population after a previous Kato genocide (the only Kato population said to be the holy Cagekeepers that follow Hyperion), but most of aforementioned Anothen do not engage in worship of any kind.


    The Roma Republic contains a steady mix of Beliefs, while the Union of the Forbidden has a predominantly Kato population.


    The strange thing about Beliefs - what they call their two religions - is that they all technically Believe that Gods exist. All the continent believes that the Kato Titans exist, as do the Anothen Olympians.


    If you wanted to heavily make a distinction between the two, most would say that the Kato worship the Titans and the Anothen the Olympians; however, the fact remains that both the Kato and the Anothen, again, mostly do not engage in Godly worship of any kind.


    So what separates these two?


    The Roma Republic¡¯s Anothen have a different branch of the Belief, having several different names for their Olympians and even different attributes, but it primarily maintains the same values, albeit a more ¡®war-like¡¯ version. However, Republica Anothen tend to distance themselves from the ¡®cowardly¡¯ Imperial Anothen.


    Inside the Empire reside anti-Kato roots - due to the reign of Lysimachos the Insane - with the rare extremist that takes it a step further and actively discriminates against the rare Imperial Kato.


    Not much is known about Beliefs in the Union, due to the continent¡¯s turbulent relationship with the Forsaken, but they do seem to follow the Clytemnestra and Agamemnon¡¯s lead in being avid Kato believers. They respect the Titans chained in Tartarus, or ¡®Below,¡¯ known as Pillars of their Belief.


    Both Anothen and Kato, however, seem to have animosity against each other dating back to the Slaughter (see ¡®The Insane Emperor¡¯ in ÀúÊ· [History]).


    However, the continent itself¡¯s history as a whole seems to be the embodiment - casually speaking - of one traitorous eunuch betraying another for the crown, only it happens over and over again.


    <hr>


    I smile.


    ¡°Let¡¯s make a deal,¡± I say, my back on the jungle ground. The dirt is dry, and it doesn¡¯t stick to my clothes.


    Another unusuality, among the strange beauty of the island, emeralds in the shape of swaying leaves blocking the light of the cerulean sky. The colors are bright, the atmosphere relaxing, while the scenario itself makes me feel a sense of undeniable dread.


    Too peaceful, my Ability keeps insisting. Danger.


    Cas snorts, the sound coming from beside me. ¡°I mean, I don¡¯t have a choice, do I?¡±


    ¡°You have plenty. They¡¯re just bad ones to make.¡± I turn on my side. The idyllic paradise above spirals out of sight, replaced by Cas¡¯ grinning face.


    Light and shadow dot the rogue¡¯s face, and I¡¯m reminded of his promotion from stranger to casual acquaintance.


    His tan bronze skin, similar to most of the Eternal City - and Inevita, although most of the people there sported weathered faces to booth - gleams with the sheen of youth that I¡¯ve never seen on my skin before.


    Purpose. He has a purpose, my Ability says. I shove it aside.


    I¡¯ve looked in the mirror quite a couple times.


    Most of the compliments I receive go along the lines of being directed towards my ¡®ethereal, otherworldly beauty.¡¯ It¡¯s really just a polite synonym for ¡®ghost-like,¡¯ if you think about it. I¡¯ve never seemed solid, to them, human.


    Fun.


    They don''t even think I''m human.


    Humans are doomed to think that finding a purpose in life is our purpose.


    A mix between dark blue and light, the color of storm lightning, is the color of his eyes. A nose bordering hawkish, lithe fingers and a steady build - he¡¯s attractive in that lean, dangerous way.


    The kind that keeps you on edge, like you¡¯re not sure whether to stab him or be friends with him. My current dilemma.


    ¡°So what¡¯re the terms?¡± he asks me, meeting my eyes while letting me stare.


    ¡°My Ability for yours, we switch, burn everything in sight.¡± Of course, that wasn''t just it.


    But you¡¯ll have to kill him, soon enough, if you want to win.


    A pity.


    You¡¯ve never pitied someone for dying before.


    But there''s always a first for everything.


    ¡°What do you want?¡± Cas suddenly asks. ¡°Out of the universe?¡±


    What do you ¡®want out of¡¯ the universe?


    Suggests that he expects me to grab the universe by the scruff and threaten it into submission.


    ¡°Knowledge is interesting,¡± I reply. ¡°And knowledge is power.¡± Even though Athena says otherwise.


    ¡°You want power...because it intrigues you.¡± Cas¡¯ voice is quiet, but his tone still humorous, like he was telling a joke but still dwindling on it.


    ¡°Yeah, pretty much. You want me to elaborate, or nah?¡±


    You don¡¯t want me to elaborate.


    ¡°Nah.¡± Cas shakes the sentence off, before I probe him.


    ¡°What do you want out of the universe?¡± I ask him. What¡¯s the purpose that shines on your being?


    ¡°To not have a purpose,¡± he says. He inches a bit closer, his breath on my face.


    I usually dislike skin contact - not dislike, really, just distaste. Everything is superficial yet not when it comes to the nobles - handshakes, shoulder pats, even the odd chaste kisses. Social connections.


    Every gesture has to mean something, a political opportunity either taken or lost. Even in Inevita, where people rarely visit.


    This time, I don¡¯t imagine his head on a pike.


    That has to mean something, too.


    You¡¯re growing a soft spot.


    No.


    It¡¯s interest.


    Soft spots will only be used against me. Soft spots won¡¯t lead me to power, or victory, so therefore-


    He isn¡¯t useless, some voice at the back of my brain hisses. He has a role in our plan-


    His Abilities aren¡¯t useless, another concludes, but rather his place in your life.


    I shut all the voices out, allowing only my Ability to speak - Kage. Plan. Win.


    And so, I ignore the comfortable feeling in my chest as I continue speaking about my plans for the Cage.


    ¡°So do we have a deal?¡± I ask.


    Likelihood - likely. Twitching mouth, yet steady gaze. Probability of betrayal?


    ¡°And so the deal is struck,¡± Cas offers, using the lingo of the Merchants of the Empire.


    It means something.


    The Merchants were renowned for their traitorous reputation.


    But, then again, who wasn''t?


    ¡°And so the deal is struck,¡± I agree, and we exchange Abilities.


    <hr>

 9. Tome I

    <hr>


    The dead sing no praises.


    - ANCIENT REPUBLICA PHILOSOPHER


    <hr>


    THE WILLIAMS MARQUESSATE HAD A LONG, ILLUSTRIOUS HISTORY of poisoning those they found unworthy.


    When Josephine Williams shoved that cup a decade ago across the table, she had been expecting the results.


    And so she was right.


    The stone-faced Poisonmaster¡¯s facade had cracked before wearily informing her that her family had slipped wolfsbane into the very tea Josephine had been served the night before her twelfth birthday.


    Sympathy had laced his tone; but, of course, he had done nothing about it, which had meant he was useless.


    It had been a week before she ran away.


    Neither the Marchioness Eleanora nor her aunt Theadora had said anything, and the name ¡°Josephine Williams¡± became little more than a name on a long register - a disgraceful reminder, a traitor to the Williams¡¯ military name.


    Josephine had thrived on the streets. She became a pickpocketer, a mugger, a thief - whatever the Lower Quarter needed her to be, she was. She had been one of the luckier ones, working her way up to gain Dame Efchar¨ªstisi¡¯s protection.


    The right hand of the Dame who owned most of the Quarter¡¯s pleasure district, Luxuria Efchar¨ªstisi¡¯s most favored, Josie the courtesan.


    She had never been just a courtesan, of course. The Dame¡¯s eyes and ears, who served only the rich and powerful of the Empire. No one had recognized Josie, who reported back any information slipped from drowsy lips.


    It hadn¡¯t been the best life, but it had paid well and she hadn¡¯t hated it.


    People fell so easily to the creature called lust. Some well-placed physical contact, an intimate whisper and a breathy promise or two, and most fell completely under the spell they declared love.


    They always called it love.


    But Josephine never believed them. She pretended to, if they were useful. But it was an irony - a joke, of sorts, but she had never heard the Gods laugh - that Aphrodite herself had knighted Josephine.


    In the Cage, the people were no different - they lied, they fell, they loved. They spoke empty words that Josephine pretended to believe, thinking her a delicate flower that needed to be protected. They fell, one by one, and Josephine had almost been satisfied by the way she hadn¡¯t even needed to dirty her hands - they killed those left standing for her, in the name of honor and love. All she had needed to do was play along.


    The last one she had needed to kill was the most arrogant of them all - but still, when he closed his eyes and surrendered to sleep, all she had needed was a dagger in her hand. And she had Won.


    Because all she had ever needed to do was play along.


    ¡°That boy¡¯s nice-looking.¡± Josephine Queenscage nodded towards the dark-haired boy in the purple cape shaking the Emperor¡¯s hand.


    ¡°But he¡¯s so boring,¡± whined Arathis. ¡°He had, like, forty-seven chances to kill Father already. That handshake easily could¡¯ve been poisoned.¡±


    Josephine patted her brother on his shoulder soothingly. ¡°If Father died that easily, he would¡¯ve been replaced by Her Greatness a long time ago. It¡¯s a question of Father¡¯s skill, not the boy¡¯s incompetence.¡±


    Arathis pouted. The sight of a dark-skinned, pale-haired Forsaken pouting inevitably would¡¯ve caused some sort of national scandal among the Anothen supremacists - Union Scum Has The Nerve to Act Like a Child - but the Writers had long been banned from the Palace.


    Union Scum he may be, but he was as Imperial as anyone else in this Palace. And he was her brother. The Imperial Children were all dressed in gold.


    Greta had grudgingly let Josephine pick the designs, even though Her Greatness had been the one to force everyone in them while testing which sides they were on. Of course, both Josephine and Arathis had played along, even though both of them knew the other couldn¡¯t care less about politics.


    ¡°Let Greta the Great burn the Empire and loot its corpse for all I care,¡± had said Orion after they had gotten him drunk enough, ¡°as long as the person who kills me isn¡¯t a God, let me die in peace.¡±


    The older man had confided, eyes gleaming, in Josephine. The tales of the hunt, his bow and arrows finding his mark, of the chase and the Cage. A thrill long forgotten. A tired man, Orion was, made up of the youth in his bones that had never faded.


    A person who had fallen - not to love or lust, but to the Gods¡¯ will. But in a way, in that specific category, all of them had already fallen. To the Gods.


    Play along.


    Josephine felt the gold imported silks on her skin, slippery and cool like the scales of a snake. A costume, a disguise she kept up daily. The neckline was much lower than necessary, but then again, the word necessary could go stick its arse in Tartarus.


    Skin was skin, and she was used to it. It had taken a while, but now she could gladly say the same for power. The Lower Quarter''s edges were well within her grasp, her alias as Josie now being hailed as Efchar¨ªstisi''s replacement.


    Her old mentor, the Dame, gave up her throne when she retired. The place she left behind was Josie''s for the taking. As the envoys made their ways towards the entrance, each of the Victors greeted them.


    The dark-haired boy¡¯s violet cape and medals gleamed under the Imperial sun, eyes with that war-hardened glint. A boy reportedly seventeen, a veteran? Imperial Law dictated that those who enrolled in the army would only be those of eighteen and above, but apparently Praetor Romanus held the Republica Fort of Gloria for a total of a year and counting.


    Three hundred and sixty five days against the Forsaken.


    Josephine detected more - the Republic had Heroes, they said, but they were ¡°little more than physically overpowered superhumans.¡± None of them could call upon celestial powers, or had Abilities. Superhuman. An odd word. What would Arathis have called him? An interesting person, her memory supplied.


    The Praetor passed each member of the Imperial family, softly interlocking hands with each of the Victors, the stoic expression still on his face. The violet fabric met Imperial stone, and he made eye contact with Seraphina - as a peer, perhaps, no, more - before following the Emperor inside.


    Josephine moved as customs indicated, side by side with the envoys yet somewhat behind them, in a shaky line.


    Greta the Great was striding next to Josephine¡¯s current father, the Emperor Nikephoros the Nightbidden. The father-daughter pair - relations in all but blood - were conversing with the envoys, making lighthearted remarks about the weather.


    Josephine recognized that look on Greta¡¯s face when Her Greatness was trying to be diplomatic - even the Emperor looked milder than usual, if that was possible. The heavy topics would evidently be discussed later. The Victors knew - Arathis the first and Seraphina the last - of Greta¡¯s plans. That was a fact Josephine had already confirmed. Only Seraphina and Cyrus were going to do something about it.


    Even when it was easier to play along.


    Cyrus.


    A tough person to get to open up, but that older Dockworker named Castor had meant something to him. But that card to use against him was already long burned. Revenge mattered to him, drove him - he wanted the Halgrove patricians driven to the ground, his Boreas commoner father¡¯s name unknown. Purchasing weapons to start a continental war wasn¡¯t beneath him, just as it wasn¡¯t above him.


    Seraphina.


    A tough person to make sense of at all. A person who lied and acted after Josephine¡¯s own heart, a Victor who cared little for the name, or at least pretended to. But there was a lust for power in her veins, even if she was skilled at keeping it hidden. That youthful greed was still simmering underneath the surface, a fact she could use.


    That was if Josephine was a player in the game. No, this time she was just watching.


    It would be easy enough to participate - to spark a rumor that could ruin reputations, manipulate the social circles as the appointed queen of high society. A whisper here and there, a touch or two, and she could burn generations like the Victors before her. They were all fighters. Some manipulators, some puppeteers in the shadows, some hunters, some prey. Some were consumed by revenge, but they had fought. And they had lived.


    But, for Josephine, that desire of living had died a long time ago. She was going to play along. Die, if she must. Live, if one wished it. It was one thing, to play along with the Gods¡¯ wishes, but it was another to simply play along because you wanted to know how everything would unfold.


    Everyone always unknowingly did the former.


    <hr>


    Death wasn¡¯t a good look on anyone.


    When people - correction: nobles - died in the Empire Eoina, they were usually buried in the family mausoleum. Some used their last wishes to cremate themselves and be kept in an amphora of ashes, others were more eccentric and had their bones carved into instruments or their organs preserved in amber that were displayed in - you guessed it - the family mausoleum.


    I had heard of a noble who had gotten their blood drained and used both the liquid and their tendons to make a revellazo. I pitied our Undertakers. Our Undertaker had been a scrawny young woman, her shoulders burdened with strange requests and the certainty that she could be executed if she didn¡¯t carry out the Marksmen¡¯s last wishes to a standard.


    Her eyes had been empty, her lashes short and her face all bone, and she had looked almost gloomy standing in the funeral.


    Imperial funerals were usually a place for noble infighting, and, at times, competitive gloating sprinkled with some well-placed marketing - no place for an Undertaker. I had approached her, at fifteen. My uncle had died. He had deserved it, and many thought the same, so the proceedings were much more raucous and contained a good deal more gloating than usual.


    ¡°Hello,¡± I had said.


    The Undertaker had squinted at me, probably trying to ascertain my suspicious motives, before finally replying with a tactful, ¡°Hello¡­¡±


    ¡°Seraphina of Inevita,¡± I had supplied.


    Technically, my introduction was supposed to be composed of Seraphina Ducalian Marksman, First and Only Daughter of the Marksman Duchy of the Second Isle. It was much too long.


    The Undertaker had probably recognized the name contrary to my commoner introduction, and so she had stiffened. ¡°Aucelia of Nowhere.¡± Ah, an orphan.


    ¡°What brings you, Face Aucelia, to this glorious corner?¡± I had asked, cordially, without missing a beat. ¡°Did Aunt Vanessa chase you with a knife too?¡±


    Aucelia hadn¡¯t flinched. ¡°The Undertaker is a part of funeral preparations, Your Ladyship, and it was not a part of your uncle¡¯s last wishes for me to interfere with the funeral.¡±


    I had snorted, delicately. ¡°Let me guess, Uncle Cordelius probably wrote, ¡®Serve Danielle poisoned wine at my funeral and make sure she drinks it before shoving the glass up her arse¡¯ as one of them.¡± I had nodded towards the Marchioness in question, who was eyeing the liquor in front of her suspiciously.


    An amused smile had flitted across her lips. ¡°Perhaps.¡±


    ¡°You use the word ¡®duty,¡¯¡± I had said following a small snicker. ¡°Do you feel an obligation to the dead?¡± No sane person would volunteer to be a noble family¡¯s Undertaker.


    Aucelia had immediately turned cautious. Smart.


    ¡°It is not my duty to avenge the dead,¡± she had replied, wary. ¡°But it is my duty to help their journey to Charon.¡±


    ¡°For a coin beneath a tongue, a solemn breath,¡¯¡± I had quoted, ¡°¡®For ye who pass here are in the reaper¡¯s sleep.¡¯¡±


    ¡°An Anothen Verse,¡± Aucelia had politely placed. ¡°Are you devout, Your Ladyship?¡±


    I had cackled. ¡°No noble in the Empire¡¯s a devout Anothen, Face Aucelia. I¡¯m sure you¡¯d know by now.¡± I had gestured towards the crowd of semi-drunk nobles, their eyes glittering with familiar malice. ¡°They see Thanatos¡¯ arrival as an opportunity. Perhaps some of them liked Cordy enough to poison the person who killed him - don¡¯t give me that look, Face, everyone knows - but revenge is meaningless.¡±


    I had turned my gaze towards the widowed Viscountess, and the fiery gaze of my cousin, Anne, who I had never really liked. ¡°The dead tell no tales,¡± I had said, perhaps letting my bitterness seep through just a touch too much, ¡°just as they sing no praises.¡±


    Perhaps it''s a better thing no one cares enough to avenge my death.


    The Undertaker had looked at me with that pity in her eyes, the pity that meant she was internally preaching the woes of corrupted youth. It was that day, I had been surprised. ¡°The Skylord fell by the Timelord, who fell by the Lightning King,¡± had said Aucelia of Nowhere. ¡°¡®Retribution speaks louder than forgiveness ever will.¡¯¡±


    A Kato Verse, forbidden to be uttered by the Anothen. An Undertaker who did not believe in the religion of the dead she readied. I had laughed, that day. I smiled, remembering the fond-ish memory - a solace, to take my mind of the monstrosity they called an Imperial dress on my person. I was last in line.


    The lecherous old man, one of the envoys, kept making eyes at Josie. The Praetor - Julian, I called him - seemed more like an irritated father, kicking the lustful patrician in the shin as discreetly as the Praetor could when the man got too handsy.


    I caught Julian¡¯s eye, and winked.


    The Praetor¡¯s face remained stoic, but his pinky finger twitched.


    That would be sufficient enough for my plan.


    I would die today, if it went wrong. I knew by now that all of the other Victors were ready to die. I was, too, perhaps but-


    Sera.


    Don¡¯t you want to change the Empire?


    He had his own reasons for asking the question.


    I had my own reasons for the answer.


    I want to be remembered, I had said, and saying ¡®yes¡¯ is the only way to do that.


    Cas hadn¡¯t asked why. I hadn¡¯t said anything further. If I did, it would be basically admitting that my nightmares haunted me.


    At the time, I had a larger sense of pride. But now, if he were here-


    I didn¡¯t let my breathing spike.


    Now, if he were here, I wouldn¡¯t say that his screams are a part of my nightly torture. He would know. I wouldn¡¯t ask why he left me. It was useless. I wouldn¡¯t say that he was my first love. We both knew.


    I would say that I now understand why he died but not why he lived.


    I would say that I loved him, and missed him.


    I would say that I, the real I, would change the Empire.


    He had said one thing, one day - I remembered not the events leading up to it.


    Never change, Sera.


    I had changed. But it was alright.


    I watched as the envoys talked. It was meaningless chatter, for the sake of polite formality. Josephine and Arathis were eagerly engaging in conversation with the older woman - I caught snippets of a ¡°Gorgonian hemline¡± and a ¡°legal form of mis-marketing¡± that meant that high society would likely be upturned sooner or later.You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.


    Orion was threateningly brandishing his bow as he protectively sat between the handsy old man and Josephine.


    Cyrus was glaring daggers at not Julian, but the seat that was supposed to be filled by his mother, and Greta and the Emperor were tactfully asking about the Roma Republic, both of them skillfully maneuvering over the topic of military and politics like experienced partners-in-crime.


    The lunch was going fairly well.


    Luxurious plates of food made with only the best Anthinon olive oil were set - sliced Farmer¡¯s paximathia bread with a twist, a main course of light oregano-roasted veal cutlets, accompanied by a serving of avgotaraho and moustalevria for dessert.


    I had researched thoroughly all three of the envoys at the table, and I knew-


    ¡°Bottarga?¡± the Patrician Summanus, Titus Severan, questioned, eyeing the salted roe dish.


    His favorite.


    ¡°I believe that is the Republica name for it, Patrician Summanus,¡± said Imperial Father, pleasantly. ¡°We call it avgotaraho, here. The pudding is moustalevria, made with our grapes, and the bread an Imperial specialty called paximathia.¡±


    Patrician Cassia - the woman named Alberta Octavia - remarked, ¡°Correct me if I¡¯m wrong, Your Majesty, but I have heard that paximathia is often a dish consumed by your Imperial...farmers.¡± Aggression.


    She didn¡¯t enunciate the word malevolently or with disdain, but the implications were clear. Are you serving us peasant food?


    The Praetor Julian¡¯s eyes shot warningly to the source of the aggression, and I could see that if it wouldn¡¯t be obvious, the patrician would¡¯ve been the target of a well-placed kick.


    Disappointment, slight surprise, and regret flashed in the boy¡¯s eyes before flickering like a flame blown out. Good control over emotions.


    Fun.


    So the Cassia branch had plans that didn¡¯t align with the Republic¡¯s interests - if it was the Republic¡¯s interests at all. My siblings looked disinterested, but I could feel their eyes.


    As quick as a subordinate defending their Captain¡¯s honor, Greta interjected calmly. ¡°It originated from the Farmers, yes,¡± the First-in-line replied, ¡°but it has been a traditional dish passed down in the Palace for centuries. I do hope you enjoy the meal.¡±


    You insult our ancestors¡¯ food? Continue if you dare.


    It was fun, translating. Especially with people you could Read.


    The patrician almost continued - there was something amiss - before Julian cut in. ¡°Many thanks,¡± the boy-praetor said somewhat warmly. ¡°We appreciate the lengths you have gone to, to make us feel at home.¡±


    I made up a compliment to make up for her insult.


    The Emperor and Greta seemed appeased for the rest of the first course. Josephine and Arathis continued chatting with the Patrician Cassia, although their words became slyer - Cyrus¡¯ already-sour mood seemed already sourer.


    My brother had plans tonight.


    But, then again, who didn''t?


    Dinner would be home to more serious talks - after a private banquet with the Imperial Family, a ball would be held in honor of the envoys¡¯ arrival. It was really just an excuse for nobles to flock to the capital to test out the political waters.


    That would be when Cyrus had planned to use Castor to raise chaos.


    And that event would be Greta¡¯s excuse.


    I had no doubt my eldest sister would find some other way to kill us all tonight and become Heir Designate, but killing Castor still had been a good precaution.


    I almost smiled.


    But then I sank myself deep in thought again as I pretended to engage with the patrician Cassia. A Paladin, an Actor? Sent by whom?


    From whichever torture method Mercy used, Castor had blurted out the entire plan. Even though he was Orion¡¯s butler, Cyrus had lured Castor to his side in recent days in promise of - which was it, again? Wealth? Power?


    When you were surrounded with people who desired mostly the same things, it was hard to keep track.


    All Cyrus had commanded was for Castor to sneak in with the dinner staff with a smuggled Stygian rifle and assassinate his mother.


    But then Hortensia hadn¡¯t shown up, so my brother would likely have to revise his plans. Messing up the Republic would also be a form of revenge, I guessed.


    Either way, Castor was dead. There was no way to frame him as a Kato extremist now.


    If he had accepted my offer, perhaps his grave would¡¯ve been dug deeper.


    Mercy had informed me that she hadn¡¯t buried him at all.


    I watched in anticipation as the maids scooped the moustalevria from a tacky gold vat - yes, made of solid Imperial gold - into fancy pudding cups.


    It was a few drops of scented oil - not strong enough to be suspicious, but there. Based on the gathered knowledge, the smell being present would be enough. Very faint, but there.


    No one in the Palace, save the Gardeners, would care if the pudding smelled a bit flowery - I had bribed a maid to make sure no one made a fuss.


    Julian Marius Romanus. Lovers, family, and extremely close friends would call him Marius, acquaintances Julian, but most knew him as Praetor Romanus, according to my files. Son of the Consul of Romulus, Marcellus Amadeus, and Patrician Hadranius¡¯ daughter Claudia Julia.


    He reportedly cared for his mother, purchasing a garden the size of a manor along with a private manor in the Republic after he was promoted to Praetor. Claudia was apparently more than just an avid gardener - it was common knowledge that she adored rhododendrons.


    He would recognize it.


    I was sure.


    I wasn¡¯t disappointed after it was Julian¡¯s turn to eat - after the Emperor, in order of rank - and his dark hair shifting signaled that he was picking up the spoon.


    The boy-praetor scooped the pudding and lifted it to his pretty lips. His nostrils twitched. Once, twice. And then he paused, his eyebrow and pinky twitching, as he was-


    Ascertaining.


    I picked up my spoon - it was my turn, after Arathis - and watched as the realization wriggled onto his expression like a grotesque worm. Surprise. Confusion.


    His eyes immediately flickered up, running through the seated people at the table suspiciously like a Guard after a Thief.


    His gaze met mine. Hazel. His eyes were hazel.


    I deliberately let a corner of my mouth quirk. I felt myself lift the spoon positioned in my hand slightly upwards in a toast, as the boy-praetor and those at the table watched in the corner of their eyes.


    I smiled, fully, like I was sharing some sort of intimate joke - I was, technically - and winked.


    <hr>


    The smell wafted in Julian Romanus¡¯ nostrils, constricting his throat like a well-placed tropical snake from the Dark Forest. That suffocating scent of rhododendron. Extremely faint, but there.


    -- Promise, Marius? You promise not to tell your father that I¡¯ve been gardening?


    - I promise, Mother.


    -- Good. You must always keep your promises, Marius. They are your honor, just as you are my pride - and you must always, always protect your honor.


    - But Mother - if gardening doesn¡¯t damage your honor then-


    -- Marius.


    - I apologize, Mother.


    -- You are forgiven. Now, make sure to memorize the flowers¡¯ meanings by tomorrow, and then we can play.


    - Alright, Mother.


    Rhododendron. The fragrant kind. The delicate, imported blooms shaped in outwards-arching stars that Mother liked to call glory-splashes.


    The garden back home was full of delicate roofs devoured by bougainvillea from the Empire and latticework wreathed with jasmine from the faraway East - blood lilies dotted the ground along with the odd rare scarlet acacia from the neighbors across the Oceanus. Mother had said that she liked all of her plants the same - and she technically did.


    She dutifully watered all of them, dug in the dirt and planted all of their saplings, but the way she handled rhododendrons in that way like she was handling the world was obvious.


    When people visited Claudia Julia Hadrianus, they always brought a bustle of rhododendron. She would icily welcome them, and then they would leave, and her mask would break and she would take care of the plant like a child.


    Once she had done so, and Marcellus had walked in - Julian remembered that look of not fear, but guilt on Mother¡¯s face as Marcellus looked the display up and down impassively.


    But that was enough of reminiscing.


    Julian now looked at the girl who had winked at him with newfound - What was it? he asked his instincts. Terror? Unease? - emotion.


    The entire table was staring, and Julian managed a diplomatic smile as he raised his spoon in return. Without the wink.


    The conversations were still going on.


    The girl.


    Eyes of a neutral blue - orbs that belonged to not so much a diplomat, but rather a born audience member. A spectator¡¯s gaze, but her actions - Confusing? War-sparking? - set off an alarm in his gut that signalled danger.


    All of the people on the table, save the lug of existence that was Titus Severan, set off that alarm. And that was never a good sign.


    Rhododendron¡¯s meaning - danger, beware.


    Julian grasped for her name - she had been introduced as Seraphina Queenscage.


    Why was she warning him?


    No - what was she warning him about?


    Julian¡¯s gaze trickled to the Guards on the walls.


    Republica weapons dealers - at least, the few the Praetor knew that didn¡¯t answer to his father - liked to tease the Imperial weapons dealers for being slow to incorporate firearms into their arsenals.


    But apparently they had taken a fancy to the recent introduction of the bayonet, and Julian looked at the gun attachments appreciatively - as a general, of course. The firearms did hang in a secondary position, the main weapon being swords.


    Even though Praetors were supposed to be the last line of defense, Julian could easily disable the Guards. It made him relax, a bit, before the warning blared in his gut again.


    Danger, beware.


    He shoved it side, just as-


    ¡°Praetor.¡± The Imperial Princess who smelled of wine and hidden plots spoke. ¡°Are you alright?¡± The question was a concerned one, but the tone it had been delivered in was as if it was just a diplomatic obligation.


    Julian had been told he had a sensitive nose. The woman looked around her mid-thirties, but the reports had informed him she had recently turned forty-one. The boy-praetor had also been informed that the more moral baggage you had, the older you looked, but apparently that wasn¡¯t the case.


    ¡°Yes, Your Highness, just a bit tired. Sleepiness does make your eyelids heavy,¡± Julian replied politely.


    Her pale skin had that shimmery sheen that all the members of the Imperial Family did - it was either the Gods¡¯ touch, or the many herbs that the Empire was said to possess.


    Dark auburn hairs clung to her scalp, the strands in a harsh bun similar to the Duchess¡¯. Harsh. That was the word.


    All of the Imperial Family had multiple lives on their hands, but the shade of precious metal they all wore remained as pristine as a clear summer¡¯s sky - Greta Queenscage, as she had been introduced, also sported accolades - war medals, that weren¡¯t really from wars, the dark bronze on her shimmering gold robes.


    The Imperial Army was renowned as a continental joke, since there wasn¡¯t much to defend besides the border that divided Visava and Riannon - and Riannon was more caught up in fighting amongst themselves than declaring a global war.


    But it was still a formidable force, and the length of her epaulettes designated the Princess as a major. Julian¡¯s observation fetched him a slight smile.


    Next to her was the Emperor.


    All of the conversations had been initiated with goodwill, and it had been a nice break before the real negotiations started at night - or Daysend, as they called it. But the Emperor¡¯s flowy robes remained as welcoming as ever, the peacocks embroidered on them flowering in vivid detail.


    Julian never liked peacocks.


    He always thought they were haughty pieces of shit who thought they were the shit, for lack of a better phrase - not that he had seen many peacocks in the first place.


    The patricians back at the capital liked to engage in peacock fighting - illegal rings where the birds with their multicolored plumage were trained for battle, made to compete, and were bet money on.


    Other than those poor representations of the species, the fact that the animals were sacred to Juno - Hera here, Julian remembered - meant that those who belonged to the uncaged group pranced in temples dedicated to the Queen. Nikephoros the Nightbidden, a Queensfavored, was silver-haired and armed with a hearty laugh, years of experience, and control over one of the continent¡¯s biggest powers.


    One of the Imperial folk with their mystical Abilities, a formidable Juno¡¯s Chosen.


    Hera was a part of the Belief here, apparently. There was a game called Queen¡¯s Crown in the Empire - a variant had made its way to the Republic, too - and their arena-isle by the name of the Queen¡¯s Cage. Tartarus, even the Imperial surname was ¡®Queenscage.¡¯


    While those in the Republic pretended to believe in their Gods by displaying their wealth and constructing temples, Julian was open about the fact that he was an atheist.


    But on the continent where atheists were simply non-worshippers, it hadn¡¯t been a big deal. The Republica were strict about many things, but Beliefs weren¡¯t central to their culture - namely, the patriot-or-not game they played with politics that they called culture.


    ¡°Lunch is almost over,¡± the Emperor agreed, and turned to the rest of the envoys. ¡°Your chambers have been prepared, and Greta will lead each of you personally to them. Then, we shall conduct our business later tonight - my children are at your disposal in the meantime as guides and translators.¡±


    Julian Romanus¡¯ gaze flickered to the girl, who smiled at the sentence.


    It was as if she was goading him, although she remained expressionless - go on, pick me, her half-smile said. You know you want to.


    His gut tugged at him. Take her. She¡¯s important.


    And so Julian Marius Romanus, Praetor and diplomat, surrendered to his instincts.


    <hr>


    ¡°I bet you a drachma that he scorns Greta and picks you,¡± said Arathis in a stage whisper that would¡¯ve rivaled the Plays¡¯ at the Theatre. ¡°After that stunt you pulled - don¡¯t look at me like that, we all know you pulled something - it¡¯s obvious.¡±


    ¡°I bet two drachmas,¡± I interjected. ¡°Minus the scorning.¡±


    Josephine snorted. ¡°Come on, guys - if I bet against the house, I¡¯ll lose.¡±


    I turned to Patrician Cassia, who was looking at our spectacle curiously - not just curiosity, calculation - while observing the boy-praetor at the corner.


    Julian Romanus was in the middle of making a decision - and if he took the decision I knew he was going to take, he would have to make another.


    I had drawn up two contracts for the beloved boy-praetor. The signature of either one would lead to him being one of my Crownpieces - such a valuable piece would need to be used with their consent, not without it.


    The titles of First-in-line, Second-in-line, and Sixth-in-line really just meant that if the Emperor died without declaring a Victor an Heir Designate, the throne would go to the Victor from the oldest Cage. But the value of the ¡®Heir¡¯ title was more than just that.


    It commanded societal power recognized by the Empire. It opened up diplomatic avenues, inter-continental trade as well as bestowing the authority to represent a continental power.


    If Nikephoros died by poison without declaring Greta his Heir Designate, Greta wouldn¡¯t be recognized by society as the Emperor although she was, legally, and would have to spend a tremendous amount of time and effort to achieve the feat.


    Josephine currently ruled high society - everyone knew that she charged in elegantly, stampeded out the rumors of her courtesan past, and metaphorically hanged anyone who opposed her.


    I wasn¡¯t sure if she used her Ability, but Josephine had forced the former king, Timaios - who I was pretty sure Alyssa was having an illicit affair with - to step down and live in metaphorical retirement.


    Even the Cardinal Duchies tried to maintain a good reputation in society - if they committed crimes, they at least tried to do it covertly.


    ¡°I guess we¡¯ll have to wait,¡± I said, shrugging.


    If Greta became the Emperor without the Heir Designate title, she would have to work closely with Josephine or Timaios to get societally recognized, and spend a good chunk on bribes. In politics, though, time was of the essence.


    But if she killed all of us, and got the Heir title while becoming Glory Princess without all of the arduous politicking, it would be a much smoother journey.


    There were a lot of available moves, and I knew some of Greta¡¯s chosen pieces - if she kept us, using us as Crownpieces would be beneficial, but dangerous.


    To play a game of Crown using nations was a dangerous game that was like playing with fire.


    My Ability reinforced my conclusion that Greta knew how not to get burned.


    ¡°I¡¯m afraid I wouldn¡¯t like to retire to my chambers just yet,¡± said the praetor, interrupting one of my thought trains. ¡°I¡¯ve heard the Empire has quite a few enchanting sights. Before we get down to business, I¡¯d like to indulge in my pleasure, just once, on this trip.¡± He smiled, and the Emperor returned it.


    Patrician Cassia let out a scoff.


    Disdain at both the praetor and the emperor¡¯s supposed weakness.


    A mistake.


    Patrician Summanus was still ogling at Josephine, and Orion looked dangerously close to shoving his bow up Titus Severan¡¯s ass - or causing a diplomatic incident by shooting him in the envoy¡¯s reproductive organs.


    Even if they didn¡¯t talk much, the Archer really was protective of her.


    Cyrus was still sour, although he looked slightly better after consuming some moustalevria - his favorite treat - albeit a non-alcoholic version.


    ¡°Father,¡± I said calmly with an injected note of cheer, ¡°would it be alright if I take up the available spot as a guide?¡±


    Greta and the Emperor exchange a fleeting glance - extraordinarily quick, so much so that I wouldn¡¯t have caught it if I didn¡¯t have my Ability - and my Imperial Father shrugged, his eyes twinkling.


    Laidback.


    I never could read him much.


    ¡°If Praetor Julius has no objections, I don¡¯t see why not,¡± said Nikephoros. ¡°Arathis, Orion, feel free to guide Patricians Cassia and Summanus. The rest - well, we¡¯ll see how the night goes.¡±


    And then Nikephoros swept up his peacock skirts regally, Greta following behind trying not to step on the long Imperial cape that trailed behind his chiton, and we were dismissed.


    I smiled after he left, getting up and walking around the table to the boy-praetor¡¯s side.


    ¡°Fancy a ride to the Theatre?¡± I asked him.


    <hr>


    The carriage ride was a battle of wills.


    ¡°You warned me,¡± the praetor said, breaking the silence. ¡°Why?¡±


    I halted the carriage, ushering Lazarus to take care of eavesdroppers on the outside while making sure he was out of earshot. The carriage started again after a pause.


    ¡°I have information, two offers, and a secret. Which will you take first, and how?¡± I replied, answering the question with another.


    The praetor¡¯s cheekbones were regal and harsh, refined yet craggy like a diamond in the rough, half-unearthed. Dark hair clipped close to his scalp, but not so that his locks couldn¡¯t be coiffed.


    Sporting the darker bronze shade of most Republica skin, gold glittering at his chest, he was a general, through and through.


    Honor. Stiff yet adaptable.


    He didn¡¯t feel his age. Then again, I was, too.


    Hazel eyes studied me. Like an old customer ordering his usual type of brandy, he responded, neutrally. ¡°I will take the information, first - no sugar needed. I will in turn not do the same.¡±


    ¡°The welcome was warm,¡± I commented. ¡°The Emperor personally welcomed you without an official audience with his vassals. This could be taken as an insult due to the informality, or a compliment due to his personal attendance.¡±


    Julian was silent.


    ¡°Are you familiar with the ascension method of the Golden Throne?¡± I asked him.


    He didn¡¯t reply.


    As expected.


    Mind games didn¡¯t work on someone who refused to move.


    ¡°Glory Prince is the title given to the Heir Designate,¡± I continued, even though he likely knew. ¡°To get declared Heir, you must kill all the others who have a claim to the Imperial Throne. Greta aims to be Glory Prince.¡±


    I paused. Still silent.


    ¡°Tonight, my dear oldest sister will likely attempt to kill all of the Imperial Family, the envoys along with it, and seize power. When the Emperor dies - yes, I said when - she will take the throne and plunge Visava into war.¡± I smiled. ¡°A war that she will win.¡±


    At this, Julian lifted his head. Questions.


    I knew what he was going to ask. I held up three fingers. ¡°Three questions. I request of you to be efficient - we¡¯re nearly to the Theater.¡±


    The boy-praetor blinked. ¡°Do you want to get named Glory Prince?¡±


    ¡°Heir Designate - Glory Prince is a title, not a position,¡± I corrected. ¡°Not at the moment, but it¡¯s a possibility.¡±


    Julian considered the words. Uncertainty. How-


    ¡°How do you know Greta will win?¡±


    ¡°My Ability. She is powerful. More so than me.¡±


    ¡°What are your intentions?¡±


    ¡°A partnership. Like I said, I have two offers. At the Theatre, a person will be waiting with the contracts of those offers,¡± I said, the words edging the boundaries between the truth and a lie. ¡°I won¡¯t murder you, but I can¡¯t promise anything on behalf of him.¡±


    It was likely he would agree.


    Mercy would make him agree.


    Julian studied me, again. ¡°I¡¯ve only met you for an hour. How do I know I can trust you?¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s four questions.¡± I looked out the window as the carriage stopped in front of a familiar, pearly building. ¡°I¡¯ll answer in the confidence that we¡¯ll be able to reach a consensus in this relationship - you don¡¯t know.¡±


    I turned back towards the praetor, before adding, ¡°But you can.¡±


    Trust me to use you to the best of my Ability.


    <hr>

 10. Tome II

    <hr>


    A sacrifice is best refuted by accepting it and throwing it out the window.


    - UNKNOWN CROWNPLAYER


    <hr>


    THE PERSON WAS A MAN. A VERY HANDSOME MAN. A man of beauty that transcended the heavens Above - angles and soft curves like a carved angelic statue, anatomical perfection with sparkling green eyes and a delicate nose. Wispy dark hair clung to his head, with arching eyebrows and a full mouth. Dressed in luxurious viridian robes matching the colors of the Theater, he looked like he belonged there.


    ¡°Lord Timaios.¡± I gave him a nod and a grin as the former socialite shifted in his seat uneasily.


    ¡°Your Highness,¡± he replied. His eyes flickered to and fro the private box in the Imperial Theatre like he was a hostage.


    Well, he technically was - but at least it had been a consensual kidnapping. He had agreed to meet me here. Mercy was by his side, her hand on her daggers.


    ¡°Admiring the architecture?¡± I asked, amused, as I beckoned for Julian to sit down.


    Timaios¡¯ gaze immediately went to the boy-praetor, in all the Republica¡¯s military regalia. ¡°It is amazing,¡± he agreed.


    It was. With sloping emerald halls and studded Doxa columns - the name came from its place of origin in the west - it was a grand amphitheater, built for housing emperors. It was a luxury center of entertainment for the capital¡¯s rich and powerful, and only the highest elite of society could purchase private boxes.


    A large, sprawling stage with elegantly painted mosaics on the ceiling - deeds of the Olympians and the few other Gods whose myths remained known - and creamy walls that framed rows and rows of curved layered seats.


    I frequented the theater on my better days - sometimes alone, and perhaps it was because of the fact that the vivid greens reminded me of the jungle in the Cage. Mostly it was because of the things you could do during the acts.


    Throw in a dead body? The opera singer would improvise it as their dead lover¡¯s ghost. If one of the choir choked on their tongue? Alas, the song called for it - a lighthearted melody would slowly turn into a melancholic ballad.


    It was amusing, how professional they were - some younger noble scions liked to mess with them, too, as a way to pass time.


    You could say that those of the Eternal City were strange.


    ¡°Brilliant, really.¡± I smiled and settled into my seat. ¡°What Play are we watching today, Timmy?¡±


    ¡°We had a choice of The Fall of Icarus, the Queen and the Blacksmith¡¯s Fall, Adonis¡¯ Tragedy, and the Sun-Archer¡¯s Lament,¡± replied the former socialite, his body language still conveying his skittishness at the nickname. ¡°I hope you don¡¯t mind, Your Highness. The Lament has always been a favorite of mine.¡±


    I shrugged, still grinning amicably - an expression I wore rarely these days.


    ¡°We can stay for Daphne, but our business will be concluded before Hyacinthus,¡± I said, naming the first two Acts of the famous Play.


    Famous for being tragically long, after Apollo¡¯s forbidden loves. He¡¯s stalling.


    I turned. ¡°Ah, I should let Julian introduce himself first. Praetor, this is¡­¡±


    It was a wonder how quickly the anxiety Timmy displayed before died down.


    ¡°Timaios la Drakos, Heir of the Drakos Marquessate,¡± the man said smoothly, in persona. ¡°A pleasure to meet you, Lord¡­¡± Calculation. Theory. Elimination. Anticipation.


    ¡°Patrician,¡± Julian corrected, as he gave a nod of acknowledgement. ¡°Julian Marius Romanus, Praetor of the Romulus Army. It¡¯s a pleasure, as well.¡± Curiosity. Possibilities. Consideration.


    As the curtains were raised and the lights flickered on - I could recognize one or two wealthy families in the crowd, amongst others - I reached over and patted Julian on the shoulder.


    ¡°My sweet, this is Timmy. He has the paper contracts for our offer.¡± Endearments don¡¯t startle. Discomfort, perhaps. Question of etiquette? I asked my Ability.


    Rigid, was the only certain response.


    Timaios sighed, either at the endearment, the situation he was in, or both. ¡°If I fulfill my end of the deal, Your Highness, I hope you will fulfill yours.¡± Digging into a rather large pocket, Timmy brought out a wad of papers, which I took just as the actors took the stage.


    ¡°We never made a proper deal,¡± I reminded him. ¡°It¡¯s better being used by me than Greta - I¡¯d think a retired man like you would prefer not to be wrapped up in these affairs.¡±


    I threw the bound papers in Julian¡¯s direction, and gestured for him to read, before meeting Timmy¡¯s eyes.


    ¡°But then you¡¯d think wrong, Your Highness,¡± Timaios replied wryly. Liar.


    ¡°Perhaps.¡± I raised an eyebrow. ¡°But I really am only a mouthpiece for Alyssa, Katherine, Sophia, and Tanis¡¯ concerns.¡± I watched Timmy¡¯s eyes glitter at the name of his multiple lovers, before continuing, ¡°You either play the game, drakon-vasiliki, or you don¡¯t. I advise you to make a choice very soon.¡±


    You have no choice but to make a choice.


    I smiled placidly, and leaned back on my seat, my eyes straying back to the Play, as Timmy let out a tired sigh.


    Drakon-vasiliki. Dragon King, the man¡¯s former name in the social circles.


    ¡°I haven¡¯t heard that address in a long time, vasiliki,¡± the former king of high society said. ¡°Not since your sister took my throne. But, like they say, no hard feelings.¡±


    Bitterness. Resentment and being chased out and forced to be his father¡¯s heir.


    ¡°No hard feelings,¡± I agreed, and let Mercy relax her guard. ¡°The deal is struck, drakon-vasiliki.¡± He should probably be finished reading soon.


    ¡°The deal is struck, vasiliki.¡±


    I turned to the praetor, who had finished perusing the papers, and rose from my seat. ¡°Enjoy the show,¡± I said, before leaving the former Dragon King to finish watching the Play.


    <hr>


    ¡°A marriage contract, and an individual partnership contract,¡± said the boy-praetor, dryly. ¡°I thought you Imperials couldn¡¯t get married under eighteen?¡±


    ¡°Minors can participate in an engagement, though,¡± I said. ¡°Make sure to read the fine print. I wouldn¡¯t want you to get roped into anything you regret.¡± No, I need you willing.


    Julian raised an eyebrow slightly, as if in suspicion, reading aloud, ¡°¡®This contract will only come into effect when the above signatories turn the age of eighteen.¡¯ You¡¯ve considered this for a while, for someone who you¡¯ve only met for a day.¡±


    Of course I have.


    It is what is Wise, my Ability agreed. Besides, you already asked the Emperor for his permission.


    ¡°The three months after my return from the Cage have been spent both recuperating and preparing for any moves I might be forced to make, including marriage. You were a prospect candidate.¡± I leaned back in the cushy carriage.


    ¡°Are you aware of our real purpose?¡± Julian asked quietly, putting down the engagement contract and lifting up the other.


    ¡°I know of a vague outline,¡± I said, ¡°but information directly from the Source would be appreciated.¡±


    The praetor sighed, and for a second seemed even older than the ancient aura he projected, if that was possible. He raised his eyes from the paper. ¡°The Republic has Forts, similar to your Strongholds - closest to the Union¡¯s border would be Bellum, south of the Draconian Peaks, and Gloria.¡±


    I placed the names to the maps, tracing the paths on the geographical regions in my mind¡¯s memory.


    ¡°Gloria¡¯s much closer to the Dark Forest - the forest itself spans land from the border to Tartarus,¡± I recalled.


    Julian didn¡¯t seem surprised, giving me a sharp nod. ¡°Correct. The Romulus Army has control of the Forts Gloria and Bellum, while the Remus Army has a stranglehold over the Republica¡¯s east Harbor City, Azareth.¡±


    The source of inter-continental commerce in the Republic.


    ¡°So you, the Praetor, hold a Fort as well,¡± I said.


    ¡°I am Patrician of Gloria,¡± the boy-praetor agreed. Information confirms his information. Rings mostly true, my Ability reinforced. ¡°I defend it from the monsters, and lead expeditions into our side of the Forest to clear the Waves. But-¡±


    ¡°The Source is expanding.¡± This was where Athena¡¯s and Julian¡¯s declarations ran perpendicular. ¡°I can tell you the reason behind this-¡± You must pretend to know more ¡°-If you expand on the Union¡¯s moves in consideration to the Source.¡±


    The Praetor¡¯s dark eyes glinted. ¡°They are secrets correlating to the Republic¡¯s national security,¡± he said.


    ¡°My information concerns the continent¡¯s safety,¡± I replied. ¡°Ave, my Praetor - you have this time-limited chance to accept important information without a binding contract, or refusing the exchange and signing the papers instead.¡± Honesty.


    ¡°What if I leave this carriage?¡± Julian said, conversationally. ¡°What will you do?¡±


    A threat.


    ¡°You¡¯re free to do whatever you wish, my heart,¡± I replied in the same tone. ¡°But if you leave, you relinquish the right to be aware of my actions.¡± Right, not ability. Offering a concession that he could spy on me - solidifies-? ¡°But I am on a time limit,¡± I continued, ¡°so I suggest you choose quickly, and wisely.¡±


    He needs to believe that I''m desperate.


    You are, replied my Ability


    ¡°Again, I¡¯ve only met you for a day.¡± Negotiating for leeway, my Ability insisted. ¡°How do I know that this contract is even binding?¡± Semantics. Stalling?


    I put my hands on both the individual contracts with their elegant script, and slid it forward across the carriage seat. ¡°I keep my Oaths, Praetor. At least, here, it says it on paper - when I use you, you can use me.¡± I met his eyes. ¡°The Union has moved in consideration to the Source. The reason behind the Source itself expanding I can provide you, in equivalent exchange.¡±


    Julian sighed.


    The art of negotiation rests in dependence. Who walks away from the table with what, depends on-


    ¡°I know why the Source is enlarging,¡± he said, ¡°I¡¯m not stupid. People who bring death are somehow connected to the gap.¡±


    Surprising.


    ¡°Harbingers of Slaughter,¡± I provided the name, as Julian pressed.


    ¡°All the information of use you have gambled away,¡± replied the praetor. ¡°The Emperor¡¯s death, the secrets of the Imperial aristocracy-¡± he cast a glance at the papers Timmy gave him ¡°-and even a warning about your sister. You have no cards left, and you¡¯re betting on the wrong peacock. Why would I sign the contract, when you have outlasted your use?¡±


    A military man.


    Ah, a man after my own heart.


    ¡°My heart-¡± I followed the endearment with a laugh ¡°-if you think those cards are all that I have, you are very wrong.¡± I smiled. ¡°We Victors are your only hope, and I am the only Victor who still wants to continue living.¡± I met his eyes. ¡°If you can¡¯t win a game against me, you won¡¯t survive Greta. I¡¯m not requesting you to bet on me. I¡¯m requesting you to know that I won¡¯t lose.¡± I jutted my chin towards the bucketload of papers that I blackmailed out of Timmy.


    Secrets were in there - secrets that could topple the Cardinal Duchies, the aristocracy as the Empire knew it. Under-the-table dealing, bastard children, financial instability, the claws of the Imperial nobles in the Lower Quarter - everything there was to know about the hierarchy were in those files in the Dragon King¡¯s elegant script.


    ¡°That,¡± I said, ¡°is just the surface, my love.¡±


    The fact that Timaios Drakos, now the heir of a marquessate - an illustrious one, that held a fief to the west of Eurus - and former king of social circles, was actually active in gathering information was a surprising one.


    Mercy had found it out only a month ago, and had established contact with dear Timmy while taking Alyssa as my lady-in-waiting.


    It was a back-up tool, and one that gambled on the Dragon King¡¯s supposed fierce loyalty and affection along with Alyssa¡¯s supposed lack of full knowledge, but now was a time for every tool I had at my disposal.


    Every single one.


    ¡°What do you intend to do?¡± asked the praetor. Calling my half-bluff.


    ¡°If I die today,¡± I replied, ¡°I intend to set the Empire on metaphorical fire while doing it.¡±


    Julian Romanus sighed again, for the third time since he boarded the carriage. I handed a quill-pen to him, and he accepted, pressing the tip to paper and bringing ink to life. ¡°Do as you wish, Princess. Who am I to stop you from going out in a blaze of glory?¡±


    He knows that you do not intend to go out at all.


    ¡°Now,¡± I said with a grin, to the boy I¡¯d only known for two hours, ¡°my fiance.¡±


    <hr>


    The Emperor had seen the world.


    Well, technically the Empire was a ¡°shoddy substitute,¡± according to his Mother back in the day, ¡°but a substitute nonetheless.¡±


    Captain Ariadne Pax had been a dashing young woman back in her day - Nikephoros remembered the glint of a mischievous smile, the shimmer of a gold buckle on worn leather, and the gleaming blade of a Sailor¡¯s cutlass.


    Young Nikephoros had been brought along on her journeys, as a young boy - he recalled his father¡¯s protests - and so he had seen every corner of the Empire.


    Doxa, the west Stronghold - although not a Cardinal one, it was a center of commerce. The Emperor could smell the intoxicating perfumes of the loud marketplaces in the capital of Evlogia, the loud drums and the chiming revellazos that the travelling musicians carried - bright purples and pinks, vibrant splashes and bronze spires shining under the hot sun. Interlocked rings fortified the entire Stronghold, made of hardened precious metal like a treasured labyrinth.


    Zephyr, the west Cardinal, brought to mind more demure colors - rolling sands and an expanse of dusty, squat buildings. The capital, Hyacinth, was a warm place, although dry - Nikephoros could smell the petals of the wind, if he tried hard enough, and taste the brightness of the sky. The Stronghold¡¯s barriers were made of stone and concrete that stood tall, basking like a snake under the sun.


    Boreas, the Cardinal of the north, was a harsh place - howling winds and craggy peaks, closer to the other continents yet distant from the others. Bitter ice and snow made young Nikephoros¡¯ toes curl - it was a wonder that the olive groves there grew at all, but perhaps that was the work of Athena¡¯s alleged patronage. Anthinon, its capital located in the Stronghold¡¯s south, sported concrete porticos lit by winter¡¯s sun and libraries full of forbidden knowledge - the calls of fur merchants bargaining rang in his ears, the frost of the renowned ice wall on the Emperor¡¯s breath.


    Tyche¡¯s mists were renowned throughout the Empire. Although the Stronghold itself was heavily fortified, Ariadne had cheerfully taken Nikephoros around the moist, rain-encased stone wall that edged Cardinal prestige, but not quite reached it. The suffocating smog - a supposed byproduct of Tyche¡¯s industrial ventures and its horrific weather - was a haze that consumed buildings, a strangely ethereal sight if you thought about it.


    Young Nikephoros hadn''t.


    Eurus, with its golden-eyed inhabitants, was famous for its herbal and scientific wonders and eccentric people, with jeweled manors, unusual inventions, and fierce warriors. The marshlands east of Cadmus, according to the Captain, were called the Snakelands, and were the source of the Draconian Peaks¡¯ name. (Only Notus he hadn''t been to, on his mother''s seafaring journeys.)


    The vast expanse of the Visava continent that was the Empire Eoina,  i ai¨®nia aftokrator¨ªa, was now under Nikephoros¡¯ command.


    When he had first sat on the throne, childish fantasies bubbled up.


    He could order people to down the walls of every Stronghold of old, command the Cardinal Duchies that were now his vassals by law, and rule the Eternal Empire.


    It was in his blood, and in his name - Nikephoros, bearer of victory.If you spot this narrative on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.


    Couldn¡¯t he achieve the unthinkable victory of uniting Visava?


    He was out of those Godsbroken bars that confined him and dyed his hands in blood, and he was-


    Victorious.


    Young Nikephoros¡¯ dreams had plummeted - slowly, but surely. Keeping in control the bag of snakes that was the royal court had sapped away his strength and youth, and the Emperor¡¯s childhood dream had faded away as a choice.


    The only person he had told about his flights of fancies - of a Visava that was full of not death and suspicion, but life and trust - was his daughter, and even then when Nikephoros remembered that day he tasted a bitter pang on his tongue and heart.


    ¡°To think themselves capable of reforming a centuries-old culture,¡± he had said, laughing, ¡°would be man¡¯s greatest folly.¡±


    ¡°To reform a centuries-old culture,¡± Greta had corrected, ¡°would be man¡¯s greatest victory.¡±


    The Emperor had replied, ¡°There was a time where I once thought so, too.¡± He had laughed. ¡°But that time is no longer, my daughter. We exist to rule, not serve our own desires.¡±


    His green-eyed daughter had met his eyes, and did the unthinkable - something unthinkable for the person sporting the moniker ¡®Greta the Great,¡¯ at least - and smiled.


    It was a half-smile, of course - neither toothy nor sheepish, but rather a quirk of the lips that signalled amusement, like a person finding a rather peculiar pet.


    The Emperor was taken aback for half a beat before relaxing his expression, to which his daughter responded, ¡°It wouldn¡¯t be completely out of the question for a ruler to be able to do both.¡±


    Nikephoros was pulled out of the reverie by a clear-sounding bell ring. Concealing his irritation, he watched as his personal aide glared at the bell-ringer as his proxy.


    The ringer, a nervous Servant-turned-Announcer, cleared his throat and croaked, ¡°I announce the arrival of Imperial Princess, Sixth-in-line, Seraphina Queenscage!¡± The bell-ringer got even twitchier, as he added, ¡°Accompanied by Praetor Julian Romanus, of the Romulus Army, of the Republic!¡±


    It was amusing how Deimos - named after the lesser-known God of Terror - managed to convey the most entertaining expressions as Imperial Aide.


    Nikephoros almost laughed heartily at the aide¡¯s current surprised-yet-utterly-terrified mien.


    Well, at least Deimos was never unreasonable.


    Unlike some others.


    ¡°Daughter!¡± the ruler of the Empire called out jovially.


    The Princess stepped out from behind the personal entrance¡¯s screen. She smiled. This was an even expression - every one of his children had different smiles, according to the reports.


    Greta, who rarely did so. Orion, who smiled only when on the prowl. Cyrus, who smiled when he was visiting a fond memory of the past. Josephine, who used smiling as a tool. Arathis, who smiled often.


    Seraphina, his youngest, had a smile that bordered bone-chilling, yet wasn¡¯t - it was like the serene surface of a lake before it was disturbed by a drowning scream, the Emperor supposed. Greta had once labeled her sister offhandedly as, ¡°The personification of the calm before the storm - only she¡¯s too green to even handle the storm.¡±


    The Emperor wasn¡¯t stupid. He knew his children weren¡¯t stupid, either. Besides the Cagekeepers, he was the only one allowed to watch the Cage¡¯s Footage. Every single one of them were survivors, killers in their own right.


    ¡°Father.¡± Seraphina did an informal curtsy, her back straight and experienced.


    Deimos¡¯ eyes narrowed, but Nikephoros didn¡¯t say anything. She in her golden robes - she hadn¡¯t changed her clothes since the day begun, she had been going places - was accompanied by the young praetor. Deimos¡¯ eyes thinned further. The Emperor let an amused smile flicker across his face. A defense against Greta? Not a provocation, but half-way there.


    ¡°I got engaged,¡± his daughter added, gesturing towards the Republica.


    Ah.


    Not bad.


    The Emperor snorted as his aide spluttered, ¡°Engaged, Your Highness? He is-¡±


    ¡°My fiance, yes,¡± Seraphina agreed. ¡°Father approved it, so no need to worry, Deimos.¡± This she followed up with a slight smile.


    If you were one of the Palace¡¯s staff, and got used to Seraphina¡¯s mild exterior, even the smarter ones would conclude that she was beaming from overflowing love. But the Emperor knew that whatever facial expressions appeared on his daughter¡¯s face were useless - every twitch of a finger, movement of a shoulder, slight quirk of the lips was controlled, and used to manipulate.


    In this way, Seraphina was similar to Josephine and Arathis, which was probably the reason why they were ¡°close.¡± From the way she had deftly handled her former family - reports of neglect and abuse had made its path to the Palace, as all information did - she was less green than the Emperor had expected.


    Even Arathis had spent five years in the Palace, cultivating political connections, before he could tease Greta Highlander. Josephine had spent ten years, Cyrus fifteen, Orion twenty, and Greta twenty-five.


    It was really no wonder why most of them preferred a quick death.


    Only Seraphina had made a move, and Nikephoros writing it off as a blunder would be a mistake. Writing any of his children¡¯s moves as a blunder would be a mistake. Well, maybe except for Cyrus.


    But Cyrus was different.


    Deimos snorted, but remained silent.


    ¡°Congratulations, daughter.¡± Nikephoros laughed. It was basic etiquette to not pick apart someone else¡¯s moves if they weren¡¯t playing a game with you, if you liked them. If they liked you back, they would tell you. ¡°A good pick, a good pick,¡± the Emperor added, focusing his gaze on the praetor.


    A tense frame, the Consul''s son had, more due to habit than situation. The Imperial Spies had stated that they had met with Timaios at the theater, and had been abnormally close in the carriage.


    Of course, Seraphina had made an agreement with the praetor.


    ¡°But I assume that,¡± Nikephoros said, lightly, ¡°that¡¯s not what you¡¯re here for?¡±


    The Sixth-in-line smiled. ¡°The Republica envoys are here to request Imperial military support to hold back the increasing Waves.¡± She phrased the fact like a statement instead of a continental secret. ¡°Wouldn¡¯t they rest assured if a Chosen that was engaged to a Republica praetor - a patrician of the Romanus branch, to boot - got sent instead? Along with a certain half-Republica Chosen?¡±


    The Emperor laughed, heartily. ¡°A strategic retreat, is what you¡¯re aiming for?¡± She knows she can¡¯t win. ¡°Has Cyrus even agreed to this?¡±


    ¡°He might,¡± replied Seraphina wryly. ¡°I haven¡¯t asked, but¡­¡± Her eyes flickered to the door, just seconds before a Servant dressed in the Imperial livery burst in.


    ¡°Your Imperial Majesty, Imperial Prince Cyrus is summoning lightning and destroying his Residence! He¡¯s screaming something about how he¡¯s going to kill Imperial Princess Seraphina!¡±


    <hr>


    FROM THE IMPERIAL DESK OF SERAPHINA QUEENSCAGE


    Cyrus,


    My dearest Older Brother,


    I¡¯m sure you¡¯re aware that this letter requires it to be opened alone. Away from Roxane - who, by the way, is unusually well-acquainted with Timmy¡¯s younger brother - and away from Father¡¯s spies.


    I¡¯m also sure you¡¯re aware that eyes are everywhere.


    Back to the actual topic.


    I do apologize for the lack of discretion on my part - questioning your birthright, etc. - but I suppose it was out of necessity. You of all people, my dearest older brother, would understand, I¡¯m sure.


    Hortensia Halgrove, your birth mother, fell ill before embarking on the journey. She was replaced, at the last minute, by my dearest Julian. This means that our dearest oldest sister - who, I¡¯m also sure, will get ahold of this letter sooner or later - has a patrician on her side. Multiple high-ranked patricians, if I¡¯m correct.


    Oldest Sister contacted you, to ruin the Republica envoys¡¯ chance of gaining military support. You likely viewed it as an opportunity for revenge. She viewed it as an opportunity to seize the throne.


    We all know that Oldest Sister covets the throne. The rest of our siblings tire of the Palace, which is, admittedly, a reasonable reaction. Greta will kill all of us tonight.


    Including you.


    Yes, I killed Castor.


    And yes, you will probably have quite a large reaction when you finish this letter.


    Don¡¯t blow up the Palace.


    I will offer you a way out - come to the Republic as part of their Armies with me. Those left behind will be poisoned, but if Father agrees to this, we¡¯ll have an official status that will make it difficult for Greta to kill us.


    Stay alive, so you can take your revenge. When we make it out, everything''s fair game - besides, you should really play Crown with me.


    From, your dearest Youngest Sister,


    Sera


    Imperial Princess of the Empire Eoina


    <hr>


    Perhaps it was his own fault for getting fond.


    Castor reminded Cyrus of his older brother.


    Not an older brother, really, but his Branch¡¯s slave.


    The Republic itself said themselves to be harsh and indiscriminate, pushing honor and their semblances of virtuous patriotism on all, but it was not true.


    Patricians bullied the plebeians into submission, chaining them into the manacles of slaves when they could; purple capes and violet robes on frames that knew nothing but satiation, those who never let war change them, and they ruled.


    You attempt to salvage your soul, Zeus had said, in the most pathetic ways of them all. Revenge.


    ¡°You did so, too, My Liege,¡± Cyrus had replied. Zeus and Kronos¡¯ conflict were second to none in terms of notoriety.


    And I failed. Revenge will not be your salvation.


    But I will do it all the same.


    Unspoken words that the Lightning King heard.


    Rain, a storm-


    The Halgroves had followed him, after exiling him - Cyrus had been whipped to near-death for running off with a slave, his older brother-


    Pain. More than pain, an electrifying soaring through veins like-


    His brother had died, with his last words being ¡°run¡±-


    ¡°You¡¯re an exile, you think you matter to me?¡±-


    He had run to Boreas, to his supposed father, and had been refused-


    Olysseus dying in scarlet flame-


    They had pursued due to lack of options, and killed-


    The Lightning King¡¯s visit-


    Gained powers, entered the Cage and brutalized everyone who stood in his way-


    He had spent many years, planning, plotting, striking against those who opposed him. Every memory flashed before him as lightning crashed through the sky - familiar streaks of white and gold, sky-fire - and he roared again. Castor, his older brother-


    ¡°I¡¯m going to fucking kill you, Seraphina!¡±


    Roxane squeaked. ¡°Lord Cyrus,¡± she said, her voice tinny, ¡°you-¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m going to use your entrails as a noose to hang every Godsbroken person you hold dear-¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s a creative threat.¡± A familiar remark, from a familiarly mild voice. Cyrus moved without warning, every inch of his Ability impulsive and raw, as the noise of thunder boomed in his ears through the haze.


    The lightning missed, the target dodging with almost inhuman reflexes as-


    ¡°My son, calm yourself.¡± Another deceptively mild voice.


    ¡°Imperial Father?¡± The haze of anger was a rapidly thinning smoke, as- He¡¯s the Emperor, he¡¯s your father - so what if he¡¯s the Emperor, he¡¯s in the way of your revenge - it wandered, trailing away slowly.


    His blood slowly calmed, the tingling of his spine fading away-


    ¡°This is what happens when you don¡¯t ask people for permission in entering them in intercontinental conflicts,¡± the Emperor was childing Seraphina. ¡°You should be careful with your brother next time - he¡¯s not like the others.¡±


    ¡°Sorry.¡± The word would¡¯ve sounded mournful, if not for the light tone it was delivered in. Cyrus was tempted to strike her again, if not for the ¡°yoohoo! Did we miss something?¡±


    Cyrus¡¯ vision was clearing now, and he could see the Forsaken bounding like an energetic rabbit towards the remnants of the Residence. The remnants.


    This particular episode had cost the formerly grand marble structure, some pillars still smouldering.


    ¡°We had a disagreement,¡± Seraphina called, her tone even. And, directed towards Cyrus, she added, ¡°I have no single person in this world that I hold dear. People I find useful perhaps, but your threat may be difficult to carry out.¡±


    Cyrus growled.


    ¡°There, there,¡± Arathis coaxed. The Forsaken approached Cyrus, his pale hair striking against his dark skin, unnatural pale eyes blinking as he put a hand on Cyrus¡¯ shoulder. He had probably arrived first because his Residence was closer.


    The manipulator.


    ¡°Don¡¯t touch me, Damned,¡± he hissed.


    Arathis shrugged the slur off, his face still smiling, as the Emperor tutted disapprovingly.


    ¡°Cyrus,¡± Nikephoros said warningly, his entourage behind him. A purple-caped figure, the envoy that Seraphina had referred to as my Julian, stood a few paces out, assessing the scene.


    Roxane was shivering behind Cyrus still, and the tingling in his veins roared again, this time sending his mind into Overdrive.


    Emotions aside, the offer was something to be considered.


    Collect, and then act.


    ¡°You.¡± Cyrus jabbed a finger towards his supposed sister¡¯s direction, shoving Arathis¡¯ hand off his shoulder as he marched towards her, leaving Roxane behind. ¡°Let¡¯s talk.¡±


    Her lips curled.


    ¡°Yes, let¡¯s.¡± Turning towards that damned praetor - the Romanus scion, who had been oh-so-beloved even back when Cyrus was in the Republic - she smiled. ¡°My heart, I¡¯ll see you later.¡±


    The dashing, stone-faced praetor gave a slight nod, as Cyrus didn¡¯t speak, turning to Roxane. She was the source of a good piece of his power, the duchess¡¯ daughter who had stayed with him for a long time. Lifting up a finger, he pointed it at Roxane, and then circled it around the ruins.


    Getting the message to clean the Residence up, the pale-faced noble shakily nodded, and Cyrus stalked off, Seraphina following.


    <hr>


    I blinked. We were at my Residence chambers¡¯ balcony, having tea. Cyrus was glaring at the finger foods like they¡¯d somehow insulted his lineage, while I calmly sipped the liquid. The brew was bittersweet, just the way I liked it.


    Mercy was off delivering the rest of my letters, and my ladies-in-waiting were off doing their other tasks. My Seraphs were turbulent, but I had tripled their pay and had sent them to set the foundation, ready my Crownpieces.


    An intricate plan - one of my best yet, if I did say so myself.


    Playing Crown really was fun.


    I got up and opened the cupboard, my brother watching as I snagged a small leather case and shook the Crownboard inside it - my personal set, made of only the best ebony wood - out on the table.


    Unfolding the familiar, lattice-like board, I separated the Pale pieces from the Dark, took the Dark pieces for myself, and we silently set the delicately carved figures up. After pausing for a while - his thoughts were collected - I spoke while shoving a Troop of five Soldiers, two Squareforwards.


    I always liked Soldiers. You could move them individually, or Troop by Troop, and were great sacrifices to start off a game. But, in the end, whether a dashing Paladin infiltrated the Queen¡¯s Circle, or a miniscule Soldier, a victory was a victory.


    ¡°Have you?¡±


    Considered my offer?


    A flurry of emotions sparked across his face. The upside of my Ability was that it was fascinating - Cyrus¡¯ strong bursts of feeling were always fun to watch, whenever they bubbled up to the surface.


    Outrage, anger, unbridled hatred towards something- and then my older brother shoved them under again, and he replied, cold.


    ¡°Yes.¡±


    A sliding of a Troop to meet my own.


    ¡°Answer or question?¡± Answer to the offer or answer to my question?


    ¡°Answer.¡±


    The game took twelve minutes.


    I let him win.


    <hr>


    ¡°Oldest Sister!¡± I said, brightly.


    Greta, dressed in her ceremonial robes and medals, didn¡¯t look very surprised.


    She raised a curt ice-blonde eyebrow while gesturing for her ladies-in-waiting to leave - all of the primarily Northern-looking nobles scurried out of sight, and we were left alone at the threshold of Greta¡¯s Residence.


    ¡°Youngest Sister,¡± she replied, her tone dry, ¡°what brings you here?¡±


    ¡°Not much, really.¡± I waved the question off. ¡°Just a small request. May I come in?¡±


    Greta gave a small nod, and I let her lead me to the front parlor.


    It was blandly decorated, with a porcelain vase here and there for variety; the entire Residence, other than the expensive ivorstone it was made of, more resembled a soldier¡¯s quarters than that of an Imperial Princess. The longues were a tasteful beige, and I immediately made myself comfortable.


    ¡°I know you¡¯ve been busy, lately-¡± I revealed the picnic basket I had been hiding behind me ¡°-so I made you a snack!¡±


    The intimidating Princess radiated quiet power, but power still, but I let her aura wash over me like a cooling bath as I hefted the white basket that I badgered Hawthorne to prepare on the table.


    ¡°It is appreciated,¡± replied my oldest sister, her words still clipped.


    The Imperials apparently aged like fine wine, if they appeared to age at all - her forty years looked halved. Her face appeared old in that natural, youthful way - I couldn¡¯t tell if silver appeared in her blonde hair, the two shades were too alike.


    If it was another losing themselves in the details of Greta Highlander, they would likely get pulled into Her Greatness¡¯ vortex and never manage to find themselves out.


    It wasn¡¯t for my Ability¡¯s she¡¯s dangerous constantly marching in and out of my eardrums like an extremely consistent ant colony, I would¡¯ve been one of those others.


    ¡°Right, so the request!¡± I tried for a beaming smile, like a nervous puppy eager to please. ¡°I¡¯d like you to not kill me!¡±


    Greta didn¡¯t miss a beat. ¡°I don¡¯t know-¡±


    ¡°I have proof. If you¡¯re going to finish that sentence how I think you¡¯re going to finish it, I¡¯ll release it to the aristocracy,¡± I added brightly. ¡°I have my staff on standby. I don¡¯t think you¡¯d want that inconvenience in your way, Oldest Sister.¡±


    The Imperial Princess raised an eyebrow. ¡°So you admit that you can only pose as an inconvenience, Youngest Sister,¡± she replied, in that same relaxed tone that she had denied the fact. ¡°My inconvenience, your death.¡±


    Not a threat.


    The truth.


    ¡°I¡¯ll be of use to you,¡± I replied.


    Isn¡¯t it hilarious, how we thought we were at the top of the world, and now we¡¯re begging at someone¡¯s feet to make them keep us alive? my inner voice remarked, snidely. Oh, how great minds fall.


    Great minds need to survive to get up from falls, my other voice hissed back. We¡¯ve planned for this. Our Crownpieces are ready.


    ¡°But, then again,¡± I added, ¡°you¡¯d be the judge of that.¡± I threw my hands out like a dramatic actor at the Theater, paying rapt attention to every single movement she made and going over the escape routes and verbal contingencies I had already made. Adapt. ¡°So please, Oldest Sister, judge me.¡±


    Greta¡¯s green eyes sparkled - not unlike how a snake¡¯s eyes glittered when they spotted prey. She remained silent, her irises roving over me like she was analyzing every corner, every pore of my character.


    I could¡¯ve used a million pieces of advice from dusty Tomes and long-dead Analysts to fill in the silence, to justify it, but I let her judge me.


    This wasn¡¯t a diplomatic negotiation.


    It wasn¡¯t a Crowngame¡¯s opening, either - the Game would only start if someone made the first move.


    It wasn¡¯t an elegant lure, or the bugle calling a hunt.


    It was a move that seemed like a last-ditch effort on my part, a move I had learned from the Cage to take when your opponent was stronger than you in more ways than one.


    It was a gamble.


    I had never been a gambling person - it relied on opportunity, but not the definition that I had memorized. It was the unreliable type of opportunity, the kind that made you lose all your life¡¯s savings on a flip of a coin, that made you rich and got you addicted to the thrill of risk.


    Not the opportunity that wove themselves in words, but the kind that laced itself in movements, crossroads, burning bright like Prometheus¡¯ fire while illuminating fools¡¯ faces. It was the adrenaline that chance provided, the rush of diving off a cliff blindfolded knowing there was an invisible floor beneath, but there was a chance of missing it.


    Relying on opportunity wasn¡¯t Wise.


    What had I learned from the Cage?


    Life was a gamble, and Fate never gave time to determine whether or not every bet we placed was Wise or not. Even if my own Ability scorned me for it, even if it wasn¡¯t what I knew, even if it was selfish to do what was fun.


    I had a cushion to fall back upon.


    If I got out of this alive, I would just need to use our predetermined signal - setting the Palace - for my Seraphs to douse their assigned targets in kerosene and surrender the corners of the Eternal City to flame. Mercy would immediately follow my instructions, using guerilla tactics and the Weaver¡¯s Embrace to stall until I made my way to the Republic using a carriage that was on standby.


    If Greta killed me right here, I would die.


    There would be no time for regrets. I would die.


    I wouldn¡¯t be able to become Emperor. I would die.


    Many notable Crownplayers had fallen back on complicated defenses, on lures and thousands of machinations at once. I was a Crownplayer through and through - just not the typical one.


    People called me many things - a wolf, a liar, a skilled actor, a hunter, a Crownplayer, a Princess, a thief, a planner.


    When you thought of tacticians, you thought of skilled manipulators - schemers, plotters, veterans. You are too arrogant. Even the Gods had told me on multiple instances - I wasn¡¯t just a tactician.


    I was a dealmaker, too, a confidence-man.


    I was arrogant.


    I finally spoke.


    ¡°The Game hasn¡¯t started, Oldest Sister.¡±


    Do you want it to start?


    She had planned to kill us at dinner, to take over the Empire today. I didn¡¯t have to show her my worth - she knew it, whether it was miniscule or not. Giving up the upper hand for me was a choice that Greta Highlander would make, not me.


    It was a gamble.


    I smiled. ¡°I offer Fealty by the Gods, to Greta Highlander Queenscage, to be by her side as her subordinate through glory and ruin, till death do we part lest she decline.¡±


    A flip of the coin.


    Green eyes peered at me, the look in their eyes still dangerous.


    Clipped words.


    ¡°You may rise,¡± my oldest sister replied. ¡°I accept your Oath of Fealty, Seraphina Marksman Queenscage. May you be my side, through glory and ruin.¡±


    I felt the coin land.


    The upturned face grinned back at me.


    <hr>

 11. Tome III

    <hr>


    Fundamentally, I am a dangerous madman, and what I do is both a challenge to my egoism and a surrender to it.


    - TEXT UNKNOWN, AUTHOR UNKNOWN


    <hr>


    For Cagekeeper Lux''s Analysis


    <strong style="font-size: 1em">Footage of the Ninety-Ninth Queenscage


    VICTOR - DELAWAR, ARATHIS


    REYNA


    I¡¯m scared, Arathis.


    I¡¯m really scared. What if Despina and Angelo don¡¯t make it back? The Hanged Killer¡¯s one of us, Ara - they might target them next, and I *hiccups* I¡¯m so useless, I¡¯m dragging you down, and I-


    ARATHIS


    No, you¡¯re not, Reyna. They¡¯ll make it back. And even if they don¡¯t, I have my Ability, remember? I can revive them.


    REYNA


    But you can use it only once, and *hiccups* my leg¡¯s broken, and I-


    I¡¯m so sorry *sniffs* because of your Ability, everyone wanted you on their side, and they targeted you because you were Damned, and they said *sobs* that you were just a weak contingency, and they would kill you in the end, and I didn¡¯t stand up for you-


    ARATHIS


    No, you didn¡¯t. But that¡¯s okay, Rey-


    REYNA


    No, it¡¯s not. The killer targets people alone, remember? And if we find Despina¡¯s or Angelo¡¯s corpse in one of these trees *sniffs* hanging from those terrible nooses, that means the Hanged Killer¡¯s one of us both.


    ARATHIS


    Let¡¯s just hope it won¡¯t come to it, then, Reyna. We¡¯ll be okay.


    REYNA


    No, we won¡¯t.


    They¡¯re late, Despina and Angelo. And...you just came back from a bathroom break.


    ARATHIS


    * raises eyebrows* Yeah? I¡¯m not sure where you¡¯re going here, Rey-


    A LONG PAUSE


    REYNA


    *hiccups* wouldn''t it make since if it was- no, it''s- *points a finger at Arathis, eyes drying* it¡¯s you.


    ARATHIS


    *laughs* It¡¯s paranoia, that¡¯s what it is, Reyna. I¡¯m a healer, remember? Chosen of Hades? A weak contingency - you didn¡¯t even stand up for me, so how-


    REYNA


    My Ability says you¡¯re hiding something.


    SHE STANDS UP.


    REYNA


    Arathis, you *voice cracks* you¡¯re the Hanged Killer? You killed all of the other Chosen?


    A PAUSE.


    REYNA


    Are you going to kill me?


    ARATHIS


    Oh, well.


    HE STANDS UP, STRETCHING.


    ARATHIS


    Well, this was anticlimactic.


    A SILENCE.


    ARATHIS


    The big reveal wasn¡¯t even that interesting. I thought it would be at least intriguing, trying to get you to find their corpses. I even planted them.


    REYNA


    You-


    ARATHIS


    Guess I have no choice but to win, then. Tell Charon I said hello, by the way - he hates people who get buried without a coin.


    -End of Footage-


    <hr>


    CAGEKEEPER LUX SNAPPED THE MIRROR Compact shut, finishing the Footage of the one they called ''Arathis.''


    The glass was made out of the bloodstained sand of Tartarus - not the Union¡¯s capital, but rather the punishment chamber in the Underworld, where dark was light and light was dark, and the Lord Hyperion along with his brothers were chained.


    There were many that protested the existence of Kato in the Empire Eoina, but that was overpowered by the fact that the Cagekeepers were the guardians of something that produced legends.


    Of course, the Victors were far from legends, by the Gods¡¯ standards - but mortals were mortals, and Keepers toed the line between usefulness and utter blasphemy as far as the extremists were concerned.


    But, then again, there was a difference between Anothen supremacists, and Anothen supremacists who let their Belief overcome their sense. The latter were few and far in between.


    People called them mysterious, a cult - the most apt comparison that Lux himself had heard was the shadow behind the Golden Throne.


    The only remark that he had was that the Keepers were a separate entity. They were followers of the Darkness in the Light. The Keepers of the Cage. They were no shadow.


    They were the Watchers of Legends.


    ¡°Afaneia,¡± Lux greeted. Being one of the first selected Keepers technically gave him seniority over the rest, if Keepers bothered with hierarchy. As far as he went, he was more sentient than most. Hyperion had even called him ¡°near human.¡± He wasn¡¯t sure if it was a compliment or not. Watch, Record, and Obey. Those had been His instructions.


    ¡°Keeper Lux,¡± Afaneia replied.


    There were no features that distinguished Keepers from each other - everyone had neither faces nor obvious physical forms, as they were all Blurs, but names were a distinct feeling, like a sixth sense that was embedded in all of them.


    After Afaneia had Recalibrated, and He had possessed her, she fell into shock for a while before continuing her Duty.


    But Lux wasn¡¯t concerned.


    Being a senior Keeper gave him more time to Record, but feelings were still foreign to him, as human as he apparently was. Afaneia was doing her Duty, and that was all that mattered.


    ¡°Are you doing your Duty, Afaneia?¡± Lux asked her, his eyes wandering to the closed Compact in her hand. ¡°I was informed that you were assigned to Obeying duty.¡± Watching duty only happened when the Cage opened, and that wasn¡¯t until...how many Daycycles? Lux could never keep track of mortal time, and time inside the Control always seemed more fluid.


    ¡°I have been reassigned, Keeper Lux,¡± replied the other Keeper, unperturbed. ¡°I express my thanks for your concern for my Duty.¡±


    ¡°I accept your thanks,¡± Lux said, offhandedly. ¡°If I may ask, what Duty you were reassigned to, and by whom? I have noticed an increase in Observing lately. Has something happened for us to change our process to please the Lord?¡±


    He hadn¡¯t been informed.


    There was little information about the Control that he didn¡¯t know.


    Afaneia remained impassive as she informed, ¡°A communications from the Morai arrived two Dayends ago. I am not surprised you were not informed - you were not assigned to the project that the Lord started.¡±


    ¡°To perform more duty more efficiently, I would be more at ease if I knew the project¡¯s contents,¡± replied Lux. A new project usually meant a new Victor, or something else. In the decades that Lux had lived out, the something else usually was-


    ¡°A Prophecy of a Harbinger¡¯s Ascent has arrived,¡± Afaneia confirmed. ¡°I would read it aloud, but I have been informed that it is of utmost confidentiality, limited to those on the project only. I apologize for your inconvenience. Has your need for ease been satiated?¡±


    ¡°It has.¡± Lux gave a nod to dismiss the Keeper. ¡°Congratulations on the promotion.¡±


    The Blur paused with something resembling the human emotion ¡®consideration.¡¯ ¡°Thank you.¡±


    ¡°I accept your thanks.¡± And so Afaneia left, and Lux looked out from his corner.


    Around a dozen Cagekeepers, all limited to the plane of existence that was the Control - they were given very few holidays, and most Keepers chose to disdain them even when provided. Keepers didn¡¯t need sleep, food, nor drink to perform their Duty, and they all took pride in serving their Lord.


    Their Lord, the only one out of the four Chained that held a following of His own. The Chained, Pillars of Kato - Iapetus, the Progenitor; Krios, the Ram; Koios, the Questioner; and Lord Hyperion, the Observer. All of his Lord¡¯s brothers held many names, but they were Lords of the Darkness, brothers-in-arms and followers of the Timelord Kronos, the Child-Eater, himself.


    At the end of the day, there was no darkness.


    Only Light.


    <hr>


    Desarta Aceline knew someone who was in over their head when she saw one.


    And the Sixth-in-line to the Empire was one of them.


    The one by the name of Highlander had written to the Clytemnestra of the Union ten years ago - in smooth Tartari penmanship, the Imperial Princess had told the Clymnestra, then simply Aceline of the Ac, about her family. It was lighthearted conversation, one that puzzled Aceline.


    The then-Clansman had pored over the letter, spending an almost dangerously long period of time poking and prodding at it from a diplomatic standpoint.


    The Imperial hadn¡¯t asked Aceline for friendship, but had started off the letter with My Dearest Aceline, and had told Aceline how the Emperor had nearly tripped over a potted plant, the arrival of her new sibling, and how delicious the veal was.


    Greta had told Aceline, although Aceline was five years her junior, that she planned to quit eating veal after that meal because she didn¡¯t want the calves to get murdered.


    Aceline had first wondered whether the veal was a metaphor for the Kato-Anothen conflict, or the potted plant a euphemism for monsters of the Glorydark. She had concluded, at the time, that she was simply too stupid to understand this masterpiece of a skillful political manuever made ink. But the politically active Clansman had written back.


    My Dearest Greta, the reply had said - whoever said that diplomacy was an art could, like Aundray liked to say, shove it up their arse - I had a wonderful day, as well. I, personally, don¡¯t like veal, myself - Minotaur intestines are much more preferable. Today, I spent my day with my betrothed, Aundray - we¡¯ve been growing distant, lately, and perhaps it¡¯s my fault-


    Greta, then thirty, had scoffed.


    Love¡¯s fickle, like that - I¡¯ve been refusing veal for three days, and everyone¡¯s concerned. At least, they pretend to be concerned and then try to poison me. Sarawolf is definitely overused.


    Sarawolf? Aceline had questioned.


    Each letter took a Daycycle to travel back and forth - Aceline made sure that each letter she sent took up at least ten pages, if not more. They debated, they lectured, they conversed, and they were friends.


    Aceline told Greta about Stygian metal and its uses, Greta told Aceline about Imperial poison and how it worked.


    Eleven years. Aceline drifted away from Aundray, and found interest in topics Greta had introduced to her. Greta, in turn, provided a welcomed perspective on everything from Clan hierarchy to the Union¡¯s dyarchy.


    As such, Aceline was probably the one who knew the Empire best in the entire Union of the Forbidden, and Greta was probably the one who knew the Union best in the entire Empire Eoina.


    Nobody else knew about their relationship, and even when Aceline had taken the Clytemnestra¡¯s position, they hadn¡¯t let politics wear their connection down. Once a year, maybe, favors were traded - but nothing serious.


    It had been surprising that Greta had asked for Stygian metal weapons. No, more specifically, she had requested Aceline to help her brother acquire those weapons - no discounts, just matchmaking.


    Stygian metal weapons were illegal in the Union. Desarta Aceline was a ruler of the Union.


    But still, Greta had done Aceline a favor by moving some of the elite Guards under her command secretly to the Union to help with the Waves, and had told the Clytemnestra about the Harbinger. Aceline did genuinely like the Imperial Princess, too, so favors had been traded, the tracks hidden under a small manufacturing Clan¡¯s name, and the deed had been done.


    Only then had Greta admitted the situation.


    The latest letter had been a Daycycle ago, which meant that the newest would be an undated piece of scroll that would be useless to Aceline - but it had said that Seraphina would be a threat. A minor threat, but a threat nonetheless.


    Aceline never liked threats.


    She yawned. Arguing for conservative arguments that she didn¡¯t believe in was tiring, in a way - watching Aundray¡¯s resistance was the only amusing thing about it. But resistance would need to be crushed, in the end.


    Still, Desarta knew someone who was in over their head when she saw one.


    <hr>


    I looked at the mirror. My reflection stared back at me.


    Valacia Aquila, renowned Philosopher, Analyst, and Hero, kept a personal diary in her final years. The last sentence, word for word, was I hope the readers of this diary will wake up one day, and feel content with the person that stares back at them in the mirror.


    She killed herself the night after her last entry.


    I was now sworn to help Greta.


    Sworn by an ancient Oath.


    You could see it through a lot of lenses, but the truth was the truth - I had willingly locked myself in chains, because I hadn¡¯t wanted to die. It was a strategic blunder that I had committed, because I had been wrought with too much emotion.


    Was I content with the person staring back?


    No.


    Greta could kill me at any time - the semantics of the old glory and ruin, till death do us part didn¡¯t exempt her from killing me. I could kill her, too, but that was a Game that I was woefully underprepared for me - Athena herself would probably visit later and scold me to death.


    Arathis had also said something once - the Chosen Arathis, not my brother Ara - marcet sine adversario virtus. Valor becomes feeble without an opponent.


    In his case, ¡®valor¡¯ and ¡®opponent¡¯ was replaced by ¡®insanity¡¯ and ¡®interesting person to target,¡¯ but the saying was true. There was no fun in facing people you could easily crush. There was also no fun in facing people who could easily crush you, because you would die. I wasn¡¯t satisfied.


    But what did I want? I asked my reflection.


    Power was the easiest answer.


    Why?


    Because power is fun.


    Why?


    Because knowing what to do with knowledge is power, and learning is fun.


    Is it still?


    It-


    You¡¯re not a child anymore - when have you last enjoyed obtaining knowledge?


    A long time, I admit.


    Habits are dangerous.


    I know.


    What do you want?


    It was still there, the thirst - to be on top of the world and watch the people scurry below, to regret only when on the throne, the everlasting hunger that gnawed at every single action and Game I played.


    Had the glory of victory worn off, for my siblings? Had the lustre faded in their eyes? Had the hunger disappeared for them - had it vanished or been satiated? Knowledge. Power. Opportunity. If I struck those out of my vocabulary, would the hunger still exist? Would everything still be fun? Help support creative writers by finding and reading their stories on the original site.


    Most said that justifications were only needed when you doubted your cause. From a person who served only themselves, I begged to differ. I wasn¡¯t going to be one of those people who went to war and lost sight of what they were fighting for.


    If I was going to war, I was going to have fun doing it. It was my Game, and I would make my own rules, regardless of what I had played by before.


    I met my reflection¡¯s eyes.


    One day, I was going to be satisfied with the person looking back at me.


    But that day wasn¡¯t today.


    <hr>


    The political scene of the Eternal City had never interested Mercy of Nowhere until the Sixth Princess had stuffed it down her throat.


    Then, her world had been swallowed up in it.


    When Xanthe had met Seraphina, she had been accompanied by a squirming Guard - who she was later introduced to as ¡®Lazarus¡¯ - and had looked absolutely ghostly. As if the scrawny bladesgirl Xanthe had been couldn¡¯t touch the figure any more than she could touch smoke.


    Anyone could see the haunted look in the Princess¡¯ eyes - it had been only a Dayhept since she had settled in the Palace, and the first thing Seraphina had done was to scour the slums for Xanthe.


    ¡°Xanthe Nameless.¡± The Sixth-in-line had phrased the sentence like a statement, not a question. ¡°Caspian¡¯s sister?¡± Those blue eyes were like the ones described in horror stories, the ones that bore into your soul. Unnatural.


    A Daycycle of stuffing her face had been enough to put weight on Xanthe - she had been given knives, and Seraphina had at first positioned her in the Princess¡¯ personal bedroom.


    The seventeen-year-old had a daily routine, during that Dayhept - she had first made Xanthe fetch A List of Nobles from the Empire Eoina from the Imperial Library and made the bladegirl place the book by her bedside.


    Xanthe had observed that Seraphina had usually slept very little - almost unnaturally so.


    Most of the time the Princess just closed her eyes like she was concentrating on some faraway game, steadied her breathing, and remained still for an hour before she flung open her eyes and stared at the wall for the better part of a morning.


    But on some nights that Daycycle, the Sixth-in-line would have nightmares. Xanthe would watch her - not toss and turn, but jolt up suddenly in the night. Then, she would check three things.


    It wasn¡¯t her job to pry - technically - so the bladesgirl had just discreetly turned, observing Seraphina first check her own hands - as if checking for blood, in some way - from the corner of Xanthe¡¯s eye. And then Seraphina would fetch the book at her bedside, flip it to a page - the same page that she turned to on those nights - and check something with an unreadable expression.


    The Sixth Imperial Princess would, lastly, check that a blade was still under her pillow before either entering that concentration state, or getting her Crownboard out of the cabinet.


    The Crownboard days were always her worst.


    Soon, Xanthe had picked up most of the Princess¡¯ eccentricities - the usual personas she donned, the foul mouth she hid behind that deceptively mild facade, and her unusual maneuverability in any and every situation.


    Xanthe wasn¡¯t sure whether or not the haunted look in the Sixth-in-line¡¯s eyes had gradually disappeared, or she had simply gotten better at hiding it. Perhaps Seraphina was the closest thing Xanthe had to a friend, but Mercy was her assassin and right hand - no more, no less.


    ¡°You¡¯re Seraphina¡¯s lackey,¡± the Imperial Prince Cyrus observed.


    Mercy inclined her head in silent agreement. The Prince was sitting on a chair surrounded by the remnants of his crystalline Residence, his red-haired subordinate ordering Servants around as they tried to piece the smouldering ruins back together. His eyes gleamed with hostility, mingled with something else, yet his face-


    Xanthe bubbled back up, and Mercy tried to force her back down. Caramel skin with electric blue eyes and no trace of his apparent Republica lineage - dark hair, a darker expression, but there was no doubt about it.


    The Third Imperial Prince looked eerily similar to Brother.


    For a second, something flickered in Mercy¡¯s chest - other people would¡¯ve asked themselves, was the Princess just partnering with her brother because he looked similar to Caspian?


    No, for Mercy, it was just annoyance. She was here to do a job, and she was going to do it right. The assassin didn¡¯t bow down or genuflect as was custom, rather extending her hand outwards. The Victor scoffed and muttered something under his breath, but leaned forward and snatched the letter out of her hands.


    It was a few seconds before a stone-like expression settled into his features - Brother would never look like that - as his eyes scanned over the parchment.


    As the light - those cursed rosy tendrils that originated from the evening sun - once again hit the destroyed structure and the prince who ruled over his kingdom of nothing, Mercy felt the air prickle. She gripped the knife tighter, almost unnoticeably, as her hairs stood on end and her neck tingled.


    That accursed, familiar face that the assassin saw around the Palace with that accursed, unfamiliar brooding expression changed.


    An almost deranged look crept into those electric-blue eyes, as the lightning prince laughed with the letter in his hands as if he had set the world on fire and was watching it burn.


    ______________________________________________________________________________


    The second letter was addressed to the Second Prince, the archer.


    He was the only one that the Princess didn¡¯t dislike but didn¡¯t like much, either, apparently. The Second Prince, Orion Velasvus, was supposedly the second-most mysterious member of the Imperial Family - nothing was known about him but his commoner origins, similar to Seraphina.


    But unlike the Sixth Princess, who had cultivated a kind exterior with her orphanage visits, he was a distant legend, revered by some in the Imperial Army but unknown to most.


    Mercy was only slightly surprised when the second she stepped in the Residence after being granted a semi-official visit, she was met with an arrow staring her in the face. Amber eyes glinted, as he calmly snarled - if there was ever such an ability - ¡°You.¡±


    Mercy was about to nod, but the arrow was drawn back further.


    ¡°Talk,¡± he ordered. ¡°You killed my Butler.¡±


    Mercy didn¡¯t deny the truth.


    ¡°Yes,¡± she replied.


    ¡°Why?¡±


    ¡°Her Highness¡¯ orders.¡±


    A sound that preceded an arrow¡¯s release. ¡°Why?¡±


    ¡°The Third Prince had gotten to him, and he wasn¡¯t a part of Her Highness¡¯ plans.¡±


    The hand that pulled at the arrow¡¯s fletching didn¡¯t loosen, as the Second Prince made a small scoffing noise. ¡°He didn¡¯t accept her offer to become one of her pieces, so she had him killed? No, that doesn¡¯t sound much like her - that pettiness would only be an added benefit, for people like her. Talk.¡±


    Mercy¡¯s hand was slowly snaking towards her dagger. ¡°The Third Prince was using him, and the First Princess was using the Third Prince. I have been ordered to bring you a letter.¡± She kept her words clipped and short - those who killed in the shadows never needed a silver tongue.


    Those unnerving eyes blinked.


    They were the eyes of a tracker, the dogs that the Guards brought with them, sometimes, to sniff out the foolhardier rats that lived in the Lower Quarter when they had stolen something they shouldn¡¯t have. Those particular canines clung to your scent - followed you through the gutters and cliffs, everywhere - until they cornered you.


    Mercy - no, Xanthe - had seen one of them unleashed on their prey.


    It hadn¡¯t been pretty.


    Those orbs didn¡¯t belong to a human - they belonged to a hunter. A hunter who would doggedly chase after you until you were dead in his hands, throat slit and last moments grisly. But they...looked dull.


    As if tired.


    Mercy¡¯s other hand carefully brought out the letter like a peace offering, and the Second Prince¡¯s eyes narrowed at the Sixth Princess¡¯ emblem.


    He slowly lowered his bow.


    Mercy didn¡¯t make any sudden movements as Prince Orion snatched the letter, carelessly breaking open the seal. Still, Mercy stood, as the archer scanned the contents impassively. His mouth twitched, whether in amusement or anger, the assassin couldn¡¯t tell.


    Apparently he had lived thirty-six years, already. Suddenly, he dropped it from his hands, letting it flutter to the ground, discarded, as the Second Prince gestured for Mercy to sit. So the assassin did.


    ¡°You¡¯re a dog,¡± he told her. A gleam in his gaze. ¡°Like me.¡± The hunter leaned back. ¡°They say used, or be used - but we both know the world doesn¡¯t work like that.¡±


    It never does.


    ¡°You get trampled by the people, you get stepped on by the Gods, you get spat on by the Morai -¡± the prince chuckled, perhaps the first display of un-contradictory emotion he had shown ¡°-but you still live. But why, they ask you? Why do you still live, when the hunt¡¯s the only thing keeping you alive?¡±


    Mercy was about to open her mouth, when she was interrupted.


    ¡°Soon, little dog, you¡¯ll find that the hunt gets tiring. And when it gets tiring, when you get old, you get put down - not by others, by life. Life puts you down.¡± Each word was refined, like needles poking at Mercy¡¯s skin.


    The assassin didn¡¯t know what kind of life the hunter prince had lived, but they were similar. Every sentence was crafted - whether to make or break, the bladesgirl didn¡¯t understand. Xanthe threatened to break free from her leash, and for a second Mercy was reminded of a warning-


    My siblings are dangerous. They know most. If you face them, you will die.


    You will die. Mercy remained impassive.


    Orion chuckled, again, amber eyes boring into her soul. ¡°We are all dogs, little dog. You did take away my toy, and it was one of my favorite reminders, I have to admit, but,¡± he said, ¡°you have reminded me of something from before the hunt. For that, I thank you.¡±


    Still, a gruff uncle¡¯s expression was on his face, but the words were biting. ¡°Tell your owner her message has been delivered, but if she interferes with my hunt again, my arrow will find my way into her throat.¡± Amber eyes, again, and then a stoic expression ingulfed them.


    ¡°Run away, little shadow dog.¡±


    ______________________________________________________________________________


    The third letter was sent to a noble manor.


    A lot of nobles had gathered due to the gala presented in honor of the envoys, especially since the social season - comprising three Daycycles every year, Mercy had been informed - was nearing.


    Most of their capital manors were lit now, and Mercy could see the flickerings of lamplights in the lavishly decorated windows, while beginnings of candlelight faintly lit glows behind damask curtains.


    Mercy¡¯s destination was a pale contortion of a mansion - made of an almost appalling amount of ivorstone and pale marble, with tasteful Imperial gold decor and intricate carvings embedded in lanky pillars. It was on the smaller side, if you considered the magnitude of the Upper-Upper Quarter, but it made up for it in elegance and unsettling murals.


    A singular thorn, covered in wreaths of briar vines, was etched into the entrance door. ¡°Halt!¡± called one of the front Guards dressed in the Bloodthorn rose gold liveries. They wore them vainly, Mercy thought, frowning, but she had heard many a Guard boast about how well the Bloodthorns treated them. ¡°Who goes there?¡± another demanded.


    Pride.


    An almost foolish virtue.


    Mercy wordlessly dug into her pockets, bringing out a golden Seal. Seraphina¡¯s personal Seal - a golden Imperial peacock feather over an owl, Athena¡¯s symbol. The Guard¡¯s eyes widened, and some of them narrowed their eyes, observing the lean assassin in a new light.


    Being in possession of the Sixth-in-line¡¯s Seal didn¡¯t just mean that Mercy was Seraphina¡¯s proxy - it meant that the Princess trusted Mercy with her title, status as a Victor, glory, and by default her life.


    Xanthe doubted that Seraphina actually did - even if the Princess lost all of the above, Mercy knew that the Hundredth Victor would get back up sooner or later, with or without her.


    Glory to the Sixth.


    I see something being born in you. Aen.


    We¡¯re all dogs. The Second Prince.


    She who comes from myth.


    Mercy refrained from stabbing someone.


    The first one cleared this throat. ¡°You may enter,¡± he said gruffly, in an attempt to salvage his honor.


    Mercy entered, was immediately ushered into a parlor that held an unusually obscene amount of vases - Xanthe was sure that nicking a single one would be at least a Daycycle¡¯s worth of luxury - and was met with a hawk in human skin.


    The Viscountess Bloodthorn had been trying to worm her way into the Emperor¡¯s good graces for a good half century, apparently, and her good work had paid off. According to the Princess, the Emperor Nikephoros was seriously considering the centuries-old viscounty¡¯s promotion to a county.


    But that wasn¡¯t what Mercy was here for.


    ¡°A letter,¡± the assassin said.


    She didn¡¯t bother to add Your Ladyship, or whichever form of address was appropriate for a viscountess, but the hawk impassively took the letter.


    There was a silence as Alicia Bloodthorn read.


    Then the hawk rose, her aquiline eyes with some sort of appraisal remaining inside them, as the vase-collecting viscountess gave a nod.


    ¡°Tell Her Highness that the deal is struck.¡±


    With that, Mercy¡¯s third letter was delivered.


    ______________________________________________________________________________


    It was approaching night, by the time Mercy reached Lazarus.


    The Guard looked surprised at her arrival at the Palace Garrison, but, like the Seraph he was, respectfully didn¡¯t say anything the moment he saw Seraphina¡¯s insignia on the letter.


    He was the only one, among the four Seraphs that existed, that hadn¡¯t been provided a job.


    Narkisa was stationed somewhere in the East Quarter, hidden in a Pier and armed with kerosene, while Macedon was in the West with the same supplies. The Harbor, and the Merchant¡¯s Quarters - damage done there was damage done to the capital¡¯s commerce, and was very heavy damage indeed.


    The two Seraphs were Seraphina¡¯s supposed contingencies, as unreliable as their loyalties might be, but Lazarus-


    There was something strange about the Princess'' personal Guard, who had been dismissed from his duties in favor of a Regiment - it was the way he knew more people than he should, the way he swore Fealty yet had little reason behind it other than pity.


    Lazarus took the letter, and tore it open.


    He looked like his world was falling apart by the time Mercy left him, but her tasks were done.


    <hr>


    The gown was beautiful.


    I never looked good in gold - I always preferred silver, or some other color suggested by the ladies-in-waiting that apparently ¡°brought out my eyes.¡±


    They were skittish, of course - Alia, Celeste, Alyssa, and the quiet one named Chastity, the one who had gotten a bloody nose from Arathis¡¯ erratic entrances. It was either Chastity or Prudence, and I usually gave her the kinder, fourth option of ¡°you, there.¡±


    But in terms of political neutrality, the assortment was almost perfect.


    Alyssa was the highest ranking individual there, technically - I wasn¡¯t sure whether the highest-ranking lady-in-waiting coming from a count¡¯s household was an insult or a grace, but I decided on the latter. The crafty girl was my age, the third-in-line of the esteemed mercantile Callas family who dabbled in selling anything to any noble willing - in terms of political neutrality, Callas was a good go-to, their fief across the shore, but their main base in the Eternal City.


    She was in a relationship with Timmy and his company - a secret affair, and one that brought benefits in terms of spreading societal rumors. I lamented the fact that I had a drachma for how many of my ladies-in-waiting participated in secret affairs, I would have two drachmas.


    At least Alyssa had connections to the Drakos Marquessate - Chastity, on the other hand, was still seeing her commoner lover, progressing steadily from a ¡°fling¡± to a ¡°you¡¯ll probably get assassinated by my baroness mother in order not to stain the family name.¡± Baroness Kete, I¡¯d been told, was an imposing figure in the fabric and textiles field, also dabbling in trading with anything and everything that walked and talked. A person with Merchant origins who had the sinister personal motto of ¡°it isn¡¯t personal, just business.¡±


    Ah, I would¡¯ve given a metaphorical arm to be a fly on the wall when she found out about Chastity¡¯s fling. Alia was more of a secretary, the one handling my schedule and the one prudently covering up my tracks by labelling my trips as frequent ¡°orphanage visits.¡± She was a keeper, the viscount¡¯s first daughter was - I would need to pay the Bloodthorn viscounty a visit, soon.


    Accompanied with glowing praises and appropriate amounts of gushing, of course - if they held a grudge over the fact that I killed their heir, they didn¡¯t show it. The gambler¡¯s sister, she was.


    Celeste was from a minor barony, the type that were in Geminin¡¯s situation - Celeste was sent to dig a steady hold for the Aet¨®s family in the capital to hold onto: namely, me.


    Two cutthroat merchant families who were neutral in the way that they profited off everyone - a minor sin, really, in the Imperial scheme of things - with one old jewelry viscounty, and a turbulent barony.


    Apparently, they had run out of the loyal and useful ones after assigning them to my siblings.


    I smiled at them, gold robes glistening after being lathered in olive oil and stuck to my skin. I was reminded, once again, why I disliked galas as I shooed the maids away. I was left with my ladies-in-waiting.


    ¡°As you know,¡± I said, honestly, ¡°the Palace is getting really fucked up right now.¡±


    Chastity flinched at my vulgar language, but the others didn¡¯t seem surprised.


    ¡°If you want to betray me, you won¡¯t succeed in making off with any useful information.¡± I gave a small smile. ¡°I don¡¯t trust any of you, and neither do I demand the same in return. You¡¯ve seen my Seraphs, you¡¯ve seen the Empire - demanding loyalty leads to no productive end.¡±


    I paused, looking at their faces and reactions. Surprise at my honesty, suspicion, decisions being made. ¡°As grand as you make your position sound, none of you are going to be useful pieces if I decide to play this Game.¡± I hammered the message home. Stick.


    ¡°But,¡± I added, ¡°since you¡¯re pledged into my service, I will tell you two pieces of information. How will you take them?¡± Carrot. They were less quick on the uptake than Julian, but still Alyssa spoke up. ¡°All of it,¡± she said, after a long pause. Not trust, but a leap. Some semblance of faith. ¡°All or nothing.¡±


    I found agreement in the faces I searched. I gave a small nod instead of praise. ¡°One - I am now in the service of Greta Highlander, my Oldest Sister, in the form of an Oath sworn by the Gods.¡± I heard a sharp intake of breath that belonged to Celeste. I didn¡¯t include whether I decided to break it or not, which caught the- attention of Alyssa. ¡°Two - I am the fiance of the Praetor Julian Romanus, son of a Republica Consul. We will get married when I turn eighteen, in around nine Daycycles.¡± Which meant that if I ran, I would run to the Republic. Realizations were made at the twin revelations.


    Ever since the rhododendron incident, they knew that I was going to do something big.


    ¡°How will you proceed, after hearing this information?¡± I asked them, my tone still conversational and mild. The pause that followed the question was long and full.


    Surprisingly, Alia spoke first. ¡°I will keep proceeding in your service,¡± said the secretary, ¡°but I will need no knowledge of your affairs, nor will I swear an Oath.¡± A smart choice - even if the excuse of plausible deniability didn¡¯t hold up for the Imperial family members, an excuse was an excuse.


    Celeste shook her head. ¡°I can¡¯t risk it, Your Highness.¡± She bit her lip. ¡°I¡¯ll quit being your lady-in-waiting, whatever you need me to do to get away from this, but I can¡¯t risk it,¡± she repeated, firmly. Fair. Aet¨®s was a new barony, after all.


    Chastity, unsurprisingly, opted out. ¡°I agree with Celeste,¡± she said, in a small voice. ¡°I can deal with the Imperial family members, but not in a war, Your Highness.¡±


    I shrugged, as if this made no difference to me, while my Ability calculated the losses. Manpower - political support - fiefs in the East? - Cardinal pillars? ¡°I expect you to hand in your resignations tomorrow,¡± I said to the two, ¡°and do be out of the Palace by the end of this Dayhept at the latest. Obstacles hinder me.¡±


    The duo bowed and scuttled out of the room at my proclamation, and I looked at Alyssa. ¡°Choose.¡± I pushed the words forward lightly, but it was an order.


    Alyssa¡¯s striking green eyes met my own. Her pale freckled face was steady, but there was that familiar glint in her eye that I was really growing fucking tired of. She-


    ¡°I, Alyssa le Callas, swear Fealty by the Gods to Seraphina Queenscage, to be by her side as her subordinate through glory and ruin, till death do we part.¡±


    She didn¡¯t even offer a choice, like most polite subordinates did.


    I shrugged again, as if I wasn¡¯t internally cursing the validity of her father''s reproductive organs.


    ¡°Fine by me.¡±


    <hr>


    To project enough grace to meet an Imperial standard, my etiquette Tutors said, consisted of two things - one, not killing people in public; and two, not killing people before turning eighteen.


    It was one of those rules that were just there - unreasonable, but the stiff unspoken legislation of ¡°there¡¯s a time and place to kill people, and this is it, no exceptions¡± dictated when to start becoming a true Imperial politician.


    That was the reason why it had taken a long time to build up my social reputation to what it had been before I had killed the baron¡¯s son.


    Looking back on it, I felt the tinge of regret - not that I wouldn¡¯t have done it again, because I would¡¯ve, but I should¡¯ve done it better. With finesse.


    But I couldn¡¯t deny the fact that he had dug at an itch that I pretended wasn¡¯t there.


    You really do know nothing.


    I hadn¡¯t accepted it, back then. I couldn¡¯t say that I did now, either.


    I knew next to nothing - my Ability filled in the gaps of the knowledge needed to act, but that was just that. I was in over my head, the girl who danced around for power because she knew it not.


    That was the fun of it, I realized now.


    My posture straight and my movements precise to the letter, I floated around the room with a glass of apple juice in my hand.


    No alcohol before eighteen, was also one of those unreasonable rules - the juice wasn¡¯t bad, and neither was the atmosphere, but every single person that took up space in the ballroom, from the maids to the nobles, were snakes.


    ¡°Greetings,¡± a noblewoman provided, ¡°Lady...?¡±


    I didn¡¯t relax - she could be feigning ignorance, even if my Hints were telling me otherwise. It was hard to remain in the dark about my status, though, what with my very shiny robes, the two remaining ladies-in-waitings near me, and the people giving me a wide berth.


    ¡°Seraphina,¡± I supplied. ¡°Seraphina Marksman, of Inevita.¡±


    I heard some people murmur, heads swivelling as I put an amused smile on my face, making it obvious I was just playing along. Everyone had irritatingly sharp ears, here.


    Lady Katherine, my conclusion said, after collecting the details of her plump face and the approaching of Timaios. ¡°Timmy,¡± I greeted him mildly. ¡°It¡¯s been a long time.¡± I saw you just earlier this morning.


    In noble circles, no matter who you were talking to, you could never let your poker face falter - whether it was my placid expression, or Timaios'' casual smile.


    Katherine tilted her head. Curiosity.


    ¡°How do you know Lady Seraphina, Maios?¡±


    ¡°Lady?¡± the former Dragon King raised an eyebrow at me. ¡°I¡¯m afraid you weren¡¯t properly introduced, then. I assume it¡¯s a question of you not supplying your proper identity then, Your Highness.¡±


    It could be taken as banter or an insult.


    Timaios was latching onto me, and I to him - ah, I missed aristocratic conversation.


    ¡°Perhaps it is my fault,¡± I agreed, after giving a small laugh. ¡°I do know that Katherine - may I call you Katherine? - does hail from the North, so it¡¯s no wonder we haven¡¯t met yet.¡± Besides the fact that she¡¯s an illegitimate daughter. ¡°Seraphina Queenscage, Sixth Princess, pleased to meet your acquaintance.¡±


    Katherine¡¯s eyes widened, forming round, almost cute circles. ¡°Maios, you didn¡¯t-¡±


    ¡°Well, I¡¯m telling you know, Kath,¡± replied her lover, breezily. He slipped an arm around Katherine¡¯s shoulders. ¡°Seraphina, this is my first fiancee, Katherine Anthinon. My second and third, Sophia and Tanis, should be around here somewhere, but¡­¡±


    Fiances?


    They made it official - could be an attempt at rebelling against his father - they need approval to make it official, technically - could also be his first step back towards the social circles - he needs me to approve it, that¡¯s why he latched onto me first.


    Nobles were murmuring.


    The first explosion.


    A lot of explosions were going to happen tonight, at this gala.


    The Drakos Marquessate was a military House, more similar to the Williams Marquessate than the Marksman Duchy. It specialized in weapons, being one of the first to leap on the bayonet trend.


    ¡°She¡¯s lovely,¡± I replied, playing it safe as a soft smile touched my lips. ¡°It¡¯s such a coincidence - I myself just got engaged recently.¡± I bumped Timmy¡¯s shoulder affectionately, using it as an opportunity to scan the gala¡¯s reactions.


    The younger nobles looked stricken, being closer to me and a part of Josephine¡¯s crowd.


    My sister herself had a knowing smile on her face, like she was in on it all along - she couldn¡¯t have possibly known, my Ability said while frowning; but she does, I chided - and the more important Heads of House sported more than a few brow furrows.


    They were on the other side of the large room.


    Busybodies really had good ears.


    ¡°Who¡¯s the lucky man?¡± Timmy asked. Gone was the twitchy man who was scared of Mercy - this was the confident, charming, and arguably real Timaios Drakos.


    ¡°He¡¯s just right there - Marius!¡± I called.


    The Praetor, engrossed in a shady conversation with Patrician Cassia, had undeniable surprise scrawled over his face at my call, but he took it like a chap, heading over like a soldier adapting to a new military obstacle.


    ¡°Sera?¡± His gaze darted to Timmy, and his stoic face showed no recognition.


    ¡°This is my fiance, Julian Marius Romanus,¡± I introduced, happily. ¡°Mari, meet Timmy. Timmy, meet Mari.¡±


    Julian didn¡¯t show any visible reaction at the pet name, but the rest of the gala stilled for a couple seconds. I could see the nobles¡¯ minds working - the first Imperial family member to get engaged was me, and I got engaged to one of the Republica envoys, which meant that-


    It was almost like a Play at that moment, I thought to myself - the assassins had impeccable timing.


    <hr>

 12. Interlude: Fire

    <hr>


    They who win against monsters, become monsters themselves.*


    - ANALYST DANTALEUS ICARUS


    *in response to Lysimachos the Insane''s query, "Why did you not kill me when you had the chance, Brother?"


    <hr>


    FIRE IS A MESSY THING, IN TERMS OF MILITARY PURPOSE.


    It can be used for or against you, and only two types of people use it: the desperate and the arrogant. Arden Valynse has a hard time classifying the perpetrator into either category.


    Of course, she knows who it is.


    But she¡¯s currently busy running for her life, so there''s no time to dwell on that.


    ¡°Why the fuck is the jungle on fire?¡± Rayan pants, choking, as he follows Arden.


    ¡°The real question would be,¡± Arden corrects with a cough, ¡°who the fuck would be crazy enough to set the jungle on fire? We¡¯re surrounded by madmen here, so take your pick.¡±


    Rayan echoes her cough, the smoke getting into his lungs, probably, as he runs faster - Arden almost can¡¯t keep up with him. Euthalia and Cecilia are right behind her, but the smoke is thickening and if she opens her mouth, it¡¯ll clog her throat.


    Managing a ¡°talk later,¡± Arden¡¯s eyes are filled with licking ember flames, her vision burning, as she barely dodges burning debris.


    Run.


    Her feet hiss as they make contact with the fiery ground, the leather shoes that cover her skin long gone, as Arden forces herself to think.


    She gave them a compromise.


    They rejected it.


    Run.


    Every second sears itself into her skin like a broken promise, the heat getting more and more suffocating. The citruses and crimsons of the flames engulf the trees around her like solemn embraces, and she feels like she¡¯s getting slower.


    Run. Run. Run.


    Suddenly, she sees a figure in the faraway distance, and cold blue eyes as - flames, fire, suffocating heat - Arden¡¯s vision gets hazy. Is that...water floating above the figure''s hands? Her legs are tired, her skin scorching, but still she runs. The fire came as quick as a startled rabbit, and they-


    They need to run.


    A voice suddenly calls out, ¡°We can save two of you, and two of you only.¡± A masculine voice? A feminine voice? The tones all muddle together in Aphrodite''s Chosen''s ears.


    ¡°Save me and Rayan,¡± Arden manages. ¡°We¡¯ll pay your price later.¡± Lia and Euthalia¡¯s eyes widen, but Sonata can¡¯t hear their protests as, true to their word, someone comes behind them.


    The world grows dark.


    She hopes it¡¯s not death that settles over her.


    <hr>


    ¡°Hello,¡± I chirp into the unconscious Sonata¡¯s ears.


    She lurches, but she¡¯s still asleep.


    Or pretending to be asleep.


    Either way, it doesn¡¯t matter.


    Cas blinks. ¡°I got the herbs you asked for,¡± he says, the grin on his face still apparent, ¡°but wouldn¡¯t it be better for her recovery if you didn¡¯t taunt her?¡± He let the plants in his hands slide to the floor, and slumps to the forest ground with it.


    He doesn¡¯t let it show, but it¡¯s obvious dousing the fire has taken a lot out of him.


    ¡°You need me to heal you?¡± I ask nonchalantly, ignoring his remark.


    ¡°It was just a couple meters,¡± he replies. ¡°But my Drawback makes it worse, so healing wouldn¡¯t hurt.¡±


    ¡°At least you¡¯re not one of those fools who shoulder on regardless,¡± I chuckle. I rummage through the pile on the floor, my fingers and Ability naming each and every plant. Every single one was found in the jungle, a very suspicious fact that makes me paranoid.


    His Drawback and Ability - he has no name for it, but I have dubbed it Sap and Control.


    Poseidon was - is - a fickle God.


    Myths were lodged in my memory, what I consider pivotal cornerstones of Chosen diplomacy.


    The reason behind most Forge-touched not escaping the Cage, according to one of Dantaleus¡¯ journals, was of the Queensfavored hunting them down, or vice versa, according to Lys¡¯ accounts. I suppose it could be the other way around, but Myths and Tales play a role in Chosen diplomacy, if you can call it that. Alliances have been observed to be made, pacts almost, guided by the past acts of the Gods.


    Forge-touched and Queensfavored. Fancy names for the Chosen of Hera and Hephaestus. A hundred years of the Cage had spawned plenty of nicknames for the ¡®legends of old¡¯ - at least, as many as the cynical Imperials would allow.


    Again, they were the type to criticize fairy tales.


    I collect the herbs that lessen muscle pain, and command, ¡°Strip.¡±


    Cas makes a mock-scandalized expression, but obeys while I mash the petrimor up. It¡¯s too easy - the Gods don¡¯t give advantages. Queen Hera created this Cage to root out the Chosen, to crown Victors. I hadn¡¯t even wanted to come here, but the Morai had made it so a series of coincidences landed me on a ferry to the Queen¡¯s Isle.


    I apply the salve to my fingers.


    ¡°Where does it hurt?¡± I ask him, as I lean towards his ear. ¡°I just saw Aria and Sonata twitch. They¡¯re awake, trying to gather more information,¡± I whisper casually, as Cas shrugs.


    ¡°My Ability tells me that one of them could have enhanced hearing,¡± he says back. In case it isn¡¯t obvious, we¡¯re still pretending to switch Abilities. ¡°But we probably should tell them either way that Dionysus¡¯ Chosen escaped.¡±


    Another twitch.


    Ah, so Aria did have enhanced hearing.


    ¡°Tell me where it hurts,¡± I say. It Saps his muscle strength, his Ability to Control water - a physical Drawback. Technically, petrimor won¡¯t help him regain his strength, but it should help with the muscle pain regardless.


    Cas gestures easily to his back, sighing. ¡°Thanks, though,¡± he adds.


    I lather it all over his back, as I smile. ¡°You know, for being Athena¡¯s Chosen, it¡¯s weird that you have a physical Drawback,¡± I say. ¡°But mine¡¯s all over the place, so I can¡¯t talk.¡±


    ¡°Drawing the moisture out of the air to douse a fire,¡± he says, dryly. ¡°Yes, a very scientific Ability. Should¡¯ve guessed, with you yapping about Aquila all day long.¡±


    I smack him. ¡°Don¡¯t stereotype people,¡± I scold. ¡°It¡¯s nice to read her studies, okay?¡±


    I haven¡¯t mentioned Aquila once.


    He¡¯s too good of an Actor.


    I agreed to this, but- my Ability''s suspicious.


    It¡¯s true that Dionysus¡¯ Chosen escaped, but it¡¯s also true that I stabbed her in the back while she was running away. Demeter¡¯s Chosen is also currently out of the running. I could say two down, ten to go, but the reason behind our current advantage is the surprise attack we pulled over them.


    Kage, of course, like the weasel they are, scrambled towards Vivianna¡¯s camp the second we turned our backs. Like the benevolent duo we are - in addition to the fact that we knew it was coming - we let them.


    If we succeed in luring Sonata and Aria over to our side, then we postpone facing off against both of them until the end. The final Game, that¡¯s what they are - and I can¡¯t say honestly that I¡¯m not looking forward to it.


    Cas shrugs his clothes back on, and looks at the two bodies near the tent. Of course we¡¯ve built a new shelter and hidden our old one, but it¡¯s dark and we¡¯ve gotten a fire started. It¡¯s a bit further from the monsters, but I can¡¯t get the sinister presence at the back of my head off my mind.


    ¡°Come on,¡± I call, my back still facing them - of course, they don¡¯t need to know that my Ability would tell me if they tried to backstab me. If you set some expectations of someone, there were always the type of people who tried to fulfill them. Then again, there were also the types of people who pretended to try to fulfill them in order to lull you to a false sense of security. ¡°The fire¡¯s started.¡±


    I was betting on the fact that Sonata was the latter.


    A pause.


    ¡°We know you¡¯re pretending,¡± I add cheerfully. ¡°While you were out, our Abilities have been charged to the fullest.¡± I chomp on a piece of jerky. ¡°I haven¡¯t healed you yet, just let you rest - it would be a shame if you have to rest again just because you were stupid enough to think you could win.¡±


    I hear a grumble. ¡°It could be what you want us to think,¡± says Aria. Half-hearted suspicion.


    ¡°It could also be the truth,¡± Cas reminds. ¡°We have jerky.¡±


    ¡°And a shit ton of herbs,¡± I add. ¡°And a healer. And some very pointy knives.¡±


    Cas makes a face. ¡°Don¡¯t threaten them,¡± he says softly, but that Godsbroken grin is still on his face. His nose leans towards the hawkish side, I suppose, bronze skin gleaming by the firelight. The crackling of the crimson embers, the faint smell of crushed petrimor, and the smell of burning wood does nothing to deter me from paying every attention to the motion of the Chosen behind me.


    A thunk. Someone plops their rear down next to me by the fire. Aria.


    He¡¯s lean and pale - his blue eyes and sharp features would¡¯ve resembled the Boreans of the North had his build not have the stockiness of the Isles. All in all, my physical estimate hasn¡¯t changed, even from up close, his disproportionate face-to-stature ratio still makes him resemble a shrew.


    Dark hair, but nothing in his tone suggests anything other than animosity. ¡°I mean what I said,¡± he growls, his voice low and smoky. ¡°We¡¯re all here to kill each other. Plain and simple. You better sleep lightly tonight.¡±


    ¡°Wouldn¡¯t dream of anything but,¡± I reply, pleasantly. ¡°I assume you must be Aria. Pleasure to meet you. I¡¯m Seraphina. Please, call me Sera.¡± I adopt the smooth tone of an experienced noble, and gesture towards Cas, who¡¯s demolishing a piece of jerky at an incredibly rapid place. ¡°This is Caspian. You can call him Cas.¡±


    I almost don¡¯t hear Sonata sit next to me. It concerns me.


    Trained in stealth - assassin? - if they had similar backgrounds - thief? - Aria deliberately deceiving - street rat?


    ¡°Arden,¡± Sonata offers. Her voice is still a bit throaty from the fire. ¡°The big lug over there is Rayan. You said something about Euthalia escaping?¡±


    ¡°She escaped the fire,¡± I correct, ¡°didn¡¯t escape us.¡± I hand her a piece of jerky. ¡°Harpy meat,¡± I explain. She doesn¡¯t eye it in disgust or suspicion - suggests a scavenging background - but starts chewing on it. Cas throws Rayan another strip, and I continue talking. ¡°A couple burns on your back and feet, but you both ran fast enough, so it isn¡¯t that serious. I was going to apply some salve, but I didn¡¯t want to do anything that you weren¡¯t conscious and ready to bargain for.¡±


    ¡°I did say that I would pay the price,¡± Arden says.


    ¡°But that was a claim, not an agreement,¡± I say. ¡°You can¡¯t promise it for dear Rayan here.¡± I face her, just quick enough for me to catch her raise an eyebrow.


    She¡¯s beautiful, like most Aphrodite¡¯s Chosen are claimed to be. Full curves on a lithe figure, dark hair that reminds me of strands of onyx candy. She still projects an otherworldly allure with that wild scavenger look in her eyes, even with the monster skins that serve as bandages on her feet and back, but it¡¯s a pull.


    Arden has a pull - a discreet one, but one nonetheless - and my Ability immediately pegs her as a threat.


    I don¡¯t make it obvious I¡¯m staring, but still Arden smiles.


    ¡°Negotations, then,¡± she says, lightly, still chewing on the jerky. This time, she looks alluring doing it. The fire seems far away, Cas and Rayan ebbing away, and I can only see her, see her and her only, she is- An Ability. Her Ability.


    I blink.


    Her posture gives it away that she¡¯s using it - she leans closer, her russet lashes covering now-coquettish dark eyes. I smile. ¡°Right, negotiations,¡± I reply. ¡°I would appreciate it if you didn¡¯t use your Ability on me, now that we¡¯re discussing our partnership in good faith.¡±


    Rayan¡¯s eyes narrow, but Arden doesn¡¯t show any reaction. ¡°It was a good try, though, you have to admit,¡± she laughs. ¡°The offer¡¯s still open, though,¡± the Chosen adds, ¡°even if you rejected my offer of help the first time.¡±


    ¡°Compromise isn¡¯t help, ¡®Dennie, dear,¡± I drawl.


    Arden finishes off the harpy meat. ¡°Empty threats after help aren¡¯t compromises, either, Sera,¡± she replies, dusting off her hands. ¡°Partners are equal, and partnerships are made based on compromises. How much do you want our help?¡± She smiles, and corrects herself, ¡°How much are you willing to pay, for our help?¡±


    ¡°A fellow reader of Diplomacy Basics, I see,¡± I beam. ¡°I suggest my dear Cas as leader of negotiations from this moment forward.¡± I detect a flash of surprise in Arden¡¯s eyes, before she shrugs easily.


    Cas¡¯ voice is still even. "Right, then."


    I give him a mild nod, as I turn towards Rayan, who¡¯s watching the exchange through slits for eyes. He meets my gaze, and I raise my eyebrows, grinning childishly. He doesn¡¯t smile back.


    It¡¯s going be a long Dayend.


    <hr>


    I remember that the first time I killed someone, I felt no remorse.


    I¡¯m sure you¡¯re supposed to feel something other than remorse for not feeling remorse, according to Tomes, but that wasn¡¯t the case for me. There are no rules to death - you aren¡¯t supposed to mourn nor are you supposed to regret in a specific way. You can¡¯t wield it like a sword, lest it become a double-edged blade.


    Killing is a tool. Death isn¡¯t.


    The memory feels fresh in my mind, an indirect hiring of an assassin to make him pay. I don¡¯t even remember his name.


    When you¡¯re surrounded by death and murder, you become desentisized to it, apparently. The bloody hangings of rebellious Servants, the heads of those who opposed the Marksmen topping pikes, crimson liquid and the inner bodies of humans.


    When I was young, it used to unnerve me.


    I forced myself to read medical books of Healers and Analysts as a kid, picking apart every body part and muscle, seeing the insides of curved red structures until the anxiety went away. It did.


    Were there people that told me what the Marksmen did was immoral? Of course, but the ones who did were usually killed soon after. Death was death. There was no keeping it from arriving, no keeping it from weaselling its way in your hands sooner or later.


    I sigh.


    I don¡¯t sleep at all, Arden by my side as Rayan and Cas share the other structure.


    We¡¯ve decided on an agreement, but it isn¡¯t wise to turn your back onto a potential enemy. I stare at the dark, Crownpieces forming in the insides of my head, as I smile and try not to think of blood and darkness.


    <hr>


    ¡°So,¡± Jonas enunciates slowly, ¡°you¡¯re saying that Seraphina and Caspian are planning to set a part of the jungle on fire to kill Aria, Sonata, and their group?¡±


    ¡°I think they already did,¡± voices Halkyone. ¡°I can smell smoke.¡±


    Reassess.


    To the point where they can control a rainforest fire, Abilities.


    The Forge-touched frowns. ¡°But you say they plan to-¡±


    ¡°Torch it, and extinguish it,¡± replies the dark-haired Chosen.


    Reassess.


    Reckless - no, calculating of the risks?You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.


    Reassess.


    Jonas, Reassess.


    ¡°To what?¡± Vivianna doesn¡¯t look like she''s aware that she¡¯s muttering aloud. Jonas doesn¡¯t correct her.


    Sometimes, Jonas is reminded of an imitation - Vivianna¡¯s body, posture, seems like she¡¯s acting like someone. Probably a parental figure, likely the Visountess Bloodthorn herself. She¡¯s playing at being a mastermind, but Jonas has the decency to not point it out.


    After all, she was part of the reason why he¡¯s still alive.


    Poseidon and Athena¡¯s Chosen were right to try and kill him. Of course, there is no right and wrong, when it comes to these things - but if you ask Jonas whether or not he would¡¯ve been in the pair¡¯s way, the answer is yes. There¡¯s no changing it.


    Jonas needs to get out.


    And his Ability and golems will help him.


    Vivianna is the only one who isn¡¯t unpredictable to the point where she can¡¯t be used without a jarring conflict of interest. But she¡¯s slow to move, slow to play the game. A gambler, not a Crownplayer. But she¡¯ll help.


    Some way to break the orbs, to break the Cage. If the material is found somewhere else, anywhere else, in the other Chosen¡¯s Abilities, the possibility of a reaction grows exponentially. Assess. There¡¯s no weak spots, either, but if one of the Chosen who Jonas needs dies in the fire¡­


    ¡°I¡¯m not a gambling man,¡± he says, ¡°but I¡¯m betting that this changes things.¡±


    No one answers.


    <hr>


    I blink. ¡°You know,¡± I say, ¡°when I said that we should partner up to destroy Vivianna¡¯s camp, I thought we wouldn¡¯t be venturing further into the monster-infested jungle first.¡±


    Rayan grunts. It¡¯s barely dawn, but no one protests when Arden cheerfully points out that we should be exploring the island instead of moping around trying not to backstab each other.


    Arden whistles from further ahead. ¡°Damn, you guys aren¡¯t shabby mapmakers.¡± She looks at the current maps we¡¯ve drawn, impressed. ¡°What are the X¡¯s for?¡±


    ¡°Hunting spots,¡± Cas calls from beside her. ¡°H for harpy, g for griffin. The smaller monsters are less further out, but we¡¯ve never gone inside inside. Bigger prey, but more danger we aren¡¯t prepared for.¡±


    ¡°Thus the giant question mark,¡± Arden says, amused. ¡°Smart.¡±


    Before we¡¯d started on our trek, we¡¯d agreed to partner up and share notes. Cas had shared his maps and hunting observations with Arden, and I¡¯d passed over my monster anatomy papers and experiments to Rayan.


    As both Cas and Arden plot our routes and we all walk further, the monster calls get louder.


    Rayan shoves a paper in my face. ¡°Are you sure those are the harpy¡¯s reproductive organs?¡± he questions. Doubt of not capabilities, but ability to draw conclusions. ¡°It looks more like-¡± Knowledge on anatomy. How?


    ¡°Their excreting holes, yeah,¡± I reply back. ¡°But there¡¯s no way to know for sure how the monsters reproduce, if they reproduce at all. I said that there it would be likely, but we can¡¯t know for sure until-¡±


    ¡°We find how monster spawning works,¡± Rayan finishes. ¡°I got that, just-¡±


    ¡°I read about how there¡¯s a Source in the Isle,¡± I interrupt. ¡°There¡¯s maps of it, but it¡¯s likely they¡¯re outdated.¡± I laugh, ¡°I had to haggle a thief to steal from the Imperial library to get my hands on them - most information about the Queen¡¯s Isle is highly classified, after all.¡±


    Rayan waits with raised eyebrows.


    Slight surprise?


    ¡°But apparently, it¡¯s a bridge from the part of the Underworld that spawns monsters, and the mortal realm,¡± I say. ¡°I don¡¯t know how exactly it works, but then again, magic from the Gods is a shaky subject.¡± I turn to Rayan as we walk together. ¡°Opinions, Ray?¡±


    Zeus¡¯ Chosen frowns at the nickname, but he says, ¡°We¡¯ll just have to discover it for ourselves, then.¡± A pause, as he stomps on a stray leaf aggressively. ¡°But,¡± he continues, after a period of hesitation, ¡°there¡¯s something off about this. I can feel it. The Gods are changing. My Liege told me himself.¡±


    He turns to me, his face full of expectation as he volunteers the information.


    I latch on to the theory.


    ¡°I think My Liege mentioned something of the sort.¡± Other than telling me she was arrogant, she told me- ¡°Quote, the Fate of the Empire rests on your shoulders. It may have something to do with the fact that it¡¯s the Hundredth Cage. The Gods seem to like numbers as milestones. The three Moirai. The three Erinyes. The twelve Olympians, the twelve labors of Hercules.¡±


    My Ability spins.


    "Four times three, twelve," Rayan mutters. "A hundred doesn¡¯t have any correlation with the numbers, but-" his frown deepens. ¡°Hera¡¯s and Hephaestus¡¯ Chosens are now all buddy buddy, when the original Queen threw the God off Olympus. Poseidon and Athena argued over the patronage of a city, and now, look at the two of you. There has to be something wrong with this time. Something off.¡±


    I shrug. ¡°Nothing new, but something new,¡± I say. ¡°Contradictions. The Cagekeepers are watching us. The Gods are, too, even if they can¡¯t contact us. If they wanted to tell us, they would.¡± But we¡¯re just their entertainment. I left the last sentence unsaid.


    ¡°They chose us for a reason,¡± Rayan replies, but it sounds like more of a statement than a retort. ¡°Maybe we¡¯re meant to figure it out ourselves.¡± Maybe. Doubt. ¡°Either way, I¡¯m still going to kill you, Poseidon¡¯s Chosen or not. I still haven¡¯t found out how you extinguished the fire.¡±


    It¡¯s because I didn¡¯t.


    ¡°I¡¯m looking forward to it, then,¡± I respond cheerfully.


    A beat.


    ¡°What¡¯s your connection, though?¡± he presses.


    If we were in a play, his questions would¡¯ve been interrupted by a giant monster by now.


    ¡°Connection to what?¡± I arch an eyebrow.


    Rayan kicks a rock as he continues strolling, ignoring the two scouts ahead. ¡°Connection to your Ability. You control water, right? But you don¡¯t seem like the type to like water. The first time you drank out of the jug, it doesn¡¯t seem to replenish you - we passed a brook, nearby, and you barely gave it a second glance. There¡¯s no connection, for you - besides, you don¡¯t seem like the type.¡±


    He¡¯s onto me. Us.


    No, he said ¡®you don¡¯t seem like the type,¡¯ not ¡®you aren¡¯t the type.¡¯


    Still, he¡¯s a naturally suspicious person.


    I give a snort. ¡°What type do I seem like, then?¡± I ask casually, my Ability spurring into action again.


    ¡°The unpredictable type who¡¯d be the Victor,¡± he replies, conversationally, with the sour expression still on his pinched face. ¡°I¡¯d bet good money on you. You¡¯re smart, not above killing, and you have plans.¡±


    ¡°This would be the point where I would turn the conversation to ask about you,¡± I comment, ¡°but, I¡¯ll respect your boundaries and answer.¡±


    Honesty.


    ¡°I¡¯ve had my fair share of drowning, metaphorically speaking. Too many people expect things of you, push their burdens onto you, because you see too much - and then you go under. Wouldn¡¯t recommend it, going under.¡±


    Rayan shrugs, his eyes sharp. ¡°Won¡¯t try it, then.¡± He pauses. ¡°The fact that there¡¯s no insects is weird.¡±


    ¡°Yeah,¡± I agree.


    A long silence.


    It¡¯s broken as Arden calls back, ¡°We¡¯ve wandered enough. We should go back, retrace our steps, head out in another direction. We¡¯ve plotted our route already.¡±


    Of course, her statement is followed up by a loud roar that rips through the trees, a roar that should''ve happened a couple lines ago.


    Terrible timing.


    <hr>


    The Minotaur is ugly, I realize, after watching it storm into the clearing.


    Matted russet fur sprouts from every available surface, scarlet eyes glaring from a bull¡¯s face. Craggy horns that curve unevenly stretch towards the sky as a dirty loincloth barely covers its - their? - reproductive organs, smoke snorting from its nostrils. A club is in its hand, the source of supposed bone-shaking terror.


    It looks like an oversized bull.


    It¡¯s probably a small chance that the person who reads this turns out to get Chosen, and an even smaller chance that the person who reads this is a Chosen who¡¯ll heed an old man¡¯s advice, but, nonetheless, if a series of coincidences brings you to pick up this book, please follow the following statement: if you ever see a Minotaur - run.


    ¡°Fuck.¡± I spit the curse lightly from my lips, letting it fall to the ground and my surroundings.


    ¡°No sudden movements,¡± Rayan murmurs, his voice low, like it¡¯s a rabid dog. We¡¯re both still to our bones, Cas and Arden further ahead doing the same. My hand sneaks to my dagger as the Minotaur surveys the scene.


    Am I scared?


    My Ability launches itself into motion without any reaction needed, cogs turning like a well-oiled machine. What are the Hints? What are the Hints? It asks insistently, and I provide them. Run.


    Another voice whispers, but you can beat it. You¡¯re different from the others. Everyone told you, you¡¯re different. You¡¯ll win. You can beat it.


    But there¡¯s always a chance.


    Each move is a flip of the coin, each Piece full of opportunities that can backfire. Think of the risks. Calculate. Did the risk of dying outweigh the glory of victory over the Minotaur? I could have information, dissect a Minotaur-


    No.


    That wasn¡¯t what was Wise.


    It¡¯s just my brain trying to justify charging at the Minotaur. For what? Knowledge? Glory? There would be another day. Another Game to play, another victory to win.


    I slowly back away.


    Another Game to play, another victory to win.


    I¡¯m not Perseus.


    One step, and then the next, careful to observe any twitch of agitation. The others are doing the same. The sky is full of aurora streaks, strips of dawn light and the smiling face of Eos, the gathering dew on the leaves of the clearing clear and crisp.


    But every inch of my skin is telling me to run, the viridian leaves and the scarlet eyes almost poisonously vivid colors.


    I take another step.


    The bull¡¯s snout opens and it roars again, but my Ability can¡¯t concoct a story or spin a tale for the sound - it rips through my ears, ravaging, as my heart hammers in my chest. I take two steps. It snorts smoke again. I swallow another ¡°fuck.¡±


    Muscles ripple underneath its chest, its teeth bloody with the remains of its prey, as I manage three slow steps backwards.


    What are the Hints? What are the Hints? my Ability still screams.


    The Minotaur gruffly snorts again, this time pawing the ground.


    Four steps.


    I¡¯m nearly into the underbrush with Rayan, but Cas and Arden are a good few paces away. I just need to run faster than one of the three, and I¡¯ll be free. I¡¯ll play another Game, win another Victory.


    Moral qualms come later. I like Cas, I really do - then why?


    He¡¯s smart enough to run faster than Arden, who¡¯s still recovering from her fine injuries. He¡¯ll be fine.


    Ten steps.


    I can turn my back now, but my body refuses to cooperate. I can run now, I can-


    The scarlet eyes are narrowing. Rayan looks at me, and I look back, breaking my stare-off with the monster.


    We can run now, he mouths. Why? Why¡¯s the shrew-like Chosen of Zeus helping me?


    I shake my head. Maybe I¡¯m paranoid, but not yet.


    With one last roar, the monster somehow turns back on its heel and slinks back in the underbrush, leaving us alone. The four of us let out a breath we didn¡¯t know we were holding.


    __


    Our maps are almost done, some of the question marks having filled themselves after we go at it a couple more times. Of course, we¡¯re shaken at the Minotaur¡¯s appearance, but letting it deter future operations wouldn¡¯t be beneficial. We¡¯re a lot more careful after the first encounter, though.


    ¡°So, game plan time.¡± Cas rubs his hands together eagerly.


    ¡°You don¡¯t have to look so excited, dear.¡± I pat his back affectionately, amused. It¡¯s late afternoon, now, and we¡¯re all huddled together, outside. We¡¯re eating jerky again, after breakfast, with some edible plants and berries - after the first few days, my diet¡¯s more settled, but I can¡¯t deny I miss the allure of good old moustalevria.


    Ah, it always tasted better on days when I was withheld dinner so I could threaten the pudding out of the kitchen maids.


    Good old moustalevria.


    ¡°Game plan time is exciting!¡± Cas protests with a grin, looking around for support. ¡°We let Kage go on purpose so they could spill the beans and make Vivianna¡¯s camp reassess our threat level! Doesn¡¯t that make your veins soar? Your heart sing?¡±


    ¡°Sure,¡± I say simply.


    ¡°I guess,¡± Rayan inputs.


    ¡°Of course, Cas,¡± says Arden.


    A pang of emotion - envy? - gnaws at me, at the nickname. Oh, well.


    I dish out a ¡°strategically, the first move would be a Soldier, or a cluster of one.¡±


    ¡°The fire,¡± Arden understands.


    ¡°Yeah, the fire.¡± I spread my hands. I¡¯m not going to tell them our whole plan, of course - that would be a grave error, even if they didn¡¯t ditch us at the Minotaur. ¡°A nice Opening, to make them reconsider how much of a threat we are, letting Kage escape. But that leaves-¡±


    Rayan frowns, interrupting. ¡°-Someone open. An avenue of attack.¡±


    I gesture towards myself. ¡°Me.¡± I continue, ¡°Iason¡¯s angry. I maimed him permanently, crippled him. The strategic thing to do, on their end, would be to wait and develop a reasonable course of action. But waiting? After I made a move? Watching his teammates sit around and do nothing, to him? He can¡¯t do that.¡±


    ¡°But there¡¯s no certainty that he¡¯ll come after us,¡± Arden points out. ¡°Bloodthorn and Jonas could have a tighter leash on him than we know of.¡±


    I wait a beat.


    Surprisingly, Rayan gets it first. Understanding. ¡°Kage.¡±


    ¡°They¡¯re not stupid, even if they¡¯re weak,¡± Cas says. The grin on his face gets wider, the plan we discussed with the swap of our Abilities. ¡°A thief¡¯s mindset. If they see Iason agitated, after we ¡®accidentally¡¯ boasted about Iason¡¯s injury in front of them? They¡¯ll use it to get Iason on their side, and soon, Bloodthorn¡¯s entire camp.¡±


    Arden frowns. Not doubt, just trying to see the plan from a new perspective.  ¡°But there¡¯s no certainty, either, that Kage¡¯ll jump at it. It was hard reining them in, in the first place. You can¡¯t guarantee that they¡¯ll try and use Iason - even if they do, that move revolves around you as bait. If they manage to surprise you-¡±


    ¡°They can¡¯t,¡± I say simply. ¡°I can¡¯t be surprised.¡± With both my imaginary Ability, and my real one. ¡°I can sense the water in living organisms, as well as controlling it,¡± I lie. ¡°Not in terms of blood, of course, but I¡¯ll discreetly keep an eye out. They¡¯ll likely strike tonight, Kage and Iason, because of the shadows. I¡¯ll be ready. We¡¯ll be ready.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s a gamble,¡± Cas adds. ¡°But one that¡¯s worthy of taking.¡± Surprisingly, for the person who was initially against teaming up with them. I don¡¯t say what we¡¯ll use the captured Kage and Iason for, but we all know.


    Rayan gives a small nod. ¡°Alright. I¡¯ll take it.¡±


    Arden corrects, ¡°No, we¡¯ll take it.¡±


    Disgruntlement - problems with leadership - Zeus¡¯ Chosen, correlation?


    ¡°Alright, then,¡± I say lightly. ¡°Then it¡¯s a date.¡±


    <hr>


    ¡°You¡¯re probably going to say something random after this pause,¡± Cas remarks. ¡°Probably some shit like, ¡®You know, Cas, if you don¡¯t give people time to plot a betrayal, the backstabbing¡¯ll be half-assed and it¡¯ll be a lose-lose.¡¯¡± The last sentence is said in the impression of a high, reedy trill.


    ¡°I don¡¯t talk like that,¡± I protest, leaning against the tree. ¡°But there is no point! I just say it in pauses for dramatic flair!¡±


    Cas raises his eyebrows. ¡°So we both agree that Rayan and Arden will betray the both of us?¡± he comments.


    ¡°Yeah.¡±


    ¡°Gotcha.¡±


    I check after a while, ¡°But we also both agree that Rayan¡¯s turbulent alliances are an advantage that can be used in the future?¡±


    ¡°Yeah.¡±


    ¡°Right. Just checking,¡± I comment. ¡°Arden¡¯s probably smart enough to figure out our Abilities. Rayan, too. We¡¯re testing the limits to his supposed enhanced senses, by the way. If he does hear us, we¡¯ll have a crossroads on our hands. We do both know that, right?¡±


    ¡°Yeah.¡±


    ¡°Good.¡±


    ¡°You know,¡± Cas says after a while, ¡°these awkward silences are probably because of the trust heart-to-heart that we haven¡¯t had yet.¡± As if catching the confused expression on my face, he continues, ¡°You know? The, hey, I-think-you¡¯re-great-and-we-should-sacrifice-ourselves-for-each-other talk.¡±


    ¡°Oh,¡± I say after a while. Honesty. ¡°Like right now? While we¡¯re waiting to capture and possibly torture information out of someone?¡± A nod, from the other boy. ¡°Right.¡± I pause. ¡°I was going to sacrifice you to the Minotaur. I thought about it for, what, ten seconds? Then I decided not to do it. I¡¯d give others around two seconds of consideration, though. Do with the information what you will.¡±


    It¡¯s much easier discussing strategies than developing a trust-goes-both-ways relationship. Probably because we both backstab people, but, you know, at least we do it together.


    Weak.


    Fuck, maybe I am.


    ¡°Right,¡± Poseidon¡¯s Chosen replies. ¡°I thought about it, too, and I was like, nah, she¡¯ll probably find a way out anyways, you know? We both make it a habit to get out of sticky situations, but usually the sticky situations come from backstabbing people, so we don¡¯t know if we¡¯ll backstab each other.¡±


    ¡°It might not necessarily be the lack of trust, though,¡± I concede. ¡°More feelings bloom out of being stuck with each other in stressful situations, than in real life. Some theorists say that the heart confuses the adrenaline with love, or something like that.¡± The word feels weird in my mouth. ¡°I think you¡¯re great, though.¡±


    I can feel Cas smile. ¡°Yeah, I think you¡¯re great, too.¡± A pause. ¡°But, someday, somehow, we¡¯ll have a conflict of interest.¡±


    ¡°Probably,¡± I admit.


    It¡¯s inevitable.


    ¡°Maybe it¡¯ll happen now, or tomorrow, or the day after that,¡± he continues. ¡°Maybe I¡¯ll be the one holding the blade to your throat, maybe you¡¯ll be the one holding it to mine. Maybe, we won¡¯t see each other coming.¡±


    The possibility amuses me.


    It probably shouldn¡¯t.


    I speak, ¡°Our interests are pretty similar. I do my best to survive, and you go along with the flow and do whatever you feel like doing. Maybe laugh and point at my failures. But I definitely will see you coming. It would be more fun if I couldn¡¯t, though. The risk. The chase.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m happy to provide amusement,¡± Cas replies, his voice full of sarcasm. He pauses. ¡°But, trust. The difficult word.¡± He asks, ¡°Do you trust me?¡±


    ¡°Asking the difficult questions, now, are you?¡± I joke.


    The silence is full of expectation.


    ¡°We¡¯ve only known each other for what, four days?¡± I ponder aloud. ¡°From what I¡¯ve seen of your skillset, I trust your capabilities as a partner. That¡¯s all I can say for now.¡±


    Some people would label this immediate connection as something wishy-washy, like soulmates, but no such thing exists in this world. Even if it does, I haven''t found it - situational compatibility is something that''s proven, though, and Cas fulfills all of the necessary criteria.


    I like him.


    Truly.


    Fondness, not love or trust.


    ¡°Gods, I was wondering if I was a bad person for not being able to say that I fully trust you,¡± he admits after a while. I can feel the grin, all teeth and wilderness, fade from his lips. ¡°But I¡¯m alright with dying. Alright with living. Hell, if it provides me some sort of purpose, I¡¯m all for it.¡± A pause. ¡°I would be a fool to trust you.¡±


    I smile. My Ability¡¯s quiet, for once. The fun thing is, the statement doesn¡¯t hurt.


    ¡°If you¡¯re looking for a person to ask you to be that fool, you¡¯ve got the wrong one,¡± I say, lightly.


    As long as we both don¡¯t provide each other with a reason or benefit to backstabbing each other, we won¡¯t. The future¡¯s uncertain, but at least I don¡¯t have a stupid partner by my side to face it.


    A flicker.


    ¡°That¡¯s Kage, right?¡± I ask.


    ¡°Yeah, perfect timing.¡±


    Blades flashing, we jump onto the backs of the revenge-seekers and tug them back to camp.


    <hr>


    Torture¡¯s never been a strong suit of mine.


    I drag the blade against Kage¡¯s pale flesh and try not to pretend that their screams will haunt me. Maybe it doesn¡¯t work, but the scarlet drops that tear themselves free from the wounds certainly serve as a distraction from moral dilemmas.


    Luckily, Cas handles the interrogation.


    ¡°What have you told them?¡± The boy with the easy grin is gone, and in his place is the person who bares all teeth.


    Torture¡¯s unreliable.


    A fact that rings true especially with squirmy people like Kage who do anything to save their own skin. But this display is more to fuel Iason¡¯s hate and cultivate Kage and Iason¡¯s relationship as well as driving a wedge in Vivianna¡¯s camp, than actually needing the information.


    Kage screams again.


    ¡°Gods, blood got on my boots,¡± I mutter. Probably a moment of vanity from my ¡°former¡± noble status, but blood stains.


    Layers of pale skin peel off like the skins of oranges that are served at banquets, only this time there¡¯s patches of mottled crimson that ruin someone¡¯s appetite. I can see bone and organ - I only sliced a couple times, already, which means that Kage has really thin skin.


    Iason¡¯s watching, his gag muffled as he probably joins the chorus of screams. Rayan blinks, his expression showing disgust - not at me, according to my Ability, but the method itself, and Arden¡¯s mouth twists in distaste.


    I want to voice my protests that they¡¯re not the ones doing the dirty work.


    I swallow them all the same.


    I hand the knife to Cas, who takes it wordlessly - my stomach churns a bit, as he gets to work with almost experienced hands, but I stuff it down. I¡¯ve seen much worse than this, even if it¡¯s my first time doing it, but-


    My qualms won¡¯t quiet themselves with a few rounds of torture. Going outside for fresh air would make me seem weak to Rayan and Arden, and I need to use them. Need, want, desire, what the Fates want me to desire - it all blurs together, at these moments, but I still force myself to watch.


    You¡¯re just a spectator, I tell myself.


    So watch.


    Gods, blood got on my boots.


    Blood stains.


    <hr>

 13. Glory I

    <hr>


    None mourn winter,


    Spring a bearer of light after an eternal night,


    Those who kneel at frost¡¯s grave come hither.


    Lo behold the few that arrive, at the north¡¯s deprive,


    With tears and wishes that shan¡¯t wither,


    We, the land of the winter sun, do not mourn.


    None celebrate winter,


    The monster come a¡¯knocking at our doors,


    Boreas¡¯ breath ignites our braziers, they burn bright.


    Lo behold the few who keep storm¡¯s vigil, hands laced with hoar,


    With prayers, and curses at the muttered sky-verses,


    We, the land of the winter sun, remember.


    The ice does not forget.


    - THE LAND OF THE WINTER SUN, Borean refrain


    <hr>


    THE DUKE OF BOREAS HAD SEEN MANY A TERRIFYING WINTER.


    In the Stronghold of Boreas, the wind whipped against your skin like the Gods rectifying a mistake by corporal punishment. The snow wailed, and the ice shrieked - the sounds of the howling frost were not beautiful nor were they romantic, but the Duke never found a requirement of being either to enjoy the ever-present cries - that was the job left to his scribes.


    When Damokles had been young, his mothers had told him about the poems written by his ancestors. In the walled Cardinal Stronghold, it was said, in the many cities that populated the North, the sole city of Anthinon was the only bearer of life.


    In Boreas, fires flickered in braziers propped against thick stone walls while the claws of the everlasting demon of cold roared outside, demanding to be let in. Only the south of the North, it was said, harbored the ones who refused.


    ¡°None mourn winter,¡± the former Duchess had recited, ¡°spring a bearer of light after an eternal night; those who kneel at frost¡¯s grave come hither.¡± She had shook the younger Damokles in her lap. ¡°Come on, you can do it. Lo-¡±


    ¡°Lo behold the few that arrive, at the north¡¯s deprive, with tears and wishes that shan¡¯t wither,¡± Damokles had reluctantly completed, ¡°we, the land of the winter sun, do not mourn.¡±


    It was as if the roles had been switched, in Damokles Anthinon¡¯s childhood - the Duchess Elena Anthinon had been a romantic lover of Tomes, one who liked to bury herself into the selection of Myths and tales of the Chosen that were displayed in Anthinon¡¯s libraries. She had always smelled like olives, not-quite-dry ink, and parchment - ever the diplomat, she had been the reason for Damokles¡¯ name.


    His other Mother, Agatha Zafeiri, had been a general - even though, in the north with the peaceful Rhiannon continent, there had been no need for war. Everyone in Anthinon had agreed that as the stout soldier stood as true as Athena¡¯s blessing, her heart beat for the frost. The captain of the Winterdeath who held the title of Wraith held such a heroic legend that everyone agreed that if the ducal consort was split open, she would bleed olive oil more than anyone in the Stronghold. There had been no sinister musings about her until after her funeral.


    They had both been killed by Rhiannon bandits.


    The perpetrators had been outliers - the traditionally peaceful Rhianites had given Damokles more than a Cardinal¡¯s worth of a treasury, and one of their envoys had even embraced the mourning boy in apology. Apparently, this meant something meaningful, there.


    He had not cared, that day.


    Sometimes Damokles wondered why he had been named after a courtier who made the mistake of wanting power - a cautionary tale, of a man whose king hung a sword over his sleep.


    But then reminders of the horse hair that tied it there came in moments like this. On his table, sealed with a peacock and an ivy wreath, sat-


    <hr>


    -A letter.


    The warrior-queen Elexis Cadmus was tempted to throw it in the fireplace that crackled next to her, but the seal prevented her from doing it. That Godsbroken ivy wreath - the fact that its first appearance had been ten years ago haunted her still.


    She owed much to the First Princess.


    But that hadn¡¯t changed her hate for the Imperials.


    ¡°Galanis,¡± the people had spat. The pale, almost white, frost-blue eyes that Elexis had gotten from her mother weren¡¯t the Eurus golden - her father had come from the Snakeland tribes, the Galanos, and were the only race of Imperials that had the galanis eyes.


    It had taken more than a few years for the people of Eurus¡¯ capital to accept a galanis as duchess, and sometimes Elexis cursed her parents for leaving behind a human Legacy. An abomination, that was what she was called - even if the Galanos were the Stronghold¡¯s greatest warriors, still they were mocked.


    The duchess had two daughters and a son, all of them consorts. Of course, all of them harbored powerful stations - one of them was Duchess Marksman, the other Marchioness Williams, and the youngest the second Marquis Drakos. Elexis had never been a good mother to Eleanora, Theadora, or Leon, and sometimes the Cardinal duchess did wonder what it¡¯d been like if she had.


    But she had made sure being half-Galanos hadn¡¯t hindered them from their place in the Imperial aristocracy. That would have to suffice, as her Legacy.


    Suffice.


    Elexis was sure that she wouldn¡¯t have uttered that word ten years ago. Princess Greta¡¯s letter had changed everything, as had dealing with her fellow Cardinals. The unnervingly quiet Duke of Boreas, the fiery half-Republica Ducal Lord of Notus, even the breezy Duchess of Zephyr - every time the Cardinals met in person, it was nothing less than chaos.


    ¡°A person who fights more than she talks, a quiet bastard, and an airhead,¡± one of them had snorted, just recently. ¡°Gods, I keep forgetting how much we sound like a badly-written joke.¡± Except, of course, the fact that the four were heads of Cardinal duchies and the leaders of families that had supported a century-old continental power, Elexis would¡¯ve agreed.


    But that would be underestimating the insufferableness of the other, non-Cardinal Strongholds - the gambler of a man Duke of Tyche, the opportunist that was Duke Marksman, that Godsbroken red-haired Duchess of Doxa - but you always, always had to take them into consideration.


    And the Imperial royals, of course-


    Elexis had met most of them in person before, and they all resembled the First Princess in different ways. Those Victors. Gritting her teeth, Elexis of Cadmus sighed.


    She grasped the jeweled letter opener in her hand, and-


    <hr>


    -Ripped it open.


    Delphine Hyacinth was a lover of tragedy. The Stronghold she presided over was named after a tragedy - Hyacinthus, Apollo¡¯s devotee and a prince, who had been loved by both the West Wind Zephyr and the God himself.


    As Apollo and Hyacinthus were playing a game, Zephyr redirected the wind and made it so the discus had implanted itself in Hyacinthus'' neck. As the prince died, Apollo made his blood into a flower - the hyacinth - while cursing the West Wind.


    Princeblood, people of Zephyr called the hyacinth.


    A reminder that whether loved by the Gods or not, children of monarchs or not, humans bled all the same. They hurt all the same, loved all the same as Gods. Sometimes, Delphine supposed, the Myths were a way to lure champions.


    Myths, both capitalized and not.


    They humanized the powerful, and invited the mighty of the rest to unseat them. And then the threats were dispelled under the guise of culling a rebellion, and the powerful stayed in power while the rest waited, again, to accumulate more of the mighty foolish enough to accept the invitation.


    It happened again and again - tragedies happening so often they were comedic, comedies ending in one or both dead, becoming tragedies. Delphine loved watching them.


    So what if she was hailed as an airhead? If the invitation was clearer, and firmer, the Play was ever so more intriguing.


    Intrigue.


    Delphine loved intrigue. She had loved the Barriers of each Stronghold, the main manors in their capitals constructed as military bases of twisting castles and stony turrets, each Cardinal¡¯s different in their own way yet all of them surrounded by high walls. Stalwart and true, Zephyr¡¯s was, as steady as the West Wind. The Cardinals would be the last to go, in terms of war.


    If a war really broke out, they would have to go past good old Notus first. If they did get past Ducal Lord Petra and their people, they would have to first climb up the Snakelands and the Draconian Peaks, sneak past the Galanos tribes, and shut down Cadmus and Elexis, who would have the means of finding a surefire way to win the war.


    Simulteanously, the Empire¡¯s opponents would have to wind their way up the west coast, hitting Zephyr and Doxa while their other forces hit Tyche - that would render them in control of two Cardinals and two duchies, which would provide them with enough leverage to pose a threat.


    Then, it would be a battle of attrition, if the opposing forces were stupid enough to not take Inevita with its military prestige - Inevita was worth more than Boreas, but few knew that. The North far overshadowed the Second Isle in terms of history, but Inevita had more weapons, more stockpiles, and far more veterans.


    It would depend on how well the Imperial marquessates would fare, but the war would be sooner lost if the opponents underestimated the Imperials.


    War was a tragedy.


    Delphine loved watching them. Scanning the contents of the letter, her lips-


    <hr>


    -quirked up in a smile.


    Petra Castellanos¡¯ lips remained in that expression for the count of half a beat as their subordinates watched in terror. ¡°By all the Gods, Jupiter and Saturn,¡± they breathed.


    ¡°That¡¯s an Imperial seal, on the letter,¡± one whispered.


    ¡°Is that their happy smile, or I¡¯m going to kill you smile?¡± another asked the person beside them.


    ¡°They¡¯re happy when they¡¯re killing someone, aren¡¯t they?¡± the person returned.


    Petra looked back at the muttering people on their Council. ¡°Oi.¡± Silence. ¡°Get off your asses, stop speculating, and put on your big boy breeches - the she-devil in the capital¡¯s pulling something big.¡± After a beat, they added for clarification, ¡°The First Princess, Greta whatsherface, is the she-devil in question, by the way. Not the other she-devil. That¡¯s the Duchess whatsherface.¡±


    One ventured, ¡°What¡¯s that gotta do with us-¡± Cut off, Petra¡¯s dagger found its way into her throat, and the Notian Chancellor found her way into the embrace of death.


    ¡°It has everything to do with us!¡± the Ducal Lord roared, the sound half way between a ferocious battle-cry and a triumphant crow. ¡°She says she¡¯s going to help us get revenge on the Republic and their sticky-fingered Armies!¡± A pause. ¡°I mean, she¡¯s probably lying so we¡¯re on her side by the time she ascends to the Throne, but still! Huzzah!¡±


    The Chancellors raised their hands and screamed, ¡°Huzzah!¡±


    Their secretaries looked upon the scene, faces neutral. An older secretary said to a newer one, ¡°You probably should get used to this-¡± He was drowned out by another scream.


    ¡°A huzzah for the bodies of our fallen warriors!¡± Petra screamed.


    ¡°Huzzah!¡±


    ¡°A huzzah for the stolen loot from our land!¡±


    ¡°Huzzah!¡±


    ¡°A huzzah for the South of the Empire!¡±


    ¡°HUZZAH!¡±


    One Chancellor accidentally said a hurrah instead of a huzzah, and was promptly decapitated by another. Petra took the interruption in stride.


    ¡°A HURRAH for the Republica Armies who have no idea what¡¯s coming! Two hurrahs for your leader, me, Petra Castellanos! THREE HURRAHS for we, the lost and abandoned of the South, liberated by Angelo the Avenger and the Skirmish!¡±


    ¡°Hurrah! Hurrah! Hurrah!¡±


    Petra grinned, a familiar one, all teeth and malice, as they lifted a fist in the air.


    Notus had been used too many times in schemes both Imperial and Republica alike, and it was their turn to get used in return.


    A ploy for the liberation of Notus, both a threat and promise and one that had been delivered in elegant Imperi script - ¦Ì¦Ç¦Í ¦Å¦Ì¦Ð¦É¦Ò¦Ó¦Å?¦Å¦Ò¦Á¦É ¦Ê¦Á¦Í?¦Í¦Á¦Í ¦Ò¦Å ¦Á¦Ô¦Ó?¦Í ¦Ó¦Ç¦Í ¦Á¦Ô¦Ó¦Ï¦Ê¦Ñ¦Á¦Ó¦Ï¦Ñ?¦Á, min empist¨¦vesai kan¨¦nan se aft¨ªn tin aftokrator¨ªa. The she-devil had quoted that age-old Imperial saying, trust no one in this Empire.


    Do not trust me, she had written. Trust the fact that I will stay in power.


    And so Petra Castellanos did - the first time the Princess had written, ten years ago, Petra hadn¡¯t replied to the letter. Now Greta whatsherface had written again, and Petra brandished their quill as their subordinates celebrated with wine. ¦¥¦Í¦Ó?¦Î¦Å¦É, they had written back. Ent¨¢xei, alright, they had said, while remembering-


    <hr>


    -the ice does not forget, Damokles thought to himself, nor does it forgive. It saw his mistakes bare - the birth of Katherine, the death of his wife - and the dangling of the sword constricted his ears and encircled his chest like a hunter¡¯s snare. But he sank his quill in ink all the same-


    <hr>


    -scratching at the parchment, Elexis of Eurus, the Galanos warrior queen, thought of debts left unpaid and regrets left untouched. Would she have been a better queen, if she had not fought? One more war. One more battle, one more reign. Once more, ¦Ã¦É¦Á ?¦Ë¦Ë¦Ç ¦Ì¦É¦Á ¦Õ¦Ï¦Ñ?. Once more, but only once, as there would be-


    <hr>


    -another Play to watch, another tragedy to laugh at, Delphine of Zephyr smiled. She wrote the reply, the Cardinal duchess smiling coyly while doing it. She would let herself be used as pawn again, and let the achievement be embroidered on the edges of her invitation. She turned her head as she heard-


    <hr>


    -a call to freedom, a banner left unbroken and untouched, the Ducal Lord Petra dreamed and laughed. Let the brave and the bold, the stalwart and the true, the cowardly and the meek, the flighty and the false gather under their banner and gather hope once again after being told to abandon it-


    <hr>


    Another Emperor, another reign, another will under the Anothen sky.


    <hr>


    I dodged a blade.


    Blades were easy. I¡¯d never tried my luck with bullets before, I thought to myself, as I sipped the apple juice from my champagne flute, watching the Imperial Guards lift their guns and pepper the dark figures with the loud weapons.


    My Ability told me directions before I even processed the situation - a godly gift that had gotten me out of many situations before.


    I watched an assassin lunge towards Josephine, who had a bored expression on her face as she dodged. Arathis, who was only a few paces away from her, yawned as he casually smashed a champagne glass against another figure''s head. Some nobles were panicking at the shattered glass windows - they had scaled the walls and the balconies, I supposed - while others remained neutral.The author''s narrative has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.


    They couldn¡¯t be bothered.


    The assassins were like cockroaches, and I frowned as I picked up the blade from the floor, aimed at a particularly annoying one, and flicked my wrist in a fascinating, supposedly morally horrifying game of darts. I hit true - right in the heart. The familiarity of the action brought a slight smile to my lips. Familiar.


    Julian¡¯s hand immediately went to his sword, but I patted him encouragingly, giving his hand a squeeze. It might¡¯ve seemed like a comforting touch, to others, but it was a warning, to him. The praetor didn¡¯t need to move. Yet.


    It was either my siblings, or Patrician Cassia - probably the latter, judging from the gleeful expression the woman was trying to hide - that was behind the move. But it was a move. No more, no less.


    Julian relaxed.


    Katherine¡¯s eyes flickered from my bladehand, to the fallen assassin, to her surroundings. I turned to meet her eyes, just as I caught an eye of a particularly willy assassin making their way to the table.


    A familiar table.


    I saw the flash of a blade, and I felt that familiar emotion as the figure slammed to the ground. I had predicted it, we had all predicted it, that Greta would use this moment to declare her stake. Was it practiced, the suicide of the cloaked assassin? They would face worse if caught, I knew that for sure.


    I spectated.


    Crimson flowers blooming on peacock robes.


    It was just a move. No more, no less.


    ¡°The Emperor is dead!¡±


    <hr>


    Another Emperor, another reign, another will under the Anothen sky.


    <hr>


    You couldn¡¯t ask the Gods, ¡°Why?¡±


    But if you asked without expecting an answer, you could ask all day long.


    ¡°Why?¡± I asked Julian, my voice quiet and low.


    The Emperor¡¯s corpse was in his bed, eyes shut, and I was sitting beside it, on an uncomfortable stool. It was my turn to pay my respects, the last daughter he had accepted into his embrace. He hadn¡¯t physically hugged me, of course, but we had talked.


    He wasn¡¯t a good man, or a bad one, just a cunning old fox who had lived long enough to say the good old days. I would be a fool to trust him, but I liked him enough. He had felt like a presence that was always there, but I had known his end was near, the loss not fitiing its label.


    Like one of the stray cats you fed every day died.


    It hadn''t been your favorite, but it was still dead. Gone. Buried with a coin under tongue, ushered in Thanatos'' embrace.


    The praetor didn¡¯t respond, his stoic expression neatly folded into the angles of his face like drawn curtains.


    ¡°It¡¯s just another move,¡± I said, more of my sake than his. I closed my eyes, letting darkness envelop me. ¡°Would he have mourned, if I died? There are people I know who¡¯ve killed for me, but only one who¡¯s ever died for me.¡± Cas. The foreign feeling of loss, the broken spirals and jagged dreams at night. ¡°Why? Why can¡¯t I answer the question with a yes, Marius? But why do I still feel like it¡¯s not just another move?¡±


    I opened my eyes, staring at the ceiling. There were no tears, just a question.


    ¡°Why, Mari?¡± I asked, my voice even like I was asking the color of the sky.


    Julian¡¯s voice floated over, mild: ¡°I don¡¯t know.¡± A pause. ¡°But I find that you only try to label things when you try to put them in a box, feelings included. Compartmentalizing is compartmentalizing, except when you remember you¡¯ll have to open the boxes one day. It¡¯s more efficient to dump everything out and get it over with.¡± As close to honesty as he can get.


    I breathed in. ¡°It was probably my fault for asking advice of someone I¡¯ve only known for a day. Thanks, though, for trying.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re my fiancee, now,¡± he said. ¡°It¡¯s my-¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t say duty,¡± I interrupted. Now it was a question of relationships. I sounded tired - you are, my Ability chided. ¡°If we¡¯re going to get to know each other, I¡¯d rather we do it because we want to, not because we have to. If we don¡¯t get along, we don¡¯t get along - if you want to break it off, we break it off, alright? If you think this contract is a shackle, it becomes one.¡±


    "You confuse me," said the praetor. "You offer a hand, I take it, and you-"


    ¡°You are a patriot, are you not?¡± I asked, before pausing, and continuing.


    ¡°Loyal to the very end, supposedly true patriots are. I took a second to ask myself, why would a patriot accept an offer binding them to another nation? Why would they enter a collaboration that puts them in a situation where their honor is at risk?¡± I mused, and turned. ¡°We all have heavy words we carry around. Be careful as to not break under your burden.¡±


    ¡°A warning?¡± Julian questioned, his tone carrying a trace of mirth.


    ¡°A word of advice, from an Imperial,¡± I said, ¡°and a history of glorified traitors.¡± My Ability rooted out a twitch of indecision, and I gestured to the door. ¡°Let¡¯s play Crown,¡± I continued, ¡°and talk. We have much to discuss.¡±


    <hr>


    ¡°It¡¯s a confusing game,¡± the praetor admitted. ¡°So there¡¯s two Circles on both ends, and a Queen with a Crown inside both?¡±


    I nodded, gesturing towards the rows. ¡°Two rows in front of each Circle, with two Paladins on either side. There¡¯re Actors, infiltrators, who can only move until they¡¯re Discovered, and Archers, with their Arrows that can only be used once every Game. All of the pieces have specific avenues of movement, but all of them are-¡±


    ¡°Equally vital to the game,¡± Julian finished. ¡°I can tell. A Game of strategy.¡±


    I leaned back, not touching the Crownpieces. ¡°As you know,¡± I changed topics, ¡°you¡¯re in a very big pile of shit, metaphorically speaking. Your dear Patrician Cassia, is very obviously behind the assassination that killed my Father, and soon enough all eyes will be on the Palace and Greta, Father¡¯s heir, as the investigation concludes.¡±


    ¡°Greta not having the Heir Designate status changes things,¡± Julian guessed.


    ¡°Yeah, it does,¡± I agreed. ¡°Unless Greta has some leverage over the Cardinals, which I¡¯m sure she does, as well as unanimous support from Tyche, Doxa, and Marksman, with an established political presence in the capital.¡±


    I held up two fingers, as I continued, ¡°The last two are a problem, and Greta¡¯s likely response will be sending me to Tyche, with Josie and Timmy holding down the societal fort, Orion stabilizing the Army and military marquessates, with Arathis taking care of the capital¡¯s politicians.¡±


    I paused. ¡°My other brother Cyrus, on the other hand, will be sent to the Republic as a boost to your forces, and will undoubtedly be used as an Imperial stake in the current border happenings. I¡¯ve already written to him, and he¡¯ll be happy to use this opportunity to try and take down your government, again, under the condition of sharing his ties to Evlogia.¡±


    ¡°But,¡± Julian said.


    ¡°But,¡± I agreed, continuing, ¡°my siblings¡¯ motives remain unknown.¡±


    ¡°You mean their willingness to stay under Greta¡¯s thumb,¡± the praetor said.


    I smiled. ¡°An informal euphemism,¡± I said, ¡°we¡¯re making progress.¡± A pause. ¡°But yeah, that¡¯s my point.¡±


    ¡°You follow Greta because she wants to conquer the world, and you¡¯ll inherit her Empire with your siblings¡¯ turbulent alliances,¡± said Julian. ¡°So all you want, in the end, is power.¡±


    ¡°Pretty much,¡± I said with a nod.


    The praetor sighed, tugging at his purple cape. ¡°Why?¡± my Marius asked, in the tone that meant he was talking more to himself than me. ¡°Why is everyone so obsessed with power?¡± He turned to me. ¡°It kills people¡¯s honor, eats them alive and makes them into monsters. Why?¡±


    This time, he was the one asking me.


    ¡°Honor means nothing.¡± I shrugged. ¡°For you, it may mean the world,¡± I said, ¡°but once some have tasted the sting of defeat and opportunities lost, they do anything to win, to never feel that pain again.¡± I smiled lightly, my memory touching back on the many cautionary tales I had lived through. The many warnings that my arrogance would be my downfall that I had ignored.


    ¡°Doesn¡¯t it get tiring? Pain being your motivation?¡± Julian continued to ask. ¡°As far as I know, all of you have survived once. Isn¡¯t it enough? Won¡¯t your siblings have dwindling motivations, then - do you trust your sister enough to think that she¡¯ll be able to pull off this plan?¡±


    I smiled. ¡°I thought you¡¯d be asking these questions before you signed the contract and gambled your marriage away,¡± I said, ¡°but no matter.¡± I leaned back. ¡°Greta has the Ability to bend minds, being the patron of Dionysus - your Bacchus, I suppose - but she sacrifices her own mind with it. If she was forced, she¡¯d be able to manipulate all of the others to her will.¡±


    ¡°But you make it sound like she won¡¯t be forced.¡± A smidgeon of doubt.


    ¡°She won¡¯t,¡± I said, simply. ¡°It might seem like I¡¯m just vying for the position of her right hand, but I know that she¡¯ll succeed in bringing the Empire into the future.¡± My Ability reinforces that conclusion.


    Julian raised his eyebrows, just slightly. ¡°But where will the Republic be in that future?¡± he responded, his tone cooler. Loyalty. A sense of honor, to his nation. His people, always first. ¡°She has her sights on conquering the whole continent, does she not? That¡¯s one of the only things Harbingers have in common - and that means that we¡¯ll have to go to war.¡±


    I shook my head. ¡°She already has stakes in the Republic,¡± I pointed out. ¡°She¡¯ll use this incident of a Republica diplomat assassinating the Emperor to her advantage, and plant even more stakes inside it. Your government¡¯s already crumbling politically. You can see it. We all can see it. If you want to combat the Union¡¯s monsters, you need a united system.¡±


    ¡°And you¡¯re saying Greta¡¯ll provide that system?¡± the praetor shook his head. ¡°That¡¯s not what we agreed on.¡±


    I sighed. I hadn¡¯t wanted to tell him just yet, but, for the sake of a business relationship. ¡°Your father¡¯s in Greta¡¯s pocket already,¡± I informed. ¡°So is a good deal - not a great deal, but a good one - of your Patricians. She has a lot more connections than you think - my information¡¯s barely touching the surface.¡±


    Julian¡¯s eyes narrowed. A silence, which the praetor provided then broke, ¡°I can¡¯t say he wouldn¡¯t do that, but you would understand if I can¡¯t take that into account just yet.¡±


    ¡°Yeah,¡± I agreed.


    Another silence.


    ¡°You probably need to go and take care of your Patrician Cassia,¡± I said. ¡°The only reason you aren¡¯t detained is probably because Deimos knows you¡¯re my fiance, so I can vouch for you if you need to disappear for a bit. But I advise you not to do anything suspicious - or at least, don¡¯t get caught doing anything suspicious.¡±


    He didn¡¯t move.


    ¡°If we¡¯re getting married, I don¡¯t want to work against each other,¡± he said. ¡°I¡¯ll consider it. Your offer, I mean. I¡¯m not going to force us to love or trust each other, but we should set expectations.¡± Future expectations. Has already expected that he can¡¯t weasel out of the contract.


    I raised an eyebrow. ¡°Like, you mean, if we¡¯re going to have kids, what we¡¯re going to act in public, and all that?¡±


    Julian blinked, before giving a nod. I snorted.


    ¡°That¡¯s a long way away,¡± I commented, and paused. ¡°I mean, the first step is engagement, isn¡¯t it? You probably should announce it in the Republica social circles, and I in the Imperial social circles, before I get settled in as Greta¡¯s supposed subordinate. We don¡¯t want our agreement to get overanalyzed since, technically, it¡¯s pretty up in the air in terms of partnership.¡±


    Julian let me continue.


    ¡°Then, a year of courtship. We should get to know each other, handle things on both our sides, and handle loose ends. Emphasis on the get to know each other part, though. We just met last Daystart, so that¡¯s a thing most lovers go through,¡± I informed him. ¡°Then I turn eighteen, and we get married on an auspicious date. By then, most things here will likely be wrapped up, and the time should coincide with Greta¡¯s moves towards the Republic.¡±


    ¡°And then you¡¯ll move to Gloria?¡±


    ¡°Honos is probably the best political headquarters, but it would make sense if I moved to your fief,¡± I admitted. ¡°We¡¯ll settle it when we get there.¡±


    The praetor shrugged. ¡°I have no objections.¡± A pause. ¡°So, as I understand it, I¡¯ll be staying in the Empire for a good amount of time?¡±


    ¡°Yeah, probably,¡± I agreed. ¡°You should go ahead and inform your Army - but wouldn¡¯t it be a hassle to do that without any challenges to your leadership? If you want me to help out and deal with Patrician Cassia¡­¡±


    Mari shook his head. ¡°I¡¯ll deal with it,¡± he said firmly. ¡°You have enough on your plate.¡±


    I cooed, ¡°so you do care about me-¡±


    His stoic expression made me giggle. Hilarious.


    ¡°Alright then,¡± I conceded, giving my fiance a wave. ¡°Have fun sorting a diplomatic crisis, darling! Make sure to tell your Army you¡¯re engaged!¡±


    He left without responding, violet fabric swishing in the sun as he left my Residence, as I gestured for my ladies-in-waiting who were ten feet away to approach.


    The Crownboard was left untouched.


    <hr>


    First singer: Who will save us?


    Second singer: Save us from the folly of man-


    Third singer: Save us from the reaper¡¯s embrace-


    First singer: Save us from the hero¡¯s last stand-


    Second singer: Save us from the darkness¡­


    THE SINGERS STAND UP, CHOIR MARCHES IN


    Choir: Save us-


    Third singer: From the folly of man-


    Choir: Save us-


    First singer: From the reaper¡¯s embrace-


    Choir: Save us-


    Second singer: From the hero¡¯s last stand-


    Choir: Save us from the darkness!


    THE MUSIC SWELLS, THE SINGERS AND CHOIR EXIT THE STAGE


    LORD


    My child, my child!


    CONSORT


    Not my child!


    THE CONSORT DANGLES THE YOUNG CHILD OFF THE BALCONY, EYES RED


    CONSORT


    You spawned a bastard! This is no child of mine!


    CHOIR ECHOES FROM THE BACK OF THE CURTAIN


    Choir: Vice and virtue, virtue and vice-


    CONSORT


    My Lord, I cannot stand raising this bastard anymore! Do you know how much I have sacrificed for you?


    SHE STARTS SOBBING, THE LORD APPROACHES


    Choir: Vice and virtue, virtue and vice-


    CONSORT


    Stay back! Or I will- Or I will throw this child off the balcony!


    LORD


    Delacia-


    CONSORT


    You love the bastard spawned from that woman more than me, don¡¯t you? After I gave up being the Marquessate¡¯s heir title for you? You dare love this- this half-child?


    Choir: Vice and virtue, virtue and vice-


    LORD


    No, Delacia! I love you, and you only!


    HE RUSHES FORWARD, AND SWEEPS HER UP IN AN EMBRACE


    HE WRESTS THE CHILD FROM HER, AND KISSES HER


    NEARING THE BALCONY, HIS EYES ARE WILD, HIS EXPRESSION CHANGES


    CONSORT


    My- my Lord?


    LORD


    You crossed a line, Delacia-


    HE GRIPS HER SHOULDERS


    LORD


    You dare think yourself worthy of touching my son? No, you dare think of dictating who I love? And then, at the end, you dare think that I still love you?


    HE LAUGHS


    LORD


    That is delusion, and nothing else. I regret marrying you.


    PUSHING THE CONSORT OFF THE BALCONY, DELACIA LETS OUT A BLOOD-CURDLING SCREAM


    THE LORD IGNORES IT, AND KISSES THE CHILD, AN ALMOST HAUNTING EXPRESSION ON HIS FACE


    LORD


    No matter what they say, you are my child.


    CHOIR: Vice wins even over the most virtuous people.


    <hr>


    I looked at Lazarus¡¯ expression. It was pale. He hadn¡¯t looked like he slept.


    ¡°A riveting play, is it not?¡± I asked him. ¡°They call it The Bastard, and it¡¯s trending right now among the nobles.¡±


    A silence that might¡¯ve been classified as awkward.


    I explained, ¡°Apparently, the baby grows up and becomes a swash-buckling general, and because in the first Act, the Lord carried so much guilt over the death of the baby¡¯s mother - which he caused - the Lord killed himself when the baby was but three Daycycles old. The bastard child was treated terribly, but by the second Act, he amassed enough power and fortune to hurt those who hurted him.¡±


    I paused. ¡°By the third Act, he rose and became the Lord of the city, and a formidable soldier, and no one ever stepped on him again.¡± I clapped my hands together like a door closing. ¡°He married, and he lived happily ever after. The end.¡±


    This time Lazarus spoke. ¡°I swore an Oath to you.¡±


    His voice was a broken croak, but it was steady.


    ¡°And I accepted it,¡± I replied, easily. ¡°But you probably should¡¯ve told me, you know. We all have our secrets, but being my illegitimate brother¡¯s a pretty big one.¡±


    I leaned back.


    The emerald greens of the theater were as vivid as the day before, and I got up from my seat to draw the curtains. I heard my personal Guard shift in his seat - it was technically a breach of custom, that I had saved him a chair in my Imperial box - as I closed the gold-embroidered gossamer over the balcony, providing a barrier from eyes that wandered from the performance.


    ¡°My mother used an aphrodisiac,¡± he finally said. ¡°The Duke let me live because the Duchess wanted to spare me on a whim, and he released me into the streets.¡± Bitterness seeped into his tone. Dark memories that he doesn¡¯t want to revisit. Scrounging, finding.  ¡°I lived in the slums of Inevita for a while, before entering the Duke¡¯s service, and was employed as a Guard.¡±


    ¡°And then you followed me to the capital,¡± I finished. ¡°You built an alarming amount of connections, to rise through the ranks, even if no one was aware of your birth. Why did you swear yourself to me? Because we share a father?¡±


    I had no fond memories of Inevita. My biological father and mother were never present in my life - I spent dinners at home alone, and galas surrounded by friends that were designated to me. The tutors knew that I wasn¡¯t favored, and sometimes took either a belt or a whip to me - but pain was neither a comfort nor a friend, and I had learned to avoid it.


    First, I had hit them back.


    I was withheld food.


    I threatened food out of the maids.


    The maids were killed.


    I endured the tutors.


    Avoid.


    Learn.


    Adapt to the eyes that were always trained on me, adapt to the pity and punishments. I remembered the Guards either spat on me or ignored me, and Lazarus had never been the most distinguishing Guard - just one among many faces that I never wanted to see again.


    But I saw them, again and again. I survived, again and again.


    I learned how to live.


    ¡°I-¡± Lazarus¡¯ voice was feeble. ¡°You don¡¯t remember me?¡±


    ¡°From my tragic past? I do, vaguely,¡± I said, still staring at the curtain. If I turned, right now, the Hints would poke at my vision, threatening to tell me things I already knew. Whether he regretted decisions already made, sensitive memories, his weaknesses and strengths - he wasn¡¯t like the Imperials, I could Read him.


    I couldn¡¯t delve into his story.


    Not now.


    And so I latched onto the curtain, distracting my Ability. Which Seamstress wove the fabric, the intricacy of the embroidery and the tale of its unwashed stains, the faded greens and colors. I continued to speak. ¡°But no, I don¡¯t remember any special occurrence.¡± The people of the second Isle thought I was cursed.


    ¡°You were training with throwing blades,¡± he said, his voice coming from behind me - he was still seated. ¡°Your instructor was angry that you kept missing the bullseye by just a hair - but then you told her that she could go stand in front of the target and place her head on the bullseye, and see if she got killed or not.¡±


    I let him continue.


    I didn¡¯t remember the memory.


    ¡°But then the instructor said, ¡®Why should I do it?¡¯ And then you replied, ¡®It was just a suggestion.¡¯ And then you challenged her - if you landed three bullseyes, she would go and stand.¡± Oh. Now a flicker surfaced. ¡°The instructor agreed. The Guards were putting bets that you would lose, that it was all bluster.¡±


    ¡°But then I won,¡± I finished the anecdote. ¡°Because-¡±


    ¡°You were pretending to miss by a hair, the entire time,¡± Lazarus said quietly. ¡°I came up to you, that day, and asked you why. And you said you were practicing, to terrify the instructor but not kill her, because you knew you would win.¡±


    A hazy face floated up.


    ¡°And then you asked me why again,¡± I recalled.


    Lazarus finished, ¡°And you said, ¡®Because if I don¡¯t win, I don¡¯t survive.¡¯¡±


    It was true, back then.


    I asked, ¡°And that struck a chord in you, made you pity me enough to follow me to the capital when I returned to Inevita?¡±


    I heard him shake his head, my Ability detecting the sound. ¡°No,¡± he said, his voice hoarse. ¡°It made me scared of you.¡±


    Fear.


    ¡°It made me doubt myself, made me work harder than ever to be your subordinate,¡± Lazarus continued. ¡°Because my half-sister, she was better than me. At everything. I began to see what you saw. You told me that you regulate your emotions, that your real self doesn¡¯t matter. What kind of person thinks like that, I thought to myself - what kind of things does a person have to go through, to think like that?¡± A pause. ¡°The Cage changed you.¡±


    ¡°You fixated on me,¡± I realized, my voice still.


    ¡°I think, in some way, I looked up to you.¡± My personal Guard choked out a bitter laugh. ¡°Isn¡¯t that pathetic? Some people say they don¡¯t see why the Chosen are legends, but I see it. I see how you¡¯re going to forge your own Legend. And I want to help you.¡±


    I closed my eyes.


    ¡°So do it,¡± I said finally.


    When I was young, I loved hearing about heroes and myths of old. Legends, stories, happily-ever-afters. I was still young, but not the same.


    Would a hero use her own brother?


    I shoved the thought aside, as I said, after a while, ¡°Even as an illegitimate child, you still have a claim to the Marksman duchy. Do you want it?¡±


    ¡°I-¡±


    ¡°Do you want it, Brother?¡±


    ¡°Yes,¡± Lazarus admitted quietly, as I turned. If I took his age into account, the Duke would¡¯ve been young when he had him. My strands of Ability floated, as he repeated, firmer, his eyes still haunted, ¡°Yes, I want it all.¡±


    A piece.


    Would a hero think of people as pieces?


    Would a hero, at the end of the story, look into the mirror and not be satisfied with the person staring back?


    No.


    They wouldn¡¯t.


    I wasn¡¯t a hero. I made gambles, deals, trades. I played Games, I made blunders, but I wanted the world. I wasn¡¯t the one gifted by the Gods, I was the one who wanted to go against them.


    I looked into my brother¡¯s eyes. ¡°Then take it,¡± I said, simply.


    You want it? As long as it provides a benefit to me, take it.


    <hr>

 14. Glory II

    <hr>


    Pandere uiam infernum honeste.*


    - REPUBLICA PROVERB


    *the path to hell is paved with good intentions.


    <hr>


    TYCHE WAS NAMED AFTER THE GODDESS OF LUCK.


    Other than the Twelve - or the Olympians, as the rest of the Empire called them - there weren¡¯t many Deities left over from the Myths that were recovered in Anthinon¡¯s libraries. Eos, Goddess of the Dawn. Selene and Helios, siblings of the Sun and Moon; Nemesis, Goddess of Revenge.


    Aeron¡¯s mother, a former Analyst that had studied in the Republic, regaled him tales of Pomona, a Republica goddess of abundance, and Bellona, a goddess of War. She told Aeron about the heroes of old - Heracles and his labors, Perseus and Medusa, Theseus and the Minotaur. Aeron had disagreed, with some of them - Athena¡¯s choice to turn Medusa into a monster, for one, or Hera hurtling Hephaestus off Olympus.


    His mother had just said that the Gods were Gods. Then she had died, and Aeron hadn¡¯t been able to keep the house that he lived in, and so he made his way as a sticky-fingered trickster.


    He would make his own luck.


    ¡°Yer here,¡± acknowledged the gambling Denmaster, the hardy man. He nodded Aeron towards a table. ¡°There¡¯s a man here, asking for ye. Says that he knows yer ma.¡± Aeron raised his eyebrows, as the Denmaster continued, ¡°Better sort that right out ¡®befer starting yer shift, hear me?¡±


    ¡°Aye,¡± replied the thief, before giving a wink, ¡°maybe my reputation¡¯s going ¡®round. Might give yer a run for yer money, Flint, sometime soon.¡± But a troubled feeling wormed his way into the dealer¡¯s heart. He hadn¡¯t known much about his mother¡¯s former job, but she had many unusual connections, some of which had caused him much more than the odd trouble before.


    The Denmaster grunted, not even bothering a ¡°if ye say so.¡±


    Aeron cast a glance outside at Tyche¡¯s swathes of mist, a gloom that consumed most of the neighborhood, while calculating an escape route that made the most use out of today¡¯s slightly-more-abysmal-than-usual weather. He certainly wasn¡¯t going to lose his job because of his dead ma - causing a ruckus in Flint¡¯s Den was a surefire way to do that.


    Starting towards the brown hardwood table, Aeron stopped at the chair opposite the dark-cloaked, hooded figure, and smiled, leaning towards it. ¡°Heya there, mate,¡± he said, ¡°how may I help yer?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m looking for an Aeron Nameless,¡± responded the figure.


    ¡°Yer got the first name right,¡± the trickster said, not letting the surname destroy his broad smile. ¡°Aeron Adino, at yer service. Like I said, how may I help yer?¡±


    Aeron could see dark eyes gleaming under the hood, their darker hair preventing him from seeing more of the stranger¡¯s face. ¡°Anastasia Adino is dead,¡± they responded, simply. ¡°You are an orphan, and thus you are Nameless. Why do you reject your status?¡±


    ¡°Look, sir? Ma¡¯am? Neither? It¡¯s none of yer business whether or not I reject my status or not, if it doesn¡¯t coincide with yer request for help,¡± said Aeron, cheerfully. ¡°Please enlighten me on yer reason for seeking me out. Other than that, I prefer we have as little contact as possible.¡±


    The figure shrugged, as if amused. ¡°Perhaps it is wise,¡± they conceded. ¡°Very well, if you wish to get down to business.¡± A pause. ¡°You are a card dealer, are you not?¡± Their refined accent and the way they delicately pronounced the Imperi words suggested a noble upbringing.


    ¡°Aye,¡± Aeron agreed. ¡°But I don¡¯t deal for private games, ye¡¯ see. Too many things better left unheard, and too many people who¡¯d cut me ears off for hearing them. If ye¡¯ cut out those options, I¡¯m all ears for new offers.¡±


    The figure made a motion like they were raising their eyebrows. ¡°No questions on how I knew your mother?¡± they asked, mildly. ¡°Surprising, but understandable, given your reported practicality. I wouldn¡¯t classify it as shrewdness, but you aren¡¯t stupid.¡±


    Aeron smiled, this time wryly. ¡°Given the increasing industrial traders in our ole Evimeria, and the new diplomats coming ¡®round, ye¡¯d be a fool to trust anyone at face value.¡± He filed away the tidbit that he was being spied upon for later. ¡°But, I must warn ye¡¯, I don¡¯t deal with politics, or Imperials.¡±


    ¡°A generous enough offer might change your mind, though,¡± the stranger commented. They slid a sack of drachmas across the table. ¡°Fifty gold drachmas. And there¡¯s more where that came from.¡±


    It was too good to be true.


    Aeron didn¡¯t touch the money.


    ¡°But, the catch?¡± the dealer asked conversationally. There was always a catch, when it came to these things.


    ¡°There¡¯s a person in the capital,¡± the figure said. ¡°She¡¯s very, very clever, and very, very dangerous. But she¡¯s also very, very important.¡±


    ¡°And because ye¡¯ can¡¯t get to her, yer thinking a commoner like me can,¡± guessed the dealer.


    The figure gave a nod. Or at least that was what Aeron thought they did, the cloak and hood made it hard to tell. ¡°You didn¡¯t ask, but I¡¯m going to tell you anyway,¡± they said. ¡°Your mother was a very gifted Analyst. We encountered each other more than once, when she was active as a Dame recognized by the Empire. She often spoke of you, and my reports say you¡¯re exactly what I need.¡±


    Aeron waggled his finger. ¡°But that¡¯s not related to the subject. Tell me more about the target. Don¡¯t entice me, just-¡±


    ¡°She¡¯s been planning something,¡± the stranger explained. ¡°A plan, a macchination so big, and complex that it¡¯s been in the works for ten years. I need to know something about it.¡± They barked a laugh. ¡°She¡¯s insane, really, for doing it. Any information at all, anything that you get your hands on, will be paid for immensely.¡±


    ¡°Yer paying for me to infiltrate an Imperial noble,¡± the dealer summed up. ¡°Likely of a count level or above, judging from the way ye¡¯ treat her identity. From the way ye¡¯ speak, yer a very important noble - and since there¡¯s no way for any noble to encroach upon Evimeria, let¡¯s talk face to face.¡± Aeron smiled. ¡°Duke Evimeria.¡±


    The recognized Cardinal duke burst into fits of laughter. His mysterious facade was gone, replaced by an almost jolly persona. Like a man you would see at the bar, not someone who paid you to spy on his rivals.


    ¡°I admit, you¡¯re good,¡± the notorious gambler admitted. ¡°But not nearly good enough. See, that¡¯s why I picked you, you know. You¡¯re good, and I like you, and we¡¯re both pants-on-fire liars. But not nearly good enough for her, and not even close to being a person who can even pose a challenge to her.¡±


    ¡°Because yer don¡¯t want me to win,¡± concluded Aeron. ¡°Yer want me to lose, but hightail it out of there alive with as much information under me grasp.¡± The dealer eyed the bag of gold on the table. ¡°How much we talking, here?¡±


    The duke spread his hands. ¡°Hundreds!¡± he breathed. ¡°If you pull this off, you¡¯ll be swimming in gold! That, I promise.¡± His dark eyes squinted into a smile. ¡°My good friend, Arathis, said this one thing that¡¯s always stuck with me - follow your instincts, lose your gold, watch the winners prance upon their rugs, and pull it out from under them!¡± The man known as the mad duke threw his hands up in the air. ¡°It¡¯s always the most priceless thing, I tell you.¡±


    Arathis. The Imperial Prince.


    A correlation, in this topic-


    Aeron didn¡¯t let his smile falter, but said, matter-of-factly, ¡°Ye¡¯ want me to spy on a member of the Imperial family. In the capital. Because they¡¯re planning something. Ye can promise me gold, but can¡¯t promise I¡¯ll stay alive.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s the gist of it!¡± the madman cackled.


    The trickster already knew the answer, in his mind.


    ¡°I¡¯m not sure,¡± he lied. ¡°I¡¯ll consider it, and get back to ye.¡±


    The duke didn¡¯t look fazed. ¡°Sure, you go do that,¡± the noble said. ¡°There¡¯s a time limit, though. Unless other news comes up, or my gambles turn up empty, we¡¯ll meet here, again, in a Dayhept. I look forward to our cooperation, Aeron Nameless.¡±


    The madman already knew his answer.


    But still Aeron nodded. ¡°Aye.¡±


    And then the duke got up, and disappeared into Tyche¡¯s mists.


    <hr>


    Duchess Alina Evlogia stared at the rising dawn insignia emblazoned on her coat. The nearby Guards¡¯ liveries were decorated with the same crest, streaks of a red rising dawn and the curved fixture of a yellow sun. Evlogia in Imperi meant blessing, the light of another day. In Doxa, Eos and Iris were revered, dawn and the rainbow.


    But Alina de Evlogia sighed.


    Turning fifty, she was old enough. Nikephoros¡¯ death hadn¡¯t triggered a tremendous wave of grief inside her, but there was resignation enough in her heart to her fate as an old crone. The challengers and Victors were always younger, their knack for survival overpowering their lack of experience, but Alina had lived through her fair share. Before she turned thirty, it was Pallas the Proud on the throne, with Nikephoros being the youngest Victor back then.


    Back then, the Victors had thinned over time, and the Nightbidden Emperor had apparently been the cause of it. When Alina had chosen to support him, albeit behind the scenes, it had been the most rewarding year of her life. She stabilized her position as Duchess, became one of the Nikephoros¡¯ most treasured vassals to keep the Cardinals in line, and expanded the prestige of her duchy.


    He was a friend.


    ¡°Aunt Alina!¡± called a familiar voice.


    Bursting into her designated chambers in the Palace, the Forsaken was met with metaphorical daggers drawn. Alina sighed, and lifted a hand, motioning for the Guards to put down their guns. ¡°Imperial Prince Arathis,¡± the Duchess greeted, curtly.


    The Forsaken bounded over, and sat his rear on a nearby lounge.


    ¡°Father¡¯s dead,¡± he said.Help support creative writers by finding and reading their stories on the original site.


    ¡°Yes. I am aware.¡±


    ¡°He was going to die even before the Patrician killed him,¡± Arathis commented conversationally. ¡°He poisoned himself deliberately, to hand my sister the throne, with sarawolf. It wasn¡¯t obvious, of course - there were tablets, in his water, made by Poisonmasters that Deimos bribed.¡±


    Alina sighed, and gestured for her Guards to leave. They did so wordlessly.


    ¡°Prince Arathis,¡± she began, ¡°it would be best to keep your assumptions to yourself.¡±


    The snow-haired Forsaken looked amused. ¡°You can admit it, dear Aunt,¡± he said affectionately. ¡°For all Cyrus has a stranglehold over your heir, you aren¡¯t going to support that revenge-driven freak. You¡¯re not the type to ignore a problem just because the results of it benefit you, no - you¡¯re going to help Greta seize the throne and try to take it from her.¡±


    Arathis was different.


    Gone was the playful Imperial.


    In its place was-


    ¡°I have no idea what you¡¯re talking about,¡± responded the Duchess coolly.


    ¡°It might seem from an outsider,¡± he continued, unperturbed, ¡°that you¡¯re supporting Cyrus for the throne. But he¡¯s too unruly, too single-minded on his focus to the disgrace done to him. A very blunt trowel, a tool that you¡¯d need to shake up the dirt to plant seeds. Greta is closer to your needs, not a tool but a valuable needle to your thread.¡± The Forsaken smiled. ¡°Josephine you can¡¯t use, so that leaves Seraphina.¡±


    Alina would¡¯ve been worried that his Ability was that of a mind-reader, only it had been explained that he-


    ¡°Your Father told me,¡± she said, ¡°that your Ability is to be able to revive people from the dead, only you have to sacrifice a life of equal importance. The Aquilan law of equivalent exchange applies to your Abilities, provides you-¡±


    The Forsaken interrupted her with a smile. ¡°You¡¯ve been reading Icarus,¡± he remarked. A silence, as he leaned closer. Alina settled on the seat opposite him, as he whispered, as if sharing a secret: ¡°Death is a much more primordial force than anyone cares to think about. It¡¯s so very interesting-¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m not going to make a deal with you,¡± the Duchess replied, bluntly. ¡°You¡¯re very obviously goading me into supporting you for the throne. Blackmail, bribery, threats - they don¡¯t work on me, Your Highness. Just because a snake conceals its fangs doesn¡¯t mean that they¡¯re poisonous.¡±


    Arathis looked offended. ¡°My fangs are very poisonous,¡± he protested. ¡°And you, of all people, should know that the Chryselephantine Throne is plenty more dangerous than it looks. Besides, it isn¡¯t interesting, running an Empire. Considering the fact that I¡¯m a Damned, I¡¯ll be dead before the sun even rises on my first Dayend!¡±


    Then what do you want?


    The Duchess replied, dryly, ¡°I somehow doubt that.¡±


    If Alina held out a while longer, people usually started telling her what they wanted of her. The Prince continued chatting about how boring being the Emperor was.


    ¡°You know,¡± he said, ¡°people imagine being in power as some sort of means to an end. They all want something - to never be stepped on again, to make their enemies pay - and power gets them that. That¡¯s what fuels the Imperial dream, because we live in a world where people have no choice but to be powerful to survive.¡±


    This was a speech she had heard before.


    ¡°So you want to change that world?¡± the Duchess asked.


    The supposed Chosen of Hades let out a laugh, as if that was the funniest thing in the world. ¡°Oh, Gods no,¡± responded Arathis, after stopping his wheezing, ¡°I¡¯m perfectly fine with my station in society. The discrimination comes with the territory, I suppose.¡±


    But.


    ¡°Because so many people want to be powerful, the imbalance isn¡¯t interesting. The rich win against the poor. The powerful against the weak. You see it once, you¡¯ve seen it all.¡± The Prince snorted. ¡°In stories, it¡¯s always the bold winning against the meek. The stalwart against the flighty, the true against the false. The brave against the cowardly. One on one, and the author gets to make up whoever wins as a lesson to further their own personal motto.¡±


    Alina did agree, and she voiced: ¡°So you don¡¯t want to pick a side?¡±


    Arathis raised his eyebrows. ¡°I would first appreciate you not trying to ascertain my motives,¡± he said. ¡°But no. Picking a side isn¡¯t interesting. Winning, losing, it¡¯s all the same. Being a God isn¡¯t interesting, neither is being a Servant. Why does everyone want power, so badly? To get into Elysium? It¡¯s not, ¡®we all die in the end, so what¡¯s the point¡¯ but ¡®why are we obligated to survive¡¯?¡±


    ¡°We¡¯re not obligated,¡± Alina half-heartedly challenged, ¡°but-¡±


    ¡°We all have desires,¡± insisted the Forsaken. ¡°Power, money, love, interest, survival. But what happens to those who live without obligation? No, what happens to those who have desires, but feel no obligation to fulfill them?¡±


    The Duchess was tired. ¡°Please, get to the point, Your Highness.¡±


    ¡°Neutrality does not work,¡± he said, simply. ¡°The Evlogia Duchy can¡¯t stay still, not with the desires of the other Cardinals, the desires of the Republic. If desires clash, then a battle commences. People can try to argue against it, but, in the end, there¡¯s always a winner, and a loser.¡±


    A silence.


    ¡°Once you¡¯ve seen one battle, you¡¯ve seen them all. And observing isn¡¯t interesting,¡± the Victor continued. ¡°You, dear aunt, cannot afford to observe. Evlogia will support someone to the throne, and you will fight.¡± A pause. ¡°But whether you need the Gods¡¯ favor to win or not, well-¡± the puppeteer grinned ¡°-I¡¯m here, aren¡¯t I?¡±


    <hr>


    I smiled. Greta didn¡¯t smile back.


    My newfound lord I had promised my vassalage to arched an eyebrow. ¡°If you¡¯re trying to distract me from the fact that your fiance¡¯s acquaintance killed Father and likely caused a massive diplomatic incident,¡± my sister said, ¡°you are failing. Quite terribly, I add.¡±


    An hour ago, I would¡¯ve been surprised that the First-in-line to the Imperial Throne had a sense of humor. I still was unnerved by the statement now, even after we had casually talked about our days, but took it in stride.


    ¡°I¡¯m not,¡± I protested. ¡°I¡¯m innocent.¡±


    The major¡¯s eyebrow stayed raised. ¡°Right,¡± she enunciated.


    ¡°Now I understand why your troops are apparently terrified of you,¡± I muttered under my breath for dramatic effect, the information from Lazarus. Greta gave no indication she heard, but if it was her she probably wouldn¡¯t have cared. ¡°But we¡¯ve chatted long enough,¡± I conceded. ¡°What are your orders, Milord?¡±


    I was a loyal henchman, now.


    I had to Act the part.


    My sister the Imperial Princess said, wryly, ¡°Crown, wreath, and tome considered, I suppose the first order of business would be the Cardinals. And the Duchies. And then the Marquessates.¡±


    ¡°All in that order?¡± I asked, before adding, ¡°is there anything you want me to personally need to attend to?¡± I said this while reaching for the pot of tea on my table, my Ability making sure the porcelain surface was devoid of any poisonous balms.


    Greta the Great arched her eyebrow even higher, the pale line reaching an indomitable height on her even paler forehead. ¡°If you¡¯d like to know what I¡¯m planning to resolve the Republica diplomatic relationship,¡± she commented, ¡°you could just say so.¡±


    I smiled. ¡°Well then, that ruins the surprise, doesn¡¯t it?¡± I sipped the tea. ¡°I¡¯d thought you¡¯d be using my father-in-law and Cyrus to stabilize things there. They brought an offer, didn¡¯t they? For military support? I¡¯m assuming you¡¯re going to use it to your advantage?¡± I set it down on the plate. ¡°Besides, aren¡¯t you going to mobilize Orion to start the investigation too? I wrapped him up for you, by the way.¡±


    ¡°Yes, I¡¯m aware,¡± replied my sister. ¡°And I do have a lot on my plate.¡± She looked at me. ¡°What do you want to do?¡±


    ¡°What am I supposed to do?¡± I responded. ¡°There¡¯s the investigation, first - handling publicity on the issue, making sure the citizens are alright, keeping the other Patricians in check, are all roots of the bigger problem at hand, aren¡¯t they? Having a smooth transfer of power, and consolidating your succession.¡±


    Greta¡¯s eyebrow finally sunk back into its original position, and she gave a curt nod. ¡°You should take care of the investigation,¡± she said after a while of observing me. ¡°I need Orion for something else.¡±


    Stabilizing the Army, preparing for war.


    I gave a nod in return. ¡°There are people who don¡¯t trust me,¡± I said, honestly. ¡°I¡¯m quiet in political circles, and I¡¯ve only been back for three months from the Cage. I have a fairly good reputation, but I¡¯m not a big player.¡±


    ¡°Yet,¡± my sister corrected. ¡°I trust you¡¯ll use this opportunity well?¡±


    My Ability was already calculating the implications of the sentence.


    Opportunity - trust - wording?


    ¡°I¡¯ll have to work closely with the Palace Guards¡¯ Captain,¡± I said finally. ¡°And I¡¯ll use Timaois for the rest. Do I have free rein on this operation?¡±


    Greta gave a slight shrug. ¡°Do as you must,¡± she replied evasively. ¡°But do make sure to keep your subordinates in check. You never know when one of your cards chooses to reveal themselves.¡±


    A warning.


    I gave a nod. ¡°I will,¡± I said simply. ¡°Should I consider this as a test, of sorts?¡±


    The look in her eye told me that I had probably gotten through more tests than I¡¯d known of. It spoke and screamed, the hint of madness that was always there. She knew, I knew, and she knew that I knew. ¡°You should,¡± she said finally, ¡°consider this as your first operation. Do not make it your last.¡±


    I gave no impression that the threat affected me. ¡°Of course,¡± I replied after a beat. ¡°Deimos has handled the death announcement?¡±


    Greta gave a wave. ¡°He¡¯ll take care of it, soon. The investigation will begin tomorrow, after the traditionally given mourning day.¡± She didn¡¯t say the last sentence with finality, which meant that- ¡°Come,¡± my older sister said. ¡°I¡¯ll show you something.¡±


    <hr>


    My sister led me to the Lower Quarter. We left the carriage behind, and I watched the older woman walk through dilapidated roads full of shivering, barely-clothed children and ragged houses, blocks of crumbling brick stacked atop each other in worldly grotesque pyramid-forms. Leftovers and bodies of young and old gathered flies on the streets, as we faced suspicious, calculating eyes.


    Everything reeked of blood, mold, or starvation.


    I blinked.


    I could Read the poverty in the hands of the passerby, but even without the Hints that screamed at me I could see the lack of hope in their eyes. I was sure that without the Guard that hovered threateningly by my side, I would¡¯ve been attacked by now. The younger people were more desperate, the candle not yet put out.


    The funny thing was that I couldn¡¯t completely quash the flicker of disgust that lit itself in me.


    Or the pang of slight guilt that came after.


    Both were quickly extinguished.


    The noble brat Seraphina Marksman was long dead, and so was the child that dreamed of becoming a hero. You say they¡¯re long dead, but why do they still appear in your dreams? My Ability whispered. You lie to yourself.


    I blinked again.


    But that¡¯s what I do, I replied. I lie.


    Greta didn¡¯t speak, so I didn¡¯t either, although I kept shouldering on.


    We stopped at a large, creaking building. It was a sorry excuse for a structure, a peeling empty thing that made you pity what it had once been. Damp wood planks were consumed by mold and termites, and I read the sign¡¯s faded letters: HIGHLANDER INSTITUTE FOR LOWER EDUCATION.


    Highlander.


    I could already guess the possibility.


    ¡°They said it was better called Highlander,¡± said my older sister, suddenly looking her age of forty years, ¡°than being called Nameless.¡± A cold fury was laced in my tone, and my surprise at being able to Read her clenched fists was overpowered by my shock at her showing emotion at all. Fury.


    I didn¡¯t say anything.


    The Guards were out of earshot.


    ¡°I want to build a future.¡±


    Quiet but even, small in volume but not in words.


    ¡°I want to build an Empire,¡± she continued. ¡°Where its people can trust.¡±


    Cyrus was driven by revenge. Orion by the hunt, Arathis by interest, Josephine by the play. Greta Highlander, Her Greatness, at the moment would¡¯ve seemed like a generous martyr if not for the blood that stained her hands in the years she spent waiting. If not for the madness that glinted in her cold eyes, the secrets that lay hidden at her tongue.


    ¡°I Swore to help you,¡± I replied, simply.


    There was a pressure - guilt? - that hung over my consciousness like a shroud, now - I was driven by no such noble purpose, no such loyal motivation. I had done many, many things. I had gone through many, many things, but never had I felt the pain of losing everything.


    I felt Greta turn to me.


    I continued fixing my gaze on the building. The blue afternoon sky was bright and clear, the clouds that floated upon it almost irritatingly cheery. The Eternal City of the First Isle, the capital of the Empire Eoina, was broken.


    The Empire itself was broken.


    The world was broken.


    If I fixed it, would I be satisfied? Was I wrong, was the hunger in me not for power but for change? I was grasping at moral straws here, trying to feel like a good person when I was nothing but, I thought to myself. If I became a hero, would my future reflection praise me?


    I heard Greta let out a sharp breath. ¡°You did,¡± she said. ¡°Will you?¡±


    I ignored my Ability screaming at me that if I meant the words I said, I would not take them back. If I broke the Act, if I truly meant the words that I said-


    ¡°Maybe,¡± I replied.


    Alea iacta est, as the Republica said.


    For me, the die had been cast.


    <hr>

 15. Glory III

    <hr>


    A justifiable wrong makes a right in someone''s eyes.


    - VITAJIE CESAS, THE MINOTAUR-ASSED


    <hr>


    "I DIDN''T DO IT."


    The praetor of the Romulus Army looked at the Patrician who was protesting with a bland smile.


    ¡°Of course, you didn¡¯t,¡± remarked Julian Romanus dryly. ¡°Only stupid people would kill the leader of a side when we need their help. And you may be many things, Alberta, but you aren¡¯t stupid.¡± The patrician raised her eyebrows in response, as the boy-praetor forged on, ¡°But you''re greedy. Ambitious. And that makes all the difference.¡±


    Alberta Cassia¡¯s eyebrows stayed raised. ¡°We are all greedy, young Marius,¡± she responded. A pause. "But still," she said lightly, "I didn¡¯t do it."


    The praetor¡¯s bland smile was still on his face, as he suddenly lunged out, the Patrician¡¯s throat suddenly in his hand.


    ¡°Obstinate,¡± Julian observed. He squeezed tighter, the Imperial Guards that were positioned around the Patrician remaining still. ¡°If you were my subordinate, Octavia, you would¡¯ve been hanged and your corpse quartered for deserting - you Patricians would not dare to even think of what happens to those who commit treason.¡±


    The Patrician laughed - or at least attempted to hack out a cough that sounded similar. ¡°You young military folk could never get the ways of our bloodline.¡±


    ¡°The Cassia bloodline of tricksters, thieves, and thugs,¡± the praetor said mildly, his hands like a vise close to crushing the other¡¯s throat. ¡°You¡¯re in someone¡¯s pocket, Octavia. And if you don¡¯t tell me, well - I¡¯m sure my father will be happy to hear about this.¡±


    Alberta Octavia laughed again, but it was even more of a rasp. ¡°Who¡¯s to say that he doesn¡¯t already know?¡± she mocked. ¡°The only reason why you¡¯re here because he took care of Hortensia, and someone needs to do the great Marcellus¡¯ dirty work - it¡¯s sure not going to be Titus.¡± Her eyes were hard. ¡°I¡¯m in your father¡¯s hands, Marius, but your father is in his own.¡±


    Julian shook his head. ¡°You¡¯re trying to save your own skin, Octavia.¡± The Hero released the patrician¡¯s throat, and the older woman gargled as she fell to the ground. ¡°My father doesn¡¯t need hands.¡±


    The praetor had learned - the hard way - that Marcellus Amadeus Romanus only needed himself. If Julian¡¯s father couldn¡¯t run he would walk; if he couldn¡¯t walk, he would crawl; and if somehow the Consul Romanus ended himself up in a situation where he couldn¡¯t crawl - which Julian doubted - the boy-praetor knew his father would find some way, some how to survive.


    Julian¡¯s father was the worst type of monster - the kind you couldn¡¯t defeat.


    Alberta laughed. ¡°You have that much faith in your father, lad?¡± Lad, not Marius. She was trying to get under his skin by pointing out his age. ¡°He still is in someone¡¯s pocket,¡± the patrician added, massaging her throat. ¡°And I could tell you, if-¡±


    ¡°If you don¡¯t stop talking about my father,¡± the praetor said diplomatically, ¡°I¡¯ll wipe out your Branch and your bloodline.¡±


    ¡°Sensitive, aren¡¯t you?¡± asked the patrician after a pause. The fear flickered like candlelight, rippling across her expression for a semblance of a second before disappearing, but Julian noticed. He always noticed. ¡°They say you¡¯re a monster like your father,¡± Alberta commented conversationally, ¡°the King of the Battlefield, The Minotaur Slayer - some even call you the incarnation of Romulus himself.¡±


    The praetor blinked. ¡°Does it matter, what they call me?¡± he asked, somewhat honestly. For a moment Julian felt his own facade drop, but then he pulled it up again. ¡°The only thing that matters,¡± he said, ¡°is what is best for House Roma, and the Republic. And if you threaten that, I will kill you.¡±


    ¡°Then why haven¡¯t you?¡± the patrician mildly challenged. ¡°If you¡¯re so loyal to your father¡¯s wishes, then-¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s not my job,¡± Julian interrupted, ¡°to retrain dogs that go rogue.¡± He smiled. ¡°It¡¯s the noose¡¯s.¡±


    The Patrician Cassia¡¯s small smile faltered. ¡°You can¡¯t kill me,¡± she stated. ¡°I can only be punished legally after the Imperials find me guilty. I¡¯m still of use to your father, Marius, the fact that you don¡¯t notice that doesn¡¯t mean-¡±


    The boy-praetor felt a familiar feeling bloom in his stomach.


    Sympathy.


    ¡°He doesn¡¯t need you,¡± said the praetor, ¡°anymore than he needs me. You¡¯ve served your purpose, riled up the Imperials. You¡¯ve provided an excuse, a casus belli. That¡¯s all you¡¯ve done, and you¡¯ve finished your job.¡±


    Alberta shook his head, but Julian could see cracks. ¡°You don¡¯t understand, lad, you¡¯re part of a much bigger game than you know of-¡±


    Julian could¡¯ve smiled. ¡°You see what they see,¡± the Consul¡¯s son said. ¡°A general who can only defeat monsters and hold forts. But I am still a general of the Roma Republic, Octavia. You have not seen the battlefields I have fought in.¡± He smiled. ¡°Diplomacy,¡± the praetor said, ¡°is but a nice break.¡±


    <hr>


    I had a lot of things to think about.


    Getting loyal henchmen was one of them.


    ¡°Macedon, my good man, d¡¯ya mind if I kill Narkisa?¡± I asked him. Narkisa¡¯s eyes at once startled, like a rabbit, before they darted to the door. I went on, ¡°Glory and ruin is a small Oath, after all - it only dishes out bad luck in future ventures, not like a Godsworn Oath. ¡®Kisa took it and still snitched on me, so there¡¯s that.¡±


    Macedon looked nervous too, but the gangly man licked his lips. ¡°You should do whatever you feel like doing, Your Highness,¡± he said, graciously. ¡°Right now, though, our homeless information system¡¯s been jittery, ¡®specially since Aen, their leader, got bought over by Evlogia. And, uh, Xanthe killed him, so our numbers have taken a hit.¡±


    I lifted my robes and drew my dagger. I examined it. Probably sharp enough to kill almost instantly - I looked down its blade and towards Narkisa¡¯s throat. The glance was subtle, but the tension in the room reached its peak.


    ¡°I see,¡± I drawled. ¡°Now that I¡¯m in the employ of my sister, I expect to see more recruits. The best route our information agency should take is expanding, and bolstering our numbers. It won¡¯t do to have too many disloyal employees, though. I trust you¡¯ll take care of that, Mace?¡±


    The lanky con man gave a hesitant nod. ¡°The most thing we¡¯re in need of at the moment, Your Highness, is coin and influence - I¡¯m not saying that just because I like money,¡± he added hurriedly, ¡°but because if we need loyal employees and expand into the real underworld, our coffers need to be filled. The amount Your Highness conned - erm, obtained from the Marksmen can only extend so far.¡±


    ¡°Drachmas talk,¡± I said simply in response. ¡°But loyalty does, too.¡± I considered the problem. ¡°Let Mercy take care of it. Win over an influential street urchin or two, calm the masses. Tell them that we¡¯re building an Empire for the people, or whatever floats their fancy.¡± I shrugged. ¡°Motivational speeches aren¡¯t my forte, but we need young blood. Foolish blood. Old homeless people won¡¯t cut it, if we¡¯re going to do as big a renovation as we¡¯re planning.¡±


    Macedon processed the information. ¡°Financial expansion,¡± he summarized. ¡°We¡¯ll have to take more jobs, and lessen the exclusivity, but we need to build a reputation as an organization.¡±


    I nodded. ¡°I expect to have a somewhat established foothold by the end of this Dayhept - we need to do this fast, without delving too much in politics. Then we can schedule a meeting with my other sister, and see if we can strike a partnership with the brothels. Make sure to research well on the pleasure district¡¯s market, if you have time.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s a bit tight,¡± Macedon said.


    ¡°I¡¯ll be sure to detect any financial discrepancies, by the way,¡± I added, brightly. ¡°I¡¯ll be going over the accounts every Dayhept, very, very closely - after this Dayhept, and if we don¡¯t make it, of course.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s not tight at all,¡± Macedon corrected himself with a grin on his face. ¡°We¡¯ll make it work.¡±


    ¡°Good,¡± I replied, lightly. I still made a mental note to monitor his embezzling. ¡°Make sure to find me good lieutenants - they don¡¯t have to be clean, just efficient. I trust you to see it to the end, my good man. You won¡¯t let me down, I expect.¡±


    Narkisa was jittery, and I ignored Macedon¡¯s reaction as I turned to her.


    ¡°¡®Kisa,¡± I called cheerily. ¡°You made a gamble on me not finding out you sold me out to the very people I told you infiltrate. It failed. I¡¯m going to kill you now.¡± The infiltrator didn¡¯t reply, instead running towards the nearest window, and I snorted, amused, as I held the hilt of my blade lightly. There. Letting go while angling my wrist, the dagger planted itself in her neck as she reached the windowpane.


    I turned to my newly inducted lieutenant. ¡°Lyssa, my dear, could you call a maid to clean the mess?¡± I didn¡¯t bother to look at the spreading scarlet blood. Sometimes, the blood reminded me that I had gone towards a path where setting foot on it was a point of no return. Other times, it was just annoyance.


    Alyssa looked slightly unnerved, but she did nonetheless.


    ¡°Mercy,¡± I said, ¡°contact Timmy, schedule a meeting for tonight. Send Alyssa to learn the ropes with Macedon - she¡¯s smart, knows numbers, and is a quick learner. A crash course, and she¡¯ll be back as my administrative assistant after Timmy leaves.¡± Mercy nodded, as I continued, ¡°As for my need for an infiltrator, it¡¯ll be dealt with later. I need a foundation I can hold to throughout the investigation and that¡¯s the biggest priority right now, Mace.¡±


    Macedon nodded, before grinning. ¡°Of course, Your Highness. I won¡¯t let you down.¡±


    I dismissed him with a wave, and he exited the room.


    ¡°Mercy, what¡¯s the update on the Guard Captain?¡± I asked, massaging my forehead but keeping my voice low.


    Mercy shifted. ¡°Sir Lazarus is using his connections to try and reinforce a positive impression of you amidst the Regiment, but it isn¡¯t working,¡± she admitted. ¡°Lazarus is a part of the more influential Brigades, but the Captain isn¡¯t budging - he doesn¡¯t even attend gatherings, apparently. Antisocial, stubborn, sharp-tongued, and good with a sword.¡±


    I closed my eyes. ¡°Just like Rayan.¡± I barked a laugh. ¡°Well, as they say - like father, like son.¡± Lionel Moreau was going to be a tough nut to crack, especially since I had indirectly killed his son. ¡°Any weaknesses?¡± I asked. ¡°Money, courtesans, alcohol, gambling? Any bad habits, at all?¡±


    ¡°He¡¯s apparently very disciplined,¡± remarked Mercy. ¡°Trains at five in the Daystart, on the dot, for an hour. Says it¡¯s his warm-up. Apparently talks about his wife a lot, but she¡¯s also good with the sword, retired Guard. Kidnapping her wouldn¡¯t work, either.¡±


    I shook my head. ¡°No, Imperial law says that a joint investigation, by both the Palace Guard and a member of the living Imperial family in the case of the absence of a Glory Prince, needs to be conducted. Unless the verdict is unanimous on who the culprit is, we can¡¯t pin it on the Republic.¡± I turned to my right hand. ¡°Speaking of which, how is Mari?¡±


    ¡°The praetor is currently at the Patrician Cassia¡¯s Residence,¡± Mercy said slowly. ¡°If you need me to-¡±


    I waved her off. ¡°Don¡¯t worry, he¡¯s not cheating on me. He¡¯s probably keeping them in check, sorting out some politics on their end.¡± A pause. ¡°Everything relies on the investigation going well - well, not just us trudging through it. Right now, for you and Timaios, Lionel Moreau is the biggest priority.¡±


    <hr>


    My sister was beautiful. Sometimes I forgot that fact - not that it was very hard to forget. Those golden Eurusan eyes were similar yet different to the Duchess Marksman¡¯s, glittering with allure instead of the promise of a plot. Bronze skin, dark hair like braided strands of licorice - they sang tales of her beauty, but she was so different from Arden that it made it hard to think of her as another Aphrodite¡¯s Chosen.


    She looked beautiful, across from me.


    ¡°You look nice,¡± I commented, smiling.


    Josie squealed. ¡°See,¡± she said, gesturing to the serpentine neckline of her new dress, ¡°it¡¯s the Gorgonian neckline that makes my eyes stand out, doesn¡¯t it? Patrician Cassia had ever-so-interesting fashion choices - it almost makes me regret that she killed Father. She would¡¯ve loved Cerenia¡¯s boutique.¡±


    ¡°Right,¡± I agreed. ¡°But, Josie, I¡¯m here for business.¡± I smiled apologetically. ¡°Maybe we can talk about the Gorgonian hemline another time? And go shopping for dresses?¡±


    Josephine took me up on my offer. ¡°Alright then, next time,¡± she conceded. She leaned back, snatching up a sandwich. ¡°You want to expand into the Underworld, don¡¯t you? Need pointers?¡±


    ¡°I was looking for a partnership, when we¡¯re more established,¡± I admitted. ¡°You are the Josie of the Pleasure District, right?¡± I already knew the answer to it, but still my sister laughed.


    ¡°You¡¯ve caught me,¡± she said, her shoulders relaxing. ¡°I do own more than half the brothels in the Lower Quarter, so this isn¡¯t the first time I¡¯ve been given an offer. I would accept it, given the fact that you are my favorite sister, but business is business. Especially in times like these - you know how these social seasons work - I¡¯ve got a lot of my plate; I don¡¯t think I can necessarily take on a large operation.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s the thing,¡± I said. ¡°It doesn¡¯t need to be a large operation. Transfer ownership of one brothel - doesn¡¯t have to be the best, just well-known and well-frequented - to me, and I¡¯ll pay you the sum worth it. A simple transaction, no more, no less.¡±


    Josie tilted her head. ¡°There are Underworld politics, too,¡± she pointed out. ¡°And wouldn¡¯t your expansion in the criminal underworld raise a few eyebrows, especially from the dear Captain you¡¯re meeting next Daystart for your investigation?¡± Still, her eyes were shrewd.


    ¡°A hundred gold drachmas,¡± I put forward.


    She shook her head. ¡°For that, you¡¯d only get a lower-tier business. Make it two hundred.¡±If you come across this story on Amazon, it''s taken without permission from the author. Report it.


    ¡°A hundred and fifty,¡± I conceded. ¡°It¡¯s a large concession, Josie - and half your staff, of course.¡±


    ¡°A hundred and fifty and I take all my staff,¡± she said sternly.


    ¡°A hundred and seventy five and all your staff,¡± I corrected.


    Josie pouted, but conceded. ¡°Fine. Take the Carnival.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m not whoring out children. Besides, you don¡¯t even own that anyways.¡±


    ¡°The Virtuous Wife.¡±


    ¡°A Fisher tavern?¡±


    ¡°Emerald Seas,¡± Josie offered.


    I took the deal. ¡°Alright. The deal is struck.¡±


    Josephine chomped on the sandwich. ¡°The deal is struck,¡± she said, shaking my hand.


    I brought out a contract from behind me, the script already printed. I just added ¡®Emerald Seas¡¯ to a blank, ¡®a hundred and seventy-five drachmas¡¯ to another, and slid it forward across the desk. I had already expected that she would concede all her staff, so there was that. ¡°Sign on the line,¡± I said, offering her a quill from where I had taken it the moment the negotiations began.


    ¡°Alright. Binding Oath?¡± Josie asked, coyly. She raised a perfectly arched eyebrow as if expecting me to say something.


    ¡°I do trust you,¡± I lied, ¡°but like you said, business is business.¡± I gestured for her to speak an Oath first, letting her choose the caliber of it.


    My sister first brandished her quill, letting the tip skate across the parchment in an almost indecipherable swirl, as she handed it to me like a baton. ¡°I, Josephine Williams Queenscage, swear to uphold my side of the terms as per this agreement, through glory and ruin.¡±


    I reached for it. ¡°And I, Seraphina Marksman Queenscage, swear to uphold my side of the terms as per this agreement, through glory and ruin.¡± My Ability could feel the contract tighten, and I gave a nod. The negotiations had been easier than expected, the contract being signed before the main seared veal course. That meant she was planning something, and I knew that with or without my Ability.


    ¡°I heard,¡± Josephine said after a long while in which the maids set the table, ¡°that you had a lover in the Cage.¡± She said the last word with disdain, her hands delicately gripping the silverware.


    Ah. There it was.


    I shrugged. ¡°I don¡¯t necessarily know if you could classify Cas as a lover,¡± I replied carefully, ¡°but it is the closest label. Partner, would be more apt, perhaps, but our relationship is vague.¡±


    ¡°Did you love him?¡± the Princess asked quietly, the glint in her eyes showing her likely maliciously-rooted interest.


    ¡°Probably.¡± I said this while slicing the veal and popping a portion in my mouth, giving a pause after the action to consider the word. ¡°He died for me, as I¡¯m sure you¡¯d know. He was the closest approximation to my first. Love, I mean.¡± Love was a complicated word.


    Josephine smiled. ¡°You let him see the real you, didn¡¯t you?¡± It was more of a statement than a question, and my Ability could pick out the shades of melancholy in my sister¡¯s words. Love was tricky, and I had no doubt - considering Josephine¡¯s past - that, for her, the definition was warped. The same way it was for me.


    ¡°That, I did,¡± I replied lightly.


    What was her angle?


    She had dropped her Act, so I did away with the pretences, visibly trying to see this from all perspectives. My Ability darted like one of those small twitchy fish, poking at Josephine¡¯s words and trying to weasel its way into some weakness, some corner.


    ¡°Was it a mistake?¡± my sister spoke, breaking the silence that followed. ¡°Not playing along, for once? It always ends up in tragedy, doesn¡¯t it, because then the Act seizes you and you use them, and then they die. But, in the end, they say that they regret loving you.¡±


    ¡°Love makes people fools,¡± I agreed. I couldn¡¯t imagine dying for someone, living for someone other than myself - if that made me selfish, arrogant, for not wanting to be forgotten, then I was selfish, arrogant, and terribly insecure about attention. I played at being a power-driven Chosen of ambition, but I was, in the end, a fool. A blind fool, who had never been loved.


    And so I said that love was a weakness, because I had never known it. ¡°Sometimes,¡± I corrected, ¡°it doesn¡¯t. But very, very rarely.¡±


    ¡°Very, very rarely,¡± said my sister, lightly. Josephine smiled. ¡°It depends what you classify a fool, though.¡± A pause. ¡°If I don¡¯t overstep,¡± she continued, "I don¡¯t think you loved him very much. It''s hard to tell, between the Acting and not - first love is usually made up of more the newness of the feeling than the actual feeling, too."


    I paused.


    ¡°Maybe,¡± I conceded.


    We ate the rest of our meal in strangely comfortable silence.


    <hr>


    I spent the next hour thinking. Again.


    A Tome between my hands, this time I thought about the political nuances of the Imperial investigation. Established back even before Lysimachos¡¯ age, forty years after the Queen¡¯s Cage was established, it was a precarious thing that happened rarely, if at all - the rarity of an Emperor dying without an Heir Designate was, apparently, accredited to most Chosen¡¯s lust for power.


    But, if I followed that logic, then six Chosen would¡¯ve just meant more clashing desires, and Greta would¡¯ve won a long time ago.


    No, I corrected my mindset. I wasn¡¯t playing against Greta, I was a piece in Greta¡¯s game, and I had to Act like it. A good piece would have a good foundation - and thus was the expansion - and I need to convince the Captain to share my verdict.


    Greta hadn¡¯t told me who to blame, but it was fairly obvious that Patrician Cassia being found guilty behind the spies would give my sister leverage over the Republic. Stakes, was what she needed - no, she probably already had plans for those.


    The spies were likely sent by Patrician Cassia, who was, in turn, sent by the Consul Romanus of the Republic; I need to find a way that wouldn¡¯t uncover the Consul or Greta¡¯s influence on the Emperor¡¯s death while using Alberta Cassia as a scapegoat.


    How? I asked my Ability.


    Technically, our ¡°investigation¡± would consist of collecting clues, interrogating suspicious individuals, and discussing culprits like good detectives did. I need to find a way to make the Captain think that he won, by seizing a person so morally reprehensible and against his disciplined lifestyle, the obvious culprit. But, in the end, after spending a good amount of time proving their guilt, the ¡®shadow behind the scenes¡¯ culprit would reveal herself.


    After being proved wrong once, most people wouldn¡¯t hesitate to take the easy way out. There had to be some ego at work behind the Captain¡¯s discipline, a possible feeling of moral superiority over the lecherous and sleazy?


    Something to exploit.


    I set down my book.


    The existence of Orion¡¯s family and how Greta the Great would use it to force him to stabilize the Imperial Army; Cyrus¡¯ revenge against the Republic; Greta¡¯s desires and ambitions of creating an Empire, a continent that sounded almost ironically like an idealistic dream. A conqueror¡¯s ideal, a Hero¡¯s wish.


    My Ability was tentative, latching onto the concept as I pushed it off. No, that wasn¡¯t what I was here for.


    The Imperial Records was a great structure, one of the best collections of knowledge in the Empire rivalling even Anthinon¡¯s Athenaeum, the Library of Alexandria in Eurus. Inevita¡¯s Library was a respectable collective, housed in my very own ducal manor, but not a renowned one. Still, most books passed through my vision had familiar titles.


    The Trickster¡¯s Pomegranate, the Myth of Hades and Persephone.


    A Cupbearer¡¯s Allure, the Tale of Ganymede. Europa, Callisto, the many Tales of Zeus¡¯ infidelity. The Three Sovereigns had their fair share of straying from their wives, apparently, Zeus, Poseidon, and Hades¡¯ endeavors filling many scrolls in the Myths and Tales section. But that wasn¡¯t what I was looking for.


    I walked through the sunlit aisles, the Librarians giving me polite nods of acknowledgement as I passed. It was unnerving, that - most of the ones back in Inevita had ignored me or tried to poison me. A pleasant surprise, one I had gotten used to.


    Turning a corner, I finally reached the Analyst section. Organized based on authors, Aquila on the left and Icarus on the right, Calimeris sparsely populating the ranks. Iraklidis was written on some of the spines, familiar and famous titles among the restricted ones. I ran my finger along the rows, my Ability letting me know when to stop before I did.


    Annals of the Imperial Army, said an Iraklidis book.


    I pulled it out.


    Holding it a distance from me and blowing the dust off, I brushed off the remains and started reading, automatically flipping to the more recent pages. The Librarians took Annals and were obligated to fill them - different from Studies and Analysis, Annals were. My Ability conducting plans as I skimmed over the words, I smiled.


    At least this was familiar.


    <hr>


    Writing things down had never been a strong suit of mine. For one, my paranoia of the paper being found scared me. But the need for my thoughts to be on parchment overpowered it, and I wrote down a Republic.


    Then I wrote down, Empire.


    And then I found my Ability only messed things up, so I crossed out the political information and opted for an Analysis instead. Analyst Seraphina Queenscage had never sounded right, but it had the ring of a childhood dream to it.


    I was interrupted by a patrician¡¯s entrance, my lady-in-waitings opening the door.


    ¡°Ah, Patrician Summanus,¡± I said, dropping my quill. I gestured towards the chair opposite me. ¡°Please, take a seat.¡± I was expecting his arrival.


    The old man was nearly fifty, snow-white hair over a weathered face with a usually malicious grin. The diplomat was now frantic, his violet robes hanging tattered on his frame contrary to the neatly pressed outfit of before. ¡°What do you know?¡± he demanded. ¡°Tell me what you know!¡± He flung the papers in his hands towards me, the official inked documents falling to my Residence¡¯s carpeted floor.


    I raised my eyebrows. ¡°Please, take a seat,¡± I repeated. I met the eyes of Alia and Alyssa to calm them. There wasn¡¯t much he could do to harm me.


    Titus Severan Summanus huffed. ¡°You¡¯re blackmailing me, aren¡¯t you?¡± he demanded. ¡°You know that-¡±


    Before he finished his words, I withdrew my dagger and hurtled it, the blade conveniently - as calculated - passing a few inches shy of his head. It implanted itself in the wall, sinking into the ivorstone to its hilt.


    ¡°Take a seat,¡± I said again, calmly. There would not be a fourth time, and so the patrician sat. I continued, placidly, ¡°I have a deal for you.¡± I nodded towards the table. He saw the glistening blue-green seal of an invitation on one side, a contract on the other. My parchment was quickly hidden, the quill slid across the surface.


    Titus scowled, a much better expression than when he was flirting with people half his age. At least he knew the time and place to ogle. ¡°What is it?¡± he snapped.


    ¡°I¡¯m blackmailing you.¡±


    ¡°I know that, but what are you blackmailing me out of?¡±


    ¡°I won¡¯t snitch on your human trafficking ring,¡± I replied, ¡°if you promise me two things.¡± I raised two fingers. ¡°One: you¡¯ll accept the invitation to the re-opening of the Emerald Seas, and show up as the time designates it.¡± I nodded towards the blue invitation. ¡°Two: when anyone accuses you of something, you blame Patrician Cassia.¡±


    The Patrician Summanus shook his head. ¡°That¡¯s practically declaring war on Branch Cassia!¡± he snapped. ¡°I may be a good-for-nothing, but I at least know that, alright?¡±


    I smiled. ¡°What if Branch Romanus joined you?¡± I asked. ¡°You could overpower Cassia¡¯s influence, could you not?¡± Julian hadn¡¯t agreed, not yet, but I was willing to give him Imperial support to pin everything on Alberta.


    Titus eyed me suspiciously. ¡°Romulus¡¯ descendants?¡± he queried. ¡°That lad, Patrician of Gloria? The King of the Battlefield, the Praetor? You have him under sway?¡±


    I shrugged. ¡°I¡¯m engaged to him,¡± I said. It didn¡¯t matter that they were behind Cassia in the first place. ¡°But all you need to do is blame Cassia. It doesn¡¯t matter if it¡¯s a spilled vase, or a Servant¡¯s murder, all you need to do is direct suspicion to the individual Alberta Octavia Cassia, not the Branch itself.¡± A pause.


    ¡°There will be people interrogating you, and people who don¡¯t believe your accusations, but if you don¡¯t-¡± I shrugged again ¡°-the Branch Summanus will forever be tainted with the stain of smuggling Imperial children into the Republic.¡±


    The Patrician licked his lips, as he said, rubbing his hands together, ¡°No need to be so hasty. I can do it. I can blame Alberta.¡±


    ¡°Swear on your Gods, Jupiter and Saturn,¡± I responded nonchalantly. ¡°Then we¡¯ll talk.¡±


    It was almost amusing, how quick Titus Severan¡¯s face paled. ¡°Come on, now,¡± he pleaded, only reinforcing my Ability¡¯s conclusion that he had been planning to sell me out to Alberta. Julian¡¯s name not being satisfactory said something, and I planned to follow it up later. After I made the mental note, I pressed.


    ¡°I¡¯ve heard how strict the Republic¡¯s social norms are. If the public ever suspect that you¡¯ve committed treason - well, at least, treason in their eyes - and if they band together, how do you think Branch Summanus can hold out against pressure?¡± I asked. ¡°How long do you think it¡¯ll be before some other Branch gets elected to the Senate, and the others turn against you?¡± I smiled. ¡°You may seek pleasure, Patrician, but you cannot find it on your way to the metaphorical noose.¡±


    The old Republica man chewed on his lips.


    I continued, ¡°Your lineage, built up for centuries, all crumbled because of the irrational Cassia. Promises are fragile, especially ones made in the name of politics - the Republica Branches will save their own skin, you and I both know. This is just an agreement, I¡¯m asking of you - no more, no less. A deal.¡±


    A long silence, but I had him hooked.


    ¡°I will Swear on my Gods,¡± he conceded finally, before his eyes narrowed, ¡°if you Swear on your own.¡± He said the words as if it would have an effect on me, and frowned as I merely shrugged.


    ¡°A deal¡¯s a deal,¡± I said. ¡°But you will show up on that time and date, at the Emerald Seas, correct?¡± I waved his suspicious expression off. ¡°Don¡¯t worry, I won¡¯t kill you. Just show the invitation, and you¡¯ll get a good old Imperial brothel show, alright?¡±


    ¡°Swear,¡± Titus pressed.


    ¡°Alright, alright.¡± I threw up my hands. ¡°I Swear, by the Gods, to uphold the vocal agreement between I, Seraphina Marksman Queenscage, and Republica Patrician Titus Severan Summanus, through glory and ruin.¡± I waited for his turn.


    After scanning his surroundings and eyeing my bladehand, the Patrician finally took his chances, ¡°I Swear by all the Gods, Jupiter and Saturn, to uphold the vocal agreement between I, Titus Severan Summanus, through glory and ruin.¡± A low grumble, but a grumble nonetheless.


    ¡°I look forward to doing business with you,¡± I spoke, smiling cheerfully as I shook his hand. ¡°You and your seventeen - and counting - illegitimate children.¡±


    Titus muttered something under his breath but still stormed out of the room. I had gotten what I wanted.


    Still, I turned to Alia. ¡°Could you be a dear, Lia, and collect all the papers on the floor? And send them to Mari?¡± The lady-in-waiting nodded without asking me if I wanted to send a message. Efficient.


    Mari would know what to do.


    Titus was probably too busy trying to find a loophole out of the arrangement for himself, than stopping to consider what loopholes I could exploit. It had been the plan in the first place - Greta wanted to build an Empire, and I would help her. Exposing the Branch Summanus and the Branch Cassia would weaken the Republic, and even though Julian knew that, it would still get his country out of a sticky situation.


    It had benefits all around. But I still had the ability to stop it, stop them uncovering the morally wrong children trafficking ring. An Empire where its people could trust - did i want that, like Greta? I didn¡¯t want anyone to grow up like me, desperate to be remembered and loved. That¡¯s a start, my conscience whispered.


    Oh.


    When had it come back? I asked myself. I wasn¡¯t going to be punished for missed opportunities or mistakes, I wasn¡¯t that child anymore. I could defend myself, I could be powerful, I wasn¡¯t-


    The nightmares made you desperate, it said. I could hear my Ability challenging it - morals were a mere construct, after all - but I listened, for a while. It was nice to hear it, after the long while it had gone. Sure, it surfaced sometimes, but it was warm. It reminded me of the better parts of my childhood, curled up with a book in the Inevita Library. Back when knowing and learning things was fun.


    Do you want other children to feel your pain? my conscience asked. The sneers, the whips, the fear. It wasn¡¯t fun.


    No. It wasn¡¯t.


    You got your first taste of power, and you think it¡¯s fun. If it isn¡¯t fun for others, is it really, fun?


    I wasn¡¯t sure.


    All the blood, the death, the deals, the lies - it¡¯s familiar, but is it really fun?


    I slammed it down - I was finished listening.


    All I needed, now, was to meet the Captain of the Guards, and everything was all set.


    But that was for tomorrow.


    ¡°Lyssa,¡± I said, ¡°take the copy of the Emerald Seas ownership contract and get it to Macedon - he¡¯ll have some jobs for you, but do keep a close eye on the accounts.¡± I looked at her meaningfully. As the lady-in-waiting disappeared with a nod, I was alone.


    Technically alone.


    ¡°Mercy, is Timmy here yet?¡±


    ¡°He¡¯s scheduled to arrive at your private Residence for dinner in a few minutes. Should I reschedule at another restaurant?¡±


    ¡°A silence.


    ¡°Are you alright, Your Highness?¡± my assassin asked. Her voice was devoid of anything resembling warm concern, but still she knew something was up. Ah, Xanthe. Always too observant. Like her brother, my conscience whispered.


    ¡°I don¡¯t think I loved your brother,¡± I said finally. Not exactly what was on my mind, but an equally shattering conclusion. ¡°Josephine said it sounded like infatuation, not love. I don¡¯t think he loved me, either, so now I¡¯m pondering on the meaning of his death.¡± I sighed. ¡°Maybe I owe it to him to build a new Empire. Or maybe I¡¯m using him as an excuse to feel like a better person, I¡¯m not sure.¡±


    A bit much to unload, I knew, but Xanthe had proved nothing but loyal. The closest thing I had to a friend, even if she was technically my subordinate.


    ¡°Cas never liked debts,¡± Xanthe, not Mercy, replied.


    I smiled, faintly. ¡°Yeah. He was the perfect partner.¡±


    Powerful, intelligent, efficient, adaptable.


    I closed my eyes. ¡°I miss him.¡± He had been one of the only people I could ever trust to come through in the end, with that all-teeth grin and the blue eyes glimmering with mischief. I trusted him - maybe not enough to be classified as ¡®trust,¡¯ but I still did. ¡°You miss him too, probably,¡± I added, to not seem insensitive.


    ¡°I don¡¯t,¡± said his sister, probably. ¡°He was a burden to my job offers.¡±


    I didn¡¯t want to pretend like I knew him better than his sister. ¡°Probably,¡± I conceded with a laugh as I felt a knock at a door, and Timmy¡¯s arrival.


    Dinner.


    <hr>

 16. Interlude: Dark

    <hr>


    When you find it in life, you lose it. What is it?


    - FORSAKEN RIDDLE*


    *(answer: purpose)


    <hr>


    I STAND, STARING INTO THE JET.


    It consumes, tainting the emeralds of the rainforest, a dark tapestry threading itself across the sky. It might¡¯ve been pretty, if not for the sick feeling in my stomach. The funny thing is - I had murdered. Killed. Taken lives away from existence with a simple stab of the dagger. The Queen¡¯s Cage had just made it direct. I had seen much more blood and gore before.


    It¡¯s a funny thing, when it¡¯s different because you wield the blade yourself.


    ¡°They¡¯re bound?¡± I ask Cas, his presence beside me detected by my Ability. He could¡¯ve killed me. I could¡¯ve killed him.


    He nods his head. ¡°Your first time?¡± he asks quietly.


    ¡°Torturing, yeah,¡± I agree. I look at the blade I used to do the deed. It¡¯s clean now, brook water making it stainless, like the crimson never existed in the first place. I was no stranger to pain - in fact, it was familiar. Like books, watchful gazes, betrayals. ¡°It¡¯s a strange feeling,¡± I comment. ¡°I think it¡¯s guilt.¡±


    He doesn¡¯t say anything, for a while, not even questioning the I think.


    ¡°You¡¯ll have to do worse, if you want to win,¡± is all he says, when he breaks the silence. All of a sudden Caspian Nameless looks lonely, his figure barely visible in the night but his shoulders heavy. ¡°That¡¯s why I don¡¯t care about winning.¡±


    I don¡¯t point out that here he is, still helping me.


    ¡°I still do,¡± I say, before clarifying, "want to win."


    ¡°Don¡¯t we all,¡± Cas replies, wryly. A resounding silence. For a minute I want to enjoy the night, the silence of the jungle broken by only whispering leaves, my partner beside me. And then I remember that I couldn¡¯t enjoy it, I had no time. ¡°Want to talk about it?¡± Poseidon¡¯s Chosen offers, just as the thought strings itself in my head. He doesn¡¯t call me a bad person, doesn¡¯t accuse me.


    I reply, honestly, ¡°Maybe. Maybe not.¡± I reach for his hand, and the Chosen takes it. His fingers are dry. There¡¯s no spark, no romantic electricity or bloom of a love-rose. I can feel his calluses and rough palm, and I interlock my fingers in his. It can¡¯t feel anything but a small warmth in my chest amidst that strange, strange feeling.


    It¡¯s the first time I''ve held hands with someone.


    Perhaps the thought should depress me.


    ¡°Us against the world,¡± I say. ¡°How lonely that phrase sounds.¡±


    ¡°How lonely the world is,¡± adds Cas. Not a reply, or a response, just a statement.


    ¡°I feel bad,¡± I finally respond.


    ¡°I know.¡±


    ¡°But it doesn¡¯t deter me from my goal.¡±


    ¡°Alright.¡±


    I remember the harsh Second Isle, the Tutors with their blazing eyes and whips, the Servants with their accusatory whispers, the Guards with their stoic pity. Nobles, with their careful words, the Duchess and Duke, with their silence that screamed. And the books, the knowledge, the search and the hunger to be remembered. I tighten my grip.


    I say, my voice even: ¡°Remember me.¡±


    He turns, and our eyes meet. Caspian smiles that grin, all teeth and malice, the edges of his lips stained with mischief.


    ¡°Alright,¡± he agrees.


    <hr>


    I smile at Rayan. He raises his eyebrows.


    ¡°Arden¡¯s guarding the two,¡± he says. ¡°He really hates you now.¡±


    ¡°Of course.¡± I wave off the remark nonchalantly. Cas is on sentry watch, and Rayan and I are by the fire. It¡¯s warm, but my hands and my skin. ¡°I mean, I took his voice, his Ability, and now I torture the only person who cared to follow him to the lion¡¯s den. It¡¯s inevitable, really. It won¡¯t be long before Vivianna¡¯s group comes to us, and he as well Kage¡¯ll serve as agitators for conflict. Problem solved.¡± Of course, the issue wasn¡¯t as simple as I classified it, but it was true.


    Rayan frowns. ¡°Are you sure that Jonas will buy it?¡±


    I shake my head. ¡°It doesn¡¯t matter. They just need to know that we¡¯re selling.¡± Unless Jonas¡¯ leverage over Vivianna - he has some kind of leverage, my Ability tells me - is powerful enough to tear apart the will of the Bloodthorn camp, conflict will make Vivianna¡¯s already turbulent control rip apart.


    ¡°Siege preparation, then.¡± Rayan deepens his frown.


    I take the opportunity to add, ¡°War strategy was never one of my best subjects. I suppose you excel in it.¡±


    The shrew-faced Zeus¡¯ Chosen shrugs. ¡°Maybe. We can¡¯t dig trenches or sabotage aqueducts, so really the plan should depend on mind games. Ar¡¯s great at those.¡± He doesn¡¯t even notice that he uses her nickname, but I agree.


    ¡°People are fickle subjects,¡± I say.


    ¡°We don¡¯t know when Vivianna and her posse will find Iason and Kage gone, or when they¡¯ll decide to strike.¡± I don¡¯t add that we can¡¯t be fully sure of anything, but Rayan¡¯s shoulders curve onto his person like my words were an added weight.


    ¡°Jonas seems to control his golems from behind based on the times we¡¯ve seen him,¡± he finally says. ¡°He tries to gang up and box singular targets in from escaping, but we can¡¯t be sure of his prowess in a group melee. Bloodthorn has a similar Ability, but the peacocks are harder to cut down - if both of them focus on one target, that person will have to dodge both the peacocks and golems at the same time.¡±


    I take the opportunity to consider the problem. ¡°We can¡¯t be sure there aren¡¯t numerical Drawbacks to their Abilities,¡± I say. ¡°If I remember correctly-¡± I flash back to that fateful first day ¡°-I¡¯ve seen seven golems and five peacocks at the most. It can¡¯t be a control Drawback, either, for Jonas - the golems act independently, but he has the Ability to command them to zero in on a target. I haven¡¯t paid much attention to Vivianna.¡±


    Rayan nods. ¡°The only way we can find out their limitations and use them is to place them in a situation where they have no choice but to rely on numbers-¡±


    I shake my head. ¡°You¡¯re forgetting about Halkyone and Maia. An archer and a spearbearer complicate things. It¡¯s not a war of attrition - I mean, it technically is - but more finding out all of their cards. Dividing them, both mentally and physically.¡±


    ¡°Guerilla tactics.¡± The pinched-faced boy stares into the fire. Consideration.  ¡°The Forsaken Invasion? No-¡±


    ¡°We lure them deep into the jungle, into a hoard of more dangerous monsters. Harpies won¡¯t do the trick, either. An obvious trap, where they have no choice but to fall into it, but it unfolds in a way they don¡¯t expect. A standard Angelo¡¯s Pass,¡± I identify with my Ability. ¡°It might be overkill for an initial move, to identify their limitations, but we need to throw them off, don¡¯t we?¡±


    ¡°Separate the group,¡± Rayan slowly adds. A conclusion reached after comparing perspectives. ¡°Two Angelo¡¯s Passes.¡±


    I raise an eyebrow. ¡°It¡¯ll be tricky,¡± I warn. But we could do it, my Ability whispers. ¡°We¡¯ll have to have tight control over their plans and moves.¡±


    Rayan looks into my eyes, and nods.


    Silence, but it¡¯s full of thought and consideration.


    I let my Ability loose, allowing it to pick apart the idea as the embers of the flame warm my hands. ¡°Did you hear from Your Liege?¡± I ask after a while. ¡°Before the Cage, I mean.¡± A pause, that I fill: ¡°I didn¡¯t even mean to come here. Morai threw a bunch of coincidences my way, and I went on the ferry before I was ready.¡±


    Rayan shrugs, turning away. ¡°One Daystart, I woke up from a dream where My Liege visited me with superhuman senses. I told my mother and father, and we discussed the meaning of me being Chosen.¡± He prods the fire with a branch, letting it fall into the flames with an unreadable expression. ¡°After I went out that Dayend, I came back to a letter on the door, in my Dad¡¯s handwriting, that I should go to the Cage.¡±


    ¡°But now you¡¯re thinking that he didn¡¯t write it,¡± I realize, from the bitterness that comes with the last statement. I bark out a situationally-inappropriate laugh. ¡°That¡¯s one low blow the Fates used. The Gods really think we¡¯re entertaining, aren¡¯t we? It¡¯s even worse, when you get the treatment from Imperials. Bedtime stories and doubted legends, but legends we are, used to reinforce the Anothen sky.¡± The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.


    Rayan drops the stick. ¡°You know nothing of the Gods,¡± he says quietly. ¡°Nothing of loss, nothing of hunger, nothing of hitting rock bottom.¡±


    I realize again that I¡¯d like to protest against that sentence, but I really can¡¯t. The times I had nightmares and fell into that dark pit - that pit that threatened to swallow me and never spit me out - wasn¡¯t bottom.


    I had never truly lost everything before - in the end, I still had - have - my noble title shielding me from finding the end of the pit. I¡¯m surprisingly at peace with the idea. The remnants of scars on my back, the sinking of the whip and the blade, had never deprived me of my existence.


    I agree, ¡°I don¡¯t.¡±


    Denying the truth never brought any benefits.


    I don¡¯t let the conversation die, speaking again: ¡°It¡¯s good, then, that you¡¯ll try to murder me in the end.¡± Sometimes I doubted that I would win, felt selfish for wanting to. ¡°Having an opponent,¡± I add, ¡°always makes things fun.¡±


    Zeus¡¯ Chosen instantly stiffens.


    You¡¯ve hit a sore spot, says my Ability, like it isn¡¯t obvious.


    ¡°It¡¯s good that I¡¯m fun, then,¡± the shrew-faced Chosen snarls after a while, his fists balled at his sides, and storms off.


    I¡¯m left alone, lying on the jungle ground by the fire. Having no one else to bother and nothing else to do, I close my eyes and think.


    <hr>


    At dawn, I go and dig ditches with Cas.


    ¡°I pissed off Rayan,¡± I immediately say, two wooden shovelling-instruments in my hand.


    Cas pats me on the back. ¡°Good for you. I don¡¯t think it¡¯s possible to piss off the other one,  though.¡±


    I think of the calm exterior that the Aphrodite¡¯s Chosen projects, and nod my head in agreement. Elegant moves, she¡¯s composed of - fiery anger can¡¯t break that facade.


    I look at my partner-in-crime - like always, he looks tame and wild at the same time. I reach to mess up his dark hair, which he endures with a smirk.


    ¡°You better not do that when your hands are dirty,¡± he warns mischievously. ¡°I won''t let a speck of mud touch my luxurious mane.¡± He tosses the mane in question flamboyantly, and I grin.


    I say evasively and with mischief, ¡°We¡¯ll see.¡± I point towards the map in his hands. ¡°Are we at the spot ¡®Dennie marked?¡±


    Cas nods. ¡°Five ditches, we¡¯ll have to dig. We¡¯re right at the spot of the first one.¡± I hand him the makeshift shovel. Apparently Cas and Arden carved them last night, curious log-formed, paddle-ended tools.


    ¡°D¡¯ya think,¡± I call as we start digging, ¡°that ¡®Dennie and Ray will be able to watch over our dear hostages while finishing their traps? Also, could you water the dirt? Mud¡¯s easier to dig up.¡±


    Cas complies, raising his hands to the air as I see clear liquid droplets from, the beading of water from the environment. There¡¯s no telltale glimmer of magic, no flash of color that comes with Cas bleeding his surroundings using his Ability.


    The beads form, hanging in the air as if time¡¯s frozen, before my partner crosses his arms. Like when he was putting out the fire, except on a smaller scale, a globe of water like a large, floating pool appears.


    I step back. I can¡¯t imagine the amount of control it takes - for an all-rounder in skills outside of his Ability, he has an exemplary tight rein over it. Resourceful, adaptable - Caspian Nameless has talent. The thought about the decision to back him that day, has never a tinge of strategic regret.


    The sphere floats slowly towards the ground, the sight almost ethereal, as it finally breaks - almost like a glass bauble - scattering liquid into the ground. Cas pushes his hands down, and the water follows, probably sinking further into the tightly-packed dirt. Still, we dig.


    The sun hovers higher in the sky.


    ¡°D¡¯ya think hunting traps will actually make them believe that we¡¯re hiding something in the forest?¡± Cas finally asks. ¡°No,¡± he corrects himself, ¡°I may not be a strategic genius, and they may not be, either, but d¡¯ya think that they¡¯ll actually be stupid enough to fall for it?¡±


    ¡°It depends,¡± I say, ¡°on if Iason gets them riled up enough to make them willing to fall into a very obvious trap.¡± A pause, before I continue, ¡°But that¡¯s the thing, isn¡¯t it? They¡¯ll be expecting monsters and us swooping in to pick off the remains, not falling into poisonous ditches- Sarawolf, please.¡±


    Cas gingerly hands me the leaves on the harpy-skin handkerchief, and I scatter them all over the ditch¡¯s narrow bottom. The trap itself curves like an upside-down tepee - a carefully-planned construct. My partner offers his shoulders, and we both manage to get out of the ditch. Cas fishes a prepared-braided net out of his shirt, and we nail it loosely over the trap, pushing nearby leaves onto the latticework.


    We move on.


    The sun still shines, the orb casting streams of almost irritatingly bright light through the carefully-layered smaragadine flora of the Cage¡¯s jungle. It irritates me, but I know that if I lift my face to glare at the source of the radiance it¡¯ll only make it worse. I make an annoyed sound, and sigh.


    ¡°Sometimes, I wonder if the Cagekeepers are actually out there,¡± I confess, seizing the silence. ¡°But then that raises a lot more questions. Like can they see us fighting against each other? Are they allowed to contact us? Could we use their supposed surveillance technology to our advantage?¡± I turn to Cas, who¡¯s a good couple paces behind. ¡°You good, there? Am I talking too much?¡±


    Poseidon¡¯s Chosen raises his eyebrows at the superfluous question, but still answers, ¡°I¡¯ve no choice but to listen, so go ahead.¡± Sarcasm.


    I pout. "Oh, come on. Don¡¯t be so mean to your closest friend on the Isle."


    Cas considers the statement. ¡°You know, it does say a lot about me that I can¡¯t refute that statement.¡±


    I throw my head back and laugh, careful to dodge the light. ¡°It does, doesn¡¯t it? I¡¯m an amazing friend, though. Don¡¯t feel too bad about it.¡± I stop walking for a second to pat his shoulder mockingly. ¡°At least, I¡¯m probably the best partner on the Isle you could get. Pretty sure.¡±


    ¡°The ¡®pretty sure¡¯ doesn¡¯t reassure me,¡± Caspian remarks with a grin.


    ¡°But you love me, though,¡± I joke with a playful wink. ¡°We¡¯ve known each other for all of, what, a Dayhept without killing each other? That in itself tells you a lot.¡±


    ¡°It shouldn¡¯t,¡± my partner replies. The words are serious - serious undertone - but his smile doesn¡¯t fade.


    ¡°It shouldn¡¯t,¡± I agree. I grin at him. ¡°I don¡¯t feel like a true Chosen of the Gods for building a tower of corpses at my feet, do you?¡± I say it nonchalantly, but I¡¯m more honest than my Ability advises me to be.


    What did it mean to be a Chosen? A hero, a legend? What did it feel like, to be remembered by history? If you¡¯d asked the younger Seraphina, she¡¯d have gone on some lengthy spiel about saving people, winning battles, getting happily-ever-afters. Now, I can¡¯t answer the question - not without acknowledging the fact that victory isn¡¯t all that I myself ham it up to be.


    Not without doubting myself.


    ¡°You either live the hero, or see yourself live long enough to be the villain,¡± recites Cas. Something dark lurks in his eyes. ¡°You do everything you can to survive, but it really doesn¡¯t matter in the end, right? The world kicks you ¡®till you¡¯re down, and keeps kicking you until you end up in a grave. Death¡¯s inevitable, failure¡¯s inevitable - why do people care so much about surviving, saving their own skin in this corpse of an Empire?¡±


    The last four words he says with something akin to hate - a mix of spite, malice, regret, according to my Ability - and a life of being stepped on. My partner¡¯s grin sharpens into something madder, something that belongs to those insane enough to try their hand being a God.


    ¡°A corpse of an Empire,¡± I say, rolling the syllables around in my mouth. ¡°Huh. You could say that, and you wouldn¡¯t be wrong.¡± A corpse of an Empire, a graveyard for past heroes and legends- ¡°I can see it and I can¡¯t,¡± I observe slowly, after a while, ¡°how the Gods would find this-¡± I gesture towards my surroundings ¡°-entertaining.¡±


    Cas¡¯ lips quirk. ¡°A vicious cycle of people not wanting to die,¡± he replies, ¡°but different people coming out of the cycle every time. Yeah, I can, too.¡±


    I give a content sigh. ¡°That probably makes us some form of bad people.¡±


    Cas gives a noise of agreement.


    I can feel a familiar chord strung in the Nameless, the same string of insanity that I can feel from Rayan and Arden, too. ¡°When you¡¯re forced to conform to a role of a puppet,¡± I say, slowly, ¡°you¡¯re still closer to the puppeteer, than most.¡± The Cage, I realize, is engineered to stretch that string in us, until we¡¯re killed or we snap.


    My Ability labels my thoughts as philosophical.


    I ignore it.


    ¡°Don¡¯t you want to destroy the stage, sometimes?¡± Poseidon¡¯s Chosen shatters the pause that follows.


    ¡°Sometimes.¡± I still smile. ¡°If this was a stage, I don¡¯t think the me from before would be rooting for the me right now.¡± The Seraphina with a conscience. The Seraphina who knew not victory, power, opportunity.


    My partner¡¯s smile dims, just a bit. ¡°I look after my sister, I try when I can, to be the person I can root for.¡± Cas¡¯ tone is noticeably darker now, even but brimming with emotion I immediately force my Ability not to identify. I instead hook my Ability on the trees, letting it identify the herbs and species of flora, as I reply.


    ¡°We¡¯re sixteen.¡± I don¡¯t add the only.


    ¡°We¡¯re sixteen,¡± Cas agrees, his voice a faint echo.


    He shifts the shovel in his other hand, and this time he reaches for my hand first. I hold onto his dry fingers tight, and we continue towards the future in silence.


    <hr>


    We finish in the evening. I eye our ¡®hostages.¡¯


    ¡°They haven¡¯t tried to escape?¡± I ask.


    ¡°Of course they have,¡± Arden replies with a snort. ¡°It just didn¡¯t work. I can¡¯t believe they thought pretending they had information about my biological family would work. I mean, one, they¡¯re dead, and two, they¡¯re dead.¡± She barks a small laugh.


    I give a small chuckle. ¡°Who tried that? Kags, or Ias here?¡± I nod towards the Chosen who¡¯s glaring at me with a surprisingly unsettling gaze. Eyes of dark hatred, a shell of the righteous hero at the beginning - perhaps it¡¯s his first time despising someone. Oh, well. I smile at Iason, and it only serves to make the emotion deepen.


    Kage, on the other hand, is a bloody mess. I don¡¯t let my gaze meander over their injuries too much, but I give them a nod. It¡¯s not hate that fills their eyes, surprisingly, but something akin to good humor. My Ability swarms over their face - some sort of-


    ¡°Kags here, surprisingly.¡± Aphrodite¡¯s Chosen smiles. ¡°Ias can''t speak, remember? Good go, though. A good go.¡±


    Rayan speaks up. ¡°I¡¯ve extended my senses around the sites we¡¯ve been to. No trace of Bloodthorn or her ilk.¡±


    Cas nods. ¡°Same here. No trace, not even a peep,¡± he says, ¡°knowing Bloodthorn, she¡¯ll be quick to defend her supposed subordinates¡¯ honor. Maybe that Jonas should delay their plans for a while, but-¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s the thing, though,¡± Arden points out calmly, ¡°we don¡¯t know her. Or Jonas. We are circling our plan around what makes sense for them to act, after all - human emotions are unpredictable. It¡¯s our weakness.¡± By her twitching lips - her face turned away from the hostages - I can see that her Act has started. The slight changes in Rayan and Cas¡¯ faces means they¡¯ve caught on. I see Iason¡¯s ears prick.


    ¡°We should revise our plan, then,¡± I say lazily, schooling my expression into a slight frown.


    After extending the bait for a couple more minutes, we scatter. As according to plan, I let a dagger slip discreetly from my fingers and onto the ground a few paces away from the hostages. I pretend not to notice the ting it makes as it hits the floor and I stretch, yawning.


    Iason¡¯s eyes widen, as Kage raises an eyebrow. They¡¯re different, the Skia - this time a lazy disinterest has engulfed their face, and my Ability blares in warning. No, I can¡¯t back out right now, not at the instant where the plan begins - I¡¯ll have to improve something, anything-


    Leaning against a tree, I pretend once again, slipping on the mask of an Act, and watch Apollo¡¯s Chosen clumsily try to get at the blade. Gods, he¡¯s making it so obvious-


    I close my eyes.


    Much better.


    <hr>


    Night falls. The traps are set. The bait is set.


    The plan begins.


    <hr>

 17. Ruin I

    <hr>


    A bird in the hand, two in the bush, neither worth the vulture stalking behind.


    - EXCERPT FROM THE WEAVER''S EMBRACE: A TOME OF MILITARY STRATEGEMS AND HOW TO USE THEM


    <hr>


    I HAD A SPIRAL, THAT NIGHT.


    Some moronic ass had decided to leave the balcony open-


    -A dark ledge, a plummeting figure-


    I managed to usher Mercy out before I collapsed into bed, my hands going to my throat as memories seared themselves into my brain - my vision was blurry, everything was shaking. I couldn¡¯t help but convulse as my world spun.


    -A dark ledge, a plummeting figure-


    I heard screams and fuck if I didn¡¯t answer them - my hands went to my ears before I realized they were bloody. I was in the Queen¡¯s Cage again, and for all the bodies I had buried and the lives I had taken - Cas¡¯ blue eyes glinting back at me, all the people watching and whispering about me - and the slashing pain, knives and stone and the viridian woods again; blades and skin and the crushing wave of adrenaline, survival-


    Scrambling for the cupboard, my knees buckled and I could feel myself crawl on reflex, a mess of elbows skating against the carpeted floor. My vision glinted, and I felt hazy all over, my Ability chittering in the background-


    Fingers clung against metal, as I shook the opening clasps of the cupboard desperately-


    -A dark ledge, a plummeting figure-


    I didn¡¯t love him; why-


    He listened to you, he saw you-


    You killed, murdered all of them- you¡¯re irredeemable-


    How many? How many died by your hand and command?


    Finally, the hinges opened and clattered, moonlight glittering on the surface of the folded latticework Crownboard against the dark wood. I laughed in relief like a madman, my shaking hands reaching towards it and gripping its edges - They would not forget. Everyone would remember - as I spread it apart with all the grace of a boar. The Crownpieces fell to the floor as I shoved the memories aside-


    It was an almost dreamy sight, the white cascades of Selene¡¯s gaze washing over the carefully carved knobs and edges of the playing pieces. My hands were still shaking - survival, survival, survival - as I picked them up, setting them inside their positions one by one.


    One, by one.


    You killed eleven. Eleven Chosen. All of their blood is on your hands. You can¡¯t even remember the son you killed. His blood is on your hands. Vivianna, Cas, all the others you¡¯ve used as stepping stones to get here¡ªall of their blood is on your hands.


    One, by one.


    My hands were bloody. A hallucination, probably the result of accumulating guilt. There was a term for it, one that was slipping my mind. Still, I propped the pieces up. One, by one. Memories darted through my head again, my thoughts swarming and stinging in disarray. The world was still blurry, but this was familiar.


    I just needed to ride out the spiral. Endure, like I did the dreams before.


    Move forward.


    Keep playing.


    I just needed to keep playing.


    <hr>


    ¡°You look terrible,¡± Julian remarked dryly.


    I swatted his shoulder as I raised my eyebrows. ¡°How would you know how terrible I look, when we¡¯ve only known each other for a couple days?¡± I replied. ¡°Besides, I¡¯ve been told I¡¯m fairly attractive when I don¡¯t act out of it.¡±


    The praetor threw his head back and laughed. It was a surprisingly hearty sound, and even my Ability sparked in surprise at the doing away of his stoic expression. He looked a lot younger, hazel eyes sparkling smiled amusedly in return. ¡°Should I be worried about my fiancee cheating on me on the first Dayhept of engagement?¡± my fiance asked, grinning.


    Grinning. I couldn¡¯t read any forcedness in his posture or face. He seemed lighter, as he talked - the aura around him would almost make anyone forget he was a powerful Republica general. Something happened, changed - was it the atmosphere? Situation? The praetorian purple cape wasn¡¯t on his shoulders.


    ¡°Unless you want me to run off with the Imperial Chef, you should,¡± I said with a wink. ¡°He makes a mean moustalevria.¡±


    Julian snorted. ¡°By the way,¡± he responded, changing the subject while leaning back on the lounge, ¡°I got the documents you sent me, about Branch Summanus. They aren¡¯t too directly related to the Main House Roma for it to be a problem, but they¡¯re still incredibly influential. It¡¯ll take more than a human trafficking ring for them to stay down.¡±


    ¡°The smuggling of Imperial children isn¡¯t going to cut it?¡± I raised an eyebrow. ¡°Cassia is going to take the fall for the Emperor¡¯s assassination, but no Branch involved in this - yours included - is going to come out unscathed. Wouldn¡¯t Cassia and Summanus taking the brunt of it save Branch Romanus from most of the speculations?¡±


    My tone came out clipped, business-like, and I frowned involuntarily - my Ability wasn¡¯t immediately filtering it. Was it because-?


    The boy-praetor shook his head. ¡°Imperial and Republica politics aren¡¯t the same. We can exploit the fact that Titus consorted with Imperial slavers, and that would be horrifying for an ordinary Plebeian - perhaps, if taken advantage of enough, Summaus¡¯ Senate seat would be toppled for a couple terms, but-¡±


    ¡°It wouldn¡¯t suffice to get rid of the Branches backing Summanus that could potentially get him back up from the fall,¡± I mused. I could feel glimmers of my Ability, now, and relief bloomed inside my chest.


    ¡°The main focus isn¡¯t impacting Titus, though,¡± I pointed out. ¡°The Roma Republic needs a diplomatic scapegoat. Someone has to take the fall for Father¡¯s assassination, and who better than the person who actually ordered it?¡±


    ¡°The person, not the Branch.¡± My fiance relaxed his shoulders. ¡°Now that¡ª is possible.¡±


    I tilted my head. ¡°I don¡¯t understand,¡± I admitted, honestly. ¡°Wouldn¡¯t Alberta being found guilty in the assassination impact your father and House Roma¡¯s connections?¡± The Patrician was, after all, ordered by the Consul¡ªand Greta¡ªto hasten my Imperial Father¡¯s death.


    Julian nodded. ¡°The next-in-line would be¡ªand is¡ª easier than Alberta to control. Branch Cassia may be weakened, and so it depends on Branch Romanus to rebuild-¡±


    ¡°Creating a dependent relationship while minimizing the losses, maximizing the gains.¡± I sighed. ¡°Sometimes I underestimate your tactical genius, my Mari.¡±


    The praetor smiled, slightly. Sunlight from my Residence¡¯s curtains streamed on his face, his dark hair glinting with a deceptively amicable rosy hue. ¡°Some may suspect the giant concession the Empire is giving,¡± he warned, ¡°but if you chalk that up to political rivals, turbulency and all that, it should be smooth sailing.¡±


    ¡°Smooth enough sailing,¡± I corrected. ¡°Politics always makes for terrible weather.¡± A comfortable silence made its way between us, but I cleared my throat. ¡°Cyrus will be sent over for your military offer. He should be enough as a - what would you call it? - free trial. Unless the Source over there poses a threat big enough for better measures, he should be enough to bolster morale and all that.¡± A pause.


    ¡°If you ignore the fact that he¡¯s bent on destroying Branch Halgrove, of course,¡± I added.


    Julian frowned. ¡°According to my admittedly limited understanding of marriage,¡± he said, after a while, ¡°shouldn¡¯t we be talking about things other than politics and work?¡±


    I studied him for a bit, but sighed. ¡°Probably,¡± I admitted. A silence, that curled and stretched. ¡°What¡¯s your favorite flower?¡± I asked him, randomly.


    ¡°Imperial bougainvillea when I was young, Eastern jasmine, now.¡± The young general relaxed. ¡°Favorite food?¡±


    ¡°Moustalevria. Do you think this is going to help us act like a couple?¡±


    ¡°Not really. Favorite book?¡±


    That question gave me pause. I considered it, for a while. ¡°Not including books on military tactics?¡± I asked him, and received a nod in return. ¡°It used to be Tales of the Heroes,¡± I responded, honestly. ¡°Now, I¡¯m not quite sure. An Allegory of the Boy Who Flew Into the Sun, maybe.¡± It was a nice read. A bit depressing, perhaps.


    ¡°That¡¯s a nice one.¡±


    A silence bordering oppressive, which I filled: ¡°I heard there¡¯s a dessert parlor in the Lower Quarter.¡± I hadn¡¯t really, but I would need to find one. ¡°Would you like to go there after the mourning period and the investigation¡¯s wrapped up?¡± I asked neutrally. And the Imperial Guards aren¡¯t waiting outside? I didn¡¯t say.


    ¡°Alright,¡± Julian replied with a slight smile, which flickered into something serious. ¡°I will help you, but not at the cost of my duty. As this relationship progresses, I hope you remember that.¡±


    Ah, he took the opportunity to draw a line. All the well he beat me to it, I supposed.


    ¡°A transactional relationship,¡± I observed brightly. ¡°Have no worries, my Mari. I am a perfectly capable partner.¡±


    The praetor observed me, his gaze picking apart every micro-expression on my face like he was studying a particularly intriguing war strategy. I threaded my Ability, weaving together that familiar veil across my face, as he then nodded. ¡°You are.¡±


    I had a vague idea of people like him - raised to be a Soldier, a general that rose through the ranks, weighed down with a burden, a duty. There would be no dashing romance, no whirlwind love at first sight. He would always put his country and ¡®duty¡¯ first - but, of course, if I could edge his interest to align with mine-


    I smiled. ¡°That¡¯s good, then.¡±


    Julian Romanus. My Paladin.


    <hr>


    After talking with my beloved fiance, I made my way towards the Barracks.


    The Imperial Palace was an admitted architectural masterpiece, made of the main structure and the Residences that branched out from it like a twelve-petaled flower. Chryselephantine halls rose from the ground, grand walkways stringing together with lithe gold pillars supporting ivorstone arches - but I had no time to appreciate the scenery. Timaois had showed up last night, and, to his word, had delivered many intriguing revelations.


    You¡¯d think that the Imperial Guard would be the backbone of the capital¡¯s society, rooting out crime in the Eternal City and upholding the Imperial standard for cracking down on crime - which was, admittedly, very low - but the situation was complicated. Everything always was.


    The Imperial Army and the Imperial Guard were two separate entities - the former oversaw the entire Empire Eoina, Garrisons being stationed in every Stronghold and the Army itself being dispatched to the northern borders of Visava that the Empire held; the latter oversaw the Eternal City and its Quarters, Brigades usually being sent to put out fires that were too big to be put out by commoners, or ruckuses that attracted the attention of nobles.Love this story? Find the genuine version on the author''s preferred platform and support their work!


    Those of the City joked that they were of little use other than being the nobles¡¯ dogs, corruption gnawing away at the Guard ever since they were established and assigned to members of the Imperial family. No respectable member of Imperial society would be caught dead joining the Guard, opting for the Army instead for more military prestige.


    Lionel Moreau was a soldier. He had made it all the way to Colonel, before being ¡®discharged¡¯ and ousted from his seat by a person of fresh, young blood that hadn¡¯t even made it a fortnight. Lionel got a post at the Guard, settled down and married an old friend from his Army days, adopted a child from the Lower Quarter - Rayan - and caught the attention of Nikephoros.


    He wasn¡¯t even close to the name of Nightbidden¡¯s Hound - no, that seat was for Alina Evlogia herself. He was an individual, one rare in these circles - one that stood firm by his principles. But there was always a price to be paid to keep from kneeling at the altar of some sort of master - greed, ambition, arrogance. What price had Lionel Moreau paid?


    As a dead friend¡¯s father, he was to be admired. As a person, he was to be pitied.


    How long could he keep struggling against the tide of human greed?


    I was pulled from my reverie by Alia¡¯s familiar voice.


    ¡°This Dayhept,¡± my secretary said, ¡°you¡¯ll be busy with the investigation. I¡¯ve informed the orphanage that you¡¯ve cancelled their visit-¡±


    ¡°No, don¡¯t cancel,¡± I interrupted lightly. ¡°I¡¯ll go.¡± Resentful young people. A perfect source for employees. The more correct word for it was easy people to exploit, but business was all about sugarcoating, in the end. My Ability curled around the statement, agreeing.


    Alia raised an eyebrow, but didn¡¯t ask why. ¡°Alright, Your Highness.¡± She continued, ¡°Alyssa is currently busy with Sir Macedon and Lady Xanthe, and they sent a report this morning that the staff of the Emerald Seas have been managed. Some protests, but they have been managed.¡±


    I glanced at my lady-in-waiting as we continued walking down the pathway. ¡°Violence won¡¯t work against courtesans,¡± I said with a slight frown. ¡°We want a steady stream of income, not loyal henchmen at our beck and call.¡±


    ¡°No, not violence. Money. Macedon gave them a raise.¡± Alia looked up from her papers as I internally winced. ¡°If I¡¯m correct, you plan to use the brothel as a base of operations for both your information agency and your Seraphs, correct?¡±


    ¡°Call it as it is,¡± I waved her off. ¡°I need henchmen. Grunt workers. The ¡®tesans provide the funds for the business, and after the pleasure-house itself steadies itself, we¡¯ll go around and tell people around the Lower Quarter we¡¯re hiring. Professional help and mercenaries will only deplete our funds.¡±


    There was an unspoken question that lingered in the air, but I didn¡¯t address it. Alia, after all, had agreed to not interfere in my affairs too much.


    Greta¡¯s ascension to the throne. She was, after all, the First-in-line - even without being named Heir Designate, or the Glory Prince nonsense, she would likely be crowned by the Daycycle¡¯s end. After the investigation business would be wrapped up, she would be the Emperor and, by then, would probably have some kind of horrifyingly intricate plan to take over the continent.


    The smart thing to do would likely be gathering nobles to her side. The Greta thing to do would be writing a ¡®it¡¯s-time¡¯ letter to every single one of her potential vassals that she had gathered, what, twenty years ago?


    My Ability whispered that she would probably be doing so incredibly efficiently. I agreed.


    Foresight - something my sister had that eluded me still.


    ¡°But you¡¯ll take care of it, won¡¯t you?¡± I filled the silence.


    ¡°I will, Your Highness.¡±


    ¡°Good. I expect nothing less,¡± I reminded, lightly. ¡°Has Viscountess Bloodthorn made any moves pertaining to the letter I sent her?¡± The gambler¡¯s mother had many things to do after she swore herself to support Greta¡¯s reign - by being a vassal of a vassal, the Bloodthorns were now at my service. The Cardinals Greta already had in her embrace - Tyche and Doxa were the only ones left, after I had tasked Lazarus with getting a claim to the Marksman duchy.


    Right now, I was grasping at the straws of a haystack that hid too many needles to count. There was a lot to do, and I couldn¡¯t afford another spiral or needling doubt.


    ¡°No official contact has been made,¡± Alis said, after a beat.


    Good.


    That was good.


    I sighed. Doxa was a Stronghold that likely would be taken care of by either Cyrus or someone else. Tyche¡¯s Evimeria would be a problem if addressed, but I had too many things on my plate. Julian was likely being surveilled. Macedon, Alyssa, and Mercy were busy on financial matters. My siblings - I fumbled for a piece strong enough to take over the matter, but-


    Greta hadn¡¯t told me to do it. That meant- she¡¯ll take care of it, my Ability coaxed. Coaxed. That was a new one. Just keep playing. Titus would be there, at the Emerald Seas, and I would scatter bait for Lionel to arrive there. And then the trap would be sprung on Alberta Cassia. I had some variation of a headache eating away at my temple, leftover from plagued sleep and too many cards at play.


    I was tired.


    ¡°Good,¡± I echoed, again. We turned and twisted around the pillared pathway in silence, and this time I took the time to study the scenery, letting my Ability stretch its limbs over the refined pines and golden gates. It was a sturdy structure, the Barracks, in the shape of a peasant¡¯s farm but with the touch of an artist¡¯s flourish and rooted in no small amount of practicality.


    The entrance was surprisingly - and almost insultingly - unguarded, sounds of clashing swordplay and guttural roars echoing from inside the barriers of the exterior. I gave a small chuckle at the clamor and insults - pigheaded drop of Minotaur¡¯s piss was a nice one - as I strolled in.


    Passing the threshold ignored by the Guards dressed in training uniform - or, more commonly known by its other name, almost scantily clad underclothes drenched in sweat - was, again, almost insultingly easy.


    The combatants were decent, by all means, my Ability observed. Their swordplay was solid, with a few more open spots than my former instructor would¡¯ve liked, but it was solid. A group of youths were experimenting with crossbows on the south wall¡¯s targets, older men with their bayonets in the west. The expanse was filled with people of all ages and tossed crude insults, too invested in their training to notice an addition.


    I placed a finger to my lips at Alia¡¯s unsettled expression, but silently slunk my way to the crossbow children - I said children, they really were around my age - as I kept to the shadows of the wall. ¡°Good afternoon,¡± I called out, loud enough for the cluster to hear but low enough to not draw attention.


    They all were dressed in juvenile Guard uniforms, probably initiates of some sort, but they jumped, startled. ¡°Good ¡®fternoon,¡± one said, with the right amount of politeness and how-the-fuck-did-you-get-in suspicion. Another discreetly loaded their crossbow. I smiled.


    ¡°Please, don¡¯t alert your superiors.¡± I raised my hands in a light joke. ¡°I come in peace.¡± Tough crowd - none of them even grinned. ¡°I wouldn¡¯t want to interrupt anyone¡¯s practice time,¡± I continued, not letting their reception dim my placid smile. ¡°I¡¯m looking for Captain Lionel Moreau. Have you seen him?¡±


    The polite, suspicious youth narrowed his eyes. ¡°Who¡¯s asking? You a trainee?¡± he asked, somewhat perplexed. ¡°Noble?¡±


    Alia gave an indignant start. ¡°Watch your language-¡±


    ¡°Yeah,¡± I agreed while shooting her a look. ¡°I¡¯m a noble, not a trainee, unfortunately.¡±


    ¡°How d¡¯we know-¡± the one with the crossbow began, but the polite boy cut him off. ¡°Shut y¡¯trap, Leo,¡± the boy grunted, as he turned to me. ¡°We¡¯ll get Captain and tell him it¡¯s¡­¡± he trailed off, obviously expecting a name.


    ¡°The girl from Inevita,¡± I supplied.


    The boy¡¯s doubt increased, but evidently the chance of offending the Captain with a false alarm was better than the chance of offending a noble. With a whispered glare, Leo was elected against his will to fetch the captain, and we were left in silence. I continued the habit for breaking it: ¡°What¡¯s your name?¡±


    ¡°Alexandros,¡± the boy replied tersely. I tilted my head towards his group, and the introductions reluctantly continued: Adrian, Iris, Lydia.


    ¡°Say, Alexandros,¡± I commented conversationally, my gaze turning towards the south wall¡¯s targets, ¡°while we¡¯re waiting, want to get the chance to earn some drachmas? I hope you don¡¯t mind me dropping the formalities, since we¡¯re around the same age.¡±


    Alexandros narrowed his eyes further. ¡°You can¡¯t bribe us,¡± he said, not proudly but in the way that meant he thought he wasn¡¯t worth bribing.


    I shook my head and laughed, noticing how the other three raised their hackles at the sound. They would do nicely, if I could manage to recruit them without people noticing. ¡°No, it¡¯s a bet.¡± I pointed at the targets. ¡°If you manage to land three bullseyes in a row with a crossbow-¡± I nodded towards the weapon in question ¡°-I¡¯ll pay you one gold, no strings attached. I won¡¯t chase after you if you win or anything. A fun time-passer.¡±


    Xandros shifted. He looked at my eyes, and whatever he saw there was proof enough to warrant a flat: ¡°No.¡±


    Alia bristled again, but still I laughed.


    ¡°Alright,¡± I said, ¡°what about this - if I get ten bullseyes in a row, you say yes to the bet.¡±


    ¡°No.¡± Xandros stood firm. The trio behind him jostled nervously at the continued denials, but my smile didn¡¯t falter. He was a smart one, this Alexandros. Nobles usually didn¡¯t make bets they couldn¡¯t win.


    ¡°Alright, then at least give me the crossbow.¡± Still, I wheedled.


    Alexandros sighed, relenting, and I took the weapon from him and tried it out. The mechination was familiar, but the arrow that shot out from it bounced harmlessly off the wall, a good hundred paces away from the target. I frowned, and tossed it to Alia. Well, I wasn¡¯t going to be a master shooter anytime soon. ¡°I¡¯ll study it later,¡± I called, ¡°just wait.¡± Reaching beneath my robes - to the scandalous looks from the youths and Alia - I brought out a dagger.


    Now, everyone was watching. I let go of the blade in a familiar arc, my wrist turning in a calculated angle to the target that I pinpointed. It sang beautifully, implanting itself in the bullseye with a thud with just the right tilt.


    A grandiloquent display.


    ¡°So it¡¯s not my skill, hmm,¡± I said to myself. I turned to the youths. ¡°Is your crossbow broken?¡±


    Xandros shook his head, as one of them piped up, ¡°Maybe you¡¯re just not good at-¡± A well-aimed kick, and they were silent.


    ¡°Maybe,¡± I conceded. ¡°But are you skilled with the crossbow, Alexandros?¡±


    ¡°I know how it works, if that¡¯s what you¡¯re asking, Your Ladyship,¡± he replied, curtly.


    I mused, ¡°But that won¡¯t make much money with that skill until you¡¯re hired as a Guard, are you?¡± I looked at the trio. ¡°How about this? If any of you want to make some coin, you go to the Emerald Seas and tell Macedon the Sixth sent you. Instead of the bet and a lousy initiation period, you get a job that pays - doesn¡¯t that sound better?¡±


    ¡°Are you trying to poach me?¡± Alexandros asked incredulously. ¡°After we¡¯ve known each other for all of five minutes-¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t you want to change the Empire?¡± I ignored his question. ¡°Not wallowing away in the Barracks with an uncertain future?¡±


    ¡°Look, lady-¡±


    ¡°You¡¯ll get paid in gold drachmas every month,¡± I continued. ¡°I could even get you a noble writ, make you a Baron or Count. Work for me.¡± I turned towards the group. ¡°This applies for all of you. If you think you can make yourself useful, go to the Emerald Seas and tell the man named Macedon the Sixth sent you. You¡¯ll get paid your weight in gold.¡±


    ¡°I think you¡¯re misunderstanding something-¡±


    Just as I was about to cut Alexandros off, I heard a deep growl and the boy named Leo¡¯s high-pitched voice.


    ¡°I swear, Sir! She said she was looking for you, Sir Moreau! Ask Alexandros-¡±


    ¡°What¡¯s your name, again?¡±


    ¡°Leo-¡±


    ¡°Leo, if you¡¯re wasting my time, crown, wreath and tome, considered-¡±


    I turned, dagger in hand, and faced the source of the voices. I waved. ¡°Sir Moreau,¡± I called, cheerfully. ¡°I¡¯m here for the investigation. You know, Seraphina of Inevita?¡±


    I heard the thud of a crossbow falling to the ground behind me.


    <hr>


    I was half-sure that I had four new henchmen. I was less than half-sure that Captain Moreau liked me.


    His posture had given off waves of- not hate, but some kind of distaste that my Ability identified as the emotion on people who hated politicians, people who hated the Imperial family and nobles, people who hated Chosen, and in turn hated me. The kind of indistinguishable, category-based distaste-hate that was used to divide and conquer empires from the inside out.


    I had smiled.


    ¡°Your Highness,¡± he had acknowledged testily. With a frown of his weathered face - skin eroded by age and sun - Rayan¡¯s father had called out, voice booming across the Barracks: ¡°What are you doing, you minotaur-assed buffoons? Greet the Sixth Imperial Princess!¡±


    Collective surprise, before surprisingly professionally bowing.


    I had then been grunted my way into his office. After waving away Alia, the Captain and I were alone. He stared at me. I stared back. He frowned. ¡°The Guard is not going to be involved in your power plays,¡± Lionel began formally, almost refreshingly, ¡°we all know that the Imperial Family has already designated a politically suitable culprit. I ask you to cut to the chase.¡±


    My Act trembled, my practiced emotions threatening to shatter. I smiled wider.


    ¡°You know,¡± I replied, studying the older man¡¯s sharp eyes, ¡°you¡¯re a lot like Ray.¡± The first time I had met the shrew-faced orphan, he had reminded everyone loudly that the Chosen were all there to kill each other. ¡°He had never let me forget that he was the one who was going to kill me one day,¡± I said, tilting my head. ¡°You raised him well.¡±


    If it wasn¡¯t for my Ability, I would¡¯ve never caught Lionel¡¯s pinky twitching.


    The Captain inclined his head. ¡°I thank you for the compliment, Your Highness. But, as courtesy serves, I request you not to ignore my last statement.¡±


    ¡°I ask you to cut to the chase,¡± I repeated mildly. ¡°What a polite way of saying ¡®cut with the political bullshit.¡¯ I must save that,¡± I said, half to myself and half for the sake of theatricality. ¡°An Imperial Proclamation will be sent out, to all corners of the Empire and delegations sent to the Republic and even the Union, that Father is dead.¡±


    I spun the words in a steady cadence, my Ability offering me phrases to the beat the Captain threw me off of. ¡°Formalities will be observed, a funeral held, and especially with the upcoming social season, the Empire will be thrown into a state of political turbulency.¡±


    Lionel blinked. ¡°And what does that have to do with me?¡± the Captain asked. ¡°I helped stabilize Phoros¡¯ position, but our partnership ended there.¡± He leaned forward. ¡°I have no interest in the politics of the young, spry, and foolish,¡± the Captain said, ¡°each year, the Empire bears many. They are either cut down, or stand until they are young no longer.¡± He stated the last sentence in a tone bordering I-lived-through-it-so-it-is-fact.


    ¡°But I¡¯m not finished, Sir Moreau.¡± I held up a hand. ¡°The investigation was established for a neutral partnership to be struck. But this time, Republica diplomats are involved.¡±


    ¡°The state of the public,¡± the Captain summarized dryly, raising his eyebrow. ¡°An optimal time for both internal and external turmoil - the Imperial Family will use the investigation to quell rebellion sentiment from the commoners, while using the social season to stabilize the nobility. Meanwhile, the Empress-to-be will pressure the Republic into supporting her regime and agenda.¡± The perspective of a military man - strategic experience, my Ability echoed. ¡°A well-thought out plan,¡± he admitted.


    I gave a nod. ¡°Yes, it is,¡± I agreed, honestly, ¡°my sister is a very meticulous person.¡± I leaned back. ¡°You can take the lead, of course - but, after all, everything is but an Act. All we need to do is-¡±


    ¡°Play along,¡± Lionel supplied with a slight frown.


    I was going to say throw corpses at the Actors, but-


    ¡°Play along,¡± I agreed with a smile.


    It was easier that way.


    <hr>

 18. Ruin II

    <hr>


    Never look a gift horse in the mouth - shoot it from a distance and send someone expendable to loot its corpse instead, it''s much safer.


    - THE FIFTIETH DUCHESS TYCHE, NEPHELE EVIMERIA


    <hr>


    IT WAS EASY TO FORGET A LOT OF THINGS ABOUT SERAPHINA.


    It really was hard to remember that nobles were nobles when they put on their masks of smiles and laughs, Macedon thought to himself. He looked at the noble in question - his lord, the Sixth Princess - with an easy greeting. ¡°Princess,¡± he said with a smile, ¡°what brings you here?¡±


    ¡°Mace, my good man.¡± The Chosen grinned back, from beneath her cloak hood - it was surprisingly well-worn, made of cheap light blue fabric that was a ripoff match of the Princess¡¯ indigo-pupiled gaze. Dark filaments that caught blue in the afternoon sun peeked out from beneath the cloak, framing a well-shaped, almost delicately angular face. ¡°What have you got for me?¡±


    It was extremely easy to get sucked in with that amicable facade Seraphina wore, sometimes - she made it so easy, to follow along with the dynamics and boundaries she established; to step in the snares of expectation that were set beneath her every word and turn of phrase. Even Macedon, a swindler of a man that he was, had a hard time getting a grip on events when she was around.


    When the confidence-man was young, his mother had told her of Legends of the Chosen - the Tales of Angelo the Avenger, the sayings of Dantaleus the Wise. The villains, too, Mama spoke of - the Slaughter caused by Lysimachos the Insane that cost the formerly-thousands of Imperial Kato their lives was a recurring topic. The Origin myths of before the Cage was established, of the former heroes of Myth - Achilles and his Styx-coated heel, Cadmus the Snake-Slayer who founded the city that came to be Eurus-


    ¡°The Emerald Seas.¡± Macedon felt his lips moving on reflex. ¡°Since Lady Alia delivered the deed, we¡¯ve already contacted the brothel¡¯s Abbess and the staff. If you¡¯d like to personally go over-¡± He was interrupted by the Princess raising a head and elegantly sitting on the chair across from him.


    ¡°There¡¯s a lot of green,¡± Seraphina observed languidly. She acted like she always was - having the fluid, practiced manners of a noble, but with an almost mildly friendly expression on her face.


    Macedon looked around. The Emerald Seas was a higher-class establishment than most, with neat viridian paint. He had currently seized the accounting room as his office, but- ¡°I¡¯ve been told it¡¯s the theme,¡± the swindler commented sheepishly. ¡°If it¡¯s a bit much, I can change it-¡±


    The Princess leaned back. ¡°Repaint it and buy some new decorations,¡± she said in that light tone that meant even though it sounded like a suggestion, it was an order, ¡°using the brothel¡¯s funds from last Daycycle, get it ready for a reopening at the end of this Dayhept.¡± Seraphina crossed her legs casually. ¡°I¡¯ve recruited around four grunt workers, but new brothel owners, new contracts - there is some way to make the ¡®tesans sign something that you can exploit for menial manor labor, correct?¡±


    Her tone was more steely than usual, and brooked no room for argument.


    Macedon¡¯s protests for a raise died down in his lips. ¡°The Abbess is capable,¡± he admitted, honestly. ¡°I don¡¯t think I can spring a loophole on them. Before, the former owner apparently used the brothel as a transition point to smuggle illegal Ecstasy and aphrodisiacs.¡±


    The swindler reached forward and spread the files on his desk like a fan. Sorting these gave me a headache. ¡°I''ve reached out to them and told them-¡±


    ¡°Cut them off completely,¡± Seraphina interrupted. The Princess tilted her head, her obsidian tresses exposed to be tightened in a harsh bun.


    Her feathery smile made Macedon halt internally. ¡°Excuse me, Your Highness-?¡±


    ¡°You heard what you heard.¡± There was barely anything opaque about the Chosen - she was mist itself: swathes of promises, lies, orders, laughs - dangerous plans. When Macedon thought of the blade from Princess¡¯ almost sculpted bronze hand launching itself in the air and being embedded in a pale throat, fear flared up on his own.


    Seraphina continued, ¡°Scandals are what we¡¯re trying to avoid. When the investigation¡¯s over and a coronation ceremony¡¯s held, there will be backlash. Rivals with power and money on their hands, who will take any and all opportunity to dig up whatever things we try to keep hidden. Cut them off, completely and as soon as possible.¡±


    Macedon sighed.


    ¡°It¡¯ll take a lot of funds that we don¡¯t have, Princess,¡± he admitted. ¡°We-¡±


    The Chosen reached into her cloak amusedly in response. Macedon wordlessly watched Seraphina¡¯s hand bring out a bulging pouch. The Princess shook it once like a dog bone, the drachma coins jangling inside almost alluringly, as she threw it down on Macedon¡¯s table.


    It was a siren¡¯s lure.


    ¡°If a single coin goes missing from this bag,¡± she commented, ¡°I¡¯ll cut both your hands off and give it to my siblings to use as back-scratchers.¡± Seraphina¡¯s deceptively mild smile contrasted the very serious glint in her eye. Macedon was smart enough to know that she overlooked his embezzling because it didn¡¯t cross the line, and that the threat was a frighteningly real one.


    ¡°It¡¯ll cover the re-opening you need, and hopefully the penalty fee for the contracts with the Ecstasy dealers,¡± the Imperial Princess continued. ¡°There¡¯ll only be more where that came from if you get the job done. Move all the Scouts and Seraphs here - only eight, right, in total? Recruit more. This base should be up and running by the end of this Dayhept.¡±


    Macedon suddenly felt an oncoming headache, but the swindler knew what he had got into before he had accepted Seraphina¡¯s hand that day. ¡°Fuck,¡± he quietly swore. As he drew in a shaky breath, the con-man made mental calculations in his bed.


    Glory to the Sixth, she who comes from myth - a fitting motto, now that he thought about it. Myths were dangerous to believe in, and so was his employer. ¡°I¡¯ll get it done, Princess,¡± Mace grumbled, heaving a sigh.


    ¡°Of course.¡± A smile - more like an animalistic baring of teeth, really - stretched across Seraphina¡¯s face. ¡°My good man, Macedon.¡±


    <hr>


    Gossipy taverns were easy enough to find. Really, the harder part was entering an establishment that allowed murder on its grounds. Alyssa I had left with Macedon, opting to bring Mercy instead - she was surprisingly efficient in finding a place that fit all the above criteria in the form of the Eternal Crown.


    Contrary to its name, it was swarming with anti-Imperialists, or, according to the less formal, more affectionate nickname, ¡®non-Imps.¡¯ Really, if you categorized the citizens of both the Eternal City and the Empire itself on whether they were against the hegemony or not, all Imperials would be non-Imps. No, real supposed ¡®non-Imps¡¯ weren¡¯t the ones who wanted to rule because they thought they could do better, they were the ones who wanted to reform the Imperial system by force.


    Of course, some non-Imps were Anothen extremists and were in it because they believed that the Chryselephantine Throne¡¯s interests didn¡¯t align with their ¡®religious views,¡¯ but others were in it for the force of change itself without the throne. Those who wanted to take that change for themselves, seize it and use it as not a blade but a way to carry out their dreams of a better future, those were called Rebels.


    The Eternal Crown was a hotspot for them.


    It was the perfect place to hire assassins to kill the Emperor.


    ¡°Mercy, could you order some apple juice for me?¡± I requested of my assassin, settling on a table as I felt hidden eyes on me. They really thought they did something, digging concealed eyeholes in the walls, I thought to myself. I- could¡¯ve done much better, my Ability insisted. It isn¡¯t Wise, to-


    Oh, shut up.


    It wasn¡¯t long before I was approached. I narrowly dodged propelling saliva to the face. I looked at the perpetrator, a man that stunk of wine and musk, with raised eyebrows as he jabbed a finger in my face. ¡°You¡¯re one of those non-Imps, aren¡¯t ya? Approaching our patriot territory, the Eternal Crown? Long live-¡±


    I looked up at the man. He was a terrible actor. ¡°Pathetic,¡± Mercy commented. I tilted my head in agreement, and I could feel the hidden eyes narrowing further.


    ¡°Tell me who killed the Emperor, and I¡¯ll let you live,¡± I said.


    ¡°What-¡±


    My hand crept to my cloak and brandished one of the seven daggers on my person. Lunging forward, the blade was soon on his bronze neck as I slammed him against the wall. At the movement, the bladehands of some of the people in the tavern twitched, the bawdy noises dimming down an almost unnoticeable notch.


    They planted him to root out the actual Imps that wanted to spy here, but they should¡¯ve hired better.


    ¡°Tell me,¡± I repeated, softly, ¡°who killed Nikephoros and I¡¯ll let you live.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t-¡±


    It was almost impulse, my knife tracing a line across his neck. A quick gash, and his life was snuffed out - I let him go, and he flopped against the wall, crimson scattering on my cloak. With that, my Ability led my eyes to the nearest peephole, one carved right next to me, and I smiled.


    ¡°Tell me who killed Nikephoros,¡± I said for the third time to the sliver of green eye staring back at me, ¡°or I¡¯ll burn you all alive.¡±


    The eye disappeared. The surrounding noise lessened, this time noticeably - gazes were now on us, assessing our weakness and strengths. I, in response, just reached into my cloak and brought out a matchbox.


    Seven people that seemed like a challenge, so- I scraped the tip against the side of my matchbox, and flame blossomed. I blew it out. I repeated the action almost rhythmically, ignoring the dead body at my feet.Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on Royal Road.


    Sometimes I spun the match between my fingers, letting the fire dance over my knuckles, but the carefree cycle only stretched out for a few more minutes before the supposed tavern kitchen door opened, and the leader appeared.


    I set the match and matchbox aside, and drummed my fingers on the table¡¯s surface as the man approached our table.


    ¡°You haven¡¯t ordered anything,¡± he remarked.


    I stopped drumming my fingers and met his green eyes. ¡°Maybe there¡¯s nothing worth ordering,¡± I remarked, leaning back against the chair while tilting my head. ¡°Are you going to accept my proposal, Your¡­¡±


    ¡°Face,¡± he supplied. ¡°Face Vasilos.¡±


    King. ¡°That¡¯s a tall order to live up to,¡± I said with a laugh. I nodded towards Mercy, and she obeyed my motion, freeing an empty seat. ¡°Please, sit down, Face Vasilos. We have much to discuss.¡±


    ¡°Or you¡¯ll burn me alive?¡± asked the green-eyed man. I hadn¡¯t heard of a Vasilos, before - none of the non-Imp organizations had gained enough traction to achieve sufficient notability for the nobles to pay attention. Of course, it was largely due to the fact that they were no match for six Chosen combined, but-


    ¡°Maybe I¡¯ll stab you instead,¡± I responded, amicably. ¡°Jury¡¯s still out.¡±


    ¡°Of course, Your Highness.¡± Vasilos smiled. ¡°It¡¯d be an honor to die by your lovely hand.¡± Ah, so he knew my face. That¡¯s alarm enough, my Ability said.


    I laughed, again. ¡°You can just call me Sera, then, and dispense with the formality.¡± I did away with the hood, and heard faint intakes of breath from the passerby. I turned to the broad-faced Rebel leader. ¡°Would you prefer a private meeting?¡± I asked him, but Vasilos shook his head.


    ¡°In matters concerning our organization¡¯s confidentiality, our entire organization prefers to be involved,¡± the man remarked, mildly. ¡°I¡¯m sure you understand, given that you represent the Imperial Family¡¯s interests.¡± Bait. I laughed a third time at that, shaking my head amusedly.


    ¡°I¡¯m willing to pay for the information. How much would be enough for you and your organization?¡± I leaned backwards, rolling the match on the table between my fingers.


    ¡°A price too heavy for you to pay.¡±


    ¡°No heavy price has not been paid for the crown, no scale so fragile that can break under the throne¡¯s burden,¡± I recited, ¡°except-¡±


    ¡°The balance of the mind, the unravelling tapestry of a uniting¡¯s gown - no reverie so deep that it swallows reality I find, no way to vanquish fear or desire for certain,¡± Vasilos finished wryly. ¡°I never knew you were a fan of the Theatre.¡±


    I smiled. ¡°Well, then we¡¯ve learnt something new about each other. I ask you again: how much would be enough for you and your organization?¡±


    The slight smile on Vasilos¡¯ face vanished. ¡°A price too heavy for you to pay,¡± he repeated.


    I raised my eyebrows. ¡°What, because the person who hired you was backed by them?¡± I deliberately left the pronouns vague. ¡°I never knew the non-Imps were deterred by war - isn¡¯t that what you¡¯re all after, anyway?¡± Testing the waters, making them-


    ¡°Not all of us,¡± Vasilos corrected lightly, unknowingly - or knowingly - taking the bait, ¡°we aren¡¯t the goldcoat extremists - the Pr¨¢sina M¨¢tia isn¡¯t built for following along with your plans and games. If we say that the price is too heavy for you to pay, it is too heavy for you to pay, Your Highness.¡± A new organization? I never kept track of unimportant alliances.


    ¡°Was the price too heavy for dear Octavia?¡± I tilted my head. ¡°Perhaps your Verdant Eyes have gone cloudy with idealism. You are not being given a choice.¡±


    The man shook his head. ¡°That is what you all say,¡± he said. ¡°You speak of choices and fate and destiny, of glory and ruin and dreams of fantasy, but we have never chosen. Never given the opportunity to choose. We haven¡¯t been Chosen by the Gods, like you, Your Highness.¡± His words were laced with emotion, and for a second those green eyes turned an electric blue. But then the illusion was shattered, just as quickly as it was built.


    ¡°So you are lucky.¡± I smiled. ¡°Are you here to brag about it, or to make a deal? I won¡¯t repeat myself thrice - how much?¡±


    Vasilos ignored my question. ¡°The streets of the City are turbulent - the Emperor died without an Heir Designate, and they don¡¯t know-¡±


    A mistake.


    The Hints clicked together.


    ¡°So you don¡¯t know,¡± I mused. ¡°You don¡¯t know where the assassins came from, because-¡± The conclusion hit me like a train. ¡°Ah. Of course. She wouldn¡¯t be that stupid to leave traces.¡± Greta and the Republica Consul wouldn¡¯t be that short-sighted. It was all a part of their plan, and I was a foolish dog barking up the wrong tree. A surge of anger roared up in me, but Vasilos narrowed his eyes.


    And so I did the only thing I knew what to do - consume.


    My hands stopped fiddling with the match, and my Ability took it upon themselves - myself - to teach the man a valuable lesson. ¡°The Verdant Eyes, you call yourself - this wouldn¡¯t be your only stronghold, would it?¡± I smiled, reaching for the matchbox with my free fingers. ¡°For all that you prize yourself on seeing all, it¡¯s almost funny, the fact that you haven¡¯t realized.¡±


    They hadn¡¯t heeded my warning.


    ¡°The blind one here isn¡¯t justice, my dear King of Faces,¡± I told him, ¡°but those who think themselves capable of delivering it.¡±


    I lit the match, and dropped it to the floor while gesturing for Mercy to sink a dagger into Vasilos¡¯ stomach. My cloak was stained with blood. This time, my conscience remained silent.


    <hr>


    The investigation made little ripples, in the scheme of things. For the common people, perhaps, the process was a special one, but for the nobles, the results were more important than the stages of the Imperial Investigation itself. Who would the Empire decide to scapegoat? How would the Republic handle things? What would the Imperials demand as recompensation?


    Thoughts flooded through Julian¡¯s head.


    The praetor frowned. He had, of course, sent a letter to his troops in Gloria. The Waves were usually composed of around a hundred monsters, which sounded less threatening than it actually was. Monsters weren¡¯t organized like human troops, but they didn¡¯t have emotions or supplies that could be manipulated - they couldn¡¯t be stalled or ordered, and even though the lines were composed mostly of harpies and griffins, the possibility of a Minotaur had occurred more than once.


    Perhaps his accomplishments would¡¯ve looked great to others - during his first year of holding Gloria, he had turned it into a strong military Stronghold, a base for the Romulus Army he was the head of.


    It was a touchy subject, the entire affair. Indirect cooperation with the Forsaken? Imperial politics? This required diplomatic finesse, not military brute force. Strategy, careful thinking, holding together delicate threads of a tapestry that was threatening to unravel and spell ruin.


    It irritated Julian, just how his fiancee expected him to trust that her sister would be able to weave new threads after burning old ones. Trust.


    Honor. Loyalty. Prestige.


    There was trust in honor, in the foundation of origin.


    There was trust in loyalty, in superior and subordinate.


    There was trust in the power prestige commanded, in how the world worked.


    But the Praetor Romanus did not trust power itself.


    He closed his eyes.


    Julian Marius Romanus was many things - by all the Gods, Jupiter and Saturn - but he was not a traitor. In the fatherland he had been raised, in the Roma Republic, there was a bond in his heart. But what had she said? I am a perfectly capable partner.


    She was a perfectly capable partner. But she was asking Julian to place his faith not in her capabilities, but in the fact that the Republic would be better off conquered than allied. The irritating part was that he could understand the how and the why behind her reasoning, but it still felt like a downsized version of a deal with Death himself, a tantalizing invitation sitting within arm¡¯s reach.


    Yes, it was very, very irritating.


    The boy-praetor curled his left hand into a fist.


    He had slaughtered a Minotaur himself, for House Roma and Branch Romanus. It wasn¡¯t for his father that he did those things - Julian had learned a long time ago that no matter what he did, no matter how he did it, Marcellus Amadeus Romanus would never look back and praise him.


    The Consul would never.


    His father would never.


    Honor. Loyalty. Prestige.


    The praetor missed his mother. Not the praetor, but Marius. Marius missed his mother much more than he should. The stronghold of Gloria was humid and damp, the Imperial mildly sunny; but neither climates could compare to his mother¡¯s estate he had purchased her, where you could see and feel the scents of flowers and sun.


    What would she say about this?


    About Julian thinking himself capable of turning over an entire country, to a person he thought capable of fixing it?


    Suddenly, the cape on his shoulders - he had put it on again, almost as a habit - seemed less like a symbol of Republica pride and more like a heavy reminder. A reminder that while the Patricians gambled and drank, soldiers - his soldiers - defended the borderlines and kept the Senate from running the country to the ground. While they laughed in joy, while they abducted children from the streets for their pleasure, battle roared like an angry beast and charged just as worse.


    He shifted. The medals of honor on his chest jingled. None of them were Aeneas¡¯ Star. Hero blood ran through his veins, made him stronger, faster, smarter - but the feeling of disappointment never ceased. His father had already sold the Republic out for power - why not-


    Dangerous thoughts.


    Julian was striding in dangerous waters.


    He was already going to be married to a treacherous Imperial, as mild and friendly she might seem, so why-


    Why not?


    For honor. Loyalty. Prestige.


    For the honor of the Republic-


    No, for your honor.


    Honor.


    The Minotaur-Slayer smiled, and relaxed his fist.


    <hr>


    Days passed.


    My plan worked.


    I hadn¡¯t seen much of Greta lately, which was to be expected given the responsibilities on her shoulders. It would stain the Imperial Family¡¯s reputation if word got out that we were already planning Her Greatness¡¯ coronation when we were still mourning Nikephoros, and we would be put in an even sticker situation because the Investigation hadn¡¯t technically excluded from the list of culprits yet.


    The Emerald Seas were coming along quite nicely. Macedon had refurbished the entire space, the bright greens toning down into a demure, elegant pistachio pearl - it had changed, at least enough to excuse a reopening. The funds I had tossed him made those under my employment reach a satisfactory number, according to Alyssa - only the finest of the dregs of society were accepted, her report had indirectly said. Alexandros and his lot had accepted my invitation, and the work I had heaped onto my ever-so-capable subordinates had been finished.


    The Ecstasy dealers had been dealt with, the brothel turning into a fine establishment that stank of being used as a covert headquarters, and my plan was working.


    From the Verdant Eyes¡¯ ashes I had personally forged ledgers that said that Cassia employed them to assassinate my Imperial Father. I had given the ¡®foolproof¡¯ evidence to Summanus, so Cassia¡¯s guilt was a done deal; as I had instructed, there was enough excuse to pounce on him at the nearest available date - which was, in fact, today, at the Emerald Seas¡¯ opening - and so once he turned over the evidence to our dearest Captain, the diplomats would be in the clear.


    Julian would take care of the political fallout on the Republic end, and as long as the Captain didn¡¯t ask any hard questions - like, for example, how did Titus acquire those documents when Cassia never contacted him enough to warrant suspicion? - the plan was working.


    The plan worked.


    Life was good.


    I watched from behind a pillar as the Captain and his Brigade crashed into the parlor of scantily-clad courtesans and the drunk Patrician as scheduled.


    Yes, life was good.


    Already, I was planning out what robes to wear for Greta¡¯s coronation as Emperor.


    <hr>

 19. Ruin III

    <hr>


    It is much safer to be forgotten than remembered, as history is continued through the voices of predecessors that have won too many battles to have clean hands, and those they remember they have either won a war against or lost. It is better to not fight a battle at all than one twisted with words and recorded, I feel... the concept of the winning move being not to play at all never fails in the Empire.


    - ANALYST IRAKLIDIS, On War and the Mechanisms Behind It


    <hr>


    YOU COULD SAY THERE WAS SOME HUMAN NOVELTY IN BEING REMEMBERED.


    I wasn¡¯t quite clear where the concept began being ingrained in me, where it became the center of my supposed ¡®pearl of desire¡¯ ¡ª it wasn¡¯t me that had come up with the phrase, blame Iraklidis¡¯ The Imperial Dream ¡ª but I remembered being forgotten.


    Reliving waking up to the book with my name¡¯s disappearance, my existence¡¯s erasure, every night leading up to that day when my Ability appeared would¡¯ve broken me, I thought to myself, if I hadn¡¯t found something to cling to. For me, that was knowledge. Power. And I would get it ¡ª in due time, my Ability whispered. In due time.


    I didn¡¯t have all the time in the world, but I had enough.


    And that was enough.


    If you pretended to believe a lie enough times, it would become true.


    ¡°Sister.¡± I smiled. ¡°You¡ª¡±


    ¡°Look old, I know,¡± Greta said, in that emotionless tone she always spoke in, with a sigh. Cerenia was measuring her arms, choice draperies of various shades of gold on the table in front of me.


    I laughed. ¡°I was going to say you look nice in gold, but I guess old works, too.¡±


    Arathis poked me in the side. ¡°Don¡¯t be mean to Oldest Sister, Sera.¡± The Forsaken put on an unconvincingly wide grin. ¡°Don¡¯t worry, Oldest Sister, you look stunning. You¡¯ll knock every courtier at your coronation dead with your beauty, you¡ª¡±


    Josephine clicked her tongue. ¡°Stop licking her boots, Ara,¡± Aphrodite¡¯s Chosen reprimanded, casually. ¡°Oldest Sister wouldn¡¯t want anything to change now that she¡¯s Emperor.¡±


    Orion cut Ara off before he could begin, which was probably for the better: ¡°I don¡¯t even get why I¡¯m here,¡± the older man grumbled. ¡°You said we were going to get a family portrait commissioned¡ª¡±


    ¡°¡ª Yeah, that¡¯s the only reason why I came, too¡ª¡± Cyrus piped up.


    ¡°¡ªnot a whole outfit,¡± Orion finished, arms crossed.


    ¡°We¡¯re getting a family portrait commissioned?¡± I questioned.


    ¡°We are,¡± responded Greta, firmly. ¡°Right after I get my measurements done.¡±


    Orion huffed. ¡°Imperial court attire and their formalities,¡± he grumbled under his breath, even though all of us could easily catch it. ¡°Never liked that bootlicking Deimos. Always forced me into chitons and court robes.¡±


    Arathis made a face. ¡°It¡¯s not really court, though,¡± the Forsaken pointed out. ¡°It¡¯s just a gathering of nobles that happen to be in the capital at the moment.¡± The Fifth Prince yawned. Boredom ¡ª I rolled my eyes at my Ability¡¯s obvious conclusion. ¡°Well, technically, a lot of ¡®em are just using the social season as an excuse to come and lick Oldest Sister¡¯s boots. I hear that the Cardinals are coming to pay their respects.¡±


    This time, it was Cyrus who huffed. ¡°They¡¯re already Oldest Sister¡¯s vassals. All of them are only coming to keep Tyche and the military marquessates in check.¡± True enough.


    ¡°Speaking of military,¡± I spoke up, ¡°have you gotten rid of those Stygian metal weapons you used to frame the Republica diplomats? We¡¯ve already taken care of Cassia, and you are being sent over there as hostage¡ª¡± I coughed at my brother¡¯s glare, ¡°sorry, peace offering in a couple Daycycles, aren¡¯t you?¡±


    ¡°Shut up,¡± Cyrus snarled. ¡°But to answer your question, yes. I gave them to Greta¡ª¡±


    ¡°Oldest Sister,¡± Josephine corrected.


    ¡°-Her Greatness,¡± Zeus¡¯ Chosen amended with a self-satisfied scowl. ¡°And it¡¯s Dayhepts, not Daycycles. Straight after the coronation.¡±


    Orion grunted. ¡°Is anyone going to address the fact that the Evlogia old hag pledged herself to us?¡±


    This time, Cyrus corrected: ¡°Not us, Greta.¡±


    ¡°No,¡± Orion said firmly, ¡°us.¡±


    The light mood flickered for a bit, threatening to turn serious, as I swooped in and laughed. ¡°One of us probably had a talk with her,¡± I voiced the most likely option. ¡°But either way, even when Duchess Alina steps down, Roxane is the most likely successor, isn¡¯t she? The Cardinals, Doxa, and, if everything goes right, Tyche ¡ª the duchies are practically in the bag.¡±


    Arathis tilted his head curiously. ¡°You¡¯re forgetting Inevita. Sixth Mother and Father¡¯s support only lasts as long as we have a strong foundation.¡± That¡¯s true. They¡¯re always the opportunists, they are.


    I shook my head, lightly. Lazarus would have that handled. ¡°Like I said,¡± I repeated, slowly, ¡°the duchies are practically in the bag. The only problem right now is the Republic.¡±


    Josephine cooed. ¡°Well, you and your lover boy have that handled, don¡¯t you?¡± she teased, swaying for a bit before deciding to rest her head in Arathis¡¯ lap, stretching across the couch and placing her feet near where I was, on the floor.


    The Forsaken began stroking her hair while Orion frowned at the threateningly close appendages, using his bow to nudge her sandal-enclosed feet away from his seat. Cyrus made a face at the scene, miming pinching his nose and waving away an imaginary stench while leaning against the wall. Josie stuck her tongue out.


    It was surprisingly domestic, the entire display.


    I raised my eyebrows in response to Josephine¡¯s question, scooching closer to my nearest sibling ¡ª Orion ¡ª who gracefully allowed me to use him as back support. ¡°He¡¯s not my lover,¡± I said as a reply. ¡°We¡¯re engaged. It¡¯s a convenient partnership, and he doesn¡¯t look bad,¡± I conceded, before adding, ¡°we¡¯ve decided to get married when we turn eighteen, though ¡ª I don¡¯t want to move to Gloria, though. Too many monsters.¡±


    ¡°One monster,¡± Greta added from a few paces away, ¡°is one too many.¡±


    Murmurs of agreements.


    ¡°I never had a problem with them, though,¡± Josie voiced. ¡°The people I seduced took care of that for me.¡±


    That was dangerously close to revealing something about her time in the Cage, and immediately the air turned stale and electric, before Ara maneuvered the conversation towards another topic.


    ¡°You did finish sorting out the Investigation¡¯s aftermath, right?¡± the Forsaken asked me.


    I teetered my hand. ¡°So-so. The Repubs are probably in a panic right now because their diplomat got found guilty of treason. Their Consuls are aware that we¡¯re giving them the chance to get off easy by giving them a scapegoat ¡ª it¡¯s the Republica way to prioritize the supposed tree over the rotten branch.¡± I stretched, my hand nearly punching Orion in the face. He scowled. I smirked.


    ¡°They¡¯ll amputate Cassia, and envoys or some kind of payment will be offered. We¡¯ll take it and use the opportunity to poison some more apples, and steal the tree ¡ª or, at least, I think that¡¯s what Sister¡¯s planning.¡± I turned to Greta, who was almost finished. ¡°Isn¡¯t that right, Sister?¡±


    Greta shrugged. ¡°Believe what you will,¡± she said, surprising mischief coloring her tone.


    Cyrus narrowed his eyes. ¡°I mean, as long as I get the chance to burn Branch Halgrove to the ground, anything and everything goes.¡±


    I watched Arathis tilt his head again, his hand still expertly running through Josie¡¯s raven strands like he was calming a particularly troublesome cat. ¡°Say, Cyrus, my brother,¡± he began, nonchalantly, in the way that he meant he was probably going to start a fight on purpose, ¡°why do you still hold the Halgrove name then? Wouldn¡¯t it be¡ª¡±


    The air turned electric, again.


    I leaned forward and smacked the Forsaken on the forehead. ¡°We¡¯re going to have to get a portrait done,¡± I scolded. ¡°Don¡¯t pick fights.¡±


    ¡°Owie,¡± Arathis complained, his hands going from Josie¡¯s hair to the crown of his head, covered in matted snow hair. ¡°Don¡¯t hit me.¡±


    The electricity didn¡¯t disappear.


    Greta turned. ¡°Cyrus,¡± she said lightly, a warning tone in her voice.


    Cyrus stiffened. The pricking of my skin disappeared. Orion¡¯s hand that slithered to the bow on his back almost naturally tucked itself back by his side. Josie had unnoticeably tucked herself behind Arathis, using him as a shield, but she scooched her head back into his lap. My Ability had whirred my bladehand into action, but the threat was over.


    I was almost positive that it was a reflex and not something they controlled ¡ª I wouldn¡¯t have even noticed their minute actions if it weren¡¯t for my Ability.


    I relaxed, just a bit.


    ¡°Are you done yet?¡± Ara whined at Greta, the tense atmosphere dispelled as quickly as it came.


    ¡°I am, in fact,¡± my sister called back, rolling her shoulders before gesturing towards the door. Her white blond hair was down today, surprisingly, cascading down her back informally. ¡°Let us be off.¡±


    ¡°Yay, we¡¯re going to get a family painting done!¡±


    <hr>


    The days leading up to the coronation were very stressful. I said stressful in the way that they were jam-packed with nobles trying to weasel their way into becoming an Imperial courtier.


    Arathis was right in the way that Imperial Court was just a gathering of nobles that happened to be there in the moment ¡ª the large expanse that was the Empire meant there was at least a Daycycle¡¯s worth of leisure travel between most Cardinals and the Eternal City, perhaps two Dayhepts, if they hurried. The author''s tale has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.


    That meant that the military marquessates, positioned along the stretch between Eurus and Tyche informally known as the Armistice ¡ª the joke was that since Drakos and Williams had their own branches of the Imperial Army, a signed armistice agreement wouldn¡¯t be enough to prevent war ¡ª would be the first ones to arrive.


    And they did, steadily trickling in like flies to honey. Timaios¡¯ father, the Marquis Damianos Drakos, was a slimy man that promised a substantial supply of the latest versions of bayonets; the Marquis Williams pledging an absurd amount of crossbows to the Imperial cause with sharp words and a steady gaze; the counties of Callas ¡ª Alyssa¡¯s family ¡ª scurrying to my side.


    Apparently, I had already been designated as Greta¡¯s right hand and Deimos Greta¡¯s left, only I was the supposedly easier one to bribe. Of course, I had taken the useful ones with the approval of Greta, and rejected the other offers, but already we were looking at official appointments.


    ¡°Evlogia¡¯s keeping the Imperial vassalage,¡± Greta had informed. ¡°The Cardinals just need to renew their Oaths in the Imperial service, but the marquessates still haven¡¯t made their yearly military donations to the Boreas¡¯ border Army, so there might be dispute on that.¡±


    I had asked, ¡°But that comes after your coronation, doesn¡¯t it?¡±


    Deimos had snorted. ¡°Noble spats happen without consideration for time nor place. You¡¯ve wrapped up the Investigation ¡ª and you didn¡¯t mess up doing it, mind you ¡ª which means that there¡¯ll be plenty of people trying to exploit your capabilities.¡± The personal assistant had shared his experience, privately, soon after: ¡°When Her Soon-to-be Majesty ascends the throne, you¡¯ll have to clean up after her messes. She expands, you handle the fiefs she leaves behind.¡±


    There was a lot to handle.


    While Josephine and Arathis handled the celebratory decorations ¡ª of course, Orion was deployed to make sure they didn¡¯t do anything too homicidal before the actual coronation took place ¡ª Cyrus surprisingly took it upon himself to bond with my fiance.


    It was more talk about military strategies ¡ª they had nearly gotten into a fight about Angelo the Avenger ¡ª but Cyrus reconnecting with his half-Republica heritage and the fact that he was probably gathering intelligence about how to destroy his family from Julian warmed my heart, just a bit.


    I sighed, before I said to my dear lieutenants, ¡°What do you mean, a sudden influx of recruits have come in? I¡¯m not hiring nobles that want to steal information on me, I¡¯m looking for grunt workers that don¡¯t know my identity, Mace, and¡ª¡±


    ¡°Your Highness,¡± my lieutenant began, ¡°they really don¡¯t know your identity.¡± He looked a bit desperate as I reached for the dagger near my ankle, continuing, ¡°Those new recruits that you¡¯ve brought, the ones by the name of Alexandros and Leonidas, they¡¯re the ones going out and bringing street rats in.¡± His tone turned into a babble, ¡°I told them, we¡¯re not a stray shelter, and that they¡¯ll have to pull their weight, but¡ª¡±


    I waited for a dramatic pause before smiling brightly, breaking the tense silence. ¡°That¡¯s exactly what I wanted! You deserve a raise! Raises and all around!¡± Mercy snorted amusedly, Alyssa¡¯s eyes widening, while Alia pretended not to see anything. I cackled, Macedon sighed in relief, and I proceeded to lean back in the chair I had stolen from my dear embezzler¡¯s office.


    ¡°I should meet them,¡± I added, casting a glance towards the window. The position of the sun ¡ª it was an ungodly hour in the morning, but it was the perfect time to check in before I would be called to get ready for Greta''s coronation ceremony. ¡°You know, to make sure they¡¯re not traitors and all.¡±


    Mace nodded a tad faster than what would be deemed inconspicuous, but he still obeyed. Rubbing their eyes sleepily, a surprisingly large gaggle of eleven ragmuffin orphans marched into my office. Alexandros was the first one to recognize me, and he bowed. ¡°Your Highness!¡±


    That got a jolt out of the group, and I watched all of them narrow their eyes almost immediately. I laughed, letting my Ability roam through their lives and stories, as I gave a casual wave. ¡°I hear you¡¯ve been busy, Xandros,¡± I remarked conversationally, smiling. ¡°Don¡¯tcha think a couple introductions are in order?¡±


    Xandros blinked, not missing a beat. ¡°Y¡¯said that you were hiring. That noble girl over there¡ª¡± he nodded ¡°¡ªsaid something about you not having the numbers for your plans, about your former henchmen quitting. We went out and hired the people we knew from before we entered the Guard, to help.¡± At the last statement, some of the younger children ¡ª although most of them were around my age ¡ª jutted their chins out, as if daring me to say something in challenge.


    ¡°I asked for introductions, Xandros,¡± I said, twirling the blade I¡¯d gotten out of its harness while he was talking, ¡°not a reason.¡± At the expressions that flitted across the group¡¯s face ¡ª suspicion, paranoia, fear ¡ª I laughed, again. ¡°Don¡¯t worry, I¡¯m not going to stab you. If I wanted to get rid of you, you wouldn¡¯t have seen my face in the first place or gotten your first paycheck.¡± I turned to Macedon. ¡°You have paid them, right?¡±


    The hesitation said it all.


    I sighed. ¡°Mercy,¡± I said to my best ¡ª and only ¡ª assassin, ¡°why is everyone I hire ¡ª not you of course, Mercy and Alyssa, you¡¯re both dears ¡ª so inept?¡± I wailed.


    Macedon rushed to his defense. ¡°I¡¯m sorry, Princess, I¡ª¡±


    ¡°Wait you¡¯re the Sixth Princess?¡± someone asked in a small voice. ¡°Athena¡¯s Chosen?¡±


    I gave them a half-salute, turning away from tormenting my lieutenant. ¡°Seraphina Queencage speaking,¡± I replied with a wink. I faced them all. ¡°I first used the homeless people, in the Lower Quarter, but then the leader was a traitor, he was executed, and now all of them are uneasy. That¡¯ll be your first job, I suppose ¡ª establish an information network through the Imperial underworld. If you can get that done with a few Dayhepts, I¡¯ll give you all your first raise.¡±


    I smiled. ¡°By the way Xandros," I continued, "you can recruit as many as you want, as long as you can keep them in check. It would be messy if I or Mercy were to step in.¡±


    Alexandros nodded. ¡°Got it¡ª¡± he hesitated. ¡°Your Highness? Your Ladyship? Boss?¡±


    I waved off the formal address. ¡°Boss is fine. Might be a bit weird since we¡¯re the same age, but¡ª¡± I shrugged. A pause. ¡°You can use the Emerald Seas as a base,¡± I mentioned, ¡°and I¡¯ll pay you all two gold each month. Be sure not to break the budget, though. I won¡¯t make you all swear an Oath, I¡¯m sick of them these days ¡ª but if you betray me, I¡¯ll kill all of you. It won¡¯t be just your head on the chopping block.¡± The last sentence I accompanied with a sharp grin. ¡°You¡¯ve been warned.¡±


    Faint nods.


    ¡°They¡¯re much better terms than the Guard,¡± Xandros admitted, ¡°but more high-stakes.¡±


    I shrugged again. ¡°Like I said, as long as you keep your people in check, you¡¯ll be fine. You¡¯ve been given your first objective. Do try not to mess it up,¡± I told the prickly crossbow-wielder. I clapped my hands together. ¡°Now, my Seraphs,¡± I said dramatically while raising both my hands in a benediction, ¡°we rise!¡±


    Silence.


    ¡°Tough crowd,¡± I mumbled under my breath as I stood up from my seat. "Now, if you¡¯ll excuse me," I said, dusting my now-clean cloak off, "I have an Imperial coronation to go to."


    <hr>


    When you think about power, the average citizen thinks of crowned kings and blood.


    Socially, politically, culturally ¡ª in any category, the Empire has manifested into our heads misplaced trust in the form of distrust. The Roma Republic relies on patriotism, the Union of the Forbidden on some form of common religious practice, but the Empire Eoina ¡ª the ever-so-eternal continental power ¡ª relies on trust.


    If you picked any citizen off the street and asked them what they thought trust was, contrarily, you wouldn¡¯t get a traditionally idealistic answer. Perhaps you would, but they certainly wouldn¡¯t apply that in their everyday lives ¡ª to survive, you can¡¯t trust, is the message hammered home in the whispers of the Fishers and the eyes of the Servants.


    That is what holds the Empire in all its glory together. Instead of trying to unite a country together by providing a common interest (i.e. religion, loyalty, Chosen, etc.), the Imperial system sets up the common enemy that is ¡®power¡¯ ¡ª in gaining it (and you have to get it, you have no choice but to get it) you inevitably resent it.


    Imperials build that resentment, direct it against the people who uphold the hierarchy rather than the hierarchy itself, and it spills over in the form of the attempted rebellions that do make its way past the intimidation of the Chosen.


    If you take the time to examine the way the Empire¡¯s system works ¡ª and it does ¡ª it¡¯s a crudely complicated machine that relies on a sole desire (power) and a common trait (mistrust of those in power) to function. There¡¯s no way to escape it, either ¡ª Iraklidis states that ¡°the winning move is to not play at all,¡± but that¡¯s fundamentally incorrect.


    If you exist, if you have loved ones and acquaintances that are cogs in this system, you are supporting the system itself. By not playing at all, you are feeding into the system. By going against it, you are feeding into the system. By existing, you are feeding into the system. There is only one way to break the system, and that is if you are Chosen.


    The root of all this ¡ª the fantasy of power and origin of mistrust ¡ª is the Queen¡¯s Cage. The first step to unravelling the system would be making the supposed ¡®Footage¡¯ of the Chosen public. The Chosen is a very big cog in the Imperial machine ¡ª if you first grease it so it spins in a way the machine isn¡¯t prepared for, it would be the first step into reforming the Empire. It would take an idealist, a truly altruistic person in power to take the first step, the first leap against the Gods and the Imperial system.


    Conclusion Drawn: There is only way to truly change the Empire for good, and that is to destroy the Queen¡¯s Cage and the system that controls it.


    - SOCIO-POLITICAL ANALYSIS assumedly made by Greta Highlander Queenscage before her reign as Empress, 96 P.Q.C


    <hr>


    Everything reeked of the stench that was wealth.


    Pale-feathered peacocks on golden leashes were attached to palatial fountains, luxurious decorations placed on every available surface - from the roofs dangled strands of traditionally aureate beads, while ancient tapestries brought out of storage were now hanging from high windows and balconies. Nobles dressed in ceremonial attire whispered to each other, groups populating the pews that framed the sides, as a flaxen carpet resembling a bridal path winded between the seats.


    Laid opposite the entrance were three pillars resembling ornate pedestals holding cushions, the left pillar with a twelve-spired crown ¡ª each of the points representing an Olympian ¡ª the right with a laurel wreath, and the right holding the thick Tome that held the Anothen Verses. I and the rest of the Imperial Family stood on either side of the stage that held the three supposedly holy objects, the koudo¨²ni ¡ª the more traditional version of the modern day revellazo ¡ª players strumming a strangely fitting somber dirge as the ceremony began.


    ¡°Let the First-in-line enter!¡± an announcer boomed in the Higher dialect of Imperi, and the mahogany doors slammed open, and from the other side of the room strode in Greta, her figure faint but her eyes surprisingly blazing.


    An Imperial robe hung from her shoulders, a traditional chiton with belted knobs that flowed just the right amount to radiate an aura of power, and her white-blond hair ¡ª the strands that usually neared Arathis¡¯ in terms of paleness ¡ª pulled up in a bun.


    This time, perhaps because of the sheer amount of wealth and Imperial greed in the room, it glowed resplendently, utterly gold. My Ability whispered to me that it was probably dye. I ignored it.


    Her green eyes gleamed, and you could never guess that she had passed the threshold of forty, the way my oldest sister held herself. A childish sense of awe bloomed in me, perhaps a seed of a bigger sapling, but one that would grow another day.


    Greta the Great marched down the aisle, the bearer of gazes and awestruck silence, her robe¡¯s train sweeping against the floor.


    It was either aeons or seconds when she reached the three objects.


    ¡°I, Greta Queenscage¡ª¡± she left out the Highlander, was my only thought ¡°- swear by the Gods and the crown, wreath, and tome, to rule the Empire Eoina and lead it through glory and ruin, till I bear the reaper¡¯s kiss, for all of Eternity.¡±


    Perhaps her speech was longer, but those words curiously stood out to me. She kissed the crown, the wreath, and finally the tome, before turning.


    Everything after that was a strange silence, like I was underwater, before I heard the nobles stand up and genuflect. I tilted my head down, as per ceremony, and watched my family do the same. My...family.


    Family.


    A curious word.


    ¡°All hail Empress Greta the Great!¡± one of my siblings ¡ª I forgot who it was ¡ª cried.


    The nobles surprisingly followed, echoing: ¡°All hail Empress Greta the Great!¡±


    As I looked at my oldest sister from my position by the side of the stage, the shining figure now my Lord by Oath, my Ability didn¡¯t need to supply me a conclusion.


    She was going to change the world.


    And I was going to help her.


    <hr>


    Greta Highlander Queenscage, also known as the Ninety-Fifth Victor, ascended the Chryselephantine Throne at the age of 41, in the year of 100 P.Q.C. (post the establishment of the Queen''s Cage). The Empress was known for making many reforms, such as in ********** *** ***** **** and ******* *** *********. Her bestowed title, reportedly cried by a family member, was Greta the Great. And this is where her story - and the tale of one other - begins.


    - A TALE OF WINE AND OWLS, PUBLISHED 200 P.Q.C.


    <hr>

 20. Interlude: Gold

    <hr>


    Absence makes the heart forgive and forget what should be remembered with regret.


    - BELLAMY THE BELIEVER, KATO ANALYST, FORSAKEN


    <hr>


    THE LOGICAL THING FOR THEM TO DO IS TO GANG UP ON US.


    The logical thing for us to do is to wait.


    So, we do.


    ¡°The stars are bright,¡± I say. They are, pinpricks of light in the curtain that is the night sky, twinkling in amusement as they watch us. I¡¯m leaning close to Cas, and he lets me.


    Cas hums in agreement. ¡°I¡¯m still not sure that our plan will work,¡± he replies. ¡°Even if you threw Iason about how they should act predictably, they might see it as bait and not follow it, and act unpredictably in order to throw us off.¡± He frowns, the expression marring his chiseled face just a bit. ¡°It hurts my head, thinking about it. You know, I¡¯ve never had to think this much before, in terms of planning.¡±


    I make a face. ¡°Then don¡¯t think that much,¡± I advise, patting his arm. ¡°If the plan goes wrong, we can just adjust it. As long as we don¡¯t die ¡ª I¡¯ll make sure, we don¡¯t die.¡± I say the last statement firmly, an accumulation of truth and strategy. My Ability will keep us alive ¡ª it has too.


    ¡°You know what they say, in the streets?¡± he asks a rhetorical question. ¡°Death is a release from Life¡¯s noose. But who¡¯s the hangman? The Gods? Greed? If death is what comes after, and life is what causes it, who executes us? Ourselves?¡± He shakes his head. ¡°We didn¡¯t have time to philosophize, in the slums ¡ª it¡¯s funny, that I have more chance of dying here than there, but I doubt myself more.¡±


    I let him talk.


    ¡°And Poseidon?¡± The mischievous grin was now fully off his face, his bitter tirade evident. ¡°I nearly drowned when I was young, along with my parents.¡± He leaned back. ¡°My dad, my stupid, stupid dad said no to paying these Guards¡¯ taxes ¡ª they weren¡¯t really Guards, of course, just pretending to be, maybe some goons from the Dame Effie ¡ª and we all got tied into sacks and tossed into one of the streams that branched off of Lake Ichor. I was, what? Three? Xan was one, and she barely survived.¡±


    Cas shakes his head again, more anger than regret. ¡°My parents were stupidly naive in thinking that just saying no would make them leave us alone. And they drowned ¡ª they¡¯re dead ¡ª we both fought for a position in a crappy orphanage, and now I¡¯m sponsored by the God of Earthquakes and the Sea. I¡¯m a fucking Chosen of the Gods, so who the fuck cares if I¡¯m dead in a ditch somewhere? Who the fuck cares, if I die? I certainly don¡¯t give a Minotaur¡¯s ass.¡±


    A long silence.


    ¡°I¡¯m tired of fighting to live,¡± he says, softly. ¡°Sometimes it¡¯s better, to just go along with the tide and drown, ya know?¡± He turns to me, electric blue eyes glinting with a spark threatening to dim. ¡°But it shouldn¡¯t be this way. This whole fucking Empire shouldn¡¯t be an ocean, it should go drown and shake itself to death.¡±


    The fire in his words crawls on me, but it isn¡¯t fire, this is oppressive and enveloping, like¡ª water.


    ¡°Sera,¡± he looks at me, more seeing something in me that I didn¡¯t, ¡°don¡¯t you want to change the Empire?¡±


    The ferality in him, in all of us, has bared its fangs now, and I watch the starving animal flicker in his eyes and think, Do I look like that? I don¡¯t back away slowly, even though I should ¡ª my Ability tells me to calm him before he does anything unpredictable and breaks free of the chains binding us together ¡ª I prop my head on his shoulder. He smells more like blood and sweat than anything else, but I breathe in the iron and salt.


    ¡°I want to be remembered,¡± I reply, ¡°and saying yes is the only way to do that.¡± I feel not sympathy, but something similar, a hungry creature deprived of love and memory, in my partner. The words I love you, something that should¡¯ve come out my mouth as a reassurance to a fellow human being, don¡¯t escape my lips.


    I instead peck his cheek, and smile. ¡°I¡¯ll change the Empire for you, then,¡± I say, playfully. You wouldn¡¯t, for one person you barely know ¡ª what if I did? I ask back. For fun? ¡°You won¡¯t have to lift a finger,¡± I promise half-teasingly, still studying his face. Twitch of the mouth, crease of the nose ¡ª my Ability provides me a conclusion he contradicts by smiling.


    ¡°Then never change, Sera,¡± Caspian Nameless tells me.


    I¡¯m about to reply, Gods, I¡¯m not sure that¡¯s possible when my Ability feels the air change. There¡¯s Analysts who say that the Earth listens, and hears ¡ª it edges belief in Gaia, which toes the line of Kato, but the jungle¡¯s still now. The disconcerting lack of birds is glaring, and everything pricks at me like tiny needles, threads ¡ª my Ability warns me.


    ¡°Something¡¯s up,¡± I observe.


    I grip my dagger tight. The decorative hilt¡¯s clean, but familiar ¡ª I never let myself get too attached to inanimate objects; they were too easily destroyed in displays of dominance that the people of the Stronghold of Inevita could use against me, corner me ¡ª and it was a gift, from the mercenary who trained me. I can shoot birds mid-flight, aim blades in killing blows that I secretly studied.


    Cas doesn¡¯t doubt me, and we both stand up from our positions seated by a nearby tree. I close my eyes, letting my Ability weave through every scratch and rustle of the trees ¡ª it¡¯s straining, putting a physical burden on my supposed sixth sense, but I find the vague direction. ¡°Go get Arden,¡± he whispers, and I comply, jogging over to the fire.


    Russet-haired Arden and shrew-faced Rayan are huddled close, but while Aphrodhite¡¯s Chosen is smiling lightly, Zeus¡¯ Chosen is close to pure fury. The light from the flames dapple on their clothes and faces, illuminating their conversation and laying their surface emotions bare. The duo looks up at me, and immediately unfolds their masks.


    ¡°They¡¯ve made a move,¡± I say, simply. ¡°Cas is checking it out.¡± I turn towards Kage, who¡¯s still tied up at the tree ¡ª it¡¯s deliberate, letting Iason escape but not Kage. They¡¯re bait and they know it, but that human fear has bled away after the torture ¡ª their humanity has bled away, as easily as it was never there in the first place, and it unnerves me. ¡°Your friends are here,¡± I inform them.


    They laugh. ¡°You mean the people you manipulated me into selling you out to? Nah, they¡¯re not my friends.¡± Hades¡¯ Chosen shakes their head, their wounds barely bandaged. I¡¯ve made sure they can¡¯t bleed out, but I haven¡¯t properly tended to them ¡ª on purpose, so they can¡¯t run away even if they escape. ¡°Iason will come for me, and everything¡¯ll go according to your plan. You¡¯ll win.¡± Their eyes were singularly focused on me. ¡°You¡¯ll be Victorious, and they¡¯ll all be dead.¡±


    I ignore them. ¡°So ¡ª how about it?¡± I ask the other two brightly.


    ¡°They¡¯ll all die!¡± Still, Kage calls, almost frantically like someone switched a switch in their brain: ¡°Death is inevitable! The reaper¡¯s kiss? Pah! Darkness is ugly and everything that comes after only echoes of the life-light. You¡¯ll kill all of them, their blood is on your hands¡ª¡±


    ¡°They¡¯re trying to pressure you into killing them since they saw you were vulnerable,¡± Rayan says, not unkindly. ¡°Caspian can depend on himself, but it would probably be best if I go back him up.¡± He yawns for a bit, before raising an eyebrow in expectation


    I gesture towards the vague direction. ¡°He went somewhere over there,¡± I say. His enhanced senses should take care of the rest¡ª ow that I think about it, he probably heard my conversation with Cas. I sigh, internally. What does that matter, in the scheme of things? Trivial, my Ability accuses. No, I¡¯m getting off track.


    The plan.


    Was my Ability deliberately sidetracking me? Was it planted by the Gods¡ª


    No. Off track.


    ¡°Dennie,¡± I begin, frowning, ¡°there¡¯s something wrong.¡±


    ¡°They shouldn¡¯t have spent barely two hours discussing such a big move,¡± she agrees. The burn bandages cling to her burnished skin, but she gets up from the fire. ¡°It makes sense, realistically, but it doesn¡¯t.¡± Arden frowns, just a bit, the expression fits strangely on her features. ¡°Something¡¯s off,¡± she says, finally.


    I incline my head in agreement.


    ¡°That means that either a unit is working separately, likely Halkyone and Maia, instigated by Iason; or they have a card up their sleeve that we don¡¯t know about,¡± I summarize. My Ability is alight, flames tangling against the bits of string that thread through the Hints, a grotesque tapestry of things that could kill me if attached incorrectly.


    Did I attach something incorrectly? Form a conclusion that wasn¡¯t Wise? Misplace a cog, a strategy? ¡°No,¡± I whisper to myself, eyes flinging closed and hands to my ears. Think. Why would they be that early? What card could they have up their sleeves? Read. Offensive-type Abilities, an ambush? Learn. What did they do before? Adapt. I open my eyes to Arden staring at me curiously. My Ability whispers. ¡°We should go back up Cas,¡± I say. ¡°You¡¯re probably aware that we lied to you. No hard feelings.¡±


    The red-haired Aphrodite¡¯s Chosen shakes her head. ¡°No hard feelings,¡± she says lightly. I¡¯m not aware to what extent the Act gave it away, but the jig¡¯s up ¡ª she knows I¡¯m Athena¡¯s Chosen.


    ¡°So, are we good? You want to come with me?¡±


    ¡°Yeah, sure.¡±


    We dart into the bushes, and I hear a scream.


    Like all logical human beings would do, we run faster.


    <hr>


    ¡°You immoral psychopath!¡± Halkyone is shooting arrows with startlingly precise accuracy. Cas dodges with supposed ease, but I can calculate the trajectories of the arrows even without my Ability ¡ª they¡¯re narrow dodges, and sooner or later he¡¯s going to mess up and one of those shafts¡¯ll be embedded in his stomach. Are they poisoned? If they¡¯re poisoned, then we¡¯re fucked ¡ª no amount of healing can delay the good ones.The genuine version of this novel can be found on another site. Support the author by reading it there.


    Arden and I emerge from the underbrush dramatically, but I immediately dive into the fray while Arden steps back. Tackling Halkyone, she immediately falls to the ground with a cut-off squeak, her bow shoved against my abdomen. She tries to fight back, grabbing one of the arrows from her quiver and trying stabbing against my back, but I hold firm, countering her weight with my own while holding her two wrists in restraint in one fell swoop.


    Her green eyes dilated almost unnoticeably ¡ª her limbs aren¡¯t free, she¡¯s taken by surprise and captured in a matter of seconds ¡ª and, with a dagger in my other hand, I stab it through her pale chest¡ª or at least, try to.


    My Ability blares before I duck and roll, and immediately I¡¯m rewarded with a spear swiping above my head. I cackle, brandishing my knife, and call out: ¡°Fuck, Ray, aren¡¯t you supposed to take the heavy hitters?¡± Ares¡¯ Chosen, Maia Kareen, narrows her eyes at the chastisement, but she swipes, anyway.


    The clunky spear in her hands is supposed to be heavy and awkward, but the merchant family¡¯s daughter wields it with surprising grace, quick and swooping blows that arcs in a way that covers up her blind spots. She tries to back into me, but I don¡¯t lose sight of my target ¡ª before Halkyone clambers and gets ahold of her bow, I try to tackle her again.


    Perhaps turning your back on your enemy could get you killed, on another battlefield, on another day; but my decision¡¯s greeted with a splashing noise from behind that means that Maia is now facing a far greater threat than me ¡ª Caspian Nameless, in all his water-controlling glory.


    I almost cheer, except an arrow sails past my hair and I grin.


    ¡°Hally!¡± I call, using the information from back in the introduction, ¡°nice to see a fellow duchy-hater! You a non-Imp?¡±


    ¡°Shut the fuck up!¡± Halkyone¡¯s launching arrows still, but her steady cadence is shakier, green eyes unsteady. I can¡¯t shake the feeling that they have some backup, that Vivianna and that Godsbroken Jonas is planning something because no sane person would¡ª Ah. Right.


    Where was Iason?


    I tilt my head as I brandish my dagger. ¡°Did a little girl run away?¡± I taunt, mildly. ¡°Did she have to achieve some kind of justice in her own hands, after her companions turned on her?¡± While I talk, I spread my Ability like a veil around both my surroundings and the arrows, dodging, my actions driven by nothing but reflex and speed. The adrenaline that flares through my veins almost exhilarates me, and my vision snaps to a patch in the air as my hand snatches an arrow out of the air.


    Of course, the accelerating object burns against my fingers, the speed fading, as I dance around Halkyone, motioning towards her emptying quiver. ¡°Is that little girl in trouble?¡± I ask, lowering my voice into a childishly mocking voice.


    ¡°Don¡¯t pay attention to her, Hal!¡± I hear Maia¡¯s voice call from behind me. ¡°She¡ª¡±


    ¡°Aww, Maia,¡± I purr. Got you. ¡°Are you trying to control what our Hally listens to or not? It¡¯s her decision.¡± With that last statement, I launch from my position and dart closer, my muscles burning and sweat beading as my knuckles drag against the sand, my hands gathering dirt in my palm.


    Halkyone¡¯s pale face stares back at me, and she¡¯s shaking. ¡°It¡¯s always a hero¡¯s decision, to stand up against the villain, is it not?¡± I whisper at the archer, before scattering the sand into her pale green eyes.


    She hisses in pain, roaring and clambering desperately for her bow and arrows, as I jump onto her, my knees diving into her stomach as I embed the knife in her heart, piercing the artery with precision. ¡°A minute, or five, or thirty seconds,¡± I calculate, lightly. Now the blood gnaws at the edges of my vision. ¡°You may say your last words,¡± I say, and Artemis¡¯ Chosen spits blood in my face.


    I wipe it, and smile, waiting.


    ¡°You nobles are so fucking sick,¡± she snarls, wheezing with pain. ¡°What, we¡¯re naive for wanting to change a world where we¡¯re stepped on, again and again? An Empire that¡ª¡± she coughs ¡°-pillages, and loots, and backstabs? You murder us, and you murder our people, and none of you have ever experienced anything close to true fucking misery.¡± Her eyes are still sealed from the sand, but they flutter. ¡°You love your father, don¡¯t you? What if I tell you that he whips his Servants like they¡¯re dogs, kills and dismembers commoners in front of their families?¡±


    I wait.


    ¡°Hea¡ª¡± I hear Iason¡¯s voice, cut off.


    I still wait, not turning.


    Halkyone leers. ¡°It wouldn¡¯t change anything, wouldn¡¯t it? You wouldn¡¯t care, would it? I hope their faces haunt you in their sleep, you dirty, fucking Imperial ¡ª your father and mother that you love so much are animals, and you¡¯re just like them.¡±


    Blood trails from her nostrils, and she coughs once or twice, before she stiffens and her eyes turn empty.


    ¡°You¡¯re wrong,¡± I say with a light smile, quietly. ¡°I don¡¯t have a father and mother.¡± This is courtesy enough, my Ability hisses, you gave her uninterrupted last words. Still, I reach over and close her eyes. ¡°I wanted to be a hero, once, too,¡± I whisper, the words dancing on the wind, before I turn, quickly, and survey the scene behind me.


    Maia is fending off both Caspian and Rayan ¡ª quite admirably, I might add. Iason, dressed in shockingly effective camouflage paint, is now on his knees in front of Arden, who¡¯s¡ª flirting with him? I don¡¯t question it, but instead flick my wrist and let my dagger arc through the air, singing a calculated area as it lands¡ªright where it¡¯s expected. Maia moves to raise her spear, and immediately the blade embeds itself in her eye.


    She screams.


    Cas slugs her in the face with a knife hilt, straight into the other eye.


    She screams again, letting go of the spear that Rayan immediately confiscates.


    An elaborate game of darts.


    Almost brutally, Poseidon¡¯s Chosen swoops in and sinks his knives into the Chosen¡¯s chest. At this point, the merchant family¡¯s daughter is ready to fall, her dark skin crusted over with seeping crimson liquid ¡ª skin flattens and gives way to bone, raw layers overlaps and bleeds as Ares¡¯ Chosen scrambles to get my knife out.


    But then Cas almost daintily steps near her ¡ª silently, swiftly, like a Thief ¡ª and grips the handles of the knives in her chest, and pulls. Crimson trickles as Maia arches in pain, a guttural sound ripping out of her throat as the wound causes her to fall to her knees.


    Blood.


    Blood.


    Blood.


    My conscience flares up again ¡ª had she ever done anything wrong, really? What¡¯s making me different, from the tyrants and the nobles that¡¯s stepped on other people ¡ª and I let it echo in my ears. ¡°There¡¯s something up,¡± I say, my voice quiet and nearing hoarseness. I know Rayan can hear me. ¡°There¡¯s no way we can just kill two Chosen of Viv¡¯s camp and get away with it.¡±


    Rayan gives a nod, but jabs a finger towards the kneeling Iason in response. We all gather around Arden.


    Iason¡¯s eyes glint in what seem to be fanatical devotion, but Arden just looks indifferent. ¡°Iason,¡± she says, mildly, ¡°tell me what just happened.¡±


    Apollo¡¯s Chosen creaks upon his mouth, and speaks: ¡°You killed a bunch of people, Your Goddessness. You¡¯re so beautiful, your grandeur eludes the Anothen sky itself ¡ª please, please praise me¡ª¡±


    Arden rolls her eyes before sighing.


    ¡°Wait,¡± I point out the obvious, ¡°didn¡¯t I, like, stab his throat just a Dayhept ago? Knife out his vocal cords? Permanently disfigure his voice?¡±


    Rayan shoots me an irritated look. ¡°Well, obviously, he fixed it.¡± He turns. ¡°Ar, ask him.¡±


    In response, Aphrodite¡¯s Chosen kicks Iason in the stomach. I can¡¯t say he didn¡¯t deserve it. ¡°Tell me why you came here,¡± she corrects herself, ¡°and why you brought Halkyone and Maia along with you.¡±


    Iason replies, almost immediately: ¡°I wanted to rescue Kage from the crazy lady. You¡¯re much prettier than the crazy lady, my love¡ª¡±


    ¡°Does Vivanna Bloodthorn know about this?¡± she continues. She¡¯s probably using her Ability, my mind whispers. Some sort of subjugation Ability? Seduction? Aphrodite¡¯s realm is of Love, Fertility¡ª it makes sense. She used it on me, a miniscule amount¡ª good control. The Hints click together, just a minute conclusion, but still Iason answers.


    ¡°Yes,¡± he says simply. ¡°She advised against it. We did it anyway. You look gloriously magnificent, by the way, my heart¡ª¡±


    ¡°Bloodthorn isn¡¯t the type to just ¡®advise¡¯ people and walk away,¡± Arden interrupts, another frown making its way onto her face. ¡°I mean, that Jonas guy would, sure, but not Bloodthorn. She¡¯s playing at being a mastermind, but sheltered nobles don¡¯t have that kind of indifference. That means that one, she¡¯s either up to something that she thinks is more important; or two, she¡¯s up to something to make us suffer something worth the deaths on her conscience.¡±


    I shake my head. ¡°We¡¯re assuming that she doesn¡¯t have the spine to sacrifice,¡± I say, ¡°but we might be wrong. We¡¯re not considering Jonas, here ¡ª it wouldn¡¯t be out of the question for him to pressure Vivianna into doing something that betrays her supposed ¡®hero¡¯s conscience.¡¯¡±


    ¡°So, in short, we know nothing about what they¡¯re planning,¡± Rayan sums up. I can see the frustration on his face, scrapes of Maia¡¯s spear on his skin. ¡°Fuck.¡±


    ¡°We should retreat,¡± Cas inputs. ¡°Gather information. I¡¯m injured. Nothing life-threatening, but if none of us get treated we¡¯ll face a lot of shit.¡±


    Arden shrugs, and kicks Iason in the side almost callously. There¡¯s something off about her, as disgust flickers in her eyes, Iason¡¯s adoring look not flinching. ¡°Go Heal Caspian, Ray, and Seraphina.¡±


    Iason complies, and we¡¯re bathed in a golden light, injuries I hadn¡¯t even noticed knitting together. It feels itchy, like you¡¯ve spent too much time in the sun and the heat¡¯s spread to under your skin ¡ª the sensation feels completely unlike what the comforting radiance should feel. I cast a glance behind us. ¡°Cas,¡± I throw the name to my partner. ¡°Help me.¡± I mime digging.


    Rayan frowns. Arden just blinks.


    Cas hesitates for a moment. ¡°Sera¡ª¡±


    ¡°Okay,¡± I reply. ¡°I¡¯ll do it myself.¡±


    Digging graves is surprisingly tiring.


    <hr>


    Cas doesn¡¯t apologize. He doesn¡¯t need to.


    ¡°So we can all agree that something¡¯s happening,¡± I say. When I come back, my hands are caked with dirt and my fingers grimy, but no one says anything. Not a flicker of guilt is etched onto their expressions, but I suppose it¡¯s to be expected.


    ¡°Yeah,¡± Rayan agrees. ¡°But we don¡¯t know what. So the logical thing to do is to make contact.¡±


    ¡°The question is how,¡± I guess. I point a finger at myself jokingly. ¡°Well, in terms of diplomacy, we¡¯ve got the best people in the world right here. Chosen of the Gods, right? The most skilled diplomats in the entire Empire, trying to negotiate with each other on how not to kill each other.¡±


    Cas allows the grin to appear again. ¡°Of course,¡± he replies. ¡°But the question is also, where? We know the vague location of Bloodthorn¡¯s camp, but they could be wandering around anywhere on the Isle for all we know.¡± He gestures for someone to hand him our map, and Arden does, and I look over his shoulder. ¡°The logical thing to do if they had a big plan and most of their members were killed would be to relocate, but¡­¡±


    Arden speaks up. ¡°We could commandeer it,¡± said Aphrodite¡¯s Chosen. ¡°And ask it to lead us to it.¡± The second it was said with disgust, glancing at Iason. ¡°Stupid puppets.¡± My Ability very obviously suggests that there¡¯s a backstory behind it, but another side of my mind whispers that he might as well be an it, if Arden¡¯s Ability makes people into mindless puppets¡ª


    Unrelated.


    I shove the train of thought aside. My clothes are still stained with blood, my hands even worse, but Iason¡¯s Heal has made all the scratches and bruises disappear. Now, he¡¯s a weapon, and we have the advantage. Think tactically. We just confiscated the other side¡¯s valuable pieces ¡ª Maia, and Halkyone. Two archers and a spearbearer, and now what¡¯s left is a dual-wielding Queensfavored and a golem-summoning Forgetouched. No. I was forgetting something. A Crownpiece.


    A Chosen.


    ¡°Kage¡¯s escaped,¡± I say, suddenly. ¡°If we have some way of following them, maybe they know where Vivianna is. We could split up, one of us go the original camp?¡± I flinch as the atmosphere grows silent again, the jungle quiet. My skin prickles. ¡°Something¡¯s off,¡± I say, quicker this time, weaving my Ability almost on reflex.


    I earn strange looks from Arden and Rayan, but immediately Cas¡¯ hand goes to his dagger. Where ¡ª how ¡ª monster? ¡ª no ¡ª why? ¡ª Chosen?


    ¡°Splendid reflexes,¡± a familiar voice drawls. Hephaestus¡¯ Chosen, the pale-skinned boy we tried to kill, delicately strolls into the clearing, seemingly unarmed but with a maniacal glint in his eyes. This time, everyone¡¯s about to spark into action, but Jonas just grins. ¡°I come in peace,¡± he says, ¡°and with an offer.¡± He meets my eyes knowingly, and I melt my features into an amused expression.


    ¡°What do you have to offer?¡± Rayan asks. ¡°You¡¯re at a disadvantage, and outnumbered. Doesn¡¯t take a genius to figure out.¡±


    The Forgetouched just raises an eyebrow. ¡°How,¡± he says, casually, ¡°would you like to escape the Gods?¡±


    <hr>

 21. Carrion I

    <hr>


    I am looking for a [???]* man.


    - DIOGE(??)S, PHILOSOPHER OF OLD, while walking around carrying a lantern during the day**


    <hr>


    *records of the philospher''s name have been burned in the notorious Fire of the Library of Alexandria, the only annals left about him were those recounted by human readers'' memory; it is obscure to what kind of man he is looking for, but is usually filled in as "honest."


    <hr>


    THERE WERE FAR TOO MANY MOTIVATIONS FOR HUMANS TO BECOME IMMORAL THAN PHILOSOPHY OR RELIGION COULD COVER.


    Anothen Verses told of how sin corrupted even the most innocent of people, but didn¡¯t exactly recount how to stop it. I was told that the Kato didn¡¯t encourage sin but still acknowledged it, which was one way that the two Beliefs were similar ¡ª an observation that would likely get me killed in some circles, but an observation nonetheless.


    Then again, the concept of someone being immoral, violating some sort of unspoken rule not to kill, steal, or maim, was inherently wrong.


    It wasn¡¯t right, so it was wrong ¡ª perhaps the Rhianites would defend it, or those across the Oceanus, the Kason, or the Easterners. But rules usually had to be spoken before they were set, and set before enforced. Everyone had their own set of rules, lines they wouldn¡¯t cross, but whether they would sacrifice them for the sake of glory, whether they would fall to the tempter that was sin, would depend on them, and only them, not preachers or extremists that waved Verses around.


    Greed was a sin, and a common one at that. I wasn¡¯t surprised to see it in most eyes of those at the Imperial Court.


    ¡°Pay up.¡±


    ¡°Your Majesty, he¡¯s¡ª¡±


    ¡°I said, pay up.¡±


    ¡°Or what? You¡¯ll do what? Your Majesty¡ª¡±


    Greta held up a hand, benevolently showing no signs of an oncoming headache. ¡°Please, Duke Boreas, Marquis Drakos, calm down,¡± my sister said in a steely tone that brooked no argument. ¡°Duke, please, state your plea.¡±


    The Cardinal looked surprisingly like an intellectual, lean and pale like most Boreans were, but with thin spectacles that hung on his lithe face. He was older, some years either older ¡ª or younger ¡ª than Greta, frost-streaked robes hanging on his crumpled-metal posture. He was reportedly quiet in social occasions, only deigning to speak to his comrades that were the other Cardinals and duchies, but vocally firm as a politician ¡ª I had seen him before, on his visits to Inevita, one of the Duke Marksman¡¯s personal acquaintances and political allies on the Rhianite border front.


    The Duke Matthias had hated the Rhianites because they were too peace-loving. The Duke Boreas assumedly hated the Rhianites because they had killed his parents.


    You could see very easily who was more justified to be angry.


    ¡°Your Majesty, the Marquis Drakos¡ª¡± the Head of the Anthinon Duchy shot a vapid scowl at the man in question, a scowl that meant that the Duke would probably like nothing better but to call the Marquis what he was ¡ª a sleazy con-man with an apparent military backing ¡ª ¡°failed to provide his annual support for the branch of the Imperial Army stationed in Anthinon.¡±


    The Marquis frowned from the other side of the Imperial court, the seat of the defendant if the court was fashioned in the way of the law, and was about to interject before the Duke argued, ¡°We¡¯ve seen an increase in Rhianite bandits these past few years ¡ª their peace-loving culture can¡¯t keep reining in the heretical criminals that keep pushing our borders.¡±


    The scholarly man shook his head almost startingly calmly, spectacles still on his nose, ¡°They¡¯re becoming more organized, bandit bands turning into criminal rings. If you haven¡¯t seen it with your own eyes, Your Majesty, you wouldn¡¯t believe it.¡± The Cardinal turned to the Marquis, as he spoke, the accusatory words in contrast with his mild demeanor, ¡°Which is why, funding and resources is all the more important, and Marquis Drakos should hand over the money and weapons he promised.¡±


    The Empress Greta the Great raised a hand. ¡°Are you done, Duke?¡±


    Her vassal nodded his head. ¡°Yes I am, Your Majesty. Thank you for the opportunity.¡±


    Then, it was Timaios¡¯ father who jabbed his finger at the other. ¡°Your Majesty,¡± said the Marquis, whose attractive features didn¡¯t match his corrupt interior ¡ª like an apple with a worm sticking out of it, only when you wanted a full worm, it turned out to be a maggot instead ¡ª ¡°I am raising the concern of the safety of the funds after they are allocated. I¡¯m sure you aren¡¯t aware, Your Majesty, but some of us may take the opportunity of a new ruler to relocate some Imperial funds for themselves.¡±


    His shrew-like eyes darted to the Duke. Accusing the Duke of embezzlement while very nearly insulting the Emperor, my Ability observed, but didn¡¯t need it to know that Timmy¡¯s father was toeing a very, very thin line. ¡°As it is,¡± the Marquis Drakos continued, ¡°I¡¯m sure I¡¯m raising a very valid concern, Your Majesty.¡±


    I nearly snorted from my place beside Greta¡¯s throne. My sister¡¯s lips curled.


    ¡°You¡¯re sure, Marquis, are you?¡± the newly-crowned Empress asked. ¡°Well, since you raise security concerns of some kind of force that even the Cardinals can¡¯t touch stealing your resources, of course it is our duty as the Imperial Family to reassure our vassals.¡±


    Greta¡¯s head tilted and met mine, my Ability sparking. ¡°Sixth Princess Seraphina,¡± she acknowledged, ¡°I¡¯m sure you¡¯ve recently acquired some free time after the recent ceremony.¡± Green eyes blinked knowingly. ¡°Please, do accompany the Marquis¡¯ goods on their route to the Borean Army.¡±


    Damianos Drakos¡¯ eyes widened. ¡°Your Majesty¡ª¡±


    I wove my powers through Greta''s words, picking the Hints apart as I inclined my head. ¡°I would be honored to, Your Majesty.¡± I sent a smile towards the Marquis who had offered a bayonet bribe to me just a day ago, the corners of my lips mild but my teeth showing.


    I could see the Marquis twitch, just a bit.


    ¡°As you can see,¡± Greta gestured to the Duke, who hadn¡¯t uttered a peep, ¡°Duke Boreas is amicable towards the arrangement. If it makes you feel safer, we can send the Second Prince along with her. What do you think, Sixth Princess Seraphina?¡±


    I tilted my head. ¡°I¡¯m sure he would love to, Your Majesty,¡± I lied.


    The Marquis twitched again.


    The other nobles¡¯ eyes glinted with amused calculation ¡ª six ducal heads, three marquises, and three counts. The vassals of the rulers of the Empire. It would be too far to say that the people gathered in this room could either topple the Empire or save it, but it wasn¡¯t a conclusion that could be that easily passed off as ludicrous - to keep them in line, Greta had to promise them enough benefits to keep them from rebelling, but enough demerits to get them to know their place.


    The ever-precarious balance of carrot and stick wasn¡¯t one that I had to worry about. I was the one building the cart, or keeping the cart driver from falling off, not the cart driver or the donkey; well, maybe at times I was the latter, but it was clear ¡ª


    This was a power play. What was the saying ¡ª a wheel that turned gathered no rust. Age hadn¡¯t dulled the blade of any of the eleven nobles that occupied the Imperial Court; the Marquis was testing the boundaries of Greta¡¯s new reign, attempting to sow seeds of discord and feel out her bond with the Cardinals, and I was being given the opportunity to form a bond of my own.


    ¡°Well, then,¡± Greta said, ¡°that matter is solved. Onto the next.¡±


    <hr>


    The Court steadily brought up matters throughout the four hours it was in session, the period spanning the hour after breakfast and the hour before lunch. Greta¡¯s first morning as Emperor was filled with protests, power plays, and the occasional test of strength ¡ª the Republica diplomat situation was brought up, of course.


    ¡®Recompensation must be demanded¡¯ was the general message the nobles were pushing forward. Of course, Greta had to reassure them that an offer for a summit at Notus was sent along with the information that Nikephoros was dead ¡ª which I had some but not all idea about, in case I hadn¡¯t made it clear ¡ª and it sorted out, sooner or later.


    ¡°We''re leading an Imperial Procession throughout the Eternal City, right?¡± I said, breaking the somewhat-silence that was primarily made up of the clinking of silverware, ¡°Has the route been mapped out?¡± I slid the knife across the brown-red flesh of the slab of meat in front of me, stabbing the lacerated piece with my fork and popping it into my mouth as I looked at my sister. We were, surprisingly, alone ¡ª my siblings were busy, although I would have to meet with Orion later¡ª


    The Empress waved a flippant hand. ¡°There¡¯s no need to worry about assassins,¡± she said. ¡°The others are coming along. And we¡¯re passing through all of the Quarters, so there needn¡¯t be a pre-mapped route.¡±


    I blinked. ¡°Including the Lower Quarter?¡± I asked, trying not to let surprise taint my voice. None of the post-coronation Processions before had passed through the slums ¡ª it was a day of apparent joy, at least for the commoners who weren¡¯t quite ¡®gutter trash.¡¯ Those that lived in the heart of the Lower Quarter, the actual gutters, usually never saw the supposed light of the Emperor¡¯s palanquin.


    ¡°It''s an Empire of all.¡± Greta¡¯s gaze was sharp. ¡°I don''t forget my roots.¡±


    A chastisement, a threat, and a promise all in one. I smiled. ¡°''Course, Sister.¡± I knifed the veal again. ¡°By the way, about the meeting you mentioned, with the Republic? Would it be alright, if you could fill me in on that?¡± I tried not to let the annoyance that I hadn¡¯t been informed touch my gaze.


    Greta arched an eyebrow, graciously ignoring my fairly obvious irritation. ¡°I did send an invitation to both Consuls,¡± she said. ¡°Their initial appeal for military support''ll be accepted, and given in the form of Cyrus, but there will be cracks. And I know when they¡¯ll appear.¡± A polite way of refusing my help.


    ¡°Right,¡± I agreed, still smiling. I emptied the dish. ¡°What about my trip to Boreas? Do you need me to do anything in particular?¡± I voiced my Ability¡¯s concerns. ¡°Meet with the Rhianites in your name? Make connections with the Duke?¡± All possible strategies that could be used to tighten the net.


    ¡°No.¡± Greta waved her fork. ¡°Do what you will.¡± At my raised eyebrow, she continued, ¡°To the public, we reached a conclusion after a long and harrowing journey. We questioned the military praetor, who was surprisingly found innocent; we rightfully suspected the lecherous diplomat; but it was the one with a clean slate all along that was the culprit! A tale that could become a Tale, a fable that reinforces the moral of never judging a Tome by its cover ¡ª ¡®who knew the new Imperial Family was capable of such rightful judgement? Such is deserving of the Chosen title!¡¯ is the public sentiment.¡±


    She said the last statement with surety, probably dipping into the spy reserve I knew she had.


    I inclined my head. ¡°It''s an honor,¡± I said lightly, ¡°to serve, my sister.¡±A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.


    A ghost of a smile touched my sister¡¯s lips. ¡°Yes, it was quite a well thought-out plan. Almost admirable, really. And I didn¡¯t even give you a single instruction.¡± The Empress laid down her spoon in her now-empty plate and propped her head on her hand. ¡°I trust you to come up with a strategy to convey my divine will.¡± The last two words were thick with dry sarcasm.


    My Ability veered at the trap ¡ª if I didn¡¯t execute her divine will, I would be liable to treason ¡ª but my arrogance soared. She couldn¡¯t get rid of me yet ¡ª she could ¡ª she has use for me ¡ª are you willing to be used? ¡ª


    I shut it down immediately, still grinning from ear to ear. ¡°Of course, since your will''s mine!¡± I said cheerfully. At Greta¡¯s gesture, the plates were cleaned up and the table emptied, and the Empress looked at me with glittering green eyes.


    ¡°You¡¯ve figured out the secret of Orion¡¯s family,¡± she said, after a while. ¡°So you must know that his motives for helping me are...complicated.¡± My sister intertwined her delicate fingers together, reverting back to casually formal speech. ¡°You''re young. Almost too young, to the point where I¡¯d hesitate to trust you with these things. But Rion and I¡¯ve known each other a long time. Twenty-five years, if I¡¯m correct, and he¡¯s much more volatile than you¡¯d think.¡±


    Was she trying to turn me against him?


    As my expressions were an open book, Greta shook her head. ¡°No, not anything of the sort. He''s ¡ª how would you say it? ¡ª like a candlewick.¡± She gestured towards a nearby candelabra ever-so-slowly, the words laced with some kind of deep understanding that eluded me. ¡°He¡¯s close,¡± she continued with her blank face, almost sadly, ¡°to burning out. In fact, you could argue he already has. He¡¯s clinging to life, finding anyone and anything that captures his interest of the hunt and his Goddess, in some unconscious way.¡±


    The only logical conclusion was¡ª ¡°You want me to take care of him?¡± I asked, two meanings in one.


    ¡°Take care ¡ª you could say that,¡± Greta the Great conceded. For a minute she seemed old, the age of the Duke and Duchess but nowhere near the young woman thrust into a game too young that I saw ¡ª a mirror of myself, that she perhaps wanted me to see ¡ª ¡°I want you to watch him. He''s my brother, our brother, and if he burns out, he will.¡±


    ¡°So you¡¯re purposely sending us both to Boreas,¡± I guessed, ¡°to either make him feel alive again, or not.¡±


    ¡°You could say that,¡± my sister repeated evasively, leaning back. Her official Imperial robes ¡ª a ceremonial chiton but embroidered with her personal insignia, an ivy wreath of Dionysus ¡ª floated over her shoulders, a golden, slightly more informal cloak hanging over the outfit. She chose not to wear a crown, like Nikephoros, which was a funny thing.


    I would¡¯ve chosen to wear a crown.


    Isn¡¯t that hilarious, a voice in the back of my mind whispered, that your material desires are so fragile ¡ª easily weakened, easily strengthened?


    But what¡¯s wrong with that? I whispered back.


    ¡°When do I leave?¡± I voiced my Ability again, and my Empress replied, easily:


    ¡°Tomorrow afternoon.¡±


    <hr>


    There was little time for goodbyes. I plucked Alyssa and Alia from their work after they finished their more important tasks, placing them in charge of packing my possible Daycycle-spanning mission ¡ª I wrote Julian, who was busy, a goodbye letter that was sure to irk the stoic praetor inside him somewhat; I bade my siblings farewell: with Josephine and Arathis, a kiss on their cheeks, with Cyrus, a smile and a slow nod in return; and I was off.


    There were nobles with their artificial well wishes, and I saw the Duke and Duchess once more before I boarded the carriage, but it never tainted my good mood.


    I sat next to my brother, and across from our other travelling companion, with a bright smile.


    ¡°Are you sure, you wouldn¡¯t be more comfortable not sharing a carriage?¡± the Duke Boreas asked, the words almost kind but the adjustment of his spectacles while speaking them bland and uncomfortable.


    ¡°I¡¯m sure,¡± I returned placidly. ¡°I¡¯ve heard that Your Excellency¡¯s fief includes the Athenaeum, one of the greatest Libraries in the Empire? Could you tell me more?¡± A jarring change in topic, but it was something I was genuinely curious about.


    ¡°My fief spreads across the entire Stronghold of Boreas,¡± the duke corrected, ¡°but yes. The Athenaeum contains one of the most complete texts and scrolls from Before, and a wide variety of Myths and Tales from the source itself ¡ª it is quite a marvellous landmark, even in the supposed treasure trove that is Anthinon.¡±


    Orion tilted his head. ¡°Before texts are rare?¡± he asked both of us, either feigning ignorance or actually being clueless.


    Surprisingly, the Cardinal remained patient, replying before I could open my mouth. ¡°P.Q.C. is measured as the Post-Cage Era,¡± he explained formally. ¡°Or, after the Queen¡¯s Cage was established under the hands of the Gods and the reign of the First Emperor, who was, technically, the first ¡®Chosen.¡¯ Before, refers to the Era before that, from more than a hundred years ago and when the Empire was a mere fledgling state.¡±


    I made a hum of agreement, drawing on my knowledge. ¡°Since the Library of Alexandria in Eurus, the other source of Before records, suffered through a fire that took most of their original Before texts, it wouldn¡¯t be a stretch to say that the Athenaeum is the center for those gathering to study Before,¡± I summarized, leaning back.


    The window was bright.


    The duke inclined his head in agreement. ¡°You are very knowledgeable, Your Highness,¡± he commented. ¡°But yes, you are correct. We even have the most likely version of the First Emperor¡¯s name ¡ª or the least likely, we are not sure, due to that dreadful fire that happened.¡±


    ¡°¡®Pandora,¡¯¡± I recounted. I had always been a good history student. ¡°All-gifted, like the Tale ¡ª some say the First Emperor was involved in the case of the Box, or that they were Pandora herself, but there¡¯ve been too many theories about the name to count.¡±


    The Duke Boreas¡¯ attention was now on me. ¡°What do you think?¡± he asked, more with a scholarly curiosity than a politician¡¯s inquiry.


    ¡°My personal thoughts, or my rational thoughts?¡± I questioned rhetorically, lacing my Ability through the events. ¡°Personally, I think that it¡¯s a believable theory¡ª¡± arguably, the most believable ¡°-since their Ability remains unknown, but the ¡®pan¡¯ of the name, meaning all, seems like an important fragment. Some say the Emperor was made by the Gods, like Pandora, which I opt for, myself.¡±


    I listened to my Ability, interlacing my hands together, and concluded: ¡°On the other hand, rationally, Myths and Tales don¡¯t repeat. Their lessons might, but the people they feature don¡¯t ¡ª that can be concluded through years of studying Before. So that Pandora theory is rendered null.¡±


    The scholar¡¯s eyes glinted.


    ¡°Yes,¡± he responded, with a fellow scholar¡¯s reverence, ¡°that¡¯s almost exactly what I think! Your Highness¡ª¡±


    ¡°Please,¡± I offered to the Cardinal who I was supposed to build connections with, ¡°call me Seraphina.¡±


    ¡°Ah.¡± The duke adjusted his spectacles for a second, taken aback, before reciprocating: ¡°Please, call me Damokles, then. I suppose it may be a bit strange, given the fact that I¡¯m the age of your father, but¡ª¡±


    Orion interrupted, furrowing his eyebrows to himself, ¡°I still don¡¯t get it.¡±


    We both laughed. Orion¡¯s bowhand twitched.


    The three of us got on surprisingly well, as the days passed. Our carriage first took an hour or two to finish the journey from the Palace and the center of the Eternal City to the isle¡¯s rim, where land met Lake Ichor; after hopping a ferry that provided way to shore, we made the other, longer Dayhept journey to the Drakos Marquessate and picked up a concerningly large amount of weapons, then headed directly for the duke¡¯s fief.


    The duke and I progressed readily, from strangers to casual acquaintances, all according to plan ¡ª which was, of course, a haphazard collection of strategies that were the Wisest and my ¡®best¡¯ route, as always ¡ª but Damokles was a good travelling companion to the point where my mind was in a pathetic state.


    I would be a fool, not to recognize that he was approaching the father-shaped void in my mind. I would be even more of a fool, not to realize how pathetic that was. But that was personal, not the type of cogs in plans, my Ability told me.


    I stared out the window.


    As the sun and moon exchanged paths ¡ª I barely slept if slept at all, as usual, but when I did, I was told Orion guarded my separate carriage quite threateningly. It was interesting, to observe the display of so-called brotherly love, when we had been distant in the three Daycycles I¡¯d been in the Palace, but the Imperial Family was strange, like that.


    In the supposedly short time I¡¯d joined the Victors, I¡¯d observed the bonds that joined them together like steel spiderwebs hidden under silk ¡ª we tried to kill each other, maim each other, the silk but we ate together, talked together, and even slept in the same house. We acted buddy-buddy mere seconds before we plotted against each other. But it was steel that tied us together, steel that was only formed when killing potential legends. The steel of insanity.


    We stopped at several towns, on our way climbing up the continent ¡ª but they were fleeting sights of mundane stone and brick, the landscape wilder and more untamed the closer we got to the northern Stronghold. The weather was edging freezing, by the time we reached Anthinon ¡ª my ladies-in-waiting had prepared thick clothing, but they hadn¡¯t come along, I could keep myself safe and assisted ¡ª and the Dayhept spent was worth it as my eyes spotted crystalline spires peeking from collosal ice barriers.


    There it was.


    Anthinon, capital of Boreas.


    My next target.


    <hr>


    The captain of the Winterdeath, also known as the Borean branch of the Imperial Army, or the Borean Army, held the title of Wraith. The current Wraith was a scowling figure, tall in spider-silk and leather, and I was sure I could remember their name if I tried hard enough but, of course, I didn¡¯t bother to.


    We were ushered in as honored guests, of course ¡ª pheasants were cooked and quails boiled, the famous Anthinon olive oil used in every dish emanating aroma that brushed my nostrils seductively. Damokles and I debated upon the use of hope as symbolism in the Myth of Pandora, and Orion slid in polite military questions to the current Wraith, who joined us at the table. But after the luncheon was cleared away, and the mood had taken a serious enough turn, business was discussed.


    The Wraith unrolled a rough map of Boreas and the Rhianite border on the table. I studied it.


    I had contingencies for if I couldn¡¯t deal with the Rhianite rogues, but they were, after all, contingencies. If I had been alone, it would¡¯ve been mildly challenging, but there was Orion. I was sure the matter would be resolved within a Dayhept, at longest.


    ¡°The Rhiannon continent functions in states,¡± the captain explained ¡ª or was it a capitalized, Captain? No, Wraith was their capitalized title ¡ª and cleared their throat. ¡°The closest state to Boreas is the one they call Victoria, where we believe most of the rogues originate from.¡±


    My Ability whirred, confirming the information. ¡°All the states signed a Peace Treaty under the Rhianite High King,¡± I pointed out casually. ¡°If these rogues are rebelling against it, wouldn¡¯t it call for Rhianite peacekeeping forces to be dispatched?¡±


    Damokles shook his head. ¡°They¡¯ve been plaguing Boreas for the better half of a decade now,¡± he said. ¡°The previous Emperor did dispatch some forces, but they never quelled the bandits for good ¡ª the Rhianites, because they apparently have the right of ¡®freedom of action,¡¯ and if it comes down to it, they¡¯ll supposedly defend the bandits¡¯ right, since they haven¡¯t killed anyone, because they¡¯re ¡®peacekeepers.¡¯¡± The last words were laced with surprising venom, and yet again I was reminded that the Cardinal¡¯s parents had been murdered by them.


    ¡°But they¡¯ve decreased the amount of fur merchants coming to Anthinon for trade almost drastically, correct?¡± Orion questioned.


    His amber eyes travelled over the parchment and detailed ink almost mechanically, and slid a finger towards a marked trade route from Rhiannon to Anthinon. ¡°Don¡¯t you have some of the Winterdeath guarding the border? So how do enough of the bandits escape to establish organized bases in Visava?¡± Correct to his observations, there were splotchy ink blots labeled ¡®bandit bases¡¯ outside the Stronghold¡¯s barriers.


    The captain almost looked embarrassed. ¡°They¡¯ve been slipping bribes to some of the border guards,¡± they confessed, ¡°to the point where we¡¯ve even tried rotating schedules, but it doesn¡¯t work.¡±


    ¡°A problem of internal corruption and external coordinated forces,¡± I observed. I turned to the Cardinal, and remarked mildly, ¡°No offence intended, Damokles, but is there any explanation for how you¡¯ve let the situation deteriorate to this point? I¡¯ll need to tell my sister why the problem occurred before we manage to solve it.¡±


    The Cardinal didn¡¯t look angered. ¡°It¡¯s not an excuse, but it¡¯s a chore to manage all the five cities inside the Stronghold, and the capital,¡± he said. ¡°And perhaps,¡± he admitted after a while, ¡°it¡¯s some personal oversight on my part. But what I said at the Court was true ¡ª they¡¯re growing at an exponential rate, if you look at the beginning and the end of their numbers and not their gradual inclination.¡±


    ¡°So there¡¯s some force at work here, from the Rhianite side,¡± Orion stated. It was a reasonable conclusion that my Ability agreed with, and I nodded.


    ¡°We can¡¯t directly clash with all of them at once, if they¡¯re all part of an organization,¡± I added, tilting my head. I traced paths all over the map in my mind, and narrowed my eyes at the dots. ¡°Nab the biggest, and make an example out of them? What do you think, older brother?¡±


    Orion shrugged. ¡°It''s worth a shot ¡ª Damokles, do we get the honors of getting the bandit loot?¡±


    ¡°Confiscating threats to the Empire as a part of the Imperial Treasury,¡± I corrected, smiling.


    My brother shrugged. ¡°Yeah, that.¡±


    The Wraith had varying expressions on their face, but they raised a question. ¡°Do you need any reinforcements? As I know of, Your Highness the Second Prince holds an honorary rank of major ¡ª I could arrange for a transfer of command, if you¡¯d like.¡±


    No, military men? That would only delay action if we were to start straight away ¡ª and, according to the look on my brother¡¯s face, we were going to start straight away.


    ¡°Two people who follow orders well, without question, and to the letter,¡± I requested, my gaze still on the map. ¡°We won¡¯t need too much support, Damokles ¡ª we¡¯ll get every single one of them, as a gift to a friend. Right, Orion?¡±


    Orion¡¯s eyes gleamed in agreement, surprisingly, his hand wandering to his bow as he shouldered it.


    Was it overestimation, to think myself capable of rooting out a problem a Cardinal of the Empire couldn¡¯t? Even it was, it was a task Greta asked me to do, and I could see why ¡ª if we did get rid of them, there would be contact from the Rhianites, good or bad; Anthinon¡¯s fur trade that the Empire relied on would be restored; and Damokles would be swayed to stay a bit longer by Greta¡¯s side.


    What I didn¡¯t see in the near future, however, was any time for sightseeing.


    It was a pity, I thought to myself ¡ª I really did want to read those Before texts.


    <hr>

 22. Carrion II

    <hr>


    Atque in perpetuum frater ave atque vale.*


    - UNKNOWN REPUBLICA POET


    <hr>


    Translation:


    (see bottom)


    <hr>


    ORDERS WERE TO BE FOLLOWED.


    If orders were followed in a specific way, you would get promoted.


    If you got promoted enough times before you died, you would get money and power, two forces that ran the Empire.


    The soldier knew that fact well, clung to it as an island in the Empire.


    Before he had turned thirty, the soldier had been dispatched to the Stronghold that was Notus ¡ª there was no war that plagued the continent of Visava, but there were always independent forces that tried to rip it apart. Under the banner of Petra Castellanos, the supposed Ducal Lord of Notus¡¯ capital, the soldier had spent long, hard years campaigning and driving away the more persistent ¡®Pubs, and he had heard.


    He had heard stories, of those the Republica soldiers that were dispatched to the Union border, of dark branches and abysses and forests that threatened to swallow you whole and spit out your guts. He had heard the drunken sobs of Notian mothers who had lost their children to the Republic¡¯s Legions, and had been returned corpses mutilated by monsters and men.


    ¡°The Damned,¡± finger-pointed those driven mad by grief, ¡°have a country Forsaken by the Gods! Because of their monsters, our children fight!¡± Those who succumbed to the insanity became the ones who hated. The thought of it¡¯s the Damned¡¯s fault, became all Damned are to blame, to all Kato are monsters, to Lysimachos was right; and you never, ever wanted to agree with the creator of a genocide.


    Orders were orders.


    ¡°You¡¯re surrounded by Rhianite bandits. One lunges at you. What weapon are they holding?¡±


    ¡°A short handled knife, Major Velasvus, sir.¡±


    Amber eyes stared at the soldier.


    ¡°You¡¯re winning the battle against them, but there¡¯s a last person you have to defeat. Who is it?¡±


    ¡°The platin bandit, Major Velasvus, sir.¡±


    ¡°Who? Tell me.¡±


    A hand patted the Major¡¯s shoulder. ¡°Calm down, Orion, you¡¯re scaring the poor man.¡± A girl, the age of his friend¡¯s daughter, with dark tresses and in robes that were simplistically luxurious. Her blue eyes gleamed. ¡°What would you do, soldier? If you were given command of this mission?¡±


    The question startled him, but he answered: ¡°Take down the platin bandit and his men, Your Highness, sir.¡±


    ¡°No need to bother with formalities,¡± the assumed Princess replied, waving a flippant hand. She turned to her brother. ¡°What do you think? Chop off the legs and then the head? Or make the head eat the legs?¡± The gruesome metaphor had the Major blink for a second, before the Chosen turned to the soldier.


    ¡°Who is the platin bandit?¡± he repeated his initial question. ¡°And what does he want?¡±


    ¡°Platin, sir,¡± the soldier answered, matter-of-factly. ¡°Other than the Republic, the High Kingdom¡¯s a good source of the stuff. He and his people are known for guerilla¡¯ing his way through the bigger caravans. Nowadays, the only metal trade we can get is if we Deathies personally accompany the procession ¡ª and even then, it doesn¡¯t scare off the Platoon, much, not really.¡±


    The girl snorted. ¡°The Platin Platoon.¡± She nudged her brother. ¡°Laugh, it¡¯s funny.¡±


    The Major didn¡¯t laugh.


    The Chosen known as Seraphina tilted her head. ¡°So Damokles is in quite a pickle,¡± she mused to herself. ¡°Father must¡¯ve heard the brunt of it, but why didn¡¯t he¡ª¡± she abruptly stopped, her eyes almost unfocusing, as she made some faraway calculation. ¡°Ah.¡± She turned to the Major. ¡°And you didn¡¯t tell me,¡± she scolded, red lips pulling into an almost mildly cruel smile. ¡°So this is the carrot. Or the stick, you could label it either.¡±


    The Second Prince merely grunted.


    ¡°We¡¯re making good on a promise, then,¡± the Sixth Princess said. She looked at the soldier. ¡°What rank are you?¡±


    ¡°Captain, Your Highness.¡±


    ¡°Arm your forces with the weapons we¡¯ve brought from Drakos,¡± ordered the Major, suddenly. The soldier could now see that he was almost unconventionally armed, true to the rumors, with a bow. ¡°Prepare for the event of a head-on clash.¡±


    The rumors said much about the solitary archer, but he and Princess ¡ª Empress, now, but the fact still hadn¡¯t hit the soldier very hard ¡ª were surprisingly favorites in the Imperial Army. Sometimes they said that he could shoot targets from a hundred feet away; other times it was that he and the Empress were lovers, for all that he was five years younger.


    The soldier did the Imperial salute. ¡°Yes, sir.¡±


    ¡°If it comes to that,¡± Seraphina added, conversationally. She looked like she was in another world, an indifferent spectre like the whispers told of, as she blinked. ¡°But it probably won¡¯t.¡± The Chosen clapped her lithe hands together. ¡°Lead me to the third-biggest bandit den, Captain ¡ª I¡¯m sure we¡¯ll have loads of fun together.¡±


    <hr>


    The Victors told the soldier to wait outside. He did.


    He heard screams.


    They came back outside, after an hour. Seraphina was holding a spherical bag that was suspiciously damp with scarlet.


    <hr>


    He waited outside again.


    The same thing happened, albeit longer. The bag duplicated itself.


    Evening fell.


    <hr>


    The two Victors apparently delivered the bags to the doorstep of the Platoon headquarters. The soldier, a captain under the Winterdeath, wasn¡¯t sure how they managed it.


    <hr>


    Orion was drunk. And crying.


    I looked at him. Should I stay indifferent? Coax him into making an Oath that would further my own motives? I wasn¡¯t sure, and I ignored my Ability¡¯s incessant whispers, sitting down beside him on the log. Ember light and jet shadow dappled his sun-bronze face, the radiance consuming his earthly features ¡ª and he turned to me, amber eyes clouded and misty.


    ¡°Little dog,¡± he said, grinning.


    ¡°I told you that alcohol was a bad idea,¡± I replied nonchalantly.


    He shook his head. ¡°Alcohol¡¯s good. It keeps the scary away.¡± His crisp intonation had the hint of a slur to it, and the childish wording confirmed it.


    ¡°What¡¯s the scary?¡± I asked, leaning in and confiscating the bottle from his hands. ¡°Huh. Wouldn¡¯t take you for the Eurusan wine type,¡± I continued, looking at the label and turning the iridescent container over in my hands. He seems more of the Inevita label.


    ¡°Age is scary,¡± he replied, shaking his head. It looked almost comical, his straight posture betraying not even a single lurch as my brother smiled. I could see strands of snow beneath the dark that consumed his scalp, and Orion continued, ¡°Greta is scary. You¡ª¡± he squinted in the firelight, judging even in his intoxicated state ¡°-have the potential to be scary.¡± This time I saw sharp bitterness. ¡°You told me you would kill my family. Greta said she would protect them.¡±


    A pang of guilt sparked in my chest.


    ¡°I¡¯ve never cared about my family, so I wouldn¡¯t know,¡± I said. ¡°I¡¯m sorry if I crossed a line I shouldn¡¯t have.¡±


    Orion blinked. ¡°But you would cross it again,¡± he remarked, tone clear but muddled. ¡°Again, and again, and you wouldn¡¯t regret it. You¡¯re sorry, but you don¡¯t regret it; so it means nothing.¡± He hiccuped his way into a snarl.


    I made a noise of agreement. ¡°Regrets are scary,¡± I said nonchalantly. I watched him open another bottle, but I snatched it from him just as he put it to his lips, chugging its bitter contents as it seeped and clawed its way through my throat. Sweet, like honey; but with the dulling wine-grape sour; and I smiled through it as my brother scowled. Wine leaked through the corners of my lips.


    ¡°I don¡¯t regret anything,¡± Orion said. ¡°The hunt made me feel alive.¡± He flexed his fingers. The night wind whipped at him.


    ¡°Made,¡± I noticed. ¡°Past tense.¡±


    The tear streaks on his cheeks glimmered in the moonlight. ¡°Maybe it doesn¡¯t, anymore,¡± the aged hunter said. ¡°And maybe I don¡¯t have any reason to live, anymore.¡± He snorted. ¡°I wouldn¡¯t call you fools, for playing that game of crowns, because the prize is tempting, I¡¯ll admit. But you all are dogs led by the Gods and their boring, boring hunts. Not foolish dogs, but dogs all the same.¡±


    I slid down the log and leaned against it in my new position on the dirt floor. A dog to victory. ¡°If you have no reason, you find one or make one. But if you have no desire to live, rekindling it pays a heavy price.¡± Cas died, in the end; smiling as he leapt to his doom.


    ¡°I have too little faith in life to make another leap, little dog.¡± Orion shook his head. His emotions were laid bare, and I could easily pluck the strings and let him snap, but the flames and my conscience roared. He was but another person who had been chewed on and spat out by the Gods, somebody I could be.


    A silence.


    ¡°Before the day I got my Ability,¡± I began, looking at my hands ¡ª they weren¡¯t covered by that crimson illusion today, which was good ¡ª ¡°I had nightmares, for an entire Daycycle. In my dreams, my existence was erased. My name, my deeds, my capabilities, just like that.¡± I snapped for dramatic effect, and grinned with bravado I didn¡¯t have. ¡°And it made younger me scared, because I couldn¡¯t be a hero like in the books I read. Knowledge wasn¡¯t my power, because it wouldn¡¯t keep me from being forgotten by history.¡±


    ¡°Power is useless,¡± the hunter said.


    ¡°It is an end for me, not the means,¡± I mildly corrected.


    Orion shook his head. ¡°Power does not put a roof over your head,¡± he responded, ¡°it does not give you food to eat and loved ones to sleep with.¡±


    ¡°There¡¯s no one for me to love.¡± I looked at my brother. ¡°No food as sweet, no shelter as tantalizing. It¡¯s a mistake, lusting after it, but one I¡¯ll gladly make.¡±


    A silence occupied by the crackling of the flames.


    ¡°People either want to protect, or be protected,¡± the Fifty-Sixth Victor spoke up. ¡°You think you want to protect yourself, because no one protected you. In actuality, you just want someone to finally protect you; lay by your side when you sleep, kiss you good morning and good night, bear arms and fall in graves for you.¡± His tone bordered pity, melancholy in his words. My brother smiled, again, bitterly. ¡°Love. That¡¯s what we all want, in the end.¡±A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.


    I took out my dagger and fiddled with the hilt. ¡°Did they?¡± I said. ¡°Love you?¡±


    Would someone end up loving me?


    The man shook his head. ¡°No,¡± he answered. ¡°Truth be told, they hated me. I didn¡¯t respect the hunt, according to them; it¡¯s supposed to be necessary and hallowed.¡± Artemis¡¯ Chosen threw his head back and laughed. ¡°They were just jealous, even my father and mother, that I had better aim than them.¡±


    Then why?


    Orion answered the unspoken question: ¡°It¡¯s the right thing to do. It¡¯s easier pretending to love them. Greta understood.¡± He scrambled for another bottle. I slapped his hand. The hunter scowled and closed his eyes, instead. ¡°Greta understood me,¡± the other Chosen spoke again. ¡°Our family ¡ª everyone thinks we all pretend that our family dynamics are forced power plays, but¡ª¡± he made a noise of frustration ¡°-I don¡¯t hate you all. You¡¯re the¡ª¡±


    ¡°Only ones,¡± I finished. It was easy to label his feelings, because they were mine. I looked up at the sky, blade still in my hands, moon full and glaring. ¡°We¡¯re the only ones who can understand, in the world.¡±


    Orion nodded, slowly. ¡°It¡¯s not love, but something¡¯s there. We¡¯re family.¡± He laughed, bitterly.


    ¡°Till the end.¡± The words tasted both sweet and bitter in my mouth, like the wine I¡¯d just downed. Was there an end? An end to all of this deceit, fear? Sleepless nights, mistrust, hate? The hunger, that void to fill. ¡°I feel so empty.¡± I looked at the dagger in my hands ¡ª it was a new set, the blade clean and shiny. ¡°I want to feel whole, brother, not broken.¡±


    I felt him shuffle. I couldn¡¯t see him, but I could feel those amber eyes boring into me.


    ¡°You¡¯ll never be whole,¡± he said, matter-of-factly. The statement would¡¯ve hurt me, if it wasn¡¯t delivered so quietly and honestly. ¡°Because there¡¯s nothing to fulfill in the first place. No one can fix you, not even yourself, not the thrill and rush or the satisfaction of victory.¡±


    I felt my lips curl up involuntarily. ¡°Maybe,¡± I replied.


    ¡°I had good aim,¡± Orion continued, seemingly off-track. ¡°I always did. When I was younger, it was small rabbits; then boars; then bears. We lived in the outskirts of the Second Isle, you know ¡ª my father and mother were Woodsmen ¡ª and in our village I was known for being one of the best hunters there.¡± His eyes grew misty. ¡°There was a girl named Galena, who I wanted to marry when I grew up ¡ª she never said anything, when I told her I felt joy in killing things. She was the one who helped me realize that I found happiness in the chase, not the prey.¡±


    I didn¡¯t break the silence.


    My brother smiled. ¡°One day I woke up,¡± he said, ¡°and I found out I had perfect aim. I could hit anything, from almost any distance. My Liege visited me in a dream; and, like a fool, I ran away to that Godsbroken isle out of my own will, because I thought there would be fun there. I never said goodbye to Galena.¡±


    He shook his head, and his eyes sparked for a minute, before it went out again. Greta was right, I realized. He was flickering.


    ¡°It was fun.¡± Artemis¡¯ Chosen prodded at the flames. ¡°For a while. They fell into my traps, fell to my arrows, just fell. And then I Won, and it just¡ª¡± Orion drew in a breath, but not out of emotion. Of consideration. If it wasn¡¯t for the dozen bottles at his feet, I wouldn¡¯t have realized he was drunk. ¡°I came back to my village,¡± he said, not finishing his previous sentence, ¡°and saw Galena. She said that even if I was broken, no one could fix me, and that was alright. I never came back again, for some reason.¡±


    ¡°Why?¡± I asked, like he was telling a story.


    He shrugged. ¡°I¡¯m not sure.¡± He stopped poking at the fire. ¡°Years passed. There were new people who could understand me. Greta was the only one who did. Father tried, for a while, but then he¡¯s dead, now.¡± Orion smiled. ¡°Artemis hasn¡¯t talked to me for around twenty years, now. The spark¡¯s gone out for twenty years, now.¡±


    I could feel the pain, the emotion, the doubt and conflict inside the words.


    Chewed up and spat out by the Gods, used and discarded.


    You all are dogs.


    Love is what we all want, in the end.


    He was right.


    ¡°You loved it and lost it,¡± I said, looking at him.


    ¡°Forever.¡± Orion looked at me with those hauntingly amber orbs. ¡°It¡¯s gone now, sister, forever.¡± His eyes were glossing over again, tears dripping from his lashes ¡ª he started convulsing, shaking, almost bitterly with that expression on his face. He looked so defeated.


    I felt something tear inside me ¡ª not fear, that I would turn out to be like him; not pity, either; but that kind of emotion where you saw someone you loved in pain and couldn¡¯t do anything about it. But I didn¡¯t love my brother, that would be arrogant, presumptuous.


    ¡°Humans ¡ª they¡¯re so broken,¡± he said. ¡°And I can¡¯t give in anymore.¡± He looked so empty, as he smiled a soul-curdling smile. The world had carved some kind of scar in him, and for the first time my Hints didn¡¯t click, my Ability didn¡¯t provide me a conclusion ¡ª I saw, just me, alone and helpless. The scar was inside me, too; in a different place, where the Cage spat me out and stained my hands permanently.


    ¡°The hunt can¡¯t fix it, anymore,¡± he said mildly, alcohol drawing out his words. ¡°Greta ¡ª she¡¯s on the throne, now, she¡¯s accomplished her dreams.¡±


    Orion shook his head, age not marrying his youthfully smooth skin, but instead consorting his eyes. The pupils formed an insect trapped in amber ¡ª at first glance, his irises would seem the Eurusan gold; the tint of Cadmus; but it wasn¡¯t. That amber was dark and threatening, a malevolent shade; copper swimming in brown, the jewels of a hound¡¯s gaze.


    It was an abyss ¡ª empty and tired of searching.


    ¡°I can¡¯t.¡± Orion said the words without hesitation. ¡°I waited for Greta to be happy, but I¡¯m not. I can¡¯t be, not anymore.¡±


    But still I leaned forward and embraced him.


    ¡°I''m sorry,¡± I said, my voice surprisingly firm. He could be the age of my father, thirty-eight years, but I would protect him.


    "You''re not the Gods," the former hunter replied, tired.


    He was family.


    <hr>


    The army behind us barely made fifty, but they were fitted with bayonets and rifles while the opponent in front of us held but knives. Damokles had wanted to come, but I had assured him we were more than enough. And we were.


    ¡°Small fry,¡± I observed to my hungover brother. ¡°I¡¯m not sure if Face Platin either listened to my warning, or ignored it.¡± The last part I said loudly, almost provocatively, and some of the bandits flinched. The hardier ones stood impassive, and the leader snorted.


    ¡°That¡¯s Lord Frey to you,¡± he said. ¡°Boss told us you were coming. You all but paraded your arrival by beheading Oscar and Victoria and delivering their heads to us. Boss says thank you, by the way, even though you got blood all over his carpet¡ª hey, is that guy drunk?¡± The leader laughed as Orion swayed, holding his head.


    ¡°Yeah,¡± I agreed. ¡°I told him not to ¡ª Eurusan wine¡¯s always too strong, with how much booze is in that stuff, you deserve it,¡± I told him casually as I spread my Ability throughout the scenario. ¡°He drank six whole bottles,¡± I informed my opponents. ¡°Can¡¯t be good for him.¡±


    The leader of the small fry was confident, not unsurprising, considering there had to be another card up his sleeve. A Rhianite was trying to snake their tendrils into the Empire, and I wouldn¡¯t let it.


    I looked over their clothes ¡ª tattered, made of ragtags but organized ragtags ¡ª and smiled. ¡°Tell Lord Frey,¡± I said, grinning, ¡°that I¡¯ll skin him and make a carpet out of him if he doesn¡¯t get his ass out here in the next thirty seconds.¡± I counted mentally, stringing a thread of Ability to the Hints before me as I physically supported Orion ¡ª ¡°Gods, I told you it¡¯s bad for you¡± ¡ª and the leader shook his head.


    ¡°You¡¯re a joke,¡± he told me. ¡°And I thought the Imperial Chosen could actually pose a threat. You deserve to get stolen from¡ª¡± My fingers wrapped around a familiar hilt, my other hand smacking Orion, as I heard it sail, sliding through the air. It landed in his eye, the blade, and he screamed ¡ª Maia did, too ¡ª as he fell to the floor.


    I heard even the army behind me collectively draw in a breath, as I tutted. ¡°Twenty seconds,¡± I informed the small fry. ¡°Move or I¡¯ll open fire.¡± You¡¯re feeling merciful today, my Ability told me. It¡¯s a mistake. Don¡¯t let emotion bog you down. They didn¡¯t move, although some were hesitant.


    My Ability sighed. I signalled with my now empty bladehand, and the guns roared alive. Steel sang and the sound ravaged my ears, but I merely frowned.


    We marched through the makeshift camp¡¯s gates ¡ª not before I retrieved my knife from the dead leader¡¯s eye, though; it was a pity it was stained so early ¡ª and killed a lot of people. Surprisingly, the Winterdeath soldiers were more organized than I gave them credit for ¡ª they shot bandits very efficiently.


    ¡°I don¡¯t want to strain my voice,¡± I told the soldier who came with us. ¡°Yell something vaguely threatening. Three seconds left, now.¡±


    He cleared his throat, before obeying: ¡°The Platin Bandit, the Empire Eoina has decided to convict you with the charges of multiple crimes committed against the Chryselephantine Throne!¡±


    Silence, before a vaguely aristocratic voice yelled back: ¡°Fuck off!¡±


    I shrugged. ¡°After you.¡±


    ¡°Fuck you!¡±


    ¡°I think that¡¯s illegal.¡±


    ¡°Oh Gods, can¡¯t you all give me a fucking break¡ª¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t think you can take vacations from being a criminal,¡± I replied cheerfully. ¡°I¡¯m here to arrest you. Or kill you, whatever works, I guess.¡± My eyes scanned the surprisingly cold flatlands for any hidden spots, and found none ¡ª at least, until archers filed out from the nearby tents and aimed their crossbows at us. ¡°Ah, so there was the rest of you,¡± I said, my Ability spinning as I frowned, turning to my allies. ¡°No one thought to check the tents? Absolutely no one?¡±


    I felt the arrow¡¯s release before I heard it, a whizzing sound towards my back. I couldn¡¯t say it was backhanded ¡ª unintentional pun ¡ª since that would be denying its effectiveness. My Ability drove my reflexes, and my hand snatched the fletching out of the air, my fingers burning against the thin wood as I looked back.


    ¡°Really?¡± I asked the voice. ¡°I¡¯m deliberately being a piece of shit, and instead of bringing me to your leader to behead me, someone tries to shoot me. What kind of subordinates are you? Shame on you.¡± Some of the crossbow-wielders looked fearful now ¡ª I had just snatched an arrow from out of the air, with my back turned ¡ª but I just shook my head.


    ¡°Brother, you see?¡± I asked Orion, who was irritatedly leaning on me. ¡°Gods, there¡¯s no sense of showmanship these days.¡±


    I watched as, from the biggest tent behind the rows of archers, a young man emerged, the source of the aristocratic voice, assumedly. He¡¯s pale-skinned like a Rhianite or a Borean, green eyes narrowed in irritation.


    ¡°I told you, to fucking give me a break!¡± he snarled. ¡°I don¡¯t care¡ª¡±


    He¡¯s shivering.


    ¡°Next,¡± I said.


    He paused. ¡°What? You¡ª¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re shivering,¡± I pointed out. ¡°Five years of campaigning here and you haven¡¯t gotten used to the weather? Weak.¡± My tone was light, playful, delicate but my mind whirred. Blind spots. I felt my former teacher¡¯s rasp in my ear. I looked at the only vantage point possible ¡ª to my left, and grinned in that direction. ¡°Please, let¡¯s sort this out as peacefully as possible.¡±


    An arrow sailed from the other direction.


    I let it ¡ª even though Orion was there, he would dodge it.


    My conclusion wasn¡¯t reinforced by my Ability.


    I whirled my head before the sound of a point piercing skin ricocheted through the expanse.


    <hr>


    Artemis did not weep.


    Why did you Choose him? Athena asked.


    The two goddesses were figures of light and darkness. The two forces tangoed and danced across their faces and limbs, wisdom¡¯s illumination and the radiance of the moon sparking aeons of life and death. Artemis stood above the world, her silver bow and arrows curving behind her back as the Huntress made an expression that wasn¡¯t quite a smile.


    Because, she replied.


    The Goddess could see the young boy who prided himself on the aim, the boy who cried when he realized he felt joy at killing the young rabbits in the jungle, the boy who longed for the hunt but suffered because of it. She saw the boy grow into a man with bloodstained hands who drank the pain away when it came, dispelling the nightmares that Artemis could not replace with dreams.


    This man saw the world populated out of dogs that were driven by their dreams and desires, and waited for his sister to achieve her own before leaving the world. He had a true love, the hunt, the chase, the prey ¡ª Artemis saw her love in him. Apollo took those who wanted to heal others and gave them an Ability to; Artemis took those who wanted to heal themselves and gave them the Ability to see the fact that they were broken beyond repair.


    He can see, Artemis said. Her amber eyes gleamed. What I can.


    The Gods were the rulers of the world, breaking and repairing humanity as they saw fit. The Empire Eoina could never stay eternal, but the Gods did. Humanity could never stay eternal, but Olympus would. And perhaps, one day, the Gods¡¯ power over the humans would be broken ¡ª the Fates foretold that possibility, and their prophecies proved that.


    A hundred Chosen. She had Chosen a hundred of humanity, those who could see what she could. The Goddess would not remember Orion¡¯s face, but the young boy would be another candle at the altar, another sacrifice.


    For the hunt.


    Move forward blindly and be at peace, Orion Velasvus. That was the first and only time the Goddess of the Hunt and the Moon said her Chosen¡¯s name.


    <hr>


    Translation: Forever hail and farewell.


    - ROMAN POET CATALLUS, MOURNING THE LOSS OF HIS BROTHER


    <hr>

 23. Carrion III

    <hr>


    The thrill of power only comes with the abuse of it.


    - ANONYMOUS AUTHOR OF A TREATISE ON POWER


    <hr>


    IT WAS SAFE TO SAY THE PRINCESS WENT HAYWIRE.


    Almost like the cogs of a machine whirring to a halt before exploding, she froze. The Second Prince was lying on the ground, crimson splotches scattering on the cold ground, fletching protruding from his abdomen, and the soldier could see her processing the scene with those almost glowing blue eyes. Five long beats of silence.


    And then she moved ¡ª not towards the body, like the soldier expected, but towards the archers. Almost silently, inhumanly, she withdrew knives from almost invisible sheaths and slashed at the one almost brutally. And then the action started, the opponents aiming at the dark-haired Chosen, who looked animalistic, almost; Seraphina ruthlessly dispatched two bandits, arrows sailing past her hair and face as she dodged them like she knew where they were going to land.


    The soldier regained the ability to move. ¡°Attend to the Second Prince!¡± he yelled, signalling for the Winterdeath soldiers to run.


    Someone behind him spoke up. ¡°Captain...it¡¯s poisoned.¡± And indeed, as the soldier looked closer, something dark was spreading through the Second Prince¡¯s veins. Sarawolf. He cast a glance at Seraphina, who didn¡¯t speak or yell out in anger ¡ª like a blade that had been unsheathed, she slammed into the dozen-or-so opponents. Like a cornered animal, her movements were quick and rabid, wolves¡¯ fangs sinking into skin as bodies hit the ground.


    Something wild consumed the Princess¡¯ features, and the soldier ordered, ¡°Engage the opponents!¡± He couldn¡¯t order them to open fire, that would kill the Sixth Princess along with the bandits¡­


    Seraphina grabbed a bandit by the hair and smashed him into the ground, kicking his skull and cracking the bandit¡¯s bones with her heel. Arrows bombarded her but they missed, all of them whizzing past her face and heart as the Winterdeath enclosed their opponents. She was almost like a demon, but not the type of military demon that made every move strategically but a demon out of primeval Tartarus; using cruel, callous swipes and jabs that made even the approaching Borean soldiers hesitate.


    The Princess pummeled an archer to the floor, leaping off the ground and viciously stabbing every opponent to death; as if propelled by some kind of foresight, every strike hitting true as her wool-lined robes turned scarlet. Her hair whipping the frosty air as if battling the weather; she was bathed in sunlight and blood.


    There was no mercy in the Chosen¡¯s eyes as she belaboured and one-sidedly slaughtered; and immediately a thought flickered in the soldier¡¯s head. She must¡¯ve noticed the poison, he thought. She knew the Second Prince couldn¡¯t be saved. Those five beats had been all Seraphina had needed, the soldier realized. Her arms arced and blades sang, annihilating the bandits with well-placed blows and bestial movements.


    It was at that moment that the soldier wasn¡¯t sure what had snapped or broken; and whether it could be fixed again; but the captain moved forward.


    One, by one, by one.


    Corpses bled out on the ground, many of them still groaning from ruthlessly-made wounds ¡ª it was like you had given a street fighter the blessing of the Gods and the brains of an Analyst, and the soldier recognized Seraphina¡¯s posture from the days when he hunted down mercenaries. She moved, she calculated, and she stabbed; and the Princess writhed and slipped between the formerly-neat ranks of their opponents like a shadow that left only murder behind.


    The soldier had felt the uneasiness of the soldiers behind him before they leapt to action; the shifting of the Winterdeath that meant a position torn between fear and awe. As the long-distance crossbow-wielders were forced into a melee, many of their numbers thinned until the only one left was the one Seraphina was currently fighting.


    Instead of tripping over the corpses that littered the camp, the Princess¡¯ footwork was flawless and her knife-work even more so as she danced on the bloody mess she had made. Her blue eyes were either too cold or too bright for the soldier to look at; like a winter sun, almost, as he saw a mad grin flicker across her face like candlelight before it disappeared.


    And so the soldier looked at the people on the ground, anda pang of terror sparked in his heart. Every single opponent, dead or alive, that he saw was beaten the shit out of. Skulls were cracked and blood was leaking from crevices in flesh and bone, knife marks making their way across faces and legs and arms like poisonous insects crawling up skin.


    He didn¡¯t command the soldiers further; he didn¡¯t need to ¡ª every single person there gave the Sixth Princess a wide berth, wide eyes taking in the scene. A cruelty that hadn¡¯t been there was in her gaze and every step ¡ª every maneuver, every gesture, every motion ¡ª was filled with sharpness. Instead of the playful younger sister, she was a legend, but it wasn¡¯t heroic or villainous; the soldier couldn¡¯t label the source of the Myth, but it was just there.


    Finally, the last person went down.


    But Seraphina wasn¡¯t finished.


    The Chosen turned towards the direction of the arrow, and spoke. ¡°Have you had enough, Boss?¡± The words rang loud and clear, a pristine bell, as someone stepped out from behind the hill.


    As Seraphina moved towards that direction, the seasoned veteran captain was compelled with the urge to fling his eyes shut like a child afraid of bloodshed.


    He didn¡¯t.


    But he wished he did.


    <hr>


    I hadn¡¯t been sure why I flayed the Platin Bandit alive. I¡¯d only removed the skin above his heart before he started screaming ¡ª unsurprisingly, there were no gags available in the middle of the continental border and the Northern Stronghold. Surprisingly, I felt myself stop in distaste and stab him to death after the first few seconds.


    I clicked my tongue. ¡°Screamers,¡± I muttered under my breath at the recollection. I looked back at the small group of soldiers behind me, all of them riding on horseback. The carriage was given to Orion¡¯s corpse. ¡°You guys have got his head, right?¡± The one holding the bloody bag admirably kept from wincing, and nodded instead.


    After I strained my Ability, all of them seemed cautious of me. I could no longer poke fun at them, or laugh with them, which should¡¯ve made me feel guilty, but I didn¡¯t. There was nothing to feel guilty about ¡ª nothing to regret, my Ability agreed. Its pulsating seemed weaker, fainter, and I clicked my tongue in annoyance again. ¡°Godsbroken strain,¡± I hissed through my teeth.


    My Ability was an organ of its own, because I couldn¡¯t find evidence otherwise. It was a metaphorical living, breathing being that lived on a plane of existence between my physical presence and my consciousness. It was a sixth sense, almost, that could predict what was Wise¡ª no, it Wove things together, fusing the strings of Hints into conclusions about which way to go and what to do. It was alive¡ª I could feel it, as sure as I felt, knew that I could not kill it.


    You are distracting yourself, it said.


    I am, I agreed.


    I continued thinking.


    It was a liquid that you could inject into conclusions, a force that could coagulate and break, something that made me see the supposedly logical force behind everything. I could ignore it. I could put it aside. But I could not make it shut up. I could not turn it off. Most of the time, when I really wanted distractions, I would look at an object. A carpet, a tassel, a neckline, a flyaway thread or hair ¡ª and I would attach my Ability to it.


    I couldn¡¯t do that right now.


    I very rarely strained my Ability ¡ª a bit like stretching a fabric too tight, using it to predict arrows and drive my physical being could make it metaphorically tear at the seams. It wasn¡¯t hurting, or injured, but it was¡ª tired? Sweating? Worn out, I decided.


    If I was being attacked right now, I would have to rely completely on my physical reflexes¡ª which were decent, I had to admit, but not the best option out there. I¡¯d have to exercise myself when I returned home, I thought¡ª


    And then I stopped ¡ª mentally, of course, halting the horse would be just lengthening the cold journey ¡ª and considered something.


    Ah.


    The Palace was home.


    I felt myself shiver ¡ª strange, again. Inevita was cold ¡ª not as much as Boreas was, but cold enough still ¡ª so I shouldn¡¯t be having a physical reaction to the frosty weather. I cast a glance at my hands. Oh ¡ª they were trembling.


    I want to go home.


    Young Seraphina¡¯s voice, speaking. Memories of me shivering with pain after particular bad days, the lashes that remained permanent on my skin until now¡ª one of my hands left the reins of the horse I was riding and climbed up my back. They didn¡¯t hurt now, of course; but they hurt then.


    The voice grew louder, more incessant.


    I want a Mommy and Daddy.


    I want a hug.


    If I become a hero, will people love me?


    Will people be my mommy and daddy?


    I want to become a hero.


    I want a home.


    I don¡¯t want to hurt.


    I don¡¯t want people to stare at me like that.


    If I know everything, will people praise me?


    If I take every opportunity, will the Duke and Duchess be my mommy and daddy?


    I want to know everything.


    I want a family.


    I want to be loved.


    I blinked.


    Somehow, along the way, maybe after the dreams and my Ability, it had become a¡ª


    I want everything.


    ¡°Your Highness?¡± a voice asked. It was the soldier from before, an unreadable expression etched onto his face as he rode beside me. ¡°Are you alright? Do you need us to stop?¡± He had a normal face, passerby features that you would see on a stranger. The only thing that was different about him was his sharp nose and the shiny medal on his chest. Somewhere along the lines I had gotten used to people being older than me.


    ¡°Nah,¡± I responded. I looked at the horizon, the blue sky and the flat ground. ¡°I don¡¯t think I¡¯m quite alright,¡± I murmured under my breath. ¡°But then again, I was never quite that alright in the first place, yes?¡± It was a question that was directed towards no-one in particular, but the soldier blinked. I ignored him, and looked at my hands. They were still trembling.


    ¡°I want,¡± I began, quietly, ¡°to kill that guy¡¯s boss.¡± I jabbed a thumb behind me, towards the decapitated head in the makeshift bag of ripped cloth. ¡°But revenge¡ª¡± Is pointless. I shook my head. ¡°I don¡¯t usually do pointless things,¡± I said, this time to the soldier. ¡°So¡ª¡± I looked at him. ¡°Come to Tyche with me. Be my subordinate.¡±


    Just because one has shown you kindness once does not guarantee loyalty for a lifetime, my Ability resisted, albeit weakly.


    The soldier blinked again, probably thinking that I went mad with grief. ¡°Uh, Your Highness¡ª¡±


    I waved a hand. ¡°No need to give me all that diplomatic balderdash,¡± I said flippantly, tired. ¡°The offer¡¯s always open. At least, until you go and do something stupid like rebel against the Imperial Throne or anything of the sort.¡± I tilted my head. ¡°What¡¯s your name?¡±


    ¡°Ajax,¡± he replied.The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.


    ¡°Ajax,¡± I repeated, smiling. I reached over and patted him in the shoulder. He flinched. Ah, a simple man. ¡°You¡¯re a very rare person. I hope you¡¯ll accept the offer.¡± And then I shook the reins of my horse, and sped further ahead of the procession and towards Boreas. I tried to ignore the fact that my hands were still shaking.


    <hr>


    Damokles looked horrified when I told him that Orion was dead. And then he looked terrified that he had gotten Greta¡¯s brother killed on a mission in his Stronghold. I told him not to worry. ¡°You¡¯re too useful for Greta to kill you this early,¡± I promised, stretching while yawning. ¡°I¡¯ll have lunch later ¡ª first, could I enter the Athenaeum?¡± I let some of the tiredness I felt touch my face. ¡°I just need silence right now,¡± I admitted, honestly.


    It was true.


    Damokles¡¯ scholarly features turned into one of sympathy¡ª and anger. ¡°Those Rhianites,¡± he snarled, surprisingly animalistically. And then his features were drawn like curtains, and he looked at me with surprisingly genuine eyes. ¡°I¡¯m sorry for your loss,¡± the Cardinal said, patting me on the shoulder while adjusting his spectacles. ¡°He was a great travelling partner.¡±


    I smiled, mildly, and the sympathy surprisingly deepened further as the Duke almost awkwardly embraced me. He smelled fatherly, like olives and sandalwood. ¡°You¡¯re too young,¡± the Duke of Boreas, Damokles Anthinon, murmured, quietly. ¡°They all are.¡±


    I stiffened, my Ability alive and screaming at me, before I shut off my flight instincts. His wife had died of illness, and from what I¡¯d heard she¡¯d been a caring person ¡ª even when Damokles brought in Katherine, a girl he¡¯d had before marriage, she¡¯d apparently taken in Katherine like her own child. He was just being friendly because I was the same age as his children would be, I said to myself. I was feeling sentimental, so I let him continue.


    ¡°You don¡¯t need to be a politician, or a diplomat,¡± he said, and I could feel him sigh. ¡°No one¡¯s watching you, here. You can cry, laugh, be the child you are ¡ª no one¡¯s watching you, Seraphina.¡±


    I felt the words escape my lips. ¡°They always are.¡±


    This was a play to lull me into a false sense of security.


    I peeled away from him. My eyes burned, just a bit. ¡°I¡¯m going,¡± I said with a curt nod. ¡°I¡¯ll leave for Tyche tomorrow.¡± Duke Evimeria was at the Palace, but it would be good if I could establish a few contacts or two ¡ª since Boreas was isolated due to its cold weather, I could send a message back home, gamble a day or two and pretend to let off some steam. I shook my head to myself, smiling. ¡°Goodbye.¡±


    __


    True to my word, I shuffled through some books later in the day. They didn¡¯t help, although I did discover the Pandora text that we had talked about on the way here. It was cold, and I was bundled up in more layers of luxurious fabric than I cared to count, but there were, surprisingly, Before texts that I hadn¡¯t gotten my hands on.


    Before I had gone to the Queen¡¯s Isle, I had crammed every tidbit and bribed every single Librarian I knew; smuggling every book I could get my hands on in Inevita. By the end of that Dayhept, I had some sense of memoirs and an idea of what would happen, but, then again, I hadn¡¯t been able to go to the Athenaeum.


    The source of the First Emperor¡¯s name, Pandora, came from the myth Pandora herself ¡ª the girl who was created by the Gods to punish Prometheus¡¯ brother, Epimetheus, who¡¯d honestly done nothing wrong (you know, aside from being born).


    After Promy¡¯d given fire to mankind, he told his brother, Epi, to not accept any gifts given to him because they might be traps given by the Gods, a jack-in-the-box only the jack that popped up was ¡®you-are-his-brother-so-you-must-die.¡¯ Promy was whisked away for punishment, and Epi was stuck denying everything that came to his door.


    The Gods banded together and eventually came up with the splendid idea of creating a woman, the first woman in the world if you could believe it (it was technically wrong, because the Goddesses were arguably women, but I liked to read history, not argue with old men about it). She was beautiful like Aphrodite, smart like Athena, and was made by Hephaestus. She was given with the blessing ¡ª or, in this case, curse ¡ª of curiosity.


    Pandora was sent to Epi¡¯s door, and he accepted ¡ª stupidly. The Gods sent Epi and Dora a wedding gift (a jar); and while Epi had the modicum of sense to tell Pandora not to accept any gifts, Dora was told specifically not to open the jar.


    And, of course, she opened the jar.


    What came after wasn¡¯t important (it was, but it wasn¡¯t important in the context of the Emperor¡¯s name). Absolutely nothing was known about the First Emperor that the Gods spawned to start the practice of the Queen¡¯s Cage, except their possible name ¡ª ¡®Pandora.¡¯ That led to many theories about the Emperor being Pandora, except that Dora and Epi¡¯s myth happened Before. The start of the Post-Queen¡¯s-Cage Era, or the P.Q.C., began as a measurement after the Cage.


    A possible hypothesis was that the Gods made the Emperor as a puppet for starting the ¡®Legacy¡¯ of the Queen¡¯s Cage. Now that was likely, the fact that the Emperor could be named something like Pandora, maybe with the same prefix, but wasn¡¯t actually the Dora from the Myth.


    This particularly riveting scenario did nothing to lift my foul mood.


    I ate moustalevria. It didn¡¯t help.


    I had a breakdown that evening. That helped, surprisingly.


    It started with the tangent, that could be me.


    Orion could be me. Twenty-one years from now, burned out, left and abandoned by the Gods and the world, clinging to alcohol and anyone who cared to listen to my backstory. A person who failed at getting everything, getting nothing in return.


    When you witnessed death ¡ª and I had; many, many times ¡ª the kicker was that it would happen, and you couldn¡¯t stop it. You would die, one day; and so would every single person in the world that you loved. I had very few people I loved, so¡ª that could happen to me. My breaths were short and unsteady, now.


    ¡°I don¡¯t know¡ª¡±


    The sound of a slap echoed throughout the room. Taunting voices.


    ¡°The daughter of Duke Marksman doesn¡¯t know? What do you know, then?¡±


    ¡°Mother, Father¡ª¡±


    The Duchess frowned. ¡°You never called us that before,¡± she said icily. ¡°Don¡¯t start now.¡± The Duke never said anything, but the two left, eyes filled with some sort of disgust.


    Nobles¡¯ calculating eyes and background waltzes, garnished words and empty flattery. To tailor-make a persona, carefully¡ª


    ¡°This game is called Queen¡¯s Crown.¡± The mercenary teacher unfolded the latticework board. ¡°Have you heard of it?¡± After hearing the response, she continued: ¡°If you want to win, you play the game. If you want to lose, you topple the board. But if you want to win everything¡ª¡± she folded her arms ¡°-you gamble.¡±


    Everyone on the isle had malice in their eyes and malevolence in their whispers. ¡°Did you hear? The Lady Marksman¡¯s a witch ¡ª she stares at you, that unfavored spawn¡ª the Duke and Duchess even lets outsiders beat her.¡±


    ¡°Never change, Sera.¡±


    ¡°You nobles are so fucking sick. What, we¡¯re naive for wanting to change a world where we¡¯re stepped on, again and again? An Empire that pillages, and loots, and backstabs? You murder us, and you murder our people, and none of you have ever experienced anything close to true fucking misery.¡±


    ¡°But you would cross it again. Again, and again, and you wouldn¡¯t regret it. You¡¯re sorry, but you don¡¯t regret it; so it means nothing.¡±


    ¡°You can¡¯t have everything¡ª life doesn¡¯t work that way.¡±


    STOP.


    I heard My Liege¡¯s voice slam her way into my breakdown.


    I blinked. ¡°My Liege,¡± I greeted Athena. ¡°Is my breakdown too loud? I can quiet down the hyperventilating, if that¡¯s bothering you.¡± The words were reflexive, flippant and careless, and I shook my head at myself, sighing. A silence. ¡°Apologies for the curtness. What would you like me to do for you, My Liege?¡±


    I couldn¡¯t see her, even as the evening light shone through the windows of the guest room of Damokles¡¯ estate, but I was polite, regardless.


    You. The Goddess sounded more tired than hostile, but I didn¡¯t bother to pinpoint her intentions. You forget that there is a Harbinger?


    I shrugged. ¡°Greta will take care of it,¡± I said. ¡°Besides, it¡¯s more likely that she¡¯s the Harbinger than someone we haven¡¯t discovered ¡ª she plans to take over the continent after she solidifies her position on the throne, which means war.¡± I looked at the view through the window ¡ª bright pink light reflected on the thin layers of ice, and I blinked. ¡°I¡¯ll make it so she can¡¯t kill me. Then it¡¯ll all be fine; after she dies, I¡¯ll get it. I¡¯ll get it all.¡±


    I pronounced the words slowly, and Athena sighed.


    There is a prophecy, she told me. The Fates have spoken. It is not enough.


    I laid back on the bed. ¡°You¡¯ll stop talking to me sooner or later, won¡¯t you, My Liege?¡± I asked, casually. ¡°If it isn¡¯t enough, I¡¯ll make it enough ¡ª he died, My Liege. And so many people that care to make a difference are dead, and I¡ª¡± I smiled. ¡°I care only about myself.¡±


    To conquer a ruined world, Athena spoke, the statement seemingly out of place, is not glorious.


    ¡°Maybe,¡± I agreed, flexing my fingers. ¡°I can¡¯t take revenge ¡ª it would cause a war with the Rhianites, and a war with the other continents? The throne can¡¯t afford it; not right now.¡± I sighed. ¡°Greta¡¯s setting up a summit with the Republicas, and she needs stability. Support. It would be best if I were out of the way in Tyche.¡±


    Gambling your way to salvation? Athena questioned, dryly. I thought you wanted to be her right hand.


    I shrugged. ¡°Josephine and Arathis are handling the capital business. Besides, it¡¯s the closest way to contact her about Orion being dead and I¡ª¡± I broke my voice off, considering the situation. ¡°I don¡¯t want to go home, yet.¡±


    An emotional decision.


    I shrugged, again. ¡°Is the prophecy important?¡± A defeated feeling had wormed its way into my chest. ¡°I mean, it must be for you to visit me, but...Greta¡¯s the Harbinger, isn¡¯t she? In the early stages? It shouldn¡¯t be anything alarming, right?¡± I was tired, exhaustion pulling at my eyelids, but Athena shook her head.


    It is, she said, her words clipped, very alarming.


    ¡°Since you haven¡¯t told me about it, I¡¯m assuming I can¡¯t know?¡±


    Your assumption is correct.


    A pause.


    Perhaps it¡¯s best, Athena conceded. For you to clear your head. Something is brewing. You are a part of it.


    I dipped my head in acknowledgement. ¡°Alright.¡±


    A silence.


    ¡°I¡¯m tired, My Liege,¡± I said, closing my eyes. ¡°Thank you for visiting me. I appreciate your advice.¡± But I knew that she knew that the cogs in my mind were already whirring ¡ª what could be brewing? War? ¡ª and so I felt her cape whish. That feeling of a godly presence, superior in that infuriating way that they had seen more millenia than I had, disappeared after a while.


    I thought in silence, for a long time.


    <hr>


    Greta was excellent at writing letters.


    From a young age, she read and wrote better than most ¡ª it was hard to come by willing teachers in the streets.


    Curves and flourishes, stacks of gilded ink writing ¡ª when she was younger, it was more chicken scratch than comprehensible text; and even now it leaned towards the messy side, but it was more what she wrote than how she wrote it.


    Margaret, they named her at the orphanage (if it could be called that, it was more a haphazard building of abandoned children). ¡°Pearl.¡± When Greta was three years old, one of the orphans (whose name she didn¡¯t remember) gave her the name, because apparently you could manifest wealth if you named your friends after it.


    But when she entered the Palace she was known as Greta, and Greta only. Greta Highlander Queenscage. Highlander ¡ª the surname of a Galbraith missionary that wriggled his way into the Empire a decade ago ¡ª had constructed a few structures in the Lower Quarter, hung out with Galbraith nuns there for a couple years, and had left the orphanage dilapidated with pissed-off nuns and empty promises of salaries sent by monthly letter.


    The supposed Institute for Higher Learning had deteriorated over time, leaving only a supposed shelter over people¡¯s heads.


    It was there she had tasted madness, but true insanity.


    She shook herself out of her reverie and looked at the letter in her hand.


    The Republic had responded very fast ¡ª the seal of the Respublica Roma glistened on top of the letter, the golden wax sparkling under the light as Greta swiped her letter opener underneath. The Empress gathered the parchment in her hands, green eyes skimming the elegant ink as she smiled.


    As expected, they accepted the request for a summit. The demure way they addressed that one of their nobility was the Empire¡¯s captivity, but avoided the usage of military arms, indirectly but directly making concessions ¡ª all according to plan. Greta had Romanus in her metaphorical pocket, and quite a few others ¡ª Hadrianus, for one; and Greta had probed using indirect but still remarkably Imperial venues at most of the Senate ¡ª and she could use this.


    Greta drummed her fingers on the table, and smiled.


    Life was good.


    Even though the Palace was slightly quieter, with the disappearance of two of her siblings, it was still surprisingly warm. Josephine¡¯s teasing, Arathis¡¯ laughs, and Cyrus¡¯ growls filled the halls every breakfast and dinner ¡ª the political probes had declined noticeably, the spark of supposed familial ambience lighting the rooms after Greta¡¯s coronation. The Dayhept was filled with shocking lightness, with an amazed lack of public executions, and¡ª


    The Empress stopped.


    Life was good. It would be best to stop it there.


    Prioritizing individuals over the whole ideal? A mistake.


    The summit would be held in a Dayhept, which meant that after Seraphina¡¯s return and the nobles had been properly subjugated, Greta could take a step towards plunging the continent into war. Of course, that step was, first, knowing the enemy. Peace cannot come without war ¡ª she could never be a bringer or beacon of peace, it was true.


    But she could try.


    And if she returned Victorious?


    It was a very large possibility.


    Greta picked up her quill and wrote another letter ¡ª this time, to a friend.


    Aceline, where are my congratulations?


    The newly-crowned Empress of the Eternal Empire was excellent at writing letters.


    <hr>


    There once was a lady who called herself Glory,


    A woman who lived in children¡¯s bedtime stories,


    A spirit who lurked in the depths of soldiers¡¯ dreams¡ª


    She promised generals the inheritance of kings.


    There was an Emperor, who looked at the pale moon,


    And asked, ¡°Glory, have you forgotten me so soon?


    I remember, when I was a child, I dreamed of you,


    When I grew older, my pursuit of you ensued¡ª


    But once I returned from war, and there you were waiting,


    I smiled at the prize of your favor, illuminating¡ª


    But Glory, I long for you, I miss you, I love you¡ª


    ¡°I have aged, but come back home¡ª the girl I knew, she


    Can spurn me, hate me, avoid me, destroy me,


    But I beg of you, my love, to never leave me¡ª


    ¡°Come home again, this time I¡¯ll uphold ¡ªI swear to Zeus¡ª


    Uphold the promises I made in my naive youth¡ª


    ¡ªYou know, Glory, youth is the only thing, I lack¡ª


    Glory, my only love, please come back¡ª


    I miss you, I love you, I long for you¡ª


    You made me never forget, the day I met you.¡±


    <hr>

 24. Interlude: Balance

    <hr>


    Melius abundare quam deficere.


    - REPUBLICA PHRASE*


    <hr>


    *meaning ''better too much, than not enough.''


    <hr>


    THE FORSAKEN WERE AN INTERESTING PEOPLE.


    Predominantly Kato, the population that made up a good chunk of the continent were usually in the Union of the Forbidden. Most of them could find solace in the Republic Roma, which was relatively free in terms of religion (surprising, Jonas knows, but the Republicas were stuffy about everything but Beliefs), but there were the incredibly few that had the stupid idea to go to the Empire.


    The Empire, the very source of the genocide that had wiped Imperial Kato clean.


    It was as if they didn¡¯t know that Lysimachos had absolutely demolished the Kato ¡ª or, maybe, just didn¡¯t care.


    The Slaughter was an apt name. Before the Insane Emperor had taken the throne, there was a supposedly large portion of Kato living in a part of what was now the Lower Quarter. It was a wealthy district, apparently, full of bustling markets and jewels and coins ¡ª it was not recorded in history exactly why Lysimachos razed it to the ground (or maybe there was no exact reason, given that he was, after all, insane), but it was a slaughter.


    ¡°There was fire everywhere,¡± recounted a survivor. ¡°People screaming, flames burning their faces and heat¡ª so much heat, scorching¡ª a desert of blood and wails, searing into our skin.¡± The Empire was set aflame, and the Forsaken migrants burned at the metaphorical, and arguably physical, stake.


    Jonas has never been particularly interested in the history of it himself ¡ª he chooses, instead, to focus on what came after. Dantaleus Icarus, the Analyst. Lysimachos¡¯ brother had a chance to kill the tyrant ¡ª for all Jonas¡¯ morals, a genocide was crossing the line ¡ª but had stopped. ¡°They who win against monsters,¡± Analyst Icarus had said, ¡°become monsters themselves.¡±


    Jonas, even now, scoffs at the quote. Why? Was being a monster that terrifying? For all that people preach, ¡°One for the greater good of many,¡± the second it comes down to it, they decide that they don¡¯t want to sacrifice their values or kill, because that would ¡°lower them down to their level.¡± That just means that they see themselves as morally ¡ª and, perhaps, internally ¡ª superior.


    Let¡¯s say you catch a serial murderer, but you turn him over to the Guards because you don¡¯t want to become a murderer yourself, but then that murderer gets out and goes on a killing spree, murdering your family, friends, and the entire city you lived in. Their deaths would be on your hands, not the Guards¡¯ incompetence.


    Jonas looks at the people in front of him.


    ¡°So let me get this straight,¡± the redhead, Arden, says calmly, ¡°you have a way to get off this island.¡±


    Jonas nods.


    ¡°And this plan can get us all out, if we manage to swim across Lake Ichor, one of the largest bodies of water in the Empire, and to the Second Isle,¡± the one named Seraphina, interrupts, tilting her head. She¡¯s the one who immediately tried to murder him on the first day, but, after all, he can¡¯t blame her.


    He would kill her, too.


    The Forgetouched unravels his fist, showing the shard of metal resting on his palm without responding.


    The one named Caspian immediately identifies it. ¡°The metal that makes up the bars.¡± His eyes widen, just a fraction, before they narrow. ¡°You managed to break the Cage,¡± he says with a suspicious frown. ¡°That¡¯s not possible.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s possible,¡± Seraphina corrects, her eyes narrowed as well, ¡°just very, very improbable.¡±


    Jonas sits up. This is the fun part. ¡°It¡¯s better showing than telling,¡± he says, gesturing towards the jungle. ¡°Come, I¡¯ll show you.¡±


    ¡°Trap,¡± Arden immediately voices, coolly.


    Zeus¡¯ Chosen tilts his head, surprisingly interested. ¡°Might not be.¡±


    ¡°Might be,¡± the other counters, a streak of shock in her words at the contradiction.


    ¡°I¡¯ll go,¡± he insists.


    Seraphina and Cas¡¯ eyes flicker ¡ª the former¡¯s gaze is quick like the lash of her knife; the latter¡¯s steady like the blows of a titan. They look, surprisingly, at each other, an unidentifiable exchange of understanding darting across each of their faces, before a mutual decision is made. Jonas¡¯ interest is piqued ¡ª what exact relationship do they have, to have an unspoken bond ¡ª but it isn¡¯t the main point.


    The Forgetouched throws the bait ¡ª all of them as volunteers aren¡¯t needed, just preferably Seraphina and Rayan, Jonas supposes. They introduced themselves as Poseidon and Zeus¡¯ Chosen, respectively, so that would get them across the lake. ¡°So?¡± Hephaestus¡¯ Chosen asks. ¡°What do you think?¡±


    Rayan tilts his head. ¡°What does Bloodthorn think about all this? Where¡¯s she, by the way?¡±


    Jonas blinks. ¡°I mean, if you¡¯d rather to talk to her than me, I suppose I can call her¡ª¡±


    ¡°She¡¯s probably at the site they wanted to show us,¡± Seraphina guesses coolly, hitting the mark. ¡°Either to gang up on us, or something else. Their new base, right? After they sent out Halkyone and Maia as peace offerings, they relocated to start their new project.¡± She nods towards the shard in Jonas¡¯ hand. ¡°Unless they¡¯re lying. Then that would change everything.¡±


    Caspian shakes his head in almost admiration¡ª Jonas says almost, because the mocking glint in his eyes far outshines the genuinity of his expression. ¡°Damn,¡± the one who introduced himself as Athena¡¯s Chosen says. ¡°Well, fuck, you¡¯ve got your entire plan laid out for us, haven¡¯t you? It would be a hell of a pity, if we didn¡¯t accept it.¡±


    Derision occupies his grin, and for a moment Jonas is reminded of the fact that Caspian was the first one to jump at him. The faint scar on his neck is still there, Hephaestus¡¯ Chosen reminds himself ¡ª but it¡¯s a benefit that they don¡¯t need to take him along.


    ¡°Let¡¯s go.¡± Surprisingly, it¡¯s the redhead who¡¯s the source of that decision. Her tawny eyes glint as she ruthlessly kicks the ¡ª bedazzled? ¡ª Iason in the stomach, who rolls away from her feet as she gets up.


    ¡°You don¡¯t make the decisions here,¡± Seraphina says, but it¡¯s devoid of any actual challenge ¡ª more of a lighthearted joke than a contradiction; Poseidon¡¯s Chosen gets up anyway. She offers a hand to her companion, who accepts it; and all four get up.


    ¡°Then what do I make?¡± Arden looks Seraphina up and down coyly.


    Poseidon¡¯s Chosen laughs flirtatiously in return, her eyes empty and cold, but then Rayan snorts, interrupting.


    ¡°Stop playing, dumbasses,¡± he says while smacking Arden in the back of her head. ¡°Gods, let¡¯s just do this and get it over with.¡± Rayan¡¯s pinched features are even squintier than they¡¯d been before, Jonas notices, but there¡¯s something in there that the Forgetouched can¡¯t pinpoint.


    Seraphina chuckles and Caspian snickers at the same time as Arden rubs her head and complains, but there¡¯s something off about the supposed warmth the scene exudes. Something tense, something hidden. They¡¯re all acting for the audience ¡ª who? Him, Jonas realizes with a smile. But he has the niggling feeling that the tension won¡¯t follow him leaving.


    ¡°Let¡¯s go,¡± Jonas agrees, clapping his hands together.


    <hr>


    What is balance?


    True balance cannot be achieved, just as the game of war cannot be won. There will always be people trying to tip the scales of the world in their favor, whether by force or compulsion. There will always be people for whom wars will be fought, people that will fight in said wars, and people who lead each side. There cannot be a better, because there cannot be a worse. Peace cannot be achieved through war, because peace does not exist.


    There will always be bad people, and good people, but whether those who fight to vanquish their perspective of evil are valiant or foolish depends on whether or not you belong to the former or the latter in a specific somebody¡¯s eyes.


    There is something to be admired in tenacity ¡ª nothing can be achieved without the willingness to follow through with an idea. But the unwillingness to change? The unwillingness to go along with the flow, no matter the direction the scales tip? That leads to a loss, even though you cannot lose.


    You cannot lose in life, because life itself is a loss.


    You lose the moment you are born into this imperfect world, and you lose again when you decide to change it. You lose even when you pass through this world and accept it, because you lose the game even when you decide not to play. And, most importantly, you lose when you fail at changing the game.


    You cannot tip the balance.


    You cannot win at life.


    You cannot change the game.


    And, most importantly, you cannot win forever.


    - PETRA CASTELLANOS, DUCAL LORD OF DIAMANDIS


    <hr>


    I look at Vivianna waiting for us, and smile.


    The noble and I have encountered each other once or twice, before all this, in flashes of memory and diplomatic smiles. The noble scions of the Empire Eoina make up a surprisingly large community (not that I was ever very welcomed there), but Viscountess Bloodthorn I¡¯ve heard of.


    The vase-collector, a surprisingly valued Imperial vassal.


    ¡°Vivi!¡± I exclaim. ¡°Nice to see you again!¡±


    Vivianna nods. ¡°It¡¯s nice to see you, too, Lady Seraphina.¡±


    ¡°Unfair,¡± Cas grumbles lightly. ¡°How come she gets to be called Lady and I don¡¯t?¡±


    I shrug. ¡°Life¡¯s unfair,¡± I tell him in a mockingly airy tone. ¡°Deal with it.¡± I spread my Ability across Vivianna as I speak, Reading her lithe physique. Her expression is deceptively mild, but her eyes are much too darting for someone who¡¯s confident in herself. But still, even the worst actors can be the best gamblers ¡ª the world is an unpredictable place.If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.


    Rayan and Arden are busy looking at the Cage bar next to Vivianna, which hasn¡¯t escaped my notice. Not a hefty chunk, but a barely noticeable sliver has been dug out of the metal next to the noble¡¯s shoulder. It¡¯s covered with scratches from numerous other attempts to gouge out the material, but the shard in Jonas¡¯ hand perfectly fits the injury.


    The unbreakable metal from a Cage constructed by the Gods.


    It has broken.


    My Ability recoils from shock, before spinning possible reasons.


    I shake it off.


    Vivianna nods at Jonas, who speaks up.


    ¡°You see?¡± the Forgetouched prods us, apparent smugness in his tone. ¡°I wasn¡¯t lying.¡±


    I smile wryly, even though I feel it barely touches my eyes. ¡°Yes, we can see that.¡±


    Jonas strolls to Vivianna¡¯s side, and his eyes gleam at us, challenging us. ¡°Well?¡±


    ¡°How?¡± Rayan speaks up, first. His eyebrows are contorted into an expression of deep thought. Conflict. The mind battling the eyes. Seeing is believing. ¡°It...can¡¯t. It can¡¯t, it¡¯s¡ª not impossible, no. But very, very improbable ¡ª how?¡±


    ¡°Iron sharpens iron,¡± Jonas replies, simply.


    Arden narrows her eyes. ¡°You¡¯ve got to be a bit more specific than that, man.¡±


    ¡°The golems,¡± Cas says. ¡°There¡¯s something in his golems, that¡¯s made out of the same stuff as the bars.¡± His electric blue eyes are pools of steady, still waters, but he¡¯s reached the same conclusion I have.


    My Ability supplies the next logical conclusion. The¡ª ¡°The cores,¡± I say, throwing my head back and laughing like it¡¯s the funniest thing in the world. It isn¡¯t. ¡°The damn cores are made of the same material.¡± I shake my head. ¡°But how did you get the cores out? Aren¡¯t they fused with the metal¡ª ah, no. Source of energy, right? It¡¯s not the core itself that¡¯s the same metal, it¡¯s the energy, isn¡¯t it?¡±


    Jonas looks almost pleased. ¡°You¡¯re correct,¡± he replies. ¡°Vivianna¡¯s peacocks got the cores out, and I harnessed the energy inside them.¡± Hephaestus¡¯ Chosen gestures towards the gap in the gargantuan bars, the gap sealed by the invisible magical shield. ¡°Throw something at it,¡± he suggests, eyes gleaming.


    Almost immediately, my hand unsheathes my dagger out of its own volition, propelled by my Ability¡¯s urging. I hurl the blade towards the gap between the bars, and immediately I see the sky flicker, the pale gold barrier flaring to life as it shields against the dagger, but¡ª


    An irrational smile spreads across my face. There¡¯s a small crack, where the blade has landed. The barrier between the cage has weakened. And that¡ª


    That means we can leave.


    But¡ª


    ¡°It¡¯s not that easy.¡± I feel the words escape my lips, as my smile unintentionally breaks. ¡°The Gods won¡¯t let us.¡±


    ¡°Why not?¡± Jonas asks me. ¡°Us trying to escape when a hundred of us have failed, trying to defy the will of Anothen sky? Isn¡¯t it entertaining?¡± Hephaestus¡¯ Chosen adopts a bland tone, but there¡¯s something simmering underneath. ¡°We can get out, without killing anyone and all the mess of blood and gore. I¡¯d thought you¡¯d have jumped at the opportunity by now.¡±


    Arden interrupts the conversation. ¡°We should talk,¡± she says, shaking her head. She¡¯s not smiling in childish wonder like I am, her expression instead cold and closed off for the first time since we¡¯ve met. There¡¯s no playful mischief that dances across her face, no flirtatious grin. ¡°This...this changes quite a lot.¡±


    ¡°Let us show you,¡± Vivianna says casually, giving Jonas another nod, ¡°before you make any decisions.¡±


    Immediately, Jonas summons a golem, bits of metal appearing out of thin air ¡ª no, more accurately, bits and pieces, cogs and teeth all are produced by existence, outlines of machinery forming in the air as an invisible force attaches it all together. It¡¯s a bit romantic, now that I see the Ability in motion, the process of it. The core is woven together by the loom of the Universe, a faintly glowing orb that¡¯s immediately sucked into the almost industrial manufacturing.


    It¡¯s not a creating Ability, or a piecing-together Ability like mine ¡ª it¡¯s a little bit of both, pieces attached here and there like a patchwork cloth in all its ragged glory.


    Romantic, leaning towards something that¡¯s not reality, but still exists in it.


    I watch as the golem is constructed, a tall figure with a magic orb glittering in its gut. It isn¡¯t indestructible, of course ¡ª I¡¯ve cut down, or at least battled, some of them. Just aim for the core, move quickly, and hack it to pieces.


    This time, Vivianna wordlessly summons her peacocks. I haven¡¯t noticed before ¡ª I probably have, I think to myself, my Ability just hasn¡¯t brought it to my consciousness ¡ª but their beaks gleam almost impossibly bright.


    ¡°They¡¯re made of the same material, too,¡± I say out loud, lifting my chin to point at the animals. ¡°Their beaks.¡±


    The Lady Bloodthorn gives a small nod. ¡°That¡¯s correct,¡± she says, lightly. Like a puppet master controlling her puppets, she delicately moves her fingers. The animals move forward, multicolored plumage swishing against the ground, but they attack the golem with surprising viciousness.


    The golem stays still due to Jonas¡¯ influence, and for a while my Ability compares the scene to carrion being consumed by hungry hyenas. It¡¯s unnerving, like I¡¯m a child and someone¡¯s telling me a horror story, except there has been no one to care enough to.


    Ah, there it is.


    The self-pity.


    It¡¯s always a vicious cycle, isn¡¯t it? Whenever you see anything that makes you doubt yourself, a voice sneers at me.


    I ignore it.


    The core is fished out with surprising ease, and Jonas holds it gingerly. Still, a manacial glint appears in his gaze as he¡ª blows on it? Gently, almost reverently, the Chosen puckers his lips and breathes on the glowing core. ¡°Step back!¡± the Forgetouched yells, and immediately runs away.


    I run away, too.


    I¡¯m intelligent like that.


    Everyone does, too, although some hesitate longer than most; I watch from a distance as the core floats up, illuminating the surroundings a bright golden shade. It whirs to life, a life that transcends the life that it occupied before; a life that exists upon a plane of existence above existence. It sears my vision, and all-consuming light rages my senses before I hear a loud sound that isn¡¯t a sound.


    There¡¯s no other description.


    My ears ring for a few seconds before the regular life seeps back into my vision. Somehow, the sun seems less bright, the grass less green, the sky less blue, as I sense life but not life. The golden tint is gone, and the sound that isn¡¯t a sound has gone.


    There¡¯s a sense of wrongness everywhere.


    Like when I first stepped on this island.


    This jungle is wrong.


    ¡°Look.¡± Cas¡¯ voice is uncertain, shaky, for the first time since I¡¯ve met him, like he¡¯s learning how to speak again. ¡°There¡¯s a crack, there.¡±


    I look at where he¡¯s pointing. There is, in fact, a crack there.


    It¡¯s more unseemingly than just a crack ¡ª it¡¯s a gaping injury in what shouldn¡¯t be injured, and my Ability blares that it¡¯s wrong. It¡¯s not supposed to be there, and the only remark, however unfitting, I can manage right now is a raspy: ¡°No shit.¡±


    Ah.


    That¡¯s Seraphina. The actual one.


    A mistake.


    Surprise flares up in Cas¡¯ expression ¡ª a genuine emotion, amid all the spite and bitterness and mischief ¡ª but then it¡¯s shut down. We secure both of our masks in place, and we make an unspoken agreement when our gazes meet to never speak of this incident again.


    Then we look at the crack.


    ¡°Fuck,¡± Arden breathes from afar, and it¡¯s the only fitting description.


    ¡°The Olympians have taken a very large shit,¡± Cas agrees, his mischievous grin in place again.


    There is, currently, a golem-sized hole in the unbreakable Queen¡¯s Cage.


    <hr>


    You know, Athena sighs, I made a riddle that took humans a hundred years to solve, and the person who solved them wasn¡¯t even the one I Chose.


    The Goddess looks down from her throne on Olympus, and shakes her head.


    I cannot express my disappointment enough.


    Then don¡¯t, Hephaestus speaks up. The God does not speak in a drawl, nor does he speak briskly ¡ª his words whir with the heated iron of the forge, and echo with the ticking of time. My Chosen found the answer. You may applaud his capability.


    I will not, Athena says. She looks at the scene below. The Fates have predicted a Harbinger to spawn, soon. Their first verse, they say, will come in three or four human Daycycles¡¯ time. She shakes her head, grey eyes gleaming as the war helm on her head glints under an unidentifiable light.


    Iron sharpens iron, she says. She turns to Hephaestus. Did you tell him? The hint?


    You know we cannot visit them when the Cage¡¯s doors close, the God of the Forge replies, calmly. It is the rule. Games cannot be played without rules, just as they cannot be played without players.


    What are we then? The makers of it? Athena shakes her head. The Cagekeepers barely do anything, even though they are Chosen by Uncle.


    That is why they still exist, do they not? They do not do much, Hephaestus responds easily. If they did do much, if they interfered with our game, they would need to be destroyed. Ares would jump at the opportunity.


    He shrugs.


    The riddle you speak of is one that can only be solved through chance, Sister, he says. Coincidence, that one with an orchalcum Ability, and one able to extract that orchalcum, are Chosen.


    Athena blinks owlishly. Chance is all that matters, does it not? she asks. Victory lies in chance, and Ability.


    The God of the Forge looks at his sister. You, he says, sighing, are too little and too much. They will not escape. They can never escape.


    You cannot escape the game, the other agrees, before smiling. It¡¯s a strange expression on a war Goddess¡¯ face, especially one dressed in transcendently beautiful regalia, but it is a smile nonetheless. They cannot escape Fate. That is the fun of it.


    Yes, it is, Hephaestus leans back on his throne. Now, let the true game begin.


    <hr>


    ¡°There¡¯s no way it¡¯s this easy,¡± Cas speaks up, voicing both our opinions. ¡°Even if the Gods are entertained by this, it¡¯s the Cage. The Godsbroken Queen¡¯s Cage. Even if we broke some of the barriers ¡ª and I¡¯m not sure how we did that, by the way ¡ª there¡¯s got to be some sort of catch.¡±


    ¡°And,¡± Rayan adds, thoughtfully. ¡°It¡¯s an island. There¡¯s got to be either a cliff or a long drop, and even then if we manage to scale our way down, there¡¯s no way to secure a rat or boat that¡¯s well-constructed enough to get through the entirety of Lake Ichor.¡±


    ¡°Not the entirety,¡± the Forgetouched corrects, shaking his head, ¡°just enough for us to get to Inevita.¡±


    I consider it. ¡°Even then,¡± I say, ¡°we¡¯ll have to run from a whole lot more than just Guards. They¡¯ll call in the Imperial Army, the stationed forces on Inevita ¡ª it¡¯s unheard of, for Chosen to escape. My family will be less than welcoming ¡ª they probably think I¡¯m dead; and even if I¡¯m not, if I don¡¯t win, you can¡¯t expect help from the duchy.¡± I snort. ¡°And the capital city? Suicide.¡±


    The plan won¡¯t work.


    The plan can¡¯t work.


    Arden tilts her head. ¡°Not necessarily,¡± she says. She picks up a stick and draws lines in the sand, sketching an admirably clear picture of the Visavan continent. Aphrodite¡¯s Chosen prods it at a sector. ¡°The Snakelands. We could take refuge there, make a deal with the Galani tribes or live it up in the jungles. I mean, other than the occasionally deadly spider, we should be alright.¡±


    Vivianna speaks up. ¡°I should be able to¡ª¡± she clambers for a word ¡°-relocate some funds from the Bloodthorn viscounty. I still have personal influence there, if my mother¡¯s still at the capital manor and not our actual fief.¡±


    ¡°You can use the word steal,¡± Cas interjects, amusedly. ¡°I promise, it doesn¡¯t bite.¡±


    The other noble glares at him for a bit, before struggling to school her features into a mild expression. It ruins the effect, but I don¡¯t point it out ¡ª I¡¯m not sure I¡¯m any better, either way.


    ¡°But what¡¯s the point?¡± I ask, frankly. ¡°Not to be devil¡¯s advocate, here, but slaughtering everyone here and then getting a stable, reliable life as an Imperial royal sounds like a much better option than living a life full of uncertainty as people on the run.¡± Silence follows my arguably well-made point.


    Jonas is, unsurprisingly, the first to speak. ¡°I mean, you¡¯ve got a good point,¡± he admits. ¡°But I would rather stay alive and peacefully find my way somewhere, maybe set up my own workshop; then get involved in the muddy waters that are noble politics. It¡¯s a personal choice, really, but you can always say no.¡± His eyes glint. ¡°And, if we die in the attempt, you¡¯ll Win.¡±


    What if the Cage doesn¡¯t open if you¡¯re not dead ¡ª what choice has more ¡ª what if you succeed and you get caught, and I get exposed for ¡ª


    Vivianna looks at me intently. ¡°Let¡¯s play a game, then,¡± she suggests, gesturing towards the circle we¡¯ve made. It looks almost deceptively like a warm campfire, the fire, and we like friends huddled together to share its warmth. But, of course, that¡¯s where the word deceptively comes in.


    None of our hands have left our weapons since this conversation has begun. Vivianna¡¯s fingers are poised, albeit politely, to summon peacocks at a minute¡¯s notice. Jonas is less polite, and is drumming his fingers on a nearby log as he examines his nails. Arden¡¯s smiling at them, suspiciously bright, and Rayan¡¯s scowling.


    Cas and I are very obviously sharpening our daggers. I¡¯m spinning the blades between my fingers in a bout of elegant showmanship, and Cas is, less delicately, using them to get the grime out of his nails.


    I wait for Lady Bloodthorn to finish.


    She inevitably does. ¡°A betting game,¡± the noble offers. ¡°If I win, you all join our cause. If I lose, we all start over and try to kill each other again. What do you say?¡±


    I stay silent, thinking.


    Before I open my mouth, Cas opens his.


    "Sure," my partner accepts for me, "why not."


    ___

 25. Reach I

    <hr>


    ¡ª Avoid conflict.


    ¡ª If there is no way to avoid conflict completely, do not enter conflicts you cannot win.


    ¡ª HOW TO STAY ALIVE IN IMPERIAL POLITICS: A CRASH COURSE


    <hr>


    THE IMPERIALS NEVER LIKED TO MAKE THINGS EASY.


    Take gambling, for one.


    Imperial casinos were shiny, glitzy, and full of sleazy con men, which was fair enough, Aeron Andino supposed; but the people inside it didn¡¯t have cards in their hands ¡ª they had lives. And Aeron wasn¡¯t even speaking metaphorically. The people that held money? Small-time. They were pigeons, baby sparrows who were pushed off trees. The real customers bet their lives on the game ¡ª and by the game, of course, Aeron meant V¨®reia Roul¨¦ta.


    The game itself was introduced by the Northeasterners ¡ª not Imperial Northeasterners, that would be the people of Tyche (even though the game was such a big hit here, you¡¯d think it originated here) ¡ª but the Rhianite Northeasterners, the chunk of the neighboring continent that wasn¡¯t ruled by that Godsforsaken freak of a High King.


    The Tsar and Tsarina had visited the Empire a while ago to build diplomatic relations, and had brought the game along with them (Aeron was well aware of the political connotations, he just decided to ignore them). You put a gun to your head, and there was a one in six chance that you would be dead.


    To make it legal, the Imperial casinos made it so only five people played.


    Legal. Aeron snickered.


    The traditional way to play V¨®reia Roul¨¦ta, the Imperial way, was of course to play a chance game. It could be anything ¡ª a lottery, a card shuffle, a name pulled out of a hat; anything that provided a prayer for Tyche to smile on the person who bet, it was a chance game. If you lost the bet, well, you would shoot.


    It was a surprisingly tamer version than the original one, which was just passing a gun around and praying that there wasn¡¯t a bullet when it was your turn. Tamer, and more complicated ¡ª like Aeron said, Imperials never liked to make things easy.


    In Evimeria, Tyche¡¯s capital and the Empire¡¯s Gambling City, your life depended on which casino you picked. It might seem like an exaggeration, but Aeron wasn¡¯t kidding ¡ª it took just one sleight of hand and an empty chamber to get cheated out of the supposed ¡°thrill¡±; the customers would pay, again and again, to see someone die in front of them ¡ª or, maybe, to die themselves.


    But there were casinos, and there were Dens. Casinos were for the rich, powerful, and crazy. Dens were for the poor and drunk. Even though his own paid a pretty penny, and Aeron¡¯s capabilities were more than enough to get hired at a decent casino, Aeron preferred to work for the saner population ¡ª it was easier that way.


    But the jingling of drachmas was ever so tempting.


    ¡°Oi.¡± Someone frowned at him. ¡°Watch where ye going.¡±


    ¡°Sorry,¡± Aeron apologized. ¡°Me feet are sore, feel like glizz these days.¡±


    The other¡¯s face softened. ¡°Mmm. Careful, now. Watch ye step ¡ª apparently there¡¯s someone important in the box this ¡®Hept.¡±


    After thanking the stranger for their warning, Aeron couldn¡¯t help an awkward smile climb on his face. He was being paid to spy on that important person. As the dealer crossed the casino¡¯s halls and headed to the wing of private rooms, he started whistling out of nervous habit.


    There once was a lady named Glory¡ª


    He passed assigned Guards, who looked at him curiously, but didn¡¯t shift from their positions.


    Who lived in children¡¯s bedtime stories¡ª


    The Duke Evimeria had a token ¡ª not a seal, but similar to it ¡ª that he had given to Aeron, and it lay heavy in the dealer¡¯s pocket. After Aeron stopped at the door he was ordered to arrive at, he fished it out of his pocket and displayed it.


    And lurked in the depths of soldiers¡¯ dreams¡ª


    The doors to the private parlor opened.


    She promised generals the inheritance of kings.


    The folk song died at his lips as Aeron smiled, and then bowed. ¡°It is an honor to meet ya, Your Highness.¡±


    The girl at the chair glanced at him nonchalantly. ¡°Yeah, sure, I guess.¡± There was a bowl of unpeeled grapes in her hand. Seraphina saw him looking, and thrust the bowl into his reach. ¡°Here, peel them for me,¡± she half-heartedly ordered, lazily. ¡°You can have some, if you want.¡± The Sixth Princess gestured towards a nearby longue. ¡°Sit.¡±


    The dealer blinked. Aeron took the bowl, sat, and started peeling. The grapes were ripe and red, unsurprisingly, and with the dealer¡¯s dexterous hands he managed to get through several of them before the Chosen spoke again.


    ¡°What does Duke Evimeria want?¡± Her tone was light, but it had a serious edge to it that Aeron recognized.


    So she knew. The dealer winced. ¡°Uh, he wants me to find out stuff on ye.¡± Aeron chewed his lip. ¡°But, er, I don¡¯t think I can reveal too much.¡±


    ¡°Oath?¡± Seraphina asked, barely looking at him.


    ¡°Aye, somewhat,¡± Aeron lied.


    ¡°You¡¯re lying.¡±


    The dealer blinked, before instinctively answering: ¡°Aye.¡±


    Seraphina blinked at him ¡ª once, twice ¡ª before looking back at the view. ¡°It won¡¯t work,¡± she said, nudging Aeron¡¯s gaze to the curtained window. The glass was made at an angle so it obscured the face of those in the cabinet, the parlor itself constructed like a private opera box, only bigger.


    There was a game going on, down below ¡ª a slim Imperial gun made of elegant gold was placed on a table, a group of five in grotesque animal masks surrounding it. The dealer, a lanky cloaked figure with even lankier hands, dealt cards with a couple fancy tricks that didn¡¯t impress Aeron, and the game commenced.


    ¡°Chalice,¡± the dealer named the cards with a frown. Even from here, he could see the Olympians¡¯ symbols drawn in comical mockery on the pale cards. It was religiously disrespectful, even though there was no one on the continent who was actually religious (maybe except the Repubs, but no one liked to talk about the ¡®Pub Anothen), and playing the game was practically begging for bad luck.


    Why? Well, the cards were ranked. They were ranking the Gods so that one of them could win against another, and that was just¡ª


    ¡°That gazelle.¡± Seraphina jabbed her chin at the gazelle-masked gambler on the left. ¡°He has good cards. He¡¯s bluffing that he has bad cards, and only keeps folding to lure someone in revealing something. See that eye twitch? That neck scratch? Too well-placed, too well-timed to be anything other than purposeful.¡± She snorted. ¡°And the others are all falling for it ¡ª fucking half-wits.¡±


    She didn¡¯t seem to be in the best mood, but Aeron saw what she pointed out. ¡°He¡¯s in it for the thrill,¡± the dealer remarked. He saw the glint in the mask¡¯s revealed irises, familiar yet not. ¡°He¡¯s playing with ¡®em ¡ª terrible sense o¡¯ humor, a gazelle screwing with the lions.¡±


    Seraphina gave a nod. She reached a hand out for the grapes. Aeron passed the peeled ones to her. ¡°You¡¯re here,¡± she said, scratching her head while popping the grapes in her mouth, ¡°because Greta¡¯s worried and sent Evimeria to get me.¡± She chewed a grape, and spat out a seed at the direction of the gazelle as she said the statement distastefully.


    The shockingly unladylike action propelled the seed from her lips, the object falling an admirable distance from her person. ¡°I already delivered the dead body to her messengers, and I¡¯ll be back before the summit ¡ª what does she want, now?¡± the Princess asked, finally.


    Aeron blinked. ¡°Er, ain¡¯t badmouthing the Empress treason ¡®or sumting?¡±


    The Chosen looked at the dealer as if he were stupid. ¡°I¡¯m her sister,¡± she enunciated, slowly. ¡°If I don¡¯t badmouth her behind her back, who will?¡± Contrary to the rumors who described her as a ghost, Seraphina seemed very, very real, Aeron realized, and then reprimanded himself internally. Gossip was gossip.


    ¡°Er,¡± he began, nervously while starting to peel the next batch of grapes, ¡°I think she¡¯s worried about ye. Mentally? ¡®Cause, ye know, someone¡¯s brother dying would deal ¡®em a mighty large blow. Ye know, mentally.¡±


    ¡°You said that word two times,¡± Seraphina noticed, lazily chewing on another grape. This time, the seed she spat out nearly made it across the entire room, sticking to its destination on the carpet beneath the curtains. It would¡¯ve looked like spoiled noble behavior to others; and if Aeron was being honest, it did to him; but the Chosen seemed exhausted.


    ¡°You know how much I¡¯ve won?¡± she asked the dealer. ¡°Ten.¡±


    ¡°Ten drachmas?¡± Aeron questioned.


    Seraphina rolled her eyes. ¡°Ten thousand drachmas,¡± the Sixth Princess corrected. ¡°And then the staff basically politely told me to stop winning, and now I¡¯m here, watching gullible fuckers trying to kill each other legally.¡± She turned to him. ¡°I¡¯m very experienced with that, you know. Trying to kill some legally. There¡¯s only two ways to do that ¡ª religion and treason.¡±


    The card dealer shook his head. ¡°Yer wrong there, Your Highness,¡± Aeron said, shaking his head. ¡°There¡¯s only one method to kill someone legally, and that¡¯s power.¡± As Seraphina didn¡¯t tell him to shut up, the grape peeler continued, albeit tentatively: ¡°Because money doesn¡¯t stop the coppers from getting ye. I mean, money gets ye a good assassin, but does nothing for the fallout.¡±


    Aeron shrugged. ¡°I mean, with power, ye can frame someone for killing them and then threaten the actual killer to stay silent. Win-win, y¡¯know.¡± He couldn¡¯t stop his mouth, strangely, from forming the words. Still, the dealer cleared his throat. ¡°The point is, apparently¡ª¡± at least, according to Duke Evimeria ¡°-that the summit will be held in three days. It would be best if Your Highness returns back to the capital as soon as possible.¡±


    Seraphina looked at him with those unnervingly blue eyes. A shot rang out in the air, and immediately Aeron looked towards the floor below. The gazelle had been unlucky ¡ª no, they had purposely lost, and then they had been unlucky. A six in one chance. The dealer skimmed his eyes over the blood seeping from the corpse, and returned to the Princess.


    ¡°Alright,¡± she said, stretching. ¡°I feel better, anyways.¡±


    She nodded towards the door. ¡°Right, then. Let¡¯s go.¡±


    Aeron blinked. ¡°Now?¡±


    The Sixth Princess finished off her grape. ¡°No, in an eternity.¡±


    A silence.


    ¡°I¡¯ll take that as a joke,¡± the dealer said, finally.


    <hr>


    They stopped before leaving the city, at the massive statue in front.


    The goddess Tyche, in all her alabaster glory, glinted multiple chryselephantine shades under the currently invisible sun of Tyche¡¯s capital. Folds of painstakingly sculpted chiton fell to the ground, swathes of mist consuming the goddess¡¯ head. A blindfold was tied around her eyes, the surprisingly Republica mural crown circling her temple barely visible ¡ª the luxurious cornucopia that hung from her other hand was made of enticing marble.


    But there was a difference between a Goddess and a goddess ¡ª the former belonged to the Anothen Olympians, the latter belonged to one of the few minor gods that were remembered even after the establishment of the Queen¡¯s Cage. Tyche wasn¡¯t worshipped, and it was unlikely she had a physical manifestation, but she was a goddess still.


    At least, that was what Aeron¡¯s mother had told him.


    Seraphina didn¡¯t look like a tourist ¡ª no, in Tyche, it was dangerous to be a tourist. Republica tourists, as stiff and rigid as they all were, were surprisingly easy to fool; easy pickings for even amateur fleecers. The Sixth Princess stood neither tall nor proud, instead taking up a neutral stance examining the tourist attraction.Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on Royal Road.


    Accompanied by her Guards, who were probably handpicked from Tyche¡¯s branch of the Army ¡ª it was hilarious, to the dealer, that the notorious stick-up-their-asses were forced to guard an Imperial Princess sightseeing ¡ª the two were given a wide berth by the sharp-sighted public.


    ¡°Why do you think the blindfold¡¯s there?¡± she asked him.


    Aeron blinked. ¡°Er ¡ª ye want sumting philosophical, or¡ª?¡±


    ¡°Nah, just your honest opinion.¡±


    ¡°Um,¡± he said, very eloquently. ¡°I mean, the saying goes that justice¡¯s blind, right? They say that fortune¡¯s blinder, so instead of giving ¡®er a silk blindfold, they gave ¡®er a steel one.¡± The dealer pointed at the statue¡¯s head. ¡°¡®Cause it¡¯s ironic. Not really ironic, just¡ª ye know, when the people that ye hate, the ones that stepped on ye to get up in the ¡®ierarchy?¡± Aeron asked without expecting an answer. ¡°When Tyche lets ¡®em, when fortune favors ¡®em, she¡¯s blind. At least, ye know, metaphorically.¡±


    ¡°Better cynical than naive, that¡¯s how the Empire goes,¡± replied Seraphina, mildly. He hadn¡¯t noticed when, but the Sixth Princess had changed while he was distracted. Her relaxed posture had turned rim-rod straight, her words now full of friendly but alluring charisma that was different from the force she had exuded before. Now, she seemed like a ghost ¡ª small changes, but they were there; her penetrating blue eyes now seeming mistier.


    What had he said?


    ¡°But change is propelled by ideals.¡± Aeron felt the words escape his lips, before he quickly remedied them. ¡°I mean, at least that¡¯s what me Ma used to tell me. If ye want the world to change, ye ¡®ave to know what ye want to change the world into. Wants don¡¯t count ¡ª ye can want whatever ye want in the world, but they¡¯re not a result. They¡¯re not an end goal, otherwise you¡¯ll spend forever trying to fulfill them.¡±


    The dealer shrugged. ¡°True change comes from ideals and people willing to act on them. Power¡¯s a means, not an end ¡ª if it¡¯s an end, it¡¯s a never-ending one. It¡¯s a tool that corrupts, but one that works.¡± Aeron added, again, with a cough, ¡°At least, that¡¯s what me Ma used to tell me.¡±


    Seraphina laughed ¡ª it wasn¡¯t mocking and self-derisive, like the smile she¡¯d put on before; but light, feathery, and grating. Purposefully so, he could tell. ¡°I have a feeling you¡¯d get along with my sister very well,¡± the Hundredth Victor told him. ¡°And maybe you¡¯re right. Who knows?¡± She stretched. ¡°It doesn¡¯t matter,¡± the Victor said, turning away from the statue, ¡°if you¡¯re a spy or not ¡ª you¡¯ll fit in politics very, very nicely, I feel. The Empire needs someone like you.¡±


    The words were filled without pressure into choosing, surprisingly, Aeron thought.


    ¡°Well, it is due time to go back home, I suppose,¡± Seraphina added, speaking almost to herself. Her gaze gleamed with a newfound glint that was hidden as quickly as it came. The former card dealer would¡¯ve labelled a trick of the light if Tyche hadn¡¯t had a scarcity of it.


    They left the gambling city.


    <hr>


    Home didn¡¯t feel like home.


    Of course, I said this because I didn¡¯t know what home felt like. Stories said that it felt like this cozy kind of warm inside your heart. I, however, pinpointed it as a place where I¡¯d witnessed the most attempted murders.


    Josephine and Arathis hugged me when I got back, the journey taking three days from Tyche. I made sure that none of them had poison on their gloves.


    Cyrus was silent, greeting me with a surprisingly polite nod. Julian was still there, although noticeably tenser than usual, and reached for my hand via professional reflex. I shook it bemusedly, mouthing look at this at Josie and Ara to the side. Greta also gave me a nod, but it was accompanied by many a surrounding Guard.


    Oh well, it was to be expected.


    I paraded around my new casino earnings ¡ª met by no small amount of disapproval from Julian and Cyrus ¡ª as Josie and Ara congratulated me on my achievement. We had a small, personal feast ¡ª a surprisingly intimate family affair, plus Julian ¡ª that night, where I ate veal to my heart¡¯s content.


    And then, of course, we got down to business.


    ¡°The time for the summit has been established,¡± the Empress said after a while, demolishing her paximathia bread surprisingly quickly. ¡°The leaders will begin to arrive tomorrow, and it¡¯ll formally begin the Daystart after.¡± Greta¡¯s eyes pierced through me. ¡°You cut it close, sister.¡±


    Josephine threw her head back and laughed. ¡°Don¡¯t be so harsh on her, Oldest Sister,¡± the former courtesan said while reaching over to pat me comfortingly on the shoulder. ¡°We took care of most of it,¡± she told me. ¡°You know, the shiny things, decorations, food.¡±


    Cyrus harrumphed. ¡°You mean I had to monitor both of you to make sure you guys actually get things done,¡± he corrected, sending a dissatisfied glare towards Josephine and Arathis; and maybe me, too, considering that I was sandwiched in between them. ¡°I had to make sure they didn¡¯t kill anyone,¡± he grumbled.


    A silence.


    ¡°Important,¡± my older brother corrected himself. ¡°Anyone important.¡±


    ¡°And they didn¡¯t,¡± Julian assured me from two seats away, voraciously devouring a slice of steak. ¡°I made sure.¡±


    ¡°Back to the original topic,¡± said Greta firmly, shooting glares at the speakers, ¡°you have quelled Rhianite influence at the border. Admirably so. I¡¯m told you decapitated the second and third most famous bandit leaders and killed all of their people?¡±


    I nodded, pausing to take a swig of a nearby glass. The (pomegranate?) juice went down my throat, the added sugar prominent. ¡°I managed to nick the biggest one, in the end,¡± I informed her. ¡°I don¡¯t think there¡¯ll be any more, anytime soon ¡ª and even if there are, the major factions have been gotten rid of, so the Winterdeath and the Duke can take care of the rest.¡±


    I leaned back. ¡°Rhianite peacekeepers haven¡¯t been spotted, but that¡¯s probably the cause of someone pulling the strings from behind the scenes ¡ª I don¡¯t know what you¡¯re going to do about that, but as long as the High King recognizes you as a legitimate sovereign, and he has no reason not to, we¡¯ll likely be fine.¡± I reconsidered my words. ¡°At least, until you start a continental war. That¡¯s cause for concern.¡±


    Something dark lurked in my sister¡¯s green eyes.


    ¡°Yes,¡± she said, mildly. ¡°That would be ¡ª and is ¡ª reasonable.¡± She sipped her wine.


    ¡°My apologies,¡± Julian cut in, setting down his fork, ¡°to be the one to bring up the proverbial elephant in the room, but it is on the table, right? A continental war?¡±


    Josie smiled a shark-like grin. ¡°War is always on the table, my dearest brother-in-law,¡± she commented. ¡°It¡¯s more of a question of can we endure the war, than can we go to war. I¡¯m sure, as a praetor, you would know the difference.¡±


    My Mari blinked, and for a second his stoic exterior trembled, before Arathis gave his input.


    ¡°Go easy on the poor praetor, sister,¡± the Forsaken said, the tone sugary but the words mocking. ¡°It shouldn¡¯t be easy for him, a man of considerable military standing, to hear of the enemy¡¯s war plans. After all, patriotism is a value that wears off ever-so-easily. It¡¯s a phase. Let him go through it¡ª¡±


    ¡°Ara,¡± I said, evenly. ¡°You aren¡¯t helping.¡± Of course, they knew they weren¡¯t helping, but that was another matter. I turned to my fiance, ignoring Arathis¡¯ mock hurt expression as I leaned over him. ¡°Yes, it is on the table. No, our engagement does not compel you to be on our side. It will begin, hopefully, after we get married and you return back to your Army, and I do not expect you to be lenient on account of me.¡±


    It was a very real possibility, considering Greta¡¯s ambitions.


    But a possibility that would only come after we¡¯d settled the Empire.


    Julian¡¯s long eyelashes fluttered as he closed them for a beat or two, and then opened them again. ¡°Alright,¡± he conceded, with no small amount of grace. ¡°But we¡¯ll talk about this later,¡± he warned, ice on his features. ¡°And before the summit.¡±


    I gave a pleasant nod, and retreated back to my seat. It was only fair.


    ¡°Cyrus?¡± I questioned my other brother. ¡°You¡¯ve been quiet in this discussion.¡±


    A silence, as my older brother shifted uneasily in his seat.


    ¡°Brother,¡± the half-Republica Chosen spoke up, raising his head, ¡°is dead.¡± I couldn¡¯t Read any strong emotion on his face as he stated the sentence indifferently. Another silence, but not a somber or dark one.


    ¡°Yes,¡± I answered, quizzically. ¡°I saw him die.¡± His corpse was in the Imperial morgue, probably already readied for the best Undertakers there were.


    ¡°Why did he die?¡± Cyrus asked. Ah.


    I didn¡¯t avert my eyes ¡ª that would be a disservice.


    ¡°There was an unexpected arrow, launched by a crossbow-wielder hidden from view,¡± I said, slowly. ¡°It was the bandits¡¯ leader.¡± What I didn¡¯t say was unspoken, but not unheard: Brother could¡¯ve dodged it. ¡°There was sarawolf, on its tip,¡± I continued, meeting Cyrus¡¯ eyes before looking across the room. ¡°He died, painfully and silently.¡± Just like how he lived.


    Julian didn¡¯t catch onto the hints in between, but he did know from my expression that there was more to it, and remained tactfully silent.


    ¡°No last words, I suppose,¡± remarked Greta. ¡°Rion was always the type to not care for those.¡± She drummed her fingers on the table at a steady tempo. ¡°We won¡¯t hold a funeral,¡± the Empress said, finally. ¡°At least, not a public one. His family will not be informed; but he did say he wanted to return to his village on the Second Isle. After the summit, and Seraphina¡¯s...acquisition of the duchy, all will be sorted out.¡±


    So she did know that I had sent Lazarus to do exactly that.


    My Ability spat out a reasonable conclusion: I needed to check in with my subordinates.


    I would. Later.


    ¡°Both Consuls are coming to the summit,¡± the Empress continued. ¡°As it is of political importance, and the other Cardinals have not left, I have extended an invitation to nobles of marquis level and above to attend the initial banquet. Nearly all of them have accepted, and arrangements have been made; but political discussions will be made individually.¡±


    ¡°And by individually, you mean with us or without us?¡± Cyrus asked, arching an eyebrow. ¡°Julian excluded, of course, since I¡¯m assuming he¡¯s already communicated with those on his side.¡±


    I made a mental note to not put Julian and Cyrus together ever again, as Greta tilted her head. ¡°It depends,¡± she said, slowly. ¡°It¡¯ll be a long journey to stabilize the entire Empire. But we¡¯re one step closer, and that¡¯s all that matters.¡± The Empress¡¯ green eyes glinted. ¡°I ¡ª we ¡ª will reform this entire country to its bones.¡±


    ¡°Cheers to that!¡± Arathis said, leaning forward while lifting up his cup. Josie was the next to join in, and then Cyrus, and even surprisingly Julian. I clinked my glass next to my family, and tried to ignore the churning in my gut.


    Athena¡¯s words echoed in my head.


    Something is brewing. You are a part of it.


    I¡¯ve had better Dayhepts.


    <hr>


    By better Dayhepts, I mean, of course, less politically charged Dayhepts.


    ¡°Bring the little scoundrels in,¡± I called with a sigh.


    Julian was looking around the establishment we were in, mildly concerned ¡ª of course, we were in ¡®my¡¯ office in the Emerald Seas, and he was only gaping at the sheer amount of courtesans outside my private office, but his concern was appreciated, if unconsidered.


    ¡°What little scoundrels?¡± he questioned, placid curiosity dappling his face. ¡°And is this...your establishment?¡± The praetor looked around the room, at Alyssa and Mercy. His eyes lingered on Xanthe in a way that was more tactical analysis than flirtation, but his casual clothes made him seem less out-of-place than I¡¯d expected.


    ¡°These are my lieutenants,¡± I informed him, nodding towards the trio. ¡°Ah, there¡¯s Mace, but he¡¯s just outside the door. You can come in, it¡¯s just Mari.¡±


    The door slid open, and the familiar ragamuffin orphans filed in at almost military efficiency, and I snorted, amusedly.


    ¡°Did you practice that?¡± I asked Xandros. It didn¡¯t escape my notice that they seemed a bit fuller, their clothes neater and less ragged. Evidently they''d been paid.


    Alexandros¡¯ eyes shifted to Julian, before travelling back to me. ¡°Yeah,¡± he answered, simply. ¡°I mean, if it¡¯s wrong, we¡¯ll do it again, Boss.¡±


    ¡°Nah.¡± I waved them off. ¡°You did fine. Update me on your progress ¡ª Mari¡¯s authorized to hear all this, you¡¯re fine.¡±


    Xandros relaxed. It wasn¡¯t his problem anymore. ¡°Right then, Boss.¡± He nodded towards the one named Leonidas. ¡°Leo sweet-talked most of the homeless guys into spilling their guts. Ever since Lady Mercy killed Aen, they¡¯ve been uneasy. Looked into other sources of income, protection. It doesn¡¯t help that the anti-Imps have been trying to poach them.¡±


    I leaned back in my chair. ¡°Ah, the Vasilos guy and his Eyes.¡± I made a face, before considering it. ¡°They¡¯ve never been a threat before. How did you handle it?¡±


    I already knew how I would handle it, of course. But this was a test. My Ability covered all the orphans, but still none of them looked me in the eye.


    ¡°They¡¯re like cockroaches, Boss,¡± Alexandros answered, matter-of-factly. ¡°You kill them all, but you miss one, and the infestation starts all over again. I distracted the anti-Imps with a wild goose chase by telling them there was a Palace leak, and I managed to peel them away enough to put someone loyal in charge.¡± He turned. ¡°Rosalie, introduce yourself to Boss.¡±


    Rosalie scampered in front of me. ¡°Hiya, Boss!¡± she squeaked. ¡°Name¡¯s Rosalie! I¡¯m the head of the homeless system, now. Thank you for having me!¡±


    ¡°Charmed,¡± I replied, dryly, letting my lips quirk. ¡°So you¡¯ve wrapped up the information agency all up in a pretty bow. Nice. Are you sure the distraction for the anti-Imps will be enough? The summit¡¯s coming up, and we can¡¯t afford any resistance aside from the two main parties, cockroaches or no.¡±


    Macedon cut in, this time. ¡°We¡¯ve got it covered, Princess,¡± the former confidence man said, grimly. ¡°I might not be good at politicking, but Lady Alyssa and I haven¡¯t been busy for nothing. We¡¯ve hired new courtesans, upgraded this place with the brothel madam, and covered up your identity. Our profits are quite a hefty sum, along with the drachmas you won at the¡ª¡±


    I frowned. ¡°Don¡¯t touch my casino earnings,¡± I protested. ¡°They¡¯re¡ª¡±


    Julian coughed, awkwardly. ¡°I may have already allocated them to your personal funds.¡±


    ¡°Aw, Mari, that¡¯s so sweet of you¡ª¡±


    ¡°And donated a twelfth to charity.¡±


    ¡°What?¡± I raised both of my eyebrows while letting my eyes widen, just a bit. ¡°You donated to charity? Using my money?¡±


    There was a dead silence, as I felt everyone freeze. Julian met my eyes calmly.


    ¡°Yes.¡±


    Another silence, as I heaved a big sigh. ¡°I¡¯ll take that as the cost for springing the thing on you,¡± I grumbled, conceding. ¡°But don¡¯t touch my things without warning, next time. I might poison your Army¡¯s water supply, instead of being so generous.¡±


    I felt everyone¡¯s surprise at the concession, but I waved a hand. ¡°Anyway,¡± I began, anew. ¡°I will be busy. But Mercy will check on you. Don¡¯t take this as an excuse to slack off. You did a good job on this one,¡± I amended, ¡°and your raise is earned. But I have a lot of tasks to get done; I¡¯m not a micromanager, anyhow.¡±


    I would have to set up a team building exercise soon ¡ª or throw all of them in a life-threatening situation, the two words were practically the same, anyhow.


    You have a lot of work cut out for you, my Ability mused.


    We, I corrected.


    We have a lot of work cut out for us.


    ¡°Keep the anti-Imps in check,¡± I summarized, before shooing them all away. ¡°Now, go away. I need to talk to Mari.¡±


    My lieutenants left the room, and I gave a pleasant smile to Mercy while casting a meaningful look towards the door. She returned with a sharp nod, meaning that she would cut off the ears of any eavesdroppers, as they all filed out the room.


    ¡°So,¡± the praetor said, heaving a sigh, ¡°I¡¯ll take you up on that promised date.¡±


    <hr>

 26. Reach II

    <hr>


    The winner of the game is the player who makes the next-to-last mistake.


    - UNKNOWN CROWNPLAYER


    <hr>


    You would never know if you would accept a deal with the metaphorical devil until the invitation was within hand¡¯s reach. That was what they all said, Arathis knew, and the statement rang true with every person he met.


    His mother, for one.


    Delawar Katriene was a strong believer in not fearing the unknown. The Delawars were a long line of migrants ¡ª it ran in their blood. Arathis¡¯ grandfather was originally a Clan loyalist supporting the only true ¡®Clans¡¯ that you could support: Clan Aun, of House Vitejie; and Clan Ace, of House Desarta.


    Perhaps some decades before, Delawar was a prestigious family; in some other time ¡ª but, Arathis was told, when Katriene lived; Delawar was a ¡°two-bit family¡± that ¡°was crumbling from the inside like a moldy harpy corpse.¡±


    Her words, of course, not his.


    And so Katriene¡¯s father, the great Delawar Iven, fled the Union of the Forbidden and its two rulers, making a home in the Republic for his family. And so there, Katriene was raised ¡ª without prejudice against Kato, and safely enough; albeit with a bit too militaristic values. When Katriene grew older, she decided to make the risky (and arguably foolhardy) move to the Empire.


    She, and later Arathis, were two of the Imperial Forsaken population that could be counted on one hand ¡ª but the life they lived was not one that was beautiful enough to be written down.


    The beast that was hunger ravaged their stomachs like an everyday reminder of the cold of famine clinging tight to their bones. Arathis watched it hollow out his mother¡¯s eyes slowly, over time, as her noble lover ¡ª Arathis¡¯ ¡®father¡¯ ¡ª came less and less every Dayhept; with less and less food.


    Soon, as Katriene lamented angrily, ¡°the novelty of fucking a Forsaken wore off¡± and Arathis¡¯ father stopped coming. They had to turn to other means, and Katrine refused to return to their family home in the Republic because they ¡°couldn¡¯t turn back now.¡± His mother saw life as an adventure, a path you couldn¡¯t turn back on once you stepped on it, even though many a time Katriene was beaten to near death when caught by extremists outside. She died from injuries soon after.


    Longing for fun, interest, at the expense of others was the point of no return.


    But it also one Arathis indulged in.


    Of course, he did see the insensibility behind it, but his past resonated with his present in more ways than one. What had he said to the Duchess Alina Evlogia?


    People imagine being in power as some sort of means to an end. They all want something - to never be stepped on again, to make their enemies pay - and power gets them that. That¡¯s what fuels the Imperial dream, because we live in a world where people have no choice but to be powerful to survive.


    Of course, he had hammed it up in order to push Alina into supporting Seraphina to the throne, but he did believe in the essence of his words.


    It wasn¡¯t, we all die in the end, so what¡¯s the point ¡ª that was such a fatalistic, defeatist point of view; and neither the former of the latter were in Arathis¡¯ vocabulary. It was, why are we obligated to survive?


    Why are humans obligated to fulfill their own desires? You could slather all the fancy philosophical terms on it, but why are humans selfish? There was an author, Arathis remembered, that defined the three main tenets of ¡®objectivism¡¯ as reality, reason, and self-interest.


    He agreed with most of the philosophy ¡ª reality could not be rewritten, so you had to face it (but with the various reactions from the human race, the emphasis on choice; you would choose how to face reality however you¡¯d like, without judgement or discrimination). Reason, as defined by some, came without emotion.


    That was false. Emotion could never truly be vanquished. And thus, the only viable option would be to use both intellectual and experience-based logic, instead.


    Self-interest. The originator of objectivism said that a human¡¯s highest moral aim should be to pursue their own happiness (although happiness was a wide definition, Arathis did support the conclusion). Selfishness. Objectivism itself encouraged placing your own self over others, the individual over the whole.


    If Arathis decided to take a political example, it would be of the Republic. Culturally, it was extremely different from the Empire ¡ª the crudely-nicknamed ¡®Pubs encouraged patriotism, pride in the whole over self and an effectively cohesive machine and an overall selflessness that fed into their military system.


    The Empire didn¡¯t do that.


    Arguably, the Empire did the opposite of it.


    It encouraged division ¡ª politically, culturally, and socially. It sowed seeds of mistrust in every citizen, from noble to gutter rat, and it reminded all to trust no one in the Empire, least of all the person who rules it. And it worked. The division was controlled, even mitigated (when needed)  by the Emperor and the religious system of Chosen.


    The Empire Eoina was a broken nation, ruled by a government full of despots that stood on the backs of the abandoned and the miserable ¡ª but it was still standing. It wasn¡¯t the last one standing, but it hadn¡¯t swayed or wavered against the nemesis called time.


    And the Forsaken knew his sister saw it.


    From that killing-his-attendants incident, Arathis had prodded all the right buttons ¡ª which was a first, for Greta. He hadn¡¯t been lying, his oldest sister really had initially come to force the Forsaken into matching clothing to greet the envoys; but, of course, the discussion had taken a mildly concerning turn. He remembered the scene ¡ª vividly, as if it had happened yesterday.


    ¡°Ten years ago,¡± drawled Arathis, grinning, ¡°you sent out a bunch of letters.¡± He leaned back, purposefully casually. ¡°I wasn¡¯t there, ten years ago, but Josie was. It was only a matter of very careful digging before we found out.¡± He tilted his head at his sister, who was remaining admirably stoic.


    ¡°I was wondering, dearest sister, why such a mastermind like you wouldn¡¯t make any moves for, what, twenty or so years? It wasn¡¯t your love for Father, that¡¯s for sure.¡± The Forsaken smiled, amiably. ¡°But you did. You prepared your forces for ten years, made moves in the other ten, and now you¡¯re in control of the entire Empire! It¡¯s a cause for celebration!¡±


    It was, if you thought about it.


    The Fifth Prince leaned forward and tapped a corner of the table. ¡°Damokles Anthinon. Rhianites killed his parents, and the Empire did a shitty job of getting payback.¡± Arathis let his finger dance across the surface, and tapped again. ¡°Elexis Cadmus. The Empire discriminated against her because she was half-Galani due to Eurus¡¯ longtime discrimination against those from the Snakelands.¡±


    The Forsaken continued. ¡°Delphine Hyacinth, the author of various anonymous strategy works that caused an uproar in the Empire due to its contents bordering on treason ¡ª the Empire¡¯s laws and atmosphere hamper her development.¡± Yet another corner. ¡°Petra Castellanos, bastard child of the Diamandis family line, who kept their mother¡¯s surname ¡ª they conquered Notus with their own hands and a motley band of rogues, only accepting their legitimate succession after they had already claimed most of the Stronghold.¡±


    Arathis threw his hands up. ¡°I may be rambling,¡± the Ninety-Ninth Victor remarked, mildly, ¡°but it¡¯s a very, very large coincidence that all of them have either grudges, or motivation to change or destroy the Empire.¡± The Forsaken¡¯s lips curled into a smile. ¡°And,¡± he added, ¡°it¡¯s an even larger coincidence, that all of them received personal letters from you after or before they ascended to their Cardinal seats ¡ª isn¡¯t it, Sister?¡±


    Greta met his eyes. ¡°It is,¡± she replied, simply.


    Of course, she couldn¡¯t outright deny or confirm it, as they were exposed to many listening ears ¡ª Arathis¡¯ attendants all pretended to not hear the treasonous claim, but many of their poker faces had already slipped.


    ¡°I¡¯ll be serious, now, Sister,¡± the Forsaken informed her, a smile still on his face. This was interesting. ¡°What do you intend to do with the Empire once you¡¯ve already conquered it? Josie has so many fun theories, but I¡¯d like to hear it from you, face-to-face.¡±


    Josephine was adept at reading people ¡ª that, Ara knew. She was a lot more capable than most people gave her credit for, but what the Forsaken said was true. What would Greta the Great say?


    The First Princess blinked. ¡°I am not going to conquer it.¡±


    The rational thing to say was, you have to, for it to change. But Arathis didn¡¯t say that.


    ¡°Alright,¡± he said, giggling. ¡°If you say so, Your Greatness.¡± The Forsaken tilted his head again, watching his sister. ¡°But I do wonder why you hate the nickname,¡± he commented. ¡°After all, it¡¯s a tribute to your power ¡ª Greta the Great. Doesn¡¯t it sound cool? Like a historic title, Cadmus the Snake-Slayer? Jason the Captain? Greta the Great?¡±


    Greta remained impassive, but the change in her aura spoke volumes.


    Arathis pushed, still. ¡°You are a conqueror, sister. You cannot enforce an ideal into an entire nation ¡ª some argue that the concept of authority, in itself, is tyrannical. You will oppress people if you rule, Sister. You have to. Dictate people, bully them, subjugate them into submission, in order to keep power. It is inevitable.¡±


    The Forsaken didn¡¯t believe in what he was saying, but it was obviously causing a reaction, as his sister said, mildly, ¡°I am aware.¡± So she wasn¡¯t totally against using autocratic means ¡ª perhaps a dead giveaway, due to her personality, but it was an interesting observation.


    ¡°Then I wish you luck in your endeavors, Sister.¡± Arathis grinned. ¡°Margaret Highlander is such a beautiful name. I sometimes wonder why you don¡¯t use it.¡±


    Her eyes narrowed, just a bit. ¡°My name is Greta,¡± she corrected, mildly, hands still folded in her lap. The forty-year-old nodded towards the pile of clothes sitting next to her. ¡°Please be dressed and ready to greet the envoys, promptly, Younger Brother. We must not bring shame to our family.¡±Love what you''re reading? Discover and support the author on the platform they originally published on.


    The Forsaken beamed. ¡°Of course not!¡± He nodded towards a designated attendant. ¡°Myatha will see you off.¡±


    Martha didn¡¯t correct him, but extended her gloved hands, as she was instructed. As Greta acknowledged her politely, the First Princess dusted off her hands and stood up from the lounge, just as Martha reached in and delicately touched the Victor¡¯s bare hands, casually¡ª or at least, she was about to, before she slumped onto the floor and started convulsing.


    White froth bloomed at her mouth, as all the other attendants crashed to the floor, indistinguishable sounds filling the air. Shrieks of names and wails tainted the inside of Arathis¡¯ Residence, blood streaming from their noses as they clawed themselves to death, whites of their eyes exposed to the air ¡ª some of them slammed their heads against the pillars repeatedly, bloodying the pristine walls, as they twitched and writhed like they were possessed by a snake slowly going insane.


    Arathis smiled as Greta leaned in, and almost gently, viciously, seized him by the throat. ¡°Do not,¡± she commented conversationally, stranglehold constricting her brother¡¯s neck, ¡°test me.¡±


    And then Seraphina came, and the conversation ended.


    The Fifth Prince smiled at the memory. Ah, the wonders of family bonding time.


    <hr>


    If someone you vaguely remembered from a military campaign came up to you at a party, clapped you in the back and made the remark of ¡°oh, it¡¯s nice to see a friendly face around here!¡± you had one of four options:


    <ol>


    <li style="font-weight: 400">Cut their hand off</li>


    <li style="font-weight: 400">Participate in diplomatically mild conversation</li>


    <li style="font-weight: 400">Cut their line of conversation off by pretending to forget their name</li>


    <li style="font-weight: 400">Pretend like you¡¯ve known them for years.</li>


    </ol>


    Julian didn¡¯t believe in the concept of friendly faces ¡ª in his experience, familiar faces were anything but friendly.


    Seeing a familiar face meant that, after multiple encounters that led to Julian recognizing them as familiar, they approached them yet again (usually with ulterior motives). Familiar faces were persistent, irritating, and came with the promises of political bribes.


    His father and Consul Valerius fell into all three categories.


    ¡°Your Consulships,¡± he acknowledged, folding his knee while inclining his head towards the ground. ¡°What have you¡ª¡±


    Valerius Romus batted a hand. ¡°Cut the bullshit, Julian.¡± Ah. This was Uncle Evander talking, now.


    The Consul crossed his legs while shooting a dirty look at Marcellus. ¡°Amadeus made the brilliant decision of accompanying me, as you can see,¡± said Valerius with a sigh, massaging his temples. ¡°Make no mistake, I trust Cecilia with the military issues at the border, but with Octavia in prison and the rest of the Patricians rushing to make some sort of decision at the Senate¡ª¡±


    Marcellus snorted. ¡°They¡¯re always pushing for a decision to be made at the Senate.¡± The other Consul was pouring an amber liquid into a cup, which he immediately sipped half of before settling on a chair. ¡°And I came because this entire summit has complexities beyond just a diplomat getting caught assassinating the Emperor.¡±


    Julian raised his head but remained on his knee, merely blinking.


    Valerius leaned to the side and snatched the glass out of Marcellus¡¯ hand, chugging it instead. The grizzled veteran looked younger than his father, but still he had always been more of a politician than a soldier, Julian had been told. ¡°I know, Amadeus,¡± the praetor¡¯s godfather grumbled with a tired sigh, placing the quickly-emptied glass on a nearby table, ¡°I know very well what this is.¡±


    Marcellus inclined his head. ¡°It¡¯s good that you know, then, Evander.¡± The Consul turned to Julian. ¡°It is in my understanding that you are consorting with the enemy. What is all this engagement business I¡¯ve heard?¡±


    The praetor shouldn¡¯t have been surprised, really, even though his father had barely spent a day on Imperial soil. ¡°I signed an agreement which I thought was best in that current situation,¡± replied Julian, slowly. ¡°It will not interfere with the negotiations.¡±


    For once, it was Valerius that scolded him. ¡°A stupid decision, Julian.¡±


    The boy-praetor met the Consul of Romus¡¯ eyes steadily. ¡°I signed an agreement which I thought was best in that current situation, Your Consulship,¡± the Praetor of the Romulus Army repeated. ¡°It is in my understanding that I was not given much of a choice, nor backing.¡±


    This time, the Consul Romus winced. ¡°Perhaps,¡± Valerius admitted, ¡°that was some oversight on our parts. But a stupid decision, still.¡±


    Julian blinked. ¡°I had active control over the direction of the Imperial investigation,¡± the praetor said, ¡°and have gained rapport with all the members of the Imperial Family as well as a willing source of information ¡ª Seraphina has surrendered important data on all of the Imperial nobles to lure me into this deal, and I have accepted and gotten much more. If milked well, this cow will help the Republic in the long-term.¡±


    Marcellus¡¯ gaze bore into him like a hawk. ¡°But things have changed, Praetor.¡±


    That, Julian couldn¡¯t argue against.


    ¡°Yes,¡± the praetor agreed with his father, inclining his head further, ¡°things have changed.¡±


    Valerius drummed his fingers against the table. ¡°Is she, at least, the type of person that can influence diplomatic negotiations?¡± the Consul asked, finally, before correcting himself: ¡°No, more specifically, is she the type of person willing to influence diplomatic negotiations for us?¡±


    Julian said, almost immediately: ¡°She will not argue for us unless we offer something in return.¡± It was true. Seraphina was not that type of person, even after they went on that date the other day ¡ª the cakes were, true to her word, delicious; and they¡¯d had suspiciously whimsical conversation; but their relationship had not changed: they had just gotten to know each other more.


    ¡°And we have a small amount of leverage, indeed,¡± the other mused. ¡°Marcellus? What do you think? You accepted Greta¡¯s offer, correct?¡±


    The Consul in question shrugged.


    ¡°It was needed, to keep the Harbinger in check,¡± said Julian¡¯s father, evasively. ¡°But if you think one measly deal can keep us from the Empire declaring a war on us, you¡¯d think wrong.¡± Marcellus turned to Julian. ¡°That Princess you signed an engagement contract with likely thinks that her sister doesn¡¯t have enough foundation to declare a war. She¡¯s half-right.¡±


    Valerius waved a hand. ¡°According to what Amadeus said, his statement is correct,¡± the former general said, before turning to his comrade, ¡°Be a dear and pour another cup for me, won¡¯t you?¡±


    Julian watched the honeyed wine trickle into the cup as the Consul of Romus sighed. Valerius¡¯ regalia glinted on his chest ¡ª fewer than Marcellus¡¯, but nonetheless worthy of respect. The sigil of Romus, the snarling wolf Remus ¡ª House Romanus had its brotherly counterpart, Romulus ¡ª curled itself into a ring around the other¡¯s neck.


    The boy had fond memories of that ring, from when Valerius turned into Uncle Evander and was more of a father (outside of politics) than Marcellus was. The praetor knew that the rumors circulating ¡ª that Valerius, Claudia, and Marcellus were childhood friends ¡ª were true; but he also knew how little it mattered.


    Politics were politics. Friendship was friendship.


    From his father¡¯s and Valerius¡¯ relationship, Julian knew it was best to keep it that way.


    ¡°War is a very real possibility,¡± conceded Marcellus with a sigh. ¡°It would cost her quite a hefty amount of support amongst her people; and she does have an unstable amount of experience; but in terms of political foundation, the Empress is much better than she seems. She is threateningly capable.¡±


    ¡°However,¡± interjected Valerius, ¡°negotiations are not impossible. If the Empress doesn¡¯t want the Republic overrun with monsters, we have a chance of gaining an advantage ¡ª if the Empire gives us a concession, of course. But even then, we¡¯d need to sacrifice. Push and pull. Carrot and stick.¡± The Consul¡¯s fingers glide across the armchair in time with the rhythm of his words.


    ¡°But, if I may,¡± Julian said, interrupting, ¡°what is our end goal, here? It seems like the first priority is damage control, but¡ª¡±


    ¡°Not damage control,¡± the Consul Romus corrected. ¡°A war cannot break out.¡±


    Marcellus took up the mantle of communication. ¡°Gloria is your stronghold, praetor. You have been in charge of it ever since you slew that Minotaur and earned the patrician title ¡ª you might have control over your Army, but you cannot command from afar.¡±


    His father shook his head. ¡°Praetor Cecilia is in charge of trade in Azareth, and has influence in Honos, but the Army of Romus is meant to uphold the current law and land. The Army of Romulus is meant to go on the offensive.¡±


    Marcellus¡¯ gaze bore into Julian¡¯s. ¡°But, sooner or later, there will be division. Dissent will be sowed ¡ª your Army will, sooner or later, have grudges against both the Patricians and the other Army for not doing their thankless work. The rift will grow over time, contributing to the overall problem of Republic-wide imbalance.¡±


    What the Consul didn¡¯t include was that, before, the imbalance benefited House Roma¡¯s honor. Now, it was a threat.


    ¡°There is no solution other than a diplomatic victory,¡± said the praetor, a half-realization. Julian rose from his bowed position. ¡°I understand. What are Your Consulships¡¯ orders?¡±


    ¡°I hope you understand, young Marius,¡± Valerius said with a sigh, ¡°there is only one route to take.¡±


    "I do," Julian Romanus responded. The purple cape was still heavy on his shoulders.


    Honor.


    <hr>


    ¡°What is this?¡± I looked at the agreement in front of me. ¡°No,¡± I corrected myself, ¡°do you think that they¡¯ll actually sign it?¡±


    Arathis grinned, broadly. ¡°We don¡¯t need them to,¡± the Forsaken said, deceptively lightly. ¡°They either sign it, or take offense at it and then, boom¡ª¡± he clapped his hands together ¡°-we go to war.¡± The Prince¡¯s toothy smile unsettled me, like it always did, but this time I felt the expression physically crawl up my face.


    ¡°I thought we would at least wait.¡± I slid the protectorate agreement across from me. ¡°If you spark a war this early, you won¡¯t survive the public backlash ¡ª it¡¯s too sudden, Sister, we haven¡¯t had proper¡ª¡± I cut myself off, as my Ability noticed their faces. Ah. ¡°Ah,¡± I echoed my thoughts. ¡°You have planned. You just haven¡¯t involved me in the process.¡±


    Josephine shrugged. ¡°You were in Tyche,¡± she said, easily. ¡°We couldn¡¯t necessarily do that.¡±


    Cyrus scowled. ¡°We should have,¡± admitted Zeus¡¯ Chosen, surprisingly. ¡°But this is what we¡¯ve got, now.¡± He crossed his arms, although a bit uneasily.


    It was a good strategy, I would give them that. But¡ª


    ¡°You didn¡¯t tell me yesterday.¡± I struggled to keep my lid on my emotions. ¡°If you did, I would¡¯ve been a bit more prepared, but I suppose there¡¯s no use crying over spilt milk.¡± Yes, my Ability agreed. What¡¯s done, is done. I drummed my fingers on the table, shrouding my face in false calm. ¡°If they don¡¯t sign the protectorate agreement, even though the more superficially honorable people would be happy to go to war, Mari¡¯s Army in particular wouldn¡¯t; since they¡¯ve been killing monsters all this time. But how would you sow civil dissent, unless¡ª¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s right,¡± said Arathis, still grinning. ¡°Sister¡¯s readied her spies in the Republic ever since her coronation. With the military praetor away, and the other more focused on civil upkeep, it would be a matter of¡ª¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t get overeager,¡± reminded Josie. ¡°But yes, that is essentially the point. With the new weapons delivered to Boreas, it is fully militarized; letters have been written to Eurus in case Republica troops try to climb up the Draconian Peaks and ambush Cadmus through the Snakelands; Notus has accepted the request for increased border patrols; and Zephyr has already sent back the war strategies and coordinations.¡±


    My sister was in her element, I realized ¡ª of course, not her element, but a role that she had managed to fill. All of them donned different faces, unrecognizable from the supposed warm family they¡¯d been at dinner. I smiled.


    ¡°You¡¯ve calculated the losses and the gains, already,¡± I mused, slowly. ¡°That¡¯s good. What role do I have to play in this, then?¡±


    Cyrus was the one who answered. ¡°You,¡± he said, ¡°just need to help us win it.¡±


    My Ability curled around my siblings unbade, but I could see the gleam in each and every one of their eyes even without it. They looked as alive as they¡¯d ever been ¡ª Orion¡¯s image didn¡¯t cling to their visages, but all of their auras were sharp, like the blades of knives once your fingers danced on it.


    What had I said?


    I was going to help her change the Empire.


    Gambling had been fun, but this path?


    It was too late to turn back now.


    <hr>


    Rise a Chosen of conflict and desire,


    Insatiable are they, of ruin and glory,


    A crown of greed encircles the head of the liar,


    Witness the crumbling of Olympus¡¯ last story.


    United the Empire stands, divided they fall,


    Inherit a throne forsaken by evil,


    A war-banner risen, in the name of origin¡¯s law,


    A conqueror¡¯s dream, a nightmare primeval.


    Carrion torn, a surrender within reach,


    Light is lost and darkness is found,


    The sky shall fall, the herald shall preach:


    A ruler blessed by death is crowned.


    The carrier of a queen¡¯s last wish,


    An eternal dream, an eternal longing,


    Bearer of knives, the reaper¡¯s first kiss,


    Six becomes nix - see the final sun dawning.


    ¡ª The Harbinger''s Verse, I¡ª


    <hr>

 27. Reach III

    <hr>


    The strong shake war''s hand, the weak die by it.


    - ANALYST DAEDALUS ICARUS


    <hr>


    IT COULDN''T BE SAID THAT THERE HAD BEEN ABSOLUTELY NO CONTINENTAL WARS SINCE THE SKIRMISH, but it could also be said that there had been absolutely no continental wars since the Skirmish.


    It was a paradox, like that, Cyrus thought to himself.


    There had been a tentative peace made with the Forsaken and the Republicas during the Skirmish, composed of a tacit ¡ª but suspectedly written ¡ª agreement to ¡®discreetly¡¯ deal with the monsters at both ends and not create a war in the middle of a war. As the Republic fought to take back Notus, and their praetors and generals struggled against Angelo the Avenger, their Consuls ¡ª understandably ¡ª didn¡¯t want to deal with Underworld monsters in the middle of it.


    And after the Skirmish war progressed and ended in an Imperial victory, with the Republic drafting a treaty in favor of Notus being incorporated into Imperial territory, the discretion was noticed but ignored because, one: the Empire didn¡¯t want to deal with the monsters; and two: they didn¡¯t want to push the Republicas too far ¡ª cornered animals were unpredictable.


    The Visavan continent weren¡¯t the Rhianites ¡ª they didn¡¯t love peace or relish in it; but it was necessary. Cyrus had wandered in Notus, for a while, after he¡¯d been casted out from the Halgroves (however much he disdained fortune, it had been unbelievably lucky that the Halgroves occupied a northern territory, and it had only taken two Dayhepts to cross the Imperial border).


    He joined up with a band of bandits, but, however little he used the Halgrove surname, they came still. Emblazoned with the insignia of a dying hare in a burning grove ¡ª symbolizing the light of the Republica sun burning away the false, supposedly ¡ª their liveries and spears had killed all of those Cyrus had called friend.


    His former family had killed his current family.


    What a fucking joke.


    It really made Cyrus wonder sometimes what exactly went on in Hortensia¡¯s head. But, of course, that wasn¡¯t the main concern right now.


    ¡°You,¡± the Consul Romus said, slowly, ¡°want us to become a protectorate. A civitates foederatae, of the Empire.¡±


    Greta the Great inclined her head. ¡°That is correct.¡±


    The other Consul, the one named Marcellus ¡ª the Demon of the Battlefield, he was called ¡ª looked at not the agreement, but the Empress in appraisal. ¡°And you believe that an entire nation becoming your protectorate,¡± he said, calmly, ¡°is a worthy price to be paid for one of our own assassinating yours.¡±


    Cyrus snorted, internally, but his face remained stoic. It was as if Greta hadn¡¯t hired Marcellus to hire the assassin in the first place, but Zeus¡¯ Chosen supposed that was just politics.


    ¡°It has a connection with the matter at hand, but the Empire is not demanding a price,¡± countered Greta, smoothly. ¡°This is an offer independent from the current situation, in relation to the military aid that the Republic requested as their general premise for the envoy visit. This¡ª¡± the current Empress gestured lightly with her chin, towards the contract ¡°-is our solution for the presented issue.¡±


    The private solar in which negotiations were held had been scoured by both forces for poison and other unsanitary substances before they¡¯d started the negotiations, and smelled very heavily of honey and those disinfectant plants that Olysseus had grown back in Notus.


    Josephine and Arathis had drafted the contract itself, which meant nothing good for the Republic (Cyrus had personally seen them nearly trick a Duke out of his fief by stealing his spectacles ¡ª it wasn¡¯t a memory he wanted to revisit).


    ¡°If Your Consulships read the agreement thoroughly,¡± Greta said, calmly, ¡°you may see that we will cede internal authority to the Republic and its Senate, recognizing it as an entity separate from the Imperial¡¯s civil governance, the only protectorate element being that we will provide military aid whenever we deem it necessary. However¡ª¡±


    ¡°You have control over our military,¡± interrupted Marcellus. ¡°And on any relocations of substantially large forces, which means that you will have a tight leash on all our military campaigns against the monsters originating from the Dark Forest.¡±


    It¡¯s almost...like that¡¯s the point. Cyrus bit back the uncharacteristically sarcastic remark ¡ª it was a fact that all the people in the room were aware of. He saw Josephine¡¯s lips quirk into a sliver of a smile, and Arathis¡¯ broad grin. Seraphina had looked slightly off-put, earlier, but now she was standing gracefully and with ease ¡ª yet the empty spot by the wall and between the She-Devil and the Evil-that-Transcended-Demonic-Labels was glaring.


    Brother thought it was necessary to stand between them, lest the Empire burn down and take the Palace with it.


    But that was a bottle best left unopened for another day.


    ¡°We will, of course, give you time to consider it,¡± the Empress said, sliding the papers closer towards the two Consuls. ¡°After all, I¡¯m sure this is a very tough decision to make. We may first move onto other matters, if that may be a better alternative¡­¡±


    ¡°Speaking of alternatives,¡± Valerius interjected, tilting his head, ¡°will the Republic receive hostile retaliation if we do not sign this protectorate agreement?¡±


    Will disagreeing spark war?


    Seraphina looked amused. Arathis¡¯ smile only grew wider, while Josephine¡¯s eyes danced across the room. Cyrus snorted, internally ¡ª he was sure the reaction made for quite a spectacle.


    Greta inclined her head. ¡°It is very likely that the Empire will recognize the Republic as hostile forces after assassinating our predecessor, yes.¡±


    Unless, of course, Marcellus revealed that he was hired by Greta to assassinate Nikephoros, which would one, get him socially hanged for making a deal with the Imperials; and two, get him discredited as a politician. Then, even in times of war the greedy Republica Senate would rush to topple his Consul seat completely and elect a greedier, easier-to-handle opponent ¡ª the revelation wouldn¡¯t impact the Imperial population much (assassinations were a nasty, but common business) although it would make them wary.


    The alternative to going along with this schtick would earn Marcellus a lot of enemies. Of course, Cyrus knew that his siblings planned to make him even more enemies, but that was besides the point.


    Marcellus leaned back. ¡°How will Patrician Cassia be tried? By Imperial law, she should be publicly hanged, Your Majesty.¡±


    Greta smiled. ¡°If Your Consulships read the agreement, there are clauses which state that she may be pardoned, under the right circumstances.¡± Her lips quirked upwards, lightly. ¡°Of course, the right circumstances depend on a number of factors.¡±


    A public hanging would, perhaps, boost morale, if only temporarily; but Seraphina would take care of that (at least, after Greta ordered her to). Cyrus¡¯ youngest sister was surprisingly adept at agitating people ¡ª Cyrus was sure she would have no problem telling the respective public to kill people. Imperials were always too knife-happy for his taste.


    Cyrus¡¯ lips twitched, for the second time.


    It was true ¡ª the Third Prince had never felt happier in his life.


    What had Zeus said? Revenge will not be your salvation? It sure as Tartarus wasn¡¯t Zeus¡¯, but the Chosen couldn¡¯t deny that it felt good. He would make Branch Halgrove pay for killing his blood and leaving him with nothing ¡ª and they owed a debt that could be fulfilled in more ways than one.


    The original plan, before Greta revealed the whole assassination shindig after news of Orion¡¯s death arrived (it was less of revealed, and more of Arathis blabbing), was Cyrus going to the Republic in the disguise of military aid. This? Destruction and war? Perhaps more costly, in the scheme of things, but much, much more suitable.


    The Republic would not accept it.


    Their so-called honor wouldn¡¯t allow them to be under the Imperials¡¯ thumbs.


    War was very likely.


    But they would make sure the Empire was ready.


    The Consuls both furrowed their brows at the paper for a while.


    ¡°We will,¡± said Valerius, calmly, ¡°be allowed to leave this discussion peacefully, with or without our signatures on the protectorate agreement.¡±


    Greta¡¯s smile turned sharp. ¡°It does depend on the right circumstances,¡± she said, green eyes gleaming, ¡°but it is a very real possibility.¡±


    The door was within his reach. Collect, and then act.


    The exile, the prince of nothing, the wielder of Zeus¡¯ lightning grinned internally.


    Even if the Fates pushed him off this path, what could they do? Make him lose everything again?


    He would make revenge be his salvation - whether or not the Gods had anything to say about it.


    <hr>


    My Ability was going haywire.


    I could feel it. It wasn¡¯t stretched too tight, or ran threadbare ¡ª it never was run ragged to the point where it became tattered ¡ª but it was bouncing off the walls that were constructed possibilities, sending the ones that couldn¡¯t stand on their own crashing to the ground.


    A war.


    The timing was unexpected.


    Because...it wasn¡¯t Wise.


    No ¡ª my conclusion was reinforced by my Ability. It couldn¡¯t be wrong.


    But it was.


    It was.


    That meant that it had been Blindsided.


    But how?


    A Drawback that I wasn¡¯t aware of?


    A detriment and Drawback are not the same things.


    Turning it off?


    Turning it off is a detriment, not a Drawback.


    Blindsided?


    To be Blindsided by a course of action that doesn¡¯t follow what is Wise, it means that we can only Weave the Hints together into conclusions that follow what is Wise.


    Everything slammed together like rams butting heads, human thought and rationality crashing into cogs that creaked and whirred too fast, too slow, too much yet too little. A headache gnawed at the back of my head like an insect, stinging and biting like an irritating bee, and I was tempted to pry my head open with an anvil and hack the perpetrator to pieces.


    That had been how Athena was born.


    Ah, yes. Something I knew.


    I leaned against the pillar, an alcove or two away from the recess that had been called in the negotiations ¡ª a few good paces away from the actual gathering, quiet enough, but within screaming distance. I attached my Ability to the Tale and rested, for a while.


    Metis, a descendant of the Titans Oceanus and Tethys, was Athena¡¯s mother, alleged the one who gave Zeus the potion for Kronos to regurgitate the Olympians. The cunning trickster, the mother of wisdom ¡ª many names as they called her, but single was the fact that Zeus feared her as much as he prized her. Metis was prophesied to give birth to two children, the younger of which would overthrow the Lightning King.Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.


    The cruelty of fate came by Zeus¡¯ hand, who tricked her into turning into a fly and swallowed her whole. However, as all self-fulfilling prophecies went, it was too little too late. Metis was already with child, and the Titaness gave birth to her while trapped in the Lightning King¡¯s head. That was, of course, Athena.


    As the Titaness made Athena¡¯s armor and helmet while shapeshifting into a tiny presence in Zeus¡¯ head, the hammering caused the King of the Gods immense pain ¡ª why she didn¡¯t use it to escape, my Ability didn¡¯t know. Myths were strange things.


    Either way, Zeus was in pain. He was angry, with an extremely bad headache made from his former wife hammering away in his brain, and so he ordered Hephaestus to split his head open. The God of the Forge, with his magical tools, did so ¡ª but, after he cracked at the King of the Gods¡¯ skull with his anvil, Athena ¡ª then born magically fully grown ¡ª crawled out of Zeus¡¯ head.


    I wasn¡¯t quite sure I would be smote if I compared my headache to Zeus¡¯, but I was, essentially, not in the best state.


    Being Blindsided caused no physical effects, of course (other than the persisting headache) but it was an unsettling feeling. But there were more pressing matters. I shifted, and gingerly spread my Ability over the situation.


    Josephine had said something important.


    With the new weapons delivered to Boreas, it is fully militarized; letters have been written to Eurus in case Republica troops try to climb up the Draconian Peaks and ambush Cadmus through the Snakelands; Notus has accepted the request for increased border patrols; and Zephyr has already sent back the war strategies and coordinations.


    It had been planned very, very thoroughly.


    I didn¡¯t need to ask questions.


    But I wanted to.


    The thing was, war was a shitty thing. I had never been in one, but it was obvious. It was a leech that drained your resources, funding, and people ¡ª arguably the three tenets of getting anything done ¡ª and all for, what? A piece of land and more people to order around. A buy-one, get-one-free deal (that was what the Merchants called it, I was pretty sure), only you couldn¡¯t return the ¡®free¡¯ objects.


    Sure, I wanted that piece of land and the power that came with it, but it was tiring. Winning a war was thankless work, and sure, it was fun; but it didn¡¯t change the fact that it was shitty.


    I didn¡¯t need to ask questions.


    ¡°Fuck,¡± I mumbled, quietly. I slammed a fist against my own head, the self-inflicted pain crashing against the already-searing parasitic headache. ¡°Fuck.¡± I was losing my composure. My Ability was losing its composure.


    That was dangerous.


    I needed my Crownboard, and I needed it soon. I settled for closing my eyes, my Ability spreading around my surroundings in the case of someone approaching, and thought.


    The protectorate.


    They would likely refuse it ¡ª if they didn¡¯t, the protectorate would be more trouble than it was worth, even though Greta had already militarized the Cardinals. Subjugating a nation was easier said than done, whether violently or forcefully (the former and latter were different words, after all). Subjugating the Republic was more than that.


    The Republica Roma had been an undeniable continental power for a long time. Even though, before the First Emperor, it had been ¡ª assumedly ¡ª little but a fledgling state, they were the balance. They had a mix of both Republica Anothen and Kato, creating a needed point where both cultures merged ¡ª but really, the important part was the bit where it was in between the Empire and the Union.


    Control over the military, and on any relocations of substantially large forces, Marcellus had put it. That meant that the Empire would get involved with the monsters, and in turn Forsaken diplomacy.


    Pieces of paper could make history, just as easily as burning them could break it.


    Questions.


    So many questions and not enough answers.


    But had I ever hesitated before?


    Consider the present.


    I shoved my Ability aside, and for once, it stayed there.


    If this war started, I wasn¡¯t going to forget that I was going to play the Game my way. Not my Ability¡¯s way, not Athena¡¯s way, and perhaps not even Greta¡¯s way.


    Power is a means, not an end.


    Change is propelled by ideals ¡ª If you¡¯re going to change the world, you have to know what you¡¯re going to change it into.


    I relaxed, the headache still pounding in my ears, and I peeled myself out of the alcove.


    What did I want to change the world into?


    <hr>


    Alexandros was not happy.


    You could argue that he was never happy, but then again, most days, money satisfied him enough that he didn¡¯t need to be happy.


    But, at this moment, he was not happy.


    ¡°Rosalie,¡± he said with a sigh, ¡°what did I tell you to do?¡±


    ¡°Not burn the anti-Imp headquarters down.¡±


    ¡°And what did you do?¡±


    Rosalie pouted, sullenly. ¡°Burn the anti-Imp headquarters down.¡± A silence, before she protested, ¡°But Boss already burned the place down in the first place! I just burned all the people that tried to recover the work documents ¡ª it¡¯s not the same thing, Xandros!¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s the principle of it, Rosalie,¡± Alexandros said with a sigh. ¡°You¡¯re in charge of information, not the killing. Boss is in charge of the killing, or me, or Leo after we¡¯ve gotten approval from Sir Macedon. If I let you get off the leash once, you¡¯ll be killing the beggars under your leadership willy-nilly, and you¡¯ll be endangering all of us by going rogue.¡±


    Rosalie pouted, again, dragging her feet childishly across the carpet. After observing no reaction, she conceded. ¡°Fine,¡± she grudgingly accepted. ¡°I won¡¯t do it again. Gods, Xandros, where¡¯s your sense of fun?¡±


    ¡°Fun doesn¡¯t get you wages,¡± lectured the other. He sighed again, leaning back in the small Emerald Seas room that had been allocated to him while drumming his fingers on the table. ¡°But, either way, give me your status report, Rosalie.¡±


    Rosalie made a noise of annoyance, but complied. ¡°The remnants of the Verdant Eyes have been dealt with,¡± she answered. ¡°Of course, that doesn¡¯t mean they¡¯re fully, fully dealt with; but other organizations are larger priorities at the moment. Although the Eck dealers have backed off the EmSeas¡ª¡± the nickname was pronounced with Rosalie¡¯s rough drawl, like the initials ¡®M.C.¡¯ ¡°¡ªthey¡¯re still sources of funding for the Motley.¡±


    She made a face.


    ¡°All of the anti-Imps are eyeing the fancy guys from the Republic, but the Palace is pretty airtight. Guards everywhere, blindies are useless since they¡¯re too spaced apart, and all the Servants aren¡¯t allowed to leave the Palace. Apparently, the Guards have been shooting down birdies, too.¡± Rosalie lapsed back into infiltrator speech, but Xandros didn¡¯t correct her, merely continuing to drum his fingers against the table.


    Leonidas, who had been silent the entire time, spoke up. ¡°So they likely won¡¯t be successful in getting in. That¡¯s good, but, Xandros ¡ª we don¡¯t even know why we¡¯re doing this. We¡¯ve been told shit but nothing, and we don¡¯t know what we¡¯re working for¡ª¡±


    Xandros interrupted. ¡°Traitors?¡±


    Leo nodded, grimly. ¡°Yeah, one or two. Dealt with them, of course, but loyalty¡¯s scarce these days.¡± Gone was the scaredy-cat Leo, Alexandros mused to himself.


    Still, he arched an eyebrow. ¡°It always is, Leo,¡± he said with a sigh.


    The past Dayhepts had felt almost surreal, being plucked out of the miserable existence that was being a Guard initiate and becoming a leader of a crime ring. At least, Xandros was pretty sure that was what you called it. A crime ring. He almost snorted. It was the stereotypical fate of a street rat, and he¡¯d hated he was condemned to only one future, but it was surprisingly fitting.


    He got paid more than he did back then, so that was a bonus.


    Alexandros propped his head on his hands. ¡°Keep surveying them ¡ª place as many people as possible near all of their hideouts without giving away the plan. We only have to stop them from making any big moves, but that¡¯s it. No killing, no burning, no nothing without my express permission.¡± And then he¡¯d have to ask Sir Mace or Lady Mercy for actual permission, but that was besides the point.


    He eyed Rosalie warningly, but turned to Leo. ¡°Have you paid them yet?¡± he questioned his friend. Them was of course referring to both the other orphans they¡¯d gathered, and the beggars.


    Leo shook his head. ¡°It¡¯s not a problem of money, Xandros.¡±


    If it wasn¡¯t money, then it was pride.


    ¡°Do they need a speech or ¡®sumting?¡± Ah, his accent was back again. It always came from underneath its smooth mask at the most random times.


    ¡°Let¡¯s walk,¡± said Leo, firmly.


    Alexandros raised an eyebrow again.


    The other remained firm.


    Xandros sighed. ¡°Alright,¡± he surrendered. ¡°Rosalie, be sure to follow my orders. You¡¯re dismissed, I guess.¡± The current Seraph stuffed his hands in his pockets, while nodding towards his friend. ¡°Let¡¯s go.¡±


    ______________________________________________________________________________


    There was death everywhere. Like always.


    The sun was high in the sky like an executioner¡¯s knife, hanging above the dark and grimy depths of the Lower Quarter as it threatened to descend on people¡¯s necks. Wealth was an invisible boot on people¡¯s necks, here; children didn¡¯t run or play, instead stalking and thieving for their day¡¯s rations. It was despicable, it was grotesque, and it was, most certainly, Alexandros¡¯ home.


    Leo led him around the back of the Emerald Seas, and towards the corpses.


    Xandros blinked. ¡°Who¡¯re they?¡± Their faces were too badly mutilated to tell their identities, blood seeping from crevices and ugly gashes like a human appetizer slathered in scarlet sauce.


    ¡°Aria and Nora.¡±


    The orphans he brought in a couple days ago. Why¡ª


    ¡°The Motley got them,¡± Leo explained, quietly.


    Ah.


    ¡°I don¡¯t think we¡¯re doing the right thing, Xandros. We¡¯re working for the very Crown that abandoned us,¡± he continued, eyes undecipherable. "The very kingdom, the very hierarchy that left us out to rot in the blood and the murk."


    Xandros tilted his head. ¡°Even in the Guard, we were. If we don¡¯t do something, we still are.¡± He shook his head. ¡°Get some drachmas, Leo. We owe them a burial.¡±


    This was a chance, either way.


    And Alexandros was going to take it.


    <hr>


    It was recess, and diplomatic shit was boring. Josephine wanted to yawn, but she was pretty sure it would be diplomatically insulting. ¡°Ara,¡± she whispered quietly to her brother. ¡°This sucks. Can¡¯t they just fucking say no, we won¡¯t sign your damn protectorate, and get it over with?¡±


    Ara shrugged. ¡°I have an idea, though,¡± he said, excitedly. ¡°I know where Greta keeps her Stygian metal weapons she confiscated from Cyrus¡ª¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re thinking what I¡¯m thinking,¡± Josephine guessed.


    "Of course."


    The two sneaked off.


    <hr>


    We started again, after the recess. Arathis and Josephine came later, with mischievous expressions on their faces, Cyrus grunting at the sight and mouthing, You better keep an eye on them.


    I, of course, mouthed back, Why me?


    Cyrus glared at me warningly. Because, he mouthed.


    Because what?


    And then Greta glared at us to stop, and we did.


    The solar we were in reeked of sweet herbs ¡ª but none of them were poisonous, I checked ¡ª and was decorated austerely, stark violet drapes streaked with gold hanging alongside tasteful murals that depicted the might of the past Emperors. It could¡¯ve been an intimidation tactic, the suspicion of poison and the threatening history, but it was nice architecture, at least.


    An open-air atrium branched off the gallery, twisting silver spirals bordering the small pavilion it housed ¡ª pretty, but also the cause of the many insects visiting the room itself.


    Ah. Now that I thought about it, the herbs were probably some pesticides, based on how the dragonflies wobbled drunkenly on their legs before falling to the floor. Before the recess and after the more important bits of the discussion, Arathis and I had engaged in a small game, competing on who could flick the most dragonfly corpses in Cyrus¡¯ hair.


    Cyrus was not amused.


    It was probably why he¡¯d asked me to keep a watch on Arathis.


    Of course, I hadn¡¯t spent the entire time ¡°fucking around¡± (you could guess who the accusation belong to).


    There had been no progress on either front, although that wasn¡¯t to undermine Greta¡¯s capabilities. She was like a metaphorical spear being brandished at a rock ¡ª two very stubborn rocks.


    If I was right, I did agree that there was some point in this, even if it was all for show. It was best not to agitate the Republica¡¯s sense of honor too soon into the conflict (even though the conflict hadn¡¯t even started).


    But still, I kept an eye on my brother.


    Which was just as well, since while the dear Consuls (and Julian, but Julian was just sitting there, stony-faced) were going on and on about the importance of militarization, Arathis reached into his shirt. My Ability sprang to life, and I got immediately out of my seat, trying to grab his hand unsuccessfully.


    I managed to smack his wrist, however, and that was likely the part that counted ¡ª as my brother, the Fifth Prince, shot his (stolen) Stygian metal pistol at the two leaders of a continental power, his trajectory was ever-so-off.


    The damage was still done.


    Now that I thought more about it, that incident was probably the bit that started the entire war.


    <hr>


    I was born with a bleeding heart;


    It tears at the seams and falls apart;


    It stains my hands with flowering red¡ª


    Perhaps a belonging of a fool who dreads


    The time ¡ª morning come ¡ª when they once again tread


    A road that leads to a kingdom of red,


    As they threaten to fall apart,


    For again, for they were born with a heart.


    I met many who spit at my hand, and


    Many who curse that still I stand,


    For I am not a broken king,


    I cannot promise riches and rings¡ª


    I am simply a fool with a bleeding heart,


    A fool who can do nothing but fall apart, yet


    Morning come, I once again dread, that I have no choice but to tread


    A road that leads to a kingdom of red.


    They say: ¡®take heart,¡¯ as I stand alone¡ª


    But I would, any day, offer my own.


    - Take Heart, Bleeding Heart, a poem by Author Unknown


    <hr>

 Character Charts + Map!

    <hr>


    For those who prefer visual images^^ For those who don''t, feel free to skip!


    <hr>


    The following profiles are made according to the Icarus Scale, a Scale used by Analyst Dantaleus Icarus and now in the use of the Light in the Darkness.


    Greta (Margaret) Highlander


    Ability: Push


    Drawback: Sacrifice


    Estimated: Alpha


    <hr>


    Orion Velasvus Queenscage


    (Orion Velasvus)


    Ability: Aim


    Drawback: ShootYou might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.


    Estimated: Gamma


    <hr>


    Cyrus Halgrove Queenscage


    (Aurelius Cyrus Halgrove)


    Ability: Thunder


    Drawback: Fire


    Estimated: Delta


    <hr>


    Josephine Williams Queenscage


    (Josephine Eleanora Williams)


    Ability: Seduce


    Drawback: Irreversible


    Estimated: Gamma | Delta


    <hr>


    Arathis Delawar Queenscage


    (Delawar Arathis)


    Ability: Revive


    Drawback: Price


    Estimated: ???


    <hr>


    Seraphina Marksman Queenscage


    (Seraphina Marksman)


    Ability: Read | Weave


    Drawback: ???


    Estimated: ???


    <hr>

 28. Interlude: Nacre (Part I)

    <hr>


    To catch flies, use honey. To catch hyenas, use carrion.


    - FORSAKEN PROVERB


    <hr>


    When you stepped into the Union, the first thing you¡¯d see would be forest.


    Miles and miles of dark, spindly forest that stood like needles against the wind, the latter producing a howling sound that you couldn¡¯t pinpoint the cause of. You would wander in the Dark Forest (a terribly original name, Vitajie Aundray knows), and immediately be struck with a decision to make: was it the weather making that noise, or the monsters?


    Not that anyone wanders in besides soldiers, anyhow.


    But that¡¯s besides the point.


    The Glorydark ¡ª taken from the Kato Verse, Crown ¡ª was the moniker of not the entire expanse, but the specific rift that spawned monsters year-round.


    They got more prevalent during wintertime, the monsters ¡ª the seasonal cycle was allegedly due to the fact that the God of Death¡¯s wife had returned to him and thus he spent more time with her than in Tartarus gatekeeping the monsters ¡ª although external influences did, in fact, weigh on the scale of things¡ª


    Right.


    Aundray is getting off track.


    Once you crossed the border region of the Glorydark, you would immediately leap to the Union¡¯s allegedly only city, Tartarus, named after the part of the Dark Below (more commonly known as the Underworld, the place of Myth where the Titans were imprisoned). That¡¯s where Aundray lives.


    Tartarus, where the sky stretches like a dusky serpent, its coils of light wrapped around the bone-spire buildings ready to swallow. In one end of the Dark City, there lies the Vitajie Estate, home to House Vitajie¡¯s ruling Clan, the Aun.


    Aundray shuts the book and leans back on the tree.


    There¡¯s nothing he doesn¡¯t know already.


    ¡°Aundray, Aundray!¡± calls a voice. Desarta Aceline, daughter of the current head of the Ace, rushes up the hill, a bouquet in her hand. ¡°Look what I got for you.¡± She delivers yet another bunch of craggy tree pieces into Aundray¡¯s hands.


    He sniffs it. Bittersweet, with a tangy sour dampness to it. ¡°It smells nice,¡± he admits. ¡°What wood is it?¡±


    Aceline smiles, triumphantly. ¡°I got some people to go near the Glorydark and chop some trees for me. They¡¯re fresh off the branch.¡±


    Aundray looks slightly concerned. ¡°But...won¡¯t they¡ª¡±


    She looks amused. ¡°You¡¯re such a worrywart,¡± chides Aceline. ¡°There aren¡¯t many monsters this time of year, especially since it¡¯s near First Snow.¡± She seats herself next to Aundray, rubbing her hands together as he frowns.


    ¡°You didn¡¯t wear harpy skins today,¡± he calmly scolds. ¡°You¡¯ll catch hoar, if you keep going about like that.¡± He gingerly sets the bouquet aside on his lap, picking up the book and opening its pages up again.


    Aceline still places her chin on his shoulder. ¡°What are you reading, though?¡±


    ¡°Just some Kato stories,¡± Aundray says vaguely, frowning while setting the book aside yet again. ¡°You know I can¡¯t read with you breathing down my neck. What¡¯s going on?¡±


    Aceline shrugs. ¡°Nothing,¡± she says, but her eyes are shifting. She¡¯s obviously hiding something, but Aundray doesn¡¯t push.


    He blinks. ¡°Alright, then, if you want your privacy.¡± He looks towards the horizon. The sky is hazy yet clear, pearly grey clouds swarming the expanse above the estate¡¯s bone-mansion ¡ª Aundray can feel the promise of frost on his skin, and he gets up from his spot by the darkwood tree, retrieving the bouquet.


    ¡°It¡¯s cold out here,¡± he remarks, frowning. ¡°We should go inside, it might snow.¡±


    Aceline snorts. ¡°Worrywart,¡± she teases, but follows.


    Flecks of ice brush his nose and hers as they head into the house.Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.


    <hr>


    The girl runs.


    ¡°Get back here, you scrounge!¡± A yell echoes behind her.


    She snorts, internally. Scrounge. That¡¯s a new one.


    The place she¡¯s currently being chased through, after all, is not a place that holds literary promise. Of course, the Lower Quarter is far more intellectually abysmal ¡ª she likes that word, abysmal ¡ª but those of the Harbors, observedly, suffer from a deprivation of insults that don¡¯t contain bawdy profanity.


    But there is no time for internal monologuing.


    The waters of Lake Ichor are now a dangerous shade of midnight, lapping the shores like a persistent hound. She¡¯d thought that the Harbormaster would¡¯ve been snoring by now, but evidently she was wrong ¡ª a jangle of a lockpick¡¯s encounter with a door (while she was exiting, she might add), and he was hot in pursuit. Contrarily, the cold of the night prickles the girl¡¯s skin as she dives further into the city.


    There are eyes on the occurring chase, but the girl knows that they¡¯re more malevolent curiosity than anything else ¡ª good thieves, and the professional occupation of Thief, would likely take this opportunity to rob the Harbormaster¡¯s home, now left unattended.


    The girl bites back a swear. She got arrogant. If she hadn¡¯t been desperate, she would¡¯ve taken a companion. But she was, and that desperation propels her as her bare soles sear across the moist cobblestones. The uneven rock doesn¡¯t bother her, but her feet, although fleet, cannot handle a long chase in the dark of night.


    Not that this particularly lazy Harbormaster would keep up the challenge for long ¡ª the girl is sure he won¡¯t.


    True to her estimate, his yells disappear in the next few minutes, but she knows she shouldn¡¯t relax until the bread within her hands is safely at the Institute. The moon is whole and taunting, and by its teasing light the girl finds her way back to her childhood shelter.


    As she arrives at its entrance, she immediately breaks the paximathia bread in half, stuffing one in her own mouth, and the other underneath her ragged shirt. Trailing her eyes over the windows ¡ª none of them are lit, thankfully ¡ª the girl climbs up the slowly deteriorating trellis that decorates the left wall.


    The bread¡¯s lingering dryness in her mouth makes her lick her lips clean ¡ª visible crumbs would only mean discovery ¡ª as she opens the window and climbs in, shutting the glass delicately.


    None of those awake seem particularly reactive at her entrance ¡ª a group is playing stolen poker by a corner, but they make up the few that have nourished themselves for the Dayhept. The rest are probably out on food trips, alone or for themselves.


    ¡°Number Five,¡± one acknowledges, curtly. ¡°Make sure te¡¯ shut the window properly. The nuns are making them rounds more frequently.¡±


    The girl inclines her head. ¡°I will, Ten,¡± she replies casually, stretching her limbs, ¡°where¡¯s Seven?¡±


    ¡°Here,¡± chirps a familiar voice, wriggling her fingers in greeting. Seven is bright-eyed as always, back from her shift at the Carnival. Although a supposedly unsavory way to earn coin, it doesn¡¯t change the fact that the girl¡¯s friend still does.


    ¡°If yer gonna talk,¡± says Ten, looking up from their cards, ¡°make sure ye do it up on the roof. If yer gonna do the nasty, do it someplace else.¡±


    Seven rolls her eyes. ¡°We¡¯re not into that kinda stuff, Terpsichore,¡± she says. ¡°Right, Bridgette?¡±


    ¡°Bridgette?¡± the girl ¡ª more widely known as Five, but perhaps not ¡ª asks, raising her eyebrows. ¡°You¡¯re still hung up about that name thing?¡±


    Ten narrows their eyes, interrupting the pair¡¯s conversation. ¡°Talk. On. The. Damn. Roof. Also, Terpsichore¡¯s a stupid name. It¡¯s blasphemy ¡ª it¡¯s a damn Titan¡¯s name, you idiot.¡±


    Seven throws her hands up in surrender. ¡°Right, right. Going.¡± She heads over to the window the girl just came in from. ¡°Come on, Ruth. Terpsichore¡¯s a beautiful name, I don¡¯t know what Ten¡¯s so hung up about.¡±


    The girl known as Five mutters under her breath. ¡°Really? Ruth?¡±


    Still, the pair manages to clamber up on the Highlander Institute¡¯s roof, shingles scraping across sore feet as the moon grins at the two of them.


    ¡°Terpsichore Highlander.¡± Seven¡¯s eyes grow misty, like they always do. ¡°It sounds heroic. I want a name like that.¡±


    ¡°You can name yourself, you know,¡± the other girl offers.


    Seven shakes her head. ¡°It isn¡¯t the same, Elena,¡± she replies, leaning back on the roof.


    The girl follows her friend, and the creaking tiles of the roof dig in both of their spines. ¡°I don¡¯t like Elena. It sounds old,¡± she says to Seven, finally. ¡°You want me to name you, or something? I can do that ¡ª don¡¯t think I¡¯d be that good at it, though. You know me. Creativity isn¡¯t my strongest suit.¡± Well, it kind of is, since she is the most literacy-versed orphan in the Institute, but the girl known as Five doesn¡¯t do names.


    ¡°Yes, I do, very well,¡± answers Seven. ¡°That¡¯s why it shouldn¡¯t be so hard to name you.¡± She sighs, but brightens. ¡°Still, you can give the naming-me thing a shot. I¡¯m sure you can¡¯t be that bad.¡±


    The girl considers her friend. Seven has a pale face, one of a dreamy-like quality that makes the girl wonder why the Carnival hasn¡¯t done anything more than employing her (the brothel itself is renowned for ironclad indentures, after all). It¡¯s moon-shaped, and the same glow that occupies the orb hanging in the sky taints her eyes.


    ¡°Pale,¡± she decides.


    Seven shrugs. ¡°Sure, why not?¡± The newly-named Pale looks at her friend. ¡°Hmm, apparently it¡¯s good to name people after things. I was about to name you Pearl, since pearls are pretty, but I saw this name in a text that means ¡®pearl.¡¯¡± Pale looks at the girl. ¡°Margaret,¡± she names. ¡°Margaret Highlander.¡±


    Margaret makes a face. ¡°It¡¯s way too long,¡± she says. ¡°Make up a nickname for me, or something.¡±


    Pale shrugs again. ¡°I suppose you could be Greta, but that takes the fun out of it.¡± She grins. ¡°Margaret. That¡¯s a nice name.¡±


    Margaret groans. ¡°I guess, I mean, if it makes you happy.¡±


    The two talk into the night.


    <hr>

 29. Interlude: Nacre (Part II)

    The nearest neighbors to the continent of Visava were the Rhiannon continent (the High Kingdom, with the area Tsarina and Tsar), with the continent across the Oceanus being the source of much trade; the Eastern Empire and their corresponding protectorates; and the Galbraith continent further northwest of the Rhianites.


    At least, that¡¯s what Margaret¡¯s read.


    But nowhere in the world has she expected this.


    A God visiting her in her dreams, and telling her she¡¯s been gifted an Ability.


    No.


    I¡¯m delusional.


    Margaret runs immediately to the Institute.


    Pale isn¡¯t there.


    The girl opts for the Carnival instead, begging to meet her friend. She¡¯s kicked and beaten, but she¡¯s desperate. Red fills every gap in her vision, pain crushing her bones and every part of her skin, but still Margaret yells.


    You are ever so close to insanity, Greta, Dionysus had crooned. Do you feel the possessiveness you feel over your little friend? Do you feel all that pain you drink, as you step onto the world? Do you¡ª


    Shut up, she tells the memory.


    Margaret can take a beating.


    She knows pain.


    The Carnival¡¯s enforcers taunt her, but the threats ring empty in her ears (her ears are ringing, too; it¡¯s hilarious). They kick her to the ground, but her arms are coiled over her head.


    Does she really know insanity?


    Does the God speak true?


    Is this emptiness called insanity?


    No, it is not, Margaret tells herself. It cannot be.


    She is not insane.


    Pale recovers her, after a while, and scolds her while bandaging Margaret¡¯s wounds. But there is a fear in her eyes and not of her, of the Carnival. She is afraid, now. Good, something vindictive whispers inside Margaret. She will heed our warnings, now.


    But at what cost?


    Cost.


    It is a strange thing.


    At what cost?


    She hears it when the Fishers sell their produce in the marketplace, when she¡¯s scouring for an eye to slip off a fish. At what cost? She deprives a family of a meal, to fill her own stomach. At what cost? She steals and tricks, depriving others of truth. At what cost?


    At what cost does she survive?


    ¡°Pale,¡± she says, something invisible pulling at her lips, ¡°I think the Universe is collecting its toll.¡± Margaret feels the blood flecking her teeth, the pain still there, sharp and alive. ¡°I have to pay,¡± she repeats. She¡¯s delirious, a haze flooding her mind, but it¡¯s there. The desire. ¡°The world has to pay.¡±


    Pale looks at her, for once something unreadable in her eyes.


    ¡°Yes,¡± Margaret¡¯s first and only love says, simply. ¡°Someone always has to pay.¡±


    <hr>


    When Margaret tells Pale, the girl¡¯s reaction is unexpected.If you encounter this tale on Amazon, note that it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.


    ¡°Try it on me,¡± the former Seven says, gesturing to herself. ¡°Try it out. See if you¡¯re really Chosen.¡±


    Margaret¡¯s eyes immediately widen. ¡°That sounds like an immediate no,¡± the other spits, and then winces. Her bones hurt, pain spangling her body with pinpricks like a deft Physician¡¯s needles. ¡°Did you hear what Dionysus said?¡± she asks. ¡°He¡ª¡±


    ¡°I didn¡¯t,¡± Pale informs her, uncharacteristically dryly.


    Margaret shoots her friend a look at the interruption. ¡°He said that if I could use the Ability to make others go insane, I¡¯ll go insane. And I ¡ª I don¡¯t want to believe this, and there¡¯s no other way, but what if ¡ª it¡¯s just a dream, Pale.¡±


    She sighs.


    ¡°Let¡¯s just go home.¡± Margaret tugs on her friend¡¯s hand, and winces again when her bloodied knuckles spark. ¡°Please,¡± she pleads ¡ª she¡¯s desperate. ¡°Let¡¯s just go home. We can go on the roof again, and Ten can be mean to us again. The Carnival¡ª it isn¡¯t safe, Pale. I¡¯m worried.¡±


    Pale shakes her head, almost sadly. ¡°I told you,¡± she tells Margaret. ¡°Someone always has to pay.¡±


    ¡°That isn¡¯t a good enough reason, Pale!¡± the other raises her voice, a snap brimming in her throat, before she sees Pale flinch.


    Oh.


    Margaret closes her eyes. ¡°I¡¯m sorry,¡± she manages to croak out. ¡°Just¡ª¡±


    A boy immediately bursts in, alone. ¡°Pallia!¡± he snarls.


    Pallia?


    ¡°Pallia, I told you not to let your friends come here! It¡¯s not safe!¡± he yells, angrily. ¡°Father is displeased.¡±


    Pale flinches, again. ¡°I¡¯m sorry, Jason,¡± she apologizes, quietly. ¡°I¡¯ll be sure to schedule some extra...appointments for him. He¡ª¡±


    Appointments.


    Jason snorts. ¡°See, you¡¯re lucky I like you,¡± he sneers, angrier. ¡°That¡¯s why I managed to get you a discount for your Institute¡¯s debt. It¡¯s only halfway paid ¡ª not that you¡¯ll manage to get it all after Father¡¯s done with you.¡±


    Something slams into Margaret¡¯s head.


    It was rage.


    Appointments. Debts.


    Margaret is angry.


    This was what Pale was talking about.


    Almost immediately, something detaches her soul, and she floats, a spectator. Instead of seeing a boy, she sees a sphere ¡ª a glowing one, dancing with dark, grey light. When Margaret turns to Pale, she sees a bright yellow orb.


    You can break people¡¯s minds, had said the God. A lingering hunger had filled his eyes, the God of Wine, Revelry, and Madness. You can Push them, ever so lightly, off the cliff that some call insanity. But, he had said, you will edge closer to the edge yourself. That is the Sacrifice you must give.


    Sacrifice.


    She giggles.


    A Price.


    But still, Margaret does exactly what the Ability is meant for: she sees the grey orb, Jason''s mind. And she shatters it.


    That''s when the screaming starts.


    <hr>


    When she comes back from the Cage, Pale is dead. The Institute has been razed to the ground by the Carnival, and she enters the Palace. Greta begins to dream.


    Dionysus never visits, but what can she expect of the God of Insanity?


    She first meets a peacock emperor. He is kind in the way that the distant shore is¡ª yet he still does not talk of payment. He does not talk about debt in the way most do, he does not expect anything from her; yet, she becomes what he cannot. He speaks of the past, and she dreams of the future.


    But the world must pay.


    Greta knows that.


    She must pay her debt to the world by fixing it.


    Five years pass, and Greta lingers in wealth, power, and fame. They do not talk about it, the Analysts ¡ª they do not tell of how it gets to you; of how ¡®having everything¡¯ makes people forget memories by putting them on a pedestal where the past is out of sight.


    She meets an amber-eyed hunter. They bicker, they fight, and they most certainly are not the best of friends, but they are family.


    And then she remembers.


    Another comes, a revenge-obsessed exile who can control lightning. This one acts on his desire for vengeance, he collects people and brings them to his side.


    But why?


    Greta remembers.


    She begins, soon after.


    <hr>


    It starts with visiting the right people. Making promises that are easy to deliver on, placing yourself in people¡¯s favor. Once they start thinking about you when they encounter a problem ¡ª perhaps one you yourself has created ¡ª you succeed in planting yourself in their good graces.


    Greta tours the Strongholds politically, and from afar she watches talents bloom in noble lineages. She waits, she watches, and she writes.


    Greta plans.


    As her family grows and she calculates on how to get them on her side, she thinks of the future she¡¯s planning to see.


    Her name is Greta Queenscage.


    And she will make this Empire pay.


    <hr>

 30. Lost I

    <hr>


    You pass kingdoms and watch them fall, you build Strongholds and watch them stand tall;


    Yet the dynasties forge hierarchs of new, and their wars tear through the lands you knew.


    You hear - yet again - the war-song''s faint drawl, you see your creation heed its call;


    Yet they polish bone and see carrion eaten, after they - yet again - paint the world their hue.


    - An Allegory of the Boy Who Flew Into the Sun, ''Hymn of the Hierarch''


    <hr>


    It started with troops attacking Notus.


    It wasn¡¯t unexpected. The messengers, led by sturdily-bred horses, brought news of an attack on Petra and their people; bringing large casualty reports, a personally written letter that contained much profanity, and a request for war aid.


    After the whole gun incident, the Republica Consuls didn¡¯t linger ¡ª alright, if I were being honest, they flat-out refused the protectorate agreement and bolted. Julian went with them, not acknowledging our engagement contract but not properly annulling it, either, leaving without even a ¡®toodles.¡¯


    The formal declaration of war, what the Republic called the casus belli, was sent out a Dayhept later.


    During that very Dayhept, many things happened ¡ª one, the Imperial Army¡¯s generals, along with all the Cardinals aside from Damokles were gathered, and a war meeting was held over a very expensively detailed map of the Empire.


    Ara and his co-conspirator, Josie, were sent into solitary confinement that I was sure they would get a kick out of; Greta had commandeered titles for me and Cyrus, initiated both of us into the Imperial Army, and stuck us both in the meeting as Colonels.


    I was oh-so-tempted to whistle in appreciation at the professional-looking setting, but I refrained.


    ¡°I have already sent out militarization orders to all Cardinals and Strongholds,¡± said the Empress, leaning back on her throne. ¡°By the end of this meeting, war orders should be given and carried out, along with specific posts designated ¡ª but first, reports. Duchess Elexis of Eurus, you may stand.¡±


    The warrior stood. ¡°Eurus has made contact with the Galani to keep watch on the Snakelands¡¯ borders, as well as activating some old posts in the mountains. Some garrisons have been sent out, but it¡¯s also a matter of Snakeland-Cadmus conflict, as well.¡± Uncertain, but expectant.


    Ah, the good old Galani-Eurus conflict. I pursed my lips.


    ¡°We hope towards a stable relationship, and minor tensions and conflicts may appear,¡± Elexis continued, ¡°but we¡¯ve put into action all countermeasures, as per Imperial regulation. If we¡¯re delving into the numbers, however, the garrisons in the Snakelands come up to a total of around a brigade size ¡ª four thousand infantry, five hundred cavalry.¡±


    Greta tilted her head. ¡°In the case of a conflict in the Snakelands, you will have to join with the Galani forces, as well,¡± she lightly warned. ¡°Have you taken into account their numbers, as well as the battalion formations needed?¡±


    Elexis inclined her head. ¡°General Alax as well as my appointed colonels have sent word that they have prepared,¡± she replied. ¡°As I¡¯ve said, minor conflicts have arisen; but, as a whole, the numbers should be enough.¡± She believes what she¡¯s saying, my Ability whispered.


    My maternal grandmother was capable, I knew.


    ¡°You should not function on merely shoulds,¡± said Greta, ¡°but you have prepared well for the information you have been given. You may sit.¡± The Empress¡¯ gaze shifted. ¡°Duke Anaxeres of Tyche, you may stand.¡±


    The notorious gambler obeyed the order, grinning all the while. Amusement, concealing¡ª knowledge? ¡°As an Imperial Order has not been given to the civilians,¡± he said, bowing almost mockingly low, ¡°so they¡¯re still wasting their money gambling.¡± Mocking derision? ¡°As long as the nobles close to my fief come and spend their money in our casinos, a hefty revenue shall be generated.¡±


    Tyche was, after all, an entertainment city.


    ¡°And your spies?¡± Greta asked, raising an eyebrow. ¡°I am well aware that you have attempted to plant some in the Republica Armies. How well have you fared?¡±


    The Duke coughed ¡ª not out of embarrassment, my Ability found; he seemed to have a genuine problem with his lungs ¡ª before finding his grin again.


    ¡°I¡¯m in dire need of people, you see, Your Imperial Majesty,¡± he said. ¡°The Republicas are smarter than I¡¯d given them credit for ¡ª most of my less experienced spies are getting rooted out; and apparently they¡¯re playing everything close to the chest.¡±


    The Empress considered it. ¡°Manpower.¡± Her eyes skimmed over me for a dangerous while ¡ª is she actually going to stick me with the insane gambling Duke, some voice at the back of my head wailed ¡ª before settling on the Duke again. ¡°Take inventory of your supplies and current people, send it over to the Sixth Princess after you¡¯re done. You may sit.¡±


    Ah. Right. I pretended like this was the plan all along, nodding respectfully at the Duke, who nodded amusedly back.


    Greta moved on. ¡°Duchess Alina of Doxa, you may stand.¡±


    Alina stood.


    I could Read the grooves of her face that came with age, but still her tone remained steady.


    ¡°Doxa is fully militarized and has ceased trading with the Republic,¡± she enunciated, calmly. ¡°But we have channeled the appropriate funds to the Imperial coffers ¡ª along with the revenue generated from Tyche, that should be enough to cover food and water for garrisons.¡±


    ¡°And? What about the Sunguard?¡± Like the Winterdeath, it was the Evlogia¡¯s version of a military branch ¡ª Doxa wasn¡¯t renowned for its military might since it was more of a mercantile city, but there was a strict type of law that existed there. The Sunguard were, reportedly, more enforcers than actual fighters, so I wasn¡¯t sure why she¡¯d mentioned it.


    But she had, which meant my sister was likely planning to move it. And with me preoccupied with Evimeria and his spies, the responsibility of leading it would logically fall to Cyrus, who had connections with both Roxane and the Duchess herself.


    Right.


    It¡¯d been a long while since I¡¯d had to form conclusions on my own.


    ¡°The Sunguard has been equipped to handle any Merchant dissent,¡± replied Alina, smoothly. ¡°Both the entire Stronghold and Evlogia are prepared for civil unrest.¡±


    Ah, right. The trade bit. Knowing there was a war, Merchants from the Eastern Empire and the High Kingdom, the two main entities that (according to texts) interacted with Doxa the most would likely take the chance to bolt (like my fiance). More the Rhianites than the Easterners, since the High Kingdom was so notoriously insistent on staying neutral.


    I wasn¡¯t sure why I insisted on providing commentary on everything, but it was a distraction to the persistent headache that¡¯d been there since yesterday. I shifted in my seat.


    Greta nodded, curtly. ¡°You may sit.¡±


    Alina sat.


    Duchess Delphine Hyacinth was summoned to stand next. Zephyr was closer to the border than Doxa, and I¡¯d met her a couple times when I was younger ¡ª the rumors of her being an airhead held more ground than I¡¯d liked it to have. At least, that I was what I had been thinking before the Duchess of Hyacinth opened her mouth.


    ¡°Land or sea. Those are the options the Republic has ahead of them. They could go by sea from their supposed Harbor City, Azareth, try to seize Zephyr, and our navy would be woefully inadequate to resist against them. But that would mean going through the Epivolous Range¡ª¡± sometimes I forgot those mountains existed ¡°¡ªsince that is one of our main western defences.¡±


    Greta let Delphine continue.


    ¡°The next two land options are either to cut through the border and attack Notus from their capital, Honos; or to try and push through the Peaks and crawl up the Snakelands. We have to guard against both, but the former is more likely for a sudden war,¡± the Duchess Hyacinth said, lightly. ¡°And, revenue from both Doxa and Tyche are, inevitably, dependent on people.¡±


    Delphine fluttered her fan in front of her face. ¡°Once Your Majesty releases the Imperial Edict for the commoners, and conscription ensues, some avenues of revenue will drop. We¡¯ll have to depend on the gems mined from the Epivolous Range for some of our expenditures." Her fan halted for a while - emphasis. "Bait. Merchants and nobles will pay to get their children out of conscription, and we can use their money to sustain the conscripted.¡±


    The Empress tilted her head. ¡°Interesting,¡± she said, finally. ¡°Once the Fifth Prince and the Fourth Princess have finished their respective punishments, I will assign them to you. Submit a rough proposal this Dayend. You may sit.¡±


    Delphine bowed. She sat.


    ¡°Conscription,¡± Greta mused, aloud. Her green eyes fixed on me ¡ª again ¡ª before flickering to Petra. ¡°Ducal Lord Petra ¡ª how are your troops on that end?¡±


    They grinned, broadly. ¡°Like Delphie said, Your Majesty, they can either cut straight through the border to Noty; or go up the Snakelands to Lexi.¡±


    Delphine grinned at the nickname, while Elexis grimaced.


    The Ducal Lord continued, ¡°With the war going on, most of the ¡®Pub citizens will feel unsafe. Cornered. Some of them will become refugees, flee across the border. If you¡¯re talking about being spies, that¡¯s the best cover you¡¯ll get.¡±


    They shrugged. ¡°But, in terms of conscription, we¡¯ll take some losses with the Pubs running away. Like Delphie said, people¡¯ll undoubtedly pay to get out of ''mandatory'' service. Some will gladly enter it. A lot of things depend on a lot of things.¡±


    ¡°And one of those things is the Imperial Order,¡± Greta guessed, sighing. She massaged her head. "Right."


    After the session, specific battle formations were distributed and discussed, I was shooed away to talk spies with the Duke. Cyrus shot me a triumphant smirk. I flipped him the finger (on a whim) when his back was turned and no one was looking.


    The Duke followed, snickering at the finger ¡ª he¡¯d noticed ¡ª as we headed into a separate parlor.


    <hr>


    ¡°You know, this makes me feel like I¡¯m on babysitting duty,¡± he admitted, frankly. ¡°But honestly, I¡¯ve heard good things about you from Aeron; and I have no reason to believe that you¡¯re not the person he¡¯s made you out to be.¡± The Duke leaned back.


    I smiled, amusedly. ¡°That¡¯s a strange way to base your conclusions on,¡± I commented, mimicking his relaxed posture, ¡°but, no matter. What tasks do you have for me, Your Grace?¡±


    Greta probably needed me to work in conjunction¡ª


    Anaxeres of Tyche waved a hand. Flippant. ¡°Enough with the ¡®Your Grace.¡¯ I¡¯m Anaxeres. Formality matters little ¡ª if I was going to bring someone under my wing, I would¡¯ve preferred to do it in a more relaxed setting; but, you know, adversity breeds excellence and all that.¡± He reached up and messed up his own hair. ¡°Well, I guess this is it ¡ª the Empress has chosen you, her sister, to become trained to become an Imperial Spymaster.¡±You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.


    He dramatically spread his hands. ¡°And I¡¯m the damned man who has to do it.¡±


    I blinked. ¡°Right.¡± I jerked a thumb towards the area where the war meeting was being held. ¡°Don¡¯t you, you know, have slightly more important things to do? Or do I owe you the honor of being the reason for a cleared schedule?¡± My tone was dry, but my eyes were trained on his reaction.


    An Imperial Spymaster. Was that even a position?


    Greta had spies, I knew that ¡ª but based on Tyche¡¯s probes towards the throne, I¡¯d assumed they acted under her, and her only¡ª


    ¡°You¡¯re probably thinking about Imperial politics,¡± Anaxeres interrupted. ¡°Don¡¯t.¡± He tapped the table. ¡°Spies are a web. Sometimes webs have different areas, and sometimes spiders eat each other. That¡¯s just the way it goes ¡ª but you don¡¯t think about eating each other when the entire web¡¯s in danger.¡±


    I ignored the urge to point out that the comparison technically didn¡¯t make sense.


    ¡°Spymasters are spiders.¡± Anaxeres badly mimed the insect in question crawling on the table. ¡°You know what¡¯s the most important thing in war?¡± he asked.


    I didn¡¯t answer, but he still finished, ¡°Information. What they¡¯re planning as their next move, who got assassinated, who killed their mother and took over her seat. Big things. What the diplomat likes for breakfast, what perfume their lover wears, what time their parties are. Little things.¡±


    The Duke drummed his finger. ¡°That¡¯s what we ¡ª spymasters ¡ª do. Especially in war, where everyone has their guards up; it¡¯s our job to find where the holes in the shields are, and crawl our way in.¡± He mimed an insect, again. ¡°Whether we get squashed¡ª¡± he splayed his finger-spider against the table ¡°¡ªor we survive¡ª¡± it was miraculously resurrected ¡°¡ªit all depends on how we can blend in.¡±


    And then Anaxeres clapped his hands together. ¡°Right, then, let¡¯s get started.¡±


    I tried to ignore how concerningly quickly I¡¯d been introduced to another field (I also tried to ignore how it felt like being inducted into another religion). At least I didn¡¯t need to stab people ¡ª killing people from far away was much easier than going berserk again.


    ¡°Right,¡± I said, giving a nod, ¡°please, enlighten me.¡±


    <hr>


    We went to the Emerald Seas, and immediately the Duke tutted in disapproval. ¡°It¡¯s a waste of premise,¡± Anaxeres said, tapping the wall of the empty room they were in. ¡°You could easily drill some holes, add some structures so you can slip some assistants into the walls, record secrets.¡±


    I made an indistinguishable noise. ¡°Been a bit too busy for renovations.¡±


    A Spymaster.


    Everything had sped by a bit too quickly for my taste, but I got the gist of it. Greta had stuck me to help out with the supposed ¡®spy war¡¯ ¡ª Anaxeres¡¯ words, not mine ¡ª and I was going to do it.


    Play along.


    Following orders unquestionably was something I could do. It was, after all, one less thing to doubt, other than my Ability¡¯s Drawback. The headache was a strange thing; now just a numbness in the back of my brain rather than the pounding it was before, but it was still there.


    I made a mental note to ingest some herbs ¡ª for aches and pains, it was¡ª


    ¡°What do people want?¡± Anaxeres asked me, suddenly.


    I blinked. ¡°As in, philosophically?¡±


    The gambler shrugged. ¡°Whatever floats your boat.¡±


    There were a lot of answers. Orion had said ¡®love.¡¯ Josephine would likely say the same, or perhaps power. Arathis would opt for ¡®fun.¡¯ Greta...I didn¡¯t know what Greta would say. Maybe some sort of ¡®better.¡¯ They were all valid answers ¡ª any answer you could justify, were technically valid to a vague question.


    ¡°I read a theory,¡± I mused, staring at the office I was in, ¡°that wants come in layers. They¡¯re conditional. You first need to survive, to have wants at all.¡± I folded a finger. ¡°And if that survival condition is met, you¡¯d need to have an adequate standard of living.¡± Another finger folded.


    ¡°And if that condition is met, you¡¯ll hope for better standards of living ¡ª things like happiness, wealth, power; or whatever you think will make your life better. Or easier.¡± I folded the last finger. ¡°Love. Money. More. Better. That¡¯s basically what comes next. It can be classified as conditional wants, if you saw human minds as a science.¡±


    But they weren''t.


    Interestingly enough, the whole system of a Queen¡¯s Cage came into play here. You first survived, meeting the first condition; and then were given more than adequate living conditions ¡ª every want you could have was given to you on a silver platter; so there would be less questioning why do I want more and more I want more.


    If you were thrown into a streak of ¡®good luck¡¯ and you went along with the flow ¡ª like you actually were embroiled in the entire desire schtick, like I was ¡ª you would question why the next thing wasn¡¯t given to you; and then the next thing (at least, if you weren''t a raging cynic who kept questioning when the luck would end; in which case you''d lose your mind).


    It was actually very clever.


    I met the Duke¡¯s watching eyes with a grin. ¡°Wants are conditional. Your past experiences make up who you are, so that is a condition. Who you are is a condition,¡± I summarized. ¡°The short answer is that it depends on who you are and what conditions you¡¯re in, and I already gave you the long answer.¡±


    Anaxeres smiled. ¡°How much of your Ability was that?¡± he asked, his gaze dancing.


    The question was surprising, but I tried to answer it. ¡°I used it once, to remember the specific framework of the theory¡ª¡± using it to access past fragments when I already had an almost flawless memory was easy enough ¡°¡ªbut that was it, I¡¯m pretty sure.¡± I put a hand over the right side of my chest. ¡°It comes from the heart.¡±


    ¡°Wrong side,¡± the Duke pointed out, but he still chuckled at my joke (it was a strange and stupid one; but a joke still). ¡°Damokles told me about you, you know,¡± Anaxeres informed me. ¡°He said you were haunted. And I of course told him that everyone these days was haunted; and he replied that you were haunted differently.¡±


    The gambler tapped his head, that off-kilter glint still in his eye. ¡°You¡¯re haunted here. The most dangerous place to be haunted in. And your Ability, your power has something to do with it, doesn¡¯t it?¡±


    I leaned back in my chair.


    ¡°Is it that obvious?¡± I questioned, dryly.


    Anaxeres Evimeria shrugged. ¡°Not very ¡ª I¡¯m just better at telling these things.¡± He looked at me. ¡°It¡¯s alright to be not right in the head. Tartarus, I¡¯m not right in the head and look at me now!¡± He cackled, not knowing ¡ª or perhaps he did ¡ª that it didn¡¯t help his case.


    ¡°But it shouldn¡¯t affect your work,¡± the Duke said, turning more serious, his smile relaxing in the way that it dwindled. ¡°Spies have to give people what they want, and need, to earn their trust. And, after earning people¡¯s trust, you earn their information.¡±


    ¡°Is there a difference between being a spymaster, and a spy, then?¡± I asked, arching a brow.


    ¡°Of course!¡± Anaxeres clapped his hands together. ¡°But you¡¯ll learn that when we go to Notus.¡±


    What?


    <hr>


    What I¡¯d wanted was a moment alone to gather my thoughts. That was also what I didn¡¯t get.


    ¡°You¡¯re sure this is authorized,¡± I said, still in the Emerald Seas. Of course, I¡¯d like to think that Greta wouldn¡¯t allow a Duke to lug one of her siblings away to a Stronghold that bordered a nation that we were about to go to war with; but it was¡ª always good to make sure, my Ability agreed.


    I had never gone to war before, and having someone green waddle around in war strategy was probably a not-very-well-thought-out decision, so I guessed I should¡¯ve expected it. What I hadn¡¯t expected was for Greta to have another use for me altogether.


    ¡°Quite,¡± responded Anaxeres, inclining his head. ¡°I¡¯ve heard you¡¯ve got an information system going ¡ª I would, of course, in a less hectic situation try to incorporate that into our plans; but it¡¯s in our best interest to deal with current operations before we move on.¡±


    ¡°And your current operations are in Notus,¡± I guessed.


    The Duke leaned forward, interlacing his fingers together. ¡°That¡¯s where we¡¯re trying to establish our current base of operations. You¡¯ve heard what Petra said ¡ª with the escalating hostilities, and if Notus potentially turns into an Imperial military host, most of the ¡®Pubs that¡¯re there will flee across the border. If we forge papers and credentials, it¡¯ll be sufficient cover for my plants to sneak in.¡±


    ¡°So we¡¯re going there. Right.¡±


    I considered the situation.


    ¡°When are we setting out?¡± I asked, after a while.


    ¡°Tonight,¡± answered the Duke.


    ¡°Ah, alright.¡±


    <hr>


    Xanthe looked at the Princess.


    ¡°We¡¯re going to Notus,¡± the assassin said, slowly.


    ¡°Correct.¡± Seraphina smiled. ¡°You pass kingdoms and watch them fall, you build Strongholds and watch them stand tall¡­.¡± the Princess was singing quietly. ¡°Yet the dynasties forge hierarchs of new, and their wars tear through the lands you knew.¡± She was studying her Crownboard intently. ¡°Have you heard of ¡®the Hymn of the Hierarch,¡¯ Mercy?¡±


    ¡°No.¡±


    ¡°Good.¡± She made an indistinguishable noise. The explanation came swiftly. ¡°It¡¯s in ¡®The Allegory of a Boy Who Flew Into the Sun.¡¯ A banned book for commoners, so it¡¯d be best if you hadn¡¯t read it.¡± As always, Seraphina seemed out of it, but more so than usual ¡ª her eyes were strangely unfocused, pupils dilated.


    ¡°Loyalty is dimming,¡± said Mercy. ¡°I don¡¯t think we can keep it throughout the war.¡± By it, of course, the assassin meant their power in the capital. Disloyal people were easily spooked people.


    The Sixth Princess made another noise. ¡°Perhaps,¡± she acknowledged. ¡°People were never easy to Read.¡± Seraphina laughed. ¡°I mean, they are; but they aren¡¯t ¡ª Weaving conclusions are strange, these days. I cannot operate on uncertainties, this time.¡±


    There it was, two capital words. If Mercy wanted to, she could turn. Be a spy for the other side. Yet.


    Yet, she agreed.


    ¡°Monsters may lurk in the depths of man,¡± the Princess continued, quietly, pushing a piece forward. She turned the board, observing the Game from another angle, playing as another player. ¡°But the player of the Game shall play as they can¡ª tell me, Mercy dear, do you think we cut all strings?¡±


    Mercy shrugged. ¡°If you¡¯re talking about abandoning the homeless system for a while, I¡¯m not entirely opposed.¡± She offered, ¡°I can threaten the Rosalie girl into swearing a Fealty Oath, and once everything in Notus is settled, we can come back to cash it in.¡±


    ¡°That sounds agreeable enough,¡± responded Athena¡¯s Chosen. ¡°But Macedon...I¡¯m planning to give over the management of the Emerald Seas over to him, after making him swear an Oath to not embezzle ¡ª although I¡¯m sure he¡¯ll find loopholes. I don¡¯t think a criminal syndicate¡¯s my thing.¡±


    Mercy shook her head.


    ¡°Well, then it¡¯s best you start studying.¡±


    The assassin inclined her head. ¡°So we¡¯re seeking intelligence?¡±


    ¡°Pretty sure.¡±


    ¡°Right, then. Anything else?¡±


    Seraphina tilted her head in consideration. ¡°Ah, yes ¡ª bring Alexandros along, after you¡¯ve gotten the Oaths out of everyone else. Tell him that we¡¯re leaving tonight.¡±


    <hr>


    I knew about the Skirmish. Everyone knew about the Skirmish.


    But the important thing was that it ended in an Imperial victory, Angelo the Avenger cleaning up her predecessor¡¯s mess by finishing her father¡¯s war and getting Notus declared as an Imperial Stronghold (and a Cardinal, at that).


    Of course, then, Cardinal names (named for the Anemoi, vague wind gods from before the Cage¡¯s time) hadn¡¯t existed yet, but what mattered was that Notus was the closest Imperial Stronghold to the Imperial-Republica border.


    Which meant, of course, a cultural anomaly.


    You see, if you lived in the Empire, you would likely believe in the unspoken adage that spread in its ranks ¡ª survival was survival, and things outside of that were choices. Sometimes difficult choices, but still choices made by the individual.


    In the Republic, it was different ¡ª the Republic¡¯s survival was the Republic¡¯s survival; and things outside of that needed to contribute towards it. That was the way Mari ¡ª Julian ¡ª had seemingly been raised, and I had no reason to doubt some miniscule version of that value had spread in the nation¡¯s citizens.


    Imagine those two nations (one tolerant of Kato and the other not) merging, one pooling into the other. It was the definition of water and oil mixing.


    But it wasn¡¯t.


    Notus had been described as soup, by Analyst Iraklidis. It might not taste the best, but it was edible. It worked.


    ¡°It tastes like shit,¡± I whispered underneath my breath, with no small amount of disgust. The entire city reeked of a political shitshow, and tension was in the air even when the Imperial Order hadn¡¯t technically been spread.


    Petra heard me. ¡°Of course,¡± they said with a snort. ¡°But it¡¯s my shit.¡±


    Anaxeres, who was beside them, just smiled amusedly.


    Xandros and Mercy trailed behind me like twin shadows, the former uneasy while the latter was graceful.


    If it was shit, it was nicely-built shit, though. Towers of clay and stone glittered with platin reinforcements and stretched towards the blue sky ¡ª a welcome sight, after two days of travel (the horses were of a top Imperial breed, and were surprisingly fast).


    A molded statue of Angelo the Avenger, in all her war hero glory, stood at the entrance where Petra¡¯d greeted us, with surprisingly little cracks in her earthy figure. Instead of winding around the buildings, the streets were brittle and straight; purple and gold silks draped between roofs, hanging like banners; and the humidity of the air clashed against the cold tension that seeped through Notus¡¯ capital city, Diamandis.


    I was, strangely, reminded of a verse in An Allegory. They feed us the illusion of glory, provide us the kings of old ¡ª they spin a tale of dust and story, and say that what awaits us is gold. Diamandis, the supposed gleaming diamond of Notus, reminded me of the last line. Dust and old story ¡ª nothing more.


    It was only two days later, when the troops came and the war actually begun.


    <hr>

 31. Lost II

    <hr>


    In war, the only crime is to lose.


    - A Treatise On War, Author Unknown


    <hr>


    THEY CAME IN HORDES.


    When I thought about hordes, I thought about flocks of crows chasing prey, hyenas flooding to carrion, bees swarming towards bears that poked their noses in the wrong hive. Groups and groups of not rabid, but organized groups of animals; which made it all the more dangerous.


    A golden insignia of twin wolves snarled on a gleaming pole, the standard of the Respublica Roma glittering under the saffron sun. It was carried by the lupifiers, the Republica standard bearers, wolf furs glittering around their figures as they marched with their Army units ¡ª cohorts, they called them, equivalent of Imperial battalions ¡ª and the first thought that came into my head wasn¡¯t the amount of them; no¡ª


    They had already been stationed.


    That¡¯s why they had only taken two days.


    But we knew.


    ¡°Marcellus, that fox.¡± Petra laughed, throwing their head back and smiling. ¡°That absolute old fox.¡±


    Anaxeres chuckled. ¡°If that man weren¡¯t married and with a child, I sure as Tartarus would¡¯ve thrown myself at him a long while ago,¡± the Duke agreed. ¡°But we¡¯re long past that stage. Pity.¡±


    I folded my telescope, but smiled, silently.


    The plan was in motion.


    <hr>


    Two Days Before the Battle of Ends, Inside War-Room


    ¡°It isn¡¯t too much to expect, for them to have countermeasures in place in the case of a war,¡± said Petra, grinning. ¡°Just as we have prepared for them to reject the protectorate ¡ª we haven¡¯t given them another option, really ¡ª they should¡¯ve expected a conclusion of this sort. They know the Empress has been eyeing their land, but really the more difficult option is getting those countermeasures passed by their Senate.¡±


    Anaxeres tacked a sheet of paper to the wall.


    ¡°These are the Branches that we¡¯ve bought out,¡± the Duke said. ¡°Now that our deal with Marcellus has gone bye-bye, it depends on whether they¡¯ll stick it out, or ante up.¡± He shrugged. ¡°The diplomats have gone with the praetor, but it¡¯s not as if we¡¯re out of connections ¡ª the logical thing to do, if we really want to take advantage of their political structure, is to contact Cassia¡¯s heir, and make Senate headway from there.¡±


    Petra offhandedly gave a wave.


    ¡°That¡¯s political stuff, Naxy,¡± they rebuked. ¡°We¡¯re killing people ¡ª it¡¯s a war, not a politicky stunt.¡±


    ¡°The silent war speaks, the bloody war shrieks,¡± quoted Anaxeres in return.


    They continued speaking, while I turned to the sheet.


    Portraits of wrinkled men were stuck across the board, neatly-scrawled handwriting beneath each of their faces. Three of the bought patricians ¡ª Aquila, Cornelius, Lucretius ¡ª stared back at me in one category, another square containing a young man with the broad features of Alberta Octavia.


    ¡°Apologies for the interruption,¡± I cut in, just as they were debating over battalion formations, ¡°but where are the papers on the patricians? The individual profiles, of course.¡±


    Anaxeres tilted his head knowingly, before gesturing me to the pile in question.


    Marianus Cassia.


    ¡°Gods, so many orgies,¡± I muttered under my breath. ¡°Ah, illegal shipping. Weapons dealing. Ooo, kidnapping of a statesman. Hardly original, but¡ª ah, he tortured that statesman to get Alberta to name him heir. Nice.¡±


    He owed us a debt, whether he knew it or not. Whether that debt could be elevated into something more, that sounded like an interesting pet project. Can you afford time for a pet project? my Ability asked. ¡°Hey, Anaxeres?¡± I waved the paper. ¡°Can I take him?¡±


    The Duke of Tyche shrugged. ¡°Sure. Preferably get him under our wing by the end of this Daycycle, though ¡ª wait, are we actually using that formation?¡± He turned to where Petra was pointing. ¡°Just because Her Imperial Majesty gave us gunpowder bombs doesn¡¯t mean we have to use all of them at the start¡ª¡±


    Petra smiled. ¡°Not an Angelo¡¯s Pass,¡± said the Diamandis bastard. ¡°They have far too much precision to fray at the seams ¡ª no, I¡¯m thinking big, Naxy. I¡¯m thinking of a severance.¡± They turned to me. ¡°What¡¯s your magic power ¡ª you there.¡±


    ¡°I can Read people,¡± I replied, simply. ¡°And Weave conclusions about the best¡ª no, Wisest,¡± I corrected myself, ¡°avenue of action. That¡¯s it. Not very gunpowder-y.¡±


    Their eyes gleamed. ¡°Hey,¡± they spoke, ¡°can you plant bombs, though?¡±


    And that was how I, the Sixth Imperial Princess of the Eternal Empire, ended up being used as a bomb-planter for the Imperial Army.


    <hr>


    Two Days Before the Battle of Ends, Field Outside Notus


    I blanketed the expanse with my Ability.


    Xandros was chattering away eagerly, either not noticing or ignoring my plight. ¡°Did you see those generals? I heard one of them cut off a person¡¯s ear, and then ate it. Ate it! With roast pork, Boss! Even from the capital city, we heard that Notians were wild, but, for once, my expectations were exceeded¡ª¡±


    ¡°Shut up, Alexandros,¡± Mercy said, tiredly. "Your tongue is a genuine blight on humanity."


    I snorted. ¡°Blight on humanity. That¡¯s a good one. Where¡¯d you get that?¡±


    Soldiers marching.


    Roman military formations.


    Time, beat, rhythm.


    Not waiting for an answer, I pointed to the spot my Ability designated, nodding at Alexandros. ¡°Dig there. And be very, very careful ¡ª if it blows up in your face, I can¡¯t build you a new one.¡± My poached subordinate obeyed, and I turned to Mercy. ¡°Did you copy the battalion formations?¡±


    The assassin inclined her head, passing the crinkled paper she stuffed under her shirt to me. I scanned it.


    Based on previous copies of Republica stratagems, the nation applied tactical force, direct strategy, and troop loyalty. There was grand strategy, operational strategy, and tactical strategy ¡ª these battalion formations were, technically, opsec. This paper was...strange.


    ¡°These¡­¡± I traced the roughly scribbled blocks. ¡°They¡¯ll put their own in the line of fire. They even calculated the bomb radius.¡± Mercy¡¯s copies were slightly off, but the plans were obviously the ¡®big plan¡¯ that Petra was talking about. Petra¡¯s forces are trying to surround them with the bait of¡ª ballistae. ¡°Did you see blueprints, my mercy?¡± I asked, not tearing my eyes off the papers.


    ¡°Drawings of machines, yes,¡± said Mercy. ¡°But I did not copy them.¡±


    ¡°Bait ¡ª they¡¯re using the damned things as bait.¡± Gunpowder, ballistae, bombs ¡ª advances in Imperial military technology were hidden away in the stockpile in favor of the use of Chosen; and now they were being resurfaced. Heroes weren¡¯t Chosen, even in the strangeness of Republica bloodlines.


    A smile curled on my face.


    If Cyrus were here, they could¡¯ve detonated the bombs from afar. But because he wasn¡¯t, they had to use a card ¡ª and that was operating on the assumption that Greta knew (Greta knew everything, so there was that).


    Heavy chains of an Oath weighed on my shoulders, but I had to trust ¡ª such another heavy word ¡ª that she knew what the Tartarus she was doing.


    I looked up, and pointed again, at another patch in the ground. ¡°There, Xandros. Do be careful.¡±


    We finally finished in a few hours, and I looked up at the sky ¡ª it was a strangely bright turquoise, sparkling like a gem that housed an ever-bright sun, but I wrinkled my nose. It irritated me ¡ª there was that itch, again; that itch to just step on the bomb and let death take me.


    I didn¡¯t scratch it.


    ¡°My robes are itchy,¡± I said. ¡°Let¡¯s change. We need to go somewhere.¡±


    <hr>


    Two Days Before the Battle of Ends, Notian Slums


    I let myself stand for a while before sitting. The ground underneath my rear was rough gravel ¡ª the material belonging to barely-paved roads ¡ª and it was both uneven and uncomfortable; but still I leaned back on the wall of a simple, rickety shed and watched. It was only a few minutes before I was ushered out.


    ¡°Hey! Hey!¡± a scrawny wisp of a thing came outside and waved her arms. ¡°Hey, get¡ª¡± she saw my face, and then stopped. ¡°Ah, you¡¯re a person,¡± she said.


    ¡°Yeah,¡± I replied, smiling.


    She squinted her eyes. ¡°Thought you were a crow or a scavvie looking around,¡± she admitted. ¡°But you look shiny. Are you a noble?¡±


    Technically, I wasn¡¯t. But still. ¡°Maybe,¡± I answered. ¡°I¡¯m just looking around. I¡¯m a tourist.¡± I paused, before I offered, ¡°My name¡¯s Sera, by the way. I¡¯m not going to steal anything.¡± With that promise, I returned my gaze back to the street. ¡°Just a breath ¡ª I just need to take one breath.¡±


    I took it.


    ¡°Ma says that she needs a break,¡± said the girl. ¡°She says that ever since the new Empress was crowned, the Empire went to shit. Not the bad kind or the good kind, but just shit.¡± The wisp wriggled her fingers. ¡°Other people said that the shit is all the stuff you¡¯ve eaten, just chewed up. Ma said it¡¯s necessary, but no one wants to hear about it ¡ª just like politics.¡±


    I snorted, amusedly. ¡°Politics is shit,¡± I told her, honestly. ¡°A very messy, crapper of shit.¡± I stretched. ¡°Your mother sounds like a very smart woman.¡±


    ¡°She¡¯s inside,¡± the girl told me. ¡°Do you want to see her?¡± She looked as innocent as always, but my Ability sparked in warning.


    ¡°Nah, it¡¯s fine, I wouldn¡¯t want to intrude,¡± I lied. I saw the dilapidated structures of the houses, scattered with layers of that extra-special Notian dust, as I leaned back. ¡°What do you think about the new Empress? Of this Empire in general, really? Just curious.¡±


    The girl shook her head. ¡°Ma says I shouldn¡¯t answer questions about politics,¡± she answered, seemingly honest. She was probably trying to lure me into a trap, I guessed ¡ª but ah, well.


    Her flesh clung to her bones in the way that hunger did, but I had never known it. Her hands had calluses and were bruised at the knuckles, in the way that hardship gnawed at them, but mine only had calluses from knife training and were smooth besides. Some sort of strange feeling wormed its way into my chest, eating away at my insides. ¡°Do you want money?¡± I asked, casually. ¡°Power? Survival? What is it that you really want?¡±


    She peered at me. ¡°Why? Do you think you can give it to me?¡±


    I can.


    The answer was balancing on the tip of my tongue precariously, but it tipped in the favor of a more diplomatic: ¡°Maybe.¡±


    I flexed my fingers, staring at them. ¡°I don¡¯t think I can,¡± I replied, honestly, upon further consideration. ¡°You know that shitty fable? The one with the guy and the starfish? One guy says it¡¯s pointless, and the other says some sentimental shit like, ¡®Well, it made a difference for that one starfish¡¯?¡±


    ¡°You sound emotional,¡± the girl cut in. ¡°Ma says that people like you ¡ª shiny people ¡ª are only emotional when they¡¯re desperate.¡±


    Desperation.


    I barked a laugh. ¡°Let me finish, first, at least,¡± I said, smiling at the girl and the slums around her. ¡°The guy¡¯s right. It did make a difference for that one starfish, but I don¡¯t think I¡¯m the type of person who¡¯s satisfied with just one starfish. If I¡¯m going to dedicate my time to saving people, I need to save all of them. I don¡¯t want to just limp my way through life ¡ª it¡¯s all in.¡±


    Now, away from the masks, it was safe to admit it¡ª


    I felt useless.


    A bomb-planter?


    Damnit.


    It¡¯s irrational, my Ability whispered.


    The girl pursed her lips, as if tempted to say, that sounds like a you problem. She settled for a: ¡°That doesn¡¯t make sense.¡±The story has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.


    ¡°Why?¡± I met her dark eyes.


    ¡°Just save all the fecking starfish you can,¡± she said. ¡°It doesn¡¯t matter how many you save.¡±


    I didn¡¯t ponder that, instead abruptly asking, ¡°If you could change the world, what would you change the world into?¡±


    Ideals.


    I laughed, internally. How much had Orion¡¯s death wrecked me, to get me to this point? No¡ª how much pressure had I put on myself, to crack? Here I was, asking a kid living in the slums for advice on how to live. The only thing money and power could guarantee me after death was a shiny coffin, a bunch of ass-kissing mourners, and an expensive funeral, I knew that.


    But you still want it, spoke my Ability.


    Or is it what the world tells me to want? I returned.


    ¡°Damnit,¡± I whispered.


    The girl studied me with an emotion resembling pity, before she replied. ¡°I would make the world a little bit better ¡ª for me, first, of course; and then the people around me; and then the people of the world. I¡¯m not obligated to, I¡¯m doing it because I want to.¡± She tilted her head. ¡°What do you want?¡±


    Everything.


    The answer remained unspoken again.


    ¡°I don¡¯t know anymore,¡± I admitted. It wasn¡¯t that, it was that I wasn¡¯t certain like I was before. ¡°But I started this, so I¡¯m going to finish it. Half-assing wars isn¡¯t an option.¡±


    The girl raised an eyebrow, but didn¡¯t say anything.


    I stood up.


    I had never crawled in the dirt because the world had failed me.


    Why did others still do the same?


    That strange feeling came again.


    The winner takes all.


    But how would the world take the winner?


    <hr>


    Two Days Before the Battle of Ends, War-Room


    ¡°You¡¯re using the ballistae to pretend to surround the marching cohort,¡± I said, slowly. ¡°But you¡¯re going to push them towards the bombs.¡±


    Petra nodded. ¡°We¡¯ve calculated the explosion range so we¡¯ll take the least casualties possible,¡± they explained. ¡°It¡¯s a calculated risk. My soldiers will know what they¡¯re in for ¡ª only twenty or so, will be lost.¡±


    That wasn¡¯t the part that bothered me.


    ¡°The ballistae plans are authorized, so no worries, Your Highness.¡± Anaxeres smiled, wryly.


    There it was.


    ¡°I call you by your name, Duke,¡± I responded, flickering my gaze to the ballistae plans in question. ¡°It would be a pity if you did not extend the same courtesy.¡± The gambler was young, surprisingly so; I¡¯d guessed his early twenties or so ¡ª he grinned, broadly.


    ¡°Anastasia Andino ¡ª have you heard of her, then, Seraphina?¡± Anaxeres asked, tilting his head.


    ¡°The late Dame Anastasia, famous during her time for her military technology breakthroughs, yes.¡± I leaned back in my chair. ¡°My main concern is not the casualties. If it secures the first victory ¡ª especially at the beginning of a war, I understand this dictates the tide itself ¡ª it is a tactical decision, that I am aware of.


    ¡°But¡ª¡± I turned to the Duke and Ducal Lord ¡°¡ªif we start using our non-Chosen reserves now, even as bait¡­.¡±


    We may not be able to compete with the Republicas¡¯ advances.


    Anaxeres inclined his head. ¡°I understand your conflict,¡± he said, smoothly. ¡°It would, in fact, make sense to use our Chosen advantage¡ª¡±


    Petra waved a hand. ¡°Stop speaking your lyrical wax.¡±


    ¡°Stop waxing lyrical,¡± I corrected. ¡°And that¡¯s incorrectly used¡ª¡±


    ¡°Shut up,¡± the Notian general told me.


    I raised my eyebrows in response. ¡°Shutting up.¡±


    ¡°Naxy doesn¡¯t like it,¡± Petra said. ¡°And I don¡¯t, either. Having a more offensive Chosen deployed here without the excuse of a shitting spy war would be nice ¡ª especially since we¡¯re expecting a battle. I would rather not waste our pyrotechnical knowledge ¡ª shut up, Naxy, I know big words ¡ª this early on.¡± They shot a glare at the Duke¡¯s snicker.


    ¡°But Greta has her plans,¡± I understood. ¡°I realize that the earliest ballistae plans were drawn by Dantaleus Icarus ¡ª wait, fuck, no shiny words, you said.¡± I sighed, massaging my forehead. That headache was coming back.


    ¡°Andino refined the plans, right? The bombs will likely work, but we can¡¯t just leave the ballistae plans for the taking even after all of them are dead,¡± I said, slowly. ¡°Isn¡¯t our first priority to clear out the camp itself? No, more correctly, we¡¯re going on the defensive¡ª I get it, but I don¡¯t.¡±


    Anaxeres grinned. ¡°We need Notus to be attacked, for our spy covers to work,¡± he explained. ¡°People get scared, people run. For the people that flee, there¡¯ll be just as many people who will stay, inspired by the supposed victory. Better a victory seen by the populace, than a victory from afar, apparently.¡±


    The Duke shrugged. ¡°Morale¡¯s a strange thing.¡±


    I drummed my fingers on the armrest beside me as Naxy passed the plans to me.


    ¡°This is the battalion position,¡± he informed me. ¡°Partially so you don¡¯t go to the war council tomorrow blind. I¡¯d suggest you visit Petra¡¯s people and get to know them before shit hits the metaphorical wall the day after tomorrow, Seraphina.¡±


    ¡°Of course.¡± I looked at the night outside. ¡°It would be my pleasure¡ª tomorrow, of course.¡± I fluttered the papers in the air, right in Mercy¡¯s eye-view while lacing my Ability through the ink.


    Imprinting the plans into my memory as well as my assassin¡¯s, I smiled. ¡°Could I take them for further study? As well as the battalion plans¡­.¡±


    ¡°No.¡±


    I continued, still smiling. ¡°Pity.¡±


    <hr>


    Two Days Before the Battle of Ends, Night in Seraphina''s Private Bedroom in Notus


    I sank my quill into the ink.


    Anastasia Andino, I jotted down. Developed the ballistae. And, according to further probes, I wrote, refined the process for gunpowder. Although the Republic and their people had first made the first bayonet ¡ª taking inspiration from the Galbraith continent¡¯s designs, apparently ¡ª the gunpowder that the Empire used today was due to her (before her fall from grace and expiration of the Dame writ, of course).


    Battalion formation, I wrote a heading silently.


    Scratching at the parchment, I filled in the dark blocks that I saw from before. The calculated blast radius, the estimated detonation time, which contact could set it off ¡ª everything that I¡¯d peppered Naxy questions about, I wrote it down.


    Then I handed the quill into Mercy.


    ¡°Connect the dots,¡± I told her.


    I didn¡¯t use my Ability to find out what was Wise. This was probably a kind of step ¡ª into surface or thin air, I didn¡¯t know ¡ª in some kind of odyssey, if anyone cared to hear my mess of a tale. This...


    Being Wise isn¡¯t the solution for everything.


    Ah. This conclusion...was strange. It weighed heavy on my mind, but I ignored it as I watched her do what I told her to.


    Silently, she did what I wouldn¡¯t have done ¡ª she traced dark, shaky lines surrounding the collection of the blast radius where she messily scrawled: sacrifice. It was so obvious, that I hadn¡¯t; but Mercy wasn¡¯t finished.


    She wrote some more statements, following dashes, under which she wrote: gains.


    Losses and gains. Such a practical way of thinking about things.


    Being Wise isn¡¯t the solution for everything.


    This was a first step to something.


    A want, a desire; a conflict.


    You are arrogant, Athena had said. A Chosen of conflict and desire, she had called me. But, deep down, I knew. That it wasn¡¯t practical to have conflicting desires moving forward¡ª and I would move forward. Towards what? How would I use my power, how would I change the world?


    I couldn¡¯t have everything ¡ª I would always want more, and I would still look in that infernal mirror and not be satisfied with my reflection. That was...the kind of person I was.


    Did I need to change?


    Or did the world?


    The first question eluded me like a scampering rabbit, which I decided to abandon for today.


    I wanted change.


    That was the first step.


    I took a breath.


    I just need¡ª one breath. One more breath.


    ¡°Damnit,¡± I said aloud, almost in awe of how that word accompanied me everywhere.


    Mercy tilted her head in curiosity but remained silent.


    ¡°Damnit,¡± I swore again, laughter bubbling inside my throat.


    I shook my head at the moonlight streaming through the windows. It came in cascades, waves of pale that fluttered in shadows that illuminated the floor¡ª if there was a plummeting height outside, perhaps I would¡¯ve spiralled right then and there.


    I wriggled my fingers, and my mind created the crimson that stained them ¡ª a deep scarlet that came from skin that I crushed and cut.


    I smiled. ¡°Damnit,¡± I said to myself, thrice and for the final time.


    <hr>


    The Battle of Ends, Notian Outskirts


    The charging calls were louder than expected.


    Well, I didn¡¯t know exactly what to expect ¡ª I had never engaged in war before.


    Petra¡¯s forces ¡ª whom I had spent the day before getting to know ¡ª had constructed a war-tower outside the field where the Duke; the Ducal Lord; I, the Imperial Princess; and Mercy, my assassin were waiting. The gathering people, with the addition of Petra¡¯s military entourage from their Council, sounded like the beginning of a badly-written joke.


    Unfortunately, we were neither here to amiably drink wine or engage in conversation that undoubtedly spawned from witty wordplay.


    We were here to engage in a war.


    And war was what the sound delivered to me.


    The Republica cohort¡¯s war bugle was strange.


    It was a sound that didn¡¯t roar, but lightly tore, tore through the seams of people¡¯s ears and skin, and struck the soldiers¡¯ hearts as what it was - a frightening omen. It was the call of home, for some; the call of glory, for others; but a call of death and destruction for all.


    The cohort had marched in unity before being stopped by the ballistae, as planned. Dressed in all their regalia and battered uniforms, their wolf standard snarled in favor of blood. They didn¡¯t charge, instead almost expecting the ballistae.


    That...was not a good sign.


    Almost as if they knew we were going to shepherd them into a trap, they gathered around the ballistae instead, forming remarkably tight shield-walls in a ring around the hills where the war weapons were perched.


    A general rode out on a horse ¡ª he bore the ashen skin of the Republic, a shade that was slightly more monotone than the standard Imperial bronze ¡ª and raised a spear in an indistinguishable command.


    Petra was quick to react, barking a quick: ¡°Formation Three, you idiots!¡± to their soldiers down below. Before I could even speak a word, they jumped from the hovering tower at a precarious height, landing on a nearby hill while mounting their horse at an admirable speed.


    Anaxeres merely chuckled, looking through the spyglass smilingly. ¡°They expected a trap,¡± he said as Petra¡¯s generals followed them, mounting their respective horses. ¡°That¡¯s interesting. We might have to change up our strategies in the future.¡±


    ¡°So my bombs will be for nothing unless we manage to herd them,¡± I spoke up, letting regret taint my tone. ¡°Well, that¡¯s just sad.¡±


    The Duke grinned broadly in response. ¡°Have no fear, Seraphina,¡± he told me. ¡°The Empire has a very, very large bag of tricks.¡±


    I smiled, distantly. ¡°It is not fear I hold, dear Duke.¡±


    I looked out at the expanse ¡ª every life taken out there was full of so much potential. Wasted potential ¡ª wasted physicians, soldiers, guards, generals; wasted people with the potential I had spied in Ajax, Alexandros, Mercy, Macedon; wasted chances that I could wrangle to my benefit.


    A voice in the back of my head piped up: Well, what about the lives? They¡¯re human, and¡ª


    Since when did being human shield against suffering? If anything, being human promised hardship, and they chose to use their lives. Their lives were a tool ¡ª my life was, the Empire¡¯s life was ¡ª a cog in a massive machine. I would respect their choices, because one needed to respect the dead.


    If they chose to run away? I wouldn¡¯t hold it against them, but order was needed.


    I saw crimson spill against dusty plain, amber light illuminate desperate soldiers and spears and knives that hit true. The garbs that designated one side from the other all were stained in scarlet, just like my hands. They would all be red before dawn, that universal color that painted the world its grotesque hue.


    Since when did I start thinking like this?


    There was once a time, once upon a faraway star, where I wanted to become a hero. A hero would¡¯ve immediately rushed to the aid of their nation, sacrificed their lives for others¡ª what was the phrase that Orion used? Yes, they would¡¯ve bore arms and fallen in graves for a worthy cause.


    Since when was blood a worthy cause, to me?


    When I had woken up and decided, ¡®Hey, domination over others, sounds like a damn worthy goal¡¯?


    I would not disgrace the dead by thinking further, I decided.


    ¡°Is there anything I can do?¡± I filled the silence. ¡°I have a basic knowledge of herbs¡ª perhaps I can help the Physicians?¡±


    Anaxeres looked at me with a strange emotion that resembled pity more than I would¡¯ve liked it to.


    ¡°Petra and Elexis are the most experienced, in terms of battle,¡± he said, touching upon a seemingly unrelated topic. ¡°I¡¯d like to accompany you, but¡ª¡± he waved at the ensuing battle. ¡°Take care not to get maimed to the medical tent,¡± the Duke added, pleasantly. ¡°It¡¯s that way, by the way. Make sure to take your knife with you.¡±


    He nodded towards Mercy, who showed no offense at being called a knife, following as I climbed down the tower.


    I strolled the grounds, watching bloodied corpses being carried to the tent in question. Now that I looked at the battle, Petra was pushing the Republic¡¯s forces inside, towards the bombs, but the other general was fighting rather valiantly, his mouth puckering in various commands as he galloped his way across the scarlet battlefield.


    I felt¡­


    Like a spectator, watching a Play.


    Some raw disgust sparked in me, from past memories and masks, at myself. I ducked inside the medical tent, and tried to ignore my Ability screaming that I was running away.


    You are FAILING¡ª


    Not for the first time, I told it to shut the fuck up.


    <hr>


    It reeked of iron. It was a bitter metal, Mercy decided, one that ran in desperate veins and brutalized hearts. Rickety mattresses ¡ª mattresses were a generous term, they were naught but ragged straw (her vocabulary had taken a boost for the better ever since she¡¯d entered the Princess¡¯ service, she¡¯d noticed) ¡ª were scattered on dusty ground. Herbs were strewn in haphazard collections and bags, and Mercy noticed her Lady frown in disapproval.


    Her Lady.


    The assassin hadn¡¯t known when the title had first entered her mind, but it was there.


    Seraphina first trailed over to the nearest figure, and spoke faintly ¡ª Mercy strained her ears to hear her brandish her Seal, and speak briskly of her qualifications. The brutish-looking Physician in question narrowed his eyes but eventually released her, looking too exhausted to deal with the situation.


    The Sixth Princess neatly folded her cloak, shrugged off her fabric robes to the point where it edged scandalous, but not quite away from the excuse of free movement. The blue-eyed Lady stretched, and got to work.


    Mercy accompanied her slink by stabbing victims like a genuine Physician or perhaps the more common Healer, questioning them while prodding their wounds in places.


    Mashing poultices and creating blends of murky-colored herbs, Xanthe didn¡¯t know how exactly Seraphina had become well-versed in medicine, but the assassin didn¡¯t question it. The Princess deftly poured ¡ª wine? ¡ª on open wounds, muttering under breath some kind of text recitation (Mercy was sure it wasn¡¯t religious) all the while.


    ¡°I ain¡¯t never seen you here¡ª here before,¡± gasped one soldier. ¡°Do ya¡ª think ya can¡ª¡±


    ¡°Shut up,¡± the Princess, coolly. ¡°Save your breath.¡±


    As she tended to one soldier after the other, and the Physician¡¯s look of suspicion morphed into something resembling gruff appreciation, Mercy wasn¡¯t sure what to think. There was something...different, about Seraphina these days. It wasn¡¯t that she was going soft, it was as if she was reconnecting with something she¡¯d been out of touch with?


    Human compassion? Xanthe wondered.


    No, Mercy rejected.


    It was something else.


    It was as if the spectral, distant facade was crumbling; and something was solidifying her, chaining her, grounding her.


    Mercy didn¡¯t know what it was ¡ª but she had a sneaking suspicion. As the assassin heard the battle rage on, outside; and something indecipherable flickered in Seraphina¡¯s eyes, Seraphina¡¯s Blade of Mercy heard her Lady speak.


    ¡°Damn it,¡± the Princess whispered, crudely. ¡°Damn all of us. And damn this fucking hellhole of an Empire.¡±


    Ah.


    There it was.


    For once, the Blade of Mercy decided that Seraphina was the most Imperial Imperial she had ever seen.


    <hr>

 32. Lost III

    <hr>


    In war, choosing not to choose is a damning choice.


    - ANGELO THE AVENGER, WAR HERO


    <hr>


    I WAS SUPPOSED TO FEEL REGRET FOR THE SUFFERING I''D CAUSED.


    I didn''t.


    I used my teeth to sever the thread I¡¯d been stitching up the gaping wound with. ¡°Don¡¯t move too much, or wet the wound ¡ª no straining it, either,¡± I warned the soldier.


    ¡°Thanks, fixy,¡± he said.


    I raised my eyebrow. ¡°Fixy?¡±


    ¡°Fixer-upper,¡± the soldier provided, smiling. He winced as he wriggled his way to propping himself up. ¡°We know our fixies aren¡¯t all that great, but you¡¯re probably one the Duke brought along, so you¡¯re the most impressive out of all of them.¡± He grinned. His armor was flecked with scarlet, but I¡¯d already peeled the bloody layers off the wound.


    I smiled, amusedly. ¡°You flatter me,¡± I responded dryly, before finishing off cleaning the tools.


    The grizzled soldier was about to creak his mouth open again when the explosion happened.


    It was a strange sound, the explosion ¡ª but it was strange in the way that it was what it shouldn¡¯t be. I had been expecting it, the penultimate moment when the battle was won or lost, but the explosion itself ricocheted throughout the expanse with a brutal ¡ª there was no way to describe it ¡ª plundering of the ears.


    I would¡¯ve flinched if I hadn¡¯t retained at least some semblance of control over my movements. The makeshift tent¡¯s fabrics billowed, the structure emitting a concerning creaking sound, as the sound screamed.


    Immediately, the soldier¡¯s hands went to his ears. Even Mercy flinched, and the nearby Physician tripped. The silence that followed was one full of brimmering tension, as all of the people in the media tent mentally processed the situation, some calculating the losses, but all recovering from their respective winces.


    ¡°Damn,¡± the soldier muttered under his breath. ¡°Sounds like a fucking bastard.¡±


    I inclined my head, silently, before my Ability pricked. I met Mercy¡¯s eyes, and darted my gaze towards the entrance, pointedly. It wasn¡¯t long before distant yells came, and a frantic combat assistant burst in the tent, carrying a ragged stretcher with an even more ragged person occupying it.


    Blood poured from their forehead, webbing the left side of their face like a grotesque honeycomb, ash and soot dappling their neck and exposed skin ¡ª I could feel the entire tent collectively take in a breath. Petra grinned, shakily from their stretcher, before I stood up from my seat and helped heave the Ducal Lord from their stretcher to an awaiting mattress.


    The Diamandis bastard was in bad shape.


    That, I knew.


    I immediately wet a cotton rag in a nearby pail and let the water seep into the burns as Petra hissed breathily in pain.


    ¡°First we need to cool it, probably,¡± I murmured to the Physician who¡¯d hurried next to me, glancing over the Ducal Lord¡¯s arm. ¡°Looks bad. I need to sanitize my hands, I just finished stitches¡­¡±


    ¡°We¡¯ll need all hands on deck,¡± he agreed, but his hands immediately went to his neck. ¡°But it would be more convenient if you ran point,¡± the Physician added, after a moment of hesitation. I would be less likely to be executed if I fucked it up, he meant.


    ¡°Fair enough,¡± I gave him. Naxy came later, unblemished, along with badly hurt generals that I frowned irritatedly at. ¡°Reckless,¡± I muttered underneath my breath, sinking my hands in a newly-fetched pail of water. ¡°I told them it was a reckless plan.¡± I hadn¡¯t, really; but it was nice to imagine.


    Soaking a cotton rag in the liquid again, I opted to shove Petra¡¯s entire arm in the pail instead, placing the rag on their neck. ¡°Linament,¡± I said. The bowl of lime water and oil was placed promptly in my hand by the ready Physician, and I poured it over the charred wounds.


    What next? It had been a while since I¡¯d practiced ¡ª since most of my medical knowledge fairly technical ¡ª but there were times where the Poisonmaster had made me treat wounds alongside the Imperial Physician. To them, it had assumedly been just a phase. For me, it was a tool I had added to my arsenal that would need re-sharpening.


    ¡°Heated knife.¡±


    Disinfected of the supposed ¡®dirt¡¯ that contaminated most surfaces, the blade was ready, soaked in alcohol before being handed to me. Gingerly hacking at the charred bits, I heard Naxy whistle appreciatively. ¡°You know what you¡¯re doing, spider-in-training.¡±


    I ignored him as I descaled the dead skin.


    Underneath, there was little but bloody surface. ¡°Alcohol.¡± The jug was placed in my hand. Brandy was poured over the raw scarlet, and Petra howled in pain. ¡°Easy there,¡± I whispered, not benevolently. Disinfection, my Ability whispered, back again after flickering in the back of my mind.


    I started with the knife on their neck, going through the same process of removing the dead charred skin. The treatment was done soon after¡ª I tried to be efficient, my eyes flickering every now and then to the dying soldiers at the corner of my eye. After finishing and passing on bandage duty to the other Physician, I moved on to the other bodies, frowning as Naxy peered over my shoulder.


    ¡°How many?¡± I asked, quietly, attaching my Ability to my hands. Casualties.


    ¡°Haven¡¯t counted,¡± he replied, briskly, without making me provide context.


    ¡°Other general?¡±


    ¡°Injured badly ¡ª he¡¯ll be carried here, soon.¡±


    My Ability pricked. ¡°Yeah,¡± I said. ¡°He¡¯ll be here soon.¡± My hands moved nimbly over the tools, almost on reflex, as the thread remained steady and another stretcher was ushered into the tent. I didn¡¯t look, but Anaxeres¡¯ voice was swift.


    ¡°Ability?¡± he murmured.


    I inclined my head slightly. The woman¡¯s severe injuries were attended to as quickly as I could, and I turned to the general. He seemed of centurion rank ¡ª which was to be expected, given that he led the cohort. Based on my knowledge of Republica military ranks, each cohort was made of six centuriae, and the most experienced centurion headed the cohort.


    Ten cohorts make up an Army, and two Armies make up the entire Legion ¡ª ¡°First cohort of the Romulus Army,¡± I noted as I started stripping the centurion¡¯s armor. The wolf insignia¡¯s snout shape resembled the one on my Mari¡¯s chest. ¡°Not too shabby, I suppose ¡ª the rest of them must¡¯ve been busy, then, on the other front. Having only one cohort on standby, without a praetor as leader, must¡¯ve been a rushed call.¡±


    ¡°Marcellus Amadeus never makes rushed calls,¡± said Naxy¡¯s voice from behind me.


    I smiled, even though the Duke couldn¡¯t see me. ¡°Well, then, that¡¯s for you to figure out, Naxy.¡±


    I could see the centurion¡¯s groggy eyelids rise. ¡°What¡ª wha¡ª Imperials!¡± He jolted, and I chuckled, leaning forward to dampen his burns.


    ¡°What¡¯s your name, dear?¡± I crooned, making my voice as unthreatening as possible.


    ¡°I¡ª¡±


    I picked up a knife and held his arm tight ¡ª he resisted with surprising strength, but I managed to clear the rest of them. He was worse than Petra, unsurprisingly, but given the greatest possibility was that he¡¯d been closer to the site when his forces were forced back, it was reasonable. ¡°Stay still, or I¡¯ll accidentally cut your hand off¡ª¡±


    ¡°I have been trained to resist against Imperial torture¡ª¡±


    I tried not to let the irritation leak through my tone. ¡°Just stay still¡ª¡±


    ¡°The Respublica Roma is full of honor, unlike you dirty, treacherous hounds¡ª¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re making me want to cut your hand off, you idiot,¡± I wanted to say. I kept my mouth shut ¡ª at least, until I was halfway through the bandages, and he bit down on something invisible and went limp.


    Concern would¡¯ve sparked in my heart, if my Ability hadn¡¯t fired its pistol first.


    I just smiled, amusedly.


    ¡°If you¡¯re going to pretend to be dead,¡± I said, ¡°do it well, at least.¡±


    At least he didn¡¯t complain about my bedside manner.


    <hr>


    Marianus Gaius Cassia wanted to punch someone, and he wanted to punch someone now.


    He preferably wanted to slug the combat nurse ¡ª her position was likely higher, maybe a treasured Physician of the gambler Duke¡¯s? ¡ª who¡¯d caught onto his scheme. Because of the Hero blood that ran through his Branch¡¯s veins, he could¡¯ve held his breath for the better half of an hour, by which he could¡¯ve escaped being buried alive via pretending to be a corpse, but¡ª


    ¡°How?¡± he demanded. ¡°How did you know?¡±


    The nurse smiled, toothily. She was young ¡ª she couldn¡¯t be more than eighteen ¡ª but something about her was familiar. Strange.


    ¡°What matters is that I know,¡± she said, lightly, ¡°primus pilus. I would¡¯ve expected a slightly warmer welcome, perhaps by the Praetor of your Army himself, but of course, we can¡¯t always get what we want. My Marius is probably too busy arranging marches.¡±


    Marianus scoffed. ¡°Your Marius? Don¡¯t taint our leader¡¯s name with your rotten mouth¡ª¡±


    ¡°Your cohort¡¯s hastatus posterior is dead,¡± she returned, simply. ¡°So is your hastatus prior, princeps posterior, princeps prior, pilus posterior, and your pilus prior.¡± She named the centurion¡¯s seniority titles in startingly fluent Republica.


    Marianus almost flinched.


    ¡°You don¡¯t trust yourself not to crack, so you run.¡± Her blue eyes glinted. ¡°You call us treacherous? You are a cowardly traitor, primus pilus Marianus Gaius Cassia.¡± She was halfway through the bandages now, her porcelain touch digging deep into his skin with her sharp words.


    ¡°So what if I am?¡± Marianus bit. ¡°I am not my mother¡ª¡±


    ¡°Ah, ah.¡± The nurse¡¯s lips curled into a wider, almost triumphant grin. ¡°I never said you were.¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t tease the man, spider-in-training,¡± said the Duke, from behind her. His face was deceptively pleasant, features broad and welcoming but the fact that Marianus could not find a single bloodstain or soot smear on the Imperial noble¡¯s person made the centurion sneer.


    ¡°You both ran away from the actual war,¡± the centurion accused, but pain gnawed at his burnt arms. ¡°None of you saw what happened¡ª¡±


    ¡°What happened,¡± the Duke ¡ª of Evimeria, Marianus remembered; the Imperials had a strange assortment of fief and surname titles that the centurion had a hard time keeping track of ¡ª said, ¡°was that we won. You lost the first victory of this war to us. You failed.¡± The broad man¡¯s affable aura didn¡¯t even change as the words hammered into Marianus¡¯ chest.


    The weight of the casualties did, in fact, weigh heavy on the general¡¯s heart; but¡ª


    ¡°You are worse,¡± the primus pilus snarled. ¡°We fight for our land, and the wolves that founded it. We fight to defend our honor, since you all fight to take it.¡± That was why he fought ¡ª even if Marianus did recognize that the Republic needed change; the Imperials weren¡¯t going to be the ones who were going to bring it.


    No- he would not stand for-


    ¡°Selfish,¡± the nurse drawled. Her dark hair trailed over her face as it was, tied into a messy knot that reminded Marianus of the hairstyles that girls back home like to frequently don - with that realization, irritation flashed in his eyes.


    ¡°I am not selfish¡ª¡±


    Collect your breath, Gaius.


    Marianus was reminded of a statuesque praetor on his pale horse, the rider¡¯s dark hair glinting in the sun as blood splattered the animal¡¯s hooves. Quiet, uncharacteristically soft, but¡ª Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author.


    You will not fail me, Centurion Cassia.


    You will not betray our honor.


    That was what Marius ¡ª no, Praetor Julian Marius Romanus, the Minotaur-Slayer, of the Romulus Army ¡ª taught Marianus. The praetor cast a long shadow, and the centurion knew that forever he would be chasing it, but he would not let the Empire¡¯s cronies get into his head. Adopting the boy-praetor¡¯s expression, Marianus cooled his features.


    ¡°I will not talk,¡± the centurion said. But something prevented him ¡ª perhaps cowardice, akin to a deep-rooted fear ¡ª from biting off his tongue.


    ¡°You are selfish,¡± the nurse drawled, again, ¡°for not providing your country the help it needs.¡±


    Marianus forced himself to remain calm. What right have you, to designate our motherland as in need of help?


    As if she¡¯d heard the unspoken statement, the nurse¡¯s tone became unnoticeably gentler, although her features remained unperturbed. ¡°No force can remain unmoving throughout the sandstorm of time,¡± she continued, quietly. ¡°Only the Gods make it a sin, to remain unchanging.¡±


    The Imperial Duke spoke, again. ¡°We¡¯ll take care of it, Your Highness.¡± This time, his tone was different, firm, and the ¡ª nurse? ¡ª gave a small nod.


    Now, Marianus placed her face. The Sixth Princess, apparently the most publicly benevolent of the ¡ª now five ¡ª six.


    ¡°Aren¡¯t you supposed to be mourning your brother?¡± the centurion spat.


    She indicted my mother¡ª


    Seraphina Queenscage¡¯s pleasant smile didn¡¯t even thin. ¡°It¡¯s old news, now ¡ª farewell, primus pilus Gaius Marianus. Ave ¡ª or ha-ve, which ever you¡¯d like.¡± After performing a sloppy salute ¡ª arm parallel to the ground in the ancient tradition ¡ª the Hundredth Victor left the Republica centurion, bandaged and broken.


    <hr>


    The battlefield was bloody, as expected. Bodies were strewn across the site, blackened and burnt ¡ª if they had been marching towards the site, it would¡¯ve been¡ª ¡°Wait.¡± I tilted my head, echoing my Ability. ¡°They used the ballistae to set them off?¡±


    Alexandros hesitated. ¡°Yeah, I heard they did, Boss,¡± he replied. ¡°I wasn¡¯t there, of course ¡ª you told me to go somewhere else but¡ª¡± Once he heard my silence, he rubbed his hands together, uncharacteristically nervous.


    "Yeah," he repeated, "from what I¡¯ve got, they weren¡¯t succeeding in pushing as hard as they needed to, since the ¡®Pubs were stubborn; so Petra gave the order to launch the ballistae from afar and got caught in the crossfire along with the other leader."


    I shook my head. ¡°The casualties won¡¯t make people happy,¡± I murmured, half-heartedly. ¡°People tend to resent pyrrhic victories.¡± It did explain the Ducal Lord¡¯s injuries, though. It solidified the conclusion further that these people ¡ª these nobles ¡ª were playing a Game within a game, a war between a war.


    Reckless. Batshit insane. A Tartarus-be-damned tactic.


    It fit Petra¡¯s unpredictable character.


    That wasn¡¯t good ¡ª a competent unpredictable person becoming predictable was never a good sign.


    But the fact was undeniable ¡ª it was a victory.


    Xandros hesitated. ¡°But from what I¡¯ve heard, Boss, the people seem pretty alright.¡± After a silence, he offered, ¡°If there¡¯s resistance, do you need me to go quash it like I did the capital anti-Imps? I¡¯m short on people, but I can make something work¡ª¡±


    I shook my head again. ¡°This isn¡¯t the Eternal City, Xandros,¡± I replied. ¡°We have to get authorization for operations here. Besides, there¡¯s a lot of things ¡ª messy things ¡ª that we need to clean up.¡± I gazed at the formerly flat plain, now all carnage and smoulders.


    Alexandros shifted behind me.


    And shifted again.


    ¡°Let me have my moment of brooding in peace, won¡¯t you?¡± I asked him tiredly, with a sigh. ¡°Where¡¯s Mercy? Still doing the task I asked her to do?¡±


    ¡°Lady Mercy¡¯s doing stuff in the city, yeah.¡±


    ¡°Damn.¡± I turned. ¡°Where¡¯s Naxy?¡±


    ¡°Duke Anaxeres? He¡¯s with the corpse collectors.¡± The boy gestured towards the plain below.


    I looked at my boots. ¡°The Universe has formed me the very nasty fate,¡± I muttered underneath my breath, ¡°of habitually needing to step in blood.¡±


    Blood stained, after all.


    <hr>


    I approached one of the arguably most powerful people in the Empire arguing over a dead body.


    ¡°What do you mean, you¡¯re going to toss the head?¡± Anaxeres Evimeria threw his hands up in the air. ¡°It¡¯s a perfectly good skull!¡± He pointed at the skull in question. ¡°Look at its noble crevices! Besides, it belonged to one of my friend¡¯s friends! A Tartarus-be-damned Notian chancellor! It would be disrespectful to bury a¡ª¡±


    ¡°Look, buddy, if you don¡¯t want me to toss the head, all you need to do is¡ª¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll pay you for your trouble,¡± I interjected, passing by Anaxeres while flipping a drachma to the corpse-collector.


    ¡°Well¡ª¡±


    ¡°Give me the skull, or it¡¯ll be yours being returned to your family.¡±


    The corpse-collector handed over the skull.


    I handed it to Xandros. ¡°Well, you look in bad shape,¡± I commented, conversationally. ¡°I was going to ask you for permission to clean up morale, but now I just feel bad bothering someone who looks like they¡¯re a dead man walking.¡± It hadn¡¯t been obvious back in the tent, but Naxy¡¯s pleasant smile had dimmed, just a bit, to the point where it started to look forced.


    A gambler exhausting his poker face? An unpredictable person becoming predictable?


    Strange. Due to my lack of using my Ability ¡ª its conclusions were unreliable, so it was probably for the best ¡ª I could feel something was going on, but I couldn¡¯t put it into exact words.


    Anaxeres grinned. ¡°I can¡¯t be that bad,¡± he protested as he sat on a small hill.


    ¡°Careful, I¡¯m pretty sure those are someone¡¯s bones,¡± I warned as I sat next to him on a slightly less soot-and-blood-stained patch of the ground. I stretched, and let the silence linger before I asked what I wanted to know. ¡°You used the ballisate?¡± I asked, mildly.


    ¡°Yes, I did.¡± Naxy tilted his head. ¡°Or, more specifically, Petra did. But we were both thinking the same thing, so it doesn¡¯t matter.¡± The Duke shrugged. ¡°It was a risk, I¡¯ll give you that; but what matters is that we achieved a victory ¡ª no more, no less; and I won¡¯t take any backtalk on that subject, spider-in-training.¡± His tone was light, but I knew he meant it.


    I waved off the threat. ¡°I¡¯m not going to get on your case ¡ª I have nothing to gain from playing peacekeeper.¡± I really don¡¯t. I studied him. ¡°You¡¯re going to ask something.¡± I Read the anticipation in his face. ¡°Ask away, Naxy.¡±


    The Duke smiled. ¡°How did you know?¡± he asked, tone turning serious but affable features unmoving. ¡°You knew when the centurion was going to enter the tent ¡ª naturally, by either instinct or reflex. That means that your Ability functions like a network, not just a prediction or memory tool like at first glance. A sixth sense.¡±


    Anaxeres shook his head, smiling to himself. ¡°See, the word itself seems so innocuous ¡ª your character, in itself, seems so innocuous. A child, playing at being a strategist with a halfling Ability and a shit ton of luck ¡ª that¡¯s what so many people consider you as.¡± The gambler¡¯s eyes glinted, dangerously. ¡°Petra¡¯s always had an eye for talent, but I think they¡¯re off the mark this time.¡±


    I remained silent, continuing to grin.


    ¡°I see myself in you,¡± said Naxy. ¡°That might sound arrogant of me, given that we¡¯re only a few years apart, but you are fit for something ¡ª a role ¡ª I can¡¯t pinpoint. It¡¯s not potential, or anything mystically vague like destiny, but you have something. Your siblings have it, too ¡ª they all have something people can¡¯t see, and¡ª¡± The Duke halted, a sardonic tinge to his expression this time.


    ¡°I see something worth betting on,¡± the gambler said, simply. ¡°It sounds creepy, when I say it like that, but Greta, this entire debacle¡ª¡± Anaxeres Evimeria waved his hand around ¡°¡ªit might be worth going all-in for. I¡¯m not sure. I¡¯ve never seen anything worth the risk, and Petra hasn¡¯t either, but¡­¡±


    ¡°All-in¡¯s a strange word,¡± I mused.


    Anaxeres gave a small nod. ¡°Yes, it is. Greta ¡ª Her Imperial Majesty ¡ª has that talent, of being that horse you know will pull-through; that card you know stands a fighting chance.¡± He paused. ¡°After this battle, this ¡®all-in¡¯...it¡¯s become real, for me. I¡¯m sure Greta¡¯s camp felt that urge to back her up.¡±


    The urge to bet a kingdom on a single Empress.


    ¡°My sister is something,¡± I agreed.


    My Lord in Oath. She makes you want to bet on her ¡ª yes, that was the turn of phrase.


    ¡°I want to see the finish line,¡± Naxy said, turning to me. The friendly twinkle in his eyes was gone, as if it¡¯d never existed in the first place, as he asked a question (one that I¡¯d been asking myself, really): ¡°Will you be the dark horse that competes against her, or will you be waiting at the end?¡±


    In a way, I¡¯d answered that question long ago.


    In a way, I hadn¡¯t.


    ¡°I don¡¯t know,¡± I answered, honestly, gazing at the crimson plains that occupied the war. The blood spilt held the promise of better, more ¡ª a new horizon, but years and years of toil that needed the sacrifice of more. Back then, I had perhaps known what I was getting into, but I hadn¡¯t at the same time.


    ¡°But,¡± I said, meeting the Imperial Spymaster¡¯s eyes, ¡°I never enter races I cannot win.¡±


    That day, victory had tasted like moustalevria ¡ª sweet on my tongue, yet tangy.


    Maybe this time, I would just need to find it somewhere else.


    <hr>


    Anaxeres ended up allowing me to regulate morale, and I, of course, already had a plan.


    ¡°Xandros,¡± I said to my minion, ¡°do you know how to sing?¡±


    Alexandros blinked. ¡°Excuse me¡ª?¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re excused. Mercy, hand me the papers on Marianus,¡± I called. ¡°Before I visit my dear centurion, I need to teach Xandros how to sing¡ª ah, and also, I need to write a letter to my Mari ¡ª wait, are you a soprano or an alto? Xandros? I mean, it doesn¡¯t matter; as long as you can sing well, I guess¡ª¡±


    ¡°Boss,¡± he cut in, ¡°what exactly do you want me to do?¡± He looked genuinely anxious, a contrasting image with his formerly ¡ª or perhaps still currently ¡ª mistrusting self.


    ¡°I¡¯m going to make up a song,¡± I explained, ¡°and you¡¯re going to sing it.¡±


    ¡°Wait¡ª¡±


    <hr>


    I technically made up the words and collaborated with Xandros on the lyrics.


    ¡°The battle of ends and beginnings, where the Gods collect their winnings¡ª and we...what rhymes with glory? Story? Gory?¡± Xandros asked, folding his fingers at the possibilities. He looked hesitant, before he asked, ¡°Lady Mercy came back with the papers about the thing you asked her to look up.¡± He opened the satchel and handed over the papers in question to me, and I took them.


    ¡°Why don¡¯t you hire a bard to help you compose? Pay them to spread it among the taverns? Strike up a merrymaking atmosphere?¡± I said, rubbing my eyes before starting to skim the information. It confirmed most of the information in Anaxeres¡¯ reports, as well as some...intriguing personal tidbits.


    ¡°You can hire bards?¡± the other asked.


    ¡°That¡¯s not the point¡ª¡± I cut myself off. ¡°We¡¯re here at the tent, alright? And I don¡¯t need you for this¡ª I¡¯ll expect you to have made headway by the end of today.¡±


    Xandros saluted. ¡°Yes, Boss.¡±


    I ducked under the beige fabrics of the medical tent, leaving my minion behind.


    Instantly I was hit with the smell of iron, exposed metal mingling in air¡ª injured soldiers were making bawdy jokes and wincing after letting out guttural laughs; while the Physician was scuttling around holding dried herbs in his hands and wincing after hearing the punchlines.


    My target ¡ª the centurion ¡ª was glaring at his surroundings, surrounded by a circle of tired, annoyed guards. I laughed as I approached the occupied straw mattress, fruit basket in my hand.


    ¡°Did he try to escape?¡± I questioned a nearby guard, smiling at Marianus as I stuffed the papers underneath the basket cover and pulled out an apple (the fruits were, of course, carefully arranged amidst coins).. Passing apples and pears amongst Petra¡¯s soldiers, I chomped into one.


    The guard accepted the fruit and replied while biting into it. ¡°I¡¯m pretty sure he¡¯s planning something, Your Highness,¡± he said. ¡°He keeps muttering in Republica about ¡®Imperial traitors¡¯ and how he could easily ¡®snap our necks¡¯ after he¡¯s healed ¡ª as if we can¡¯t understand.¡± The guard¡¯s words, spoken in Republica, were accompanied by a chuckle and a glare from the centurion.


    I snorted. ¡°Seems a lot like him,¡± I admitted. The apple tasted surprisingly fresh, but the seeds¡¯ ridges bothered me ¡ª I couldn¡¯t bother Aeron to peel the fruit, this time; so I swallowed it anyway. I offered the bitten apple to Marianus ¡ª newly chained to the first guard¡¯s wrist ¡ª and dodged as the centurion¡¯s spittle spilled from his lips.


    I continued eating the red fruit, unperturbed.


    ¡°Do you mind if I talk to him?¡± I asked the guards, smiling while discreetly pulling a coin from the basket. ¡°Of course, everything would be strictly private¡ª would you all particularly care?¡± I twirled the drachma between my fingers ¡ª not pointedly, before I leaned in and used sleight of hand to pull the coin from the guard¡¯s ear. I then slipped the disc in my pocket before flinging a pear at Marianus.


    The centurion-taken-prisoner scowled at the thrown fruit.


    The guards grinned. ¡°Of course, Your Highness,¡± they chorused in unison.


    I winked.


    Marianus was still scowling.


    I sat down in front of him, leaning forward in a range where I could dodge spittle with ease. Slipping a blade into my hand, I started slicing the fruit into halves.


    ¡°You killed a Branch Head, a member of the Senate, when you turned seventeen, because your mother told you to ¡ª you¡¯re a bastard, so that was your rite of passage into becoming a legitimate member of Branch Cassia, correct? It was then, and only then, Alberta redirected the Branch¡¯s resources into helping you win the seat of centurion of the First Cohort, primus pilus.¡±


    I popped a slice in my mouth.


    ¡°Are you not sick?¡± I asked nonchalantly, voice low. ¡°Sick of your country? Sick of your people? Sick of this world, that denies you your pride? Your worth?¡±


    A bastard-born, of all people, would know how it was ¡ª a bastard-born that managed to climb his way up his ranks, even more. Marianus was like my half-brother, albeit without the personal connection ¡ª that personal connection, really, was why I¡¯d sent Lazarus to take over Inevita. Out of sight, out of mind; but not out of use. Emotions were strings to be pulled ¡ª nothing more.


    Marianus paused, just long enough for a flash of triumph to tug at my lips. ¡°You¡¯re trying to get into my head, Imperial,¡± hissed the centurion. ¡°I refuse¡ª¡±


    ¡°You can only refuse,¡± I contradicted, lightly, ¡°when you acknowledge the possibility of accepting.¡± I smiled. ¡°Apple?¡± I offered my now-finished core.


    He spat at it seconds after I threw it at him.


    ¡°Will you be a left-over forever, centurion?¡± I asked, casually, letting him watch the apple roll to his feet. ¡°Standing against change, alone in your stubbornness, damning yourself to rigidity? Those old rules bind you, Gaius ¡ª and you choose to remain chained.¡± I reached into my basket.


    Marianus¡¯ face was broad, like Anaxeres¡¯, but something in him reminded me of Julian. But I could Read the centurion, Read his hesitation, Read his abilities, ardor, and admitted capability on the battlefield. My fiance¡¯s chains were more material ¡ª that praetorian purple cloak, his father, his mother, his Army.


    But Marianus?


    The world had failed him, and it shackled him still, like it did me¡ª like it did all of us, really. Those were the invisible, unbreakable chains that hung on his frame, chains that he did not choose to bear. Of course, there were burdens that the centurion had chosen to shoulder, as well¡ª


    I was monologuing.


    ¡°I will not lie,¡± I continued. ¡°Unshackling you is a long and arduous task that I do not care to participate in ¡ª after all, true liberation is a lie. True freedom is a lie.¡± I let my lips curl. ¡°Death is the only release, dearest Gaius ¡ª humans are empty puppets, driven by their own selfish desires and greed¡ª taking, but never giving. You can never, truly free yourself from the world and its hands.¡± I might not fully believe what I was saying, and I did sound a bit preachy, but...


    ¡°Cynic,¡± he spat. ¡°Defeatist.¡± But they rung empty, just a bit more hollow than he¡¯d liked, and we both knew the other noticed.


    I inclined my head. ¡°Perhaps,¡± I admitted, before tilting my head. ¡°The question is, though, Gaius ¡ª regardless of the burdens you bear, will you move forward, or stay in place?¡± I let my fingers unravel over the object in my hand. This particular one was a vibrant scarlet, a crimson that shone even through the fabric roof of the medical tent. Luscious, irresistible.


    I smiled.


    ¡°Apple?¡± I offered the centurion, again.


    <hr>

 33. Interlude: Game

    <hr>


    The battle of ends and beginnings,


    Where the Gods collect their winnings,


    And we mourn, for prosper and long live


    The Empire Eternal, for we do not live


    For this land, we live


    For our pride, we live for the tide


    That inevitably turns for us; we live to declare that, ¡®From thus


    We shall make it so fortune has no choice but to adjust


    Her favor, so she has no choice but


    To favor us¡ª¡¯ From now we see fit to declare


    That we demand favor, and we shall not share


    The title of the last ones standing,


    For fortune and favor is what we are demanding.


    The battle of ends and new beginnings,


    Where we are the ones to gather our winnings


    And we celebrate, for prosper and long live


    Our Eternal Empire, for it everything we give.


    - THE BATTLE OF BEGINNINGS, A BALLAD SPREAD SOON AFTER THE START OF THE QUEEN''S WAR (AROUND 100 P.Q.C.)


    <hr>


    "A BETTING GAME USING HUMANS."


    Vivianna feels the practiced words slip out of her lips. ¡°We each bet on who kills the most monsters the most, at the end of this game¡ª the loser, and the ones who bet on the loser, are killed.¡± She interlocks her fingers and leans forward.


    ¡°It¡¯s a team effort, really.¡± Jonas smiles. ¡°If multiple people bet on the same person, and the person turns out to be the loser, then they¡¯ll have to die by sword. But if you participate in the game, you¡¯ll have to swear an Oath that you¡¯ll play by its rules ¡ª like Vivianna said, in addition, there¡¯s also the question of the ¡®winner.¡¯¡±


    ¡°The winner dictates the cause, the loser and their supporters die,¡± Caspian sums up. ¡°A very indirectly direct way of deciding things.¡± He was the one to accept for Seraphina, Vivianna remembers.


    He introduced himself as Athena¡¯s Chosen, but...there¡¯s something strange about the two. And not the regular, Chosen-by-the-Gods strange. Something that runs deep¡ª a bitter resentment, an acrid hatred, layers and layers upon careful masks and deception. It reminds Vivianna of her mother¡¯s vases, almost, but the Lady Bloodthorn doesn¡¯t let her smile thin, but the others glance at each other.


    ¡°This...is something to be considered,¡± says Rayan, slowly. ¡°Although Cas and Sera have agreed, this ¡®cause¡¯ and ¡®game¡¯ that you speak of leaves much to be pondered upon.¡±


    Jonas¡¯ lips curl. ¡°We have all the time in the world,¡± he promises. ¡°Please, consider it as thoroughly as you¡¯d like.¡±


    What he doesn¡¯t mention, Vivianna thinks, is that the fact that the explosion he tinkered with before wasn¡¯t nearly that big. It¡¯s probably because, she speculates, we were all there at the same time. But that¡¯s besides the point now that they all have a proper plan in place.


    A game. Rules.


    A game. Rules. That...is dangerously familiar.


    Hera had come to the Bloodthorn in her dreams, like Vivianna was sure it had come to the rest of the Chosen. This is a Game, she had said. And it must be played. When Vivianna was younger, she liked games. Chance games, strategy games, card games ¡ª but of course, what you read in books and what you put into action is ever-so-different, the Viscountess¡¯ daughter muses.


    It must be played.


    The Cage must end. Why are the Cagekeepers not coming out to stop us, then? They¡¯re supposed to be the enforcers ¡ª from what Vivianna¡¯s heard about them, they Watch the Cage and make sure nothing goes awry. This, in the noble¡¯s books, was definitely under the category of ¡®awry¡¯ ¡ª unless, of course, this entire thing had been rigged from the go-to.


    Rigged.


    Vivianna doesn¡¯t like that word.


    It¡¯s usually only uttered in times of desperation, but of course, this is a time of desperation. The possibility remains that this ¡®Game¡¯ that Hera mentioned was referring to the Cage, and if so, means that the Gods hold sway over it. It. The dominion of Fate (of course, that¡¯s another subject that Vivianna has no interest in exploring at the moment).


    It must be played.


    If this Game has rules, the Gods know about it. And the fact that nobody¡¯s gotten smote means that they haven¡¯t breached the rules just yet. Yet. It must be played. The words ring in Vivianna¡¯s head, and she frowns, internally.


    ¡°We¡¯ll start the game when you¡¯re ready,¡± she says, breaking the silence.


    Seraphina smiles. ¡°Of course.¡± There¡¯s something unreadable in her eyes, devoid of even false warmth, as she turns to her partner. ¡°We¡¯ll be back tomorrow morning then, Cas?¡±


    Some sort of realization dawns on Caspian¡¯s face ¡ª is it the problem that he accepted for Seraphina? Vivianna muses ¡ª but his tone remains steady. ¡°We will,¡± Athena¡¯s Chosen says, simply. He inclines his head in a curtly respectful farewell, any whispers of his formerly light grin gone. ¡°We¡¯re going.¡±


    The two are uncharacteristically serious, a reaction that should¡¯ve sparked triumph inside Vivianna, but it just unsettles her.


    Arden and Rayan are grim, too, but the expression belongs on their faces and that doesn¡¯t make Hera¡¯s Chosen uneasy. Vivianna looks at Caspian and Seraphina, letting her eyes flicker, and she can see the boy casually reach his hand towards the girl¡¯s, as if they¡¯ve done it a hundred times before, as if they¡¯re in some type of romance story.


    It isn¡¯t jealousy, really ¡ª that would be idiotic, an unnecessary emotion in this slaughterhouse of an island ¡ª but it makes the viscountess¡¯ daughter feel uneasy.


    Seraphina does, in fact, lace her fingers in his; but the motion feels hollow and full all at once, strange warmth-that¡¯s-not-really-warmth in a place where it¡¯s not supposed to have any kind of strong temperature.


    Vivianna feels Jonas follows her eyes.


    ¡°Have you all heard about Athens?¡± the Forgetouched asks the remaining group, smiling as always (Vivianna hates smiles, these days; everyone keeps smiling and it irritates her).


    ¡°The ancient, pre-Cage city?¡± Rayan raises an eyebrow. ¡°Supposedly the name of Anthinon, before the First Emperor¡¯s reforms? Yeah, I¡¯ve heard of it.¡±


    Arden¡¯s brown-but-not-really-brown eyes flash. ¡°I do know where you¡¯re going with this,¡± Aphrodite¡¯s Chosen says to Jonas, ¡°and I¡¯m not quite sure it¡¯s all that smart at the moment.¡±


    Vivianna doesn¡¯t even know where Jonas is going with this¡ª oh wait, she does. Damn. Her eyebrows twitch.


    ¡°So, basically, Cas¡¯ Goddess and Sera¡¯s God¡ª¡± their nicknames roll smoothly on Jonas¡¯ tongue, and for a second Vivianna notices that the Forgetouched isn¡¯t using the Gods¡¯ names ¡°¡ªwere arguing over who was going to be the patron of the city, ¡®Athens.¡¯ Long story short, they competed, Sera¡¯s God lost, and they¡¯ve held a grudge against each other ever since.¡±


    Jonas continues. ¡°My God, however, was thrown off Olympus by her Goddess.¡± He points to Vivianna, who can¡¯t resist arching an eyebrow. ¡°Again, grudge. Rivalry. Bad relationship.¡± The Forgetouches gestures to both Arden and Rayan. ¡°Rayan¡¯s God, apparently, resented Arden¡¯s Goddess for making him have so many affairs ¡ª it¡¯s implied, in the Myths. Also not the best relationship¡ª¡±


    ¡°The point?¡± Rayan cuts in. ¡°You¡¯re not the only one who¡¯s noticed.¡±


    (Vivianna forgets that Jonas has the tendency to monologue. It¡¯s been a rough Dayhept, really.)


    ¡°The Hundredth Queen¡¯s Cage,¡± says Jonas, slowly. ¡°Something¡¯s special. Something¡¯s off. We should take that opportunity to escape. That¡¯s all there is to it, I suppose.¡±


    ¡°No.¡± Arden shakes her head, the grimness occupying her smile. ¡°Nothing here can be described with ¡®that¡¯s all there is to it.¡¯¡± She looks at Rayan. ¡°Let¡¯s go ¡ª I¡¯m hungry.¡± Aphrodite¡¯s Chosen turns to Vivianna and Jonas. ¡°I would appreciate it if you didn¡¯t move, by the way ¡ª would a pain to hunt you down to ask questions.¡±


    ¡°Of course.¡±


    They went.


    Vivianna looks at Jonas. ¡°You do know that we¡¯ll have to find a better way out.¡± She gestures to the hole in the Cage. ¡°We ¡ª we¡¯re an us. And we¡¯re going to get out, just¡ª¡± Exhaustion pulls at her face. ¡°Damn it, Jonas. Just¡ª¡±


    ¡°Let¡¯s talk about politics,¡± he interrupts, mildly.


    ¡°Excuse me?¡± The noble daughter blinks.


    ¡°Let¡¯s talk about politics,¡± Jonas repeats. Knowing him, he probably has a reason ¡ª he has a reason for everything, Vivianna thinks.


    The Bloodthorn raises her eyebrows. ¡°Politics,¡± she says, slowly. ¡°Right.¡± She blinks. ¡°Right,¡± Vivianna repeats. ¡°Let me...go to the bathroom, first. I might hurl if I talk about that on a half-full stomach.¡±


    <hr>


    We¡¯re an ¡®us.¡¯ What a perfect way to put it, Jonas thinks. Such a supremely flawed, perfect way of putting things ¡ª just like Vivianna herself. Perfectly flawed. Like a cracked vase, only the crack was beautiful and purposely meant to be there.


    He¡¯s getting sidetracked, probably.


    She clears her throat. ¡°The duchies¡ª¡±


    Jonas shakes his head. No, that isn¡¯t what he needs to hear. ¡°Tell me about the baronies ¡ª no, more the relationships with the upper nobility and the lower nobility. Your mother¡¯s a viscountess, correct?¡± He needs momentum to Build.


    ¡°Correct,¡± says the other, inclining her head. ¡°There¡¯s not much to say, really. Most of the viscounties and baronies are either pledged to a specific marquessate or county, who in turn usually have connections to either a Cardinal, or a Stronghold duchy. It¡¯s complicated. Organizing it would take time, and I¡¯m not exactly sure where you¡¯re leading this.¡±


    So deceptively honest. Jonas¡¯ lips quirk. ¡°How much of the system sounds like it¡¯s a game?¡± he asks. ¡°When My Liege visited me, he mentioned something of the sort. Machinery. Fate. The inevitability of victory and loss ¡ª vague concepts. I want to get off the island, but we might not. Allowance. Rules. Lines, but not¡ª paths, not lines. Fate, again. How much of this is prophecy and not? How much of this is expected? Allowed?¡±This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.


    Vivianna tilts her head. ¡°You¡¯re thinking about divine forces. Spinning off¡ª what? Imperial values?¡± There is no venom in her voice, just curiosity.


    ¡°¡®It¡¯s too easy,¡¯¡± Jonas recounts. ¡°That¡¯s what Caspian said. Balance is a recurring theme.¡± He gestures vaguely towards the direction. ¡°Pairs. You and I, Arden and Rayan, Seraphina and Caspian, Halkyone and Maia, Cecilia and Euthalia, Kage and Iason. We have our ¡ª what do you call it? ¡ª parallels. The pairs are composed of two counterparts of a ¡®balance,¡¯ and I have no doubt it¡¯s on purpose.¡±


    ¡°Parallels,¡± the other muses. ¡°Go on.¡±


    ¡°Seraphina and Caspian live in the shadows of their pasts, but they¡¯re both different shadows. The former moves forward, the latter moves backwards, in the end ¡ª at least, that¡¯s what I can see. They both can¡¯t keep still ¡ª always doing something; scheming, plotting, wearing masks, shrouds.¡± Jonas leans forward. ¡°Arden and Rayan. Fire and water. They mix as well as oil and fire, except it¡¯s a controlled fire ¡ª they both have control. They need to have control, it¡¯s what they want, need, crave.¡±


    Vivianna nods, slowly. ¡°Parallels.¡±


    She drums her fingers on her thigh.


    ¡°Parallels,¡± she repeats, again. ¡°How does this relate to here? I understand what you¡¯re getting at, but trying to make sense of our divine circumstances to see if we¡¯re ¡®allowed¡¯ to get out ¡ª we¡¯re supposed to¡ª¡± the noble cuts herself off, before she tries again. ¡°We¡ª¡± She shakes her head.


    Jonas waits.


    ¡°I feel like it would be easier to have this conversation,¡± she finally begins again, slowly, ¡°if we¡¯re honest about how we want to step forward.¡±


    Surprising earnestness.


    ¡°Honesty.¡± The word makes Jonas¡¯ lips curl. ¡°Yes, I suppose honesty is a tenement of partnership.¡±


    The Forgetouched lets the silence go on for a while, when Vivianna interrupts it.


    ¡°You see it, don¡¯t you?¡± The viscountess¡¯ daughter smiles, bitterly. ¡°I mirror ¡ª well, try to mirror ¡ª my mother.¡±


    Jonas makes a noise. ¡°I didn¡¯t point it out, because, you know, basic courtesy ¡ª but yes. I¡¯m sure everyone notices, too. If we¡¯re being honest, nobody really minds it. Everyone has their problems, masks, ways to cope with this entire...Game is the word for it, now that I think about it.¡±


    Vivianna dips her head.


    ¡°I have a problem,¡± the Forgetouched continues, ¡°with futility.¡± Jonas smiles, toothily. ¡°This sounds like the least disarming out of all of my personal tidbits, so please recognize that this is a strategic effort to further our partnership; not an emotional one.¡± Partnership.


    ¡°Futility,¡± the other repeats.


    ¡°Futility,¡± Jonas agrees. ¡°There is always the possibility ¡ª it¡¯s quite large, you know ¡ª of us failing. Futile efforts, futile endeavors ¡ª but the possibility of failure should not deter the effort. Do regardless of possibility, regardless of failure, regardless of predetermined prophecy.¡± He flexes his fingers. ¡°Defeat monsters regardless of sacrifice and public praise ¡ª no matter if the cause is futile, no matter if you end up making a futile sacrifice, as long as the cause is worthy, then futility does not matter.¡±


    ¡®¡°A ripple in a pond of poison means nothing,¡¯¡± quotes Vivianna, ¡°¡®if you do not drain the pond.¡¯ I do not believe that saying, but I believe it correlates to this situation, somewhat.¡±


    Jonas¡¯ smile twists, but he does not care to decipher it himself. ¡°I appreciate your attempt at sympathy,¡± he lies. ¡°If we are done¡­¡±


    The Bloodthorn¡¯s eyes gleam in genuine mirth, Vivianna¡¯s unique brand. ¡°I took a gamble on you, Jonas,¡± she says. ¡°Let us hope we both place our bets on the right person.¡±


    <hr>


    ¡°I think we need to talk,¡± I say, holding Cas¡¯ hand.


    ¡°It seems we do,¡± he replies. That grin is off his face ¡ª for whatever reason, he¡¯s picked up on the fact that we have a lot to sort through ¡ª and my partner looks uncharacteristically placid. Even. Conversational. He¡¯s tiptoeing on eggshells ¡ª well, we were technically always tiptoeing on eggshells around each other ¡ª but now I can see it in his physical features. I¡¯m not sure why.


    He¡¯s initiating something, says my Ability.


    Of course, I have some knowledge about what exactly it is, but¡ª


    ¡°So,¡± I prompt.


    He tilts his head. ¡°So,¡± he agrees, ¡°I¡¯m left with the understanding that you didn¡¯t like me making that decision for both of us. Why?¡± Cas is surprisingly direct, and I return the courtesy.


    ¡°It¡¯s not that I didn¡¯t like it,¡± I say. ¡°It would be hypocritical of me to not be happy with you making executive decisions when I make executive decisions. This...just called into question something you said, before.¡± I swing my free arm. ¡°You said you don¡¯t care if you die; and I¡¯m not quite sure your attachment to me ¡ª if you can call it that, please, brief me on a more capable term if you¡¯re able ¡ª is enough for you to continue living-"


    ¡°And helping you,¡± Cas finishes. ¡°Yeah, I can see your point. Don¡¯t exactly like what you¡¯re suggesting though, even though it¡¯s understandable ¡ª I have no obligation to survive with you, and that creates a conflict of interest because you want to survive.¡±


    I nod. ¡°That pretty much sums it up,¡± I say. ¡°I don¡¯t want to kill you, genuinely; I like you. Maybe even love you¡ª value you¡¯s the better phrase for it, I think. New motivations, new perspectives ¡ª revelations come easily, when you¡¯re in situations where you¡¯re forced to face those facets of yourself. I just feel like we should check in, see where both of us stand, and see if we might have to end this arrangement if both of us don¡¯t find any benefit in it.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s...a surprisingly freeing choice,¡± admits Cas. ¡°I...want to do a lot of things. Things I can¡¯t do when ¡ª not if ¡ª I die. Perhaps you can do them ¡ª but where we diverge, perhaps, is that you¡¯re seeing this as a game. You buried Halkyone and Maia, because you think it¡¯s this string of mini-games, and that¡¯s why you buried them, because you feel that it¡¯s being a good sport to the loser ¡ª it might not actually be that way, but¡­¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s an apt conclusion.¡± It¡¯s strange to hear observations that your first impulse is to deny, only to realise that it fits your behavior. ¡°Yeah,¡± I drawl, slowly. ¡°It¡¯s an...apt conclusion.¡±


    He looks at me. ¡°There¡¯s a bigger picture, Sera ¡ª you might see it, you might not. This is a stepping stone ¡ª it provides power, a first step floating on a lake of no return¡ª there¡¯ll be a first, and a second, and a third; a fourth, and a fifth, and a hundredth, and a thousandth, and a millionth, and maybe it¡¯ll be an endless journey.¡± He shakes his head. ¡°There¡¯s more. It might be too easy, it might be too difficult, but there¡¯s more for you like there isn¡¯t for me.¡±


    ¡°Point?¡± I raise my eyebrows, using my thumb mechanically to brush his rough knuckles to bring him back.


    ¡°Point is,¡± he takes the reminder in stride, ¡°I trust your capabilities. I trust that you have no reason to kill me. I trust that you¡¯ll end up¡ª you know what, fuck this shit.¡± Cas detaches his hand from mine. Somewhere along the spiel, he¡¯s become slightly unhinged. Well, at least unhinged I can deal with.


    ¡°I like you¡ª not romantically, platonically, whatever. I value you, and admire your capabilities. But this show ¡ª these masks ¡ª need to be off, if we actually want to make headway.¡± He looks serious ¡ª angry, almost ¡ª and I stifle a laugh.


    ¡°You think I¡¯m putting on a show,¡± I guess.


    Poseidon¡¯s Chosen raises his eyebrows. ¡°Aren¡¯t you?¡±


    I incline my head. ¡°I am,¡± I answer (honestly), ¡°but isn¡¯t that the whole point, though?¡±


    He shakes his head, before nodding. ¡°You were the one who brought up this problem,¡± he points out.


    Ha.


    Incredulity makes its way onto my face. ¡°Are we fighting, right now?¡± I ask, smile just a bit too wide.


    ¡°Arguing,¡± Cas corrects. ¡°Debating. Thinking. Exchanging ideas. Conflicting on a way to step forward. However you put it. Fighting requires anger, or at least some sort of emotional or physical conflict ¡ª I¡¯m not angry, and I don¡¯t want to punch you.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re at least mildly pissed off, though,¡± I note. ¡°That¡¯s nice.¡±


    His mask is off.


    ¡°Jokes aside,¡± I say, ¡°are we really going to do this right now? Progress our personal understanding of each other?¡± This is crossing the line between business ¡ª if you can really call it that (now that I think about it, I say that phrase quite a lot) ¡ª and something else.


    Cas is leaning on a tree now. ¡°I¡¯m kind of being a jerk about it,¡± he says, ¡°but yeah. You¡¯re pissed off at me; and I¡¯m pissed off at you; and we can both admit that we¡¯ve never been pissed off at each other before.¡±


    I frown. This whole thing ¡ª this dynamic, cadence, rhythm that we¡¯ve established ¡ª isn¡¯t working anymore. Something¡¯s changed ¡ª he doesn¡¯t want to play along anymore, my Ability whispers.


    ¡°Alright,¡± I relent.


    He blinks. ¡°You¡¯re more pissed off at me.¡±


    My frown deepens.


    How the fuck did he know? A voice echoes.


    ¡°Stop trying to make emotions make sense, first of all,¡± I say, raising a hand. ¡°It pisses me off to no end.¡± Especially since I haven¡¯t had to deal with them before. Damn it. Damn me. ¡°Like I said, I¡¯m not pissed off because you made the decision, I¡¯m pissed off because we had to talk about this in the first place. I offered you a choice. What you said ¡ª that crap about me and thinking it¡¯s all a Game ¡ª alright, I¡¯ll admit, it¡¯s very likely true.¡±


    I sigh.


    ¡°We were alright, before. I¡¯m pissed off because I have no idea why I have to question if and why you¡¯re pissed off. There¡¯s been no problem so far ¡ª well, I mean, technically the problem could¡¯ve been festering from that day you didn¡¯t help me bury those corpses, but the why isn¡¯t important.¡± I take a moment to breathe. ¡°What¡¯s the fucking problem, Cas?¡±


    He shrugs, but a glimmer of ¡ª triumph ¡ª emotion glimmers in his eyes. ¡°You¡¯re angry,¡± he notes.


    ¡°No shit I¡¯m angry,¡± I reply. ¡°You wanted us to be honest. I¡¯m being honest ¡ª what¡¯s the problem, damn you? Why are you baiting me into honesty?¡±


    ¡°To prove my point,¡± replies Poseidon¡¯s Chosen. ¡°I¡¯m a piece on your Crownboard, and I just walked away from your hand¡ª see, you don¡¯t even ask why the problem¡¯s there; you just want to know what it is to fix it, to continue playing. That¡¯s what pisses me off.¡±


    ¡°You don¡¯t need to prove a point.¡± I throw my hands up in the air. ¡°I already said you¡¯re right.¡±


    This is the real Caspian Nameless?


    This is the real Caspian Nameless.


    ¡°You said it¡¯s very likely true,¡± he corrects. ¡°You need to realize that, someday, there will be people who get pissed off at you. There will be people who walk away from you. And it¡¯s alright to deal with it as a human¡ª see, we¡¯re dealing with this conflict as humans, not business partners. We¡¯re not trying to manipulate each other ¡ª this is a start.¡±


    He¡¯s right, kind of, but¡ª


    ¡°You sound preachy,¡± I say. ¡°Stop sounding preachy. It makes you insufferable ¡ª if you lecture me again, this might turn into a knife brawl instead of us trying to be open with each other.¡± I am pissed off, but the emotion feels beneficially liberating, and I know he¡¯s doing this to try and make both of us feel better, and¡ª


    Cas takes in a breath. ¡°I don¡¯t want to sound preachy, Sera. We¡¯re sixteen. More importantly, we¡¯re people. Spending ¡ª Dayhepts? Has it been a Daycycle? ¡ª with a stranger can¡¯t just be fixed with a simple transactional relationship. Sometimes, we have to be honest with each other.¡±


    I sigh. ¡°I know.¡±


    Gone is the traditional banter, gone is the flirting.


    ¡°Damn you,¡± I mutter under my breath. He¡¯s gotten my mask off, that son of a bitch.


    The son of a bitch in question just grins, and the tense atmosphere is glossed over, dispelled. ¡°I¡¯m going to go take a shit,¡± Caspian Nameless says, thumbing over to the river. ¡°Wait here.¡±


    I sigh, again.


    This is the real Caspian Nameless. Damnit.


    They said that love was when you thought their good traits outweighed their bad ones. But this isn¡¯t love, it can¡¯t really be.


    ¡°Damnit,¡± I say, but a smile quirks my lips.


    The funny thing is? I hadn''t even considered the possibility of killing him.


    That''s a start, isn''t it?


    <hr>


    Caspian Nameless knows that pretending he knows things is a mistake.


    ¡°This,¡± he grins, ¡°is a damn nice plan.¡±


    ¡°If it works,¡± the-love-of-his-life-but-not-really corrects.


    ¡°If it works,¡± he amends. He smiles. ¡°It¡¯s going to work. You¡¯re going to Win.¡±


    ¡°You seem sure of that,¡± she says with a smile.


    Poseidon¡¯s Chosen smiles. ¡°I know you will,¡± he says.


    Because I won¡¯t let you lose.


    <hr>


    Morning comes, and we immediately lure the people, as planned, towards the traps. The Minotaur is back, deep-set rust-colored eyes flashing amber under the sunlight (for a second, I¡¯m reminded of Arden ¡ª Sonata ¡ª but the monster¡¯s gaze is devoid of carefully calculated allure). We only had to roam for the better half of an hour, I think. Hopefully, my Ability¡¯s guess is right and the Minotaur is attracted to either the smell or the blood of humans.


    Hopefully ¡ª when have you ever relied on hopes?


    The monster emerges from the underbrush, leaves brushing against its rugged skin, and I smile as non-threateningly as possible, gesturing for Cas to get ready. The Minotaur snorts, tilting its head as if considering its situation¡ª and then Cas darts forward, flicking a blade across its skin according to our plan ¡ª it doesn¡¯t draw blood.


    That¡¯s bad, I think, belatedly.


    The Minotaur remains still.


    That¡¯s also bad, I think again.


    Then it roars, whipping its horns through the air, and Poseidon¡¯s Chosen starts running. I stay still, half in the bushes and half ready to run for my life, limbs tensed and twitching. The Minotaur goes after Cas, and it¡¯s faster than I thought it would be, (which, now that I put the thought into words, seems like a problem).


    And then I move.


    I¡¯m right behind the monster ¡ª it¡¯s a planned position, Cas baiting it, and me trying not to get killed while not letting it veer off course ¡ª but there¡¯s barely a few paces¡¯ distance between the Minotaur and the Chosen, which calls into question if the plan will actually work.


    The monster itself barrels through the jungle, and Cas is surprisingly fast, delaying the Minotaur¡¯s steps by bringing the water from the ground soil upwards to puddle around its feet and cause it to stagger.


    My shoes have long been run ragged, but still I run, letting my Ability loose while spinning the route we¡¯ve planned. I bite back profanity as I nearly trip on a rock ¡ª damn inconveniently placed obstacles ¡ª and think. Think. We¡¯d checked on Arden and Rayan¡¯s position, which means that they should be around there¡ª


    Cas leads the Minotaur to the clearing, before doing a planned fake-out.


    I hear Arden and Rayan¡¯s voices as I sneak into the Minotaur¡¯s eyeview and bait it into a planned direction, towards the traps from before.


    ¡°Ar¡ª¡±


    ¡°Yeah, Ray, I see it¡ª¡±


    They should be too focused on the monster itself. Hopefully. I signal to Cas, and then forcedly grin at the Minotaur, bringing my knives out pointedly half-hidden by the bushes behind the other two.


    It charges. Arden and Rayan run away, and while Cas engages it, I make sure they¡¯re in the right direction, blanketing my Ability over the two figures.


    I¡¯m sorry.


    <hr>

 34. Search I

    <hr>


    Leges humanae nascuntur, vivunt, et moriuntur.


    The laws of man are to be born, to live, and to die.


    - REPUBLICA PROVERB


    <hr>


    Envinco | Conquer


    overcome, subdue, vanquish, conquer


    A Day After the Battle of Ends


    Honos, the Republic Roma


    Julian Marius Romanus slew a Minotaur at sixteen.


    It was all anyone could talk about, when he arrived home three years ago.


    Medals weighed heavy on his chest as he grasped people¡¯s hands and forced his lips to quirk, returning home to false smiles and praises. It was then that he¡¯d been bestowed the praetorian cape, working his way from primus pilus to the position he¡¯d coveted for so long. All Julian had remembered, when he came home, was that look on Claudia¡¯s face when she opened the door.


    As if her eyes hadn¡¯t been given time to process the situation, she¡¯d croaked out a hoarse ¡°Amadeus?¡±


    The faint sense of pride that had been kindling in his chest disappeared, at that point. The medal he had been cradling behind his back to show to his mother was quickly hidden, shoved into a stray pocket out of sight.


    He was not his father, damn her¡ª


    No. It wasn¡¯t his mother¡¯s fault.


    He stretched a forced smile across his face. ¡°No,¡± answered Julian. ¡°It¡¯s me, mother ¡ª I¡¯m praetor, now.¡±


    That glitter in her eye resembling hope disappeared, at last, and Claudia Hadrianus blinked. ¡°Oh. Right. Marius, you¡¯re home?¡±


    His mother wasn¡¯t perfect. That, Julian knew.


    Sometimes she felt more like fragments than person, more pieces than whole. That dreamy look in her eyes as she stared out the window, sometimes forgetting the task at hand ¡ª when he was younger, he¡¯d had to rescue more than a feral watering can from her at times ¡ª but she never lashed out enough to be named ¡®insane¡¯ by society, so her rapidly changing moods were passed off as just a part of her personality.


    Of course, it wasn¡¯t.


    ¡°There were two twins, born from a mother,¡± Claudia had told him once, when he was young. The founding of the Republic. ¡°Born from Mars and a mortal, they were abandoned at the waters of a river ¡ª now long gone, I¡¯m sure ¡ª and saved by the patron God of that river in an act of generosity.¡± She cleared her throat, stopping stroking his hair in the process.


    ¡°As others guided their journey, they were found by a wolf mother, who gave them milk for a while. Eventually, they were taken in by a farmer ¡ª but, no matter their origins, they rose above their circumstances and became prominent leaders.¡± They then got involved into a dispute with their grandfather and the king, she didn¡¯t mention.


    You must always keep your promises. They are your honor, Marius, Claudia liked to say.


    Julian made a promise to his people, the day he took on the praetorian mantle. He made a promise to himself, the day he slew the Minotaur. He made a promise to the world, the day he realized he wanted ¡ª needed ¡ª to be in it.


    His pride was his honor, his honor was his pride. His loyalty was his prestige, his prestige came with loyalty.


    Of course, Julian long knew that you could break your promises; and the reason behind Claudia¡¯s insistence that he kept them was the event that had severed his parents¡¯ relationship forever (it was a dark matter ¡ª Claudia was kidnapped and tortured by a rogue, anti-Republic unit; and while Marcellus had promised to get her out as soon as possible, she was stuck there for the better half of a Daycycle).


    Julian¡¯s mother ¡ª or rather, her mind ¡ª had never quite come out of that incident in one piece.


    ¡°Sir,¡± a timid voice broke his train of thought. ¡°There¡¯s a letter for you.¡±


    It had been but a Dayend since what the Imperials called ¡®the Battle of Ends¡¯ had occurred. During that Dayend, after he¡¯d returned to Honos, Julian had been busy going through every tactic in his head while both receiving and giving orders. The First Cohort of the Romulus Army had been stationed at the border due to Marcellus¡¯ orders ¡ª Julian hadn¡¯t been informed since he¡¯d been part of the envoy in the Empire during escalating hostilities; which meant that he was well behind.


    He¡¯d never liked being behind.


    ¡°Letter?¡± the boy-praetor raised his eyebrows. ¡°Where from?¡±


    The legionary ¡ª a centurion of the Second Cohort, capable enough, named Augusta ¡ª twisted her lips. ¡°It says,¡± she said, after a moment¡¯s hesitation, ¡°it¡¯s from your fiancee.¡±


    Julian blinked. ¡°Leave it on the table on your way out,¡± the praetor ordered, sighing internally. It was likely a taunt, directed towards both Julian himself and the Republic. Knowing Seraphina, there was probably some kind of trick, a catch, or a snake of a deal inside the letter¡¯s contents ¡ª if it was from Seraphina at all, he thought.


    Augusta hesitated, again.


    ¡°Is there anything else, centurion?¡± asked Julian, eyebrows raised mildly.


    A beat. ¡°It came with five baskets, sir,¡± the legionary responded, quietly. ¡°It was left in the middle of our tents, at night¡ª they were¡­¡± Augusta hesitated, and with that hesitance came a flicker of wry realization on the praetor¡¯s end.


    ¡°Bones?¡± guessed Julian, unfazed.


    The legionary nodded, slowly. ¡°Of almost all the centurions of the First Cohort,¡± she replied. ¡°Except¡ª¡±


    ¡°Marianus,¡± the boy-praetor finished. ¡°And likely the hastatus posterior, as well.¡± A frown threatened to creep up his face. ¡°No reports?¡±


    Augusta shook her head. ¡°None, sir.¡±


    No survivors. If there were, military protocol was to either send a letter to the nearest base, or report personally¡ª ¡°The information reports mentioned an explosion,¡± mused Julian. ¡°Likely, reports collected from those who fled across the border would have more use.¡± But there weren¡¯t any refugees in Honos, yet¡ª even though the granaries were being prepared for the inevitable burden, the current situation was¡ª


    ¡°Compile a report to the Consuls for the Senate meeting.¡± Julian¡¯s eyes flickered to the sun outside. ¡°It should be in about a few more hours. Get it done before noon¡ª and don¡¯t let any deserters escape.¡± There was both everywhere and nowhere to run in the capital¡ª manpower was needed in war, Julian knew.


    The incident was deliberate, and reeked of Seraphina¡¯s touch. The incident was intended to lower morale¡ªbased on the state Augusta was in, it had likely succeeded¡ªand very likely word would get out amongst the general populace. To force conscription upon the people at this point¡ª no, rash decisions in general would deal a heavy blow.


    Orders.


    Julian just needed orders.


    The first battle of a war.


    The praetor reached out a hand, and Augusta slipped the letter in it. Unsheathing a small dagger, Julian used it as a makeshift letter opener, skimming the eyes over its contents.


    ______________________________________________________________________________


    Dearest Marius,


    The heads were my idea (as you might¡¯ve guessed ¡ª I would ask you if you think it¡¯s brilliant, but it is probably not the foremost thing on your mind (I will, of course, take this opportunity to tell you the foremost thing on my mind).


    I am still open to continuing this engagement. Whether your side or mine wins, we both have a foothold into entering the other¡¯s politics¡ª of course, this is an option that depends on whether or not you¡¯d like to go behind your country¡¯s back (perhaps this letter has already been opened, so it might not matter), but if you agree, I shall as well.


    I do not expect collaboration, nor will I wrangle our relationship¡ªI like to think we have quite a well-established one¡ªin my favor, as I have much respect for you am hoping this kindness puts me in your good books.


    Or perhaps this letter will turn out to be a fruitless endeavor.


    It does not matter.


    You may burn this letter, if you wish. You may pen a particularly scathing reply, if you wish.


    May you win fortune''s favor. Have fun.


    Hoping we¡¯ll still get married-


    Your dearest,


    Sera


    _______________________________________________________________________


    Julian Marius Romanus'' eye twitched.


    <hr>


    Molior | Wield


    struggle, labor, construct, wield


    A Few Hours Before the Battle of Ends


    Marksman Manor, Inevita


    Lazarus Marksman had thought that taking over a duchy would be one of those things that would be easier said than done, like talking back to his sister once she¡¯d already issued him an order ¡ª but, very surprisingly, it wasn¡¯t. All he had needed to do was talk to his father and¡ª step-mother? What was the term for it? ¡ª and demonstrate his capabilities.


    Of course, Lazarus knew very well that he was but a Soldier in their little Crowngames. Eleanora and Matthias were a cunning lot ¡ª the Guard knew that he was being played like a revellazo, a replacement for Seraphina to build up their reputation. But it was worth the end result¡ª after merely a few Dayhepts, Lazarus had gained power and status on the Second Isle that most had merely dreamed of.


    Alright, perhaps that was a stretch.


    He now spent most of his days licking nobles¡¯ boots, on his way to gaining power and status on the Second Isle that most had merely dreamed of.


    Lazarus leaned back.


    Inevita was mostly humid stone, a strange combination that meant the former Guard had to be careful where he placed his back. It wasn¡¯t Tyche humid, apparently, according to the people who lived here¡ª it was an unusual type of humid that caused moisture to coalesce in wood but didn¡¯t persist during summer, partially because Inevita didn¡¯t have summers.


    It had but three seasons ¡ª ¡®pouring season,¡¯ ¡®dry season,¡¯ and ¡®winter,¡¯ but that was about it. No scorching sun here, no sirree. It was now nearing the end of the dry season ¡ª he had lived here almost his entire life, Lazarus thought bitterly; the schedule of the weather was practically ingrained in his memory by now ¡ª but in the sky lingered the promise of rain.


    Usually droughts sometimes plagued the island¡¯s less fortunate farmers, outside the Stronghold and in the outskirts¡¯ fields. They would be expecting Zeus¡¯ blessing soon¡ª a blessing that would serve them well during the war where the granary requirement shot up.


    ¡°Lord Marksman?¡± a Servant questioned, quietly. ¡°The Duke and Duchess request your presence in the parlor outside¡ª the Duchess suggests for you to bring an umbrella, the next time you decide to go out, as it is almost Seasonend.¡±


    He supposed he should be grateful for the fact that Theadora was looking after him, a bastard child, with such care. Really, he just thought of it as another leash they put on him.


    ¡°I¡¯m going,¡± said Lazarus, heaving a sigh.


    Lord Lazarus. He needed to get used to that title.


    There hadn¡¯t been any fanfare when he¡¯d been officially recognized as a member of House Marksman, although it had earned him many a whisper and unkind glare from the residents of the Second Isle. Matthias and Theadora were not well-loved, that Lazarus knew. With that fact, he¡¯d have expected the citizens to adore Seraphina, but the former Guard knew that the animosity directed towards the Sixth Princess had been far, far worse¡ª


    For what reason? he sometimes asked himself. Rumors that she knew ¡®witchcraft¡¯? That she was possessed by a ghost?


    That was just making it complicated ¡ª everyone knew that it was because of her Galani blue eyes, the color that had skipped Theadora¡¯s Eurusan golden and occupied the Sixth Princess¡¯ face. Blue eyes were perfectly average in the Empire, outside of Eurus; if not for the fact that Seraphina was rumored to practice dark Galani arts and was generally ¡®creepy,¡¯ she would¡¯ve been perfectly fine.


    At least, that was what Lazarus told himself.


    The lord followed the Servant inside the Marksman manor, built all stone tower and rock spire, as he was led into a parlor he was sure he¡¯d never seen before.


    Theadora¡¯s eyes glinted golden, Matthias¡¯ simply watching him.Unauthorized use: this story is on Amazon without permission from the author. Report any sightings.


    ¡°Lazarus,¡± acknowledged Matthias, breaking out into an unnaturally hearty grin.


    ¡°Son,¡± said Theadora, smiling.


    ¡°Your Graces.¡± Lazarus inclined his head as per noble manner, as the Duke and Duchess both waved offhandedly.


    ¡°How many times have we told you?¡± asked Theadora, frowning mildly. ¡°You can call us mother and father¡ª we¡¯re your parents now, Laz.¡±


    The statement made Lazarus sick to his stomach, but he let himself smile. ¡°Of course, Mother,¡± he said, sitting down. ¡°For what reason have you and Father called me here?¡±


    Theadora spoke. ¡°Well, since you¡¯ve been acclimatizing all this while,¡± the Duchess of Marksman (daughter of the Cardinal Duchess Elexis, as well) said, ¡°we were thinking about making everything official¡ª since everything¡¯s starting, and we¡¯re reaching out to Damianos about war coordination, along with the battle preparations¡ª¡±


    ¡°We¡¯re planning to appoint you as heir,¡± Matthias cut in, to a glare from his wife. ¡°You will inherit the duchy, by the end of this Dayhept.¡±


    Even as an illegitimate child, you still have a claim to the Marksman duchy. Do you want it? Seraphina asked.


    I want it all, Lazarus had answered.


    He would wield his right¡ª and he would make them all pay.


    <hr>


    Pasiscor | Deal


    <em style="font-size: 1.1em; text-align: left">deal, bargain, negotiate, stipulate, agree


    A Few Hours After the Battle of Ends


    Diamandis, Notus


    Marianus¡ªsurprisingly or perhaps unsurprisingly¡ªaccepted my deal.


    ¡°This is good work, Sera,¡± beamed Naxy. ¡°Look, Petra ¡ª she bagged her first enemy defector! Aren¡¯t you so proud?¡± The Duke of Tyche was sipping a strange tea blend that stank of magnolia, turning to his friend.


    I raised my eyebrows as Petra waggled their eyebrows. ¡°I couldn¡¯t be prouder,¡± they drawled, cackling while clinking their teacup against Anaxeres¡¯. ¡°That capture spilled a whole useful lot¡ªwar clean-up should go smoothly with our efforts. With that song Seraphina circulated going around, morale is at its peak¡ªwe¡¯ve experienced a boost in enlistment rates; and a casualty report was sent to Gr¡ªthe Empress.¡±


    I let myself grin. ¡°All in a day¡¯s work, right?¡± I said, lightly, leaning back. I had already written and sent off a letter with approval ¡ª and an additional present. After re-fortifying Notus, Greta would likely send back my orders and hopefully the war would be moved someplace with less insane people.


    ¡°Speaking of work,¡± I continued, ¡°do you know where my brother¡¯s been deployed? I mean, my brother Cyrus, of course.¡±


    Anaxeres frowned, a bit. ¡°I didn¡¯t hear the specifics,¡± he said with a shrug. ¡°I was thrown out of the war council the same time you were.¡±


    Petra was the one who provided the information¡ª ¡°Eurus, I heard.¡± They looked at me. ¡°Since you come from Inevita, you probably have some people there¡ªInevita, Drakos, and Williams are all scurrying to produce the new batch of explosives to ¡®help the war effort.¡¯ The Empress gave them permission to add some of it to their personal stockpile, but everyone knows they just want to profit off the new weapons¡ªmaybe even sell them to the Republicas, if they¡¯re ballsy enough.¡±


    They sipped their tea as I arched an eyebrow.


    ¡°I doubt my family would take the risk¡ªat least, without a capable scapegoat¡ªDrakos¡¯ trigger finger seems itchy enough, though,¡± I remarked. Scapegoat. I would need to write Lazarus, then¡ªknowing the Duke and Duchess, they would likely push my half-brother into the role. The Marquis Williams I didn¡¯t have to worry about¡ªtheir income came directly from the throne¡¯s technologies and blueprints. But Drakos¡­


    Damianos Drakos was a sleazy man, certainly the type to try and profit off both sides of the war. Perhaps I¡¯d write to Timmy, along the way, to speed up the inheritance process ¡ª if I didn¡¯t, Greta certainly would if she thought it posed a threat.


    Anaxeres shrugged. ¡°I¡¯m sure Her Imperial Majesty¡¯ll get someone on that, soon enough,¡± said the Duke of Tyche, examining his fingernails. ¡°She¡¯s a very big-picture person¡ª what do you call it?¡±


    ¡°Visionary,¡± I supplied.


    ¡°Right, visionary,¡± Naxy agreed.


    Petra grunted. ¡°Delphie¡¯s schemes interest me the most, at this point,¡± they said. ¡°All that succession inheritance business can go to Tartarus and fuck itself there¡ªwhat I¡¯d do, to get my hands on that report.¡± Their eyes narrowed, ever-so-slightly. ¡°But I suppose business plans need to be given the Imperial stamp of approval¡ªeven if we all do need money, these days.¡±


    ¡°Money,¡± I agreed with a sigh. It almost made me miss Macedon (except for the embezzling bit, of course. Mercy had strongarmed him into swearing an Oath of Fealty, so I supposed I didn¡¯t need to miss him).


    A surprisingly comfortable silence came between us, as if we hadn¡¯t just been in a battle a few hours ago¡ªas if Petra¡¯s burn scars weren¡¯t covered in bloody bandages, as if both them and Naxy hadn¡¯t ordered the launching of a ballistae that had killed eight hundred men.


    The tea cooled, in my hands, as if recovering from an unspoken toast.


    At last, I stood up. ¡°I¡¯ll check on the spy training,¡± I said to no one in particular, before leaving the war room in Petra¡¯s manor.


    ______________________________________________________________________________


    Marianus looked surprisingly spry, for a man who¡¯d pretended to be dead only a few hours ago¡ªand I said man, because there was little of youthful boy left in that surrendered face. Still, he was barking orders while chained to a chair, lips spilling words that spilled in turn with not spite, but command.


    The spies under his watching eye didn¡¯t flinch ¡ª they were trained spies of the Empire, after all; and I liked to think that Naxy was far more unsettling than Marianus ¡ª but there was wordless resentment in their eyes.


    ¡°Where are you from?¡± Marianus questioned a bowed spy in Republica, frowning. ¡°You did not perform a legionary¡¯s salute, to a legionary.¡±


    ¡°I-I am from Notus, Sir¡ª¡±


    The former primus pilus shook his head. ¡°Wrong!¡± As if he were teaching a class full of incompetent children, he looked around the ¡®classroom¡¯ that was the torture chamber. ¡°You do not call legionaries ¡®sir.¡¯ If you play your cards right, you will stumble upon only uniformed legionnaires, by which you will be able to determine their rank by the flags and medals on their chest ¡ª if you¡¯re opting for a regular soldier, you do not use courtesy. If you¡¯re opting for a slightly-higher ranked centurion, you use the courtesy of their titles ¡ª different titles for those with different levels of seniority.


    ¡°Try again. Pretend I am in my primus pilus regalia.¡± Marianus looked at the spy.


    The spy cleared their throat. ¡°I am from Notus¡­.primus pilus?¡±


    ¡°Again, without hesitation¡ª¡± he apparently noticed me, meeting my gaze.


    I wiggled my fingers in greeting. ¡°Gaius.¡±


    ¡°Seraphina,¡± he returned, simply. He turned to the spies, who were watching surprisingly unmaliciously. ¡°Go practice the legionary salute with a partner,¡± he told them. ¡°I¡¯ll get back to you in a moment.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re adapting surprisingly fast,¡± I remarked.


    Marianus shrugged. ¡°To survive, you adapt.¡± A pause. ¡°Some of your leader¡¯s men¡ªthe general, your Ducal Lord¡ªalready questioned me about what I know of Mariu¡ªJulian¡¯s plans.¡±


    I tilted his head. ¡°To call him Marius, you two must¡¯ve been close,¡± I commented.


    ¡°We were not brothers,¡± contradicted Marianus. ¡°We were comrades. He was my leader, and he did not care about my bastardly origins¡ªfriends, I suppose.¡± The fiery defiance he had shown before was gone, dissipating surprisingly fast after he¡¯d taken my deal, which I supposed I should be grateful for.


    He met my eyes, after a while. ¡°Why are you here?¡± he asked.


    ¡°To visit,¡± I answered. ¡°I might need to go elsewhere, after all¡¯s said and done.¡±


    ¡°And you¡¯re not sure of my loyalty to leave me alone,¡± guessed the former centurion. ¡°Well, it¡¯s reasonable.¡± Marianus yawned. ¡°I might come with you, if I decide to,¡± he said after a while. ¡°Or not.¡±


    I shrugged. ¡°It all depends on you¡ªI¡¯m sure that you¡¯ll be allowed leeway, now that you¡¯ve ¡®contributed.¡¯¡± The word made my expression sour without my Ability to shroud my face, just a bit, but the other noticed.


    ¡°Contributions.¡± He snorted. ¡°They just mean how much I¡¯m willing to fork over.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯ve already forked over what you¡¯re willing to,¡± I said. ¡°It wouldn¡¯t be fair for us to push¡ªyour situation depends on what you wish it to be, now. You are free¡ªat least, as free as I can make you.¡±


    Marianus¡¯ eyes pointedly strayed to the chains around him, before he relented. ¡°I suppose,¡± said the former centurion, amused. ¡°A contraction, being free in chains.¡±


    I inclined my head, before I asked him: ¡°Are you satisfied?¡±


    The centurion blinked back. ¡°You fulfilled your end, I fulfilled mine,¡± he readily answered. ¡°This is not a deal made for satisfaction ¡ª unless you¡¯re asking me about my current situation; in which I¡¯ll have to answer frankly that no, I¡¯m really not.¡± Marianus stretched ¡ª or at least tried to. A silence. ¡°Blame is a burden I do not want to shoulder,¡± the man quoted, ¡°vengeance a leash, a debt owed to the beholder. Should I lust after, the hollow maiden that is closure? If regardless of her love, the embers of desire¡¯s hearth will continue to smoulder?¡±


    That was an answer, I thought, that was composed of a question.


    ¡°End is a first love, beginning anew the second,¡± I finished. ¡°If you hear again second chances beckon, you know you have learned life¡¯s final lesson.¡± I hadn¡¯t taken him for the poetry type, but¡ª people could be anything.


    Marianus merely tilted his head. We gazed at each other¡ªnot romantically, of course, I would never cheat on my Mari¡ªbefore the centurion broke his stare.


    ¡°We are done,¡± he said, simply.


    In this case, he was probably meaning the more simple ¡®done¡¯ than the complicated ¡®done¡¯- words were messy creatures.


    ¡°For now,¡± I merely answered, smiling.


    <hr>


    Diruo | Pull to Ruin


    dismantle, break to pieces, pull apart


    A Few Hours After the Battle of Ends


    The Palace, Aionios


    Josephine Queenscage knew that Greta was up to something. Well, technically, Greta was always up to something, and Josie knew that ¡®something¡¯ usually involved either politics, people, or both. Of course, as always, the second she was out of solitary confinement¡ªwell, the second she sneaked out of solitary confinement¡ªJosie made it her duty to find out what her sister was doing.


    She had just needed to Seduce the Guard.


    Josie knew Greta knew that both she and Ara could easily escape ¡ª they weren¡¯t incompetent, of course; some would even call them the opposite. If Greta really wanted to keep them in, she would¡¯ve thought of a more secure measure than just humans ¡ª after all, they were such fragile creatures.


    No one stopped her on the way to the throne room ¡ª more accurately, no one wanted to stop her. All the Servants pretended like they saw nothing, a feat that reminded Josie what a valuable task it had been, to win over the staff (by win over, she meant she¡¯d bribed or threatened most of them into submission).


    Josephine skipped into the room that housed the Chryselephantine Throne, easily (Ara was busy).


    ¡°Sister!¡± she called. ¡°Are you planning to destroy the Queen¡¯s Cage?¡± The throne was empty, of course; but the Fourth Princess was sure the sound would reach the adjoining Imperial Bedroom behind the Throne. And, sure enough, Greta Queenscage ¡ªholding a peacock feather quill in her hand; likely in the process of writing one of her letters¡ªemerged from the expanse soon enough.


    ¡°Could you please keep it down, Josie?¡± Greta sounded irritated, as if she was half-asleep, but her act was betrayed by her Imperial robes, the fabric hanging around her surprisingly lithe frame.


    Josie tilted her head. ¡°But you are, aren¡¯t you?¡±


    ¡°Even if I am, you don¡¯t have to announce it to the entire Empire¡ª Gods¡ª¡± Greta closed her eyes for a while, before opening them. ¡°What do you want?¡± the newly-crowned Empress asked tiredly, strolling over to the throne and lounging on it while speaking.


    Ah, Josie¡¯s conclusion was correct¡ªGreta didn¡¯t ask useless questions like, ¡®You were supposed to be in solitary confinement,¡¯ not unless it was for show.


    ¡°Military technology,¡± said the Fourth Princess, smiling. ¡°Bayonets, gunpowder bombs, guns ¡ª you¡¯re shifting the Empire¡¯s reliance on Chosen for their military, to modern technology.¡± Josephine blinked. ¡°When I heard that you gave your orders to the military marquessates¡ª¡± she¡¯d bribed a Servant to whisper what they¡¯d heard ¡°¡ªI thought to myself, ¡®What is Greta thinking?¡¯ But Ara said it was the wrong question.¡±


    Aphrodite¡¯s Chosen looked up at her sister.


    ¡°He said,¡± Josephine continued, ¡°to ask myself, ¡®What is Greta planning?¡¯¡± She tilted her head. ¡°You¡¯re a visionary, sister. You see the big picture, the whole dream, the entire future¡ªthe whole, and maybe even the parts, too.¡±


    By ¡ª if Josephine put it simplistically ¡ª using the Chosen less and modern weapons technology more, Greta would revolutionize warfare by subtracting the Gods¡¯ power from the equation; paving a way to the future without Chosen (which would get rid of the Empire¡¯s convoluted succession ceremony, which was, based on Greta¡¯s character, the logical endgame).


    ¡°You¡¯re going to get rid of the Cage for good,¡± repeated Josephine. ¡°Investing precious resources ¡ª especially in a war ¡ª towards the military marquessates as well as the Marksman duchy, it¡¯s a risk, but it¡¯s a step. You¡¯re interested in Zephyr¡¯s financial plan, too¡ª¡± she eavesdropped on a conversation ¡°¡ªwhich also might mean a step towards nautical trade. You¡¯re refurbishing the Empire¡¯s image while trying to conquer the Republic, and you have plans, sister. Big ones.¡±


    The Fourth Princess continued, evenly, ¡°How else would you excuse Second Brother¡¯s deployment to Eurus? The Library of Alexandria and Eurus¡¯ Order of Sciences? If you look carefully, all the evidence is there, sister.¡±


    A beat.


    The Empress raised an eyebrow. ¡°So?¡± Greta Queenscage asked.


    ¡°So,¡± responded Josephine, simply, ¡°you have big plans, sister. And I¡¯m bored.¡±


    Another beat, as Greta¡ª smiled.


    ¡°Well, then I¡¯ll have to give you something to do, don¡¯t I?¡± said the Ninety-Fifth Victor.


    <hr>


    Icio | Strike


    hit, smite, strike a bargain


    A Few Hours Before the Battle of Ends


    Cadmus, Eurus


    When he was young, Cyrus Queenscage looked up to people ¡ª what child didn¡¯t, really? Hortensia hadn¡¯t told him stories ¡ª neither had anyone, really ¡ª so Cyrus¡¯ childhood hobby had been to play make-believe by himself, instead. That expensive watch sitting on the cabinet became a hero on the edge of a cliff, and sticks became spears and leaves became capes.


    Elexis Cadmus¡¯ tale was well-known to the Empire ¡ª Cyrus had conversed with her on more than one occasion, in the years he¡¯d been prince. She¡¯d come off as strong ¡ª a true warrior, who paved her own path despite her heritage, not like those worm-bellied politicians who cared only about themselves.


    The image had crumbled, slowly, throughout the carriage ride to Eurus, when Cyrus had truly realized the Cardinal Duchess¡¯ age. Her withered fingers, the wrinkles that pulled at her face that no amount of elixir could fix ¡ª everything, all but hinted that the Stronghold of the East was overdue for a change in leadership.


    Cyrus knew Leon.


    Everybody knew Leon.


    Leon Cadmus, Elexis¡¯ son and only remaining child after Elexis had married off both of her daughters ¡ª allegedly, for being too manipulative a threat to Elexis¡¯ regime. He was around Cyrus¡¯ age and was as simple as an Imperial could be ¡ª many called him an idiotic brute, which was perhaps why they got along so well.


    If Cyrus had people he classified as friends, they would be Roxane and Leon¡ªwell, Roxane was more of a vassal, but no matter.


    The Order of Sciences¡ªthe sciences in question, of course, being Natural, Man-made, and Divine.


    Cyrus leaned back.


    Theology, the largest Divine Science, was more a subject made out of formality and empty boasts, than actual Belief¡ªvery rare, were actual extremists. Those that were usually completed their theology degree, slunk their way to the capital and started an anti-Imp organization, or committed a treasonous act that warranted execution. Under the category of Divine Science were, of course, other sciences; like theodicy¡ªcontroversial, of course¡ªand philosophy, for some reason.


    Biology, the largest Natural Science, was usually only taken upon in the search of a Physician certificate, a mix of both the sciences of the body, and how to heal said body. The current most important Science to Cyrus, currently, was the Man-made Science, what the Libraries called engineering.


    What he¡¯d said before was all common knowledge in the vaguest terms ¡ª to be an Analyst, you needed a variety of certificates from your Science of expertise to classify as a true ¡®Analyst.¡¯ Literary and political sciences ¡ª which were classified into the Divine category ¡ª were the most common fields for Analysts, Cyrus had been told.


    The Third Prince shifted.


    ¡°It is strange,¡± Greta had said, ¡°for an Analyst to specialize in a Man-made Science¡ªwhich was why Anasastia Andino was so unusual. It is even stranger for an Analyst like her to make it this far, being a pioneer in the field of weapons. What is not strange, is that she was overwritten in the annals of history.¡±


    ¡°So?¡± Cyrus had asked, irritated. ¡°What do you want me to do?¡±


    ¡°Recover, and recruit, in the simplest terms,¡± Greta had explained. ¡°Recover Anastasia¡¯s ¡ª complete ¡ª findings. Recruit those who can expand our knowledge.¡±


    Cyrus had snorted. ¡°You just want explosions that can blow up more stuff, don¡¯t you?¡± He hadn¡¯t asked why Greta hadn¡¯t just utilized his Lightning ¡ª it was, after all, uncontrollable, a gift from Zeus, the Lightning King.


    Greta had just smiled, wryly. ¡°Perhaps,¡± she had returned.


    Greta had managed to bait Cyrus to her side by promising the Branch Halgrove to him - it was a chain, he knew, but his vengeance needed it.


    They had taken his everything.


    He would make sure they were reduced to nothing.


    Even if it meant he had to give his soul to the devils Below.


    <hr>


    De verbo gloriae | Word of Honor


    A Few Hours During the Battle of Ends


    Written Letter, Set to Be Delivered, on Greta''s Desk


    Seraphina¡ª


    Report to Zephyr tomorrow.


    Judge if nautical trade can be implemented.


    Duchess Hyacinth shall be your supervisor.


    ¡ªGreta


    <hr>

 35. Search II

    I wrote my letters, and received one in return. Humming a ditty under my breath, I skimmed Greta¡¯s orders and burned the papers, smiling alone in my room. It¡¯s a good day, I thought, as I opened the curtains to leftover blood and carnage. Yes, it¡¯s a very good day.


    What had I said? Yes, now I remembered ¡ª when I¡¯d arrived, Diamandis had been all dust and story¡ªbut the city had grown on me like a particularly illusive wart. There were no assassins when I woke up in the morning, I hadn¡¯t needed to murder or torture anyone in the last hour, and I hadn¡¯t received a single nightmare since I¡¯d been in Petra¡¯s manor.


    Of course, I still kept A List of Nobles in the Empire Eoina by my bedside, out of habit; but I was¡ªnot happy, just content.


    And then I stopped what I was doing immediately and tried to figure out what the fuck was wrong with me.


    My Ability...was alive. It was quiet, as if upset that I hadn¡¯t used it in days ¡ª how could I use it, when I was paranoid it could potentially be feeding me false information ¡ª but it was alive, like before. Nothing was wrong with it.


    Had I...gotten soft?


    I mean, I would still kill and kidnap in the blink of an eye, but this feeling...was strange.


    Strange, that was the word for it. But I didn¡¯t have the energy to doubt the genuinity of my mood, so I shrugged on my robes and headed to my morning meal. Naxy was there, chomping on a bread rusk; and Petra was brutally slaughtering the fruit. Mercy was there, as well¡ªI didn¡¯t offer her a seat, since I knew she was the type to eat breakfast the second she woke up.


    I popped a grape into my mouth, picking up a piece of bread and slathering fruit jam on it. After I finished the piece off, I informed them, ¡°I have new orders. I¡¯m leaving for Zephyr tomorrow.¡±


    Naxy looked up. ¡°You¡¯re plucked away from us so soon,¡± he said, sniffling dramatically. ¡°Our child¡¯s all grown up, now.¡±


    ¡°Shut up,¡± grunted Petra. They were, evidently, not a morning person. The Ducal Lord blinked at me still. ¡°Are you going to take your boy with you?¡± they asked, stuffing a fruit in their mouth.


    ¡°Marianus? Not sure.¡± I applied jam to my bread. ¡°He¡¯s fitting in nicely here. If he betrays you while I¡¯m gone, though, I¡¯m sure you can handle it; so it¡¯d be best if he stayed, even if it¡¯d be nice to have another helping hand.¡± Xandros had already spread the song around like I¡¯d asked; and he was probably staying in an inn somewhere. Mercy frequented a room adjoined to my bedroom when she wasn¡¯t carrying out orders; but both of them weren¡¯t particularly sociable.


    Sociable.


    I snorted, internally.


    Anaxeres tilted his head. ¡°You¡¯re setting off tomorrow? From here, it¡¯ll take, how long? At least three days, I¡¯m betting on a regular horse¡ªand that¡¯s not including if you cut through the Epi Range.¡±


    Then Petra spoke. ¡°Two days, with the best horses we have¡ªthe one we used to ride from the capital to Notus¡ªand the fastest route we have on our hands. We did send our compiled information to Gr¡ªthe Empress,¡± they corrected themselves, ¡°but, really, the more important question is, what the fuck is she thinking.¡±


    ¡°Language,¡± corrected Naxy, absently.


    Petra scowled. ¡°It¡¯s opsec, I know¡ª¡± they sighed. ¡°You know what? Let¡¯s just stop talking about this. It¡¯s fucking three¡ª¡±


    ¡°Six,¡± corrected Naxy.


    Petra¡¯s scowl deepened. ¡°Six,¡± they amended, resentfully glaring at the other, ¡°in the morning. I just want to eat my damn bread in peace.¡±


    I shrugged. ¡°Fine by me,¡± I said.


    We ate the rest of our meal in surprisingly companionable silence.


    Of course, while thinking about our respective war crimes.


    <hr>


    What would nautical trade entail, exactly?


    Frankly speaking, the Imperial Navy sucked ass. The only thing it was good for¡ªat least on the surface level¡ªwas enforcing cargo ships that made up the trade route from the Empire, to the people across the Oceanus: the Easterners and the Middle-Easterners, the Empire¡¯s primary source of ¡®exotic¡¯ goods.


    From silks and spices, to tea and ivory, to sometimes even groundbreaking ideas and systems; it had formed after decades of diplomatic negotiations.


    That was what the Navy was good for. Enforcing nautical relations on that specific route. And then trade stops that occupied it, my Ability added.


    Harbormasters and the Navy were different. The East Quarter of the Imperial City enforced their own sets of regulations ¡ª of course, both the Navy¡¯s and the Quarter¡¯s rules both stemmed from official Imperial law, but the Docks dealt closely with Merchants that had their cargo ships coming in and out of the Isles.


    The Navy, on the other hand, had arguably more influence on what came in and out of the Empire itself; but was an entity¡ª further from the people, my Ability provided.


    Nautical trade.


    That was a strange field¡ªone I had little-to-no practical experience in.


    Was Greta aiming to blockade the Republic¡¯s nautical endeavors?


    ¡°We¡¯re going to Zephyr,¡± I informed my minions.


    Xandros blinked. ¡°Why?¡± he asked.


    ¡°We¡¯re there to scope out the nautical landscape there,¡± I informed them. ¡°But first¡ª¡± I handed out several handwritten copies of Marianus¡¯ information ¡°¡ªour current information. Strictly opsec¡ªif anyone leaks it, they¡¯ll be charged with grand treason, then executed immediately and very painfully.¡±


    I¡¯d skimmed the papers, of course ¡ª Marianus had been very thorough. Of course, he¡¯d skirted some details in the case he¡¯d run back to the Republic under the guise of a double agent attempt, but¡ª


    Xandros blinked at the paper he¡¯d been handed. ¡°This is¡­¡± he frowned.


    ¡°The movements of troops made so far¡ªwell, at least, in theory,¡± I explained. ¡°Since the Romulus Army mainly occupies Gloria and Bellum¡ªsome call them Forts, others Strongholds, but they¡¯re essentially military bases in the form of cities within cities. Even though Marianus is the primus pilus, he¡¯s also under the command of a praetor under the command of a Consul.¡±


    ¡°So there are no specifics, just numbers,¡± guessed Xandros.


    I inclined my head. Greta¡¯s assumption (perhaps she had solid intel, I didn¡¯t know) that Marcellus had stationed troops near Notus as a contingency had been correct¡ªbefore they¡¯d set out, Marcellus had moved the First Cohort.


    ¡°But they still have the monsters to deal with, as well,¡± Mercy said, running a hand through her dark hair (I¡¯d told her about them, of course).


    ¡°That¡¯s right,¡± I agreed. ¡°But that¡¯s what the Romus family¡¯s for, after all.¡± I drummed my fingers on the table¡ªwe were inside my bedroom, and I¡¯d made sure to Read for any eavesdroppers before I¡¯d started the debrief (the Reading bit was working; it was just the Weaving that was giving me a headache).


    I propped up two fingers. ¡°Romanus, for Romulus; and Romus, for, well, Romus. The families of the current Consuls¡ªthe families of most Republica Consuls in history, really¡ªhold the command of both Armies in the Legion.¡±


    ¡°Two praetors,¡± Alexandros said, slowly.


    ¡°Julian Marius Romanus; and Cecilia Valeria Romus,¡± I provided. I tilted my head, placing a finger on the table¡¯s surface. ¡°Since Greta¡¯s aiming for nautical trade, she¡¯s probably trying to hit Romus where it hurts while they¡¯re occupied with the Union¡ªcivil administration¡¯s what they¡¯re in charge of, after all. If she deploys Zephyr¡¯s ¡®navy¡¯ and manages, somehow, to find a way for boats through the Epivolous Range¡­¡± I traced a mock curve from my imaginary starting point to the other.


    Mercy saw what I saw. ¡°Blockade on Azareth,¡± she said.


    I gave a small nod. ¡°But that won¡¯t be enough to dent the granaries or their funds¡ªit would just cut off Republica-Imperial trade. If Sister¡¯s going to go the way I think she¡¯s going to go, she could potentially use Azareth as an entry point, and work her way inside from there.¡± I moved my fingertip east, tapping it on the imaginary continent.


    ¡°But if she really wants to put pressure on the ¡®Pubs,¡± I continued, fixing my eyes on the grain of the table, ¡°what we could do¡ªwhat she might be planning to do, since she deployed Cyrus to Eurus¡ªis pair with the Galani to get through the Snakelands and assault Bellum simultaneously, preventing movement of troops from one Army¡¯s Fort; if we do succeed in taking Azareth, we¡¯ll prevent movement of funds from the other, as well.¡±


    Two attacks at the same time.


    A flanking maneuver, from both sides.


    Xandros frowned from the corner of my eye. ¡°But that would need a lot of people,¡± he replied, slowly. ¡°Unless¡ª¡±


    ¡°We take advantage of this moment where morale is at its highest, and start conscription,¡± Mercy finished. A strange smile crept up on her face, before Xanthe tilted her head. ¡°If we do seize Azareth, the Merchants won¡¯t be satisfied¡­¡±


    I matched her grin, the amusement not even needing a prompt. ¡°You weren¡¯t there, of course,¡± I said, simply, ¡°but Duchess Hyacinth does have a plan for that.¡±


    A small silence, before Xandros broke it.


    ¡°Why stop there, Boss?¡± His eyes gleamed.


    I raised an eyebrow. ¡°That is one of my favorite questions,¡± I admitted. ¡°Continue.¡±


    Xandros continued, his tone getting more heated. ¡°If conscription rates do exceed at yielding a shit ton of people¡ªand maybe it will, ya never know what people do to pay the bills¡ªcouldn¡¯t ya take a shot at the capital after ya do your assaults, Boss?¡± His accent back again, he persisted: ¡°Three digs at the ¡®Pubs at the same time, Boss¡ªwouldn¡¯t that cripple ¡®em?¡±


    I had, of course, thought of that.


    ¡°It¡¯s risky,¡± I answered. ¡°A fully-fledged effort, this early on? Sure, if everything goes better than expected, it would be in consideration; but it depends on whether the Empire¡¯s willing to take the risk¡ª no, Greta,¡± I corrected myself. ¡°Whether Sister, a fresh Empress on the throne, is willing to take the risk¡ªafter all, if she fails, a coup wouldn¡¯t be that far in the future.¡±


    Xandros¡¯ face didn¡¯t fall as the former Guard initiate considered the information. ¡°Yeah,¡± he said, finally. ¡°You¡¯re right.¡± But there was passion in his eyes that made my lips quirk.Support the creativity of authors by visiting the original site for this novel and more.


    ¡°Write a proposal,¡± I ordered, smiling. ¡°To the Empress. I¡¯ll help you submit it.¡±


    Disbelief, before a flicker of something I hadn¡¯t seen in a long time, that flare that came with ¡®loyalty¡¯¡ª gratefulness.


    Xandros bowed his head. ¡°Thank you, Boss.¡± Surprising genuinity.


    I inclined my head. ¡°Say goodbye to your Notian friends,¡± I told him. ¡°Make sure, if everything goes to shit, that some of them owe you favors. Big favors¡ªas in, write-a-letter-and-they¡¯ll-send-you-information favors.¡± I smiled, before shoo-ing him away.


    And then I turned to Mercy.


    ¡°It¡¯s been delivered,¡± she responded, meeting my eyes.


    Go on, she seemed to say¡ª at least, that was what I¡¯d Read.


    It was so¡ª amusing.


    I threw my head back and cackled. ¡°Do you trust me, Xan?¡± I asked wryly, grinning. No more my Mercy.


    Something unreadable flashed behind my assassin¡¯s eyes. My Blade of Mercy¡ªthere was little I could call mine in this world, I realized. My fiance¡ª he¡¯d accepted out of political necessity. My duchy¡ª I¡¯d been basically expelled from it after I¡¯d returned home. My family¡ª full of madmen; insane killers that I trusted just about as far as I could throw them. My Empire? The roots of it were barely growing¡ªa tiny, tiny sapling in the ground.


    ¡°Xan,¡± I said again, mirth¡ªperhaps a tad too bitter for my taste¡ªflooding into my tone. I looked up at her. ¡°Will you abandon me like them all, my dearest Blade of Mercy?¡± I could feel my grin turn on its purpose¡ªturning too sharp, too brittle, too pointed at its corners to be anything but threatening.


    I was curious.


    Xanthe regarded me with¡ª un-Readable, I decided. An un-Readable emotion.


    Strange.


    ¡°Maybe,¡± she responded, simply.


    I let my smile flicker, as I closed my eyes and stretched in my chair¡ªit was a terrific opportunity to assassinate me, I thought; but then she¡¯d had so many opportunities to. I¡¯d slept in front of her, turned my back on her, nearly had spirals in front of her.


    I could feel her drawing closer¡ªI could feel her warmth as she leaned down and reached for my hand and brushed her lips against my knuckles. My Ability sparked in warning, and I immediately was struck with the temptation to snap my eyes open¡ªI ignored it, of course.


    ¡°No Oaths,¡± I said lazily, leaning back. ¡°No promises, no deals, no false hopes.¡± My eyes were still shut. ¡°Do you trust me, my mercy?¡±


    A long silence.


    ¡°Maybe,¡± she responded, standing up again.


    I smiled in the darkness. ¡°Alright, then.¡±


    That was enough¡ª


    Enough for a Paladin, this far in the Game.


    <hr>


    In the afternoon, I spoke with the Duke. We were sitting on a cliff overlooking the plain ¡ª the Duke precariously dangling his legs over the edge with a cup of wine in hand; my person situated slightly behind him, legs crossed, seated at the perfect angle and distance for me to push him over within a few seconds.


    My lips quirked as I looked at the sky instead ¡ª a vast expanse of that impossibly blue tint that came with a good day, the orb that occupied it shining down on a slaughter of hundreds. If not for the sheer amount of bombs transported, I doubted we would¡¯ve secured a victory against the Republic¡¯s forces, much less take the leader of them and convince him to turn.


    Anaxeres spoke.


    ¡°You seemingly have two Abilities,¡± he said casually, sipping his wine.


    Reading and Weaving.


    How he¡¯d picked up on that, I didn¡¯t know, but I voiced my answer. ¡°I have one Ability¡ªjust two functions. Two Abilities is unheard of.¡±


    Naxy shrugged. ¡°Who knows?¡± he asked nonchalantly, turning to me. ¡°Maybe it only happens every 500 years, every 100th Cage.¡±


    It was a possibility, but if there were two separate Abilities that lurked within me, I would¡¯ve known. No, it was a network that had two functions¡ªtwo strange functions, but still a singular network.


    ¡°It is a possibility, but I don¡¯t think it¡¯s true,¡± I said, smiling. I studied the view instead of Naxy¡¯s face, tapping my fingers rhythmically against the ground while lifting my head towards the sun. ¡°My Reading is alright. It¡¯s never been wrong before¡ªthe only Drawback is that it relies on cues.¡± Sensory cues, but Anaxeres didn¡¯t need to know that. ¡°My Weaving...has not been in the best shape, lately.¡±


    The Duke raised an eyebrow. ¡°Really? I¡¯d have thought¡ª¡± my Ability sparked and I moved to the left just as Naxy darted forward and reached for my throat (he would¡¯ve seized it, if I hadn¡¯t moved)¡ªhis fingers curling around empty air¡ªI jumped to my feet, pulling a dagger out from under my robes; and Anaxeres grinned. His eyes were wild as he ran a hand¡ªthe very one he¡¯d used to try and strangle me¡ªthrough his hair.


    ¡°They¡¯re reflexes,¡± he noted, smiling. ¡°Your Ability¡¯s predictive. I¡¯m right. A network, like I said before¡ªtruly, something worth betting on.¡±


    I returned his grin as I lashed out with my knife and let me, the gambler wheezing as I constricted his throat. The amiable Naxy was gone, and now I realized why he and Arathis were such good friends¡ªthe Duke of Tyche¡¯s expression didn¡¯t even falter.


    ¡°You said you wanted to see the finish line,¡± I said, conversationally, forcing the Duke backwards by his neck. ¡°What if it ends here?¡±


    ¡°Chance, my spider,¡± responded Anaxeres, coughing. ¡°It all depends on chance.¡± His hands twitched, as if shoving forward invisible poker chips¡ªor firing an invisible gun. That roulette, with the six chambers¡ªI threw my head back and laughed, before I leaned forward and examined him.


    ¡°You also said that Greta wanted you to train me into a spymaster,¡± I commented. ¡°You were lying¡ªthere¡¯s something else.¡±


    The gambler¡¯s smile widened as he felt my grip loosen, just a bit. ¡°Evlogia,¡± he said. ¡°Ara is pushing Evlogia to support you to the throne after Greta¡ªafter the war, you¡¯re a political candidate. Ara¡¯s planning to use this entire thing¡ªthis war¡ªto pit you against Greta¡ªthe spider, the dark horse.¡±


    My fingers twitched.


    What?


    ¡°Why?¡± I demanded, shaking the Duke.


    Anaxeres coughed. ¡°Because it¡¯s fun, obviously,¡± said the gambler, giving a wink. ¡°But that was happening even before the war¡ªsure, Ara fired that gun because he wanted to, but there were obviously strings behind it. Strings behind strings, behind strings. Josephine¡¯s just found out what Ara already knew Greta was going to do¡ªyou blindly followed your sister to get out of the situation you were in, but¡ª¡±


    He shrugged¡ªor at least tried to. ¡°Out of the frying pan, into the fire, I guess.¡± He continued, ¡°If Greta wanted to kill all of you and take the throne, she would¡¯ve done it a long time ago. You know that, my spider. She just wanted your Oath, she wanted your bet. She probably didn¡¯t expect her brother to die, but there are strings behind strings behind strings. You¡ªwe¡ªare on the stage of this entire war.¡± Naxy laughed, choking as I tightened my grip.


    ¡°You are not behind the stage, my dear spider,¡± Anaxeres Evimeria informed me. ¡°You are a puppet on it.¡±


    This is a Game.


    Naxy¡¯s words hammered away at the realization that lay at my Ability¡¯s core¡ªI was being used. This was an entirely different game than Queen¡¯s Crown, than the Cage, and I was a small Crownpiece. He wasn¡¯t lying, that I¡¯d known at the back of my head that something had been off.


    A sardonic smile crept its way on my face.


    I couldn¡¯t throw a childish tantrum and flip the Board over, this time.


    I couldn¡¯t win this Game.


    ¡°I will win this game, before I start the Game,¡± I told him, releasing the Duke¡¯s throat as he collapsed to the floor, coughing. My fingers had left bruises, but Anaxeres just winked again.


    What had I said to him?


    I do not enter races I cannot win.


    This¡ª Game? I wasn¡¯t sure if I could win¡ªif it could be won. It wasn¡¯t just becoming Empress, gaining power, it was¡ª


    ¡°Be careful, spider,¡± my mentor of a few days responded. ¡°This Game¡ªyou might not win. Once you retire from the stage, you cannot step on it again.¡± What might¡¯ve passed for genuine concern flashed in his eyes, before I reached my hand out.


    I merely smiled in response, offering to help him up.


    Anaxeres of Tyche took my outstretched hand.


    <hr>


    I told Xandros on the carriage that I was considering making him a baron.


    He took half of the ride to process it.


    ¡°A baron, baron?¡± he had asked, scratching his head.


    I had snickered. ¡°What else? A duke, duke?¡± I had nodded towards Mercy. ¡°She¡¯s almost set to become a baroness, soon,¡± I had elaborated. ¡°I could, potentially, get her boosted up to viscountess¡ªif I contribute enough, towards the war¡ªand let her ¡®family¡¯ take the spot of the Bloodthorn viscounty, if I manage to boost them up to county.¡±


    Alexandros had merely nodded, confusedly, and hadn¡¯t probed further.


    I¡¯d, of course, pondered on Anaxeres¡¯ words.


    If Greta wanted to kill all of you and take the throne, she would¡¯ve done it a long time ago. You know that, my spider. She just wanted your Oath, she wanted your bet. She probably didn¡¯t expect her brother to die, but there are strings behind strings behind strings. You¡ªwe¡ªare on the stage of this entire war.


    And:


    Ara fired that gun because he wanted to, but there were obviously strings behind it. Strings behind strings, behind strings. Josephine¡¯s just found out what Ara already knew Greta was going to do¡ªyou blindly followed your sister to get out of the situation you were in.


    Along with my personal favorite, of course:


    Ara is pushing Evlogia to support you to the throne after Greta¡ªafter the war, you¡¯re a political candidate. Ara¡¯s planning to use this entire thing¡ªthis war¡ªto pit you against Greta¡ªthe spider, the dark horse.


    That meant, one: Ara had wanted to start the war; two: he was planning to use Greta to clean up the Empire and let me take credit for it, because three: he was planning to make me the next Empress.


    That revelation was particularly unsettling¡ªbecause, well, Arathis wasn¡¯t the most stable person. It wasn¡¯t that I was the most stable person, either, but there needed to be something about me being Empress that he wanted¡ªand what did want? He wanted something fun, something interesting, but with strategic benefits, which led to my next point¡ª


    Josephine had found out something that Ara had known before he¡¯d started the war, something about Greta.


    Which meant there was something about my sister that had prompted two Chosen of the Gods to move against her.


    That aside, there was also the fact that Anaxeres had said that the entire poisoning incident¡ªwith me alerting Julian, Nikephoros¡¯ assassination, the entire thing¡ªhad been orchestrated by Greta to sway me to her side. Now that was less¡ªnot believable, because it was within my sister¡¯s capabilities, but...less reasonable? Less cohesive? Uncharacteristic, I decided.


    Likely, Naxy hadn¡¯t know why, either¡ªthat was why he¡¯d tested my Ability, to see if there was anything special about me.


    To add to all the political fuckery, there was a war going on.


    A war.


    I would''ve said unbelievable, but, considering the Empire, it was just another Dayhept.


    Calm down and think this through, I told myself multiple times. Don¡¯t punch the poor carriage driver¡ªhe has nothing to do with your bad mood.


    Of course, both Xandros and Mercy had noticed my foul mood as it progressively worsened in the two days it took to get to Zephyr, and both of them had feebly attempted to remedy it with badly carried-out jokes (Xandros) and very well-cooked and well-hunted rabbits (Mercy).


    The rabbits helped¡ªkind of.


    But I couldn¡¯t help the smile that crawled on my face as I saw the Stronghold of Zephyr come into my view.


    It was, thankfully, not on fire.


    My smile grew wider.


    <hr>


    Zephyr was beautiful in the way that your best friend¡¯s daughter was, I thought¡ªat least, if I had a best friend, and that best friend lived long enough to have a daughter. You were affectionately fond of it, just because it existed.


    Golden towers stretched high into the sky, the admirable construction of its intricate spires drawing my attention. The gate was made of Imperial gold, hyacinths¡ªthe Hyacinth Duchy¡¯s trademark flower¡ªetched into the arch along with the words: We go with the wind. The duchess surprisingly met us at the entrance, smiling brightly while waving her daffodil-yellow fan in greeting.


    We conversed before she led us to her manor, where we were greeted yet again, this time with a feast worth far more than empty platitudes.


    My stomach full, I excused myself¡ªat least, I tried to, before Delphine stopped my exit with the information that I had two new letters.


    I opened them later that day, and there was only one thing I could say:


    What the fuck?


    <hr>

 36. Search III

    <hr>


    These violent delights have violent ends; and in their triumph die, like fire and powder, which as they kiss consume.


    - UNKNOWN PLAYWRITER


    <hr>


    THERE WAS A TALE ABOUT A SCULPTOR AND HIS CREATION¡ªwidely known as both Pygmalion and Galatea; the former, who was a king, fell deeply in love with one of his sculptures that he¡¯d molded with his own hands (somehow).


    When he was younger, he hated women with all their ¡®detestable flaws,¡¯ and vowed to himself that he would remain celibate¡ªyet his sculpture, carved in the likeness of Aphrodite herself, became his one and truly love. Pygmalion kissed its lips, and lo behold it became alive with Aphrodite¡¯s blessing¡ªthe plaster fell away to reveal a woman beneath, who Pygmalion later married and had a child with: Galatea.


    If you ignored the artist¡¯s obsession¡ªwell, if you were competent enough of an artist, Arathis Delawar thought, all eccentricities could be forgiven¡ªwhat would it feel like, to have your creation take a physical form?


    That was the weakness of plans made during war¡ªthere was no dramatic flair, no theatricality of all the pieces falling into place; it was more of a haphazard Game, war¡ªminimizing losses and maximizing gains, because you could not prevent losses. There was no satisfaction from slaughter¡ªat least, mindless slaughter.


    Arathis disagreed with Pygmalion, and it wasn¡¯t just because of Pygmalion¡¯s mindless hate of women. Without the human mind¡ªthe center of all humanity¡¯s flaws¡ªthe world would be so unremarkable. There was no intrigue in perfection, nothing worthy of play in mindless action.


    That was why Arathis indulged himself in these games¡ªthe games, and the Game of Life itself: life was too short to be enjoyed, and too bitter to be loved¡ªbut existence; oh, the beauty of existence and the people that populated it.


    ¡°The Evlogia Duchy has fulfilled their promise,¡± said Alina, sipping her tea while narrowing her eyes. ¡°I have asked you once, and I will ask you again¡ªwhat do you want, Arathis Delawar?¡±


    The greenery was a pretty light green, flowers glittering a pretty maroon under the sun of the pretty outdoor pavilion, beige pillars stretching towards the pretty sky. It was hard to believe that it was Aionios in war¡ªthe beautifully dangerous Eternal City against a power of the continent.


    Arathis smiled¡ªor rather, widened his already-present smile.


    ¡°I do not want,¡± Hades¡¯ Chosen corrected. ¡°Nor do I take¡ªI swear, those really are the only words in the Imperial vocabulary, aren¡¯t they?¡± He drummed his fingers on the table. ¡°Let me be direct¡ªdon¡¯t look at me like that, Auntie Alina, I am fabulously generous, sometimes¡ªI want to help my family.¡±


    Alina¡¯s smile turned wry.


    ¡°We both know that doesn¡¯t answer the question, Arathis,¡± responded the duchess.


    ¡°Anything can be an answer to a question,¡± returned the Fifth Prince, laughing. ¡°It¡¯s more a matter of is it a correct, complete answer, than is it an answer¡ªbut I¡¯m sure you¡¯re not here to quibble over semantics, Auntie.¡±


    ¡°Such a roundabout way of deflecting, yet again.¡± Alina leaned back in her chair. ¡°What is your Endgame, dear prince?¡±


    Prince.


    If it were Cyrus in Arathis¡¯ place, undoubtedly the Third Prince¡¯s lips would¡¯ve soured by now. Josephine¡¯s expression wouldn¡¯t have changed¡ªshe would¡¯ve just giggled and said flirtatiously that she didn¡¯t need to be addressed so formally. Seraphina? She was used to being addressed as a member of nobility, so she would likely have little reaction. Greta? She was above reaction.


    Endgame.


    Hades¡¯ Chosen threw his head back and laughed. ¡°You see,¡± the Forsaken mused, recovering, ¡°you people are so obsessed with ends. Beginnings. Means to the ends to the worlds that you want to achieve¡ªmore specifically, you all are so obsessed with your own goals, your own selves, that you cannot possibly ponder the true depths of someone else¡¯s motivations.¡±


    It applied to himself too, of course.


    Arathis shook his head, pale hair glinting under the sunlight. ¡°I have no Endgame¡ªI do not want to change the world because I desire to. If I want to change the world, I will because I can.¡±


    Alina was actually listening to his Act¡ªwell, of course she was (Arathis didn¡¯t deny the use¡ªall good Acts were rooted in truth)¡ªbut¡­


    The Forsaken clapped his hands together giddily.


    ¡°What do I want?¡± he repeated the earlier question, smiling. ¡°Well, right now, I want to stop my sister from running this Empire to the ground.¡±


    I will stop her from destroying the Queen¡¯s Cage.


    The prince of death¡ªwho had not used his Ability once since it had been given to him¡ªthrew his head back yet again and laughed.


    ¡°The king, after all, cannot destroy their crown.¡±


    <hr>


    My hands were shaking¡ªI was shaking, with a bitter mix between laughter and¡ªwell, perhaps something breaching concerning waters, but that was an issue best left for later. ¡°Damn it,¡± I whispered, my voice low. Not falling, but¡ªfloating?¡ªto the ground, I shook my head and smiled. ¡°Damn it.¡±


    The letters glared at me, a wordless taunt.


    The peacock plans to destroy its cage.


    Shall the owl exit the stage?


    It reeked of Arathis¡¯ work, but Josephine¡¯s dove sigil had gleamed on the envelope¡ª¡¯its cage.¡¯ It was quite obvious, in context.


    Greta¡¯s Endgame was to destroy the Queen¡¯s Cage.


    It was a possibility¡ªalthough Arathis could be lying, but I doubted he was since all the clues pointed to him going against Greta for some reason¡ªso I had to wrap my head around the possibility of it. How Anaxeres had specifically used the phrase ¡®stage¡¯ along with this letter¡ªthat suggested communication between the two; likely due to Arathis¡¯ typical theatricality.


    No¡ªthat wasn¡¯t the bit to focus on, here.


    I had mistakenly thought that Greta would stop at uniting the continent under her reign¡ªbut it wasn¡¯t in our genes, my Ability finished. She was aiming for more¡ªthat was why she¡¯d brought out the tech: not because she¡¯d wanted to allocate the other Chosen strategically; but because she wanted to push the Empire¡¯s military reliance off the Chosen.


    If her plan worked¡ªand that was another matter¡ªafter the war (when/if we won) and rebuilding, with the implementation of new systems (that Greta would doubtlessly create), the Imperial Army wouldn¡¯t collapse if Greta destroyed the Cage and its stream of military.


    But it would be a controversial topic¡ªhow would she handle the divine backlash? How¡ª


    Harbinger.


    Tapes, provided my Ability. She¡¯ll leak the Cage records in the name of the Harbinger¡ª


    We were getting too ahead of ourselves.


    The war. A game after a game¡ªthis was the more important priority, the Wisest to value¡ª


    Wisest, my Ability agreed.


    But not best.


    We were in synchronization again, and it fit right into my senses like it¡¯d never frayed in the first place. But when it¡¯d been gone¡ª I¡¯d been fine. I hadn¡¯t made any stupid decisions¡ªrejecting Mercy¡¯s Oath. Unquestioningly obeying Greta¡¯s orders. Provoking Julian¡ªwell, any stupid decisions that had any lasting effects.


    Besides, you were the one who screwed everything up, with your idiotic conclusions, I spat.


    I never said that they were correct conclusions; just¡ª


    The Wisest. I was arguing with myself, and this wasn¡¯t productive.


    The war.


    Alexandros¡¯ treatise¡ª? Zephyr nautical trade. Potential Zephyr-Azareth blockade¡ª?


    Ara¡ªNaxy. Josephine¡ªGreta? Julian¡ªMarcellus¡ªMarianus¡ªValerius? Spies¡ªNaxy and Marianus...Cyrus¡ªEurus? Military efforts¡ªEurus-Bellum?


    My mind was spinning again¡ªmy Ability was at it, again, and it was only when Mercy coughed that I realized her presence. I¡ªwould¡¯ve realized her presence under normal circumstances.


    ¡°Are you alright, Your Highness?¡± she asked, genuine concern flashing in her eyes. Mercy Xanthe reached forward, as if offering a hand, before she seemingly thought better of it and stopped.


    ¡°Pudding,¡± I said, blinking at her. To her, I¡¯d probably been blankly staring at the letters, deep in thought. ¡°I want to eat pudding¡ªand get me paper. Lots of paper, please.¡± Of course it was a useful excuse to get her out of the room, but I narrowed my eyes at the wall after she left.


    How many pieces were at play here?


    The Imperial royals.


    Arathis, Josephine, Cyrus, Greta.


    The Cardinal duchies.


    Damokles, Elexis, Delphine, and Petra.


    The administrative duchies.


    Alina Evlogia¡ªDoxa. Anaxeres¡ªTyche. Matthias and Theadora Marksman¡ªInevita.


    The military marquessates.


    Damianos Drakos¡ªDrakos. Marquis Williams¡ªWilliams.


    The mercantile counties were probably under the control of Greta¡ªbut these were all the bigger pieces.


    So many pieces, but I was playing the wrong Game.


    I slammed a fist into the wall¡ªnot hard enough, not good enough, to draw blood. I did it again, purpling my knuckles as I forced myself to Think. Think. That was a capital-letter word? Think. Think.


    I refused to bend. Break. Submit. Play¡ªdo you refuse to play?


    My Ability was curious.


    ¡°I can¡¯t refuse to play,¡± I said, shaking my head as I smiled at my bruised hand. Surprisingly, my mind was clearer¡ªit was garbled, like it always was, but the thoughts were distinct. ¡°I need to Think¡ªyes, I need to Think.¡± A laugh shook my body¡ªI¡¯d always only needed to Think¡ªbefore I slammed my fingers into the solid wall again.


    I¡¯d made a mistake.


    I¡¯d underestimate Greta, the one thing that was not Wise.


    I was a fool a fraud not a Victor.The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.


    Think.


    Greta wanted to destroy the Queen¡¯s Cage. Arathis didn¡¯t. Josephine was likely in the middle, and Cyrus would go along with anyone who had the upper hand and could help him with revenge. Anaxeres mentioned something about a dark horse¡ªwhich meant that, after the war was over, political factions would be fully formed (not that they weren¡¯t in the midst of forming, already).


    But right now¡ªduring war¡ªthe Empire would lose if cracks were beginning to form in their system, and Imperials could be many things, but they weren¡¯t stupid (arguably). Conquering the Republic meant more land, more titles, more resources to exploit¡ªthey weren¡¯t going to give it up just yet, not while Greta had the current upper hand and could lead them to victory.


    Political turmoil would come after.


    This entire Queen¡¯s Cage debacle would come after.


    It was a priority that would come after.


    I was bound by Oath¡ªI couldn¡¯t betray Greta. A mistake, my Ability said.


    Perhaps, I agreed.


    I interlocked my hands together, leaning backwards on the foot of my bed. I heard the door open¡ªthe footsteps weren¡¯t Mercy¡¯s.


    Before I spun on my heel and reached for my dagger, a slightly smiling face greeted me.


    ¡°Your Highness, Seraphina,¡± the Duchess of Zephyr said, accompanying the greeting with a giggle. ¡°It appears we have much to discuss.¡± The Cardinal Duchess shook a pouch in her right hand. Dominoes. She fluttered her fan with her left hand, eyes casually skimming over my bruised hand as if it was but a room decoration.


    ¡°Do you like the theater?¡± Delphine Hyacinth asked me, eyes gleaming.


    <hr>


    The duchess was beautiful.


    Most Imperials usually were, after having access to a century of picking only the best and most beautiful¡ªlineages were built across both aesthetic and political preferences, although the latter did win against the former.


    Wispy blonde hair (strange, for an Imperial) clung to her high cheekbones, blue eyes glinting even in the curtain-drawn room as the ethereal duchess seated herself beside me on the floor.


    I¡¯d known of the Hyacinth Duchy since I was young¡ªeveryone had.


    I¡¯d met Delphine herself a few times, when she¡¯d first passed on the title after her father had passed. She¡¯d been mocked as airheaded and ditzy¡ªeven now, those rumors were still prominent in anti-Cardinal circles¡ªand her competence had been unassuming in the way that everyone had still found ways to nitpick.


    But if you looked carefully¡ªreally, really carefully¡ªshe was more than competent. I¡¯d revised my assumptions about her when she¡¯d brought the proposal up at the Imperial council, which meant¡ª


    Delphine folded her fan and placed it on my lap, as easily as if she were hanging a hat on a coat stand, delicately unfurling the pouch to reveal¡ªdominoes. As we¡¯d guessed. I hadn¡¯t taken her for the domino type, but I watched silently, waiting as she placed one on the floor before answering her question.


    ¡°I go when I have time,¡± I said.


    The duchess smiled brightly at that, but her gaze never left the dominos. She was setting up her third one, the spaces precisely calculated, as she replied. ¡°Plays are much more wonderful than people think¡ªflaw encourages challenge, perfection even more. But the former provokes the arrogant, the latter those who cannot let others¡¯ perfection taint their own.¡±


    I smiled. ¡°Which one do you prefer then, Your Grace? Being a person of flaw, or perfection?¡±


    Delphine giggled. ¡°Is that even a question, dear?¡± she asked, placing her fourth domino. ¡°Perfection only comes in appearance¡ªbesides, the arrogant facing tragedy always makes for a pretty sight.¡±


    The duchess plucked a few more dominos out of the pouch, branching off the dominos that were already there¡ªthe first domino was placed behind the second, but the second was connected to systems that the fourth were, binds and boundaries and loyalties that my Ability immediately tried to calculate.


    The positioning wasn¡¯t thoughtless.


    ¡°Myths humanize those in power,¡± continued Delphine, her light smile still on her lips as I watched her set up the pieces. ¡°The people? They see those on the throne making mistakes, and think themselves capable of doing better¡ªthe throne, the crown, the Game itself is an invitation. Hierarchies are meant to be toppled, dynasties meant to be ended, kingdoms to be lost and found.¡±


    I could feel her trail of thought¡ªit was fun.


    ¡°History repeats itself,¡± I mused.


    The renowned airhead was gone.


    The duchess inclined her head, before she giggled again. ¡°Humanity is a tragedy, and its history a spectacle¡ªso very much like a Play, correct?¡± She¡¯d set up the game quickly, the domino-line stretching to a number around twenty.


    I could see the Empire¡¯s aristocracy in it¡ªshe had a masterful grip on it, I thought; if I weren¡¯t confused on which Imperial was who in the beginning, it¡¯d have been a marvel.


    ¡°There is no wrong¡ªor right¡ªway to play the Game of Life,¡± said Delphine, placing the last domino. ¡°Allies? Opponents? Victors? Losers? It doesn¡¯t¡ªand will never¡ªmatter. To play¡ªto live, to truly live¡ªis to enjoy the Game.¡± Her fingers left the lined-up dominos.


    ¡°Tell me, Your Highness, are you having fun?¡± the Duchess asked, fluttering her fan to the rhythm of her eyelashes. The renowned airhead was gone, I thought, as she continued. ¡°Disregard the politics, the why, the how¡ªto Tartarus with practicality; are you enjoying the Game?¡±


    She was similar to Arathis¡ªAnaxeres, too; but unlike Damokles and Elexis. Was it the volatility of their youth-but-not-youth? They were older than me, but in their early twenties, all of them¡ªwas it their age or their personalities? It matters not whether you win or lose, rather how you play the Game. How you live. I didn¡¯t¡ªcouldn¡¯t? Wouldn¡¯t¡ªunderstand.


    A Game was to be Won.


    That is what the world tells you, my Ability chided.


    I had nothing I wanted to say.


    So I looked at the dominos.


    ¡°Where am I?¡± I asked finally, a wry grin spreading on my face as my hand continued to sting.


    ¡°That would be spoiling, dear,¡± said the duchess with a wink.


    I pouted. ¡°Please, Your Grace?¡± I raised my eyebrows while fluttering my eyelashes like she¡¯d done, to which Delphine giggled.


    ¡°You¡¯re adorable,¡± she noted smilingly. Her airy voice was low now, as she pointed to the two dominos at the top of the chain. ¡°You¡¯re either the second one, or the first one¡ªI have a hunch, of course, but it would be cheating if I told you.¡±


    The second one, that sets off the game while pushed by the first one (Greta? Arathis?) or the first one, that can change the entire game.


    I smiled.


    ¡°Well, then,¡± I said, winking, ¡°we wouldn¡¯t want to cheat, would we?¡±


    We left the dominos untouched.


    <hr>


    After my fruitful conversation with the duchess, I went out. It was evening, and while Alexandros threw ideas at me about a new war strategy, Mercy and I were sharing a portable cup of pudding that exchanged hands after we both had our individual spoons. It was good pudding.


    The sunset was slightly boring, the colors muted; but other than that, the walk to the Zephyr docks was quite alright¡ªwe made for a motley trio, but the Princeblood (the name for the Zephyrean Branch of the Imperial Army) were well hidden accompanying our trip, and we weren¡¯t bothered by any assassins.


    ¡°Would that actually be authorized?¡± Xandros asked, frowning.


    ¡°What, transporting the ballistae via ship?¡± I asked. ¡°I mean, it is risky¡ªif the ¡®Pubs get ahold of our plans and use their weapons to sink our blockade, all of our precious ballistae are going to go bye-bye.¡±


    I stretched. ¡°No, if you want to use the ballistae in your proposal, your best bet¡¯s going to be sneaking it in with Anaxeres¡¯ spies¡ªthey¡¯re headed for Honos, but sneaking them in with some Imperial Merchants¡¯ illegal shipments would be better.¡±


    Xandros blinked. ¡°Is that why the financial partnership with the Merchants was brought up?¡± he questioned, quizzically. I¡¯d told him about it, of course.


    ¡°Technically not¡ªbut you could always use it as an advantage. We can discuss it later¡ªoh, you¡¯re done?¡± Receiving a nod from Mercy, I accepted the half-eaten bowl of pudding, shovelling a spoon in my mouth before turning to Xandros. ¡°Practicality, adaptability, and benefit in both the short and long term¡ªthat¡¯s what they¡¯re looking for,¡± I informed him. That¡¯s what Greta¡¯s looking for.


    Xandros blinked. ¡°So what are we doing here, though, Boss? I mean, I get it, we have to scope out the Princeblood¡¯s navy, but¡ª¡±


    I shook my head. ¡°That¡¯s not what we¡¯re doing,¡± I corrected him, before correcting myself. ¡°It¡¯s part of the main objective, yes; but we¡¯re testing the depths of other waters. Murkier waters.¡± The Epivolous Range was the barrier to nautical trade¡ªif you took Greta¡¯s objective as it was, you would be trying to find a way through or around it; because, after all, you couldn¡¯t destroy a mountain.


    But people¡ªespecially Merchants¡ªwere always skilled at finding loopholes.


    Xandros caught my drift. ¡°It would usually take more than a Dayhept to integrate yourself in any Stronghold¡¯s underworld, Boss,¡± he warned. ¡°We can¡¯t just waltz in and take whatever we want.¡±


    I smiled. ¡°That¡¯s why I¡¯m doing the waltzing, aren¡¯t I?¡± I handed the pudding back to Mercy, who took it gracefully.


    The Zephyr docks weren¡¯t really docks¡ªthat, I knew. It was more of a camp at the edge of the Stronghold, at a location where it was around a Dayhept¡¯s walk through a valley between thinning mountains to reach the left Oceanus (where there would likely be actual ports waiting).


    But Merchants were still milling in the area, bustling, angrily chastising their cargo ship captains with a flurry of documents. The ban on Imperial-Republica trade due to escalating hostilities likely hadn¡¯t gone over well¡ªperhaps a phenomenon of the same kind was spreading at Doxa, as well; but based on the sheer amount of platin that Zephyr got from the ¡®Pubs, this particular fight was quite a worrisome one.


    At least, for the Merchants.


    There were merchants and there were Merchants, the distinguishing capital letter being the result of being officially recognized by the Empire. Mercantile families¡ªthose with long-dating lineages¡ªwere usually those who had the best shot at landing themselves a writ and a barony (if sponsored by a mercantile county, who was usually in turn sponsored by a duchy).


    I went over to the wealthiest, angriest Merchant I saw, and tapped him in the shoulder.


    ¡°Pardon, monsieur¡ª¡± I laid a Rhianite accent to my words, widening my blue eyes as he whirled around, face already red from yelling at his cargo ship captain.


    ¡°Who are you?¡± he demanded. He turned to his aide. ¡°Who is she?¡±


    I yelped, as if startled. ¡°No¡ªmonsieur; I have money, yes? Do you want de l''argent¡ªmoney?¡±


    The aide looked mildly irritated, and I was drawing attention. ¡°My apologies, but he¡ª¡±


    But already the Merchant had perked up at the prospect of a rich foreigner, although still angry. ¡°How much?¡± he demanded. ¡°Can you make me the loss of a year¡¯s worth of platin?¡±


    I tilted my head. ¡°I do not know what this platin is, monsieur,¡± I said, scratching my head, ¡°but¡ªI have gold. My father gave me¡ªles mille? Yes, more than a thousand drachmas.¡±


    The Merchant frowned. ¡°A thousand silver?¡±


    ¡°No, monsieur,¡± I corrected, reaching for the pouch inside my robes. I drew it out, and opened it, and the Merchant stared at it reverently. ¡°More than a thousand gold.¡± I tilted my head again. ¡°Can we talk now, monsieur? I have more gold, if you want.¡± The Imperial Treasury did have much more gold, but¡ª


    The Merchant chewed his lips. ¡°We can talk,¡± he agreed, the red from his face dissipating as a smooth smile appeared almost magically. He stretched out his hand. ¡°My name is Horatio¡ªHoratio Ps¨¦ftis.¡± Liar, deceiver, storyteller. What a fitting surname.


    I inclined my head. ¡°It is nice to meet you, monsieur Ps¨¦ftis. I am Sarah Orguiel¡ªlet us, how do you say, make deal?¡±


    Horatio smiled greedily. ¡°Yes, let us make deals.¡±


    <hr>


    ¡°I am a comtesse,¡± I lied, ¡°under the High King. That would be equivalent to an Imperial countess, I think?¡± I pretended to look to my ¡®translator¡¯ for confirmation, to which Mercy nodded. ¡°Yes, a countess.¡±


    Horatio didn¡¯t let eagerness eclipse his face, but his aide did. ¡°Ah,¡± he said, casually. ¡°I understand¡ªit¡¯s a sticky situation under the current¡­¡± His lips puckered with the slightest distaste.


    ¡°War,¡± I provided.


    ¡°War,¡± he agreed.


    The angry mercher was gone, replaced by a smooth, silver-tongued Merchant who was going to con me out of all my money. I smiled.


    ¡°I do not understand the situation much,¡± I confessed. ¡°This...edict?¡±


    ¡°Imperial Order,¡± Mercy corrected, in persona.


    ¡°Yes, Imperial Order¡ªthis Imperial Order has seemed to affect your populace,¡± I probed. ¡°Could you explain it, monsieur? I¡¯m afraid I¡¯m a bit...confused.¡±


    Horatio didn¡¯t miss a beat.


    ¡°Ah, you see,¡± he explained, ¡°the Imperial Order was quite well-written¡ªwell, it must be, to make it past the Censors¡ªbut there¡¯s dissent. Not in the people, but in the merchants, and marquessates, the counties.¡±


    I pretended to understand. ¡°Ah¡ªfactions. I understand, yes.¡± He was trying to overwhelm me, but I didn¡¯t need to dwell on that. ¡°But I need a¡ªnavire, a ship. I need to go to the Republic¡ªyou see, my lover is there; and I¡ªyou will not suffer backlash from the High King, I promise, my father is authorized¡ª¡± I cut myself off, shaking my head.


    Horatio looked mildly disconcerted, but he caught my implication. ¡°A ship to the Republic?¡±


    I nodded. ¡°Azareth¡ªville portuaire de la r¨¦publique, yes. I have money¡ªlots of it.¡± I pretended to widen my eyes in desperation.


    Horatio saw the opportunity, and took it. ¡°What you¡¯re suggesting is treason,¡± he replied, shortly, ¡°going against the Imperial Order. If it was another¡­¡± He stretched out the silence, before clearing his throat. ¡°But, you are in luck. I have a way¡ªat least, that was what I would say, if the Princeblood weren¡¯t gathered outside the door.¡±


    Ps¨¦ftis shook his head. ¡°I¡¯m sorry, whoever you are¡ª¡± he didn¡¯t seem particularly remorseful ¡°¡ªbut it¡¯s quite obvious. I¡¯m in over my head.¡±


    He noticed.


    I chuckled, slowly, reverting back to my usual Imperi as I gestured for Mercy to give me the pudding. ¡°Well, Face Ps¨¦ftis, you¡¯re a very smart man,¡± I said, delicately spooning the second-last mouthful of pudding in my mouth. I swallowed before tilting my head. ¡°It seems you¡¯ve caught me.¡± I set down the bowl.


    Horatio was watching, carefully.


    I withdrew my Seal from my robes, and placed it next to the nearly-finished pudding bowl.


    ¡°How much do I have to pay,¡± I asked, lightly, ¡°for all your money and connections?¡±


    <hr>


    Delphine watched the Sixth Princess arrive with a smile on her face.


    That hadn¡¯t been her only pouch of dominoes¡ªputting all of your dominoes in one pouch would be...comedic.


    Under the evening light, the Duchess of the West set up her masks.


    She really doesn¡¯t know, why Greta went to such great lengths for her.


    Or she doesn¡¯t consider it a possibility.


    Delphine Hyacinth fiddled with the first one, deliberating, before setting it down and tapping it lightly with the fan. It fell over, and so did the others¡ªa uniform, neat line of plates and squares and conflicts, a unity in division.


    War was a tragedy, and she loved watching them.


    ¡°She really doesn¡¯t know,¡± marvelled Delphine out loud, ¡°that she¡¯s the last Harbinger.¡±


    <hr>

 37. Interlude: Blame

    <hr>


    Winners are fools, losers the same¡ªtrue folly the thought of escaping the Game.


    The wise are foolish, the foolish claim;


    Lo behold the truest fool, one who has but the Gods to blame.


    - AQUILA''S MUSINGS, ON THOUGHT


    <hr>


    THE REVELATION OF A CHARACTER''S MORAL AMBIGUITY USUALLY COMES IN TORRENTS.


    One great wave, one final crescendo, one resounding snap of the mind that ricochets throughout the story as the character finally breaks down. The hero realizes that the world might not be so great after all, and learns a valuable lesson, a moral, that the story propagates.


    For me, it¡¯s more of a creeping shroud.


    When you¡¯re out in a snowstorm¡ªnot that I¡¯ve ever been in a snowstorm before¡ªthat chill that lingers on your skin, faint but growing, culminating until that moment your mind decides to notice it with a resounding oh, I¡¯m cold.


    Oh, I¡¯m a mass murderer.


    Oh, that person I bantered with just a few days ago, I tricked and lied into a poisonous pit.


    They¡¯re dead.


    I killed them.


    There¡¯s no way to go, no option to take without falling on the path of madness, no other choice other than to accept it. Acceptance.


    Oh. Alright.


    Acceptance, says my Ability. You have to accept it.


    But I don¡¯t want to ¡®oh, alright¡¯ my way out of this, I argue.


    Acceptance, it simply repeats. You have to accept it.


    Oh. Alright.


    ¡°Oops,¡± I say aloud.


    Cas looks at me, casually. ¡°The game¡¯s not over.¡±


    I grin¡ªa reflex¡ªas I shake my head. ¡°No, it¡¯s not¡ªbut I don¡¯t really feel like playing anymore. Should we call it a day?¡±


    I¡¯m not really giving him a choice, am I?


    ¡°Sure,¡± he agrees, surprisingly readily. He does give the pit (and the screams that come out of it, tuned in remarkably familiar voices) a second glance, one strangely carved hollow, as we both head towards our secret camp.


    <hr>


    ¡°The island gives me the fucking creeps,¡± I admit after a while. We¡¯re seated around the rocks¡ªit¡¯s not dark enough for a fire, so the center remains empty¡ªand I look at my hands. They¡¯re supposed to be bloody¡ªeverytime I feel a flash of remorse, crimson flecks my palms: that¡¯s the way it is. That¡¯s the way you think it is.


    Cas smiles wryly. ¡°It¡¯s supposed to be creepy¡ªno leaves, no insects.¡± His eyes were hazy, and I tilted my head, studying him.


    ¡°Are you alright?¡± I ask him, more out of courtesy than care.


    ¡°Seen worse,¡± he says back.


    I arch a brow. ¡°Done worse?¡±


    He barks a laugh. ¡°Those are two different things.¡±


    He evaded the answer. I shrug. ¡°It looks like we¡¯ll win soon,¡± I comment airily.


    ¡°Only one person Wins,¡± Poseidon¡¯s Chosen corrects.


    I turn to him. ¡°You want to lose?¡±


    ¡°There¡¯s nothing to Win for.¡±


    The statement makes me frown internally, delivered with firm nonchalance, but I let the silence stretch on.


    ¡°I¡¯m hungry,¡± he breaks it.


    I thumb at the tents. ¡°Jerky¡¯s in the back.¡± He knows that.


    Something wet dapples my cheek.


    Ah.


    The awkwardness of the conversation had likely been due to the fact that I was crying.


    Oh.


    I laugh.


    <hr>


    ¡°You mentioned before,¡± I say, after I¡¯ve wiped all my tears away, ¡°that sometimes we have to be honest with each other, that problems sometimes need to be faced as humans, not business partners.¡± I turn to him. ¡°Is there a problem? I think there¡¯s a problem.¡±


    He merely raises his eyebrows. ¡°No, there¡¯s not a problem.¡±


    I blink. ¡°I mean, if you don¡¯t want to talk about it¡ª¡±


    ¡°There¡¯s not a problem.¡± His voice is still calm, but it¡¯s heavy.


    I wouldn¡¯t have pressed the issue if my Ability wasn¡¯t ringing alarm bells in my ears, but I shrug. ¡°Right, if you say so,¡± I say, looking at the sky. ¡°It¡¯s afternoon, already. They should be done by now¡ªor at least realized that we¡¯re not playing anymore. We swore an Oath that we would play by the rules, so we should hunt some monsters if we¡¯re pushing the idea that the murders were just a break.¡±


    Apparently, wide recognition is just what Oaths need¡ªsince there¡¯s no rules that we can¡¯t take a break, and no rules barring the murders of other players, our Oath isn¡¯t broken.


    At least, you hope so.


    Gods, my Ability¡¯s been so fucking irritating lately.


    ¡°Vivianna and Jonas¡ªthey both have to have some clue,¡± I say. ¡°Some clue, some idea that this is¡ª¡± I waved a flippant hand ¡°¡ªwhat it is. The Cage is a game in a game in the Game¡ªthey can¡¯t just topple the board and be done with it.¡± My Ability¡¯s affecting my words. That¡¯s not a good sign. ¡°They must know it¡¯s too easy,¡± I continue. ¡°If it were this easy, someone else would¡¯ve done it a hundred years ago¡ªnot the specific escape thing that Jonas tried, the entire possibility of escape.¡±


    Cas raises his eyebrows. ¡°Is that an excuse?¡±


    For wanting to Win over escape?


    I return the statement with matching incredulity. ¡°If it were an excuse, I wouldn¡¯t be the type to make an excuse for making an excuse.¡±


    Poseidon¡¯s Chosen breaks the gaze. Huh. That¡¯s a first.


    ¡°It¡¯s unsettling,¡± he says, finally. ¡°You¡¯re still thinking about this as a game.¡±


    Hostility flares, but I stamp it out. ¡°At least I¡¯m trying not to,¡± I counter, calmly. ¡°I believe that I¡¯ve been trying my best to win this entire Cage¡ªI also believe that I¡¯ve told you this, many, many times before. Again, I¡¯m not sure why this is a problem.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s not.¡± Cas sighs. ¡°Problems have solutions, things you can do to change the situation. You can¡¯t just change a person¡¯s way of thinking¡ª¡± he cuts himself off. ¡°It¡¯s just unsettling in general. I used to not find it unsettling, but right now, I¡¯m conflicted. I feel different.¡±


    I inspect him.


    ¡°Are you planning to break off our partnership?¡± I ask, mildly.


    Cas shakes his head. ¡°I don¡¯t know. I don¡¯t know anything¡ªI feel different, and¡ªI don¡¯t know.¡± He looks at me. ¡°I said that I had things I wanted to do, things I can¡¯t do once I¡¯m dead. Things like changing the Empire¡ªI told you about that, didn¡¯t I?¡± Didn¡¯t I? He looks hollow, his face and his words and his toothy grin gone, dripping off his face like a mourning veil discarded.


    ¡°Yeah,¡± I say, cautiously.


    This is not Caspian Nameless.


    ¡°I¡¯m not worthy, I think,¡± Poseidon¡¯s Chosen says, enunciating the words softly, a whispered prayer. ¡°It¡¯s not I think I can¡¯t, it¡¯s just that I¡ªshouldn¡¯t. I shouldn¡¯t survive this. I¡ªdon¡¯t feel. I can¡¯t feel for¡ª¡± his voice breaks. ¡°The whole concept of sacrifice is that you have to sacrifice something that¡¯s worth something. I sacrificed my morality, didn¡¯t I? I sacrificed feeling something after death¡ªthey say morality makes up your self, so technically I sacrificed my self, and I¡ª¡±


    This is not Caspian Nameless.


    The dashing rogue is gone.


    ¡°I don¡¯t feel different,¡± Caspian breathes. ¡°I sacrificed myself, and it wasn¡¯t really worth anything. I¡ªto this world, to this Universe, to this sky¡ªam not worth anything. My morality¡ªmy self¡ªis not a worthy sacrifice for the Gods, and I am not worthy to change the Empire. I am nothing, even to myself, because my ¡®self¡¯ is gone.¡±


    He smiles.


    ¡°It¡¯s gone, Sera. I¡¯m gone. I¡¯m not me, because I do not have worth.¡±


    What had I said?


    I value you.


    ¡°That¡¯s shit,¡± I reply.


    Cas blinks.


    ¡°The last sentence? That¡¯s shit,¡± I continue. ¡°Revolution knows no criteria. You want to be a vigilante hero and wave a sword around while saving the Empire? Go fucking do it. I dare you. But don¡¯t say that you aren¡¯t ¡®worthy¡¯¡ªlook at this mess.¡± I gesture wildly around us. Anger, desperation, something more flares up in me. ¡°Look at this utter shithole of a mess we¡¯ve gotten ourselves into. Are you going to say that none of this matters? None of this doesn¡¯t have worth? Who are you, to judge yourself¡ªwho are you, to judge the world, Caspian Nameless?¡±


    I stab a finger in his chest, smiling all the while.


    ¡°If you say that the world has judged you unworthy, then the world is blind. And you are, too, for thinking that anyone in this shitty plane of existence can mete out any true form of ¡®judgement.¡¯ True judgement? It¡¯s a scam. Morality? Self? Good? Bad? Who are you to think that you can judge the world?¡±


    I lean closer.


    ¡°Who are you, if unworthy of judgement?¡±


    I laugh.


    ¡°Change encompasses all. It doesn¡¯t matter who brings it.¡± I tilt my head. ¡°And if Fate is written in the stars¡ªif you believe that something, someone, out there is capable of judging you¡ªyou can judge them back. If Fate is truly written in the stars, then go up to the sky and erase every single line that prophesies your life. Go do it. I fucking dare you.¡±


    If you are not worthy¡ªthen am I? Enjoying the story? Show your support by reading it on the official site.


    I release the collar that I don¡¯t even realize I¡¯m holding.


    ¡°Get ahold of yourself,¡± I say. ¡°You forget.¡±


    You forget that you¡¯re supposed to help me Win.


    <hr>


    After I dramatically storm off, I stumble upon the two people I¡¯m least looking forward to seeing.


    ¡°Hey, Viv!¡± I wave a hand. ¡°Jonas!¡±


    The former inclines their head in acknowledgement, while the latter just blinks.


    ¡°Having fun monster-hunting?¡± the noble lady asks, unperturbed.


    I smile brilliantly. ¡°Got a bit sidetracked,¡± I admit. ¡°Took a break. Killed Rayan and Arden. Hope it doesn¡¯t mess up the game.¡±


    Vivianna¡¯s smile gets slightly more strained, but Jonas merely waves a hand.


    ¡°It¡¯s easy to get lost in the game. It¡¯s the spirit that counts, after all, right?¡± Hephaestus¡¯ Chosen asks, flippantly. His eyes gleam. ¡°Gambling makes life just a bit more exciting¡ªsometimes too exciting for some people. Easy to get caught up in all the thrill, we understand.¡±


    I laugh, ignoring the hidden context. ¡°You¡¯re such a good sport,¡± I reply. ¡°Now I almost regret trying to kill you. We would¡¯ve been great friends.¡± I¡¯m lying, of course.


    The Forgetouched smiles wryly. ¡°¡®Great friends are better made than lost,¡¯¡± Jonas quotes.


    ¡°¡®And great enemies are better fought than made,¡¯¡± I finish, before breaking out into a grin. ¡°Iraklidis. You¡¯re a fan?¡±


    He had access to ¡®higher education.¡¯ A noble, likely¡ªor someone dangerous. We should¡¯ve offed him when we¡¯d had the chance¡ªwho knows how Vivianna would¡¯ve been without his influence.


    ¡°More of a hidden supporter,¡± Jonas replies. ¡°When it comes to the sciences, I¡¯m merely a novice, I¡¯m afraid.¡±


    I laugh again. ¡°I somehow doubt that.¡± And I¡¯m not even lying, this time.


    Vivianna takes the beat to ask, ¡°Where¡¯s your better half, Sera? I hear he¡¯s been a bit...conflictive lately.¡±


    I smile pleasantly, again ignoring the hidden context. ¡°You know, doing this and that. He insists on doing the hard work¡ªkilling monsters, and the like. I keep telling him that two heads are better than one, but he never listens.¡± I pretend to grimace. ¡°But, either way,¡± I begin, ¡°I¡¯m sure I¡¯m holding you up. Wouldn¡¯t be fair if I did.¡±


    Instead of taking the obvious cue, Jonas instead tilts his head.


    ¡°What do you think about this Cage?¡± he asks with surprising earnesty. ¡°Have you noticed...anything strange?¡±


    I don¡¯t let my smile turn stiff. I pretend to think. ¡°Yes, Rayan brought that up, didn¡¯t he? Enemy lieges, and all that.¡± I shrug. ¡°Bit careless of me, to not hear him out, but I never was a disciple of the divine sciences. Never got any formal formal education.¡±


    ¡°But you¡¯re a noble,¡± says Vivianna, with a frown.


    I shrug again.


    Jonas studies me again. ¡°You¡¯ve noticed,¡± he says. ¡°That there¡¯s something different about this Cage.¡±


    I widen my smile. ¡°Of course I have. Would be a fool if I hadn¡¯t.¡±


    Vivianna¡¯s frown deepens.


    ¡°A fool¡­¡± Jonas smiles. ¡°Strange that you say that, really. And what do you think defines a fool?¡±


    A person who can¡¯t see what¡¯s right in front of their face¡ªno.


    ¡°A fool would be a person who truly believes that they can Win the Game, I suppose¡ªsomeone who thinks that they can win fortune¡¯s favor.¡± True victory does not exist. I tilt my head. ¡°¡®Winners are fools, losers the same¡ªtrue folly the thought of escaping the Game.¡¯¡±


    ¡°¡®The wise are foolish, the foolish claim; lo behold the truest fool, one who has but the Gods to blame.¡¯¡± It¡¯s Vivianna this time, who finishes my quote. She has an unreadable look on her face. ¡°You have quite a broad knowledge of philosophy, Lady Seraphina.¡±


    I beam. ¡°You as well, Lady Vivianna.¡± I pretend to look at the sky¡ªthere is no clock, which I suppose is in itself psychological warfare. ¡°Well, now; I really must be going. My dear Cas must be getting worried. Happy hunting, both of you!¡± After waving carelessly, I make my way out of the clearing.


    And then, finally, my hand leaves my knife.


    <hr>


    When I encounter Caspian Nameless again, he is bent over the corpse of a Minotaur with dark hands and an equally monster-blood-stained knife. The Minotaur is lifeless, dark pooling from every fatal crevice the blade has carved into¡ªit¡¯s been reduced to all but tattered flesh lying in almost grotesque slivers; formerly russet hair now lifeless, formerly curling horns dull.


    I blink.


    The dead monster¡¯s still there, along with my partner and his shaking hands.


    I blink again.


    Yep. Still there.


    I approach slowly, gently¡ªmaking just enough noise to alert him of my presence, but not enough to irritate or alarm. A wild animal. A rabid dog. The Duke and the Duchess having bad days.


    Our camp had been ravaged. I hadn¡¯t heard any noises, any screams that would¡¯ve made me scramble back immediately¡ªit would¡¯ve been a quick ordeal, then, I muse as I carefully lower myself to the ground.


    I remain silent.


    ¡°We¡¯ll win this round, won¡¯t we?¡± he finally asks, speaking calmly.


    I reach out, but hesitate as my hand settles down on his shoulder.


    ¡°We don¡¯t need to,¡± I begin. ¡°We¡ª¡±


    ¡°But it¡¯s important, isn¡¯t it?¡± he drawls back lightly, not breaking his gaze from the corpse. ¡°Important to you, important to everything.¡±


    The almost ink-like blood dapples his hands like patches of sunlight through trees, but I return my gaze to the Minotaur¡ªalmost bandit-like slashes. Coarse, yet refined. Familiar. Seeing his style on an act that¡¯s nowhere near characteristic is...strange. Did he use a lure? Some kind of¡ª


    ¡°You¡¯re still looking at it like it¡¯s a Game,¡± he says softly, again remaining unmoving. ¡°You¡¯re probably analyzing how I managed to kill it, right now.¡± A beat. ¡°You don¡¯t really need to. The first jab was a fluke¡ªit seemed distracted. The second blows were just hitting it where it hurts, taking advantage of its situation. And then it died.¡±


    I blink.


    ¡°And then it died,¡± I repeat.


    He meets my eyes, finally. ¡°And then it died,¡± he returns. A grin that seems almost inhuman; that familiar, toothy smile is back, and I realize I might not want it back. But I suppose things have already progressed to the point of no return, and I sigh.


    ¡°Eight down, two to go,¡± Caspian says, lightning-blue eyes sparking.


    A long silence.


    ¡°Eight down, two to go,¡± I agree.


    <hr>


    Never in my life would I have thought that one day, I would¡¯ve woken up with number one on my to-do list ¡®lugging a Minotaur to a meeting spot; warning: difficult¡¯ as my task for the day.


    The warning speaks for itself.


    ¡°What does it even eat for breakfast? Fucking rocks?¡± mutters Caspian, who has the better half of the bargain and is lugging it by the horns (we drew sticks).


    ¡°No, it eats people,¡± I correct. ¡°The more important question is, how is it still alive after eating humans once every five years¡ªtree, six o¡¯clock.¡±


    ¡°Monster cannibalism, obviously,¡± replies the other, before he dodges the obstacle. ¡°How else?¡±


    ¡°You mean to say that resurrected undead monsters, the ones that walk from the Underworld to here via a divinely-ordained gap¡ªof which only two exist on the continent¡ªeat each other?¡± I raise my eyebrows.


    ¡°Or they¡¯re immortals.¡± Cas shrugs, just as he backs up into a tree. ¡°Ow. Gods, I thought you were supposed to tell me if I¡¯m going to bump into something?¡±


    I shrug. ¡°Sorry.¡±


    He reaches one hand behind himself and rubs the injury. ¡°That¡¯s going to leave a huge bruise,¡± he complains. ¡°Remind me why you get to walk normally, again?¡±


    I shrug again. ¡°I drew the longer stick,¡± I say. ¡°But seriously? Immortal monsters? That¡¯s all you can think of?¡±


    ¡°No, I told you they could be cannibals, too¡ªand we¡¯re here.¡±


    Jonas waves.


    Vivianna raises her eyebrows.


    We plop the Minotaur corpse in front of their feet.


    ¡°¡®Our toil, at long last, is not for naught; the final ware man sought,¡¯¡± I announce dramatically.


    Jonas tilts his head. ¡°Where¡¯s that reference from? A Play?¡±


    ¡°The Blacksmith¡¯s Fall, Act I,¡± I answer, before grinning. ¡°So? Is the Game done?¡±


    The pile of prey behind them is pretty self-explanatory, but Vivanna nods anyway, turning her head towards the sky. ¡°I see this Oath fulfilled,¡± she says evenly to no one in particular, before meeting my eyes. ¡°Yes¡ªit is done. I recognize your victory. I have lost this gamble.¡± Yet her eyes still glint that indescribable sheen, that glitter of madness taking physical form.


    ¡°This gamble,¡± I say. ¡°But not the gamble. You have another dice, and it has not landed.¡±


    Vivianna shakes her head. ¡°It has landed,¡± she replies. ¡°I know the results, yet¡ª¡± she barks a laugh ¡°¡ªit¡¯s strangely amusing. However you roll the dice in this Game, it¡¯s futile. The numbers¡ªthe faces¡ªthey¡¯re all the same, the same results, the same cause.¡± The viscountess¡¯ daughter smiles. ¡°And there¡¯s no beauty in futility¡ªit takes courage to fail, yes, but it most of all requires foolishness.¡±


    My hand is already reaching for my knife, but I slow it.


    ¡°How so?¡± I ask, tilting my head.


    Vivianna shrugs. ¡°Some desire a beautiful death¡ªthey long for it, crave it. Most desire a beautiful life¡ªbut life is not beautiful. You want to gain power? You lose yourself. You want to gain money? Same scenario. Cause, and effect, but it all goes back to the same root cause.¡± The gambler¡¯s fingers dance as she says the words.


    I do feel kinship with her.


    Noble to noble¡ªrelationships are strange, like that.


    But only those in the Imperial circle see it firsthand¡ªthe center, the balance of all that power. The fluctuations, the rises to and falls from grace¡ªwhen it¡¯s people you know, it hits in a way you don¡¯t expect.


    That baron¡¯s daughter you flirted with a Dayhept ago?


    Her father got framed for embezzlement and she¡¯s now penniless.


    That count¡¯s son, you saw drinking champagne just yesterday?


    His mother recently came into a deal with another Duke, and you encounter him more now.


    It hits. There¡¯s no other word for it¡ªit might seem preachy, people walking around and saying ¡®life isn¡¯t fair¡¯ to everyone that encounters hardship, and it is. It¡¯s preachy. No one can judge whether life is or isn¡¯t fair, because there is no fair. Justice isn¡¯t blind, because there is no justice.


    The foolish think they can mete out punishment, but that in itself is a crime.


    That is our Empire Eternal.


    My desire to change it has long faded as I¡¯d passed the throes of age.


    The gambler continues. ¡°In this Game, if you want to win, you lose,¡± she muses. ¡°If you want to lose, you lose. There is no way out, no escape. Just trying, just wanting to isn¡¯t enough¡ªbut ¡®enough¡¯ and ¡®not enough¡¯ are simply three words, and ¡®futility¡¯ merely one.¡±


    ¡°You will die today,¡± Cas speaks.


    The Bloodthorn inclines her head. ¡°I will die today¡ªresisting is futile.¡±


    ¡°Yet,¡± I supply.


    ¡°Yet,¡± she agrees, spreading her fingers. Peacocks rise from nothingness, orichalcum beaks glinting under the sun¡ªJonas, who¡¯s remained silent until now, gestures again; machinery whirring as his golems are built anew. The orb that hangs in the sky, threads of light spinning a tapestry of gold, shines over the two Chosen left.


    The viscountess¡¯ daughter¡¯s eyes glint again, and this time she is her own person.


    She has taken off her mask of mimicry, and it¡¯s a beautiful change.


    Vivianna Bloodthorn¡¯s smile grows wider than I¡¯ve ever seen it. ¡°Yet,¡± she says for the third time, ¡°¡®futility¡¯ is merely one word, is it not?¡±


    And then they charge.


    <hr>


    The golems are irritating. That¡¯s the only thought in my mind as I slide between them, ducking beneath their arms while I aim for the cores and the twisted metal around it. Sometimes my knife manages to wriggle its way and strike gold¡ªor, well, orichalcum¡ªand the golems are disabled. Other times, I¡¯m not so lucky and I get propelled back into a tree, my back slamming against bark.


    Those times aren¡¯t quite as fun.


    Jonas¡¯ golems are a new batch, more refined than the ones before and much more of a hindrance. You don¡¯t really get to appreciate the design upgrades of your enemy¡¯s minions when said enemy is trying to kill you, so I can¡¯t really comment on what exactly makes them so different.


    But they¡¯re different.


    I realize the peacocks would be equally irritating if not for Cas chopping their heads off at every turn.


    Seeing annoying birds decapitated are surprisingly fun on occasion.


    ¡°New look?¡± I call, as I dive my blade into a golem. It falls down, very unluckily crushing my pinky toe in the process, and I gracefully refrain from wincing. As I slowly but surely make my way across the clearing, Jonas answers.


    ¡°Why, does it fit your fancy, My Lady?¡±


    Dashing forward, I slip under the line of golems he¡¯s gathered around him, clambering beneath their legs and tackling him. ¡°Not really,¡± I say, pressing a blade against his neck. ¡°Always found the engineering sciences tacky.¡±


    Jonas¡¯ grin widens as I feel a golem¡¯s arm reach for me. I¡¯m forced to roll off, but I pull the Chosen backwards¡ªor, at least try to.


    He manages to wriggle out, the weasel.


    I charge at him again, my footwork calmly practiced in the definitely-not-ideal space given to me, as I launch a dagger at his throat. He doesn¡¯t dodge it, instead using a golem as a shield while advancing another¡ªlike a game of frustratingly quick, mechanical Crown; except I¡¯m the one being cornered.


    The dagger lands itself in where the golem¡¯s face would be.


    I don¡¯t have time to mutter a curse as I leap out of another golem¡¯s way, tactically deciding to retrieve my dagger (it takes a few tugs while I throw another knife at the Forgetouched, but I manage to succeed).


    Not giving Jonas time to line up a damn golem wall again, I aim at his hand with my newly-recovered blade. As it sings through the air and I run (strategically retreat) from another golem, a hiss signals that it strikes true.


    Hephaestus¡¯ Chosen doesn¡¯t cradle his injured hand, merely glancing at it instead¡ªbut that glance is all I need. I launch another knife, exploiting the moment¡ªit strikes true, again, and it embeds itself in Jonas¡¯ eye.


    This time, Jonas makes a noise of pain, immediately¡ªreflexively¡ªcovering a hand over the injury and the knife. I rush forward, using the momentum to try and fold the Forgetouched into a tackle, the golems momentarily rendered useless as Jonas¡¯ concentration breaks.


    Pulling out the knife from the Chosen¡¯s hand, I slip it into his stomach¡ªnow he howls, but I repeat the process with the blade in his eye, diving it into his heart.


    A scream echoes from behind mine¡ªCaspian.


    But I can¡¯t look.


    I don¡¯t need to spear Jonas again, but still the Chosen meets my eyes.


    ¡°You finally succeeded in killing me, eh?¡± he asks, hoarsely.


    He laughs, and then whispers.


    ¡°Ignore what Bloodthorn said, Seraphina¡ªfutility is beautiful. Struggle is glorious, but not in the way¡ªyou¡¯d¡ªexpect¡ª¡± He wheezes, body convulsing, but that smile stays on his face. ¡°Do you know what your name means? Seraphina¡ª ¡®burning one.¡¯ There¡¯s others. ¡®Ardent,¡¯ ¡®fiery-winged,¡¯ ¡®purifying light.¡¯¡±


    Jonas smiles.


    ¡°You¡¯re probably thinking¡ª ¡®it was that easy to get rid of such a headache, eh?¡¯¡± He coughs, but the delicate Forgetouched doesn¡¯t falter. ¡°Remember this¡ªto live is to enjoy the Game. Not win it, or lose it, or escape it¡ªno matter if it¡¯s futile, no matter if¡ªit¡¯s¡ªglorious.¡± He hacks out another cough, and his voice is slipping.


    ¡°To live is to enjoy living. To win the Game is to enjoy it.¡± Jonas meets my eyes. ¡°My name is Jonas. The dove, the oppressor, the destroyer. Remember what I told you, Seraphina¡ª¡± his lips curl, as his final word echoes its way into my chest, tearing ¡°¡ªQueenscage.¡±


    And then he is dead.


    And, finally, I run to my partner.


    <hr>

 38. Found I

    <hr>


    True politicians never get their hands dirty¡ªthey always wear gloves.


    - NEPHELE EVIMERIA, DUCHESS OF TYCHE


    <hr>


    THE FIRST THING I DID WAS, OF COURSE, ASK FOR PERMISSION FOR MY PLAN TO BE IMPLEMENTED.


    Dearest Horatio was quick to apologize, even going as far as to swear an Oath that he was going to follow me to the ends of the Earth¡ªwhich I assured him was unnecessary¡ªbefore I said that I would give him a grace period to collect the goods he needed to deliver, to which he readily agreed.


    I returned to Delphine and her fluttering fan along with two very well-written proposals: one from Delphine and the Merchant conscription exemptions, which contained the relevant legal loopholes to exploit in order to implement her plan; and Alexandros¡¯ three-pronged Trident Formation (he refused to budge on the name. I relented, after a while).


    If I played my cards right, Horatio would be one of the first Merchants that would be alerted of this. If we started mandatory conscription efforts from the get go, sparing those with chronic injuries due to old age, morale that we¡¯d carefully cultivated from our first victory would definitely take a blow.


    Merchant sentiment would need to be addressed, sooner or later, otherwise money wouldn¡¯t be made in trade Strongholds.


    By offering support to the Empire in exchange for payment and exemption from military service, Merchants would be protecting their families (their heirs, more importantly) and their own monetary interests. Pledging themselves to the Throne by Oath also meant they couldn¡¯t profit off both sides of the war, or play a role in any rebellions further down the line.


    As I flipped through the proposal, I noticed further clauses that made me smile.


    Delphine was a fox. She¡¯d designated two options for the Merchants¡ªif they paid a certain sum, they could only have a good say in their children¡¯s deployment location. But if they paid (a lot) more and actively helped the Empire, the Empire could forge documents that their heirs had fatal injuries, exempting them from military service.


    This¡ªif found out by the general populace¡ªwould cause an uproar. A rebellion. Which was exactly why I didn¡¯t tell anyone about the copy of the proposal, burning it immediately after.


    The next papers I needed to read were another pleasant surprise.


    My smile widened as I flipped through the pages.


    Alexandros¡¯ penmanship, although needing work, read eloquently in the clipped sentences that followed his curt style. He¡¯d taken the bones of my idea and given it flesh, making it his own. After I¡¯d tutored him on the basics of military numbers, he¡¯d applied the concept to his plan¡ªa Eurus-Galani joint effort to conquer Bellum; a Notian spear attacking Honos; and a Zephyrean blockade on Azareth during every blow.


    Aggressive. Risky.


    It was exactly the type of plan that Greta would pull off¡ªwith her own flair, of course. I¡¯d likely be given a noble writ, and Alexandros would be offered a military medal for his service; but this was going to be Greta¡¯s. It was her Empire, after all.


    The Notian element was problematic, though, I mused¡ªthey didn¡¯t have the numbers for it. It was an issue I remedied quickly¡ªmy own plan would be very, very compatible with it.


    ¡°Your target is Honos,¡± I¡¯d pointed out to Xandros. ¡°But it doesn¡¯t exactly have to be Notus going on the offensive, does it?¡±


    He¡¯d stared at me, mildly put off. ¡°No,¡± he¡¯d replied. ¡°But it is the most efficient way, isn¡¯t it, Boss?¡±


    It was night, and I couldn¡¯t see the stars from my position seated on a table in a corner of the room¡ªeven if I was angled differently, the curtains were still drawn to prevent any spirals.


    Unlike Notus¡¯ sheer silk that allowed streams of moonlight through, my Zephyrean guest room¡¯s heavy damask made the darkness almost oppressive; the atmosphere only tapered by the elaborate candelabras growing out of the walls like plants on concrete trellis. I still could see, of course, but it was different. Not off, just...different.


    The row of dominoes were still at the foot of my bed, an obstacle on the rich imported carpet that covered the parlor, one that I¡¯d gracefully danced around while moving about the entire night. It felt off, not ready, a fledgling of a new game that I wasn¡¯t sure I wanted to play.


    A stage that I needed to step off but couldn¡¯t, not yet.


    Yet. An excuse.


    But the world functions on excuses.


    To have any semblance of ¡®order,¡¯ the world needed to have reasons for conflict. And the reasons were always good, from one person¡¯s point of view, but¡ª


    I drummed my fingers on the table.


    ¡°Smuggling ballistae into Honos through Imperial Merchants,¡± I spoke aloud.


    Feeble whispers of my craft reacted, threads of my Ability sparking as it Wove, again. Disappointment flooded me as it turned out to be a half-hearted tapestry¡ªit wasn¡¯t the same. My Ability wasn¡¯t the same, I didn¡¯t know what had triggered its spiral into tatters.


    My hand curled into a fist as I slammed it against the table, cackling as pain shot up the offending appendages.


    ¡°Smuggling ballistae into Honos through Imperial Merchants,¡± I repeated, again.


    This time, I Thought.


    My threads pulled at a vision.


    Vivid shades of crimson flame dappling a city of color, the acrid smell of sulfur clawing at throat and eye¡ªscreams of terror, widening eyes of panic, whispered last words; pure, mindless destruction ravaging the streets, fire consuming all. Scorching, searing, burning heat and hate, and love, simmering embers of loyalty to the fatherland and sacrifice. Humans paying the dues of their kings, the tip of shifting scales and balances.


    All under the Anothen sky.


    This is change, whispered my Ability. The debt that needs to be paid for revolution.


    Revolution.


    No, some voice in the back of my head said. Another.


    I Thought again.


    ¡°Smuggling ballistae into Honos through Imperial Merchants,¡± I said a third time, only¡ª


    Columns, alight. Burning flags and papers. A familiar purple cape, scorched¡ª


    ¡°No,¡± I said. ¡°Another¡ª¡± I cut myself off. ¡°Distributing the sins of the Senate publicly.¡±


    Papers, flashes of ruined lives and corpses at the bottom of a pile¡ªoutrage and hate and fire, again, pitchforks raised. A Republic¡¯s own people turning against it, a branch of festering rot spreading through the entire tree. Flame, again¡ªscarlet and amber, eating away at violet¡ª


    No. A younger, familiar voice. Another.


    I closed my eyes, hands balled into fists again.


    ¡°Xandros¡¯ plan,¡± I Thought aloud.


    Coin lost to sea and hungry mouths, ships circling around docks and a city¡ªoutrage, deprivation, famine, shrivelled stomachs. A child, soaked in blood and barely bone, clutching a corpse¡ª


    Another.


    Red, staining¡ª


    Another.


    Burning violet¡ª


    Another.


    Flame, scorching¡ª


    It is futile.


    I smashed my hand on the table, again. They were bloodied instead of bruised, this time¡ªscarlet leaked on the wood. ¡°Who are you to tell me what is or is not futile?¡± I asked, that smile still plastered on my face. I ignored the I am you that came as a response. ¡°Another.¡±


    It is futile, my Ability insisted again. You will bring change, it is¡ª


    Another familiar voice, this time from a more recent past.


    ¡°¡®Enough¡¯ and ¡®not enough¡¯ are simply three words; and ¡®futile¡¯ simply one.¡±


    Another¡ª


    ¡°Never change, Sera.¡±


    The same¡ª


    ¡°I want to change this Empire.¡±


    Those emotions, again¡ª


    My Ability¡¯s voice was gentler. Change is not a penance you have to pay to those that came before you. Revolution is not a debt you owe the world¡ª


    I chuckled, but couldn¡¯t summon false mirth this time.


    ¡°I will pay it all the same,¡± I whispered, crimson streaking my hands. ¡°I will become powerful.¡±


    I shut my eyes tighter, as the silence stretched longer. ¡°I said, another.¡±


    That night, I dreamed of fire and revolution.


    <hr>


    Across the continent, Marcellus Romanus looked at the coin in his fingers.


    He was growing old, bones cracking where they hadn¡¯t before, aches gnawing at his legs and ??back¡ªage was a slight thing, a creeping feeling that was far scarier than any monster the Consul had fought against.


    The Hero blood that ran in his veins was fading, the scorching heat of formerly searing fire dwindling to a strangely warm tingle¡ªand Marcellus couldn¡¯t do anything about it.


    ¡°Julian¡¯s a nice kid,¡± mused Valerius, from beside him.


    Marcellus shook his head. ¡°He¡¯s soft, unsteady¡ªmore like his mother.¡±


    Claudia...the woman was a shadow of the formidable foe she¡¯d once been, Marcellus knew. The woman that¡¯d loved fiercely but gently, an idealist who¡¯d defend the Republic until her last breath¡ªit was his fault, he would admit, that she¡¯d fractured until now. He¡¯d never loved her, not in the way he loved Valerius, not in the way he could love, but it¡¯d been a waste.


    The First Consul¡¯s fingers closed over the coin.


    ¡°I said nice in terms of personality,¡± corrected Valerius, ¡°not in terms of ability. He¡¯s not bad on that front, either, but I see what you mean.¡±The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.


    The two rulers of the Republic Roma were seated in front of a war map, the room¡¯s walls plastered with even more of the lot¡ªfigurines symbolizing various cohorts scattered strategically across the table.


    Valerius reached over and moved a cluster to the east, to which Marcellus tilted his head.


    ¡°He¡¯s unstable. Julian, I mean,¡± the First Consul said. ¡°He was never given a solid foundation to build his ¡®self¡¯ around, so no matter how many people tell him to prioritize the Republic¡¯s honor, the fact doesn¡¯t change that he¡¯s made up of other people¡¯s ideals. He has no idea what honor actually means to him.¡±


    The other made a humming noise. ¡°Wish I had that problem with Cecilia.¡±


    ¡°Better headstrong than spineless, Evander,¡± chided Marcellus, eyes focused on the cluster Valerius had just moved. ¡°East¡ªif we decide on striking from there, we¡¯ll have to move some of Cecilia¡¯s forces that we sent as aid to Julian, back. The Army of Romulus is already tipsy.¡±


    The move that stank of the Empire, but without Greta¡¯s elegant foresight¡ªmalevolent, crudely refined, but effective. It didn¡¯t have that Arathis¡¯ slight touch¡ªor any proof of external nudging, really.


    Marcellus had recognized the dagger as a personal jab towards Julian¡ªthe one named Seraphina, the Harbinger Greta had mentioned she¡¯d keep in check, had managed to unsettle the Consul¡¯s son.


    Again, Julian was soft.


    The King of the Battlefield...


    ¡°We have no choice, Amadeus,¡± Valerius replied.


    Marcellus shook his head, smiling wryly. ¡°We always have a choice, Evander.¡±


    Both of the Consuls had known war was inevitable¡ªMarcellus¡¯ dealings with Greta, although scandalous, had been cleaned up with Alberta Cassia¡¯s execution. Politics was like that¡ªalways cleaning a bloody slate, only for it to get dirty all over again a few moves later.


    Valerius sighed. ¡°We have to attack first, Amadeus, or else¡ª¡±


    Marcellus held up a hand. ¡°I never disputed that, Evander. The east is the best way.¡±


    The Second Consul smiled, wryly. ¡°But it¡¯s not your way, is it?¡±


    ¡°But does it matter? What way is mine and which is yours, as long as we all know where we¡¯re going?¡± The coin glinted in the Fox¡¯s hand as he spun it in his palm, letting it slide between his fingers like a slippery fish before Marcellus enclosed it yet again in a fist.


    Valerius closed his eyes as he sighed. ¡°Being vague does you no good, Amadeus.¡±


    But Marcellus¡¯ friend¡ªperhaps even lover, if they shared a mind and not a bed¡ªunderstood.


    Only he, Valerius Evander Romus, could ever see what Marcellus saw.


    Greta was correct¡ªthe Republic¡¯s system needed to be fixed.


    But it couldn¡¯t be solved with conquest.


    The First Consul opened his hand and plucked the coin off it with his other, placing it against the war map¡¯s surface as he twisted. The denarius spun for a long while before skittering across the table and skidding to a halt in front of the figurine Valerius had moved. It had landed round, shiny, and perfect¡ªlasciate ogne speranza, it spoke.


    ¡°Yes,¡± murmured Marcellus Romanus, smiling, ¡°it does not matter.¡±


    <hr>


    War without death was idealistic, I knew¡ªbut still I calculated the route with the least losses and most benefits; which was, unsurprisingly, aiming only for the building in which the Senate held their meetings.


    ¡°It has to be coordinated,¡± I said, ¡°and it has to have flair. To offset the patriotic anger of the ¡®Pubs, we first have to tip morale. I already included the possibility of distributing the Senate¡¯s ¡®atrocities¡¯ but that makes it obvious. It¡¯s crude. Anyone can see it and label it, ¡®Imperial propaganda.¡¯¡±


    ¡°Which is why,¡± Delphine prompted.


    ¡°Which is why,¡± I agreed, ¡°there¡¯s another option.¡±


    I had Mercy distribute the papers to the Duchess and Alexandros, the only other people in the room. They were a copy of what I¡¯d given Julian, and what Timaios had given me.


    Delphine tilted her head as she perused it. ¡°You want to spill the Empire¡¯s secrets and the Republic¡¯s secrets at the same time,¡± she noted lightly, with an airy giggle. ¡°And let the people choose?¡±


    I smiled in return. ¡°We leak ours, first¡ªand we control what gets leaked, a better alternative than the Republic using our dirty secrets against us later on. We pass it off as the Republic¡¯s agents trying to lower morale, and they¡¯ll succeed¡ªfor a while. But if the secrets are mild, and we leak the Republic¡¯s worst in retaliation¡­¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re trying to create a public illusion of fairness,¡± observed Xandros, curiously. ¡°That¡¯s smart, Boss.¡±


    A lopsided, dreamy smile appeared on Delphine¡¯s face. ¡°But risky,¡± she said. ¡°You plan to use this as an opening to strike with your...Trident Formation, yes?¡±


    ¡°Correct,¡± I replied. ¡°After we refine everything, and pass it along to Sis for approval¡ª¡±


    ¡°You want my opinion on it.¡± The Zephyrean Cardinal¡¯s voice was curious. ¡°You want me to fix any holes that I see.¡±


    I inclined my head, still smiling. ¡°That is correct, Your Excellency.¡±


    Delphine hm¡¯ed. ¡°The first step is problematic,¡± she said. ¡°If you¡¯re relying on just me to corral a noble rebellion, I¡¯m not your noble¡ªunless, of course, you have someone with close ties to the Armistice, who I¡¯m assuming you¡¯re targeting.¡±


    She had caught on.


    I was going to leak a majority of the military marquessates¡¯ secrets as a substitute for any state-threatening tidbits¡ªinstead of waiting for the military marquessates to rebel, I was going to spark one. That was what my dreams¡ªwell, nightmares¡ªhad spawned.


    ¡°The Marksman Duchy,¡± I elaborated.


    ¡°The Marksman Duchy,¡± I elaborated. ¡°If my half-brother takes charge of the Armistice after we put down the rebellion, we won¡¯t have any chances of them rising up again¡ªWilliams will likely be alright; but if Timaios can succeed the Drakos marquessate, the Armistice will be fully under our control.¡±


    A plan that has a lot of parts.


    ¡°But first, you need to get approval,¡± said Delphine.


    ¡°But first, I need to get approval,¡± I agreed.


    Until then, I was going to explore my Ability.


    <hr>


    The Dragon King wanted his throne back, but no one was willing to give it to him.


    And for that, Timaios Drakos could blame no one but himself and the world.


    ¡°Father¡ª¡± he began, but was interrupted by Damianos¡¯ face contorting into a snarl.


    ¡°You can¡¯t persuade me, Timaios¡ªI know your weak-hearted agenda and I won¡¯t stand for it.¡± The Marquis sneered. ¡°Apparently beating that lesson into your head wasn¡¯t enough¡ªyou at least got better as you got older, becoming a socialite. Now, you have nothing. I had to drag you back to the marquessate and make you heir. You¡¯re weak, pathetic, and a disgrace to my Legacy¡ªwho are you, to try and change me?¡±


    Timaios didn¡¯t flinch.


    ¡°The Empress has far more resources than you can imagine,¡± the former Dragon King warned. ¡°Going against her now¡ªstarting a rebellion¡ªcould cost us the entire war, Father. And with that loss, we¡¯ll lose the entire Empire¡ª¡±


    ¡°The Empire doesn¡¯t care,¡± spat Timaios¡¯ father. ¡°About you, me¡ªit¡¯s a living, breathing, treacherous system; it¡¯s better off being ruled by those Republica fools than continuing in history. I refuse to let it swallow us whole.¡±


    ¡°Father¡ª¡±


    Damianos continued. ¡°You heard, didn¡¯t you? The Empress¡ªGreta¡ªis playing a game with empires, and it¡¯d be better if we profit off it all the while. So what if she says we can¡¯t trade with the ¡®Pubs? We need to continue, not the Empire.¡±


    Timaios raised an eyebrow.


    ¡°And the Armistice?¡± he asked.


    His father waved a hand, anger dimming. ¡°It¡¯s a sinking ship, at this point. The Marksman Duchy expressed interest in skimming weapons from the Empire and reselling it to the Republic; but they were hesitant to join in a rebellion.¡± Damianos snorted. ¡°Would¡¯ve called them cowards, but they¡¯re more treacherous snakes than scared dogs.¡±


    Timaios¡¯ room, where the two were conversing, was well-furnished and comfortable. As the former socialite settled in a squat armchair, his mind flashed back to Seraphina¡ªhis deal with the Sixth Princess had been more of a gamble than anything else, but the danger of it had thrilled him, reminding him of endeavors and whispers long past.


    His power.


    Timaios wanted it back.


    He could make the rebellion happen. But¡ª


    ¡°Your partners,¡± said Damianos. ¡°What were their names? Tanis, Katherine...and that other one, the new one. That redhead, too.¡±


    Timaios¡¯ fingers dug into his chair. That cold thing crawled up his throat and coated his words, mask on again. ¡°Threatening them won¡¯t do you any good, Father¡ªthis rebellion is doomed to fail.¡±


    Timaios¡¯ father studied him¡ªthe anger, the sleaziness, the fiery accusation that served as a front faded away from Damianos¡¯ face. ¡°You want to protect them, don¡¯t you?¡± asked the Marquis, softly. ¡°The ones you love? You had that power, before¡ªbut the crown took it away from you.¡±


    Manipulation.


    Any regret that flickered inside Timaios¡¯ chest at what he planned to do faded away.


    Cold crept up on his skin, as Timaios tightened his fist. ¡°The crown took it away,¡± he agreed, ¡°but that doesn¡¯t mean I have to immediately agree to help you, Father¡ªmaybe I¡¯ll consider it. But that¡¯s all you can make me do.¡±


    The Marquis leaned back, obviously satisfied.


    ¡°Fine,¡± replied Damianos.


    The former socialite scowled, before running a practiced hand through his hair.


    ¡°I need a drink,¡± muttered Timaios.


    ¡°Pour me one,¡± called Damianos, as the Dragon King headed to the liquor cabinet installed in the room.


    Timaios obeyed, pouring two glasses of wine, before hovering a palm-up hand over the rim of one. His other fingers twisted the gem of a ring, and from the crystal leaked drops of an unidentifiable liquid. Dark mingled with grape red, and after the King was finished with the cup, he handed it to his father.


    ¡°Cheers,¡± toasted the drakon-vasiliki, as they both drank.


    Wine dripped from the former socialite¡¯s lips as choking sounds filled the air.


    Timaios Drakos watched his father die with an affable smile on his face.


    The rebellion was quenched. Seraphina would be ecstatic.


    The Dragon King sipped his wine.


    If they wouldn¡¯t give him his throne back, he would just make a new one.


    <hr>


    Alexandros was confused. It was a strange feeling.


    By the evening light, he looked at his notebook¡ªhe¡¯d scrawled everything he knew (he was going to burn it later, of course).


    Project Propaganda (in preparation for Project Ballistae):


    Controlled secret leaking, control of morale¡ª?


    Project Armistice:


    Seizing control of the Armistice to prevent rebellion, reasserting Imperial control over weapons production¡ª?


    Project Favor (in preparation for Project Ballistae):


    IN CONJUNCTION WITH ZEPHYREAN DUCHESS


    Winning over mercantile favor and support by implementing under-the-table deals where the Empire would move mercantile heirs out of harm¡¯s way for a price (price being material money / support in illegal smuggling¡ª?


    Project Ballistae (part of Project Trident):


    Smuggling ballistae & explosives into the Republic¡¯s capital; setting them off in Honos¡¯ Senate building.


    Aim: to kill all Senate members.


    Project Trident


    Three-pronged attack on the Strongholds of the Republic¡ª


    He was interrupted by the faint scent of grapes.


    ¡°Those are very nice notes,¡± Seraphina remarked, gracefully smiling as she leaned forward over his shoulder.


    Her close proximity would¡¯ve made a person blush if it weren¡¯t for the fact that Alexandros was very, very scared of her.


    ¡°Thanks, Boss,¡± he said, following a cough.


    Before he¡¯d recognized Seraphina as the Sixth Princess, she¡¯d merely been a dangerous-looking noble that he¡¯d wanted to have no connection with. But then she¡¯d shown that she could give him what he wanted¡ªchange¡ªand all mistrust had...not exactly magically vanished, but faded over time.


    It wasn¡¯t trust, but Alexandros realized it was loyalty.


    When he¡¯d realized it, he¡¯d refrained from bursting out laughing.


    ¡°You might become a general,¡± said the princess.


    He blinked (he¡¯d gotten used to the theatricality of her dramatic pauses).


    ¡°Excuse me?¡± Xandros asked.


    Seraphina made a humming noise, as she withdrew. The trio¡ªAlexandros, Mercy, and Seraphina¡ªwere lined up against a wall of a building in the Duchess¡¯ manor due to the princess insisting she needed to enjoy the famed Zephyrean breeze.


    The Sixth Princess tapped the side of her head. ¡°I know,¡± she elaborated, ¡°that you might get promoted to a high official rank if we continue with our plans.¡±


    Seeing the future.


    ¡°That¡¯s new,¡± Alexandros observed.


    Seraphina looked pleased.


    ¡°Yes, it is,¡± she confirmed, a mischievous smile on her face. The blank expression that she adopted sometimes mixed with her features¡ªsometimes, Xandros wasn¡¯t sure which emotion was foreign and which was familiar.


    The former Guard initiate furrowed his brows, as Seraphina explained.


    ¡°I can see change,¡± she said. ¡°Not the future. I can see change, consequences. I Think¡ª¡± a word that vibrated with mysticality ¡°¡ªand I see. Might not be the same as Weaving, but I think it¡¯s a quaint addition. Got it last night.¡± The Duke¡¯s daughter turned to Mercy and beamed, as if her explanation made perfect sense.


    ¡°Congratulations,¡± responded Lady Mercy, in that dry-but-not-quite tone she often spoke in (it wasn¡¯t sarcasm, but something similar).


    Lady¡ªAlexandros found the courtesy always tacked to the assassin¡¯s name when he thought about her, these days. It was easy to forget Mercy¡ªXanthe was her real name, if he remembered right¡ªwas younger than him.


    The ego of the formidable assassin and right hand of the Princess, and a young girl were two separate personas that Alexandros had trouble combining.


    In theory, Mercy and Seraphina had only known each other for three Daycycles. Ninety days, around.


    But it felt like the assassin would walk through fire for her liege.


    As Xandros was about to provide his own two cents, a Zephyrean guard (member of the Princeblood? Yeah, that was the name for it) accompanied by a scuttling servant made their way to the trio.


    Seraphina¡¯s face immediately contorted into something unreadable (to which both Alexandros and Mercy clenched their fists, automatically) before she raised her eyebrows.


    ¡°Where did the attack happen?¡± asked the Hundredth Victor, evenly.


    <hr>

 39. Found II

    <hr>


    If you can only be betrayed by a friend, best to make the world an enemy.


    - UNKNOWN SOURCE, SUSPECTED TO BE ANGELO THE AVENGER


    <hr>


    JULIAN ROMANUS WAS TIRED.


    He¡¯d been run ragged ever since he¡¯d been given the command of Cecilia¡¯s eastern troops and the order to scramble from Honos to Bellum. He¡¯d done so in a matter of a day, seized command in an hour, and marched through the Draconian Peaks in two days.


    And he was going to fall asleep on his horse.


    Cecilia tittered in amusement as she watched his eyebrows droop. Julian¡¯s archenemy cocked an arrogant eyebrow. ¡°Tired already?¡±


    The other praetor didn¡¯t have the energy to protest, flipping her the finger in response.


    All of the subordinates in the vicinity widened their eyes, most of them stopping their conversations at the obscene gesture. Cecilia merely chuckled again, as Julian ignored her.


    Redirecting Ralla nearer towards the fire they¡¯d started¡ªthey¡¯d retreated, avoiding direct conflict as ordered after the flames had started¡ªthe boy-praetor sighed to himself just as he was out of earshot.


    The Snakelands were more murk than land, and Ralla whinnied in complaint as his hooves sloughed through mud, but Julian coaxed him to set the praetor down near a steady tree. Ralla harrumphed, but obeyed, and the stallion¡¯s figure blocked Julian from sight of the camp as the boy removed the purple cape from his shoulders.


    War was war.


    Orders were orders.


    Julian closed his eyes, fiddling with the ring on his left hand¡ªa different one, newer; one he''d commissioned shortly after receiving a gift.


    Fighting a Minotaur was much easier than this.


    Of course, he could see the practicality behind it.


    The Galani and the Imperial Stronghold of Eurus had a turbulent history, and although it had sweetened over the years, it was inherently bitter. Souring relations now, when Greta needed their help to attack Bellum¡ªwhich Julian¡¯s Army held¡ªwould certainly prove to be a setback.


    It was effective.


    Yet.


    Julian was angry¡ªhe couldn¡¯t deny it, now.


    Yes, he was angry.


    Before he¡¯d set out to Bellum, he¡¯d been invited to a party. Many patricians had been in attendance, and much wine had been consumed. He¡¯d only been there to shake hands and show his face, but the sheer resentment Julian had felt had been strange. As if it had been invisibly accumulating, all these years.


    They were drinking.


    The nation was at war, and in danger of burning, and they were drinking wine.


    Julian¡¯s fist clenched, but he didn¡¯t have the energy to slam it in the ground.


    It wasn¡¯t honorable¡ªhe could see that, now. Perhaps the Empire had gotten to his head, but Julian felt like he had finally opened his eyes.


    Honor.


    The praetor laughed.


    What was honor worth?


    As Julian sighed and prepared to rise, he opened his eyes to...rain¡ª?


    Storm clouds had gathered in the seconds he¡¯d closed his eyes, grey marbling the sky as caution immediately sparked inside him. Julian climbed up Ralla and rushed back to camp, lightning streaking the sky in a strange shade of white-blue. Thunder follows after as rainwater rolled down the praetor¡¯s cheeks, and he saw those in the camp staring at the sky with mild confusion.


    ¡°Be careful!¡± he yelled, his instincts blaring. ¡°There¡¯s¡ª¡±


    Light flared, and prisms danced in Julian¡¯s eyes. The white-blue of the lightning flooded his vision¡ª


    The hairs on his arms stood to attention, electricity crackling at the praetor¡¯s skin as his eyes finally focused.


    A familiar face stared back at him, shrouded in light as electric blue eyes narrowed.


    ¡°I knew I should¡¯ve never approved you as a brother-in-law,¡± the Third Prince Cyrus Halgrove said.


    <hr>


    It was very obvious I was very irritated.


    If it wasn¡¯t, then it was probably a sign to start screaming and throwing things.


    My first thought after they told me it was Eurus was Cyrus. And then it was the fact that Cyrus was likely going to serve as a diplomat. And then I marched to the Zephyrean Duchess.


    I¡¯d received three letters¡ªGreta giving her seal of approval for any actions I wanted to take in Zephyr, as long as I gave her heads-up and reasoning; Timmy, telling me that he killed his father; and, surprisingly, one from Julian.


    Of course, the second and third weren¡¯t as straightforward as the first.


    You are cordially invited to the succession ceremony of the Drakos Marquessate.


    Damianos wouldn¡¯t have croaked out of nowhere, likely. I suppose I was lucky¡ªthe second I¡¯d thought of a solution to the potential Armistice rebellion, an opportunity had immediately fallen into my lap. When¡ªnot if¡ªLazarus got named heir of the duchy, all he¡¯d need to do was get rid of Matthias and Theadora, and the duchy would be his.


    Although Inevita wasn¡¯t technically a part of the Armistice, it did hold military influence¡ªthe more problematic root in Drakos had been culled; and the Williams marquessate had already been hesitant to join Drakos, which meant that it likely wouldn¡¯t take further aggressive action (or do anything stupid, like starting a rebellion during a war).


    The Armistice would likely be ours very soon, eliminating most possibilities of external interference in the Empire¡¯s weapons production. That was good.


    I opened Julian¡¯s package as I approached the manor¡¯s main building, ripping apart the papers to reveal¡ªa half-eaten apple. I peeled it from the sticky packaging and studied it, the consumed crescent golden and moist from the sun.


    Or perhaps this letter will turn out to be a fruitless endeavor, I had written.


    I snorted, now.


    Looking at the glistening fruit, I let it fall to the floor. Unwarranted disappointment bloomed inside of me. Smashing my heel into it, I ground the apple into a pulp with my heel before I started towards the manor¡¯s entrance.


    Mercy¡¯s hand stopped me from entering.


    Wordlessly, she handed the scraps of half-torn packaging to me, the bundle containing the weight of an object I hadn¡¯t noticed.


    I hadn¡¯t¡ªnoticed?


    With the apple had been delivered a¡ªCrownpiece. Rather, a Crownpiece-themed piece of jewelry. A Queen¡¯s Crown, installed in place of a diamond on some sort of ring¡ªa strange ornament, made of wood and fused gold. On the inside were carved initials, glimmering demurely under the sun¡ªS.Q.


    It was tiny, lithe, and delicate¡ªsurprisingly tasteful.


    An engagement ring, a half of a promise.


    Again, disappointment; but a rush of satisfaction¡ªand something else.


    Hope.


    Nah, that wasn¡¯t it. Probably.


    My Paladins were gathered, and as I slipped the ring on the fourth finger of my left hand, I breathed in.


    At least one thing was going right today.


    <hr>


    Cyrus now understood why Arathis¡¯ most-often used word was ¡®fun.¡¯


    There needed to be a phrase, a word to grasp that satisfaction, that pure adrenaline that coursed through his veins.


    Even though Cyrus didn¡¯t like to admit it, destroying things was fun. Beating up people who were in the way of his revenge? Even better, whispered the Lightning.


    Light flashed, electricity coursing through his veins and rippling through his body¡ªwhite-blue shrouded his arms, that familiar heat coming at him from all sides as he channelled the streaks through the sky. Undulating flames rose up in waves and at the end of every strike as lightning-blue Fire roared through the Republica¡¯s camp.


    It made him feel alive.


    One step closer.


    The woman¡ªone of the two leaders; Cecilia¡ªcharged at him with a sword, eyes calculating¡ªas if he¡¯d be vulnerable.


    Cyrus had always preferred the spear over the sword.


    The prince unsheathed his weapon, letting his Ability course through it and wreath Lightning over the spearhead, raising it to the sky to let the strikes hit it (it¡¯d been a neat trick he¡¯d learned in the Cage). Using his spear as a lightning rod, he parried the woman¡¯s sword as Julian charged at him.


    The exiled heir of Halgrove scorched the earth and set the praetor¡¯s cape on fire¡ªhe¡¯d always thought Republica regalia irritating.


    It always got in his way.


    It¡¯d been barely half an hour, and he was just getting started.


    His surroundings were smouldering, Fire searing white and ember in the Lightning¡¯s wake as Republica soldiers screamed and were burned alive.


    He felt no particular attachment to the Galani. But seeing that mindless destruction, caused by those honor-blinded fuckers¡ªthe very fuckers that had burned down Cyrus¡¯ only home after his exile, mind you¡ªenraged him. War?


    It didn¡¯t mean shit.


    War was just another obstacle, but Cyrus had been made a promise by Greta¡ªa promise that she would conquer the lands that had failed him; and it didn¡¯t matter that her reasons ran deeper than his roots. He¡¯d make the Halgroves¡ªeveryone¡ªpay the debt they owed him.


    And his rage fueled the Fire.


    Cyrus smiled.


    And then he signalled for the troops.


    Eurusan generals with their golden eyes gleaming flooded the clearing of the burning camp, the Empire¡¯s finest warriors fighting alongside blue-eyed Galani. The Snakeland tribes had their own form of combat, their own view on war; but Cyrus hadn¡¯t been in the Stronghold doing nothing¡ªhe¡¯d spoken to both sides, joined hands, and delegated tasks.


    He¡¯d promised the Duchess he¡¯d take care of it, and so he would.


    ¡°No survivors!¡± the prince thundered. ¡°I will take the praetors!¡±


    Julian charged at him again, and Cyrus had to admit his talent wasn¡¯t bad¡ªin other circumstances, the prince might¡¯ve lost. In this situation, with the Cecilia woman backing him, losing was a very likely possibility. But the Lightning King¡ªZeus, King of the Gods¡ªhad chosen Cyrus for a reason, and he would not regret it.


    Revenge will not be your salvation, the king had said.


    But Cyrus would make it so.


    The exile roared again, raising his spear as lightning flashed in the sky. Fire glimmering over his skin like a gossamer drapery, Cyrus spun his spear and pointed it at the two praetors.


    Thunder boomed in the distance as the prince of nothing made Fire rain down from the heavens.


    ¡°Repent,¡± Cyrus Queenscage said.


    <hr>


    Arathis smiled at his oldest sister.


    The Empress and her brother were playing a game of Crown in the throne room, and it remained uncertain who was winning.


    Sometimes the Forsaken used an Actor to infiltrate her ranks; the action foiled when she Discovered the piece and used a Paladin to defend her Queen. Sometimes Greta decimated Arathis¡¯ Troops, only to lose an Archer in the process and frown at the approaching pieces.


    It was a game of crowns, and although it was perhaps a bit dramatic of a pastime, Arathis thought there was nothing further to it.


    It was, after all, not the Game.


    Yet.


    ¡°Why do you insist so persistently on stopping me?¡± Greta asked, her head held high and regal as always but green eyes folded towards the board, where Arathis had taken an Actor from her.


    ¡°I¡¯m saving you, dearest sister,¡± he corrected. ¡°To the best of my Ability.¡±


    Greta aimed an Arrow at Arathis¡¯ Paladin, and the Forsaken tipped it over.


    ¡°I never thought you were that benevolent,¡± commented the Empress.


    Arathis shrugged. ¡°I¡¯m not. It just sounds interesting.¡± He hummed. ¡°Besides, if you¡¯re not careful, you could hurt more than just yourself. It¡¯s a precarious Balance that hangs in the board, one that¡¯s already toppled due to the loss of your Archer.¡±


    But they weren¡¯t really talking about her Archer, now.Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings.


    ¡°I could use my Ability, you know,¡± Arathis continued. ¡°To Revive him. All I need is a Sacrifice, and he¡¯ll be resurrected.¡±


    The Forsaken¡¯s Paladin, now encroaching upon Greta¡¯s Circle, was blocked by a single Soldier.


    ¡°He would likely prefer to rest in peace,¡± his oldest sister returned. ¡°To revive him to use him as a Crownpiece? He would see it as eternal torment.¡±


    Arathis ran his Soldier Squareforwards, Ascending it into a Paladin. He smiled as it was soon taken by Greta¡¯s Queen, who made the gamble of stepping out of her Circle.


    ¡°But there is a Balance, dearest sister,¡± he chided. ¡°Balance is needed. For one who works in the night¡ª¡± he tapped the space behind the board, the space of the players; before moving his fingers onto the pieces ¡°¡ªanother who rules the day. A Balance of people and things alike.¡±


    Arathis moved his Actor forward, approaching Greta¡¯s Queen.


    ¡°For a puppeteer from behind the stage,¡± Arathis began, ¡°a seducer who revels in the attention of the Play¡¯s audience.¡±


    Pale-dark eyes and a gaze the color of molten gold.


    ¡°For the hunter who loves the chase? Well, what better than a chaser of dreams with an iron fist?¡±


    Amber oceans and twin lily-green lakes.


    The Forsaken grinned widely as the Empress wordlessly moved her Queen, but continued. ¡°A prince of nothing, for the one who wishes to rule everything.¡± Bright cobalt, and a sparkling sapphire. ¡°The Balance can be broken, sister, but it will be fixed, sooner or later. You can tip the Scales, but to destroy it? It¡¯s a different matter entirely.¡±


    The Empress¡¯ gaze was serene.


    ¡°What do you want to do, youngest brother?¡± the dreaming conqueror asked.


    Arathis Delawar bared his teeth in a twisting smile that was more leer than grin. His dark Queen edged closer, as all the pieces fit into place.


    A stalemate.


    ¡°Destroy,¡± the puppeteer replied. ¡°What else?¡±


    <hr>


    I met the Duchess in the parlor. She was smiling as always, in the middle of placing a new domino to her growing set as she fiddled with her fan.


    ¡°I¡¯ve received approval to carry out my plan,¡± I said, the words slipping easily from my lips as I took a casual seat. ¡°I¡¯ll be sure to send you the updated proposal, with all the plans, before I send it out to Greta again. Just here to ask if I can allocate your ballistae and technical personnel.¡±


    ¡°Feel free,¡± Delphine replied, giving a casual grin in return. Her eyes bore into mine, and a moment of silence occurred as I let her pillage my gaze. Whatever she was plundering for, she seemed to have found it, the Duchess of Zephyr humming in satisfaction before she spoke. ¡°You have found it,¡± said the Head of Hyacinth, airily but not with disinterest.


    It could be referring to any number of things.


    The bandages, form-fitting over my right hand, tightened as I wrigged my fingers.


    ¡°It appears I have,¡± I agreed.


    ¡°And what is yours, if I may query?¡± asked the Zephyrean strategist, closing her fan.


    My reason to play the Game?


    ¡°Change,¡± I responded, the word vibrating with the promise of something greater on my tongue.


    I will change the Game.


    <hr>


    ¡°Hypothetically,¡± I repeated, pointing at the spheres, ¡°could you move the explosives by ship without detonating them?¡±


    The Analysts blinked.


    ¡°I¡¯m afraid,¡± one began, cautiously, ¡°more information is needed about the situation before we can draw any solid conclusions.¡±


    I moistened my lips. ¡°The Easterners,¡± I said, sighing. ¡°During the end of their last dynasty¡ªit was Kang, if I remember correctly¡ªthey developed these in their Succession War. Siege warfare. A mix of gunpowder and charcoal¡ªbut if they got wet, they would be ruined. I¡¯m asking if there¡¯s a surefire way to not ruin the bombs while transporting them by sea.¡±


    The one who spoke first took a beat to process the question. ¡°Maybe¡ª¡±


    ¡°Yes or no, please.¡±


    They blinked. ¡°No.¡±


    I turned to Mercy. ¡°How many?¡±


    ¡°Fifty bombs,¡± the assassin answered.


    It was too big of a risk. Smuggling ballistae and bombs through Azareth by sea was a no-go, then. Then that left¡ª


    ¡°Naxy, Petra, and Notus,¡± I muttered. Damn.


    ¡°Marianus?¡± Mercy suggested.


    ¡°It¡¯d be best,¡± I agreed.


    This operation would need to get started as soon as possible, if we were going the slower route and smuggling the ballistae-and-complimentary-bomb-set piece by piece with Anaxeres¡¯ spies. Even though the Notus-Honos journey was less roundabout than the initial route, you couldn¡¯t just stuff siege weapons up your shirt and pretend they were apples.


    Not if you wanted to get past Republica scrutiny, which was likely at an all-time high since they were expecting retaliation from the Snakelands.


    The Snakelands.


    The entire situation was less than ideal.


    ¡°Xandros,¡± I called, ¡°how many of your Notian connections happen to be arms dealers?¡±


    <hr>


    After sending off Xandros and Mercy to write their letters, I met with Horatio.


    The blockade on Azareth needed to happen, either way¡ªas it happened, it was the city with the least military might among the Strongholds. Seizing Bellum, in this state? Suicide. Seizing Honos, the capital where the politicians and military commands were carried out? Equally difficult.


    The mercantile deals needed to happen.


    Sooner or later, one or two influential bigwigs would decide to team up and consort with the Republic¡ªknowing the Imperial way, it was inevitable. If they ended up bringing any type of anti-Imperial organization into the mess¡ªwhich would be the smart thing to do¡ªand manage to spread the wrong kind of sentiment, the Empire would end up rotting from the inside out.


    War took a toll on people, and not just physically.


    The Rhianites would be scared off, likely¡ªany mention of war was practically peace-lover repellant, and ever since the bandit debacle, they¡¯d been silent. Platin trade had stopped, and Rhianite merchant caravans had halted (I¡¯d checked). Even if an authority besides the Rhianite High King had been behind the bandits, no one would risk going all in this early on.


    Chances of inter-continental trade flourishing anytime soon? Very small.


    We were separated by the Oceanus in terms of other continents; and after the last of the Eastern merchant ships would trickle in, word would likely spread that Visava was unstable and that very small chance would be reduced to zero.


    Merchants wouldn¡¯t risk getting attacked by ¡®violent Imperials.¡¯


    Sure, if Greta decided to seek aid, she¡¯d need to send diplomats¡ªbut, again, based on the High Kingdom¡¯s actions (or, technically, inaction) during the bandit incident, chances of said aid being sent were very low.


    This was a test for the newly-crowned Empress to ¡®prove herself¡¯ to the other continents, from their perspective.


    But the point was, that the Merchants would be hoarding their resources. They wouldn¡¯t want to fork over their coin to the Empire, or to the people¡ªidle hands, and the lack of coin coming in from trade would mean that they would seek other avenues.


    Dangerous avenues.


    I grinned at Horatio, who was studying me. He jumped as I broke out of my thoughts, quickly folding his calculating expression to something respectable before I tapped the table.


    ¡°Do you have children, Face Pseftis?¡± I asked him. A pause, which I filled with laughter at his beat of hesitation. ¡°Don¡¯t worry, I¡¯m not going to blackmail you.¡± Yet.  ¡°You can answer the question without fear.¡±


    Horatio blinked, his haughtiness from yesterday fading from his shoulders. ¡°I have a son,¡± he answered, evenly. ¡°And a daughter on the way, Your Highness.¡±


    I leaned back. ¡°And you must love your family very much, yes?¡± I gestured vaguely at the interior of his lavish mansion (I¡¯d dropped by his home instead of calling him to the Duchy¡ªthe action was just the right amount of unsettling). ¡°To gather this much of a fortune to pass onto them, I mean,¡± I added. ¡°Am I right in assuming you¡¯ve chosen an heir?¡±


    The Merchant coughed. ¡°You flatter me, Your Highness¡ªbut you are correct in that, yes.¡±


    ¡°And how old is he?¡± I asked, politely.


    ¡°Around fifteen.¡±


    Old enough for my plan, I supposed.


    I smiled. ¡°Do you know what a Legacy is, Face Pseftis?¡± I asked him.


    The Zephyrean shifted, his uneasiness obvious. ¡°I do, Your Highness.¡±


    I made a humming noise. ¡°And what would your Legacy be, Face? Your son or your fortune?¡±


    Horatio stilled. ¡°Are you asking me to make a choice, Your Highness?¡±


    I shook my head. ¡°Not at all¡ªthat would be a cruel order. I¡¯m giving you a choice.¡± I leaned forward, whispering conspiratorially. ¡°I¡¯m sure you¡¯ve heard, Face¡ªthe Empire is planning to make military service mandatory. Mandatory, I tell you!¡± I laughed as if it was the most hilarious thing to ever exist.


    The merchant remained still, as I continued.


    ¡°I dread to imagine the talented youths carried away by the conscriptors. Oh, the great minds lost. I can hardly imagine the terrors they¡¯ll face.¡± I shuddered, watching the Zephyrean as I winked. ¡°But, of course, this stays between us. Greta would have my head if she found out I leaked this.¡±


    Horatio¡¯s fingers curled, just a bit.


    ¡°What are you proposing, Your Highness?¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re angry,¡± I noticed. ¡°Good.¡± Tapping my fingers on the arm of the chair, I let my gaze soften. ¡°What do you want out of this world, Horatio Pseftis? Will you always be chasing after it¡ªthe more? The better? The after? It might be something you can take, but it also might be something the world can¡¯t afford to give you¡ªyou might even be satisfied with where you are now.¡±


    I let earnesty tinge my expression.


    ¡°How much are you willing to pay to protect your Legacy, dearest Horatio?¡± I asked, quietly. ¡°When you depart this world, will you be content with what you leave behind?¡±


    Will you?


    The Zephyrean Merchant raised a hand. ¡°You don¡¯t need to manipulate me, Your Highness,¡± he said, tiredly. ¡°I know what you want¡ªyou all want something out of me, and I suppose it¡¯s to be expected. What do you need me to sign?¡±


    I leaned back.


    ¡°Well, you¡¯re taking all the work out of it, but I suppose I can¡¯t complain,¡± I commented, grinning. ¡°I just need your money and a promise. Nothing else.¡±


    <hr>


    Horatio Pseftis watched the Sixth Princess leave the manor with an unsettling feeling in his chest. His arrogant persona that he often assumed bubbled inside his chest, but worry ripped it apart.


    He had seen many ¡®villains¡¯ in his lifetime¡ªhe was one himself, after all. The arrogant Merchant who profited off war, he was. He¡¯d seen children the Princess¡¯ age act high and mighty after slitting their companion¡¯s throat, nobles who slaughtered and poisoned without care, fellow Merchants who boasted only to get the rug pulled from under their feet.


    But Seraphina Queenscage was charismatic. Not one of her words had been anything vindictive, anything self-serving¡ªno, if anything, she made you know that she was threatening you, but this was the kind of villain that gave you choices.


    Horatio had no doubt that if he¡¯d outright refused, he¡¯d be discarded.


    This villain was the type that respected your choices, that let you know she was using you, and for that she was one that people would follow behind.


    A villain¡¯s honor.


    The Zephyrean Merchant tightened his fist and was about to draw the curtains when a boy encountered Seraphina at the exit. His son, coming home from his lessons¡ªHoratio watched as the Princess¡¯ smile faded from her lips and she gave a polite, but distant nod; lifting a bandaged hand.


    They passed each other, and the worry that¡¯d sparked in the Merchant¡¯s chest faded.


    Seraphina gave one last¡ªbarely noticeable¡ªlook back. Her face was blank, unnervingly so, like a spectre¡¯s; her blue eyes like watching still waters, a self-deprecating smile appeared on the Hundredth Victor as she left the manor. One of bitter contrition, Horatio realized¡ªa person who¡¯d seen a possibility of a life long gone. It was a flicker, gone as fast it came.


    The Princess left, and Horatio turned his back on the sight.


    He had others¡¯ orders to carry out.


    He did what he had to.


    <hr>


    I wrote a letter to Timaios turning down his invitation, but promising that I would send him a gift.


    I penned two others to Alyssa and Alia, asking for updates on the capital in the Dayhepts I¡¯d been gone; requesting a thorough report on the state of loyalties in the capital from the former, and a gift to be sent to the Drakos Marquessate¡¯s capital manor to the latter.


    After sending one to Greta and Lazarus, I called Alexandros to my room.


    My minion averted his eyes when he first came in, breathing a sigh of relief when he realized I was wearing a nightgown, and then internally panicking again.


    I snickered.


    He scowled.


    Xandros seated himself beside me as I gestured for him to lay out his notes.


    ¡°So the Azareth smuggling is a no go?¡± he asked, bringing out a battered quill and scribbling away at his parchment.


    ¡°Yeah,¡± I agreed. I tapped the fingers of my right hand against the table, and wincing¡ªjust for a beat¡ªat the unexpected pain before I opened my mouth to speak. You never would¡¯ve winced before. Xandros interrupted me.


    ¡°Should I get Lady Mercy to get you medicine?¡± my minion asked, concern flashing in his eyes.


    A smile ghosted my lips. ¡°It¡¯s alright,¡± I said, chuckling. ¡°I¡¯ve had worse¡ªfar, far worse, actually¡ªthan an injured hand.¡±


    Xandros shook his head. ¡°You should always be careful¡ªbruises can scar, and some scars don¡¯t go away.¡± He hesitated. ¡°They would ruin your hands, Boss.¡±


    Amusement tinged my smile. ¡°I have far more worries on my plate than my hands. My foremost priority, right now, is hearing your thoughts on a potential blockade on Azareth.¡± I stood up and stretched, drawing the curtains open¡ªmoonlight streamed through the windows, dappling the floor, as I continued. ¡°I¡¯ve contacted Horatio, and since he¡¯s our test subject for the whole Merchant plan, I told him to pitch it to a couple others¡ª¡± I cut myself off.


    Shock was consuming Xandros¡¯ gaze. And he was looking at¡ªwhat? My¡ªback.


    Ah. The fabric must¡¯ve been too sheer¡ªa gossamer back.


    I pretended to remain clueless, raising my eyebrows. ¡°Is there something on my face?¡±


    My minion shook himself out of his daze. ¡°No,¡± he said, hesitantly. ¡°It¡¯s nothing. You were saying, Boss? About the Merchant?¡±


    I sat down again, and continued. ¡°I told him to pitch it to a couple others,¡± I repeated, ¡°and it seems we should have potential candidates soon. Delphine should take care of the rest, and¡ªwait, I haven¡¯t asked you about the results of your connections. How are the Notians doing?¡±


    He seemed a bit distracted, but he answered my question. ¡°In terms of legality, I don¡¯t have any outright arms dealers, Boss, but I asked around¡­¡±


    <hr>


    Xandros came out of the room, feeling strange.


    In the moonlight, the pale gossamer he hadn¡¯t paid attention to¡ªthe veil-like fabric that covered the Princess¡¯ back¡ªhad shone through, and marring the smooth skin of an otherwise flawless figure were¡ªscars. Whipping scars.


    They were deep and ugly, ones he¡¯d seen before on other orphans who hadn¡¯t been lucky enough to evade more corrupt members of the Guard. Childhood injuries, brutal lashes¡ªnot from the Cage, then.


    When Mercy came back, he¡¯d asked tentatively about them.


    The assassin hadn¡¯t revealed anything, save for one strange fact.


    ¡°Ask, and you shall receive answer,¡± she had simply said. ¡°Not how, think where.¡± Mercy had moistened her lips, pausing, before elaborating. ¡°Do not disturb Her Highness¡¯ sleep¡ªshe already has a lack of it.¡± She said the last phrase empathically, and confusion clouded Xandros¡¯ head.


    Before realization.


    If she wasn¡¯t the Princess¡ªif she hadn¡¯t had that high identity, he would¡¯ve pieced together the pieces in seconds.


    Bad dreams from the Cage, and scars from before.


    Not pity, not empathy, but some kind of strange bitter filled Alexandros¡¯ mouth.


    The world doesn¡¯t hold back on anyone, eh?


    <hr>


    Josephine Queenscage laughed at the invitation. ¡°You hear this, sister?¡± She waved the paper. ¡°Timmy finally grew some balls and killed his father!¡±


    The Empress raised an eyebrow, hunched over a battle-map next to Josephine. It was displaying a battle formation, boats stacked to the west of the assumed Republic as strange contraptions were stacked on the north. Greta was currently stabbing the east with a surprising ferocity, her face serene as always as she continued driving the knife into the cardinal direction.


    Was it supposed to symbolize her ever-consuming anger for the Republicas?


    She was probably just pissed off that somebody committed arson and it wasn¡¯t her, Josephine decided. Wait. Seraphina was the pyromaniac. ¡°It¡¯s really hard to keep track of everyone¡¯s favorite crimes here,¡± she mumbled in complaint, as Greta looked up.


    (The Fourth Princess was technically still in solitary confinement. Technically, which meant she needed to bribe anyone important that happened to see her.)


    ¡°Are you on good terms with your father?¡± the Empress asked.


    Josie raised her eyebrows. ¡°If you define good terms as in he won¡¯t murder me on sight, we¡¯re fabulous. I mean, the only reason¡¯s because I¡¯m part of the Imperial family, but you get my point.¡±


    ¡°If we regain control over the Armistice,¡± Greta said, ¡°we¡¯ll have a better handle on weapons production.¡±


    ¡°Which is according to your evil plan,¡± drawled Josephine. ¡°Yes, I¡¯m aware.¡± Aphrodite¡¯s Chosen tilted her head. ¡°Well, Cyrus might¡¯ve thrown a wrench in ¡®em, you know. He used his powers to deal with the troops sent from Bellum¡ªpractically burned half of the Snakelands¡ªbut people are loving it. The Chosen fanatics are drooling¡ªyou know what they¡¯re calling him?¡±


    (Josephine had her sources. And by sources, she meant her brainwashed minions that sent very fast-flying carrier pigeons.)


    ¡°¡®The Lightning Prince,¡¯¡± quoted the Empress, dryly. ¡°Yes, I¡¯m aware. Very poetic.¡±


    ¡°One of them will get struck by lightning for blasphemy, these days,¡± commented Josephine. ¡°But you were talking about Papa, yes? I¡¯m not sure you need to apply any force¡ªit might be overkill and he might end up crushed, the poor dear.¡± Her lips twisted malevolently. ¡°He always was so easily influenced by Eleanora¡ªeasily squashed, easily redirected. Like an ant.¡±


    Weak.


    Josephine¡¯s smile returned, shortly. ¡°You¡¯ll have your weapons,¡± she said. ¡°Have no fear, my dearest sister.¡±


    Greta¡¯s eyes were already folded towards her map.


    The Fourth Princess examined her, before adding, ¡°Don¡¯t hold it against Ara, by the way, sister. He¡¯s been bored for so long, and he finally saw something he wanted to do¡ªI know you¡¯ve taken Father¡¯s and Rion¡¯s deaths hard, but¡ª¡±


    ¡°What do you want to do with the world, Josephine?¡±


    The Empress¡¯ lips barely moved, her face impassive as her green eyes continued to rove over the map. The knife was forgotten, buried to the hilt in what Aphrodite¡¯s Chosen assumed was a representation of Bellum.


    ¡°Savor its attention,¡± the Ninety-Eighth Victor said. ¡°What else?¡±


    <hr>

 40. Interlude: Bone

    <hr>


    Those who cannot hear the music, think the dancers mad.


    - SOURCE UNKNOWN


    <hr>


    PAST


    | Non Ducor Duco


    Anjelina didn¡¯t have anything particularly noteworthy to boast about until she reached the age of nineteen.


    She had two siblings and a pretty mother. From the former she¡¯d inherited a tendency to scowl at every loud noise she heard, including the habit of glaring at any seagull who decided to open their beak; and from the latter she¡¯d inherited features that would¡¯ve been called smooth if she hadn¡¯t had the Northeast sun carved into it since young.


    Anjelina had rough hands, a rougher voice, and a good-enough disposition that meant she had a good number of friends (too great a number of friends, though, spelled more betrayals than help). She had a good head for numbers, which meant she¡¯d been designated her father¡¯s heir since she¡¯d revealed the ability.


    Her father, a small-time merchant¡ªnot Merchant, Gods only knew how much Anjelina wished¡ªdealt in fabrics, even though Anjelina never remembered her clothes being particularly luxurious.


    Her life wasn¡¯t mediocre, but it certainly wasn¡¯t noteworthy enough to be recorded in any history books.


    At least, that was what she¡¯d thought.


    The Queen¡¯s Cage had occurred thirty-six times when the God of War had come to her, in a dream.


    I am Ares.


    The Empire had been an entity of one hundred and eighty years. P.Q.C., the measure of time Anjelina had heard people measure history in, only represented the amount of Cages that had passed since the Cage¡¯s establishment. Anjelina was good with numbers. Thirty-six times five was one hundred and eighty.


    That was the thought that had passed in her head when War had looked her in the eye.


    And you will bow, he said.


    Anjelina did.


    Have you known war? he asked, red eyes glimmering with the knowledge of¡ªeons? A long time, Anjelina decided. The tip of his spear glistened with a rust-like sheen, metal twisting around the God in the shape of grotesque armor. Waves of terror pulsed through Anjelina as she clenched her fingers in fear. This was neither monster nor man¡ªit was pure, undiluted¡ª


    Well? Ares inched closer. His face was a tapestry of wallowed scarlet, spears driven and screams layered atop each other. There was nothing to be glorified, nothing to be exalted in the gaze of War.


    Anjelina was afraid.


    Yet she raised her head.


    ¡°No,¡± she said, voice trembling. ¡°And I don¡¯t want to.¡±


    His presence pried the words out of her, and Ares laughed.


    You will, he simply responded, his fangs crimson.


    <hr>


    The Cage¡¯s doors opened and golden light bathed Anjelina¡¯s face.


    The name that Ares gave her to her came unbidden on her tongue, as people clapped.


    She gave a bow to the people, her clothes and knife soaked in blood.


    Angelo.


    Angel.


    The Thirty-Eighth Victor had seen war, and she did not laugh.


    <hr>


    She had been extended many hands, but the one that had lifted her the highest had undoubtedly been her father¡¯s.


    Glory Prince Rocco Queenscage had a broad grin and an easy temperament, the kind of personality that made you doubt the fact that he had killed twelve Chosen of the Gods. She had been welcomed readily, and he¡¯d offered to adopt her as his daughter even though they were born only ten years apart.


    Rocco had...a complicated relationship with his Imperial Father.


    Angelo had seen them argue on many occasions, oftentimes about political issues, and once Rocco had confided in her that he hadn¡¯t been the Emperor¡¯s favorite¡ªwhen he¡¯d gotten rid of the others to get named Heir Designate, he had taken the Emperor¡¯s other children and murdered his siblings.


    To be honest, Angelo hadn¡¯t bought into the family schtick that the Imperial Family provided at all when she¡¯d first settled in the Palace.


    She¡¯d thought it a hollow title¡ªnothing more than a falsely-worn charade.


    But it was when she went on midnight walks after nightmares, that she¡¯d seen Rocco and the Emperor outside in the gardens, watching the moon.


    When she had been caught in tears, they had accepted them. She soon realized no one else could do the same.


    They were more of a family than family, if that made sense¡ªAngelo¡¯s other family couldn¡¯t understand. When she¡¯d visited them, they¡¯d treated her distantly, curiously looking at why she flinched at loud noises.


    When the Emperor was nearing death and Angelo¡¯s father went off to conquer Keto in her grandfather¡¯s name, Angelo had been the one witnessing the Emperor fall apart. She¡¯d been the one who¡¯d absorbed herself in Rocco¡¯s plans, forcing herself to calculate all possible strategies in order to help them.


    Her family.


    Legacies¡ªwhen had the old man become obsessed with them?


    Nights full of worry and blood-streaked eyes had strung her sanity thin, and so Angelo had seen her father conquer from afar.


    Until her grandfather had insisted that he was about to die, and revealed that damnable fact that had broken something in her father¡¯s eyes.


    In her father.


    My Legacy is you?


    What the fuck was that kind of bullshit?


    Angelo had tightened her fists, anger bubbling at the man she¡¯d considered family, but Rocco had merely whispered, haunted¡ªme?


    Arraign. As the Emperor breathed once more, she couldn¡¯t take it anymore. Discreetly, she¡¯d wrapped her Ability around her grandfather¡¯s throat and Arraigned him of all the sins she¡¯d Seen.


    Rocco screamed.


    <hr>


    That night, news had been delivered that Republica soldiers had taken Keto back and executed all of Rocco¡¯s loyal subordinates¡ªfriends. All names of people Angelo had called uncle, and Rocco called brother.


    The sun had barely brushed the sky when his body had been discovered.


    The paper he left behind¡ªthe one naming Angelo his Heir Designate¡ªhad fluttered to the ground, soaked in his blood as the Avenger picked it up.


    You want a Legacy?


    She spoke the words to someone, something that would listen¡ª


    I¡¯ll give you one.


    She would avenge her father, and Arraign the world on crimes against the Empire.


    That would be her Legacy.


    <hr>


    | Non Duco Vincere


    She didn¡¯t know when people started calling her General. Or when they stopped and started calling her Emperor, instead.


    The Republica generals supposedly cursed her name¡ªshe was reviled as a she-devil in their circles, apparently.


    A she-devil. Angelo chuckled, and looked at the war map beneath her hands. This was a simple strategy, but one that would win her a victory. She¡¯d given the Republic the worst five Daycycles in their life, chipping away at both their morale and food supply¡ªshe¡¯d blockaded them, keeping supply caravans from arriving at their camp, and cornered them with no way out.


    Well, she¡¯d left a few avenues of hope to not let them panic too hard.


    Cornered animals tended to bite.


    They only had enough food for a Dayhept more, if they rationed hard¡ªand if they did, their soldiers would be pushed off their wit¡¯s end; and they were already there, she knew, from Angelo¡¯s spies sending them the dead skulls of their compatriots under the cover of night.


    It was their base, of course, but her Weaver¡¯s Embrace move had stained Ketite plain with tens of their people¡¯s blood¡ªshe just needed one more.


    One more.


    That Dayhept, she executed one of the most brilliant military plans in the Empire¡¯s history.


    But, of course, the Avenger didn¡¯t know it.


    <hr>


    The people loved her.


    Angelo had conquered a Republica fortress and made the Republic officially surrender the piece of land, making Keto a part of the Empire on paper¡ªin their eyes, she supposed, she¡¯d made them turn tail. Of course, that was merely a piece of reality, but it was a bigger piece than she¡¯d expected.


    All the Strongholds of the Empire would need to be renamed, she decided¡ªreforms were in order.


    The Northeast became Doxa, all the corner Strongholds were named after the mythical Anemoi, and next would be the Imperial system. After flushing out the traitors in her Court, the Emperor started carving out the rot that had manifested itself in the aristocracy, Arraigning them one by one on crimes against the state.


    The people loved her.


    The nobles didn¡¯t.


    Anjelina stared out the window in her bedroom, studying the pale moon she¡¯d once watched with her loved ones. Arraign¡ªher Ability¡ªwas flickering, and she knew why. As the Emperor closed her eyes, she was pulled back by a blade under her chin. An assassin.


    The Avenger hadn¡¯t fought back as Death kissed her neck and blood was spilled once again under night.


    It was a release, after all¡ªshe had Arraigned the world. She had achieved her vengeance, her mission.


    Her own Arraignment was long overdue.


    Emperor Angelo the Avenger laughed as the Song played its last note.


    <hr>


    PRESENT


    | Ubi Amor


    Vitajie Aundray had not felt this terrible in years.


    Sure, he liked to complain about many things¡ªthe Clytemnestra, the country, the country¡¯s politicians, and the fact that he ruled said country; but this situation took the metaphorical cake. This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it


    The Agamemnon gnawed on a monster bone.


    The war between the Republic and the Empire would¡¯ve been a theoretical cause for celebration¡ªan ally clawing an enemy to death, well, what was there not to like?


    But when said ally was slacking off on, well, being an ally, it wasn¡¯t as pretty.


    The Glorydark situation was getting worse, and as much as Aundray wanted to push actively for sending more troops to clear out the monsters¡ªor at least try to seal it¡ªHouse Desarta had insisted on approaching the matter delicately. And, for once, Aundray knew they were somewhat right¡ªif the Republic was slacking off on culling the monsters on their side, the Dark Forest as a whole would be overrun.


    That meant bad news for the Union.


    If some of the more fanatical Kato decided to stir up resentment, or Republica refugees started to arrive out of nowhere¡­


    They were looking at a very delicate situation.


    A headache gnawed at Aundray¡¯s head like it¡¯d had for the past Dayhept, and he felt pissed off at no one in particular.


    ¡°Your Majesty the Agamemnon?¡± a familiar voice asked.


    Right. He was in a meeting.


    ¡°Yes, Aubin?¡± Aundray asked with a sigh, finishing off the thigh bone he was chomping on.


    Sympathy was reflected in the faces of the Clan members¡ªthey too wanted to eat Minotaur thigh, instead of sitting through this shitshow of a gathering¡ªand Aubin was patient.


    ¡°The harvest rates...are critically low,¡± the vassal said, pronouncing his words carefully. ¡°I fear we must take action soon, Your Majesty. One of our Clan¡¯s people has put forward a proposal to address the issue.¡±


    Aundray scowled internally as the mood darkened.


    ¡°Send the proposal over to the Clytemnestra for approval,¡± he said with another sigh. ¡°If we both deem it necessary enough to bring up at the inter-Clan meeting this Dayhept, we will. I thank Clan Aun for their contribution,¡± Aundray added as an afterthought. They would get resentful if he didn¡¯t. Families were petty like that.


    Harvest rates.


    Because the Forsaken had taken a step away from the Glorydark for now, the main source for the Daycycle¡¯s monster harvest had been cordoned off. Obviously, the people weren¡¯t happy¡ªit was alright as a temporary situation, but Aundray had been joking when he¡¯d proposed sealing it off.


    The ¡®Source,¡¯ as the other nations called it, was vital for the survival of the nation.


    He would need to talk to Aceline about it¡ªand he wasn¡¯t looking forward to the argument.


    Politics.


    Pah.


    ¡°There¡¯s a fly in the room,¡± he lied loudly. ¡°I¡¯m going to go kill it. Meeting adjourned.¡±


    Everyone hesitated.


    Aubin blinked. ¡°Your Majesty¡ª¡±


    ¡°There¡¯s a free buffet outside, by the way,¡± Aundray added.


    The parlor was very quickly emptied.


    <hr>


    | Ibi Dolor


    Aundray walked with his men and a few tens of wagons behind him.


    There were people starving¡ªhis people, and for that he wanted to knee all the Clans in the face.


    Cloaked, he gestured quietly for the Tartarian Guard to file out and distribute the meat¡ªtaken directly from the Dome¡¯s cellar, it was enough to feed at least a hundred people. It wasn¡¯t enough, but it would have to do¡ªat least, until they made a decision.


    Bureaucracy could go die in a pit.


    For all that the Clans argued and fought, hundreds died while they sparred with words. Governing the country was a war no one was winning, and for all Aundray got accused of being a figurehead, they were right. And he hated himself for it¡ªhated that all he could do was give silent charity, and hated that he could do something, but didn¡¯t know how to.


    He wanted change, but how would he get it? Certainly not cursing his ancestors.


    Aundray had never wanted to be Agamemnon. His Clan had pushed him forward because of his intellectual prowess, and then he¡¯d up and given himself false hope that he could do it. Younger him had told himself that he could change the Union, that all he would need to do was command the world into being and it would follow his orders.


    Naive.


    He¡¯d been naive, and now he¡ªand his people¡ªwere paying the price.


    As the wagons flooded the slums of Tartarus, and eyes watched its contents being distributed amongst increasing numbers of sickly people, Aundray fashioned the guards into a more efficient position and murmured orders as he saw fit.


    The sky was dark, the sun searing its path through the hazy clouds, as¡ª


    It wasn¡¯t enough.


    It¡ªhe¡ªwas too little too late.


    The Agamemnon¡¯s expression twisted into self-disgust, like it always did these days, as he felt a tugging at his cloak.


    A child.


    He looked down, lowering himself to the ground as its hem brushed the mud to meet the figure. ¡°Yes?¡± Aundray asked, careful.


    Dark eyes blinked at him.


    ¡°Are you important?¡± the child asked.


    They were thin, likely shorter than the norm for their age, pale hair cropped close to their skull but gaze unwavering.


    Aundray considered the question. ¡°You can say that,¡± he answered.


    ¡°Why don¡¯t you fix things?¡± they asked. ¡°Mama says that important people can help us, they just don¡¯t want to.¡±


    The Agamemnon blinked. ¡°I suppose that¡¯s true,¡± he conceded. ¡°Important people just want to get more important, and instead of helping the people they have an obligation to help, they fight with each other for power.¡± Aundray looked at the child. ¡°Do you know what ¡®noblesse oblige¡¯ means?¡±


    The child shook their head, but they seemed genuinely interested, so Aundray continued.


    ¡°It means, ¡®privilege entails responsibility.¡¯ That means, if you¡¯re privileged¡ªif you have the power, to change people¡¯s lives for the better¡ªthen you should. It¡¯s morally expected of you.¡±


    The Agamemnon cleared his throat. ¡°But, there are those who believe that it¡¯s selfish, to think that you can be the one who decides what¡¯s ¡®better¡¯¡ªthey say it¡¯s misuse, to give too much power to one person so they can change a bunch of people¡¯s lives. Those are the people who think that ¡®government¡¯ is inherently flawed¡ªam I going too fast?¡±


    The child furrowed their brows, but shook their head. ¡°I get it. Kinda.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s a system of trust and responsibility¡ªthere¡¯s no one to police that responsibility but humanity itself, and for that some people think it¡¯s a flawed concept.¡± The Agamemnon licked his lips, trying to rephrase the sentence simply. ¡°But those are the same people who think the whole government thing is flawed. A lot of people fight about it, since government is also technically based on trust between a people and their leader. Or leaders.¡±


    Yep, he¡¯d lost them.


    It was on him for waxing philosophical to a kid, probably.


    ¡°You haven¡¯t answered the question,¡± they pointed out. ¡°Most adults are like you, and they don¡¯t really answer the question¡ªbut you probably did it by accident. I can tell,¡± they said, proudly.


    Aundray laughed, the sound drawing the attention of his guards, who stopped their meat distribution to assess the child.


    The Agamemnon gazed pointedly to stop staring.


    They did.


    ¡°I don¡¯t know,¡± Aundray said, finally. ¡°I don¡¯t know why important people don¡¯t fix things.¡±


    The Agamemnon didn¡¯t like to admit he didn¡¯t know things, but who was he to comment on power?


    He was just a figurehead, after all.


    The child scrutinized him. ¡°Are you going to become more important, so you can fix things?¡±


    The other chuckled. ¡°I don¡¯t think I can become more important than I already am,¡± he responded. ¡°But I¡¯ll try, I suppose.¡± Vitajie Aundray looked up at the sun from his place on the ground. ¡°Yeah,¡± the man repeated to himself, ¡°I¡¯ll try.¡±


    <hr>


    | In Absentia Lucis


    The prophecy.


    Cagekeeper Afaneia looked at its contents.


    Rise a Chosen of conflict and desire; insatiable are they, of ruin and glory.


    A play on the Oath ¡°through glory and ruin.¡±


    A crown of greed encircles the head of the liar; witness the crumbling of Olympus¡¯ last story.


    It was certainly a reference to the Queen¡¯s Cage¡ª ¡°Olympus¡¯ last story,¡± the Gods¡¯ last legacy before they decided to rise above mortal affairs; both a reference to the current Empress¡¯ desire and the possibility of it being resolved. The liar wasn¡¯t capitalized, which meant it could refer to any member of the current Imperial family.


    The Blur blinked.


    Gold spangled their surroundings, the area within the Cage sealed with the kiss of aureate and kaleidoscopic color¡ªAfaneia had long forgotten her past and what they called the place where they survived. Watch. Record. Obey. Those were the only words that survived in her memory as time passed.


    The compacts that were distributed allowed them to rewatch events long past, to distinguish the humans that had the capacity to be Legends.


    She was one of the older Watchers, yet she was younger still.


    She had seen the rise and fall of humanity¡¯s Eternal Empire, the rise of the man they disdained as Ruiner and the woman they claimed as Avenger, the madman they reviled as Insane and the Queensfavored they called Nightbidden. A long history of Chosen and Victor and throne¡ªyet she carried out her Duty, and that was the end of her role to play.


    Harbinger.


    Angelo the Avenger, they called one of the first. She¡¯d been the cause of many deaths in her seizing of Notus¡ªher Angelian reforms had taken the lives of many in its implementation, and that was when Afaneia didn¡¯t consider the Skirmish. She had heard the Song.


    Another had been the one they called Lysimachos, who had ordered a genocide from fear after his mind had broken and he had heard the Song.


    United the Empire stands, divided it falls; inherit a throne forsaken by evil.


    Likely a prelude to division before reunion. A throne forsaken by ¡®evil.¡¯ Evil in this case likely eluding to ¡®fortune,¡¯ or some form of it. The Empire had a recurring theme of fortune¡¯s favor and ¡®evil.¡¯


    A war-banner risen, in the name of origin¡¯s law; a conqueror¡¯s dream, a nightmare primeval.


    Origin¡¯s law was¡ªbased on collected data¡ªa reference to human nature. There was no confusion on that part.


    Carrion torn, a surrender within reach; light is lost and darkness is found. The sky shall fall, the herald shall preach: a ruler blessed by death is crowned.


    Thanatos was a fickle God. The likelihood of him ascending to be an Olympian and providing a literal blessing was close to none. Although prophecies made it so no possibility was ¡®fully off the table,¡¯ so to speak, the blessing of death most likely referred to the role of the Harbinger.


    The suggestion of a new ruler being crowned likely meant something was going to happen to the current Empress, which brought the Watcher to the last verse¡ª


    The carrier of a queen¡¯s last wish; an eternal dream, an eternal longing.


    A queen¡¯s last wish. The second word was slightly problematic, which meant that Afaneia flagged it for a higher Keeper on the case to look through it later.


    The reaper¡¯s first kiss.


    Also slightly problematic.


    A new form of death, perhaps?


    Six becomes nix - see the final sun dawning.


    The final sun. Nothingness, the ultimate end.


    It was more likely that it was a figurative definition then a literal one, yet the finality of the sentence was problematic.


    The Blur blinked, again.


    The Keepers were the light in the darkness, after all¡ªif she were going for a particularly jarring sentence, she would¡¯ve spoken these words:


    Shadows move with the Light.


    And her duty was to Obey.


    <hr>


    PAST


    | Tenebrae Vincent


    ¡°What is the world built upon?¡±


    Dantaleus Icarus looked at his brother.


    Lysimachos shook his head. ¡°Nuh-uh. I told you, limit of three philosophical questions a day. You already asked one at breakfast, one at lunch, and one a few seconds ago.¡±


    ¡°¡®Is Nephele coming by for dinner¡¯ isn¡¯t a philosophical question, Lys.¡± Dantelus hummed. ¡°This is important.¡±


    Dionysus¡¯ Chosen wriggled his fingers. ¡°Fine. Uh, brick, I guess? The cement of our ancestor¡¯s ashes, or something?¡± Lysimachos tilted his head. ¡°Don¡¯t know. The world wasn¡¯t built by anyone, right¡ªwasn¡¯t it just there?¡±


    Dantaleus inclined his head. ¡°It was,¡± said the Analyst. ¡°And the world has a physical nature¡ªtrees, plants, Gods, Abilities¡ªbut, curiously enough, human nature is what people decide to focus on instead. Why do people think the way they do, instead of how. Why did Rocco the Ruiner lose, instead of how¡ªbecause everyone always assumes the how is obvious, they see the surface and assume they know what lurks in the depths.¡±


    The Analyst tilted his head, as Lysimachos spoke.


    ¡°This isn¡¯t a history lesson, I assume?¡± asked Dionysus¡¯ Chosen.


    ¡°The past is the past, the present is the present, but history always seems to repeat itself,¡± said Dantaleus. ¡°Our world¡ªour humanity¡ªrelies on structure. Hierarchy. There will always be those who disagree that a Balance is necessary, and those who uphold the Balance.¡±


    Lysimachos blinked.


    ¡°I guess,¡± he said, uncertainly.


    The Analyst stared past his brother, into nothingness. ¡°Do you ever wonder, how Icarus fell from the sky?¡± Dantaleus asked, finally. ¡°Did have any regrets, being that unheedingly arrogant¡ªor was he satisfied, meeting the sun? Was he bitter, being swallowed by the sea? What thoughts went through his head¡ªhow, did he fall?¡±


    For this, Lysimachos had an answer.


    ¡°Fear,¡± said Dionysus¡¯ Chosen, smiling wryly. ¡°When you die, when you face the unknown¡ªyou feel fear. Some relish it, some ignore it, but it¡¯s human. The boy was likely scared¡ªthat fear, fear of the unknown, triumphs over all. He couldn¡¯t have felt anything else in that moment.¡±


    ¡°Selfishness,¡± supplied Dantaleus. ¡°Human nature operates on selfishness. Arrogance. Sin. Vice. That does not mean that it is fully bad, however¡ªjust because Icarus fell from the sky, didn¡¯t mean that Daedalus did.¡± The Analyst looked up at his bedroom¡¯s ceiling.


    ¡°But,¡± said the Analyst, ¡°just because it isn¡¯t entirely bad doesn¡¯t mean that it¡¯ll never be good. Vice will always be there, and sometimes it will triumph over virtue. Other times, it¡¯ll be the other way around.¡±


    Lysimachos followed his gaze.


    The mural Dantaleus had commissioned, of Icarus falling from the sky, met his eyes.


    ¡°It doesn¡¯t change the fact, brother,¡± Athena¡¯s Chosen continued, quieter, ¡°that however bitter victory tends to taste, it is still far sweeter than defeat.¡±


    <hr>


    Lysimachos now looked at his brother, bloodied and bruised at his feet.


    Nephele¡ªhis love¡ªhad been slain, her lifeless corpse to the side. Of course, Lysimachos wasn¡¯t completely heartless¡ªhe¡¯d let his bastard son go as the next Duke of Tyche.


    He had a son.


    The Chosen cackled at the absurdity of it all.


    All that he had once treasured was now destroyed by his own hand, yet the Imperial Throne in all its chryselephantine glory was behind him. The thoughts and voices of memories past crowded his ears like insects, like they always did, and all he could hear was a Song. A Song of revelry and darkness, of grins by firelight and blood spilt amidst trampled scarlet grapes.


    ¡°Any last words, brother?¡± Lysimachos the Insane asked.


    Dantaleus managed a small nod.


    ¡°I will be selfish, now,¡± said the Analyst. ¡°I do not wish to defeat you, Lys, and I refuse to be turned monster by this world.¡±


    A boy who fell from the Anothen sky smiled.


    ¡°They who win against monsters, after all, become monsters themselves.¡±


    And with that, Lysimachos Crushed his brother, letting the residual Fear¡ªhis Drawback¡ªsettle into his body.


    He tasted the wine of madness.


    And it was bittersweet.


    <hr>


    PRESENT


    Years later, the world was silent, and in it was a girl with blue eyes who heard the first notes of a Song.


    <hr>

 41. Found III

    <hr>


    And so, we witnessed the might of the Anothen sky and fled,


    For the eternal sun had already won.


    As my legs took me from the light, in my head


    Echoed the words, you reap what you sow. Spun


    The seeds of honor and glory, the reaper''s sleep the only vine grown,


    All is lost in the final sun,


    For we have not been blessed by the sky''s own.


    - ULTIMUM SOLEM, A POEM WRITTEN BY A SOLDIER THAT SURVIVED ANGELO THE AVENGER''S CONQUERING OF NOTUS


    <hr>


    NEVER IN HIS LIFE HAD MARIANUS GAIUS CASSIA EVER THOUGHT he¡¯d ever be a traitor to his kind. A traitor to his blood, perhaps, but never a deserter¡ªnever a turncoat. He managed a dry chuckle now as he looked at the war plans on his desk.


    He¡¯d heard the possible movement of troops to Bellum, of course¡ªit had been a decision made by the higher-ups, and he¡¯d agreed with the possible allocation of the Fourth and Fifth Cohorts to the Mountain City. The plan was basically a shift change¡ªCecilia¡¯s First and Second Cohorts would switch out with some of the Romulus border forces to aid the Union frontier effort, in the case of the Army¡¯s morale faltering.


    This¡­


    Two praetors heading up the Snakelands for a campaign, together? It wasn¡¯t just overkill, it was against protocol¡ªof course, any protocol could be overridden by enough votes by the Senate, but that wasn¡¯t the point.


    If Julian went missing in action, Marianus would be the one to take his place as the primus pilus of the Army. Marianus was currently missing in action, and the Second Cohort¡¯s leader was dead.


    The First and Second Cohort had been positioned by the border before the Consuls had gone to the Empire, and Julian had been sent to Honos immediately for war preparations after they¡¯d returned. Marianus hadn¡¯t seen hide or hair of his¡ªfriend?¡ªeven when the orders had been sent, but orders were orders.


    Armed with all the battalion plans the Republic had to offer, Marianus had followed protocol. The Bellum move hadn¡¯t been protocol.


    It was forbidden for two praetors to go on a campaign together.


    Marianus ran a hand through his hair.


    He¡¯d informed the Imperials of the laws, of course¡ªbut he¡¯d understated it, a bit. Just in case.


    When had his resolve wavered? When had he felt like he was being involved in a tug-of-war with two nations?


    The answer didn¡¯t matter, he thought, as he heard faint singing. ¡°The battle of ends and beginnings,¡± a familiar voice murmured, ¡°where the Gods collect their winnings¡­¡± Anaxeres entered his tent, followed by the Ducal Lord.


    ¡°Sera sent over a letter,¡± said the Duke first, briskly. ¡°Seems like we¡¯re branching out in the weapons smuggling department.¡±


    Petra made themselves comfortable on Marianus¡¯ bed. ¡°What he means is, ¡®do you know any good, secret paths to Honos¡¯?¡±


    ¡°Honos?¡± repeated the former centurion. ¡°That¡ªwould be difficult, and I¡¯m not even lying so I can milk more benefits out of both of you.¡± Marianus ran another hand through his hair. ¡°Like I told you, they¡¯re breaching protocol right now, so I can¡¯t know for sure what defences they¡¯ve put up since I don¡¯t know which orders they¡¯re following. I was transferred from Gloria to our border outpost without stopping there, too, so I can''t help you there.¡±


    Petra blinked lazily at the former centurion.


    ¡°You grew up there, didn¡¯t you? The Cassia fief¡¯s on the outskirts of Honos, right?¡±


    ¡°I mean, they do call my kind ¡®capital boys,¡¯¡± said Marianus, ¡°but it¡¯s not like I had a particularly interesting youth.¡±


    Good paths¡­


    He did have one way in.


    Flowers¡­


    Aunt Claudia.


    But it would require him to betray his only friend. That...was troubling.


    Anaxeres was still singing quietly. ¡°The Empire Eternal, for we do not live¡ªfor this land, we live¡ªfor our pride¡­¡± the Duke looked up after humming the last note, tilting his head. Those unnerving eyes, even with the friendly glint in them, made Marianus uneasy.


    ¡°You have a plan, don¡¯t you?¡± asked the Duke, smiling genially. ¡°I can only imagine how much turmoil you¡¯re facing¡ªI understand if you¡¯re reluctant to share, truly.¡±


    Petra merely raised their eyebrows. ¡°Stop trying to guilt-trip him,¡± they said. They turned to Marianus. ¡°To you, we might be dirty, backstabbing Imperials; but we have a better sense of honor than any of your higher-ups in the Republic who don¡¯t even earn their decisions.¡±


    ¡°The Imperial honor,¡± Anaxeres chipped in. ¡°That self-serving honor.¡±


    Petra casually kicked the Duke in the shin as they leaned forward. ¡°It¡¯s up to you whether or not you think this is a good cause, but if you¡¯re going to defect, you can¡¯t think in terms of all-in or not. You need to have something to even sit at the table¡ªand staying at it is another matter.¡±


    Marianus clenched his fists.


    He saw red¡ªbut not that anger-inducing haze.


    The red of an apple accepted.


    The faint notes of a Duke softly singing¡ª¡°We live for the tide¡ªthat inevitably turns for us; we live to declare that, from thus¡±¡ªechoed in the silence, before the Duke of Tyche cut himself off. ¡°Do you have what it takes to stay at the table, Marianus?¡± asked Anaxeres, still placid.


    Marianus had spent the past days conversing with them, and they hadn¡¯t seemed like horrible people¡ªbut that was the thing with villains, weren¡¯t they? The saga of a gambler who exploited his people; or a tale of a bastard child who conquered their birthright crowned in blood¡ªonce you started seeing the person, not the thing, they became human.


    Redeemable people.


    But they didn¡¯t want redemption, did they?


    A villain¡¯s honor.


    The tartness of fruit tainted Marianus¡¯ tongue again.


    ¡°Julian,¡± began the former centurion, before hesitating and speaking again, ¡°has a mother. She likes flowers¡ªrhododendrons, especially.¡± Aunt Claudia. He felt like a traitor. ¡°It¡¯s well-known,¡± Marianus drew out the words, ¡°that the Consul never visits her, even though Julian built her an estate. Consul Marcellus doesn¡¯t like her gardening, but he doesn¡¯t actively stop it, either.¡±


    A pause.


    The gambler and the halfling waited.


    ¡°She should be in her manor in the capital, right now¡ªit¡¯s protocol.¡± The words were sandpaper in Marianus¡¯ throat. ¡°But, if I return, or we deceive her into receiving packages for her garden, we should have a way in Honos. She has the least political attachments because both her husband and father are distant from her, and everyone thinks she¡¯s too ditzy to be useful¡ªthe better way is if I return, I think. Her letters might be watched.¡±


    Anaxeres hummed.


    ¡°Are you going to turn on us, then, when you get back to the capital?¡±


    He could lie, right now, Marianus thought, but something told him that it would be a bad idea.


    ¡°No,¡± the former centurion replied, finally. ¡°Alea iacta est¡ªI...have gone past the point of no return.¡±


    Seraphina had promised him freedom.


    Marianus had never felt more trapped.


    <hr>


    It was hard to believe Julian had been bested. Yet, the truth lay in the corpses of his soldiers.


    He¡¯d called for a retreat, of course¡ªbut the Fire and Lightning that had rained down reminded him of a piece of history he¡¯d once heard. The lines of a Poem whispered by his mother had echoed in his ears: and so, we witnessed the might of the Anothen sky and fled, for the eternal sun had already won.


    The Chosen that he had exchanged words with just days ago had turned into a monster. His arms had been wreathed in blue Fire, dapples of violet crescendoing the electricity crackling in his hands as the sky had ripped upon at his command. The look on his face as flame danced in his surroundings was as if the spear in his hand could move Earth and Heaven.


    Julian had fought.


    He managed to wound Cyrus quite deeply, but the fact remained that the Chosen was unlike any Minotaur he had fought before. As Fire enveloped his comrades, he called for Cecilia to lead the troops away¡ªbut most of them had been caught, including Julian.


    Only Cecilia and some of her people had made it out.


    And the boy-praetor himself?


    He had collapsed in the battle, violet cape scorched and electrocuted more than once, and for that he chuckled now.


    ¡°I haven¡¯t been this injured since the Minotaur,¡± Julian admitted out loud, to the Chosen in front of him.


    Cyrus snorted. ¡°You finally decided to dispense with the honorable facade?¡± he asked, not a hair out of place on his head. He looked the trademark Republica soldier¡ªthe Prince had the trademark tanned skin and dark hair (let loose in neat curls around his bronze face), complete with the sharp nose and sharper jawline. Bandages were wrapped around his chest, however¡ªsomething grim filled Julian¡¯s chest, at that.


    ¡°It¡¯s not a facade,¡± replied the praetor.


    The former Halgrove scion shrugged. ¡°You¡¯re right,¡± he conceded. ¡°At least facades are shallow.¡± A strange smile appeared on his face. ¡°Being raised in the Republic digs deep inside you¡ªthere¡¯s no amount of acting that can get rid of that.¡±


    Julian dipped his head in half-agreement before he looked at his surroundings. He¡¯d woken up in a lavish parlor decorated in an Imperial fashion¡ªthe most likely option was Eurus, the Golden Fortress of the East, that he¡¯d been taken to.


    At least he hadn¡¯t been chained.


    He wasn¡¯t sure if that was an honor, or a testament to the fact that Cyrus could strike him down easily.


    ¡°What happened to my subordinates?¡± asked the Romanus scion.


    The Prince seemed to react to that, a frown touching his neat eyebrows. ¡°I wanted to give them a choice,¡± he said. ¡°Elexis¡ªHer Grace¡ªsaid that it would be more practical if we left no survivors. Said it would raise overall diplomatic relations.¡± He spoke as if he saw the reasoning behind it, but thought there had to be something better.


    Julian felt that feeling in his chest again, before he worded his question.


    ¡°Do you believe that what you¡¯re doing is good?¡±


    Cyrus studied him, at that. A silence persisted, as the Prince frowned. ¡°Worthy,¡± he settled on the word. ¡°Not good¡ªbut does it really have to be wholly good, for it to be a worthy cause?¡± Zeus¡¯ Chosen leaned backward. ¡°Every country, every nation, every Empire poisons themselves from the inside out, yet people still fight. Even if it destroys them, even if it destroys the world around them, they fight. Because the cost of a cause should not diminish its value.¡±This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.


    ¡°Even if the cause is selfish?¡± the praetor spoke.


    This was bordering on something personal. In truth, Julian had wanted to let the Prince lead the conversation and spill something the praetor could use as an advantage¡ªbut after the embers had cooled, he realized that a new fire had been stoked in him.


    What it would burn, the boy wondered.


    The Prince didn¡¯t ponder the question.


    ¡°Especially if it is selfish,¡± Cyrus responded. ¡°And especially if the cause holds value to only you.¡±


    A cause.


    His people, his Army had perished at the hands of the Prince¡ªand the praetor felt remorse, that he could feel mostly relief overpowering grief.


    Julian smiled mirthlessly. ¡°If only it was that easy.¡±


    ¡°It is,¡± said the Chosen. ¡°People just make it harder for themselves. ¡®


    A silence.


    Pain gnawed at the boy¡¯s bones, but the Minotaur Slayer had long past the point of cowering.


    ¡°You cannot use me,¡± said the young Romanus scion. ¡°My father would sooner replace me than succumb¡ªhe will find a way to recover. The people that praised me as the incarnation of Romulus will lament my fall, but they will find another to praise, another to pedestalize. I upheld my duty, and now I have been defeated. I suppose it is that easy, like you said.¡±


    ¡°We spoke,¡± Cyrus responded. His early thirties hung on him when it hadn¡¯t been visible before. ¡°The Republic has twisted your sense of self, frater.¡±


    Julian laughed. ¡°It is not as if the Empire is any better, levir.¡±


    Electricity sparked the air, and the Lightning Prince was silent.


    ¡°I had nothing,¡± the halfling offered. ¡°I came to the defense of a servant, and I was whipped. Humiliated. The other people of Halgrove¡ªand my mother, who saw me as nothing but a mistake¡ªtook the opportunity to exile me, and so I fled across the Empire. I went to Notus, met up with a couple of bandits, joined them. Once I saved enough money, and went to Boreas to see my father, I was shunned.¡±


    Resentment coursed in Cyrus¡¯ voice, but it wasn¡¯t hatred, not yet.


    ¡°I came back, to Notus¡ªcame back to my family. My real family. Spent a Daycycle or two, before the Halgroves came and killed them all.¡±


    There it was.


    The half-Republica closed his eyes, as if remembering. ¡°And they burned¡ªand, how they burned. That was when My Liege Chose me, but I will never forget.¡± The Chosen flung his eyes open. ¡°You should not, either. I burned your people, your comrades. If you want to destroy me¡ªdestroy the Empire¡ªdo not let anyone stop you.¡±


    Electric blue eyes seared.


    Julian said, simply, ¡°The Empire can bring change to the Republic¡ªchange that is desperately needed, levir. I will not be one to stand in their way¡ªmy story ends here.¡±


    In the time he had spent with the Imperials, he knew that not one would let the patricians fiddle while the Republic burned. Perhaps they would be behind the fire, but no more would Julian hear their merrymaking amongst the screams¡ªand that would be enough.


    He felt the weight of a ring on his left hand, a promise.


    ¡°You are right,¡± the other agreed. ¡°A story ends here.¡±


    Cyrus Queenscage leaned back, gesturing towards the door.


    ¡°But ours has only begun.¡±


    <hr>


    I sent the reports of the full Trident Formation to Greta and spent the rest of the day sorting out tasks between me and Delphine. While she took charge of the respective neighboring fiefs belonging to the Zephyrean mercantile families she was in charge of, I was left travelling to the prominent Merchants in the city and threatening them as I saw fit.


    Papers were signed and families left uneasy as the Zephyrean sun continued to set and I withdrew into my parlor, my duty of filling the Imperial coffers done for the day (I made them swear Oaths of secrecy lest they die painfully, of course. They were ordered to collect their connections and money, and await further orders.


    I, of course, kept the blackmailing to a minimum. Rebellions tended to spawn when you were too aggressive¡ªand if we wanted to start conscription soon, morale was better off high. I wrote a separate treatise on the subject that I sent along with the ¡®official¡¯ Trident report¡ªco-submitted by me, Alexandros, and Delphine¡ªand sighed.


    Naxy, Petra, and Marianus would likely accomplish the operation by themselves, but I was unsure that Marianus would stay in the position we needed him in. I couldn¡¯t force the issue, but it was likely Naxy would take care of it¡ªeven if it wouldn¡¯t be in the fashion I was used to.


    Julian¡­


    It wasn¡¯t worry or anything resembling anxiety I¡¯d felt when I¡¯d heard he was a part of the Snakelands campaign¡ªthe ring he sent me meant that he would come to our side out of his own will like I¡¯d planned (sooner or later)¡ªbut the whole situation was strange.


    I slipped the ring off my fingers and twirled it around my knuckles, silent as I felt Xandros and Mercy¡¯s gazes on my back. Two praetors headed east after losing a vital part of an Army.


    I was missing something.


    But what?


    The Consuls weren¡¯t shortsighted¡ªjust damaging diplomatic relations and winning one victory temporarily wouldn¡¯t be enough.


    I Thought.


    Nothing.


    That only validated the conclusion I¡¯d made that I could only see changes that I was the cause of, and that unsettled me. I doubted the fact that I was the only one capable of a scheme that would see Honos burn¡ªI wasn¡¯t even the one carrying it out, now that my first draft wasn¡¯t logically possible.


    Even though Greta had passed any actions I would take in Zephyr, something as daring as Xandros¡¯ proposal would need to go by her before being carried out. I¡¯d sent her the bare bones in her letter, but it was a far different beast fleshed out¡ªI¡¯d seen it in action (in Thought).


    I would be a fool to trust my Ability after it had deceived me, but deceived wasn¡¯t the right word for it.


    My conclusions from before had followed a different logic, played a different game than the one Greta had won.


    I had been fooled before, and even though I hadn¡¯t loved the feeling, my Ability had taken a different form from before. It felt like a separate person, a separate voice that had its own agenda of pushing me into a mould that I wasn¡¯t sure I fit. But it was only showing me visualizations of possibilities I had already known existed.


    Right?


    Shut up, I told it, shoving it into a corner of my brain.


    (I now could distinguish its voice from the thoughts in my head, which was good. I also could control it better, which was also good.)


    ¡°Should I ask them to send up dinner?¡± voiced Mercy.


    I inclined my head. ¡°Just bring all our meals up¡ªand Xandros¡¯ too.¡± I looked at him inquisitively. ¡°Are you eating dinner with us? It¡¯ll be a long night.¡± I still needed to write a detailed report on the Merchants I encountered, along with names, promises, and numbers¡ªI wasn¡¯t going to get any sleep tonight (not that I did any other day, but it was the principle of it).


    Accounting.


    I internally grimaced.


    I needed to go another round and collect payments tomorrow¡ªafter everything was finalized, we would be done corralling the Merchants and their assets, and we could implement the blockade from Zephyr right after we received the report.


    ¡°Dinner?¡± Xandros blinked. ¡°We¡¯re¡ªall eating together?¡±


    I raised my eyebrows.


    ¡°I don¡¯t have any boots to lick right now, so why not,¡± I responded, giving a nod to Xanthe. She nodded back, sliding away to the kitchen, leaving Xandros and I alone. It was then that I heard the¡ª


    Ticking.


    Ticking of a beat¡ªor a rhythm? It was a human sound, like nails tapping against metal or glass.


    I let it prolong until it could be nothing accidental.


    ¡°Do you hear that?¡± I asked my minion.


    Alexandros looked around as if searching for the noise, only to shake his head. ¡°No, Boss.¡±


    Huh.


    The Song persisted¡ªit quieted, fading to the background as I forgot about it but growing louder when I focused on it¡ªthroughout the night.


    <hr>


    Lazarus Marksman could see the tactical benefits of Imperial control over the Armistice. As far as he knew, the feudal system operated on irontight Oaths, and had since even before the Angelian reforms. But those irontight Oaths were specifically engineered to not include swearing off betrayal or rebellion, in the case that a ruler really did need overthrowing¡ªat least, until the next Victor came along.


    The technology of guns had been a new addition to the ever-growing arsenal of modern weapons. Of course, Lazarus knew that there had to be efficient facilities to house, transport, and produce said weapons, and with that came the military marquessates.


    The Armistice.


    Seraphina had once idly explained to him once that it was a Republica word. With all the passion of someone discussing the weather, she¡¯d picked the roots apart with the skill of a linguist and remarked it as witty.


    ¡°Williams and Drakos are the arms, and the signatories are Inevita and the rest of the Empire,¡± she¡¯d said wryly. ¡°Clever.¡±


    The Marksmen were a military duchy, Lazarus knew¡ªnow, after being forced to recite its history at random intervals by Matthias and Theadora to play the part of the golden boy, he knew very well the depths of its position.


    If the Empire wanted to bring the Armistice to heel, they would need Inevita to hand the leash over.


    There was the distance of Lake Ichor between the Second Isle and the northeastern fiefs of the marquessates, but the latter were the former¡¯s vassals. Any large operations would need signing off by Matthias himself, and for that Lazarus understood how important it was that he play his part.


    His father and stepmother knew how important the position was to him, and Lazarus knew they knew, which meant the Duke and Duchess liked to dangle it in front of the former Guard¡¯s face like a bone.


    He¡¯d fit in quite well, of course¡ªhe¡¯d reconnected with his old friends, managed to spin a rumor that he would never abandon those looking for a favor, and took those he could.


    But he¡¯d always been like that.


    ¡°Take it.¡±


    He didn¡¯t know how exactly he¡¯d gotten himself into this situation.


    Matthias¡¯ eyes were cold as he handed the long snake of a whip to his bastard son.


    The Servant was cowering¡ªLazarus didn¡¯t know what their name was, but he didn¡¯t need to.


    This¡­


    How?


    Instinctively, the former Guard recoiled, and Matthias snorted.


    ¡°Soft-hearted, aren¡¯t you? Like your mother.¡±


    Now that¡ª


    Lazarus heard Theadora laugh. Laugh. ¡°Don¡¯t tease the poor dear,¡± she said. ¡°I¡¯m his mother.¡± Her voice was warm like it¡¯d always been, but brimming with warning.


    They were in the cellar. No one was around.


    It would be alright.


    The former Guard felt his hand stretch out to receive the whip. As the bastard son stepped forward, he raised the handle¡ª


    And whirled backward, slamming it down on the Duke. Matthias received the blow with surprising ease, laughing as blood streamed down his face. ¡°Always knew you weren¡¯t like your sister,¡± the Duke Marksman said, wiping the crimson off before revealing a blade. ¡°She at least took it quietly, you know. We weren¡¯t even the ones who had to¡ª¡±


    Lazarus unsheathed his knife and fell on Matthias before the Duke could move. As the blade went through his father¡¯s chest, the former Guard felt another sink into his stomach and another in his back.


    Theadora.


    ¡°Halfling,¡± she hissed into his ear.


    He was Lazarus Nameless.


    The Guard smashed his head back into his stepmother¡¯s nose. Gods, it felt so satisfying to hear that smash and scream. Two knives embedded in him, Lazarus moved on the two people he hated most in the world.


    The day ended in blood before the bastard of Inevita screamed over the body of a dead Servant.


    ¡°Help! Someone help! A Servant killed my parents!¡±


    <hr>


    Greta looked at the northwest and northeast of her Empire in turn and saw the rot in its depths. Of course, it¡¯d be festering for a long time, and the Empress doubted that she would be the one to purge it all, yet it remained still.


    She gathered her northeastern pieces in a cluster, to which she heard Nikephoros¡¯ voice come in a gentle rebuke.


    Too many chains.


    ¡°Are you really going that far?¡± An echoing sentiment dripped from the lips of the Empress¡¯ brother, a figure with familiar amber eyes leaning on a pillar in the empty bedroom. ¡°You¡¯re making her depend on you¡ªall to keep a Harbinger under control, you¡¯re manipulating your sister.¡±


    ¡°She¡¯s not my sister,¡± Greta murmured.


    And she wasn¡¯t. Technically.


    ¡°She is. She¡¯s family.¡± His gaze was as brittle as ever, but it softened. ¡°We¡¯re family. All of us.¡±


    A wry smile appeared on her face. ¡°I¡¯m alive. You¡¯re dead.¡± Twenty years of hiding her ¡®commoner bluntness¡¯ were peeled back in the face of rue, and so the Empress turned her gaze back to the war map. ¡°Since you¡¯re here, you might as well tell me what you think. Not personally, Rion¡ªpractically.¡±


    The hallucination of the dead archer approached.


    ¡°I suppose the bit you were talking about makes sense,¡± Orion mused. ¡°I still think you shouldn¡¯t put too many leashes on her. You¡¯ve already nudged her into swearing an Oath, and she indirectly owes you for her current political opportunities¡ªshe knows you¡¯re grooming her into your successor. You shouldn¡¯t let your paranoia turn into overkill.¡±


    It was what was left of her conscience speaking to her, concise logic laced in his words.


    ¡°Overkill,¡± Greta mused. She shook her head, just a bit. ¡°Better too much than not enough, Rion¡ªthat¡¯s what Father always said.¡±


    Orion¡¯s mien was dry¡ªher memory had sculpted him in a flawless visage that was a step shy of reality. Younger than he¡¯d been, before his death; features moving easier to smile and frown, like he¡¯d been before the years had passed.


    The Empress looked at the cluster she¡¯d formed. ¡°It will be a chain, yes, but a necessary one. All people need to be bound, Rion¡ªyou never understood that.¡±


    ¡°Understood the necessity of treating people like puppets?¡± asked the archer, dryly.


    ¡°Necessity,¡± she corrected. ¡°You never understood the necessity of it all.¡±


    The map stretched far, inks dark and light, drawn neatly and beautifully. The cluttered surface was made the label by Crownpieces, scattered in nowhere and everywhere in particular¡ªthe figures gathered creases in the otherwise-pristine surface, and so Greta blinked.


    Orion spoke, breaking the otherwise-serene silence. ¡°You cannot defend against the Fox and the Wolf while keeping together your throne, Greta. Arathis is only stirring up trouble because he does, in his own way, want to help.¡±


    Stop.


    He wants to stop me.


    Too little too late.


    ¡°Do not argue with me from beyond the grave, brother,¡± said the Empress, giving an uncharacteristically flippant wave. ¡°I do not care to converse with ghosts.¡±


    A beat.


    ¡°But I am not a ghost, sister. I am you.¡±


    There it was.


    ¡°The worst part of me,¡± said Greta Queenscage. ¡°And for that, you do not define my best.¡±


    Her Dream faded from her vision.


    <hr>


    Valerius knew that Cecilia would follow his orders. She always did, even though her pride insisted she haggle on all of them at home. Marcellus had predicted that the two would be captured, but had needed there to be only one left.


    Greta would not fall for the Republic¡¯s weakened state.


    But if she deliberated for too long, she would lose morale and the already-turbulent respect of her people.


    That meant she needed to move, and soon.


    The Wolf smiled.


    Conquest was not the way.


    And for that the Empress would learn a lesson.


    <hr>


    The sun rose, and with it came a lesson.


    I¡¯m the only Chosen who wants to live, I had said.


    Now, I barked a harsh laugh, quietly breaking the silent night.


    ¡°No¡ªI¡¯m the only one who doesn¡¯t know how to live.¡±


    <hr>

 42. Interlude: Reign

    <hr>


    Time is the moving image of Eternity.


    - UNKNOWN REPUBLICA PHILOSOPHER


    <hr>


    "THERE IS A TALE."


    I speak, my clothes washed clean of blood, my back against the soft grass. It is night, and it is silent¡ªthe stars glint against the dark sky smilingly, and for once I smile back. Perhaps it is forced, perhaps it is not¡ªbut I feel a peace I have not felt in a long time, and it comes quietly.


    ¡°There are a great many Tales,¡± replies Cas, in the same amicable tone, before forcing his voice deeper with a clearing of his throat. ¡°Which one has caught thy beautiful eye, milady? Thy grace knows no bounds, truly¡ªas we lay amongst the stars, may this lowly suitor request of you to unveil your unfathomable thoughts?¡±


    I force mine higher, adding that familiar aristocratic accent to my Imperi, before replying with a haughty sniff. ¡°I will indulge thy request on thy account, just this once.¡± Softening, I shift my position, turning so the embers of the fires reflect the other Chosen¡¯s face.


    He looks strange, airy¡ªlike a sceptre, an unchained ghost floating above the world. A Myth. A memory, a story.


    I want to catch him.


    The remnants of him, the scattered pieces and shards¡ªI want to Weave them together, see the whole puzzle of his story, his being. And not in the way that I¡¯ve done so before¡ªI reach out towards his face and hesitate for the first time. Or the second.


    Citrine light carves shapes on his skin, his blue eyes glimmering a strange sheen¡ªbut the colors are subdued, as if washed over with grey, and perhaps that prompts me to brush my fingers against where shadow touches his cheek.


    Balancing the supposed intensity of the action with a quirk of my lips, I withdraw my hand after a few seconds before I continue. ¡°It is a story behind story¡ªas it is, a moral behind a moral. My knife-throwing teacher recounted it¡ªyou have likely heard it, of course.¡±


    My lips quirk in not amusement, but something unidentifiable as I look up at the sky from the ground.


    ¡°¡®It starts with the Gods playing God,¡¯¡± I say, repeating her words. She had come from Galbraith, where there existed only a singular deity, and yet there had been no reverence in her words. I turn to his interested eyes. ¡°¡®And another playing Hero, as all stories do.¡¯¡±


    The cold of the night makes my toes curl, the darkness of the surroundings unsettling, yet the heat of the fire and presence of another dulls my blade of vigilance.


    ¡°The fire-bearer,¡± Cas names, and his guess is correct.


    Prometheus.


    He never was a dullard.


    ¡°Yeah,¡± I agree. ¡°Do you know why people do not widely speak the Gods¡¯ names? We do have monikers¡ªthe Lightning King, the Queen, the Blacksmith, the Archer, the Huntress¡ªbut even in the plays we do not speak their names.¡± Of course, he knows. Everyone does. But¡ª


    ¡°Words have power,¡± he says, simply.


    It should be a disappointing answer, but the way he delivers it¡ªmatter-of-fact and without fervor, a statement hurled by one who refuses to let words tyrannize their life¡ªmakes me smile.


    ¡°Yeah,¡± I say again. ¡°Her version of the story was quite short. When you think of mercenary, you think of someone sly, more methodical brute than general. My teacher...was a strange person. She was a brute, yes, and methodical¡ªbut I digress.¡±


    I shuffle closer. ¡°What do you think?¡±


    He laughs, and leans forward as much as he can without being quite nose-to-nose.


    ¡°About?¡± he asks the question nonchalantly.


    I laugh. ¡°Life. Death. Everywhere. Nowhere.¡± I wave a hand. ¡°What do you think?¡±


    Cas laughs, breath tickling my nose.


    ¡°Then we¡¯ll be here until the end of time,¡± he replies, smiling. A bit of light touches his eyes, and I smile.


    ¡°We have all the time in the world,¡± I lie, before I continue my story.


    <hr>


    From the time he had been born, to the time he had entered the Cage, Caspian Nameless had never questioned his right to change the world. He smiles, now¡ªhe should¡¯ve, he realizes that now. But now his words ring hollow, as if someone had carved his throat up from the inside¡ªas if his dream lay dead with the corpse of the Minotaur he¡¯d slain.


    ¡°Cas?¡±


    She¡¯s holding up a flower, eyes teasing as she offers it. It¡¯s a craggy bloom, a weed¡ªa dandelion, roots still gathering dirt.


    ¡°How will you take it, milord?¡± Seraphina asks, gaze sparkling.


    If he¡¯d told the boy he¡¯d been before he felt content, now¡ªnot happy, but not unhappy either; as if he could spend this entire period of his life in stasis¡ªthe other would¡¯ve laughed in his face.


    Cas accepts the flower. ¡°I will take it all, lest I give nothing in return, milady,¡± he says with a wink.


    She does an aristocratic bow, and the former street rat does one in return, only to¡ªpurposefully¡ªtrip over a root. His rear lands on a particularly prickly tree stump and he howls in genuine pain, before Seraphina makes a sound that¡¯s more cackle than laugh.


    ¡°Oh how the mighty fall,¡± she mockingly taunts, before leaping to fall on the ground next to him. He holds the dandelion in front of her face from his position leaning on the stump, and she sneezes, scattering the seeds throughout the air.


    He laughs.


    ¡°Oh how the weak remain still,¡± he voices back¡ªa satisfactory witticism (people have always complimented him on his silver tongue, more than ten threatening to cut said tongue off, which he also takes as a compliment).


    Seraphina laughs, this time.


    Every time she does, it is wry and full of genuine amusement¡ªher eyes glint as she smiles, and every time Caspian is struck by the compulsion to talk again, another comment spilling out his lips to see her laugh again.


    And she does.


    Sometimes she rolls her eyes, sometimes she strikes up a competition, and other times she makes an obscure literary reference he struggles to understand (but letting her know that would mean letting her win, so he abstains).


    The theatricality of her gestures never fails to amuse him, which he realizes is dangerously close to affection.


    Yes, that is it¡ªaffection.


    ¡°I win again,¡± he pronounces, preparing to gather the sticks that make up the mock-Crowngame, to which she stops his hand with a move.


    ¡°No, I win,¡± she corrects, raising her eyebrows while grinning.


    ¡°That¡¯s not fair¡ª¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s not my fault you didn¡¯t see the Paladin¡ª¡±


    Sometimes, they sit in silence.


    She places a flower on his nose. He sneezes it off.


    She does it again. He sneezes again.


    She cackles. She¡¯s not laughing when he throws a harpy gizzard at her.


    The sky turns blue¡ªthe color of her eyes¡ªand he is soaked in monster blood.


    ¡°Five,¡± he says, and the adrenaline from wielding his knives burns alive in his chest.


    Seraphina raises an eyebrow. ¡°Six,¡± she says, simply.


    The fire from competition flares in him. ¡°Oh, come on.¡± Six harpies? Really? He could¡¯ve done better, though, he knows. ¡°Again,¡± he demands, a laugh in his words.


    ¡°Again?¡± she phrases the statement like a question, tilting her head.


    The thrill of the kill makes him smile wryly and speak falsely. ¡°We have all the time in the world, don¡¯t we?¡± he asks.


    <hr>


    We don¡¯t have all the time in the world.


    We¡¯re both lying, and we both know the other is lying, and the situation is really quite amusing.


    Does it really matter, though?


    No, it really doesn¡¯t.


    I¡¯m¡ª not happy, but content.


    Yes, that is it.


    I stretch. ¡°Have you made flower crowns before?¡± I ask, earnestly. ¡°I never have.¡±


    Cas blinks. ¡°Never,¡± he says, unquestioningly.


    ¡°Wanna try?¡±


    ¡°Sure.¡±


    Flower crowns are made misshapen, and as the days pass they take on form¡ªas we speak and laugh and sing and hunt, the light shines through the viridian trees that don¡¯t seem as oppressive and towering. Sometimes we take separate paths and travel the island alone, meeting where brook and stream divulge, but I do not forget.


    I cannot forget the blood that we have spilled here.


    The shine of company does not fade, but I can feel the satisfaction spilling from my heart, draining away as the wind rises.


    It is not poetic, waiting for the inevitable.


    We stop on the fourth day, in front of the gap.


    The crack between the bars glints underneath the sun. I step forward, through the gap and onto the precipice of the island, and sit down, dangling my legs over the edge. Cas follows, casting but a glance towards the vast sea waiting below. It is great and azure, treacherous and serene¡ªLake Ichor, upon which lay the Three Isles of the Empire, would be my destination after a long, plummeting fall.


    I decide not to contemplate that too much.


    ¡°We could swim out,¡± I say, leaning against the nearest bar. ¡°Go out in a raft, live our lives and brave the treacherous seas.¡± We would live in hiding, of course, but¡ª


    ¡°You aren¡¯t the type of person who could do that,¡± he replies, amiably. ¡°Live the rest of their life in hiding, I mean.¡±


    At least he knows that.


    ¡°I¡¯m tired of waiting,¡± I say. ¡°The Gods haven¡¯t slain us so far¡ªwhy not do something?¡±


    Cas sounds amused. ¡°So you wouldn¡¯t escape with Jonas and Vivianna, but you would with me?¡±If you encounter this tale on Amazon, note that it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.


    ¡°With,¡± I agree. ¡°Not for.¡±


    The waves glisten their dark blue sheen, tidal depths that swallow and refuse to give back.


    Relentless.


    We don¡¯t address the proverbial elephant in the room, even though we¡¯ve done quite well in doing so.


    ¡°I am happy,¡± I continue. ¡°Not content, but I¡¯m happy.¡± I raise my eyebrows in a mock-challenge. ¡°Can you claim the same, Caspian of Nowhere?¡±


    Cas laughs.


    ¡°I can claim the same, Seraphina of Inevita,¡± he says, leaning closer with a mischievous smile. ¡°After all, I¡¯m bound by Oath, aren¡¯t I? To stay by you, through glory and ruin?¡± Although his words are light, his eyes are stormy, and I instantly sense the depth of his words.


    ¡°The only person you are bound to,¡± I reply, ¡°is yourself, my dear.¡±


    <hr>


    She was the one, but it wasn¡¯t love.


    What do teenagers know about love, anyway?


    Perhaps Caspian would¡¯ve found someone he loved when he grew older, after he tricked his way to a sizable fortune and retired from the streets. He could imagine them¡ªalways smiling wickedly, his forever partner-in-crime. Maybe they would¡¯ve adopted children, lived until they were grey in a house they¡¯d longed for when they were younger.


    But that someone wouldn¡¯t be Seraphina.


    They wouldn¡¯t smile like her, scheme like her, talk like her.


    They wouldn¡¯t have that dramatic flair, that wry humor¡ªevery trait he has, she magnifies it further.


    It¡¯s not love, but Caspian has that feeling that she has the right¡ªthat right to change¡ªhe¡¯s lost.


    She will be Victorious.


    The plotting, the planning, the willingness¡ªpersonal bias clouds his mind, perhaps, but¡­


    ¡°What do you think of a greater good?¡±


    It¡¯s night, and she thinks for a while to respond.


    It¡¯s a courtesy¡ªhe knows she could easily spin a remark off the top of her head, but she¡¯s Thinking.


    ¡°There is good, there is bad, there is neither,¡± she says, ¡°but neither is greater or lesser, really, is it?¡± She smiles. ¡°If it is yours, it is greater. There is no lesser.¡± And then she laughs, as if she hadn¡¯t been serious, but there¡¯s a challenge in her gaze, like there always is.


    Her placidness, her mildness, it all comes with a I dare you to the world. I dare you to prove me wrong. I dare you to prove me right.


    I dare you to let me Win.


    That was why she¡¯d brought the possibility of escape up¡ª


    But there is no escape.


    Yes, he could see it now.


    She was the one.


    <hr>


    The next day, the Cage¡¯s doors open and the Victor steps out.


    The eternal sun gleams against blue without doubt.


    Icarus¡¯ wings are spread and yet another shall fly.


    There will be another will, another reign, under the Anothen sky.


    <hr>


    Josephine is smiling when she hears the news. It¡¯s her default expression, really¡ªfor the last twenty-seven years, from the day she¡¯d been born, she¡¯d realized that smiling widely constituted a reason to approach her; smiling thinly could be taken as an insult; and so she¡¯d settled on smiling coquettishly.


    ¡°Josie!¡± a count¡¯s daughter squeals. ¡°Did you hear? It¡¯s starting! The Colosseum¡¯s been opened!¡±


    The Theatre is painted its usual elegant shade, and Josephine¡¯s companions seated in their usual seats, the curtains opened to their usual angle.


    But this is not a usual day.


    ¡°Really?¡± Of course, the Colosseum is not really opened, not yet. Back when she was an aristocrat¡ªand she still is, outranking most of those in the realm¡ªeven she knew that the nobles got first priority when it came to seats. And then the Cagekeepers started up their ferries and boats, working with the Harbormasters to set up transportations for the rest of the Empire.


    It is a momentous occasion.


    Josephine¡¯s smile grows.


    Yes, it is a momentous occasion.


    She gets up from her seat and lets her attendants open the box¡¯s door for her, gliding down the miniature staircase that she came up in.


    At the bottom, lies a noble scion¡ªthe scion of the day¡ªholding a bouquet of beautiful flowers.


    She doesn¡¯t remember his name, and she doubts she¡¯s ever talked to him.


    ¡°Marry me!¡± he says with a flourish, and she amusedly snorts.


    Ten years in the Palace, and they¡¯ve never grown bored.


    ¡°No,¡± she tells him.


    The man¡¯s face contorts in confusion, and the Princess prepares to step past him, before it oh-so-predictably shifts into anger. ¡°You¡ªyou seduced me! With that revealing outfit, you¡ªyou¡ª¡±


    ¡°Whore?¡± Josephine completes. ¡°Slut? Tramp? Harlot? Skank? Hussy, slag, lowly courtesan?¡± She has heard all there is to hear. ¡°Your mouth is disappointing even now, dear man,¡± she says. ¡°I doubt it would be much better in bed. Step aside.¡±


    Her entourage is already fanning out, but she is bored.


    He is indignant. ¡°You¡ª¡±


    Ant.


    ¡°Seem to forget,¡± she finishes, calmly, ¡°that I have slain eleven by my own hand. Step aside, or you will regret it. A smile is not an¡ª¡±


    <hr>


    ¡°¡ªInvitation?¡± Cyrus raises an eyebrow. ¡°Do we really need an invitation? After we all, we came from that Godsbroken place.¡± Scorn drips from his lips like it usually does, but still he narrows his eyes at his brother. ¡°Did Her Greatness ask you to fetch me, then?¡±


    Orion smiles, wryly. ¡°Do you think me her hound, brother?¡±


    Blue eyes blink in return. ¡°You are a hound. A dog can be leashed, a hound can be led, but either can still bite the hand that fed.¡± His expression, already twisted into one of disgust, stares at the paper. ¡°I still can¡¯t get over it. Josephine, Arathis...Pah, what am I saying. I just hate the damn thing.¡±


    ¡°Understandably,¡± Orion agrees. ¡°Hate, love¡ªif there exists a Chosen who doesn¡¯t feel any strong emotion towards the Cage, then they would be the true monster.¡±


    ¡°Pah,¡± Cyrus repeats. ¡°I get that we have to go, and I guess I¡¯m curious, but¡­¡± he scowls. ¡°Another monster, but too many make a menagerie. I feel like a fucking animal, being on that island again.¡± The Chosen clenches his fist, but the archer hums.


    ¡°But animals are to be hunted,¡± Orion says.


    ¡°That¡¯s the point,¡± the other returns. ¡°Even if I do manage to hunt down the people and make them pay my dues, I would still feel like a fucking animal.¡± Cyrus harrumphs in an uncharacteristic moment of vulnerability. ¡°Always hated when people ¡®what now?¡¯. Always makes me feel like if there¡¯s something left to do, that we have that choice to do it. We don¡¯t. We aren¡¯t ever in control of our futures, or pasts. We just walk through the present, and try our best to give people the choices we haven¡¯t made.¡±


    Orion remains silent.


    ¡°I try to help people,¡± continues the other. ¡°Still feels like I¡¯m doing nothing in the scheme of things, but I try. I give them choices, to end their own stories. Find their own salvation. And¡ª¡± Cyrus breaks himself off. ¡°Never mind, damn it. I¡¯ll be damned if I let it get inside my head.¡±


    Amber eyes crinkle in amusement. ¡°We¡¯re all already damned,¡± says the archer, ¡°in more ways than one.¡±


    The Lightning King¡¯s Chosen shakes his head. ¡°And they call me a killjoy,¡± the exile murmurs. ¡°I guess we¡¯re going, then, frater?¡±


    Orion smiles. ¡°And so we are. For the ferries, we¡¯ll have to board¡ª¡±


    <hr>


    ¡°¡ªup the walls in the Palace,¡± Greta says. ¡°Just in case there¡¯s a riot while we¡¯re away. The anti-Imps tried something last year, and I¡¯ve been too busy to intimidate them these days.¡± More and more organizations had formed in the Dayhepts leading up to the Cage¡¯s Opening, likely to try and prevent another weapon being added to the Empire¡¯s arsenal.


    Nikephoros hums. ¡°We¡¯ll have to go soon,¡± the Emperor responds, lightly. ¡°It¡¯s our obligation as Chosen to attend¡ªdefense plans can be handled by Deimos, daughter.¡±


    The green-eyed Princess sighs. ¡°Alright, alright. I will go.¡±


    She¡¯d already memorized the Chosen this time around, of course¡ªbut her spies, even with Anaxeres¡¯ aid, had only managed to scrounge up information on the more publicly-known Chosen. There had only been two nobles this time around, which only added to her conclusion of¡ªwhat had it been?


    She was forgetting things far more often lately.


    Greta had pushed herself trying to use her Ability on Arathis.


    Whatever semblance of mind she¡¯d found in the Chosen, it had already been warped beyond belief¡ªbut she¡¯d found at least one method of control. It had been one of the rare times she¡¯d used her Ability since the Cage, but all the plans she¡¯d been making had finally been taking shape. Not the most perfect shape, but a shape.


    And that is enough.


    And so she turns, stepping outside the Palace.


    Her next destination?


    The First Isle¡¯s¡ª


    <hr>


    ¡ªedge. Arathis Delawar loves to live on the edge, the precipice, the escarpment of life¡ªbut, sometimes, it gets boring (like all things do). So he dangles his legs off the cliff and invites someone to see the sea that¡¯s the result of a plummeting fall, and the sun that continues to burn after so many eons of falls from grace; and offers them a pair of wax wings.


    The choice to leap.


    Will they try to see the sun?


    Or will they follow instructions and glide to escape?


    Whatever choice they decide to make, the fact remains that all humans are interesting.


    Hades¡¯ Chosen hums on the ferry he¡¯s sharing with his siblings, ignoring Cyrus¡¯ grumbles for him to shut up while Josephine belabours the air with a fan. Greta and Orion are having a conversation through eye contact and raised eyebrows, Nikephoros is jovially going on a spiel about his childhood years, and Arathis is sitting on the edge of the boat, dipping his bare feet in the crystal clear water.


    The boat is luxurious, and so the Forsaken lets the summer wind spin his pale hair into wild tapestries as he leans back.


    The Queen¡¯s Isle, with all its twisting metal bars, comes into sight soon enough.


    An unreadable silence occupies the boat¡ªresentment, mostly, with the occasional mild hatred; but it¡¯s a mixed bag¡ªas the vessel is steered closer.


    So many memories.


    Of course, none of their expressions change drastically¡ªCyrus¡¯ scorn-filled expression stills, Josephine¡¯s eyebrows arch themselves just a bit higher, Greta merely blinks and Orion leans back, and Nikephoros¡¯ grandfatherly smile doesn¡¯t disappear¡ªbut a nostalgic silence lulls the conversation.


    And so¡ª


    <hr>


    ¡ªas they file into the Colosseum, and the sun climbs higher in the sky, Nikephoros makes himself comfortable. They are his children, as sure as the Empire is named Eternal, and he does have to be there for their life accomplishments, don¡¯t they?


    Life accomplishments.


    It sounds like the beginning of one of his mother¡¯s not-so-hilarious jokes.


    The Cagekeeper he¡¯d met when he¡¯d ascended the throne¡ªLux, their name was¡ªwas seated next to Nikephoros, and the Emperor had engaged in conversation with them for the better half of an hour. The crowd was growing restless, but as Nikephoros was commenting on the summer weather, the Cagekeeper abruptly stood up and intoned:


    ¡°The time has come.¡±


    The crowd stills even though the Imperials are still conversing, and so the Opening starts.


    It is morning, yet there is still light from the many braziers set up¡ªthe Keepers are likely using their strange magic to illuminate the Cage, too, the light magnified by some invisible lens; as, like a bronze flower, the bars unfurl¡ªgiant petals, glistening with the golden sheen of eons¡ªand reveal a lone figure.


    A girl strolls into the Colosseum.


    Her boots are bloody, her bearing proud, and Nikephoros recognizes her features as one of his vassal¡¯s daughters. As if carved by a sculptor, her features are what some may call traditionally beautiful¡ªwide blue eyes, tumbling dark hair, a lithe nose, and a sharp jawline. She raises her head and closes her eyes just for a bit as the crowd applauds, and that is when¡ª


    A familiar feminine voice echoes in his ears.


    A voice the Emperor hasn¡¯t heard in years¡ªhis Liege.


    Harbinger, the Queen of the Gods says.


    <hr>


    Harbinger, says the Lighting King in the exile¡¯s ears.


    <hr>


    Harbinger, enunciates the Lord of Death, to a grin on a puppeteer¡¯s lips.


    <hr>


    Harbinger, speaks the Lady of Doves, a smile on a lady of the night¡¯s face.


    <hr>


    Harbinger, informs the Huntress, the archer stilling at the fact.


    <hr>


    Harbinger, pronounces the Keeper of Revelry, green eyes blinking in response.


    <hr>


    The Last Harbinger.


    Bringer of a final reign.


    <hr>


    PRESENT


    Greta Queenscage looks at the painting that hangs in her personal office. She¡¯d asked to have two commissioned¡ªa serious, austere scene that would be hung in the Palace¡¯s west wing, and a less formal one that would be hung to the right of her less official desk.


    In the bottom row sits Josephine, Arathis, and Seraphina; in order of seniority. Aphrodite¡¯s Chosen is painted beautifully, coy Eurusan-gold eyes crinkling in amusement and teeth exposed mid-laugh. Delicate brush strokes follow her dark hair that coils around her neck, and she is leaning forward, chin propped on hand, towards Arathis (who had just been telling a bawdy joke, Greta remembers).


    The Forsaken sits in the middle of the bottom row, lips poised in the after-form of said joke, leaning towards the painter mischievously with a hand on his knee and another in his hair (the pale strands messily gelled). The painter managed to convey his unsettlingly intelligent gaze, eyes sparkling dangerously as he grins lopsidedly.


    Seraphina is smiling wryly, but there is genuine humor in it¡ªher blue eyes are twinkling, fingers lingering below her chin and brushing her throat (reminiscent of Josephine¡¯s pose, but she manages to make it desert-dry). She, however, is propping her other elbow on Arathis¡¯ shoulder, leaning towards the right of the painting but still being a part of the scene.


    When shown the scene, you wouldn¡¯t doubt the trio¡¯s familiarity.


    Above, Cyrus, Orion, and Greta are far less closely grouped, a slight scowl forming the first¡¯s expression that remains more disapproving annoyance, than anger. The half-Republica is, still, at ease¡ªhis stiff back is relaxed, his fists loose, as he leans a bit towards his brother. Light occupies his eyes, but his features remain firm (he had snorted, Greta knows).


    Orion, on the other hand, can¡¯t hide the curve that affects his lips, his mouth caught mid-twitch. His amber eyes glint under the light, fingers of one hand brushing Cyrus¡¯ shoulder while the other touches Greta¡¯s back, pulling them closer in twin half-embraces.


    Greta is poised in the painting, features regal with a surprising glimmer to her green eyes, and the Empress¡¯ hand had been placed inadvertently on Seraphina¡¯s shoulder.


    They are family, even though they all have a menagerie of different features¡ªeven those without context could easily tell.


    They all look- content. Happy.


    Perhaps, making them stay that way is Greta¡¯s Wish.


    <hr>

 43. Wish I

    <hr>


    There the conqueror stands, their hands torn and ruined bloody,


    There they see their lands, ground dark ash and scarlet muddy.


    There the conqueror bends, flower bitter rue on shallow grave,


    There they see their boots, tread heavy on crimson wave.


    There the conqueror begins, crown of rust in iron¡¯s stead,


    There their reign demands a price, of tears shed sanguine red.


    There the conqueror is sent, spear broken under standing mast,


    For there the conqueror kneels, in wish this step their last¡ª


    There their banner is aside cast, cerise path wedding knee bent, for


    ¡°Here is my only lament, that it is but I the Gods sent.¡±


    - THE CONQUEROR''S PATH, PLAY OF OLD


    banned for being allegedly based on Emperor Angelo the Avenger, thus disgracing the Imperial Name


    <hr>


    ¡°What makes up a dream?¡±


    Aeron¡¯s mother had once asked.


    Was it a single-minded focus on one vision, one goal?


    No, technically, because if you let your dream consume you, there wouldn¡¯t be enough left of you to carry it out.


    Was it the reason behind a dream?


    Each person always had their reasons¡ªif one¡¯s dream was to see the world burn, then would having a ¡®bad¡¯ reason make it not a dream?


    No, a dream was a dream.


    It could be a flight of fancy, an aspiration plucked from bloodied hands, an obligation to a burning kingdom or a promise to a dying loved one. When there were thoughts of present leading to future, a dream was born. Dreams could die, as well¡ªeasily, in a child¡¯s tears; struck down by reality¡ªbut anything could be a dream. Anything and everything, everything and nothing¡ªthose were the stuff of dreams.


    ¡°A dream is a wish made flesh by the mind,¡± Anastasia had said. ¡°And a wish is the bones of a dream formed by the heart.¡±


    Romantically poetic, like most of his mother¡¯s sayings. Contrarily, she¡¯d favored a pragmatic approach when it came to raising Aeron, hammering the importance of wealth and station into the dealer¡¯s head as soon as he could walk.


    But, then again, perhaps it was wise.


    Aeron retired from the operation after refusing to spy on the Imperial Family and doing his part escorting Seraphina from Tyche, upon which he was paid a very large amount of the promised payment.


    He was rich, which was good; but he was also in the capital of the Empire during war, which was bad.


    ¡°Are yer sure yer can¡¯t spare a ferry?¡± the card dealer asked, scratching his head. ¡°I mean, come on, is it really on me if I want to escape this shit? I¡¯ll pay ye¡¯, I promise.¡±


    The boat-owner shrugged, something resembling sympathy on their face. ¡°You¡¯re an out-of-towner, aren¡¯t ya?¡± (Aeron had noticed the coarse capital ¡®ya¡¯ tended to be the replacement for the Tychean ¡®ye¡¯, but still the somewhat familiar accent made the dealer be reminded of home.)


    Aeron blinked. ¡°Yeah, came in from Evie¡ªI can¡¯t tell ye¡¯ how important this is, mate.¡±


    The boat-owner sounded genuine. ¡°If I could, I would, man; but I¡¯m taking the boat out with me and my family to the Second Isle to wait out most of the war¡ªthe Duke¡¯s changed, ya know. All I¡¯m hoping is that they¡¯re kinder to commoners there.¡±


    Aeron raised his eyebrows. ¡°The Duke¡¯s changed? In this situation?¡±


    The other nodded. ¡°It¡¯s a wonder ya haven¡¯t heard,¡± they commented. ¡°News travels fast in the Empire. A Servant killed the Duke and the Duchess, and the bastard child¡ªthe new one they claimed¡ªgot heavily injured, but is the only remaining member of the family aside from the Sixth Princess.¡±


    The boat-owner tilted their head, thoughtfully. ¡°I mean, if I were the Sixth Princess, I wouldn¡¯t trade an Imperial title for becoming a duchess, but who knows. The same thing happened to the Drakos marquessate¡ªonly for different reasons, but there¡¯s a lot of political reformation going on. Turbulent times, but most people are staying because, well, if it all goes to shit then the Isles will likely be the last ones to fall.¡±


    Strangely well-informed.


    Aeron blinked. ¡°That¡¯s smart of ye.¡±


    They shrugged. ¡°Any one could tell ya the same.¡± Their expression was full of consideration. ¡°I¡¯ll tell ya what, I¡¯ll give ya a freebie. On the house.¡± They dug into their pocket and brought out a crumpled piece of paper. ¡°Doesn¡¯t matter whether ya trust me or not, but make sure ya knock on the door and tell them it¡¯s Killian. They¡¯ll help ya find a way out, hear me?¡±


    That was...surprisingly kind.


    ¡°Thanks,¡± said the dealer, gratefully. ¡°No payments?¡±


    ¡°The deal is struck,¡± the boat-owner said in response. ¡°I hope ya won¡¯t be quick to distrust this city. Might be prickly on the outside, but place your faith in the fact that character is precious currency here. Kindness is shown, loyalty is earned, and trust is given. All ends in exchanges, friend. Good luck.¡± They reached out a hand.


    Aeron shook it. ¡°The deal is struck,¡± he echoed. ¡°Good luck, mate.¡±


    The dealer had a strange trust in this person, and Aeron¡¯s mother whispered in her son¡¯s ears: trust your instincts.


    He did.


    Aeron strolled his way to the address after purchasing a handy knife, and, while holding the blade discreetly in his hand, knocked on the door. He cleared his throat. ¡°¡®Ello?¡±


    A peephole was uncovered. Green eyes met Aeron¡¯s steady gaze.


    ¡°Who?¡± the voice demanded.


    ¡°Sent by Killian,¡± replied the dealer. Short, and to the point¡ªKillian¡¯s mini-political analysis meant they were educated, and with that likely meant connections. They hadn¡¯t had the stench of wealth all over them, or any academic badges that were mandatory to wear when an Analyst, and there was a very large chance that all they were was an educated commoner.


    But.


    The door swung open.


    It was a young boy, around nineteen or twenty if Aeron was being generous, but his green eyes burned. ¡°What do you want?¡±


    Aeron could see a hallway behind him, along with a map marked suspiciously thoroughly with strategic points the dealer confirmed with a glance.


    Yep.


    Anti-Imps.


    ¡°A boat,¡± said Aeron, casually. ¡°Just need a way out here, back to Tyche.¡±


    The boy¡¯s lips twisted. ¡°Fine,¡± he replied, running one hand through his head while narrowing the gap between the door and the frame. ¡°What¡¯s the code word?¡±


    Aeron shrugged. ¡°Killian sent me, told me ye¡¯ would help me find a way out. Didn¡¯t mention any code word.¡± The dealer blinked, calmly, as the boy¡¯s eyes narrowed. ¡°Look, if this is too much trouble, I¡¯ll go knock on someone else¡¯s door.¡±


    As the card dealer turned, the boy called. ¡°Wait.¡±


    Aeron looked back to see the green-eyed boy¡¯s hand raised up in exasperation.


    ¡°Wait,¡± the boy repeated, sighing. ¡°You are owed a due by one of our own, and we will pay.¡± He thrust a hand out, and the dealer accepted it (Gods, the formality was killing him). ¡°Vincent,¡± the boy introduced himself. ¡°You can call me Vinny.¡±


    ¡°Aeron,¡± provided the dealer. ¡°Nice te meet ye, Vinny. Sorry for cutting to the chase, but when should I expect me boat, then?¡±


    Vinny blinked. ¡°We¡¯ll make arrangements,¡± he said, after a beat of consideration. Another beat. ¡°Do you want to come in?¡±


    Aeron barked a laugh. ¡°I¡¯m sorry but I¡¯ll have to decline¡ªthat¡¯s a surefire way to get meself shivved.¡± The dealer tipped an imaginary hat. ¡°I appreciate the honor, though. Have a good day, Vinny. I¡¯ll be ¡®round te-morrow to cash the kindness in.¡± He turned again, before he was held back by another call.


    ¡°Pr¨¢sina M¨¢tia,¡± Vinny supplied. ¡°You are under the protection of Vincent, Head of the Pr¨¢sina M¨¢tia. You will be back.¡±


    The door was slammed.


    <hr>


    ¡°This Empire needs to burn.¡±


    The impassioned youth clenched his fist.


    ¡°My father burned, because he dared to speak out. They see us flies, grains in an hourglass that wait for the inevitable. Temporary. Nonthreatening.¡± He barked a laugh. ¡°Will we continue to serve emperors that scorn us? Continue to serve aristocrats that fight amongst themselves for power and excuse it with the fact that, ¡®when elephants battle, ants perish¡¯? Will we continue, to let them soak our lands bloody with our heartblood while they refuse to bleed even a drop?¡±


    The boy who succeeded a fool¡¯s errand shook his head as he stood in the room.


    ¡°For once, they will bleed, and they will bleed for this Empire. They will bleed for us, and we will bleed them dry.¡±


    He raised his fist.Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.


    ¡°We are the Pr¨¢sina M¨¢tia! One of their Imperial number has perished, and the crown has once again brought us into war! I say no longer! What say you!¡±


    The people roared.


    ¡°No longer will they trample on us,¡± bellowed the boy. ¡°No longer will they feast on our corpses! We will rise above, and we will see them burn.¡±


    The people roared, louder.


    Vincent ended the gathering with another roar, and so the group disbanded.


    A boat.


    It was easier to convince the populace to rebel than find a boat in this economy. Or political climate. ¡°Bah,¡± the boy mumbled underneath his breath, as he tugged a knitted coat over his person.


    The rebellion had been a long time coming. Ever since one of the Chosen got offed, and an opening was created when the newly-crowned Empress declared war, uniting the nobility seemed like the most pragmatic option. And it was¡ªbut leaving the people unattended was an unwise choice. Of course, Vincent admitted as he opened the door, he¡¯d lost a few to the boost in morale with the so-called ¡®Battle of Ends,¡¯ but he still had enough.


    The boy stepped out under the moonlight and breathed in to¡ª


    ¡°I quite enjoyed that speech.¡±


    Immediately, the boy¡¯s attention whipped to the voice.


    It was a golden-eyed woman, of Eurusan blood¡ªshe was beautiful, and dressed demurely in a cloak and modest dark robes; but Vincent had the feeling she¡¯d worn far more luxurious silks. She was striking, older than him by ten-some years, and the boy¡¯s eyes narrowed.


    ¡°Thank you,¡± he said, simply. He didn¡¯t make an effort to approach her, and she didn¡¯t edge nearer.


    The woman laughed. ¡°Aren¡¯t you going to ask what part intrigued me?¡±


    The lilt to her Imperi was more sing-songy than restricted to any type of category¡ªif he had to place it, it was the voice of a person who was going to sell you something they knew you were going to buy.


    Vincent ignored her, but the woman continued.


    ¡°¡®They will bleed for us, and we will bleed them dry,¡±¡¯ she quoted, smiling. ¡°¡®We will see them burn¡¯ was a close second, though, I have to admit.¡± She drew closer, reaching out a gloved hand. ¡°Ellie. Nice to meet you, Vincent.¡±


    The boy ignored the hand, but Ellie continued with the offering hand raised.


    ¡°People think revolution is the flame,¡± she said. ¡°The fire in the brazier that, if left unattended to, can burn your home¡ªbut still, one that can be easily put out.¡± She smiled, and it was more a genuine grin than the twist of the lips that the nobility frequently used, which unsettled Vincent. The woman continued, ¡°But revolution is more the torch, isn¡¯t it? Passed down from generation to generation, poem to poem, Play to Play.¡±


    She held up her other hand, clenching a fist around a false object.


    ¡°But humans so easily lose control,¡± Ellie responded, golden eyes gleaming as she casually dropped the ¡®torch.¡¯ ¡°And change burns the lands they mean to light.¡±


    Vincent continued ignoring her.


    ¡°She means to light your lands, you know,¡± the woman informed him. ¡°The torch-bearer¡ªat this point, I¡¯m not sure which of them is holding the torch at this point, really.¡± She sighed. ¡°But the¡ªsuccessor, I suppose you can call her; even though it depends on whether she continues to let our sister bind her to the title¡ªshe thinks resistance to be extinguished. She hasn¡¯t learned her lesson, not fully¡ªbut such is the way of the tyrant.¡±


    Vinny raised his eyebrows, but didn¡¯t comment.


    ¡°But what separates a conqueror and a tyrant?¡± the boy looked up at the moon and asked. Speaking riddles but not expecting answers. Pah. Very obviously a noble.


    Monologues.


    His father had always told Vinny to either engage as little as possible, and then indulge them.


    ¡°Every emperor is a conqueror,¡± Ellie answered, ¡°but not every conqueror is an emperor.¡± The woman peered closer. ¡°Well, now it¡¯s obvious I can¡¯t let you go free. After all, you asked the right questions¡ªI really did hope I didn¡¯t have to use this.¡±


    Her golden eyes spoke louder than words.


    ¡°Seduce,¡± the Princess said.


    A strange calm draped itself over the boy¡¯s shoulders, and then there was¡ªa Pull. Dark ebbed at his eyes, as a golden gaze stared at him. The surroundings faded away¡ªwho was he? What did he want¡ªno, what did need to do? He remembered he needed to do something, but the desire melted away, replaced by something else.


    He¡ª needed to obey the Voice.


    ¡°Repeat after me,¡± the Voice said. ¡°I, Vincent, swear to the Gods¡­¡±


    The words were pulled out of Vincent¡¯s mouth.


    ¡°I, Vincent, swear to the Gods¡­¡±


    <hr>


    Well, that was a trident point gone, I thought to myself. Although I¡¯d heard good news about Eurus, what with Cyrus¡¯ diplomatic efforts bearing fruit, I doubted the Empire¡¯s plans to utilize the Snakelands to charge Bellum would go smoothly. Julian had been taken into custody, and his subordinates had been burned, but the other praetor and her people had managed to get away.


    But there was more to it, I mused internally, and likely the woman called Cecilia was going to be behind it. But Cyrus wasn¡¯t blind, and neither was the Duchess Elexis¡ªif the defeats kept hammering away at the population, the voluntary enlistment rates would plummet, they knew.


    I was worried.


    Whether about the country or my siblings, I didn¡¯t know. Or care to find out, for that matter.


    I stretched.


    Azareth.


    I would have to take care of that point myself¡ªthat was the duty entrusted to me, while partnering with Delphine. The next step would be to scout out Azareth, I supposed¡ªwe could make use of the Merchants¡¯ ships easily, now that we¡¯d bound them by Oath. The scamming-mercantile plan could be passed to Doxa as well, which Delphine promised she¡¯d take care of.


    The Republicas would be vigilant, expecting retaliation on the spy front¡ªI didn¡¯t doubt that Anaxeres and Petra would use Marianus to find a way in, but¡­


    Was scouting out Azareth really a good idea?


    Having a figurative ¡®inside man¡¯ would make coming up with a solid plan easier, even though coordinating with Delphine would be difficult, it was better for me to do it myself. Get a feel for the lay of the land in the Harbor City, before we boxed it in.


    I didn¡¯t occupy a high enough position that would allow me to trust my subordinates with the task¡ªeven though I did think they were up for it¡ªsince I was technically the ¡®subordinate¡¯ in question. I was the Sixth of a long line¡ªor the Fifth, technically¡ªand was inexperienced compared to the ducal heads.


    It was a strange position.


    ¡°You know those sugared candies?¡± I asked, suddenly.


    Mercy blinked, and, without missing a beat, replied. ¡°The tiny pink ones?¡±


    ¡°Yeah, the tiny pink ones.¡± I mimed the shapes of tiny squares (I¡¯d rather liked them when I¡¯d first entered the palace).


    Xandros hummed. ¡°Should I go buy them for you, Boss?¡±


    ¡°That¡¯d be great, my dear,¡± I said, before he left and I turned to my assassin, patting the seat next to me.


    She sat, and I spoke.


    ¡°You know, I realize you haven¡¯t been doing any assassin-y things. You know, killing people and the like.¡± I leaned back. ¡°I¡¯m planning to go to Azareth to prepare for the blockade. After Delphine¡¯s finished coordinating with Greta for the siege plans, all we need to do is carry them out while Sister and the Consuls do their tug-of-war in the east.¡±


    ¡°And you want me to assassinate people there?¡± Mercy asked, after a beat of consideration.


    ¡°If there¡¯s resistance after the siege, yes,¡± I agreed. ¡°But the siege itself is dependent on whether the situation in Bellum gets better, and if the weapons get in Honos successfully. It¡¯s better if we move soon, though.¡± Delphine had agreed on that.


    After another beat, the assassin spoke up. ¡°Is there anything I need to hide from Xandros?¡±


    I blinked.


    ¡°It¡¯s a strange problem,¡± I said. ¡°It¡¯s not that he isn¡¯t loyal, it¡¯s just¡­¡± I drummed my fingers on the table. ¡°The conditions of his loyalty haven¡¯t been spoken aloud. It might not seem like it, but I prefer for people to accept my offer voluntarily instead of strongarming them into Oaths. It leaves more trust between me and them, more room to move, instead of forcing them into invisible chains and restricting their potential.¡±


    Like the ones I had put myself in.


    ¡°Like Macedon and Alyssa,¡± responded Mercy.


    I gave a nod. ¡°In other words, he¡¯s not like you, my mercy.¡± I sighed, before wryly grinning. ¡°I¡¯d like to think your loyalty is unconditional, of course. But, under this sky, nothing¡¯s wholly unconditional, is it?¡±


    A silence that I let occupy the room.


    ¡°Is that what you see in me, Your Highness?¡± the assassin¡¯s tone was dry. ¡°Potential?¡±


    In the stories, she¡¯d be the protagonist¡ªan orphan girl who had a person teach her amazing skills, the girl fighting her way to a noble title; if that person hadn¡¯t been me and the teachings had been something more morally valuable than knives and poison. She was only a year younger than me, so technically she¡¯d be my little sister if we were family.


    She was a person to me.


    She was.


    But I still needed to use her as a tool.


    ¡°Potential?¡± I asked, repeating the word and rolling it around in my mouth. Images of the dead bodies in the Battle of Ends flashed before my eyes. So much wasted potential. ¡°I suppose,¡± I said, closing my eyes. ¡°But sometimes words can¡¯t cover all the things humans can be.¡±


    My mouth twisted, and Xanthe didn¡¯t reply, merely watching me quietly.


    A long silence, before Xandros came back with the treats and distributed the candy.


    It was sweet.


    <hr>


    Marcellus wasn¡¯t tired.


    At all.


    He¡¯d had the Senate up his ass for the entire period he¡¯d held the position of Consul, and this was more than old hat¡ªit was practically a reflex, a part of him. Smiling, laughing, and making false promises¡ªValerius had always been better at that branch of diplomacy, but Marcellus was no dilettante (well, the Consul wasn¡¯t sure anyone could afford to be a dilettante, in politics).


    Valerius had already delivered the instructions, the pieces had been set up, and all the Consul needed to do was wait for them to fall.


    As the music of the ballroom faded into the background, Marcellus sipped his wine on his ceremonial seat at the head of the room. It tasted like it always did, metallic and sour-sweet, sliding down the former general¡¯s throat like the years of bitter celebration it usually came with.


    His oldest friend looked at Marcellus from across the expanse, crowded by patricians and wine glasses. Silver was gnawing his close-cropped hair, age grasping at Valerius¡¯ face, but as the other Consul smiled, Marcellus could see that youthful soldier who¡¯d promised that he¡¯d buy Marcellus a drink if the then-centurion managed to shoot three bullseyes in a row.


    The familiarity in Valerius¡¯ grin, genuine despite the years of political rivalry they¡¯d forged through, caused the aging wolf to lift his cup to his Evander¡¯s, in a slight toast.


    And Marcellus drank.


    Yes, their east would burn.


    <hr>


    Cecilia led her men under the cover of night¡ªafter all had been done and burnt, she¡¯d led them to a designated camp (as instructed) and healed their injuries (as best she could). The Eurusan healers had been surprisingly obstinate, but there¡¯d been enough of the obedient ones to get them patched up well and good.


    At least, well and good enough for the plan.


    She¡¯d sent her centurions¡ªthe ones that she¡¯d deliberately kept alive¡ªto run the threads around the area and place the explosive in the designated area, and now all she had to do was wait for them to return. All she¡¯d had to do was wait for them to return, the praetor thought, as she opened the door to one abnormally sheepish-looking centurion, and one injured praetor.


    ¡°Why the fuck are you here?¡± she asked, brusquely.


    Julian shrugged. ¡°They let me go,¡± he said, evenly.


    After shooting a glare at the centurion, Cecilia let her subordinate in before facing Julian. ¡°Code.¡±


    ¡°Lasciate ogne speranza, voi ch¡¯intrate,¡± said the boy, without missing a beat.


    ¡°What color was your first horse¡¯s mane?¡±


    ¡°White.¡±


    ¡°Say something.¡±


    Julian¡¯s lips didn¡¯t even twitch. ¡°Something.¡±


    Following orders to the letter, in a way that annoyed people specifically? Cecilia knew the boy well.


    ¡°Smartass,¡± she grumbled, before she hedged open the door and the praetor entered.


    All the injured officers stood up to snap a salute, but Cecilia gave a flippant wave while Julian snapped an ¡®at ease¡¯ one back.


    ¡°Like I said, why the fuck are you here?¡± asked Cecilia, in a low voice. ¡°And in the middle of our operation?¡±


    Julian raised his eyebrows, an uncharacteristically sarcastic expression on his stoic face. ¡°That centurion got in trouble,¡± he said. ¡°Nearly got recognized. As I was trying to find a way back home, I recognized his face and helped him out. Figured out your plan from the thread.¡± He nodded towards the spindle of the newly-invented ¡®coil.¡¯


    Cecilia gritted her teeth. ¡°I gave them specific instructions¡ªyou know what? Never mind.¡± The woman shook her head. ¡°You¡¯re in no shape to be helping out,¡± said the praetor, shortly. ¡°Stay behind. Your men are dead, and you¡¯re injured. You¡¯re sidelined, Praetor of Romulus.¡±


    The boy bared his teeth like the child he was, before he shook his head. ¡°You don''t have the authority to override me,¡± he said, tiredly, ¡°but I¡¯ll follow your orders just this once. Go ahead and pillage the Empire¡¯s libraries.¡± Julian stood up, only to dig his nails deeper in his fists¡ªthe soldier¡¯s version of a wince.


    ¡°There should be some tied-up healers in the back,¡± sighed Cecilia, pointing. ¡°We¡¯re in an Eurusan guard¡¯s house. Don¡¯t trash the place.¡±


    The boy grunted in response, turning to head to the gestured area, before he stopped. ¡°Was it Uncle¡¯s orders?¡± he asked, quietly.


    That...Perhaps someone kinder would¡¯ve been gentler, but the other praetor merely shook her head. ¡°Nah. Your father¡¯s.¡±


    Julian¡¯s face turned, ashes and soot streaking the young boy¡¯s face, and all the praetor''s expression shifted to was mere bemusement. "They didn¡¯t even give back Ralla," he offered as a seemingly unrelated explanation, mumbling his way to the abducted healers as if that had been the crowning glory of the entire incident.


    Cecilia inspected her colleague, but remained silent.


    She had other bones to pick.


    ¡°Did you know that one of the Empire¡¯s libraries had a fire a while back? The Library of Alexandria, they called it. In the east.¡±


    Cecilia¡¯s father had met her eyes.


    ¡°When it was destroyed, it took several priceless texts with it. When I was younger, I read that the entire country had been shaken, stricken with panic. It had not occurred to them¡ªthe Imperials, that prize Eternity so much¡ªthat their history could burn.¡±


    The praetor sighed, now.


    As she gave the command for the next wave of centurions to head out, she had but one thought in mind:


    The Empire would burn tonight.


    <hr>

 44. Wish II

    <hr>


    Acta non verba*


    - REPUBLICA PROVERB


    *Translation: deeds, not words.


    <hr>


    IT WAS STRANGE, to be sitting in your room while your country was being besieged. Especially when you had a plan, but it was really pouring water over one corner while setting fire to another patch of someone else¡¯s carpet (which was still a plan, I might add).


    Especially with a Duchess looking at you across from the table you were seated at.


    ¡°You kept my present,¡± she noted, smiling while nodding towards the dominos circling my carpet.


    ¡°I threatened to fire people if they knocked them over,¡± I said with a laugh. ¡°But yes, I kept it, Your Grace.¡±


    Delphine smiled as if she knew something I didn¡¯t.


    Myths humanize those in power.


    The people? They see those on the throne making mistakes, and think themselves capable of doing better¡ªthe throne, the crown, the Game itself is an invitation. Hierarchies are meant to be toppled, dynasties meant to be ended, kingdoms to be lost and found.


    Yes, the Duchess knew something.


    ¡°Well, although I would love to have one, I¡¯m sure you didn¡¯t invite me for a pleasant chat,¡± she said, fluttering the fan below her eyes. ¡°Business is as business does, after all. So, what do you have on the table, dear?¡±


    ¡°Azareth,¡± I replied, smiling. I plucked a sweet off the bowl, popping in my mouth as the Duchess¡¯ lips curled.


    ¡°I thought we were waiting to make a move to get approval first, to use that as a shield in the case of failure and potential backlash,¡± said Delphine with a laugh, eyeing the bowl (she was right, I had been planning to use plausible deniability as a shield). ¡°But my, my, do you seem eager. Tell me¡ªwhat is it, you hear?¡±


    Hear. Not see.


    The Song was drawn to my attention again. Discordant notes floated in a realm I could only hear, chords meshing together into crescendos and diminuendos playing at wrong¡ªor right¡ªintervals, but I ignored it. Did she know? About my new Ability? Did she? Did she? What if¡ª I laughed off the paranoia.


    ¡°I hear the tune of common sense, Your Grace,¡± I said lightly. ¡°I can¡¯t help but feel a sense of foreboding, these days. How does the adage go? ¡®Strike before the snake can¡¯? If we suffer another loss¡ªit doesn¡¯t even have to be at Eurus¡ªwe¡¯ll lose the momentum that we¡¯ve earned, Your Grace. I trust my gut¡ªwell, that¡¯s incorrect, technically: I trust the fact that what has happened once, can happen again.¡±


    We needed to strike.


    No. That was incorrect.


    We needed to Win.


    Delphine brushed the sugar off her lips.


    ¡°You are right on that, of course,¡± she mused with a giggle. ¡°What has happened once, can happen again.¡± The Duchess raised her head. ¡°But that is what drives fools¡¯ errands, is it not? Only a fool can become a king, but the king cannot be a fool.¡± She tapped the side of her head. ¡°You trade in a jester¡¯s hat for a crown, a lute for a scepter¡ªa court for a kingdom, a cage for a Cage; because fools see their own kind become emperors and think, ¡®What has been done once, can be done a-gain.¡¯¡±


    She enunciated the words like she was reciting a Play, but I couldn¡¯t place the lines.


    I hummed. ¡°You said there was no right, nor wrong way to play.¡± That allies, opponents, victors, and losers do not matter, I recalled.


    ¡°I never said they were wrong,¡± Delphine chided. ¡°I just called them fools.¡± She plucked another candy out of the bowl. ¡°After all,¡± she added, ¡°a broken clock may be right twice a day, but a folly can scream louder than time itself.¡± She smiled again, as if that was a prophecy for the Gods¡ªas if she knew all the secrets to the Universe and I couldn¡¯t pay the price to hear them.


    ¡°But Azareth,¡± I redirected, casually.


    ¡°But Azareth,¡± she agreed, and there was silence.


    ¡°We should have a reliable method of communication, so I know where to send my reports,¡± I prompted.


    Delphine blinked. ¡°Pigeons?¡± she asked, chewing on the sweet.


    ¡°They might get shot down,¡± I reminded. ¡°The Republicas are on high alert, and, knowing them, they¡¯ve likely put out some kind of reward for citizens notifying them of any suspicious activity, including birds with war messages tied to their feet. They¡¯re almost as paranoid as we are.¡± I could actually take the chance to mess with them a bit, if I wanted.


    But the whole point of the operation was to keep it on the metaphorical down low, which meant that I couldn¡¯t attach food recipes on fake birds and send them to confuse the Armies.


    ¡°We have spies in Azareth,¡± said Delphine. ¡°Anaxeres¡¯ spiders. They were already placed there before the war, which means they¡¯re a bit harder to reach, but¡ª¡± the Duchess shrugged, as her eyes glinted ¡°¡ªI¡¯m sure you can make use of them. You can send me a couple initial reports that I¡¯ll pass to Her Majesty, but likely her approval will come first. While you make your rounds, I¡¯ll consult with the Merchants to mobilize the ships as soon as possible. ¡®Weaken, and then strike,¡¯ they say.¡±


    I blinked. ¡°I¡¯ll try not to drag it out, but reporting on the situation and weakening the Romus Army¡¯s influence on the city are two different things, Your Grace,¡± I replied, tilting my head. A slight protest. How would Delphine react¡ª


    The Duchess laughed.


    ¡°I understand that you¡¯re already in the chains of another,¡± she said, ¡°but, right now, you¡¯re under my supervision. And, as your supervisor, I ask of you to weaken the Romus Army¡¯s political influence on the city and send me a report on your progress in two days.¡±


    Two days.


    They¡¯re ordering the blockade¡ªin two days? (Would that mess up the timing of the entire operation?)


    I ask of you. Not order.


    I needed to get it done in two days. She¡¯d planned this, likely, from the time she¡¯d set up the dominoes¡ªI was just another brick, another piece.


    But oh, well. If she was capable, I wasn¡¯t against being used.


    I picked up a candy, as close to an admission of defeat as I could get. ¡°I would need citizenship certificates and a false identity,¡± I replied, biting into the somewhat-sticky candy (it was stickier than I remembered¡ªan elegant pink toffee, with grape tones).


    ¡°They¡¯ll be prepared for,¡± said the Duchess with another laugh, fluttering her fan. ¡°Even though Anaxeres¡¯ web might be stretched a bit thin, his threads won¡¯t break.¡± Not a promise, a statement. ¡°He has Petra, too,¡± Delphine added. ¡°Both of them will handle the operation well, my dear. Don¡¯t worry, you¡¯ll get all your pieces before sundown.¡± On her lips flitted a warm smile, and I smiled back.


    It hung thin.


    ¡°Can I know?¡± I nodded towards the dominoes on the floor, a couple paces to my right. ¡°What domino I am?¡±


    A beat.


    ¡°In Galbraith¡ªdid you know, that we call it Galbraith because that¡¯s what the eastern Rhianites were first called when they first established contact with the western part of the continent? Very intriguing¡ªthere is a Belief.¡± Delphine smiled. ¡°Their oracles tell of an apocalypse, where their Gods will be slain and the world will be split open. A time where ¡®brothers will fight and kill each other¡­no man shall have mercy on another.¡¯¡± I very vaguely recognized the reference, and she continued.


    ¡°They say three roosters will crow, a hound will break free, and all the ancient evils will walk the world once more. But do you know which evil slays the greatest magician of their Gods?¡± The Duchess leaned closer. ¡°A wolf. It swallows the sun, according to one of their poems.¡±


    A wolf.


    I raised my eyebrows. ¡°A wolf,¡± I said.


    ¡°A wolf,¡± she repeated, smiling. ¡°A horse is used in races, but a wolf is not. It can be chained, but never tamed.¡± The Cardinal fanned herself, sugary fingertips clutching the hilt of the instrument. ¡°You are a wolf, my dear. Many will try to chain you, including your lord¡ªwhether by word or by deed, you will see the bindings all the same¡ªbut you are a wolf. Do not mistake yourself for what you are not.¡±


    A wolf. It was a high opinion of me. A tall order.


    There was a reason behind it I couldn¡¯t ascertain.


    ¡°Why me then, Your Grace?¡± I asked wryly.


    Delphine pressed a finger to her lips, and smiled before tutting.


    ¡°Didn''t I say? Telling you would be cheating, dear herald.¡±


    <hr>


    Elexis could see her duchy¡¯s history burning. Smoke stung her eyes and clouded her throat, but she couldn¡¯t afford to waver. ¡°Keep the rhythm!¡± she boomed. ¡°Heave!¡±Reading on Amazon or a pirate site? This novel is from Royal Road. Support the author by reading it there.


    Multiple cough-ridden ¡°ho!¡±s filled the air, and she was reminded of the Snakelands fire that had happened only days ago. There were too many casualties, too many deaths and losses, too much ¡®irreparable¡¯ and not enough ¡®fixable.¡¯ These fires¡ªshe of all people knew that they would cause damage, damage that would last for centuries.


    The Library of Alexandria was aflame once again, crimson adorning the majestic structure like a grotesque necklace. The scene was monstrous, smoke ornamenting the sky forming shapes of evening giants, ashes and fire turning the sunset from majestic to bleak.


    The sun bled its way across the horizon, until it was midnight and the bones of Eurusan Legacy were revealed.


    And they were not pretty.


    ¡°The embers will burn,¡± warned the Eurusan man beside her. He was old, wizened¡ªjust like Elexis herself. They had both aged, in the years they¡¯d married, but the Duchess wasn¡¯t sure which of them bore the scar well.


    ¡°When have they not?¡± the warrior queen asked, not moving her eyes off the sight outside her window.


    There would be Tartarus to pay, she knew that¡ªthis fire would shred her people¡¯s morale. The renowned Library of Alexandria¡ªwhich, thankfully, had been closed at the time it¡¯d been burned¡ªlay in ashes and scorched earth, and with it an academic century. What was left of the Fire paled in comparison to the Borean Athenaeum, yes, but the Library itself had been still one of the Empire¡¯s prized institutions on the matter of Before.


    It had stood the test of tyrants and kings, but had bent its knee to a particularly wily general.


    It was a Eurusan monument, practically¡ªit symbolized the resilience of learning and innovation, and it had fallen.


    That was just the beginning of the mess, Elexis knew.


    The first fire, the Snakelands one, had permanently damaged Eurusan-Galani relations. The galanos and Eurusan warriors had nearly come to blows, before Cyrus had captured the Cohorts and a praetor. That had forged a tentative balance, which the Chosen had wrecked by letting the praetor escape. And he had done it deliberately, which was the reason Elexis had sent him to repair what he had broken.


    It was a mess, and she needed a few seconds of silence. A minute of peace with her husband, who she loved, a minute of not paying attention to her burning Legacy.


    She couldn¡¯t afford to.


    ¡°I will go,¡± the Duchess Cadmus said, brushing her hand over her partner¡¯s.


    A sad look passed across her husband¡¯s eyes. ¡°Yes, you will go,¡± he agreed.


    The Duchess left.


    <hr>


    ¡°In this world,¡± the exiled prince said, ¡°it is do, or die. Do, or be done to. Kill, or be killed.¡±


    A laugh. ¡°Is this an excuse, Prince?¡± asked the Galani leader, voice low even though there were only the two in the tent. ¡°Because of your incapability, and that proditos that calls herself Duchess, our victory has been lost. Our only bargaining chip? Lost.¡± She bent forward. ¡°Our home has been razed to the ground, our people burnt into ashes, and we have been forced to seek aid from the people who have exiled us for decades.¡±


    Exile.


    Cyrus shook his head. ¡°It is not an excuse,¡± he said. ¡°It is an apology.¡± He bent his knee, and his head. ¡°I am sorry.¡± It was not a matter of pride, he knew¡ªa cost shouldn¡¯t diminish a cause¡¯s value, but that didn¡¯t mean it should be ignored. Collect, and then act.


    He would fix it.


    ¡°I am sorry,¡± said the Third Prince, kneeling. ¡°Truly.¡±


    It had been a necessary price, but still one that had cost others.


    Olysseus had taught him, after all¡ªa rogue¡¯s honor, had said the man, is still an honor. What of the Republic¡¯s fantasy of duty?


    A hand fell on Cyrus¡¯ shoulder.


    ¡°Maybe you are, child of lightning,¡± said the leader, softer, ¡°but you cannot make the past repent. The dead sing no praises.¡±


    That was what they always said, didn¡¯t they? Revenge for the dead meant nothing, they always told him.


    The Lightning Prince raised his head. ¡°But their children do,¡± Cyrus Queenscage said.


    He needed to repent.


    <hr>


    ¡°It¡¯s done!¡± chirped Arathis. The Forsaken waved the papers. ¡°I didn¡¯t destroy anything when I was out, too. See, I can listen to instructions, Josie.¡±


    Josephine tutted. ¡°Well, I made a puppet out of the anti-Imperials while you were gone, Ara. Sister told me I did supremely well.¡±


    ¡°Pah. She was obviously lying.¡± Arathis leaped on the chair next to his sister. ¡°I just created a grand duchy. Well, technically, I helped find loopholes for Oldest Sister to make the writ, but I was definitely more productive.¡±


    The other rolled her eyes. ¡°She could¡¯ve done it herself, you know. She just wanted you out of the way. Not that that¡¯ll stop your plans.¡± Josephine sighed. ¡°Out with it. You tampered with it, didn¡¯t you?¡±


    The Fifth Prince blinked. ¡°Why would I?¡± he asked, innocently.


    ¡°You really want me to spell it out for you?¡± the Fourth Princess raised an eyebrow. She snatched an apple from the bowl next to her, making a face after she tasted it. ¡°Ew. I thought people actually ate the fruits in the throne room. Tastes warm and mushy inside.¡± Still, she bit into it again, remarking with her mouth full: ¡°You were against her making Sera Grand Duchess of Inevita, and I of all people should know that you poison every pie you don¡¯t like. Like I said, out with it.¡±


    ¡°Sabotage,¡± Arathis corrected. ¡°Poison is supremely overrated. Sabotage is a more interesting word.¡± He shrugged, propping his chin up with a hand casually. ¡°Besides, I wasn¡¯t obvious. I¡¯m helping Oldest Sister and Youngest Sister.¡± The statement was met with an amusedly skeptical eyebrow, to which Arathis raised his hands.


    ¡°I mean it,¡± the Forsaken said. ¡°Greta, especially. Right now, Sera isn¡¯t in any condition to be her linchpin. Orion used to keep Her Greatness stable¡ªwell, stable enough¡ªbut he¡¯s gone now, and she refuses to let me raise him from the dead. Greta¡¯s training Sera to be her successor, but that¡¯s not a role that keeps her from going off the metaphorical rails.¡±


    He leaned closer.


    ¡°Can you really not see it? Greta¡¯s fatal flaw. We all have one¡ªpride, lust, all those vices that drive us here¡ªbut hers is greed. Going overboard, doing anything to keep her Dream alive; including trying to chain a Harbinger¡ªwho¡¯s already Oathsworn to her, too¡ªto her reign.¡±


    ¡°And?¡± Josie asked. ¡°What fun do you get out of this?¡± Her usual mischief was gone, genuine curiosity replacing it.


    ¡°She¡¯s breaking the code,¡± said the Fourth Prince. ¡°We Victors are family. You don¡¯t try to tame family¡ªat least, that¡¯s her and Orion¡¯s code, passed down from Father himself.¡± Arathis leaned back, crossing his arms as he closed his eyes. He sighed lazily before speaking again.


    ¡°Greta will cross a line¡ªthat line¡ªeventually; and, before she does, she needs someone racing with her. Someone that¡¯ll keep her in check, push her the way she needs to go. Push the Empire the way it needs to go. You don¡¯t raise a successor by chaining it with things like ¡®duty¡¯ and ¡®obligation¡¯¡ªno, you raise a successor by letting it make its own choices.¡±


    ¡°Give them just enough rope to hang themselves,¡± sighed Josephine.


    Oathbreaker, they called him.


    The Hanged Killer smiled. ¡°And give them the release of death,¡± he finished.


    <hr>


    News of Eurus reached me just as I was given the secret identity of a bagel merchant named Cato Nola, a carriage, and a lecture (it had been a crash course on how not to die on enemy territory, with the very unrelated tidbit about how they¡¯d changed my last name to mean ¡®bell¡¯ in Republica because it sounded better).


    This was...not good.


    Had Delphine expected it? Was that why she was¡ª?


    Thoughts swarmed in my head before Xandros put a tentative hand on my shoulder. ¡°Are you alright, Boss?¡±


    I whipped my head around. I hadn¡¯t sensed it. Was ¡®Read¡¯ faltering? Was¡ª


    ¡°Just thinking,¡± I evaded. I couldn¡¯t afford to falter, not yet.


    I had already tested out Thought when I¡¯d had the plan:


    I go to Azareth.


    Foot stepping on sea-stone, under swathes of fabric. The scent of seawater and rough Republica whispers about fish and the war.


    I collect information on Azareth.


    Squinted eyes. Hesitation. Distaste.


    I¡ª


    My recollection was interrupted by the driver clearing his throat.


    Following his not-so-obvious cue, I boarded the carriage with Mercy beside me and Alexandros across from me, watching the sky.


    ¡°So,¡± Xandros began, with a cough. ¡°Er, why are we going to Azareth, again? Orders from above? Or?¡±


    ¡°We needed to move before they did,¡± I said, shortly. ¡°They moved. We haven¡¯t, and we¡¯re in a bad position¡ªthe east is in a very, very big pile of shit.¡±


    ¡°Aw. That sucks,¡± he said. He looked genuinely sad. ¡°What happened?¡±


    ¡°The Snakelands fire happened, and the soldiers that escaped managed to burn the Library of Alexandria,¡± I explained.


    Which brought me to the point.


    Loyalty.


    It was a strange word, but the people that were travelling with me needed to have at least some modicum of it towards me, and with it a similar definition to mine. I had seen Alexandros'' future as a general, and Mercy as a high-ranking noble, in flashes of a future where I''d climbed the ranks.


    Ever since Thought had came to me, and I''d heard the Song, there had been that ever-present feeling of foreboding inside my chest.


    Not the calm before the storm, because the situation barely constituted as calm.


    A crescendo in the symphony before the chorus, I supposed. But what would the chorus entail?


    Herald, the Duchess had called me.


    I had a suspicion that the word meant more than its sound.


    But-


    Loyalty.


    Yes, they were my minions. And for that, I owed them my thoughts.


    ¡°In this world,¡± I said after a while, ¡°it is do, or die.¡±


    Victory or defeat. Two outcomes of the Game.


    (It was never that black and white, but no matter the shade they came in two colors.)


    The music took a sharp dive, clashing strings plucked and a menagerie of bells being rung all at once. Compared to before, when the Song had been all string and drum, it now took the form of a revellazo, clear bell and ornate string-key.


    The dawn of a vision.


    ¡°Is this world,¡± I asked them, meeting their eyes, ¡°really worth your death?¡± It was a rhetorical question, and one that I let hang in the air.


    Imperials were notorious for dying only for themselves.


    And I was of the Empire, born and raised.


    Was I willing to die for the world could be? An unsteady future?


    No, I really wasn¡¯t.


    Was I willing to die for anything, really? Power? Wealth? Fame?


    Not really.


    There was nothing in this Empire I would die for, and I would do absolutely nothing to change that.


    They deserved to know that I had no wish to be a martyr.


    "But you want to change it, don''t you?" Mercy asked, after a pause. "The Empire?"


    "Of course I do," I said with a grin. "After all, I want to rule it."


    <hr>

 45. Wish III

    <hr>


    What is


    Freely given, freely shared,


    Freely torn to disrepair,


    Freely twisted, freely bared,


    Freely kept, they swear.*


    - FORSAKEN RIDDLE


    *Answer: a secret.


    <hr>


    UNDER THE MOON, TWO PLAYED A GAME.


    There was silence, before one spoke up.


    ¡°Hero, or villain.¡± Mockery stretched the Chosen¡¯s lips. ¡°Villain, or hero. Cowardly or brave, flighty or stalwart, false or true. Don¡¯t we, humanity as a whole, love our little boxes? Our little adjectives and labels, our lines and limits?¡± The question hung in the air. ¡°We define others in words, but words cannot even begin to define what humans are.¡± Arathis¡¯ eyes glinted. ¡°Or, more importantly, what they could be.¡±


    ¡°Potential?¡± Josephine raised an eyebrow.


    ¡°Fate is but a limit on it,¡± Arathis agreed. ¡°But how far would a person go? If they wanted to remove the boot on the Empire¡¯s neck? Would they then chop off the foot? Kill the offender? There will be no end.¡±


    A beat.


    ¡°For who?¡± asked the other.


    ¡°For what,¡± corrected the prince. ¡°There will be no end to the Empire¡¯s greed¡ªand that is the only form of eternity we can achieve.¡±


    A piece moved.


    ¡°They say that a hero would rather save the world over you, while a villain would burn the world to save you. The truth isn¡¯t as poetic of a romantic fantasy, really. Villains die only for themselves¡ªthat it is what makes them villains, after all.¡±


    A laugh, from the other.


    Arathis¡¯ finger landed on the piece in the Circle. ¡°That crown the Queen wears¡ªit is not a shield.¡± He laughed. ¡°The protection of the devil themselves? Nothing more than an empty promise. Eternity itself is nothing more than a false hope.¡± He leaned back. ¡°Whether peasant or noble, hero or villain, no matter how many tyrants are slain or overthrown¡ªno matter how many kingdoms are united or divided¡ªeveryone dances the dance of death.¡±


    Josephine laughed again.


    ¡°The word ¡®dance¡¯ makes it sound like a choice, dear brother,¡± she responded, moving forward a piece. ¡°You can put it simply¡ªwe¡¯re all puppets. Ugly, tiny puppets on our thick and ugly strings.¡± She placed her fingers against the Queen, measuring its size before raising it against the sky. Through the space between, her golden eyes peered at a glassy silver.


    ¡°Doesn¡¯t the moon look tiny from here?¡± Aphrodite¡¯s Chosen asked, smiling.


    Both fingertips came crashing down.


    ¡°Like you could crush it,¡± remarked the Princess, mildly.


    Arathis chuckled. ¡°Then should I bring you the sky?¡± A piece moved.


    The other¡¯s lips twitched. ¡°But I asked for the moon.¡± Another piece moved


    ¡°Pah. The moon¡¯s hardly interesting.¡± The Forsaken waved a hand dismissively as his piece advanced. ¡°Now, the sky? The sky¡¯s where it¡¯s at. Has the moon, the sun, and the stars.¡±


    A lilting laugh. ¡°Is it the sky you¡¯re talking about, brother?¡± She leaned forward, whispering conspiratally. ¡°Or the Sky?¡±


    A silence, with twin smiles under the night. Only a click broke the silence, as the Princess tipped her own Queen and winked.


    Arathis spoke.


    ¡°We only live once, dear sister, so we might as well live well and live long.¡±


    The Forsaken elegantly stretched out a hand across the board in a gesture resembling both a handshake and an offer, his grin gleaming silver as the moon rose behind him.


    ¡°Let us dance,¡± the Fifth Prince said.


    <hr>


    I arrived within a day and a night, the horses and drivers travelling nonstop as they dropped us off, bleary-eyed, at a secure drop point.


    And then we edged closer to the city, ready to carry out our entrance plan.


    Azareth, for lack of a better term, a gem of stone and carved cliff that gleamed bright against the sun. Strips of dock branched off the Stronghold and floated above cerulean waters¡ªit was surprisingly idyllic, all things considered. If it weren¡¯t for the soldiers positioned outside the walls and the strangely strategic palisade around the city, I would¡¯ve never thought it was in the middle of a war.


    Mercy strolled right to the gates and shouted in rough Republica like I¡¯d taught her. ¡°I seek entrance!¡±


    Immediately, of course, she was faced with knives, arrows, and the occasional gun pointed at her face.


    It was barely seconds after that a soldier¡ªa centurion¡ªclimbed down and did that stoic frown that Republica legionaries seemed to be fond of, a few paces away from the usual stab-you-in-the-gut distance.


    ¡°We are on lockdown, citizen,¡± he said gruffly in Republica. ¡°Travelling merchants are not welcome here.¡± His eyes flickered over Mercy¡¯s features. ¡°Especially those of Imperial descent. Turn back immediately, or you will be recognized as a hostile and be executed according to Republica protocol.¡±


    He didn¡¯t immediately bring her in on suspicion of being a spy.


    That...was interesting.


    Xandros gestured randomly and spoke Imperial words¡ªblue, sky, green¡ªlike he was translating (it was a gamble on whether the legionary could speak Imperi). He put hands to his mouth and tapped me on the shoulder, and I spoke in Republica finally. ¡°We cannot enter?¡±


    The centurion¡¯s eyebrows edged up, just a bit. ¡°You speak?¡±


    I nodded enthusiastically. ¡°S-she¡ª¡± I gestured to Mercy ¡°¡ªdoesn¡¯t speak, or understand. H-he understands, but can¡¯t speak. I can speak, and understand, but s-she¡¯s the leader, so I g-g-gave her entrance appeal rights.¡± I deliberately spoke fast, as if I was nervous, letting my gaze flicker to the weapons every now and then.


    ¡°She¡¯s the leader?¡± The centurion jutted a chin towards Mercy.


    ¡°Y-yeah,¡± I said, slowly. ¡°P-p-please. Can we enter? Y-y-you can take her, I promise.¡± At this, Xandros¡¯ gestures and speech slowed, forcing uncertainty before he picked it up again. Mercy looked pleased at that, making the false dynamic obvious: we both didn¡¯t like our leader.


    The centurion was sharp.


    Mercy reached out. I deliberately flinched.


    The soldier frowned.


    ¡°I-I¡¯m a bagel merchant,¡± I continued, weakly. ¡°Cato. C-Cato Nola. He¡¯s¡ªMarcus, my t-twin brother. She¡¯s our younger sister, A-Augusta. But she¡¯s¡ªa s-s-sellsword. And she¡ª k-killed our parents over an argument, before the war began. We were a w-w-wandering troupe. Travelling merchants. P-p-please don¡¯t tell her. P-p-please let us in.¡±


    Naturally, he was suspicious.


    I cried, letting tears roll down my cheeks, cueing Mercy¡¯s hand to twitch. I flinched and instantly ran towards the centurion....and, after an hour or two of sob story acting, I was in¡ª


    <hr>


    ¡ªa prison cell.


    But I was in.


    Woohoo!


    <hr>


    ¡°A sellsword,¡± said the centurion, in that bland tone that somehow conveyed more incredulity than any dry remark could.


    ¡°Yeah,¡± I said slowly. ¡°L-L-Look, we¡¯ve been at it for hours. C-C-Can I p-p-please have a drink?¡± I made a show of my trembling hands. I¡¯d been repeating my story like a broken record for the past hour, and I was starting to contemplate holding the centurion hostage. I doubted Xandros and Mercy were faring better. ¡°P-p-please?¡± I repeated. ¡°I-I promise, on my h-honor¡ª¡±


    ¡°Honor is not something to be gambled away so easily,¡± he returned, as calm as ever. ¡°We will wait. For our advisor.¡±


    ¡°A-a-advisor?¡±


    He looked at me grimly. ¡°Yes, an advisor. Seems like you won¡¯t crack.¡± He leaned towards the door and opened it in a deft swing. ¡°Bring in the loon!¡±


    <hr>


    We sat in silence, before the loon in question spoke.


    He was old, older than old, fit for being a grandfather or a great one. Matted pale hair decorated his tanned scalp, worn leathery skin tight over his seemingly ancient skull. Interestingly enough, he wore a leopard over his chest like a skinned brigandine, but shifted it over his shoulders every now and then (but he didn¡¯t let his obvious physical discomfort taint his serene face, which was strange).


    A grape wreath was perched on his head, poetically solitary in all its miserable glory¡ªa sorry excuse of a costume, I supposed.


    The man had an unusual melancholy in his eyes, as if someone had killed his favorite dog but he needed to find the heart to forgive them. Peace amidst silence, his expression was. He invoked all types of negative emotion¡ªpity, mostly; but I had no doubt he¡¯d weathered his fair share of anger.


    But he spoke.


    ¡°They say you see someone¡¯s true self after they have lost, not gained. Some argue the opposite, and say that you see who someone really is by giving them power, and watching what they do with it. I seem to be torn between the two, so I ask of you¡ªwhat have you lost, girl, and what have you gained?¡±


    My lips curled, wryly. A strange question to be asked by an advisor.


    But I had the feeling he knew something he shouldn¡¯t.


    So I answered honestly.


    ¡°Everything,¡± I said. ¡°And nothing.¡±


    A sad smile glimmered on the old man¡¯s lips. ¡°I asked what you have lost,¡± he chided, ¡°not what you stand to gain.¡±


    He seemed to be lost in thought for a few seconds, before he rephrased the question.Stolen story; please report.


    ¡°Who are you, girl?¡± he asked. An unreadable melancholy occupied his eyes, and the sheer volume of the pity in it made me want to claw his gaze out. No. That was a reflex.


    Why should I feel angry?


    He was, after all, just asking me a question.


    ¡°I don¡¯t know, old man,¡± I admitted, before laughing. ¡°The better question would be, who do I hope to be?¡±


    ¡°Then?¡± he pressed, although lightly. ¡°What do you want to be?¡±


    ¡°Hope to be,¡± I corrected. Wording was everything. ¡°I hope¡ªto be enough.¡± I smiled, a bit wryly. ¡°I will answer one last question, old man. Then we will talk. You can...advise me.¡± I sneered, but that didn''t stop him.


    This time, he was the one to correct me. ¡°I will ask one last question, girl¡ªdo you think you can kill the Gods?¡±


    A sudden question that made my head jerk up, a question that came in the voice of¡ª a God.


    The old man¡¯s countenance ever-so-slightly shifted into a man with dead eyes and a jovial smile, a far cry from the sad old man who had questioned me just now. This man¡ªthis God¡ªleaned back in his chair if he owned it, and peered at me as if he knew me by seemingly unrelated. He looked perfectly normal, yes; but the telltale mark of his sclera swallowed whole by ink made the sight seem¡ª


    ¡ªJarring.


    Like a statue upside down.


    Or a God who was where he wasn¡¯t supposed to be.


    Suddenly the grape wreath around his neck seemed less strange, the leopard skin draped around the old man¡¯s body more fitting.


    ¡°Taurokeros,¡± I felt myself speak. The one worshipped as the Bull-Horned¡ª


    My oldest sister¡¯s Liege.


    The old man¡¯s lips twisted into a grin. It has been a long time since someone has called me by that name, he mused. I¡¯d think centuries¡ªmy bacchantes, yes. He leaned a bit closer. Who told you? The voice or the Song?


    ¡°I¡ª¡±


    Don¡¯t know.


    The God inspected me.


    It doesn¡¯t matter, he conceded, names can die, just as ages and eras. Far from it for me to stop them. He held up three fingers. You may ask three questions.


    ¡°Three...questions.¡±


    My mind was afire¡ªthe Gods had never before descended below, had they? Why would they, now? Were they in danger? Was the Empire in danger? I had too many questions, and here the God was, offering me answers. Would the answers be cryptic? Specific? What kind of God was Dionysus, and how much could I pry out of him¡ª


    No.


    I was thinking incorrectly. This wasn¡¯t a human I was dealing with.


    This was a God.


    A God who had seen empires rise and fall, eras end and begin, and a history of heroes and villains far braver than me.


    What did I want to hear?


    What did I need to hear?


    ¡°What story are we in, Taurokeros?¡± I asked, quietly.


    Dionysus laughed. A good question. Not the right question, but a good one. He tilted his head. A story of life and death, I suppose, the God said after a while, casually running a hand through his hair (a youthful gesture on an aged man). Of freedom and servitude, as well...but, most of all¡ª he smiled, as if he¡¯d thought of the most amusing thing on the planet ¡ªone of redemption.


    Redemption.


    I blinked.


    ¡°I¡¯ll answer your other question,¡± I said slowly, after a while.


    Ah, yes. Would you like me to repeat it?


    ¡°Thank you, but there¡¯s no need.¡± Would I need to use manners when talking to a God? This wasn¡¯t like when I was talking to Athena, where everything came naturally and the relationship was set in stone¡ªservant and liege, the Goddess and I were, but with this God¡­


    ¡°I don¡¯t think I can,¡± I answered. ¡°Or particularly want to.¡±


    That¡¯s very contradictory, replied the other. He smirked. For a Harbinger.


    I blinked.


    ¡°Excuse me?¡± I asked.


    You heard me, chuckled Dionysus. His dark eyes flickered. Herald.


    He continued, as if he hadn¡¯t said anything special: For all humans say, ¡®don¡¯t shoot the messenger,¡¯ they tend to do it quite often. Of course, the concept of ¡®Harbingers¡¯ isn¡¯t very public, but still¡ªit isn¡¯t the title¡¯s fault that most Harbingers turn out to be more ¡®bringers of death¡¯ than ¡®heralds,¡¯ like they were meant to be.


    He raised a hand.


    Angelo the Avenger, the conqueror.


    A finger was folded.


    Lysimachos the Insane, the slaughterer.


    Another finger folded.


    Cesas the Coward, the fool.


    The hand was tucked away.


    And you, dear Seraphina the Insatiable, the liar.


    Dionysus smiled.


    You are the last, dear Sera, of a very long line. And you will witness the fall of Olympus.


    The words slammed into me like a sword.


    ¡°Who,¡± I said, quietly, ¡°will kill the Gods?¡±


    The old man leaned forward. Most mosaics and art pieces, although long fallen to dust and disrepair, depicted the God of Wine and Revelry as forever young and celebratory. I couldn¡¯t deny that the God had summoned life into the hollow husk of a human, but I couldn¡¯t say that it was celebratory youth I saw staring back at me. It was a dead sort of spark, like ashes after a bonfire¡ªbut still alive all the same, embers amidst the coal.


    Greta¡¯s Liege.


    Many do not know, he said, that I used to be a god of freedom.


    I did, somehow.


    ¡°Eleutherios,¡± I said.


    Another old name.


    Dionysus laughed. Yes, he agreed, they used to call me Liberator. His gaze tore through me, as if he was looking at me but something else at the same time. My wine, my song, and my dance freed the citizens from their chains¡ªalbeit just for a minute, just for an eternity. He smiled. I used to be a bridge as well, you know¡ªbetween the living and the dead. Suffering and joy. Life, the divine madness. Death, the mortal sanity.


    His eyes weren¡¯t dead, not really, I thought.


    If I looked closer, I could see that his gaze was the only sane thing about it.


    Life is a wine, he said. It drunkens. Death sobers. Too much of one is poison, too little is not enough. He leaned back in the chair. It is different, to be drunk and to be mad¡ªyou would know the difference, wouldn¡¯t you? Harbinger?


    I blinked.


    After all, Dionysus continued, you hear my Song. He grinned, baring his crumbling yellow teeth. But you haven¡¯t taken a sip of wine in your life, have you?


    Mad.


    He was calling me mad.


    Yes, the God said, in response to my silent thought.


    A silence.


    Some think that war is the most human value, he mused. Ares and Athena are the most human Gods, they say. Others insist it is death. Yet I am the one talking to you, and I am¡ªand always was¡ªthe only God who walked this world for most of my youth.


    The Song I heard¡ªit was his.


    I will answer your question. Dark eyes gleamed. ¡®Who will kill the Gods?¡¯ you ask. Well, for that question you will have to ask another. ¡®What keeps us alive?¡¯


    What kept a God alive?


    ¡°Epiphany,¡± I recalled. ¡°You are a God of Epiphany, as well. This¡ªthis is a theophany.¡± Names brimmed in my head, names I shouldn¡¯t know. Dimetor, ¡°twice born.¡± Cittophorus, ¡°basket-bearer.¡± Semeleios, ¡°son of Semele.¡± Dendrites, ¡°he of the trees.¡± Oeneus, ¡°flesh-eater.¡±


    But they call me Dionysus, the God said. All Gods have many names, many figures, many portraits and personifications and Plays, but I was always one. He held up a crooked finger. I was the God of Madness. But I will be no more.


    ¡°You will die,¡± I realized. ¡°The Gods will fall, and as will the Sky.¡±


    Atlas is long dead, Dionysus responded. But why are we still here? What is keeping us alive?


    Something that was going to be destroyed, soon.


    ¡°The Cage.¡± The words were quiet, even. ¡°The Cage is Olympus¡¯ Legacy.¡±


    A wine glass was suddenly in his hand, and the God toasted my epiphany. Let us drink, Harbinger.


    An ancient chalice appeared on the table, in the cell with salty air and sea-tainted sunlight.


    I picked it up, and asked my last question.


    ¡°Why?¡± My voice was thin and fragile as I took a swig. The wine tasted strange, sour and tangy like moustalevria but sweet like the candies I¡¯d eaten. ¡°Why me? Why?¡± I repeated, my throat hoarse but my head raised. I looked the God in the eye and saw a strange form of sadness, a sadness that was overturned by something far older.


    Dionysus moved closer and clinked his glass with mine.


    Why ever the not? the God of Insanity answered.


    And then he unceremoniously passed out, spilling wine all over the table as the possession ended.


    <hr>


    I¡¯d looked like I¡¯d seen a ghost by the time the interrogations were over, and Mercy and Xandros were concerned. They always seemed concerned these days.


    I tasted the salt in the air and the sunshine as I stepped out of the building with a heavy weight on my chest and something far heavier on my shoulders.


    The former handed me a handkerchief while the latter patted me on the back awkwardly as I cried hard and long for the first time in my life.


    <hr>


    I twisted the ring on my left hand as my minions pretended nothing was wrong (which was all well and good, since it was rather embarrassing). ¡°Report on the current balance of power in Azareth?¡± I asked lazily, closing my eyes while leaning back on my bed.


    I could hear Xandros shift uneasily, but Mercy¡¯s tone was as professional as ever.


    ¡°The centurion we met was the head of the Fifth Cohort of the Romus Army,¡± she said. ¡°It is likely he has been stationed here after his First and Second Cohorts were sent to the border, and the Third and Fourth were given to the Republica effort in the east. He is currently the highest authority in the City, although that might change sometime soon.¡±


    ¡°How so?¡±


    The assassin cleared her throat. ¡°Xandros asked around. Since he couldn¡¯t speak, they were more liberal with information around him, even though most of them were aware he could understand, they assumed he could do so only vaguely. He can explain further.¡±


    Xandros stepped forward (even though I couldn¡¯t see him, I could hear his step). ¡°Ya, well¡ª ever since ya got rid of the First and Second Cohort of Romulus at Notus, everything¡¯s been a bit woozy. Doesn¡¯t seem like the victory at Eurus has been widespread, but I¡¯d bet the news¡¯ll come pretty soon, ¡®cause the Fourth and Fifth of Romulus¡ªthe ones switched out with Romus¡¯ First and Second¡ªare apparently going to rest at Azareth. They¡¯re expecting an attack here, too, apparently.¡±


    I sighed.


    ¡°Then we¡¯ll have to move fast.¡±


    I slowly got up and stretched.


    ¡°Do my eyes look red?¡± I asked them both.


    Mercy gave a small nod as Alexandros hesitated.


    ¡°Good,¡± I said. ¡°Now, who¡¯s willing to buy me a drink?¡±


    <hr>


    I didn¡¯t know what pushed me to tell them both. It sure wasn¡¯t the wine, because I hadn¡¯t had even a sip¡ªthe Republica soldiers shadowing us should¡¯ve ruined the mood, too. But I did. I asked them if they wanted to know, told them everything when both of them agreed, and all of us sat in silence for a good while.


    ¡°Boss,¡± Xandros said, his tone twisted and strange with his once-again-emerging rough accent.


    ¡°Yeah?¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t feel bad for crying. If I were ya, I think I would¡¯ve pissed my pants.¡±


    Mercy was silent, but didn¡¯t offer a rebuke, which was, of course, her own version of agreement. She remained hostile-looking, in her sellsword persona, as we drank.


    I hummed, and sighed (demurely, of course, we were still being watched). ¡°But we have more pressing matters, don¡¯t we?¡±


    Xandros shook his head. ¡°No.¡± After being stared at, he shook his head again, this time vehemently. ¡°I mean that not in a disrespectful way¡ªwait, that¡¯s not grammatically correct or whatever, but ya get what I mean! Ya feelings are important, Boss!¡± (Yep, he was drunk. He¡¯d only had one cup, though, interestingly enough, but that had flushed his cheeks cherry red.)


    ¡°But we¡¯re in the middle of a war,¡± I pointed out, amused but letting it show with my face turned away from the soldiers. ¡°We need to finish this, and feel later.¡±


    Alexandros shook his head a third time. ¡°But what about that guy, then, Boss? The handsome one, the praetor? Ya went on a date with him, right? Does he make ya happy? Where¡¯s he now?¡±


    I blinked.


    ¡°I mean, we had cake,¡± I said, slowly, ¡°but we¡¯re in the middle of a war now, Xandros. He is¡ªwas¡ªcaptured. By my brother. And he recently escaped, so I don¡¯t know where he is¡ªbut making me happy would be somewhat of a stretch, even then.¡±


    Xandros looked at me blearily. ¡°But he gave ya that ring, didn¡¯t he?¡±


    Mercy¡¯s eyes snapped in warning, now, but I let myself relax.


    ¡°Yes,¡± I responded, simply, ¡°he did. He made me a promise, of sorts¡ªbut whether or not he¡¯ll fulfill it, is up to him.¡± I smiled, but it was a small one. ¡°I always give people choices, don¡¯t I? That¡¯s why I have you both, now.¡±


    The boy inclined his head. ¡°Ya, I guess. Thought ya seemed sleazy at first, though.¡±


    I gave a snicker, before I redirected the conversation. ¡°But, like I said, we have things to do. The reason I brought you here, Xandros, was because I need you to mingle. Laugh. Even though you don¡¯t speak their language, just flutter around. How many days will there be, before the Fourth and Fifth Cohorts come?¡±


    ¡°Two,¡± said Mercy.


    What a coincidence.


    ¡°We either need to delay them, or kill them, then,¡± I said. ¡°Since we don¡¯t have the advantage of bombs or territory, we¡¯ll have to gather all the information we can to imbalance Azareth before the blockade comes.¡±


    A pause.


    ¡°And we have to write a report by today. Damn, I forgot about that.¡±


    Bureaucracy. Pah.


    <hr>


    As I thought alone in my inn room at night, I heard a knock at the door as a pale paper was slid the door.


    Written in Imperi code. I smiled.


    They sure were efficient.


    My smile flickered as I saw another letter, stamped on it with a familiar ivy-wreath seal.


    Greta. How¡ª


    No, I didn¡¯t need to ask that question.


    I tore it apart and set a candle aflame, burning the envelope it came in as I read.


    A writ.


    A chain.


    ¡°Grand Duchess Seraphina Inevita Queenscage.¡± I spoke my new title aloud.


    The Song crescendoed again.


    I laughed so hard I cried.


    <hr>

 46. Interlude: Folly

    <hr>


    I am but a fool.


    Some call it madness, but


    This is my folly.


    - UNKNOWN AGAMEMNON''S FIRST AND LAST JOURNAL ENTRY


    <hr>


    CESAS KNEW FEAR.


    He knew it like an enemy and he knew it like a friend, because it was a double-edged blade in the same way he didn¡¯t know who wielded the sword. And wasn¡¯t it the source of all that fear? The fact that he didn¡¯t know what he was afraid of? That it wasn¡¯t a who, it was a what, because there was nothing tangible about fear?


    He read about philosophers who manifested their fear into form, and when he was younger he tried their ways and methods and books of old, because if his fear was tangible¡ªif he could see, and touch his fear he could defeat it.


    When he¡¯d told his Papa, the old Forsaken had just sighed.


    ¡°Some problems are not meant to be solved, Cesas,¡± his Papa said. ¡°I blame it on how your father raised you¡ªhe was always a ¡®solutions¡¯ type of person.¡±


    The Forsaken had pointed at the horizon.


    ¡°The sun will set,¡± he¡¯d said. ¡°Will you stop it?¡±


    Cesas had frowned, but had said nothing as his Papa continued.


    ¡°Some would rather spend the day in the sun, but others have work to do by night.¡±


    The man pointed at himself.


    ¡°I will die. Can you stop me?¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re pointing out inevitable things,¡± said Cesas crossly, irritated at the sudden lecture.


    ¡°Yes, I am,¡± agreed Vitajie Cesare. He spread his hands. ¡°Fear is inevitable. It comes and goes suddenly for others, it haunts people like ghosts for some.¡± He beckoned for Cesas to come closer. ¡°Come, son. Your hair is coming undone.¡±


    The boy who would lead thousands to his death scowled but obeyed, turning his back and allowing his Papa to untangle his hair.


    Cesare plucked the pin out of his son¡¯s head and gracefully spun the strands into an elegant bun, piercing the hairpin through, before speaking again.


    ¡°When you are afraid of who you are, or what you might become, that is not fear. That is doubt.¡± Cesas heard his Papa¡¯s voice, as even as ever, continue. ¡°But when you are afraid of being afraid, that is not fear. It is cowardice.¡± Cesare turned his son around with his hands, and met his eyes. ¡°You cannot run away from the inevitable, son¡ªit is harsh, but it is true. You must realize that you cannot control the world, before fear drives the world to control you.¡±


    The Vitajie House Head¡¯s pale hair fell in even frames around his face, long snow-white strands curling in braiding patterns and held together with a howling wolf pin at the back.


    Cesas knew that his Papa was mocked for being too peaceful, too generous, too this and too that.


    He was not war-like enough, fierce enough; he was not passionate enough to be Head, they said.


    Even the people on the streets whispered that Clan Ces would fall, the leading clan of House Vitajie replaced.


    But they had said that even when Father was still alive, and even after Father had died and left Cesas and his Papa alone.


    And so they had mocked and they had spat, but that had never been significant enough to be one of Cesas¡¯ fears.


    ¡°I just don¡¯t want to be afraid,¡± said the eighteen-year-old. ¡°Even if fear¡¯s inevitable. Father said that you should make the world fear you, before you fear the world.¡±


    Papa¡¯s smile grew distant.


    ¡°Your father was controlled by fear, as well,¡± explained the Clan Head, slowly. Cesas¡¯ remaining parent stood up against the sun, light framing his aged face as he reached out a hand. ¡°The world will always control you¡ªby love or by fear, sometimes both. It depends on what path you choose to walk.¡±


    Cesas accepted his Papa¡¯s hand and stood to his feet.


    ¡°I don¡¯t want to choose, yet,¡± the boy decided.


    The Clan Head smiled. ¡°And that¡¯s alright.¡±


    <hr>


    Cesas was afraid of life.


    But death brought with it a stranger feeling still.


    ¡°He¡¯s the only one left,¡± he heard them hiss to each other. ¡°We have to use him¡ªbeggars can¡¯t be choosers.¡±


    He wanted to recoil from the touches they gave his shoulder, the empty words and hollow gifts. ¡°House Vitajie thanks you for your consideration,¡± he told the Desarta goons that approached him. To his relatives, he spoke flowery words about how his Papa would appreciate the thoughts they held.


    Clan Head.


    It seemed so small, so intangible of a title that was given to him.


    After he fled from the banquet after the ceremony was held, he hid in his bedroom in the Vitajie Estate, closing his eyes and forcing himself to sleep without even bothering to rip off the itchy ceremonial robes that made him who he was now¡ªClan Head of the Ces, soon-to-be Head of House Vitajie and most likely candidate to be the next Agamemnon.


    Vitajie Cesas.


    In his dreams, his Father stood on a distant hill. A familiar hill, under a familiar tree, an unfamiliar expression on a familiar mouth.


    Desarta Korentin had always been stoic. While his husband was expressive, emotive, smiling, and gentle; the general had always been impassive and silent, contrarily succeeding in giving off an aura of calmly seething rage.


    Cesas¡¯ parents had never been volatile¡ªgrowing up, he¡¯d never witnessed an instant where they¡¯d shouted or screamed when they¡¯d argued.


    And they¡¯d argued, Cesas knew. Cesare and Korentin had disagreed on most things¡ªpolitics, for one (Korentin, a member of a lower-ranking Clan of Desarta, had been engaged to Cesare when they were young as a political insult; while Cesare took a more tolerant stance towards Desarta, Korentin¡¯s resentment was clear); the weather, for another (Cesas¡¯ Papa enjoyed standing out in the rain without a shield, while Cesas¡¯ Father stood a distance away under a wooden covering with a disapproving frown on his face).


    They had never been volatile, but Cesas had never seen his Father smile once.


    Right now, he was grinning warmly.


    Your father was controlled by fear as well, Cesas¡¯ Papa had told him.


    This¡ª


    This Korentin looked into his son¡¯s eyes before pointing at below the hill, silently.


    Cesas knew he wasn¡¯t real¡ªFather was dead, after all; and this wasn¡¯t the first time he¡¯d appeared in Cesas¡¯ dreams¡ªand so the boy clamped his mouth shut and followed the pointing finger.


    There was a wolf and a peacock, grappling at the bottom of the hill¡ªCesas saw talons digging deep and drawing back bloody, the sight making him flinch after he¡¯d processed it.


    ¡°What¡ªwhat are they fighting for?¡± whispered the boy.


    Everything, said his Father, amused. Nothing.


    The voice didn¡¯t sound like his Father, and so Cesas withdrew the label.


    This was a stranger.


    The stranger pointed a few paces away, at a piece of meat on the ground.


    They are fighting for that.


    Their eyes crinkled as they saw Cesas¡¯ hesitation.


    You can give it to them, you know. The meat.


    But everything¡ªthe scene¡ªit felt like some sort of test Cesas hadn¡¯t signed up for. There was expectation in the words¡ªthe voice itself felt twisted and deceptively light. The boy had been raised to detect the political nuances behind words, but that had been structures of things: reason and logic.


    This stranger- couldn''t be constrained.


    But how did Cesas know that?


    The stranger hummed.


    The harvest reaps what it sows, they said. Like recognizes like¡ªlikewise, like grows like. They turned to Cesas. Fear raises fear. Love raises love. A love of fear raises a fear of love. If the seeds are not there, the plant will not grow, but nature goes on regardless.


    The stranger turned to the fight unfolding under the hill.


    What is it that one of your kind said? ¡®The past is the past, the present is the present, but history always tends to repeat itself.¡¯


    They stepped aside, away from the meat, inviting Cesas to take it.


    But just because history repeats itself, the stranger said, does not mean that you should ignore it the first time.


    The peacock was tearing the wolf apart, but the wolf was in turn destroying the bird. Howls and squawks filled the air, all tinged with pain and fury.


    ¡°But both of them need the meat,¡± muttered Cesas. ¡°They¡ªthey¡¯re willing to risk their lives for it, I¡ª¡±


    It is a mistake, chided the other, to think that one would know better than to risk their lives for something they do not need. They shook their head, but there was something in their eyes that made it so full of emotion. Poignant, was the word. It wasn¡¯t sadness, it wasn¡¯t fear, or acceptance¡ªwell, it was acceptance, but in a way that made you think twice about what exactly they were accepting. The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.


    ¡°You are not human.¡± Cesas felt the words¡ªa realization¡ªspill from his lips.


    That is not the point, Cesas, said the stranger. They turned their eyes towards the meat. Choose. Who are you going to give it to?


    ¡°I¡ª¡±


    Choose, or they will die.


    ¡°Thesmophoros.¡± The name came to Cesas unbidden. ¡°Rebirth, fertility. Seeds sown, seeds grown¡ªreaper of plenty, bringer of many...mother of all.¡±


    That is not the point, child, Demeter said again. What will you give?


    The meat was raw and scarlet and bloody, and so was the Song that drummed in his ears.


    He closed them and his eyes, his gaze ran well beyond ragged and weary; but the scene played against his eyelids and the drums grew louder. With every strike, every blow, blood pooled on ground and the chords hammered away still.


    Piercing bits of elongated notes stood out amongst the sharp, blurred background, a desperate dance to escape.


    ¡°I¡ªI can¡¯t.¡±


    You run, child. Demeter raised her eyebrows¡ªCesas¡¯ father¡¯s eyebrows¡ªand looked at Cesas. Even with his eyes closed, he could see the Goddess look at him.


    (She wasn¡¯t one she worshipped, but Kronos¡ª)


    You cannot run forever, Cesas. And I¡ªit¡ªwill not wait forever. Choose.


    Cesas felt an encroaching shadow, a serpent curling around his shoulders, as his eyes fluttered open. ¡°I don¡¯t want to. I can¡¯t. I shouldn¡¯t. I¡ª¡± He watched the Goddess reach for the meat, and suddenly it materialized in his hands. She was Korentin no longer, Demeter now a woman adorned in twin snakes and earth.


    It was¡ª a heart. A beating, bleeding heart that pulsed on his palm as if it was alive¡ªtwisting veins curled around the grotesque organ as it writhed and squirmed on Cesas¡¯ hands, and the boy let out a scream as he dropped it¡ª


    But there it was, again, on his hands.


    What will you give?


    His surroundings rippled and his feet were pulled forward¡ª


    Now, he was but a step away from the peacock and the wolf.


    ¡°You¡ª you didn¡¯t ask who I would give it to,¡± Cesas muttered, in thought, before something¡ª


    ¡ªpropelled his hands to drop the heart on the ground, in the middle of the fight, ready for both of the animals to take.


    A horror struck him, filling his hands to the point where they shook, as the creatures roared and brutalized each other again¡ªthis time with a desperate ferocity¡ªand limbs were ripped and torn and snapped as the beasts charged. It was mangled and gnarled and forced Cesas to close his eyes again¡ª


    Dread and fear and guilt and anger filled the boy, all coming in waves so great and malformed he didn¡¯t know he could feel that way, and¡ª


    ¡ªthis was a nightmare.


    No, Cesas. Demeter sounded strange, a hybrid of exhaustion and mourning and nothing in between, as she spoke. This is your choice, Harbinger.


    And then all faded to black, and the fool woke up from his nightmare with but one thought:


    It was a coward¡¯s choice.


    <hr>


    He woke up and he ran.


    He ran from the Guards on the excuse of a walk, following a random path with a maid, whom he hit over the head; he ran through the city (the country¡¯s only city, really, the only place in the nation that wasn¡¯t devoured by craggy land) of Tartarus, where the Forsaken thrived.


    Cesas ran through the streets with his luxurious clothes, shielding against lecherous looks with half-hearted glares and fumbling hands. Perhaps, the Clan Head thought to himself, it was unsurprising that he found himself cornered in an alley at night with a bunch of thugs¡ªlikely Tartarian mercenaries¡ªleering at him.


    ¡°Looks like those clothes¡¯ll fetch a pretty coin on the Market,¡± said one of them in common Tartari, smiling maliciously as she pointed at Cesas¡¯ robes (she pronounced the syllables crookedly, like the common people did; a dead giveaway that they weren¡¯t nobles specifically targeting him).


    Cesas remained silent, his eyes darting for an escape route as his heart pounded in fear.


    A new fear, from the one that had driven him from his home¡ªa fear of something tangible. That was new.


    He was afraid of the people in front of him, and¡ª


    He could do something about it.


    Yes.


    He wasn¡¯t going to be afraid anymore.


    Two¡ª hours? (Minutes? Excruciating seconds?)¡ªhad passed since Cesas had run, midnight turning into minutes-before-dawn, and everything felt¡ªnot like a blur, but as if he¡¯d just awoken, grasping at slivers of a dream he¡¯d forgotten.


    But it was real. He could do something.


    As he stepped forward to speak, he was interrupted by a hurtling knife.


    The blade pierced through the mercenary''s neck, preventing her from speaking, as multiple knives sang through the air after barely a beat. All of the mercenaries sank to their knees¡ªand for a second Cesas was horrified at himself for thinking the motions elegant¡ªand someone gracefully dropped from one of the ragged buildings, in front of the Clan Head.


    It was¡ª a girl.


    One in grimy rags with surprisingly clean pale hair that stuck out in fragments all over the place from under her dark hood. She was the one who¡¯d thrown the knives, Cesas realized.


    A strange silence occupied the alley before the girl cocked an eyebrow.


    ¡°What? No ¡®thank you¡¯ from the high-and-mighty noble lad?¡±


    She spoke in a surprising aristocratic drawl, rough and refined both at once.


    Cesas blinked. ¡°Thank you. Sorry, I don¡¯t really know the etiquette for this kind of situation.¡± His eyes flickered to the girl¡¯s boots, currently stained red from the growing pool of blood on the alley stones.


    ¡°Usually,¡± the girl said, ¡°this is the part where you kneel and beg for your life. Or beg for me to accept servitude, whichever option works.¡±


    The Clan Head bit his lip. That would be slightly inconvenient if people saw them. ¡°Is payment in some other form alright? Coin? Or a noble title? I¡ª¡±


    The girl raised her hands in surrender. ¡°Hey, don¡¯t promise me things you can¡¯t deliver. Coin¡¯s alright. If you have any.¡± She eyed the robes on him. ¡°I mean, it seems like you could deliver. Possibly. My memory¡¯s rusty on regalia, but that is the Silver Stripe, right?¡± She pointed at the border at the bottom of Cesas¡¯ robes. ¡°You¡¯re a Clan Head?¡±


    Cesas blinked again. ¡°No,¡± he lied. ¡°These¡ª these are my father¡¯s robes. He gave them to me to wear, as an initiation ceremony. I had to wear them for a week¡ªno taking them off, either.¡± The lie spun itself larger. ¡°I¡¯m here,¡± he added, ¡°because I got lost. I really am sorry for inconveniencing you.¡±


    ¡°Lost?¡± The girl sounded skeptical, but moved on. ¡°If you¡¯re really serious about the noble title thing, I¡¯m all up for it.¡± She jutted out a hand. ¡°Adalicia. Desarta Adalicia.¡±


    A pang of confusion must¡¯ve sparked in Cesas¡¯ eyes, because the girl¡ªAdalicia¡ªsnorted. ¡°Not of Clan Ada, Kronos no. I was exiled from Clan Adal¡ªI mean, technically we were of Clan Adal, but yeah.¡±


    A subfamily Clan.


    A circle within a circle¡ªit made sense that Cesas didn¡¯t know her, since Ada was notorious for its infighting and surprisingly commonplace exilings.


    ¡°Ah. Clan Ces,¡± Cesas offered. ¡°I¡ª I¡¯m also of a subfamily.¡±


    Adalicia raised her eyebrows. ¡°So¡ª yes or no noble title?¡±


    ¡°I can get you your seat back, maybe,¡± the other responded. ¡°But, er, could you protect me for the night? From, you know, unsavory people? Just for the night?¡±


    Adalicia¡¯s eyebrows climbed. ¡°I guess. For a service fee, I might.¡±


    ¡°Done,¡± Cesas said. He was tired, and he wanted to sleep¡ª no, he couldn¡¯t sleep. ¡°Talk to me,¡± he said after a while, turning his back to her as he climbed atop a box at the end of the alley.


    ¡°Is that an order?¡± the girl with the knife asked, sitting on the crate next to him.


    ¡°I don¡¯t know.¡± His patience was wearing thin, and the Song was playing loudly. ¡°Anything. The world¡¯s problems. I¡ª I can¡¯t sleep.¡±


    And so the girl told him.


    <hr>


    He listened.


    He listened to stories of exiles and nobles and friends and foes, stories that leeched the dark away from the day; stories that Cesas couldn¡¯t get enough of. Injustice, fear, dependence, freedom¡ªthe country¡¯s facets, through and through; told from a surprisingly sharp, although biased, mind.


    ¡°Predators get stronger when they eat stronger prey. The concept of a ¡®system¡¯¡ªa place full of strong prey, and stronger predators¡ªmeans that the environment has to flourish before the animals do.¡±


    The girl gestured towards the expanse of ruin that was the Union.


    ¡°Is this a flourishing environment, lad?¡±


    No.


    The dream flashed before his eyes, the peacock and the wolf, both great beasts¡ªand the snake around his neck, a constricting serpent that could be thrown into the fight¡ª


    Had that been the right choice?


    To throw himself in the fray?


    Change.


    If he didn¡¯t like the choices that were given to him, wouldn¡¯t he try to change them? The path of being a puppet to the older politicians, his aunts and uncles and relatives-in-law, would need to disappear¡ªhe refused to walk on it.


    Choose, or they will die.


    You have the power.


    The Goddess¡¯ words echoed in Cesas¡¯ head¡ª


    ¡°The harvest reaps what it sows,¡± he repeated, distantly. ¡°Like recognizes¡ªand grows¡ªlike. Fear raises fear. Love raises love. A love of fear raises a fear of love. If the seeds are not there, the plant will not grow. Fear is the only motivation that can tear a people apart¡ªlikewise, it is the only effective call to action.¡±


    ¡°But who is the farmer?¡± questioned Adalicia, smiling. ¡°If they need to grow fear?¡±


    ¡°A coward,¡± Cesas answered. ¡°Because they know fear best of all.¡±


    <hr>


    Cesas fulfilled his promise and Adalicia became his aide for the next ten years. Ten long years they were, years of arduous undertakings in the field that was politics, dodging pitfalls and digging them¡ªuntil that one day.


    That one day.


    He had a nightmare the day before, so he probably should¡¯ve expected it.


    The sentences that were repeated in his ear came in synchrony with the revelations of the day, rain pattering down from the sky as he went insane.


    <hr>


    To put it simply, you are a living prelude of the Song.


    <hr>


    ¡°Ada.¡± Cesas ripped past the crowd at the ceremony stained in rain, not caring if he looked desperate, but he couldn¡¯t see the people leaning away from him in fear. ¡°Ada, tell me it isn¡¯t true.¡± The woman he loved was crying as they put the Clytemnestra diadem on her head, but those mourning eyes were overshadowed by the crown¡¯s gems glinting against the sunlight.


    ¡°Tell me!¡± he roared, the serpent coiled around his neck squeezing tighter.


    The Desartas around her smiled smugly, and one spoke.


    ¡°Bow to your Clytemnestra, House Head Vitajie Cesas of Ces, Clan Head.¡±


    Betrayer.


    <hr>


    Everything you¡¯ve heard, everything the Song has told you, it is just the opening. There will come more notes, with more of you, but the Song will never change.


    ¡ªAnd what is the song?


    This Song?


    <hr>


    He turned to his people for solace and raised them, to conquer the Glorydark that had forced them into weakness. He called not for blood but for change, for vengeance always came at the cost of one¡¯s future.


    Cesas cared not for what others deemed folly, because there would be no more ambitions inlaid upon the Tartarian Thrones.


    If a fool had to take the crown to destroy the thrones, then he would gladly take on the mantle.


    The people listened. And they spoke.


    They spoke of future and past and present, yet even then Cesas had the fear.


    This time, it was a fear of losing his people.


    Losing himself.


    Losing his Dream.


    <hr>


    This Song was always one of redemption.


    <hr>


    They charged into the Dark Forest, Cesas and his people in pursuit of change, and the monsters roared back.


    The Glorydark¡ªit was an abyss. An abyss of ever-glaring dark, a gap between the fabrics of reality teeming with monsters and men alike on that day. Blood stained the ground as the corpses¡¯ numbers grew higher, and more and more monsters rose.


    The roar of a Minotaur sealed their fate.


    It was a horn that did him in, with all the surety of the reaper¡¯s kiss.


    <hr>


    Redemption that never comes.


    <hr>


    Cesas the Coward died with only one spectator.


    As the Song quieted, fading in his ears and onto the next, the boy who killed thousands heard one word.


    And the word was said with no derision, no insult, and no affection; yet Cesas could hear a deep regret that tasted old and bitter on his dying tongue.


    Fool, the Goddess said.


    It filled him with fear.


    <hr>


    Because the Song never ends.


    <hr>

 47. Dream I

    <hr>


    Here, too, I saw a nation of lost souls,


    far more than were above: they strained their chests


    against enormous weights, and with mad howls


    rolled them at one another. Then in haste


    they rolled them back, one party shouting out:


    "Why do you hoard?" and the other: "Why do you waste?"


    <hr>


    WE HAVE ALL BEEN told from a young age that the world is not so black and white.


    That what is light does not illuminate all, and what is shadow does not consume all. That there is no ¡®good¡¯ and there is no ¡®bad¡¯, that there are two sides to every story, and for that we blind our children to the world.


    There is victory, and there is defeat.


    And people must know the difference.


    The Victors reign. They may not reign well, and they may not reign for their people, but still they reign. The Defeated, if they do not end up dead or worse, are left to fend for themselves at the bottom of the pit with the tigers, and in that situation the world is not kind.


    The tigers are not, either.


    But why do the Defeated stand? Why do they long for victory, reach for any and every hand to pave a path inlaid in gold to the Victors and tell them their way is wrong and theirs is right?


    As they say, the road to Tartarus is paved with good intentions.


    But why do the defeated long to join the winners in their own personal hells?


    The answer is, of course, ¡®victory.¡¯


    Even if the throne is on fire, as they say, it is still a throne. You would think a person who once sat on said throne and bore the weight of said crown would never sit on it again, but you would be wrong.


    Power corrupts people. It rests worlds on kings¡¯ shoulders and expects them to hold up the sky while doing it.


    Yet we are no Atlases, and there is no Hercules.


    Why?


    Why is the world like this? Why is it so broken and ravaged? Why is every struggle, every war so unnecessary, every conflict started over things so trivial?


    It is a question to ask the Gods¡ªbut they will not answer, for they thrive in the Sky we hold up.


    The world is not black and white. It is grey, but even in grey there is dark and there is light.


    ¡®What happens if I sit on the throne?¡¯


    ¡®What happens if I rise higher?¡¯


    ¡®What happens if I grow above the system?¡¯


    You never play past the Game, because that¡¯s what the Game is for. Playing. Rising. Ascending.


    Crowning.


    I will not do better than the previous ruler, or the next.


    I will do far worse.


    The question, of course, lies in ''to whom.''


    - UNKNOWN VICTOR, UNKNOWN TIME


    <hr>


    I gazed at the ceiling.


    Like most things, it was a trap. A betrayal of a nonexistent trust. This meant I would forever be indebted to my sister, politically or otherwise. This was forming my name adjacent to hers in the annals of history, solidifying my position in the Empire as her treasured vassal and possible successor¡ªthe writ itself was a bond, another chain I had to put on myself willingly.


    This was the consequences of my Oath.


    It brought me a step closer to the Throne, yes, but¡ª


    This was also a form of trust.


    She likely knew I was the Harbinger. Arathis, Josephine¡ªyes, they knew. They were the ones who¡¯d told me Greta wanted to destroy the Queen¡¯s Cage¡ªwhat Cyrus¡¯ position was, I didn¡¯t know, but there was that feeling in the back of my head making its presence known. The feeling that I had just been unmasked as a fool.


    Every step I had taken, it had been as Greta¡¯s piece.


    These chains were for the Harbinger. Not Seraphina.


    Those were my first thoughts¡ªso surprisingly optimistic, trusting.


    They were the only ones who could understand, after all, and that meant in turn I understood them. I¡ªSeraphina¡ªwas the Harbinger. You couldn¡¯t cut a person¡¯s fate out of them¡ªyou couldn¡¯t cut the villain out of a villain, the Harbinger out of a Harbinger. You couldn¡¯t cut the story out of the person.


    She¡ªGreta¡ªwas the Empress.


    And I couldn¡¯t cut that out of her.


    I had signed up to be her piece, and I would march across the board as she let me.


    I was close to Ascending.


    But the Board was wide.


    ¡°Grand Duchess Seraphina Inevita Queenscage.¡±


    A new grand duchy that would oversee both the Marksman duchy and the military marquessates, asserting Imperial control over technological progress and weapons distribution.


    But what was my story?


    A story of life and death.


    Of freedom and servitude.


    Most of all¡ªone of redemption.


    I closed my eyes as I thought about my next plan.


    I just needed to keep moving.


    <hr>


    Marianus was home.


    He was home, everyone suspected him to be a spy, and they were right.


    How did he not sustain any wounds?


    (He did¡ªhe showed them the bandaged wounds from the explosion, and explained to them that the Imperials didn¡¯t rely on torture.)


    How did he escape?


    (He managed to gain the pity of a Guard, who he knocked out while escaping in the night.)


    What happened to the rest of his forces?


    (They were dead. All of them. Their skulls had already been sent to the capital, so he wasn¡¯t sure why they were asking.)


    He knew their suspicions from the way they said his title, primus pilus: even with those he knew well, there was that slight hesitancy before the first syllable¡ªthat doubt, that wavering confidence in his authority¡ªthat made Marianus grow tired of receiving visitors.


    He wouldn¡¯t turn again.


    He couldn¡¯t turn¡ªwhatever capacity of betrayal there was in his character, Petra and Anaxeres had already exploited the Tartarus out of it.


    Marianus needed to live with that feeling, he knew¡ªthose chains, when he couldn¡¯t even put on his legionary¡¯s uniform without feeling guilty; when he couldn¡¯t even turn to former acquaintances without receiving hesitancy. Petra and Anaxeres treated him well, but without Seraphina¡¯s¡ªstrange¡ªway of putting him at ease, he was, well, uneasy.


    And then they returned.


    Cecilia and Julian and their troops¡ª


    Gods, Julian.


    He came a day after Marianus¡¯ arrival, wrapped in healing wounds and a grimmer countenance than Marianus had ever seen the praetor wear.


    When they were alone, he spoke.


    ¡°Gaius,¡± Julian said.


    That was strange.


    ¡°Yes?¡± Marianus turned.The author''s tale has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.


    ¡°Someone once told me,¡± said the praetor, ¡°that we all have heavy words we carry around, and that I had to be careful not to break under my burden.¡± His lips twitched¡ªwhether out of amusement or annoyance at the memory, Marianus didn¡¯t know. ¡°She says that honor is nothing to her,¡± he continued, ¡°even though it means the world to me. That those who have tasted defeat do anything to win, to not feel that pain again.¡±


    The other¡¯s heart beat faster.


    What did¡ª


    ¡°We went to a dessert shop before all this,¡± Julian informed him, smiling lightly now, as if recalling a fond memory. ¡°It was nice. She didn¡¯t have very funny jokes, but she phrased them in a way that made you want to listen and laugh.¡±


    Julian¡ª had a lover?


    When¡ª


    The praetor leaned forward. ¡°You might¡¯ve met her, actually.¡± His eyes were back on Marianus again, as if pinning his guilt there. ¡°She always smiles like she¡¯s inside on a joke you aren¡¯t? Laughs like she knows something you don¡¯t? Talks like you would always be there to listen?¡± The last words were whispered, as if it were a secret: ¡°Blue eyes?¡±


    Blue¡ª


    The recognition on Marianus¡¯ face must¡¯ve been evident, because Julian¡¯s face hollowed itself out in seconds, growing older and younger both at once.


    ¡°You turned, didn¡¯t you, Gaius?¡± said Marianus¡¯ friend and superior, more statement than question.


    The moment Julian¡¯s hazel eyes met Marianus¡¯ own, the centurion knew he was done for.


    ¡°How did you know?¡± asked Marianus, tiredly.


    The light seeped through the curtains of the bedroom in the Cassia Estate, and Julian¡¯s face was twisted a strange way¡ªbut not out of anger, Marianus knew.


    ¡°She¡¯s good with people,¡± the praetor said absently. ¡°Better at letting them choose their own paths to her.¡±


    Julian turned to his friend and smiled, an unusual amusement on his face.


    ¡°My path may be longer than yours, but I will walk it all the same.¡±


    <hr>


    Marianus didn¡¯t tell him about the plans.


    <hr>


    Everyone liked to argue about the sin of arrogance.


    It seemed to be philosophers¡¯ favorite pastimes, deciding what in the world was good and what wasn¡¯t. That was how you got things done, Cyrus supposed, deciding what was rot and what was not, to find what to purge and what to keep¡ªwho to kill and who to save.


    When something was too much and when it was not enough.


    Cyrus wouldn¡¯t say that it was flawed, the same way he couldn¡¯t say it was perfect¡ªbut was it really sin, to think yourself just a bit higher, a bit more Victorious, just a bit (for lack of a word) better than the average person?


    There was a line drawn in the sand when pride became arrogance, virtue became vice, and self-concern became selfishness.


    And that line always had to do with others.


    When you would disregard both other people and the world around you for a singleminded goal¡ªmorals. Ethics. People. When you didn¡¯t have a line you wouldn¡¯t cross, that was ¡®sin.¡¯


    Cyrus found that sinners were really quite interesting people.


    ¡°Prince,¡± said the Galani leader, roughly, ¡°we will go.¡±


    Bellum rose in the distance, the mountains behind Cyrus and the city in front of him.


    He had not stepped even a toe in the Republic ever since the exile, but coming to his birthplace felt wrong in all the right ways. Like he didn¡¯t belong. Like he hated the ground he walked on, but that felt rather dramatic.


    This was not the place he needed to stain.


    ¡°We will go,¡± Cyrus agreed.


    Perhaps the Third Prince saw something of himself in the praetor, but he¡¯d always had an eye for stories that all of his family members shared. He knew people¡ªhe knew how they worked, because he knew their stories.


    Julian would be back.


    As Cyrus clutched his spear tighter, he walked in front of the Republica Fort smiling.


    They destroyed his name, but not his pride.


    Never his pride.


    The sky turned grey with an incoming storm as the soldiers on the walls took notice, and the army behind him¡ªmade up of both Galani and Cadmi¡ªraised their swords in anticipation.


    And Cyrus delivered.


    ¡°Keravn¨®s pr¨ªnkipas!¡± they roared as the heavens split apart.


    The Lightning Prince laughed in return.


    Who said he couldn¡¯t do diplomacy?


    <hr>


    Timaios looked at the decree.


    And then he looked at it again.


    It was more of a writ than a decree, but it was a paper of power nonetheless.


    He was Marquis, now.


    ¡°I didn¡¯t think Josephine would be one to be doing grunt work,¡± Alyssa remarked as she laid her head on his shoulder. ¡°It¡¯s not really grunt work, though,¡± she mused, after a while. ¡°There¡¯s got to be some political phrasing behind it. With her usurping your throne and whatnot.¡±


    ¡°Not really usurping,¡± Timaios said after a while, stroking her hair. ¡°Influence is like the moon. It wanes, waxes, peaks...and then wanes again. You don¡¯t have to actively chase it, really. You just wait for your time to turn the tide.¡± His eyes wandered over the words on the paper. ¡°And then you strike.¡±


    ¡°Pah.¡± Alyssa turned herself over. ¡°Waiting, waiting, waiting¡ªall I¡¯m doing is waiting for Her Highness to return. It¡¯s been, what, already a couple Dayhepts? I pledged myself to her, and she wrangled an Oath out of Macedon, as well. I don¡¯t know how she does it¡ªor, rather, what she¡¯s doing.¡±


    ¡°But she¡¯s doing it well,¡± responded the other. ¡°And isn¡¯t it all that matters?¡±


    Greta was positioning Arathis and Josephine as her voices, her messengers. The fact that they were responsible for the assassination attempt on the Consuls had been tightly confined to those that had witnessed it, and the fact that the Republic wasn¡¯t waving the situation like a flag to draw people to their favor was strange.


    No one had tried to sway public opinion drastically¡ªbut leaving it alone would fester a rot that wouldn¡¯t be easily cut out.


    Greta had, with the writ, forwarded a plan that would do that¡ªleaking the Empire¡¯s secrets before the Republic had a chance to, using the chance to cut out the nobles the rumors were spread about¡­


    But Damianos was gone, and so were Theadora and Matthias, the prime suspects for a rebellion. The anti-Imps, as per rumor, had been dealt with deftly by Josephine. There were whispers of a high appointment being made, but those were only speculations. Logical speculations, sure, but speculations still.


    The political tide in the capital was turning, and war was no deterrent.


    It, in fact, was an accelerant.


    ¡°Yes,¡± Timaios whispered, ¡°that¡¯s really all that matters.¡±


    Alyssa¡¯s eyes looked upwards at him, yet her eyebrows were raised.


    ¡°Are you alright, Maios?¡± Her voice was softer than usual at the question, having lost its shrewd edge.


    ¡°Right as rain,¡± the Marquis lied. ¡°Right as rain.¡±


    He was a pawn, no matter how tall of a throne he built himself.


    And that was really all that mattered.


    <hr>


    Mercy held the lantern upwards towards the moon. The light was a calm yellow, radiating from the core of the flame and illuminating the street that spread as the ground under her feet. She¡¯d already taken care of the tails, of course, and all she had left was the man who¡¯d ordered them.


    Azareth¡¯s streets were strangely narrow, alleys and corners prevalent like a plague. Better for her job, the assassin supposed as her eyes roved over the brick building. The niches were craggy, but it was doable.


    Mercy held the lantern by her teeth as she dug her hands in the first crack. The weight was familiar, the balance coming with ease. After finding a foothold, she slowly moved up the walls as she scaled the first floor up to the bedroom window where she settled on its sill.


    Inserting her knife in the lock, she managed to open it with a satisfying click. The assassin rolled open the window to darkness.


    ¡°Who¡¯s¡ª¡±


    The Grand Duchess¡¯ hound leapt to action with the knife she had been given.


    As midnight came, she cleaned off the blood and looked above.


    One down.


    But there was more to go.


    <hr>


    I stepped forward.


    I had spent the night travelling, and had nothing but bitter regret that an entire day had been lost to the journey to Azareth. I had voiced my concerns to Xandros the entirety of our trek, and it seemed my poor minion was fed up with my complaints as he¡¯d very eloquently tried to sidetrack me by asking what my favorite fruit was after the first hour.


    I¡¯d answered that it was grapes.


    Then we¡¯d gotten into a heated debate over the benefits and demerits of both apples and grapes that lasted another good hour before we halted in front of the camp.


    It was more of a post than a camp¡ªit¡¯d been surprisingly easy to find where the Cohorts were, as they¡¯d been scheduled to arrive within the day and I¡¯d memorized most of the active military outposts in the country (courtesy of Marianus).


    One was stationed outside a town a few miles away from Azareth, and was the obvious choice as a resting area for the Republica legionaries coming back from the border.


    It was merry¡ªthe town¡¯s lights, from far away, were lit and twinkling; and the post was full of raucous people armed with meat and wine and bawdy jokes.


    The soldiers were treated well.


    I saw some of the townspeople voluntarily joining them by their fires, some flirting with the soldiers that had good looks and high ranks, and so I strolled in, apparently trying my luck. Xandros approached a plain-looking village girl who was wringing her hands nervously, and I chatted up a horse-boy who was, true to the name of his occupation, in charge of the Cohorts¡¯ horses.


    He, thinking I was a girl from the village, showed me around the Cohorts¡¯ horses (as planned).


    While I distracted him with my ever-abundant flow of charm, I poured the poison in the water trays, just like we planned.


    The horses would be dead by dawn, and with it the legionaries¡ªif Xandros followed his side of the plan.


    The horse-boy would likely put out the order for a village girl with blue eyes if the legionaries survived, and even if some of the smarter ones cried Imperial sabotage, we would be long gone by then and the survivors would be left with no horses and an uneasy village.


    That would, one: reduce their number so even if they arrived at Azareth, they would be (optimistically) half their people; and two: well, divide the Cohorts who were already worn out from their service at the monster-overriden border.


    Xandros had poison that he would manage to sneak into the stew and the meat, and after he finished the task we¡¯d be off.


    If everything went right.


    I watched the crowd from the corner of my eye as I laughed at one of the horse-boy¡¯s admittedly funny jokes, meeting Xandros¡¯ eyes when the horse-boy¡¯s back was turned. He was tugging the village girl to the kitchen tent with a surprisingly charming grin, and he paused only to give me a nod.


    Right.


    ¡°Aren¡¯t ya guys tired, from ya doings at the border?¡± I asked the horse-boy.


    ¡°Tired, we are,¡± said the other with a grin, ¡°but, ya know, s¡¯all for the country.¡± He winked obviously jokingly, flexing his nonexistent muscles, which I met with a giggle.


    ¡°I feel bad for ya,¡± I commented. ¡°It musn¡¯t be all fun and games over at Gloria.¡±


    The horse-boy made a face. ¡°Don¡¯t even get me started,¡± he replied. ¡°I¡¯ve seen monsters this big, if ya can believe it.¡± He gesticulated widely, conveying a quite large monster¡ªa Harpy, maybe?


    I gasped, words hushed. ¡°Ya¡¯ve seen a Minotaur?¡±


    The boy shook his head furiously. ¡°Nah, I¡¯d be dead if I did! Don¡¯t jinx me!¡± He leaned closer, as if sharing a secret. ¡°Ya know, I¡¯m not Praetor Julian. He¡¯s the King of the Battlefield¡ªa genuine, straight outta Honos, son of Romulus! I¡¯ve seen him fight, I tell ya, and he¡¯s¡ª¡± the boy shook his head. ¡°Insane. I don¡¯t even know why he got captured.¡±


    Well, of course Mari would have a stellar reputation.


    ¡°Really?¡± I asked. ¡°I¡¯ve only heard stories, but¡ªya¡¯ve seen him up close?¡±


    ¡°Yep,¡± replied the horse-boy, proudly. ¡°I¡¯ve even spoken to the girl who tends to his Ralla¡ªthat¡¯s his horse, by the way. I managed to get a pet or two in, ya know, for luck.¡±


    I tilted my head. ¡°Isn¡¯t he our age, though?¡± I questioned. ¡°I mean, I¡¯m not doubting ya, but how does he feel up close?¡±


    This was surprisingly entertaining.


    ¡°I mean, this sounds kinda weird, but he feels¡ª¡± the boy hesitated. ¡°Kinda scary. Not like the small kinda scary when you¡¯re a kid, but the big kinda scary. Like those things you hear in Myths and Tales. By the all the Gods, Jupiter and Saturn scary.¡± The horse-boy shook his head. ¡°I don¡¯t think ya can get it unless ya see him up close, but he¡¯s also a good kinda scary.¡±


    He smiled.


    ¡°Like he¡¯ll beat all the Imperials kinda scary. He¡¯s really handsome, too, in that hero kinda way.¡±


    I agreed on that bit, and was about to speak up again when my Ability prickled and I detected Xandros trying to catch my eye.


    It really works only for that? I was tempted to click my tongue in annoyance, but I merely looked at the moon sadly.


    ¡°Oh, Gods, it¡¯s past my curfew. Damn.¡±


    The horse-boy looked disappointed. ¡°Aw, that¡¯s too bad.¡±


    I smiled, a bit of genuinity in it. ¡°I really was enjoying the conversation, too.¡± I patted him on the shoulder affably. ¡°Well, I guess we¡¯ll hopefully see each other soon, huh?¡±


    A bit of the crooked grin crept back onto his face, and he did with a wink.


    ¡°Maybe you¡¯ll stay longer next time, eh?¡±


    I winked in return. ¡°Maybe.¡± If you survive the night. After a pause, I added, ¡°You know, ya probably shouldn¡¯t eat too much tonight, alright? Ya should go to sleep early today. It¡¯s good luck to sleep under the moon before daylight hours.¡±


    Leaving him with a made-up superstition, I slunk out of the camp and reconvened with Xandros.


    ¡°Done?¡± I asked him.


    ¡°Done, Boss,¡± my minion whispered.


    There would likely be some casualties among the village, as well¡ªbut what had been done had been done.


    ¡°Let¡¯s go, then,¡± I said.


    <hr>


    The ships arrived in the morning.


    <hr>

 48. Dream II

    <hr>


    For the hereditary prince has less cause and less necessity to offend; hence it happens that he will be more loved; and unless extraordinary vices cause him to be hated, it is reasonable to expect that his subjects will be naturally well disposed towards him; and in the antiquity and duration of his rule the memories and motives that make for change are lost, for one change always leaves the toothing for another.


    ¡ª UNKNOWN TEXT, UNKNOWN AUTHOR


    <hr>


    I''D NEVER BEEN ON A SHIP BEFORE.


    I watched the waves of cerulean crash against the sides of the incoming fleet with a tumultuous amount of gleeful anticipation. The centurions¡¯ bodies had been discovered in the wee hours of the morning, and I had hidden away when suspicion had been cast on us.


    Of the two days Delphine had mentioned, one had been spent in jail and the other extinguishing the resting Republica legionaries, but with the large amount of Princeblood troops on the deck of the Imperial vessels¡ªtheir golden armor gleaming under the sun¡ªI doubted that resistance would warrant any large actions.


    Hopefully.


    They came swiftly and orderly, their steps on the planks light as a feather and as airy as the Duchess¡¯ voice. There was a collective beat, when the Republica citizens recognized the armor and a silence was hung in the air¡ªa thick, tense knot of a thing¡ªresembling the sound of a noose being tied to the gallows; the first sight of a familiar head on a pike.


    Then the first stone was thrown.


    ¡°Imperia!¡±


    A vaguely hoarse shout, and then it was chaos.


    Crates were thrown to the floor and goods were shattered as citizens ran and shouted, most whipping their heads around their surroundings to look for the first step, the first order.


    The ships¡¯ anchors were dropped and a group of the soldiers marched on, an order shouted by a familiar voice.


    ¡°Cannons!¡±


    Cannons?


    Metal cylinders slid out of the sides of the ship, aiming it at the ships but not firing, as planks conjoined the Republica vessels and soldiers marched on the ships already docked, the Republica sailors being thrown overboard as Azareth¡¯s famous harbors were steadily overthrown.


    In the chaos, a woman in a yellow dress disembarked from the largest ship, a golden peacock embroidered on the waving flag as Delphine waved at me. ¡°Yoohoo! Seraphina!¡±


    Mercy and Alexandros were behind me as we stepped out from behind the crates we were technically hiding behind, and I waved back. ¡°Delphine!¡±


    I met her halfway in the harbor, some of the Princeblood circling broadly around us as we smiled at each other.


    ¡°I got made Grand Duchess,¡± I informed her brightly. ¡°The centurions¡ªat least the important ones¡ªmanning the city are all dead, the Cohorts that were supposed to here by today have been dispersed for a while, and yeah, that¡¯s it.¡±


    Delphine¡¯s smile grew wider.


    ¡°Well, then, I suppose congratulations are in order, Your Highness. After we take over this city, of course.¡±


    ¡°Of course.¡± I let my eyes wander over the bloodbath around me as the Princeblood dealt with those who resisted. The ships were slowly conquered, and the formerly lazy Harbor City woke from its morning slumber and burned alight. There were shouts and there was blood shed, as bodies were thrown in the water¡ª


    It was just like what I had Thought.


    But louder.


    The screams were much, much louder.


    <hr>


    ¡°Imperia.¡± I heard the insult whispered as I walked in a shelter of Princeblood guards, and, I had to admit, it didn¡¯t feel as good in my mouth as applause did. Was it the opposite¡ªa storytime parallel, from my first step in the Colosseum to the road I walked today?


    ¡°Are you alright?¡± whispered Xandros, quietly.


    I didn¡¯t answer.


    ¡°You guys can go,¡± I said, lightly. ¡°I can defend myself.¡±


    Their stony faces didn¡¯t twitch, as one of them spoke.


    ¡°We follow orders, Your Imperial Highness. We¡ª¡±


    ¡°Get out,¡± I continued pleasantly, eyes roving over the people on the street. ¡°Please.¡±


    ¡°I recommend following that direction when she¡¯s still being nice, man,¡± Alexandros said, stepping in front of me. Mercy was already behind me, ready to get violent at a moment¡¯s notice.


    ¡°We¡¯re in public,¡± I admonished Xandros, putting on an amiable smile as I laid a hand on his shoulder. I met the Princeblood¡¯s eyes. ¡°Move. Backwards. I can defend myself. I won¡¯t repeat myself a third time.¡±


    They all did stiff bows and moved backwards, removing the circle around me and reforming a line behind me.


    My Ability pricked on the right side. Knife. The offending projectile sailed out from a window, and the Princeblood tensed, leaping to take the blade for me, but I snatched it out of the air and took the momentum to twirl around their falling bodies.


    Xandros and Mercy kept them from hitting the ground, the former by awkwardly holding out an arm and the latter by folding the guards into an elegant embrace.


    ¡°Are you alright?¡± I asked them, smiling.


    There was anger underneath their placid expressions¡ªand annoyance.


    Why I was pissing them off, I didn¡¯t know, but I looked in the window the knife had come from and saw a little girl.


    She was angry.


    Now that I looked at the blade, it was a fisherman¡¯s knife¡ªserrated at the ends, more for gutting fish than killing Imperials. I could¡¯ve thrown it back, landed it in the girl¡¯s eye, rendering her permanently blind¡ªbut that was a survival instinct. If it was in the Cage, I would¡¯ve done it without a second thought. Now, though?


    There was no one to hide from and everyone to chase.


    Mercy¡¯s rough-callused hands found the blade I was studying, peeling it from my grasp uncharacteristically gently.


    ¡°Where do I need to go?¡± I asked her evenly, my voice low from the spectators.


    A beat.


    ¡°Wherever you want to,¡± she replied. Her eyes were firm. ¡°I will follow.¡±


    I sighed, at that, exhaling a breath I didn¡¯t know I was holding and hardening a voice I didn¡¯t know I was softening. ¡°We''ll go to Delphine''s house, whichever one she commandeered.¡±


    My two minions inclined their heads, and with that I turned to the Princeblood guards, who were still on the ground. I stretched out my two hands to the guards nearest to me, without lowering myself to the ground.


    They accepted them, albeit begrudgingly, and the rest of them pulled themselves to the ground.


    This wasn¡¯t a kindness, but the people watching from their windows didn¡¯t know that.


    Soft, they would think.


    We wanted them to move against us.


    So we would crush them.


    With more public gestures of weakness and strength, more invitations, the reality of us taking over the city would sink in within the day.


    And there would be unrest.


    They would come just where I wanted them we needed them.


    <hr>


    The Republic was too orderly for rocks, I thought, or wasting food. I wasn¡¯t thrown a knife again, but if looks could kill I¡¯d have been brutally maimed, murdered, and fed to the crows a hundred steps ago.


    From what I knew, the praetor Cecilia was the Patrician of Azareth, and since she was away, the Cohorts she left behind were in charge of the day-to-day governance of the Harbor City. Her trusted centurions had been appointed to various positions, all of them having the duty to patrol the walls personally¡ªthe inns and the people had spoken of a soldier¡¯s pride and honor, and despicable Imperials with their machinations.The author''s tale has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.


    I wouldn¡¯t pretend that I didn¡¯t know the truth: the Republic was a brittle tree. If we managed to conquer it, it would not bend, it would break.


    Its citizens were far too proud to be absorbed into the Empire, and we¡ªthe Throne, the seat itself¡ªwouldn¡¯t be able to handle the waves and waves of rebellions that would follow the war finishing.


    I had reason to suspect that when the dust settled, when¡ªnot if¡ªwe won, Greta would offer what she gave them to begin with: a protectorate.


    The war was a hammer. A stick.


    Their leaders had refused to take the carrot, and their people had been given the stick.


    But their people hadn¡¯t even known the carrot existed¡ªthey hadn¡¯t been aware, that their patricians had been given the option of signing a protectorate. From the information I¡¯d gathered, all their people had been told was that the Cassia patrician had tried to assassinate the Emperor, diplomatic talks had failed due to the Imperials, and a war had been declared.


    When this war was won, the only thing the Empire could do aside from using the Republicas¡¯ alliance with the Forsaken, was bleed the land dry¡ªand even then, when the land was dry, you couldn¡¯t get rid of a country the way you could a person. You couldn¡¯t get rid of a country of people who hated you for exploiting their resources.


    The Republic had their honor and pride.


    But how would you break a country¡¯s honor?


    The answer was that you couldn¡¯t.


    Shame couldn¡¯t drive away patriotism¡ªwell, patriotism wasn¡¯t the problem here, blind patriotism was. Being proud of your country while being blind to its faults¡ªpatriotism, at the end of the day, would get you nowhere if you weren¡¯t willing to see the flaws in your country and take a step towards changing it.


    But was it hypocritical, to inform them that their country was corrupt and rotting, when the Empire was the very same?


    Likely.


    ¡°Greta would find a way.¡±


    That was what I had been repeating to myself, but I saw the options in front of me.


    Her giving the Republic the protectorate offer after the war without sufficiently pressuring them before it, would make them unappreciative. They would see it as a coward¡¯s way out, and if Greta let them keep their way of governing everything would happen all over again.


    Even though the Empire¡¯s rebellions had been sufficiently quashed, there would come another day, another fight, another reign.


    You¡¯re thinking too much.


    I liked to think that the thought lasted longer than it actually did, that my paranoia lost to so-called rationality.


    It didn¡¯t.


    I stepped into the patrician¡¯s manor Delphine had commandeered, arriving to people snapping to attention and bowing accordingly.


    I was led to the main parlor, where I was told the Duchess was taking her tea.


    She looked up from her cup¡ªwhich I had no doubt was relocated from the cupboard behind her¡ªand smiled. Her fan was nowhere in sight, so the lower half of her face was in view, painted lips curling at a wryer angle than I¡¯d liked as she gazed at the dominos she¡¯d undoubtedly set up.


    ¡°You know now,¡± she noted. ¡°Well, that makes things easier.¡±


    ¡°I would ask how, if I didn¡¯t know you were going to answer evasively,¡± I replied, seating myself across from her with a grin.


    ¡°See, you know me so well now, dear Grand Duchess,¡± returned the other, extending a gloved hand out towards the dominoes. She placed a finger on the first one, wriggling it back and forth tantalizing close to the rest of the line. ¡°But,¡± Delphine continued, ¡°if you must know, it¡¯s your shoulders.¡± She nodded towards mine.


    I looked at them. I¡¯d always had good posture, with my etiquette training. I let an incredulous smile rest on my lips as I raised my eyebrows.


    ¡°Come on. Don¡¯t make me ask ¡®what about them?¡¯, dear Duchess.¡±


    The other giggled.


    ¡°There¡¯s a heavier weight on them,¡± she responded, before leaning forward conspiratorially while lowering her voice to a whisper. ¡°Like you¡¯re carrying the world.¡±


    I let my eyes drift to hers, and it was surprisingly hard to keep my blinks steady.


    She knows a lot of things she doesn¡¯t, this one, mused my Ability.


    I bit back a yeah, no shit.


    I leaned forward as well, a strange impulse as there was no spoken challenge.


    ¡°Then I must be stronger than Atlas,¡± I replied, stage whispering.


    The Duchess didn¡¯t pull back either, her lips laughing right from their position centimeters away from mine. The air wasn¡¯t thick with tension, like I expected it to be¡ªshe withdrew like we were two friends sharing a joke, and the silence was comfortable.


    She was strangely like Josephine, I thought. Good at putting people at ease.


    Dangerous.


    ¡°It might¡¯ve been a mistake, giving free rein to Anaxeres,¡± said the woman, cheerfully, returning to her original position. ¡°He¡¯s¡ª how do you say this kindly? An absolute lunatic. And not the good kind. Or maybe half the good kind, who knows.¡± She sipped her tea. ¡°You should write him and ask him how he¡¯s doing.¡±


    My gut told me to listen to her.


    But obviously trusting her would be a mistake.


    I smiled. ¡°I will,¡± I promised. I nodded towards the dominoes. ¡°I¡¯d have thought one of them would¡¯ve fallen by now, though.¡±


    Delphine giggled. ¡°They have. I was just waiting for you to do the honors, dear Grand Duchess.¡± She gestured towards the tiles offhandedly, but interest glimmered in her gaze. ¡°Please.¡±


    I stared at the first one in front of me. These dominoes were different from the first ones, onyx wood marked with pale ink. They were arranged intricately, standing to attention like a line of neat soldiers in a spiral. I reached out towards the one that caught my eye, and rested my finger on the top of it.


    With a light, unassuming push, the first one fell.


    It was brisk, the rest of the dominoes falling. They collided and tilted, a cacophony of clinking against the table resounding in the silence.


    The smile spoke volumes, as the Duchess wordlessly leaned forward and plucked the first domino with one hand and used the other to peel mine open. The tile landed on my palm tauntingly.


    I masked it with my fingers once again.


    <hr>


    Cyrus thought he was fairly articulate, but he had no idea how he¡¯d just taken over a city.


    It was probably because he was the one with the Godly Ability.


    Perhaps that had helped, just a bit.


    ¡°Bellum.¡±


    The Halgroves¡¯ fief was near here, a bit west of Bellum. He¡¯d been in Bellum, a refuge for a Dayhept or two before clambering across the border and seeking refuge in Notus, homeless, penniless, and powerless. But he was back now, Prince and arguably not powerless.


    He would burn his family¡¯s legacy to the ground and pillage it before shitting on his ancestor¡¯s graves.


    The thought helped him as he finished signing off on that last piece of paperwork.


    <hr>


    The capital looked just like he remembered, Marianus thought. It just felt different. Like it was being balanced on the tip of a blade and the knife had already drawn blood but the city hadn¡¯t collapsed to the floor just yet.


    Maybe it was just him.


    Probably.


    He tugged on his collar. It was humid, in his aunt¡¯s house (technically not his aunt, really, but he¡¯d called her that for so long it felt strange calling her otherwise). Also technically not in the house because they were outside in the garden, but he digressed.


    Of course, Claudia remained unperturbed, watering her gardenias. Or were those rhododendrons? He didn¡¯t know.


    The former centurion cleared his throat. ¡°How are you finding the gardening supplies, Aunt Claudia?¡±


    The other hummed. ¡°Ah, you mean the watering cans or the Imperial spies? In the second case, they¡¯re very professional. I¡¯ve seen much worse, I assure you.¡±


    Marianus choked on his own spit. ¡°Excuse me?¡±


    Immediately some form of panic clawed at him as his kind-of-aunt turned around and looked at him calmly, with that feathery smile she always wore. ¡°What, you didn¡¯t think I¡¯d notice? Really, Gaius?¡± she asked, a strange glint to her eyes. ¡°I grew up like you did. Although, I suppose I¡¯m not the same person I was before.¡± She sighed nostalgically, gazing off at something that wasn¡¯t there, before turning back to her gardenias.


    ¡°I can¡¯t say I approve of the business,¡± she said, striking fear into Marianus¡¯ heart, ¡°but I won¡¯t tell.¡±


    The garden became a lot more oppressive. ¡°Why?¡± He could only get the one word out before Claudia looked back, casually.


    ¡°I hate your uncle.¡± She smiled. ¡°He¡¯s a monster. He deserves to be burned under the pyre of this sickening country he fights for.¡± Humming casually under her breath as if the revelation was nothing more than a comment on the weather, the Hadrianus¡¯ formerly prized daughter ran her fingers over the spout of her new watering can, staring off into nowhere before she was seemingly brought back to reality by Marianus¡¯ next question.


    ¡°How?¡±


    Claudia¡¯s eyes flickered to Marianus. Her gaze was hollow, the same way it had always been, but instead of being fractured into pieces it was more whole than before. Her words now carried a strange amount of weight that pressured Marianus more than he¡¯d been by the patricians he¡¯d met, and that was saying something.


    ¡°He let me be tortured, Gaius,¡± she said, enunciating the words slowly. ¡°He hesitated. He didn¡¯t rescue me. I wasn¡¯t his duty.¡± The words were light, but brittle. ¡°I can¡¯t tell this to Marius, of course. But Amadeus...I love him, I hate him, I fear him¡ªsometimes it¡¯s all three, sometimes it¡¯s nothing, but it is there.¡± Claudia¡¯s smile broke, just for a bit. ¡°Amadeus and Marius look so alike, sometimes. I don¡¯t know how I feel about that.¡±


    The former centurion swallowed, slowly.


    ¡°I¡¯m so sorry. I¡¯m so, so sorry, Aunt Claudia. I¡ª¡± his voice broke. ¡°I betrayed them, you, and I¡ª¡±


    The chains were back again.


    Claudia just shook her head. ¡°Don¡¯t despair, Marius,¡± she chided, her voice firmer. ¡°You know what your father thinks about hesitating.¡±


    She was repeating lines, lines that made sense but didn¡¯t, but all Marianus could feel was that ever-present guilt, that crushing burden, and it felt like he would break.


    The gardening patrician¡¯s daughter softened her voice.


    ¡°Soldiers bow, Marius. But they do not break. And kings? They bow to no one.¡±


    The former centurion¡¯s voice was small. ¡°I smuggled Imperial spies through your estate to kill your husband. I¡ª¡±


    ¡°Are you a king, or a soldier?¡± asked Claudia calmly. She still looked fragile like she always did, but her bearing was regal. ¡°My father, the old monster, once asked me a question: ¡®If I asked you to bow to me for forgiveness right now, would you?¡¯¡±


    Marianus looked at his aunt¡¯s eyes.


    He would.


    This soul-crushing burden felt like it would drive him to do anything, he¡ª


    ¡°There is nothing wrong with being a soldier,¡± said the woman. ¡°But, during the days I was held captive, I bowed many times, and I broke.¡± She looked a bit sad at the last words, but the melancholy was a wisp of a thing¡ªfleeting, but present.


    The former centurion shook his head. ¡°The¡ª t-the explosion¡¯s tomorrow. It¡¯s supposed to detonate, soon, and I-I sent a letter to Marius, so he wouldn¡¯t be n-near the explosion, b-b-but the ballistae were smuggled in with y-your watering cans b-b-because I told them I w-wanted to give you a present, and¡ª¡±


    ¡°Heed my moral, Mariu¡ªGaius,¡± she corrected herself after cutting in. The praetor¡¯s mother gazed at her son¡¯s brother-in-arms with nothing but a lesson.


    ¡°If all men were fated to be kings, there would be no men.¡±


    <hr>

 49. Dream III

    <hr>


    We are our own judges; juries; and executioners.


    - UNKNOWN VICTOR, UNKNOWN TIME


    <hr>


    ¡°The dead sing no praises, but their children do.¡±


    In the city of mountains, an executioner sharpened his knife. Where he would take it, he knew; but it, like most things, was a double-edged blade, and he would swear by it just as he would perish by it.


    <hr>


    ¡°The blind one here isn¡¯t justice, but those who think themselves capable of delivering it.¡±


    In the city of harbors, a judge stood and waited. She heard the Song of the silent jury, and saw the blindfold in front of her. There was a difference, she thought, between choosing to be blind and choosing to close your eyes.


    <hr>


    ¡°The die has been cast.¡±


    In the city of honor, a guilty hanged stood, holding enough rope to hang one noose and ten thousand more. He was a traitor, but had stepped past the point of no return. His hands chained, he wept.


    <hr>


    In the city of honor, a sound rippled through the buildings. Well, more accurately, it ripped. Like a beast of hunger¡ªor, less dramatically and truer to its form, a loud sound¡ªit crashed through people¡¯s ears and struck a chord in their hearts; but, like most sounds did, it reached an end.


    And with the end, it reached a silence.


    And that silence was broken by screams.


    <hr>


    The smoke reached heights in the sky that human hands could not, curling in miasmic shapes that painted the clouds obscene shades of grey instead of the traditional morning pale. It felt almost artistic, and so Julian immediately placed the scene inside a painting, reducing the sight to a work of art he could analyze within bronze frames, instead of destruction in the face of war.


    The praetor turned his eyes towards the burning building, and after he gave himself a second of hesitation, he reflexively turned to call for his people¡ª


    But there was no one there.


    Everyone had been stationed inside the building or around it for the Senate meeting, but if he ran through the military posts in Honos¡­


    His father had been there. Even though he wanted nothing more than to say good riddance, there was a strange feeling in his head. Cogs were whirring, and bits of the result were slipping in the cracks¡ªbut he couldn¡¯t stay still, could he?


    That wasn¡¯t honorable. To House Roma, to the Republic, to¡ª himself.


    The Hero¡¯s blood was bubbling in his veins, the blood of Romulus and Romus, and he waited for another second, listening to the screams, before diving into the building.


    There were people under the debris, some dead and some alive, and he led the riskier ones out first before ducking in the ruin again, ripping the cloak off his body to travel lighter. The smouldering beams around him had fused with the ground in a way that concealed most of the bodies, the unlucky ones wedged under the formerly grandiose pillars of the building.


    He crawled and climbed at the direction of voices, ripping apart simmering remains and helping out those he could, before¡ª


    ¡°Julian!¡± A command in the form of a familiar, rang out. ¡°Don¡¯t focus on the civilians,¡± Marcellus rasped from under a pillar. ¡°Help will come, but first¡ª¡± he coughed ¡°¡ªget Cecilia out. Evander¡ªhe is gone. We cannot replace her.¡±


    For the first time, Julian considered the order¡ªas if he had a choice.


    ¡°This is not a time for hesitating, Marius!¡± barked the Consul. ¡°Get Cecilia out!¡±


    The praetor¡¯s father was wedged under a pillar, the explosion leaving a bloody patch in lieu of the Consul¡¯s right eye as scarlet honeycomb married surprisingly proud features. He wasn¡¯t the self-sacrificing type, Julian knew. Even to the end¡ªand they were now at the end, technically¡ªthe old monster would still think of his country.


    But he was just a man.


    Marcellus¡¯ eyes were steady as they always were, but filled with an almost mortal urgency instead of that impassive inhumanity.


    Evander is gone.


    There was a pause, as the boy looked at his father for the entirety of what he was and not the story behind him, before the King of the Battlefield moved.


    He ignored the cries of other limp patricians, calling out for Cecilia and pushing the pillar off the now-bloodied woman when she answered.


    She coughed. Her leg seemed to be twisted beyond recognition, but she still spoke. ¡°They detonated it from the cellar,¡± she managed before shakily leaning on Julian¡¯s shoulder.


    She hobbled and the praetor supported her.


    ¡°Direct the people outside to call for reinforcements,¡± Julian responded, quietly. ¡°Don¡¯t walk. I¡¯ll go in again.¡± The initial flames were gone, cooling into ashes as they burned themselves into the ground, but Julian was no one-man army. Even if he didn¡¯t have to walk through fire, this was still¡ª


    He didn¡¯t even know what this was.


    The praetor deposited the other on the ground brusquely before heading back in, returning to Marcellus.


    The Consul didn¡¯t even question whether the boy¡¯d finished the first order, beginning again. ¡°Get one or two severely injured patricians out¡ªpreferably one of Evander¡¯s ilk, and preferably one non-extremist. Then you could focus on civilians. Use your own judgement.¡±


    Marcellus coughed again, spitting what looked dangerously like blood on the ground.


    Julian wordlessly lifted the pillar off his father, the beam rolling with a heave to reveal¡ª


    Uncle Evander. Valerius. The body was twisted beyond recognition, fractured and broken and grotesque, blood dripping down the Consul¡¯s uniform as the Romus descendant laid both below and beside Marcellus. The form was at an angle that suggested the unthinkable: Julian¡¯s father had protected Valerius from the pillar, which meant that Marcellus¡¯ back¡ª


    How¡ª


    No, he didn¡¯t have time for those thoughts. Julian¡¯s eyes flickered to Marcellus¡¯ legs¡ªthey were more scarlet than skin, now crushed and likely rendered useless¡ªin an unspoken question.


    ¡°Go,¡± his father spat, and that was all Julian needed.


    He went.


    A serving girl who went blind from the explosion. A patrician¡¯s concubine whose face had been scarred permanently. A ward of a patrician¡¯s secretary who would likely be crippled forever. The faces blurred together, even when more and more people were pulled out of the rubble as reinforcements came.


    A boy with callused fingers and a crushed throat. A woman who¡¯d complained loudly but fearfully about not being able to hear him, about an endless ringing in her ears.


    Julian had seen casualties on the battlefield, soldiers killed and maimed with the same injuries standing before him today. But they were not civilians, innocents. Most of the veterans had killed, just like he had, and some of them had even enjoyed it. The people he saved today weren¡¯t all innocent, the praetor knew, but¡ª


    They would be remembered as a necessary sacrifice, or a tragedy¡ªa number, which was a role they hadn¡¯t chosen.


    More and more corpses, as Julian saved the patricians that he could, old men that selfishly moaned about not being saved first.


    ¡°Oh, fuck you,¡± he wished he could say. He wished he could spit in their faces¡ªall of their faces, with their empty values and empty words and empty promises. If he reached into their souls, Julian thought, what would he find? Emptiness once again, likely. Grains of sand, falling through his fingers.


    Cecilia looked at his face from her position on the ground, Healers tending to her leg, and evidently what she found led her to command him to rest.


    ¡°How long?¡± he finally asked her, after he laid down on the rubble and watched the rest of the soldiers in the capital clear the corpses from it. How long was I in there?


    ¡°Five hours,¡± she said, evenly.


    She looked at the ruins.


    ¡°Rest, Julian. And never forget.¡±


    <hr>


    The secrets of the Imperial aristocracy were limited into open ones (kept amongst the aristocracy), trade secrets (kept amongst members of a noble House), Head secrets (kept only among the Heads of each House, whether multiple or singular), and personal secrets.


    Who was cheating on whom, who was marrying whom, who was having a secret business deal with whom¡ªJosephine knew it all. Of course, she wasn¡¯t omniscient¡ªcould anyone be, really? Well, the more pertinent question was, could any mortal survive being omniscient?


    ¡°Timaios,¡± she greeted, smiling.


    The Dragon King¡ªnow Marquis Drakos¡ªwordlessly slid a file across the table with little but a trained smile.


    ¡°Josephine.¡±


    The man was beautiful, and enunciated his words with the same beauty, delicate syllables all spun and lilted. This was Timaios, not the Timaios you could see when you opened a door to the room in the palace, but the king of the social circles Timaios¡ª


    The one who she¡¯d toppled.


    Josephine¡¯s grin grew wider, taking the file in hand and opening it like a book as she scanned it. Secrets atop of secrets, dates and times and pictures and confessions, records layered on documents and papers. Exactly what she needed. She hummed, before looking up. ¡°Is this the only piece you¡¯ve given someone, Marquis?¡±


    ¡°No,¡± the other returned, smoothly. ¡°I¡¯ve dealt with your younger sister¡ªshe¡¯s seen the same files.¡±


    Seraphina.


    ¡°A copy, I¡¯m guessing,¡± responded Josie, looking back down to finish perusing the last page. ¡°And these are the originals?¡±


    The other smiled, dryly. ¡°Would there be a use lying to you?¡± Avoiding the question, leaving the topic open to discussion. He hadn¡¯t claimed them as a copy or original, so there was no lie to be deemed useless.Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.


    ¡°There would be no use,¡± she conceded, setting down the files to meet the other¡¯s eyes, ¡°when I could easily force the truth out of you.¡± That was how she¡¯d taken over his influence when she¡¯d set her mind on it¡ªshe¡¯d charmed all of the nobles, one by one, before setting up one last spar (that Timaios had lost). It was only the position he¡¯d lost, technically; and a number of his contacts; but the man was still in the game.


    He was just operating on a smaller scale.


    Timaios smiled, and it reached his eyes, but his lips were full of careful genuinity. ¡°But that wouldn¡¯t be fun at all, would it?¡±


    Josephine snorted, amused. ¡°Fun? You must be confusing me with Arathis, Timaios. If I wanted to take your allegiance from you right now, I could. And I would. Fun has nothing to do with our conversation.¡±


    The Marquis¡¯ tone was even and dancing. ¡°It¡¯s always necessity that drives us, yes. But different forms of it, no?¡±


    But she was curious.


    ¡°I must admit,¡± she said, ¡°I have a particularly burning question.¡± She leaned forward, tainting her voice with a bit of her Ability. ¡°Why did you accept it? Your place in the marquessate?¡± Why?


    Why, did the socialite who prized his position so much, go back to his father who he hated? The Dragon King, after all, hated his family¡ªthat she knew, from deductions and sharings of secrets under darkness.


    It was a perfectly innocent question, she thought to herself, smiling.


    She had asked people things far worse.


    Timaios¡¯ eyes twinkled. ¡°You used it, didn¡¯t you?¡± he asked. ¡°Your power¡ª ¡®Ability,¡¯ I suppose.¡±


    Josie winked in response. ¡°If you answer my question, I¡¯ll answer yours. That¡¯s the way these things go.¡±


    That was the way the noble circles worked¡ªan illusion of trade, a balance that always managed to tip in the favor of the person with more power. The one who knew more people, who could cash in the right favors at the right times, who everyone owed debts and feared late payments¡ªthat was the one who won.


    Was she cheating, by using her Ability?


    If anyone thought it was unfair, they could come and take it from her.


    Josephine slept with a knife under her pillow¡ªthe very knife that she had killed the last Chosen with, just to remind herself that she had been given the choice to not choose, and had lied to herself that she would have to do, or die.


    She had never been too keen on dying.


    ¡°Then I¡¯ll go first.¡± After he provided the courtesy, Timaios spoke. ¡°You already overthrew me. I would say I moved on because it would be bad sport to keep clinging to a title that wasn¡¯t mine, but¡ª¡± he shrugged. ¡°We both know that¡¯s not the reason.¡±


    Josephine raised her eyebrows. ¡°Then what is?¡± she asked.


    Green eyes gleamed. ¡°I wanted it back,¡± he replied. ¡°So I took something that was the same weight.¡±


    ¡°Iron can never be gold, though,¡± Josephine returned.


    ¡°But you can make it so,¡± he countered. ¡°And I will.¡±


    ¡°You can only make it so,¡± she corrected, ¡°by stealing someone else¡¯s gold and replacing it with iron. And how long will it be, before they notice?¡±


    Timaios looked at her. ¡°It¡¯s not the crown I¡¯m going for, Josephine,¡± he said, his smile fading from his lips. ¡°I don¡¯t want the Throne¡¯s leftovers. I¡¯ll make what I have mine, and defend it to the end. I don¡¯t want any more.¡±


    The Princess turned her golden eyes towards him. ¡°Make sure to keep it that way, then,¡± she said after a while, lips curling. ¡°I may be magnanimous, but I won¡¯t accept this turning out to be a lie.¡±


    They had all lied to her.


    She had heard the same sentence¡ª


    I don¡¯t want any more, Josie.


    I don¡¯t need to escape the Cage.


    I just need you.


    Pah.


    ¡°I won¡¯t,¡± the Chosen repeated, ¡°be lied to again.¡±


    <hr>


    In Azareth, I saw the docks glisten with blood. Well, I couldn¡¯t smell¡ªor see¡ªthe blood from here, or feel it in the air (I wasn¡¯t a shark, for one), but it was there. The Harbor City was, of course, known for its harbors that paved a connection with the Empire from the east; and I¡¯d known we¡¯d have to conquer it, sooner or later; but the whole concept itself was strange.


    Domestic administration was a strange thing. You had to keep a city fed and alive, and even then you had to keep them divided and united at the same time. Political infighting was political infighting, but there would be no government if there were no people to govern over.


    It was a fact that people tended to ignore at the worst of times.


    Inside me was a sense of foreboding. Some way¡ªsome how¡ªsomething was going to happen today


    I sighed, and spoke into the night.


    Or, well, for Mercy.


    ¡°I feel like someone¡¯s chasing me. Always have, in fact.¡± The words rolled out of my mouth. ¡°It started after the Cage, in fact. You know what people say, about the wheel of fate turning its turns, and bad people getting what they deserve and good people getting sent good things their way? When you act like a hero, you become one¡ªwhen you act like a villain, you become one. I¡¯m not a hero, so technically I must be the villain, don¡¯t I?¡±


    I turned towards the sky.


    ¡°The wheel hasn¡¯t turned¡ªor maybe it has, I don¡¯t know. But it¡¯s turning, and all these good things that I¡¯ve been getting¡ªeverything I¡¯ve wanted, I¡¯ve gotten. Ever since those bars opened, the rug I¡¯ve been standing on hasn¡¯t been pulled out from under me once. No one has taken anything from me in the way that, well¡ªI haven¡¯t lost everything, like villains deserve to.¡±


    I laughed.


    Mercy looked, not for the first time, genuinely concerned.


    ¡°¡®Deserve,¡¯¡± I continued. ¡°That¡¯s such a strange word, isn¡¯t it? If a villain truly regrets their actions, if they repent and repent and repent, who forgives them but the hero?¡± I turned. ¡°It¡¯s always a question of whether or not they deserve redemption, but never whether or not they¡¯ll take it. The villain isn¡¯t given a choice, on whether they¡¯ll take the easy way out or the hard way¡ªand, even if they are, it¡¯s never a choice. The easy way¡¯s never easy, and the hard way¡¯s never a way.¡±


    A laugh broke free from the cages of my throat.


    Didn¡¯t that sum up my choices.


    I shook my head, self-mockingly. ¡°I chose, but I didn¡¯t. Sometimes, I go out there and make my choices and expect someone to jump me¡ªI¡¯ve got it all planned out, actually. They¡¯ll take me by the shoulders and yell real loud, ¡®Seraphina Queenscage, I¡¯ve come to absolve you of all your crimes!¡¯ and then they¡¯ll just chop off my head, and I¡¯ll die. Real painless, preferably.¡±


    And then I wouldn¡¯t hear the ticking. Or feel the Ability in my system, feel that weight on my shoulders.


    The words just didn¡¯t stop coming.


    ¡°You¡¯d think, at least once, I would¡¯ve looked at the blood on my hands and thought to myself, ¡®What have I done?¡¯ And I have, I¡¯ve looked at the blood on my hands but I¡¯ve never thought anything like that.¡± I laughed, strangled and twisted. ¡°If I had the choice,¡± I said in a lower voice, more a whisper than a confession, ¡°if I could do everything all over again, I don¡¯t think I would change a thing.¡±


    I threw my hands up in the air.


    ¡°But we¡¯ll never know, will we? We¡¯ll never know, if Seraphina Queenscage ever deserves redemption¡ªbecause there¡¯s no one to give it to her.¡±


    Poor, little Seraphina¡ªa wretched little thing, a bad person and an even worse Harbinger, a girl who faced the supposed best of the best and came out Victorious, becoming the worst of the worst.


    Would that be what I would be remembered for?


    ¡°So many questions,¡± I said, my voice ragged.


    Who was I?


    What did I want?


    Would I ever be satisfied?


    Another laugh, at the sheer unbelievability and theatricality of everything. ¡°Seraphina,¡± I said with a snort, my eyes dry and lips even dryer, ¡°a poor, wretched little girl with too many questions and not enough answers.¡±


    A girl who wanted to change it all.


    But couldn¡¯t even change herself.


    <hr>


    The Mountain City had a splendid view of the Draconian Peaks, the Prince thought. The peaks themselves weren¡¯t mist-ridden mountains, full of frost and curving slopes¡ªmore craggy, jagged pieces of rock jabbed into the soil like broken, bloodied swords. They were draconian, Cyrus supposed¡ªfitting for their name. The pillars towered in the distance, looming like a regime, faraway yet closer still.


    He¡¯d been to Bellum before, back when he was a Halgrove scion and Hortensia had made it mandatory for him to ¡°get to know¡± fellow patrician families.


    (He¡¯d barely dodged an engagement bullet there, really.)


    Now, his former potential-fiance looked at him with incomprehension.


    ¡°¡®How are you¡¯? You literally took over my city in a day, you asshole,¡± said Cedric, but with none of the venom Cyrus had expected.


    ¡°Your city? I¡¯d have thought a stuck-up like you knew nothing about handing one.¡± An almost familiar dynamic came unbidden to Cyrus¡¯ lips, and the Prince smiled. ¡°Long time no see, Ceddy Ced.¡±


    Cedric scowled. ¡°You left me hanging for fifteen years, and now you decide to show up¡ªasshole.¡± He held his tied wrists up. ¡°You come only when you need me? I¡¯m sure you have pretty people all lining up to be your friend in the Empire. What¡¯s their name?¡±


    ¡°The only friend I have,¡± Cyrus said, ¡°is you, my dearest friend.¡±


    The other scoffed in return, before pausing. ¡°But, you¡¯re taking my city? Forever?¡± He emphasized the words with a raised eyebrow, but he looked surprisingly nonchalant.


    ¡°If you¡¯ll have me,¡± returned the Lightning Prince.


    Cedric snorted.


    ¡°I always do, dumbass,¡± he murmured. ¡°You were always better at this city stuff. Just don¡¯t destroy it, alright?¡±


    ¡°I always do, dumbass,¡± he murmured. ¡°You were always better at this city stuff. Just don¡¯t destroy it, alright?¡± The Prince¡¯s former lover looked at the Galani guards surrounding them. ¡°Isn¡¯t this kind of, you know, invasive? I¡¯m tied up, I genuinely can¡¯t kill you.¡±


    Cyrus shrugged. ¡°Precautions. You know the drill.¡±


    ¡°I do. Just think that this would need some privacy.¡± Cedric¡¯s ease didn¡¯t melt away as he paused, not hesitating but rearranging his words. ¡°Are you still going back to them, Cy?¡± was the final question.


    ¡°Going back?¡± Cyrus raised his eyebrows. Cedric was still the same as ever, ¡°I¡¯m returning to destroy them, not to re-join their family.¡± He didn¡¯t swear, or convey heat in his tone, but the other¡¯s eyes were strange.


    They were always clear, those eyes.


    ¡°They deserve to die,¡± repeated Cyrus.


    Cedric shrugged¡ªor at least, tried to. ¡°I never said they didn¡¯t. You know best. It¡¯s your life.¡± Those damn eyes¡ª ¡°But you didn¡¯t answer my question.¡±


    The air turned electric.


    ¡°Do I have to?¡± asked the Prince, quietly. ¡°I could pluck your eyes out in an instant, not to mention your tongue. Why should I heed your words?¡±


    He was angry.


    But why was he angry? There was no reason to be angry. He was always angry, these days¡ªbut anger was the only thing that drove him, the only thing that was left. Cyrus had nothing¡ªarguably everything, but nothing. But that anger was what had driven him to pick up that first piece, set down that first brick, think of that first plan.


    He made foolish deals, he did foolish things.


    He was a fool, really, for thinking that his anger was more warranted, deserved¡ªbetter¡ªthan others¡¯.


    ¡°Do it,¡± Cedric replied, softly. ¡°You always liked my eyes, didn¡¯t you? Take them.¡±


    So clear.


    The Lightning he could call in an instant, incinerated his past.


    But it clung to him still.


    ¡°But what use would it have?¡± murmured Cyrus quietly, his own voice such a whisper he barely felt the words pass through his lips.


    Somehow, Cedric caught it.


    ¡°I don¡¯t know,¡± admitted the other. ¡°But you must think I¡¯m weak, don¡¯t you? That¡¯s why you didn¡¯t take any further interest in me, even though my mother¡¯s Patrician of Bellum¡ªbecause you didn¡¯t think we would balance each other out. Back then, you told me you thought you were weak, for feeling kindness. Empathy.¡±


    The truth felt almost embarrassing, Cyrus thought. Such a far yet near cry from the present.


    ¡°I knew,¡± Cedric continued, ¡°that when I heard the news¡ªthat you were whipped and exiled, for rescuing an exile¡ªyou were weak. I was weak¡ªI still am, now. But you stood to the last breath, to the last stroke, didn¡¯t you? Back then I knew you as the guy who I was nearly engaged to, and slept with on occasion¡ªa boy I shared a similarity with, because everyone called us both weak. But that was where the comparison ended, for me.¡±


    ¡°Are you going to call me weak, for going back to them?¡± the Prince asked.


    ¡°Yes,¡± Cedric said. ¡°But if you forgave them, you would be even weaker.¡±


    The words burst open. ¡°Then what? Why are you all so obsessed with telling me what to do? Why are you all¡ª not giving me a choice?¡± His voice caught, at those last words. His eyes burned, and the Lightning sang as it was about to descend. ¡°I never had a choice¡ªyou all never gave me a choice. They attacked first, they¡ªyou all¡ª just didn¡¯t leave me alone.¡±


    Cyrus shook his head. ¡°Choosing not to choose? Forging your own path?¡± His voice cracked. ¡°All lies. There¡¯s never a third choice. They never leave you alone. It¡¯s always two paths¡ªto fight, or to flee. To win, or to lose. You can¡¯t stop once you¡¯ve started, and you can¡¯t finish what you¡¯ve begun.¡±


    ¡°Forgive yourself, Cyrus,¡± replied the other, quietly.


    ¡°I am not sorry,¡± spat the Lightning Prince, ¡°because there¡¯s nothing to seek forgiveness for.¡±


    His old friend just shook his head.


    "Forgive me, then."


    The rope around his friend''s wrists snapped, and the Galani guards yelled as those clear eyes shot close to Cyrus'' own, and hands were wrapped around the Prince''s neck.


    The Lightning, for once, wasn''t fast enough.


    Two bodies were scorched to cinders.


    <hr>

 50. Interlude: Knife

    <hr>


    There are is only two one choices: to do or to die.


    - VANDALIZED REPUBLICA SOLDIER RECRUITMENT POSTER


    <hr>


    AFTER THE HUNDREDTH QUEEN''S CAGE


    A LOST KNIFE AS A PRESENT


    When Xanthe was born, she¡¯d nearly drowned. She¡¯d been barely a child at the time, but even now she could feel that sensation of water filling her throat¡ªand with that faint memory came the hesitation step in deep waters. It was more out of caution than fear, she thought.


    A dog that bit you once, could bite again; no matter long or tall the odds.


    Just because you win one coin toss, doesn¡¯t mean you¡¯ll win the next.


    To believe otherwise was a flaw, a fallacy.


    But to believe otherwise was human.


    Xanthe was never a good bladesgirl. That was a name for the knifers, the grunt workers under the big crime organizations that lurked in the Lower Quarter. The nobles never cared about their people unless they could exploit them, and Xanthe doubted that the Imperial Family even knew the names of the people of the Underworld¡ªcrime ran rampant, but it ran rampant in a way that benefited the aristocracy.


    Rule number one of doing illegal things: stay away from politics, her brother had said. Caspian Nameless¡¯ Rules to the Good Life, he called them. By the Good Life, he of course meant the only life two orphans with a concerning amount of debt could take.


    If you were a big enough player, you would inevitably be pulled in; but as a grunt worker, it was a policy that would decide life or death.


    Rule number two: make more friends than enemies.


    If possible, her brother had stressed. Usually, hate wasn¡¯t personal¡ªwell, if it wasn¡¯t personal, it wasn¡¯t really hate: just a grudging mutual dislike between parties, he¡¯d said. But when you made a person hate you, and the ¡®story¡¯ behind you, that was a dangerous hate. The kind of hate that could get you killed. So it would be better to avoid that. If possible.


    Xanthe looked up at the tall wall as she remembered the third one.


    Rule number three: never start races you can¡¯t finish.


    The girl disagreed with that one.


    If you always stuck to the things you were certain you could do, there would be no risk, and no reward of equal measure.


    The house in front of her was a small-time merchant¡¯s, one she¡¯d been directed to hit. The group she¡¯d managed to join, a ragtag group of outcasts that had dealings with the bigger-but-not-biggest (insert lewd joke here) bosses (think anti-Imps, the ¡®tesans, slightly-above-average Ecstasy dealers).


    It was all brick, not gargantuan but not unmemorable either, situated slightly into the Upper Quarter but leaning towards the Western one as well¡ªXanthe didn¡¯t know much about land, but it was a pretty nice location, she guessed.


    Climbing bougainvillea¡ªthe kind that looked positively nefarious at night¡ªdangled its way down trellis that leaned on a narrow three-storey building. The thorny vines dripped flowers that clustered and spread on the latticework, scattering the papery petals in the windy night.


    One landed on Xanthe¡¯s foot.


    It was doable.


    That was the second thought¡ªthe only thought that mattered. First thoughts were how you were taught to react to things. Second thoughts were your real ones.


    It was doable.


    Not¡ª What if I fall and break my neck? Die?


    The girl took in a breath. It was a shaky one, but still a breath.


    The trellis was doable¡ªthe height of the building just made it look impossibly bigger.


    And, with that, Xanthe reached out a hand. It was immediately pricked by the vines, her bare palm being scratched against as she dove her fingers to hook them in the lattice underneath. The next hand searched and found, and with that she hoisted herself up smoothly.


    She was good at climbing.


    It was doable.


    Thorns scraped against her hands as she shoved her feet in crevices, slowly reaching for the next handhold as she moved her fingers upward, inching her way up the structure as leaves brushed against her face. There was blood after the first few seconds¡ªa minor cut¡ªbut that was when her arms started to twinge with exhaustion.


    If she was too eager, she might hurtle down¡ªshe couldn¡¯t afford rushing.


    Besides, it wouldn¡¯t dawn anytime soon.


    Time blurred, just for a second, before the window was within her sight. Her hands were aching and tingling with pain, but she reached for the still and perched on it as she slipped the lockpicks out of her mouth.


    Xanthe glided the pin inside the lock, fiddling around until it clicked open. Silently, she slid open the windows as she leaned forward into the room.


    The girl reached into her pockets and drew out a match¡ªlighting it, the ambiance provided a dim view of an office. It was fancy enough, she supposed.


    ¡°The documents are in the second drawer of the guy¡¯s private office. Climb up, break in, pick the lock, and get out of there.¡± The woman who usually supervised Xanthe had been uncharacteristically firm. ¡°You¡¯re not our best, but you¡¯re certainly not our worst. This operation¡¯s focus is secrecy. And efficiency. Get in, get out, come back¡ªgot that?¡±


    And if she didn¡¯t come back, she¡¯d be left behind. Fed to the crows.


    Or the Guard.


    The two animals were practically synonymous.


    Second drawer.


    Xanthe slid her fingers along the side of the wood, fumbling blind, before her fingers shuffled over the metal lock. She pushed the flame near, still scanning the room for possible obstacles, as she plucked at the lock again.


    The drawer opened soon enough, and the girl snatched the documents out of them after slipping her lockpicks into her pockets. Skimming them with one hand to make sure they weren¡¯t blank, Xanthe lowered the match to rove her eyes over the paper as¡ª


    ¡ªthe door slammed open.


    A man¡¯s face, engraved with age and shock.


    The girl bolted. She tossed the lit match towards him, the man catching it on reflex and releasing a cry as it burned his hands, and she bolted. Haphazardly leaping out the window and slamming her hands on random pieces of trellis to break her fall, Xanthe ran.


    And ran.


    And ran.


    <hr>


    A Daycycle Ago


    ¡°You¡¯re different, lately.¡± The woman squinted at the girl. ¡°You¡¯ve gotten faster. Quicker. Like something¡¯s chasing you, but you¡¯re not off your game. Spill.¡±


    The girl shrugged. ¡°There¡¯s nothing, really.¡±


    The woman¡¯s eyes narrowed further, before she leaned back, her floaty voice firm. ¡°Something happened. With someone. Who? Friends? Lovers¡ª no, family.¡± A pause. ¡°What happened to your brother?¡±


    Xanthe¡¯s fists curled. ¡°Had an argument, one night. He was trying to tell me something, I think. But we fought. Woke up¡ªno note, no nothing.¡± (Of course, the last bit was a lie, but the alternative was the truth.) She forced her tone to be offhanded, breezy.


    The woman¡¯s face didn¡¯t soften, but her eyes did.


    ¡°Right. He a runner?¡±


    ¡°No,¡± Xanthe said, shortly. ¡°Not from this.¡± Not from me, she didn¡¯t say.


    ¡°Hmm. So you say.¡± The words were light, and it would¡¯ve made the woman seem unconvinced if it didn¡¯t carry a strange type of weight. ¡°Well,¡± she said, after a while, ¡°I have an operation for you.¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t you always,¡± replied the girl, wryly.


    The woman snorted.


    ¡°Don¡¯t you backtalk me,¡± she chided. Her eyes were warm, but Xanthe felt a strange kind of coldness. A sharp kind.


    Climb.


    Xanthe Nameless needed to climb.


    <hr>


    She ran through the streets with a screaming merchant on her tail, heart pounding and hands bleeding as her legs sang in pain. The documents were clutched to her chest in an haphazard effort to keep them close, crinkling against her shirt as the girl ran. The streets blurred but Xanthe still kept track of them, twisting and turning and praying her feet didn¡¯t get caught on a cobblestone at the wrong time.


    The merchant wasn¡¯t terribly fast, but the operation needed to be stealthy. She blew it, she knew¡ª


    She blew it.


    She couldn¡¯t do it.


    The girl hurried through dark corners, her eyes burning over familiar houses as she ducked under a comforting shadow. Back pressed against the alley, her chest heaved as her lungs scorched in their places near her heart, the fiery plague spreading more from adrenaline than anything else.


    Xanthe took a staggering breath through her open mouth, strangling the documents in her embrace as she spoke after a silence.


    ¡°R-rule number three.¡± The words came steadily, broken from fatigue. ¡°N-never start races you can¡¯t finish.¡±


    She needed to finish this. The merchant¡ª was the merchant still there? A logical question. Xanthe peeked out from behind her place. No, there was no angry merchant in sight, even though there were extremely faint cries that meant that could change in a minute or two.Help support creative writers by finding and reading their stories on the original site.


    She couldn¡¯t lead them to the front door, so she would need to go through the back.


    Right.


    The documents.


    The dried blood from her thorn-kissed hands had splattered on some corners of the parchment, but it was still readable, although very tattered. It would be a dead giveaway if the merchant searched for someone with papers, so Xanthe tucked it under her shirt.


    The back door.


    Right.


    The meeting place was usually in a bar that was¡ª around the corner from here? She knew where she was. Yes, she knew where she was.


    After giving herself one more second to take in full breaths, she walked out from behind the corner. Ragged cobblestones met her thorn-scratched boots as she moved steadily around the corner. It was late at night, when the Lower Quarter ¡°came to life,¡± and people were on the streets. It wasn¡¯t strange for someone to be chased at this time, but it really depended on how much money the chaser offered for someone to catch her.


    Keeping her head down, Xanthe skulked through the crowd and hurried, spying the bar a few paces away.


    The squat building neared her with every step, but she circumvented the normal route and walked around, towards the flimsy ragged door that served as Plan B. It was lit by a lone lantern, embedded in the wood and hovering with no sense of direction, but the sixteen-year-old girl knocked on the entrance regardless.


    The peephole was opened, and after checking Xanthe¡¯s twisted face, a voice echoed. ¡°Password?¡±


    Her tone was flat. ¡°There¡¯s none. I have the documents, and I lost my tail, but it¡¯s likely they¡¯ll be on the lookout for a while.¡±


    There was a short pause, shorter than usual, before the hinges swung open and Xanthe met the woman¡¯s cold eyes. They were dead, hollow¡ª


    ¡°Hello.¡±


    As the girl stepped past the threshold, her head swivelled in the direction of the voice.


    Blue eyes stared back at the girl, crinkling in amusement as Xanthe¡¯s hand immediately went to her knife.


    ¡°Good evening,¡± said the girl, stretching out a hand. ¡°It¡¯s nice to finally meet you.¡±


    Xanthe didn¡¯t withdraw her hand. ¡°Who are you? What do you want?¡± she demanded, gaze flickering to the woman, who was still.


    ¡°Seraphina,¡± the stranger introduced herself, ¡°Seraphina Queenscage. And I want¡­¡± Her lips curled. ¡°Well, I want everything.¡± She leaned forward. ¡°And you¡¯re going to help me take it.¡±


    <hr>


    BEFORE THE HUNDREDTH QUEEN''S CAGE


    PAST COURAGE AS A GIFT


    Shangguan Ming remembered his birthplace a bit fainter than he should¡¯ve. Tianya, home to the Palace of a Thousand Suns, the edge of heaven and the Other End of the World. It was a bustling country, bordering many others, but home to his family, and thus, home to his heart. He remembered standing atop the Rift, watching the clouds drift by as the abyss rolled deep. He remembered the smell of chrysanthemums gifted and embroidered and collected, scallions flayed and folded into flat discs, and, most of all, he remembered his family.


    But the scents and sounds of his home were duller than before, more covered by the haze of age, seemingly more a distant tale than a place he longed to go back to.


    He had a wanderer¡¯s heart.


    His mother always said she should¡¯ve named him Shangguan Feng instead of Shangguan Ming, and even now he still wondered whether she was referring to the fact that he was aimless like the wind, or the fact that she thought he was a crazy idiot.


    But his mother was home.


    And he¡ª well, he didn¡¯t know where home was.


    ¡°Sir,¡± said the attendant, hesitant, ¡°are you¡ª¡±


    ¡°Yes?¡± Ming asked, snapping out of his reverie. ¡°I¡¯m alright. Sorry, what were you saying? Where was I?¡± After years of living in Visava, his Imperi had become refined, he thought. His Republica had marched past passable, and, well, he still struggled with Tartari, so that was that.


    ¡°Er, you said something about...chong you bin, sir,¡± the attendant responded, stumbling over the words.


    ¡°Ah, c¨­ng y¨®ub¨«ng,¡± Shangguan Ming corrected. ¡°Yes, apparently your inn¡¯s famous for its Tianya cuisine?¡±


    The boy blinked. ¡°Er, yes, sir. I¡¯ll ask the chef to come upstairs, personally, if you¡¯d like him¡­¡±


    That was a fancy way of saying he didn¡¯t know.


    What kind of person didn¡¯t know c¨­ng y¨®ub¨«ng?


    Everyone here, Ming corrected himself. Everyone here.


    ¡°Alright.¡± The wanderer waved the boy off with aimlessly. ¡°Ask the man if he¡¯s free.¡±


    ¡°Yes, sir.¡±


    The boy disappeared, and Shangguan Ming was left alone with his thoughts.


    Which was never a good sign.


    He just wanted to go home. He was tired. The Xiahous and the Ouyangs had driven him out by beseeching the Emperor to ¡°send the Prince of Yan as a cultural ambassador to learn the art of diplomatic relations¡± as ¡°the Prince of Yan¡¯s debaucherous behavior had warranted a lesson in discipline and filial piety,¡± but Ming just wanted to go back home.


    His position in the faction of Yan was already lost to his cousin Qiuyue, and he doubted he would have political power when he returned, but he just wanted to return. To taste his mother¡¯s food again. To get scolded because of his calligraphy again, to make fun of the ministers¡¯ mustaches again.


    The Xiahous, being a military faction; and the Ouyangs, being a scholarly faction; had banded together to crush the mercantile Shangguans. Even after they¡¯d suffered a defeat when Ming himself had been bestowed a fief on Western Tianya, they¡¯d still rallied together on the excuse of them not wanting to bring Visavan influence into their country.


    Pah.


    Even here, their ¡°the Prince of Yan does not have enough military experience to take ahold of a mercantile state¡± and ¡°we are simply worried that this is too heavy of a burden to place on the Prince of Yan¡¯s shoulders¡± while attempting to poison him at every turn haunted him.


    Shangguan Ming sighed.


    He wanted to go home.


    So what was stopping him?


    Everything.


    And nothing.


    <hr>


    EVENTS LEADING UP TO THE THOUSAND-MILE WAR OF TIANYA


    ¡ªPrince of Yan, Shangguan Ming (ÑàÍõ ÉϹÙÃ÷), is exiled to Visava


    ¡ªPrince of Zhou, Xiahou Wei (ÖÜÍõ ÏĺîΤ), marries Princess of Kang, Ouyang Ying (¿µ¹«Ö÷ Å·ÑôÓ¨)


    ¡ªPrince of Chu, Huang Zitao ( ³þÍõ »Æ×Óèº), passes title to daughter Huang Shao (»ÆÉÙ)


    ¡ªPrince of Zhou creates scandal by offering concubinage to Huang Shao, which Chu declines


    ¡ªKang pulls back support on Zhou¡¯s military proposal for western expansion


    Zhou¡¯s military proposal is rejected by the Imperial Court due to resistance from the Shangguangs and failure to have proper control of the western states (Kang and Yan).


    ¡ªXiahou Wei abruptly divorces wife Ouyang Ying


    The Prince of Zhou accuses wife Princess of Kang of cheating on him due to out-of-the-blue pregnancy. He demands a paternity test when the baby is born to avenge the insult on Zhou.


    ¡ªKang breaks off ties with Zhou


    A coalition of western states is offered to Yan by Kang in the form of marriage. Ouyang Xiu (Å·ÑôÐÞ) is presented to Princess of Yan Shangguan Qiuyue (ÉϹÙÇïÔÂ). A marriage is scheduled.


    ¡ªFormer Prince of Yan, Shangguan Ming, returns from Visava


    Political waves are made and his position is almost immmediately recognized by the state of Yan. Speculations are made of the possible factions within Yan, and some dispute the right of Shangguan Ming''s succession, which are dispelled after the Emperor''s acceptance of his position in Yan.


    ¡ªPrincess of Yan, Shangguan Qiuyue, cecedes title to Shangguan Ming, who takes place in the wedding instead.


    The Shangguans and the Ouyangs have a steady alliance.


    ¡ªKang-Yan western faction is formed.


    The western mercantile states group together politically.


    ¡ªZhou reaches for aid from Chu, who declines.


    To combat the western coatilition, the Prince of Zhou invites the Princess of Chu to a meeting, whom publicly declines. Huang Shao also humiliates Xiahou Wei and sends a letter to Zhou concering the conduct of those in their faction.


    ¡ªStart of Zhou-Chu conflict, tensions rise in the East


    In the east, militarization occurs; skirmishes happen sooner as Xiahou Wei publicly declares hostilities.


    ¡ªChu requests aid from Kang


    Simulteanously, Ouyang Ziyi is born to Princess of Kang, Ouyang Ying; and a paternity test is performed. The results are observed by an unknown Zhou official and reported back to the faction. It is publicly announced that Ouyang Ziyi, now successor to the Princess of Kang, is Xiahou Wei''s child.


    ¡ªKang acts individually from the western faction


    Due to Ouyang Ying''s personal long-time friendship with Huang Shao, Kang comes to Chu''s aid.


    ¡ªYan retaliates by disbanding the faction, Shangguan Ming divorces Ouyang Xiu


    Tensions arrive in the faction as the scholarly Ouyangs come into the Chu''s military. In retaliation, the western states split and Ouyang Xiu is divorced.


    ¡ªThe Thousand Mile war begins


    <hr>


    Tianya has long been engaged in trade with Visava. The Western States have been a source of mercantile wealth for Imperial Tianya through Visavan trade, even before the Thousand Mile War. Diplomatic relations, although scarce, have been tumultuous throughout the years; but the western naval routes themselves have yielded a multitude of benefits for our land. Through Yan, we have exported silks and porcelain over water to the Empire; through Kang, we have exchanged knowledge over land.


    However little knowledge we have of the Empire and the other countries that make up our neighboring continent, we cannot act abruptly. Many merchants from our Tianya have ceased trade with the continent since the war, and many have suffered. With our turbulent relations with the Gailbraith, and our escalating situation with the Central-Western Principalities, the Western States¡¯ influence has waned. With the currently enforced taxes, we struggle to keep our own people fed while serving our Tianya.


    Without fertile land, trees cannot grow. The groves in the west of our Tianya are rapidly wilting, and thus we cannot provide shade in others¡¯ time of need, or properly serve our oots.


    This loyal subject humbly beseeches Your Imperial Majesty to reconsider the raising of taxes.


    ¡ªMONTHLY REPORT FROM THE WESTERN STATES, WRITTEN BY SHANGGUANG YUN, CURRENT PRINCE OF YAN (ON VISAVAN WAR)


    <hr>


    AFTER THE HUNDREDTH QUEEN''S CAGE


    (PRESENT)


    A CROWN AS A FUTURE


    The High King knew that he had problems. Who didn¡¯t? Especially when ruling over a large portion of a large continent, it would be surprising if there wasn¡¯t any resistance. Especially since he¡¯d tested the waters by sending out the bandits to intercept Imperial platin in the north and cause conflict, and deliberately held back peacekeeper interference, he¡¯d been surprised that all they had done was withdraw.


    No resistance¡ªnot a single spy.


    Of course, that was operating on the assumption that someone had caught on to the fact that there had been deliberate influence, but, like his children like to say: come on. He wasn¡¯t overestimating the Imperials¡ªno one overestimated the Imperials.


    If he overestimated an Imperial, the High King would, at the very most, end up looking like a fool. If he underestimated an Imperial, on the other hand, he¡¯d end up dead in a ditch at the very least.


    That was the tenement of Rhianite-Imperial diplomacy: even though the Empire constantly underestimated the continent, Rhiannon never once underestimated the Empire. Both sides had never conflicted¡ªmuch¡ªin the High King¡¯s lifetime, as, one: the Empire was usually too caught up in their own turmoil most of the time; and, two: the Empire thought that the Rhianites were too peace-loving to warrant the effort to conquer them.


    At least, that was the gist of it.


    If his mother could hear his thoughts right now, he would be scolded, he thought. ¡°Geoffrey, you¡¯re focusing too much on a single continental entity again,¡± she would say. ¡°Stop being so single-minded and look at the big picture. You¡¯re seeing this as a puzzle, and you¡¯re spending way too long on one piece. The Empire doesn¡¯t make up the entirety of Visava.¡±


    It would, soon, by the looks of how the war was progressing, Geoffrey thought.


    The Republic was stuck between a rock and a hard place, and even if it was too brittle to bend and too strong to break.


    The Boreas debacle had been to test the waters¡ªif they¡¯d sent out spies against Rhiannon after, the High King would¡¯ve involved the peacekeepers in the platin bandit operation to push against them.


    The Platin Bandit, of course, had been more roguish than he¡¯d liked, but the fact remained that the Imperials not only remained unmoved after the Prince¡¯s death, but had withdrawn¡ªhis then conclusion had been that the current Empress had needed time to stabilize her throne, and thus hadn¡¯t wanted to move too fast too soon; but, obviously, that hadn¡¯t been the case.


    It was probably a threat.


    Or something.


    Ekaterina was awfully fond of playing practical jokes, too, but the current war on Visava likely had warranted this. While she and the rest of the Tsardom wanted to stay as neutral as she could¡ªawfully easy for her to say, since she didn¡¯t share a border with them¡ªGeoffrey was still on the edge of making a decision. If the Empire won, and if they proceeded to take over the rest of Visava, conflict with the other continents was inevitable.


    Even though Visava was a small continent in comparison to Rhiannon (and the Gailbraith area that was just, well, there), it was still arguably larger than the Principalities. Even if Tianya wanted to involve themselves in the mess because of their western states, an ocean divided them still, so the bigger entities were still Gailbraith, Rhiannon, and the Principalities themselves.


    Geoffrey sighed, before smiling.


    ¡°What is a knife if not a weapon?¡± the High King whispered under his breath.


    But he would wait.


    The blade bade its time.


    <hr>

 51. Death I

    <hr>


    O chor¨®s tou than¨¢tou den e¨ªnai ¨®morfos.


    The dance of death is not beautiful.


    <hr>


    STRANGLING WAS NEVER A GOOD WAY TO GO. That was his first thought.


    Cyrus Halgrove was standing in darkness, uncomprehending what happened. Then it - everything - all merged into a second thought:


    Arathis needed to Revive him, his Ability said.


    But if he needed to Revive himself, he was dead, wasn¡¯t he?


    Cyrus was dead.


    The pain around his neck was real, sharp and dulling at the same time. Unsurprisingly, his first thought wasn¡¯t about Cedric. It was about his family¡¯s faces. Both his families, from the sun-worn faces of the Notian bandits, grinning with bawdy jokes and bawdier laughs; to the strange smiles of five people, cavalier and unique in their own ways.


    He was dead.


    And then a laugh managed to rip his way out his throat, more a snort than a real sound, and then his lungs tore themselves to pieces as he wheezed on the ground. There was iron bubbling in his throat, bitter and sour and sweet, as the entire situation somehow became a piece that forced itself into Cyrus¡¯ puzzle of comprehension.


    His Ability was there, and it was telling him he was dead, and he believed it.


    That was when the tears came, out of nowhere and intermingling with relief and regret and despair¡ªbut most of all, the anger. It came in flashes like his Lightning, but it was muted, dull; and the sheer burden of its formerly vivid hue had fallen off his shoulders.


    But then everything stopped.


    And the Chosen looked up.


    A God¡¯s face stared up at him.


    Zeus¡¯ face, carved in the marble of the sky, peered out from a hole in the darkness. And, after meeting Cyrus¡¯ eyes, the King of the Sky ripped the reality apart as he managed to stand, forming a throne out of the abyss as Lightning curved around his body. The fabric itself crackled, humming with power as it trickled around the God¡¯s arm and twisted into a weapon in his hand, elongating into a shard like a piece of the heavens.


    A sentence formed on Cyrus¡¯ tongue, and something Burned.


    ¡°I was so close.¡±


    The boy¡¯s hands were shaking.


    ¡°I was so close¡ª how dare you take that from me?¡±


    Cyrus leapt towards the Lightning King, rage etched on his features, but the God was calmly still. Zeus looked his Chosen in the eye.


    There was a silence, one that sang a defeaning song, and as the God spoke, he spoke with power.


    If I gave you one more chance at life, said the God of the Sky, calmly, what would you do differently?


    The shard crackled in his hand and spread around Cyrus'' shoulders, scorching under his skin and burning but not, a cool-warm Fire that settled in his withering chest as he felt the heat of the God on his hands. It wasn''t the heat of a human; it was the heat of a fire. A monster, but not. Everything he wanted to be, and nothing he was.


    The fingers of the man, knotted in the God¡¯s lapels, faltered. Pride battled desperation in Cyrus'' eyes.


    ¡°Time.¡± A whisper wrangled its way out of the man¡¯s mouth. ¡°I just need more time. Please.¡±


    Blue eyes flashed.


    ¡°Give me one more chance. One more time. I¡ª I beg of you, please. I can¡¯t see their faces again, without avenging them¡ª¡± Cyrus'' voice didn¡¯t break, but it halted; his hands slowly untangled themselves from the God. The man¡¯s face had been carved inside out with some sort of despair but not sorrow, an injury more gouge than crack¡ªa wound that could not be sewn nor pieced back together.


    ¡°I can¡¯t face them,¡± the prince said, firmly but gingerly, pausing for lengths between the words. ¡°Not when I¡¯ve died like this. Not when I was so close to¡ª¡±


    Redemption.


    That single word resounded in the air, a statement but not a question.


    You want to be a hero.


    Very well.


    Let¡¯s try again.


    The surroundings shifted.


    Zeus was nowhere to be seen, Cyrus now in the middle of a bloodied plain. He recognized the ruins he was standing in, bits and pieces of a familiar palatial manor as bodies were at his feet. Flame ate away at the edges of smouldering columns, and immediately his eyes recognized the faces below him, his cousins and siblings and relatives with slack eyes and mouths.


    Their arms were burnt and charred, the Halgrove estate in a similar state, and the man could do nothing but recoil as he saw the woman a few paces in front of him.


    His mother.


    Even if this was a dream, even if this wasn¡¯t real, he couldn¡¯t pass up the opportunity. The leather-faced woman in front of him, with Cyrus¡¯ dark hair and proud features, merely smiled as the former prince darted closer, summoning Lightning from the sky.


    Heat soared in his veins, even though he knew he was dead, and for once¡ª


    As the man reached for his mother¡¯s throat, he felt a singing pain within that familiar Lightning, terror amidst the spark¡ª


    ¡ªAs he crumbled to ashes.


    Abyss swallowed his vision, and immediately Zeus¡¯ face was found again.


    ¡°Again,¡± pleaded the man.


    The God¡¯s features merged into the void, until the void was no more and he was back in the scene again.


    He felt the crackling inside his veins, electrifying and exhilarating, as he once again saw his family at his mercy. The sky thundered as he was ready to command the Lightning to rain down¡ª and immediately was struck down by a knife. The blade from seemingly nowhere pierced skin, and Cyrus fell. Zeus didn¡¯t call him back until he was bleeding out on the ground amidst the bodies of those he needed to kill.


    ¡°Again,¡± demanded the man.


    He was resurrected, and he was killed¡ªthe second the spark of life faltered from Hortensia¡¯s eyes, his own hands faltered as some unknown force kept him from finishing the deed.


    ¡°Again,¡± screamed the man.


    He was¡ª


    ¡ªso close.


    Zeus¡¯ face was as it had been, at the beginning: impassive, but somehow conveying a sense of pity, as if a tower staring down at a crumbling brick. The God¡¯s proud features, arranged in a statuesque way that spoke silently of eons seen, remained unflinching.


    I killed my father, said the God, as he did his father before him. I saw the death of ages, of we who claimed vengeance, and those who cried absolution. I saw the rise of man, with their broken souls, and those who could not pick up the pieces. I am the Father of the Sky, the Ruler of the Above¡ªI have flooded the world, and I know what you do not.


    The Lightning King looked at his Chosen.


    Revenge will not be your salvation.


    Cyrus¡¯ face contorted.


    ¡°But it is,¡± the Chosen whispered. ¡°I¡ª saved a life, and I¡ª was exiled. They killed my friends, burned my home¡ªI couldn¡¯t be soft anymore. I couldn¡¯t afford to¡ªthey needed to pay. Repent.¡± I needed to repent, was what he didn¡¯t say.


    He saved a life, and for that he was exiled.


    He begged his father, and he was turned away.


    He was welcomed, and then they were burned.


    He wanted freedom, but then he was Caged.


    Revenge was¡ª ¡°It¡¯s the only thing left,¡± said the man. His eyes weren¡¯t teary, but they were softer than ever, vulnerable twin blues. ¡°It¡¯s the only thing left, for a person like me.¡± His voice cracked. ¡°Please. Again.¡±


    No more, said the God. It has ended.


    A beat, as the man wept and the God was silent.


    The world does not owe you a beautiful death, said Zeus, after a while. Nor does it owe you a beautiful life.


    ¡°Then is it foolish?¡± rasped the prince. ¡°To hope for redemption? A happily ever after, an end to¡ª this?¡± The last word was spoken bitterly, brokenly.


    No, said the Lightning King. But salvation will not come.


    ¡°I thought I would at least achieve something,¡± said the man. ¡°I fell from the sky without even seeing the sun.¡±


    You fell from the sky because you were too close to the sun, corrected Zeus. But it does not matter. It was not that your anger was not enough¡ªit was that you were not enough. Your life was not enough¡ªyour Victory was not enough. You made yourself your Victory, and because of that, it was not enough.


    Each word hit already broken chords.


    ¡°One last time?¡± questioned the Lightning Prince, already knowing the answer.


    No. No more, said the Lightning King.


    The heat of the Republic, raining sky and blood.Unauthorized content usage: if you discover this narrative on Amazon, report the violation.


    The towers of Boreas, the scorn of his father.


    The gold of the Cage, sheer will and scorched bodies.


    The dryness of Notus, the sweat of his first family.


    The depths of the capital, the smiles of his last.


    ¡°No more,¡± echoed Cyrus Queenscage.


    The Chosen smiled as he crumbled to ashes.


    <hr>


    The murderer was sentenced to the gallows, as two Galani men walked across the city and conversed.


    ¡°I don¡¯t know, man,¡± whispered the first, turning a corner. ¡°It seems so surreal that we were there. Like, we saw the guy die.¡±


    The second harrumphed. ¡°Don¡¯t forget that it was because of them that our home burned,¡± he hissed under his breath. ¡°You don¡¯t get to forgive them just because one of them¡¯s dead.¡±


    The first shrugged. ¡°I don¡¯t know, man, he was the one who convinced the head to let us march. And he¡¯s gained plenty of respect in my book. I mean, he practically burned everyone to ashes. The strong¡¯s the strong. The weak¡¯s the weak. That¡¯s the way of life, my man. Even if he has a psycho ex.¡± He shuddered. ¡°Gods, even thinking about that guy gives me the shivers. I¡¯m glad I¡¯m not the one lopping off his head. He kept acting normal and shit¡ªdidn¡¯t even give a reason.¡±


    The second scowled. ¡°The guy was the patrician¡¯s son. Shouldn¡¯t resentment be the only reason?¡±


    The other tilted his head. ¡°I don¡¯t know. It seemed like more than that. The Prince loved the guy, it seemed like. You could see it in his eyes¡ªboth of them loved each other, past or present tense or whatever. I remember the psycho saying something about how the Prince needed it. Something about the release of death, or something. Weird.¡±


    ¡°He did say something about that,¡± the second agreed. ¡°And something about stopping the man from going too far and ¡®carving himself hollow¡¯?¡±


    ¡°Yeah, hollow was the word. I don¡¯t know, I kind of get where the psycho¡¯s going. Remember what the head used to tell us, about the story and the person?¡±


    The other arched his eyebrow. ¡°You think the dead Imperial couldn¡¯t separate his story from himself?¡±


    The first man looked up. ¡°I think he couldn¡¯t tell where the story ended and he began,¡± the man said, softly. ¡°You know how my gut is, with these things. I can tell.¡±


    A beat.


    The second man¡¯s skepticality was muted, but present. ¡°Yeah, sure, man,¡± he relented. ¡°Whatever you say. But did you hear about the authority change in Bellum¡­¡±


    <hr>


    The poisoned and weakened Cohorts of the Romulus Army arrived only a night after we took over the city. It was strange, to see the hope that arrived on the people¡¯s faces¡ªsurprisingly bright pieces of dawn¡ªonly to be snuffed out when they saw the state of the legionnaires.


    Spoiler alert: it was not good.


    They hobbled more than they walked, coughed more than they spoke, and even when that wasn¡¯t enough, some of them collapsed on the way in. Sarawolf was potent, I knew, but I assumed it would¡¯ve been a bit more diluted in effect since we¡¯d dumped it in the food and drink. Then again, I also assumed that that diluted effect was the reason why they¡¯d even made it to Azareth.


    One of the stronger ones, who¡¯d evidently been lucky, looked at the foreign armor that the guards at the city walls wore; and barked something to the rest of the crowd. A ripple of something resembling incomprehension went through the group, before all of them swayed and I gestured for the Princeblood to open the gates.


    The moment of hesitation before they did needed to be remedied, though.


    But oh, well. You couldn¡¯t please everyone.


    I walked slowly through the open entrance, meeting the group outside the gate. ¡°State your name and business, please.¡±


    The horse-boy wasn¡¯t there, which was good. Or bad, depending on what way you looked at it¡ªhe hadn¡¯t followed my advice, likely.


    ¡°State your name and business,¡± countered the legionary. She looked at me suspiciously, as if she knew my face from somewhere. ¡°Who are you? Why are you guarding the city walls?¡±


    Scars mottled her face, reminding me that these guys had been the ones fighting the monsters at the border. I recognized a claw mark.


    I tapped the side of my face. ¡°Harpy?¡± I asked. ¡°Those can be nasty if you¡¯re caught alone and by surprise. Their gizzards, though? Tastes delicious.¡±


    Her face contorted further, and murmurs bubbled up from those behind her.


    ¡°You¡¯re an Imperial,¡± she accused, somewhat uneasily, distantly gesturing for the people to get back. ¡°Why are you here? Who¡¯s your commanding officer?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m my own commanding officer,¡± I corrected. ¡°But, before we get to introductions, it seems like you all haven¡¯t been informed of the situation.¡± I paused for effect. ¡°Azareth has been taken over by forces of the Eternal Empire, and thus, under the rules of war, is currently commandeered as an Imperial Stronghold. Right now, if you don¡¯t give me a good reason for how you can be of use to the Empire¡ª¡± I shrugged ¡°¡ªI¡¯m sorry, but I can¡¯t let you in.¡±


    Those words took more than a second to sink in, and then there was chaos.


    These guys were in no condition to fight back¡ªI had made sure of that.


    Would they bend, or would they break?


    This was more of an experiment, then. An Analysis, based on a sample of the Republica population.


    I watched the legionary¡¯s face contort, her fists being balled at her sides as her eyes roved around the soldiers behind me. Do or die, fight or flee. Deliberating ¡ª two choices ¡ª attachment ¡ª bravery ¡ª taught honor ¡ª future.


    ¡°I¡ªcan be of use to the Empire,¡± she gritted out after a long silence. Mutters spread across the masses she was leading, grizzled soldiers murmuring in indignation, but a sharp turn was all the woman needed to quiet them. Of course they harbored at least some resentment¡ªthey¡¯d been fighting for who knows how long, only for a clap on the back and a rest for a Dayhept or two.


    But it wasn¡¯t enough.


    They were poisoned and weakened, and couldn¡¯t fight back even if I told them I was the one who¡¯d poisoned them. Even if they healed¡ªwhich were a waste of unacquired time and resources¡ªwhat would they be of use for? A new addition to the Princeblood? A parade of ghastly faces to incur the wrath of the people?


    ¡°What to do,¡± I mused aloud. My eyes roved past the deteriorating bodies¡ªif I asked Delphine what to do now, it would be weakness, wouldn¡¯t it? ¡°I won¡¯t heal you,¡± I decided after a while. ¡°But I¡¯ll let you in. On the condition that you¡¯ll swear by your Gods not to hurt those of and pledged to the Empire.¡±


    That gave them pause, eliciting a growl from the woman.


    ¡°You¡¯re pushing us too far, little girl,¡± she hissed. (That was the point, either way.) ¡°We can talk to your superior, and negotiate terms.¡±


    I shrugged. ¡°It looks to me that you don¡¯t have time to negotiate terms,¡± I pointed out. ¡°Your lot are dying. You can either go to another, Republic-owned city¡ªwhether you make it or not, well, it¡¯s really none of my concern¡ªor accept these terms that I¡¯ve offered right here and right now, it¡¯s your choice.¡± It wasn¡¯t really a choice, but oh, well.


    I strang my Ability, ventured a bit into Thought, and smiled.


    I¡¯d need to contain the effects of this.


    ¡°Do you have the ability?¡± forced out the woman. ¡°To protect us?¡± Her fists were tightening, as silence hung on the faces of the people I¡¯d poisoned.


    ¡°I do,¡± I acquiesced. ¡°On that, I am perhaps certain.¡±


    Bend, or break.


    Heads, or tails.


    The coin spun, and it sat.


    The crowd broke into halves, and while one side lined up to go in¡ªconsiderably fewer than the other¡ªthe other stayed behind, full of determined resignation. Mercy, who I knew had come behind me while I sorted it, didn¡¯t speak until I did.


    ¡°Send the gravediggers,¡± I said.


    I had made my choice, and they had made theirs.


    And there was no one to judge us both for it.


    <hr>


    See, guilty people always liked to do things to alleviate their guilt.


    ¡°I should¡¯ve died.¡±


    ¡°I should¡¯ve lived.¡±


    ¡°I should¡¯ve done better.¡±


    Oftentimes, that came in the form of doing little random things, like petting a stray dog, warning someone of a slaughter ahead of time, or deciding to let a little kid go after you burned their parents alive. There was always guilt, whether subconscious or not; pauses of hesitation of the person behind the story, reminders of what you¡¯d been and what you¡¯d become.


    It started with bits and pieces. Tiny visions of what could¡¯ve been, scattered through a person¡¯s life, and when you found them, they were so painfully nostalgic that you ended up searching for them. And when you searched for them, they ended up being more painful than nostalgic, and a future of a past long gone ended up overwhelming your present.


    It was a self-destructive process: guilty people also thought they deserved the guilt.


    So they would find those pieces, again and again; wallowing and clinging to their self-supposed sins; drowning in their guilt while managing to find pieces of island amidst the sea.


    And they would end up jumping off again, because they thought they didn¡¯t deserve to be saved, but wanted to be saved regardless.


    It was a strange thing, guilt¡ªa feeling I hadn¡¯t felt in its entirety, not yet.


    I was on that island, that cliff where the Cage fell apart to reveal gold and glittering sea, and I knew I would die from the jump.


    But the sun was tantalizing.


    It was somewhat out of guilt, I knew, that I was giving out free food to the dregs of Azareth.


    But it was also somewhat out of Thought


    ¡°I¡¯m not accepting your dirty Imperia food,¡± spat one boy.


    ¡°We literally stole it from your farmers,¡± said Xandros. ¡°And you¡¯re a waste of poison.¡± He shot a glance back at me, conveying an exasperated really? through his eyes. I shrugged, smiling, and the boy took the distraction to bat the bread out of Xandros¡¯ hand, and the piece from the wagon fell to the ground. In response, the boy jutted out a daring chin, and Xandros raised a fist in response before I clicked my tongue and he lowered it.


    The boy sneered, before his expression flickered as the orphan bent to snatch the bread off the ground and bit into it.


    ¡°Waste of perfectly good food,¡± said Xandros, mouth full. ¡°I guess we¡¯ll move on to the next one, then.¡± He turned, and his expression faltered. ¡°Wait, sorry, Boss, do you want some?¡± He shoved forward the bitten bread, and after I leaned forward and bit off a piece, I gestured for the Princeblood wagons behind us to move on.


    On the next house, I sent out a legionary to ask the questions and give out the bread instead, making sure that they didn¡¯t seem even a tiny bit Imperial-sent, to check in with household food stores as a whole and jot down a couple numbers for routine administration. It would take a while canvassing, but I was with the main unit, so technically I was the one ¡°in charge¡± in charge.


    It took a good chunk of the evening before we moved on to the harbors and took inventory.


    ¡°We haven¡¯t taken over taken over the city, Boss,¡± protested Xandros. ¡°Like, there hasn¡¯t even been any resistance. Don¡¯t we have to, you know, crush any resistance to fully conquer the city?¡±


    ¡°That depends on your version of ¡®conquer,¡¯¡± I chided. ¡°We just need to keep this city, not take it.¡± The Princeblood ships were lined up in a neat row, bobbing on now-tainted sunset waters, and I spotted barely any Republica sailors. The soldiers under my ¡°command¡± had been ordered to check the state of all the ships in the current harbors, and I was still debating over whether or not to seize the goods inside them.


    If we did, we could mark them up and resell them to the merchants, and use the leftover money to haggle a discount out of them and re-buy the goods that we wanted¡­


    It was a headache.


    ¡°Besides,¡± I said, ¡°we already ¡®took over¡¯ the harbors of the city. The rest¡¯ll come along with it.¡± Hopefully.


    Based on the numbers, the war had taken a toll on the Harbor City. Most of the lower-class families were under the employment of the merchants; and even the latter were struggling to pay their own bills, especially since their main source of income¡ªtrade¡ªwas cut off. Azareth was largely into fishing, trading, and farming¡ªwith the outskirts around the walls dedicated to its granaries, and the war taxes funneling revenue to weapons, etc., etc., the numbers were on the decline.


    ¡°Numbers,¡± I muttered under my breath with a sigh, leaning back against the crate I was brooding on.


    Xandros raised an eyebrow. ¡°Not a math person?¡±


    ¡°Gods, no.¡±


    Mercy was off communicating with Delphine and her people, serving as an in-between and a proxy while I went around and ordered people to do things. And I was left with my other minion, who I was cultivating as a potential alternative for Julian, which meant that my left hand and my right hand were forming.


    Did I feel bad, seeing Xandros as a replacement?


    The guy who¡¯d said no more than once to me even when he knew I was a noble, just to keep his hands clean?


    A henchperson who¡¯d been nothing but loyal?


    People were people. Roles were roles. Humans were unique, with their emotions, strengths, weaknesses, and areas of potential; and both Xandros and Julian had that compatibility of being my right hand, the tactics to my strategies.


    I looked out at the sea, and then at the boy.


    He didn¡¯t look awkward, anymore¡ªevidently our first day in Azareth had loosened his tongue.


    I enjoyed the silence before that thought drifted to the surface.


    Dionysus¡¯ visit had...shaken me.


    I was a Harbinger of Slaughter, a messenger¡ªa prelude to death in the Visavan continent, so technically all this war¡ªall this death¡ªhad been heralded by my existence. Even if it wasn¡¯t me, it would be someone else. But the fact wasn¡¯t comforting, doing nothing to lessen the¡ªdread?¡ªthat hung on my shoulders. Greta had known. Delphine had known. I was a little pawn in a big game, and I had already made the decision that I wouldn¡¯t stay that way.


    My current situation?


    It wasn¡¯t enough. And maybe it would never be enough.


    I would wait out Greta¡¯s reign and start my own, breaking off my chains, and I would be Empress like everyone wanted me to. Like I wanted me to.


    What did I want? I didn¡¯t know.


    I looked at the horizon, at the sun sinking into the rosy waters and painting the sky its bloody hue.


    But I would find out.


    <hr>

 52. Death II

    <hr>


    Fear opens your eyes. Live to blind it.


    - UNKNOWN QUOTE


    <hr>


    TWO LETTERS ARRIVED BY NOON, and none of them were worth celebrating. Arguably, both of them were; but I really could only stare at the piece of paper pronouncing my brother dead with more confusion than grief. ¡°There¡¯s no way he of all people¡ªthat stubborn mule¡ªis dead,¡± was of course my first sentence to the messenger, to which the latter got all jittery for no reason (it wasn¡¯t like I was going to stab him, or anything).


    I showed the paper to Mercy, who frowned at it.


    Xandros managed to peek at it, and looked horrified.


    I turned back to the messenger. ¡°There¡¯s a body?¡± I questioned, frowning.


    ¡°It has been confirmed that it is His Late Imperial Highness¡¯,¡± he replied, head bent into a low bow.


    That gave me pause, before a laugh jerked out of me.


    ¡°The frontal assault can¡¯t have gotten him,¡± I said. ¡°He may be a brute, but he¡¯s at least better than that. He had soldiers with him, right? With that big of a moral superiority complex, and that much of an ass for a personality, it¡¯s a wonder he¡¯s survived this long. He can¡¯t just be shot off his high horse like that.¡±


    That was a lot of ¡°can¡¯ts.¡±


    But he couldn¡¯t have.


    A long silence, as I tried to rearrange my thoughts.


    ¡°Who killed him?¡± I asked the question.


    Even without my Ability, I could hear the hesitation in the messenger¡¯s voice. ¡°I was told that His Late Imperial Highness recognized the current Patrician of Bellum and brought him to an audience in front of His Late Highness. During their conversation, the Patrician managed to escape from his bounds and...strangled the Third Prince to death, Your Highness. The Patrician was executed as per regicide protocol immediately after...Your Highness.¡±


    Strangulation?


    ¡°Why didn¡¯t Older Brother use his Ability?¡± I hissed, the strange title coming back to me. ¡°It¡¯s strangulation, for Gods¡¯ sake. Why did no one kill the guy?¡± There was uncharacteristic vehemence in my tone.


    The messenger¡¯s voice faltered. ¡°I was told, Your Highness, that immediately after, His Late Imperial Highness summoned Lightning¡ªpresumably to defend himself¡ªand managed to burn them both in the process.¡±


    ¡°Well, if he wasn¡¯t immune to his Ability, than why would he have it in the fucking first place¡ª¡± I cut myself off, catching the unusual flash of anger I felt. The mask was cracking, and I sighed in the silence that my abrupt sharpness gave me.


    ¡°Sorry for yelling at you,¡± I said, even though I really didn¡¯t need to apologize. A beat, as the messenger hastily protested that there was no need, and I cut him off. ¡°Why did brother even give him the time of day, then? What was so special about this Patrician?¡± This was Cyrus. When he wanted revenge, he was a think-first-kill-later-and-then-suffer-consequences type of person, as much as I called him an ass.


    ¡°I was told,¡± the messenger repeated, a bit softer, ¡°that the Patrician was a former lover of the Prince.¡±


    To that, I only had to slap my forehead. ¡°People were always that asshole¡¯s weakness,¡± I whispered under my breath. But he was dead¡ªby what, someone strangling him? He¡¯d weathered far worse, but, then again, my other brother had died getting shot by an arrow which he could¡¯ve easily avoided¡ª


    A body, hammered into the ground. An archer¡¯s amber eyes.


    My eyes flung closed, and I inadvertently raised a hand to my forehead. I could feel Mercy¡¯s hand on my shoulder, and I reflexively shook it off.


    I was going to crack like this.


    Everything else had already stretched me thin, wrung me dry¡ª


    I was going to snap like this.


    Like I had back in Boreas, like I had back in the Cage¡­


    I crumpled forward as an invisible weight pushed down on me, crouching near the ground before I slowly hugged my knees to my chest. The last thing on my mind was to cry, and it wasn¡¯t that I didn¡¯t have the strength to stand¡ªI took in soft breaths, no sense of anxiety or anger inside my chest, but rather an exhaustion sapping something out of my bones. It happened in the span of seconds, and so I sat on the ground, staring at the ground for a small silence; and then swallowing before I spoke evenly.


    ¡°What were his last words?¡± A smile twitched on my lips. ¡°I¡¯m sure he must¡¯ve said something heroic, right? Or at least written down some sort of majestic will?¡±


    Mercy immediately fell to the ground beside me, sitting cross-legged casually as I said the words, as if we were having a tea party on the floor.


    Xandros did the same, although uneasily; and the very, very rattled messenger followed, kneeling on the cobblestones behind the Azareth manor.


    ¡°I was made aware that His Late Highness carried around slips of paper that he entrusted to Lady Roxana Evlogia of Doxa,¡± said the messenger, voice raspy. ¡°It was said that, upon his death, these slips of paper would be distributed to his immediate family.¡± He rummaged around his satchel and brought out a folded sliver of paper barely the size of my thumb.


    ¡°Was mine the smallest?¡± I asked, lips curving. I took the paper slip with two fingers, examining it before folding my fingers over it. ¡°They said you had two messages,¡± I said finally, when the surprising wave of bile rising in my throat seceded. ¡°What was the other one?¡±


    The messenger seemed more than jittery. ¡°Her Imperial Majesty, Empress Greta the Great, sent Your Highness a letter.¡±


    After he gave me the letter, bowed, and hightailed it out of there, I closed my eyes and continued to sit on the ground in silence.


    ¡°I must¡¯ve eaten something bad,¡± I commented aloud after a while. ¡°My stomach doesn¡¯t feel good. Must¡¯ve been the candy.¡±


    There was no murmured assent in the darkness around me.


    I swallowed again, to moisten my suddenly dry throat.


    ¡°Yes,¡± I repeated, opening my eyes and slowly raising my head towards the sky, ¡°it must¡¯ve been the candy.¡±


    I hadn¡¯t cared about him all that much, had I? Then why¡ª


    If I had been there instead of Cyrus he wouldn¡¯t be dead.


    If he was there instead of me in Notus, it wouldn¡¯t have been as bad.


    If¡ª


    I hadn¡¯t even loved the guy. I mean, I did care about him, in the same way that I cared about what happened to any one of my brothers and sisters (because we were a family in name); but I wouldn¡¯t die for him, not really. But he was a Queenscage: he had been through the Cage¡ªseen and slaughtered and came and conquered¡ªthe same way I had. He had been Chosen by the Gods and seen their faces, and bore the same curse I did, and in that way the same blood ran through our veins.


    This wasn¡¯t a distant relative passing away.


    He was¡ªtechnically, in all aspects¡ªmy brother.


    And he was dead.


    I raised my fist, upon which bruises had already formed from Notus and Zephyr, and held it above the ground, deliberating for a while before letting my fingers lay on the stones. There wasn¡¯t any anger or frustration to let out, I realized, and so it would be pointless.


    It was fear I felt in my stomach, scorching my throat, and I interrupted the bile by clearing it.


    ¡°Open the other letter, Mercy,¡± I said. ¡°We have work to do.¡±


    <hr>


    I ignored the order to go to Honos for another hour as I looked at the sarawolf victims. In all honesty, a lot of them had already died overnight, but there were still some left.


    The poison had been diluted, sure, but it was still the same deadly stuff that killed upon contact. It had been in the water and food, which meant that it was already in their body and system, and even the luckier ones who¡¯d had a slower rate of infection were already gasping for breath.


    ¡°It¡¯s a wolfsbane hybrid,¡± I explained, after looking at the healthiest ones. ¡°Really, it¡¯s kind of misleading. You usually put sarawolf with a bunch of other poisons to get that quick and lethal effect with the smallest dose possible.¡±


    In the assassin¡¯s trade, that ¡°sarawolf¡± sarawolf¡ª the kind that would go up from the infected area and along the spine, circling your throat and lungs¡ªwas a different kind that meant that even the slightest contact could make you suffocate to death. Even if you recovered, you¡¯d be potentially paralyzed.


    I shrugged. ¡°That¡¯s the nastiest stuff, though. This is the slower, more diluted and less effective breed.¡±


    The legionary frowned. ¡°I¡¯ve heard of it. Imperial poison.¡± The connotation was quite obvious, really, but she skipped over it with a brusque: ¡°Can you get rid of it?¡±


    ¡°There is a cure,¡± I conceded. And there was. I knew the recipe. ¡°But it keeps the poison within the first stages, and it has to be ingested regularly. It helps you throw up the poison, and the effects will lessen over time, but during that multiple-Daycycle-period there¡¯ll be a lot of deterioration, health-wise. It helps if you have some kind of resistance beforehand, or all in all immunity, but¡­¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s going to be hard,¡± guessed the legionary, flatly. ¡°And it takes time and resources you don¡¯t have. Or want to give.¡±


    I inclined my head. ¡°That¡¯s right.¡±


    ¡°Even though you poisoned us in the first place.¡±


    ¡°Yep.¡±


    The legionary¡¯s face showed no sign of hostility, but still my hand crept to my knife as always. Even if she swore an Oath.


    ¡°But,¡± I continued, ¡°I do have on hand several bottles of the instant-death dose, which I¡¯m sure will work fine even if we dilute them a little bit. I also, coincidentally, have a bit of the cure; and I can supervise the treatment of around five people if they take it. But they¡¯ll have to follow me around in order to do that. I won¡¯t order them around or anything, on the condition that they follow an Oath of not harming the Empire¡¯s citizens and all that.¡±If you find this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the infringement.


    ¡°You make it sound like a mercy,¡± sneered the other.


    ¡°Because it is,¡± I said. ¡°At least, the best mercy I can offer you. If I¡¯m feeling generous, maybe I¡¯ll throw in something else; but, right now, I¡¯m working for the Empire¡¯s interests. Which are my own, of course.¡±


    After all, they were only poisoned to get rid of interference in our operation in Azareth. Having two Cohorts marching on a city invaded by Imperials, especially when you were one of said Imperials, complicated things.


    And complications were unnecessary.


    ¡°You don¡¯t fight for your country, little girl,¡± responded the legionary. ¡°You fight for yourself. But very well. I understand our existence throws a wrench in your plans¡ªI¡¯m sure we¡¯re the last hope to our conquered people. We¡¯re the promise of help, and for all the Legions speak of honor, there¡¯s little honor can do in this situation. The lethal dose is your way of killing us, isn¡¯t it? You¡¯re only treating five people so you can take them under your wing and crush people¡¯s hopes at freedom.¡±


    I smiled, thinly.


    ¡°You would be right,¡± I conceded, ¡°if this were any other day. It was my plan, yes; and I¡¯m sure the other Duchess in the city would argue in favor of it and carry it out regardless, but today I¡¯ll stay my hand.¡±


    I released my other hand from around my knife behind me, retreating it to its position at the front.


    ¡°There¡¯s no hand for me to backstab you with,¡± I informed her. ¡°You either take it, or you don¡¯t. But I have my own honor. You get to choose how you will take the choices I¡¯ve given you. You should know, though, I don¡¯t ask twice.¡±


    There was too much pride in her eyes.


    ¡°I¡¯ll ask the people behind me,¡± she said quietly, her brittle face softening. ¡°But I¡¯m not infected. I¡ª didn¡¯t eat, that night. So no, I won¡¯t choose.¡±


    I didn¡¯t lower my hand, but extended it.


    ¡°Seraphina Queenscage of the Third Isle, Third-in-line to the Chryselephantine Throne of the Eternal Empire, and Chosen of Athena,¡± I introduced myself, a smile that was smaller than it should be settling on my lips. ¡°Pleasure.¡±


    <hr>


    Operations have been executed in Honos. Proceed there immediately.


    ¡ªGreta


    Love,


    Ara & Josie & Greta (the Great)


    (The peacock has left the palace with relevant documents. Await further orders while assessing the situation. Do not reveal yourself.)


    (P.S.: we all miss you. Greta does, too.)


    <hr>


    I missed home. I had no doubt about that.


    I also had no doubt that if I returned home, it would be a different home than the one we had before.


    There would be no jeers at Cyrus or jests at Orion; no bickering arguments between the latter and Greta; no Nikephoros to keep us all in line from afar. I don¡¯t think I had fully realized the hole each death left behind¡ªthe already messed-up dynamic we had between all of us had twisted further, and I was sure that when I came home there would be less jest and more manipulation: Greta¡¯s decision to make me Grand Duchess had proven that this went beyond the label of family.


    There had been no time for us to become cohesive¡ªfor me, at least. The others had known each other for at least five years, some even decades, and I couldn¡¯t relate to the thing that was grief that I was sure the others would feel.


    Sure, they would continue on with their smiles and masquerades, but I had felt genuine sadness in Greta and the others¡ªnot actual melancholy, but an acknowledged hole that they all hid well.


    Was the guilt really justified? I just needed to move on, box it in, just like the others. It was just inexperience, that I was hung up on the fact that we were family. It meant something, but that something needed to be nothing; otherwise I would crack. Again.


    Coward.


    Yes, it was fear.


    And so what if I was afraid?


    ¡°Do you think Mari will hate me?¡± I spoke into the night¡ªand Xandros. ¡°I mean, likely at least someone he cared about would be in that explosion. And I was the one who thought of it, right? I don¡¯t know how Anaxeres and Petra handled it, but there has to be some hate somewhere.¡± My hands went to the ring on my left hand, fingers twisting the piece atop it. ¡°He won¡¯t come to us anymore, then.¡±


    Xandros peered at me strangely.


    ¡°I mean, there¡¯s always the possibility, Boss,¡± he said after a while. ¡°You¡¯re talking about the guy, right? Tall, handsome, built pretty? The praetor?¡±


    Built pretty. I snorted. ¡°Yeah, the pretty boy,¡± I confirmed. ¡°I¡¯d prefer if he didn¡¯t hate me, strangely enough. Both personally and professionally.¡± If Greta really did want to extend the protectorate to the Republic, Julian would be the best choice to lead it, if he came to our side. And if everything worked out, he would be by my side, which meant I had a stake in the Republic¡¯s administration.


    ¡°Do you...like like him?¡± asked Xandros, raising his eyebrows. ¡°Like, genuinely?¡±


    ¡°I can learn to,¡± I responded with a smile, strolling the streets. ¡°And doesn¡¯t that make all the difference?¡±


    Political marriages were, after all, the norm. It had been drummed into me from a young age¡ªI think it had been one of the Williams scions that had been groomed to be a ducal consort, or someone of the like.


    Love?


    ¡°It¡¯s not that love doesn¡¯t matter,¡± I said aloud. ¡°It¡¯s just that it¡¯s either a can not, do not, or will not. I can¡¯t, don¡¯t, or won¡¯t love, not in that way. Or, at least, not now. But I don¡¯t really care either which way. If I happen to love him, then that¡¯s great. If I suddenly happen to love you or Mercy over time, then I¡¯ll marry whoever if they accept.¡±


    Time¡ªand that conversation with Josie¡ªhad helped me realize that. Love was love, but it didn¡¯t necessarily need to be eternal romance in order to be classified as that.


    Xandros¡¯ eyes startled.


    ¡°Don¡¯t worry,¡± I cut him off before he spoke, ¡°I don¡¯t love you, relax. But, the point is: maybe I¡¯ll love someone down the road. Or maybe never. But political advantages can certainly help on how much I spend time with a potential candidate, no?¡±


    Julian hating me would be an obstacle.


    My minion tilted his head. ¡°You can feel whatever you want to feel about love, Boss. But based on you not wanting pretty boy to hate you, I think you care about him enough to not want him to die? In that case, when we get to Honos, you guys should probably talk.¡±


    Talk.


    ¡°It isn¡¯t just Mari,¡± I said. ¡°I need to talk with a lot of people. And listen.¡± A pause, as the cool night hung in the air. ¡°Yeah,¡± I conceded, ¡°I need to listen to a lot of people.¡±


    Xandros hummed. ¡°Hey, Boss,¡± he began, ¡°you know, Mercy and I have been talking, and we¡¯re kind of worried about you.¡±


    That made me snort. Real smooth. ¡°I mean,¡± I conceded, ¡°it¡¯s not like there isn¡¯t anything to worry about. But, come on, it¡¯s me. I¡¯m supposed to be the one worrying whether I¡¯ll have to replace you guys, not the other way around.¡±


    The boy shrugged. ¡°You can be sad, Boss. Or angry. We¡¯re not going to tell you how to feel, but¡­¡±


    He trailed off.


    ¡°I get,¡± he changed course, ¡°that you want to be¡ª¡± he looked around and lowered his voice even though there was barely anyone around ¡°¡ªEmpress. But if you¡¯re destroying yourself to get there¡ªif you¡¯re letting yourself get destroyed from the inside out¡ªthere won¡¯t be much of you left to sit on the throne, Boss.¡±


    I turned and faced him.


    ¡°You think I don¡¯t know that, Xandros?¡± I asked, eyebrows raised.


    ¡°If you knew¡ªif you saw yourself at the end of your path,¡± he responded, ¡°you would care.¡±


    His eyes were calm, almost serene.


    I laughed.


    ¡°Haven¡¯t you heard, then?¡±


    I leaned closer.


    ¡°The Ruler is blind.¡±


    <hr>


    It was evening when the legionaries came with questions and answers. I¡¯d ignored Xandros on the way back for the sake of theatricality, but I really was pissed off. At Xandros, at Greta, at myself¡ªbut I met them at the door with the same smile as always, moved through the pleasantries and moral quibbling, and took in the chosen soldiers who looked guilty, tired, or both.


    After greeting them and diluting the antidote, I explained the logistics behind everything, ignored their turbulent moral states, and hightailed it out of there¡ªat least, that was what I had been planning to do, before the first legionary pulled me aside and brusquely asked about the Oath.


    ¡°Ah,¡± I said, very intelligently. ¡°The Oath. Of course.¡±


    For an Ability that assumedly gave me perfect memory, it really was shitty when it came to these things.


    ¡°I¡¯ll have Mercy draft something up, I guess,¡± I conceded with a nonchalant wave. ¡°I¡¯ll get it ready soon, then.¡± A pause. ¡°Do you know if your Cohort¡¯s horse-boy got poisoned?¡± I asked, after a while. ¡°Not the person who attends to Ralla, the other one. A bit too scrawny, grins a bit too crooked, built like a beanpole?¡±


    The legionary blinked, before scratching her head. ¡°I don¡¯t think I¡¯ve seen him around since we questioned him,¡± she said, slowly. ¡°After the horses turned up dead, and people started getting sick, we interrogated him and he seemed pretty alive. Said that he didn¡¯t bring anyone worth mentioning around.¡± She narrowed her eyes. ¡°Although that seems like a lie, now.¡±


    I smiled. ¡°Then he took my advice,¡± I murmured. ¡°Well that¡¯s a first.¡± My eyes flickered to the bodies in the parlor. ¡°Is there anything else?¡± I met the legionary¡¯s eyes, dark and flickering.


    ¡°There is,¡± she confirmed. ¡°I can recover without your plan, but even then...why are you doing this?¡± Before I opened my mouth, she continued, ¡°I don¡¯t care that you¡¯re doing it for selfish reasons, but you¡¯re just a kid. What are you, seventeen? Sixteen? I¡¯m not asking you about your sob story, I¡¯m asking you whether this is out of temporary guilt, or something else. Because if it¡¯s temporary, you can yank this carpet from under their feet any time, and all the guilt they¡¯re feeling¡ªit¡¯ll kill them, even if you heal them.¡±


    She was concerned.


    She cared about them.


    I looked at her face¡ªit was grim and determined.


    ¡°I don¡¯t want anyone else to die because of me,¡± I said. ¡°Just for today. But I keep my promises, and I respect people¡¯s choices. I won¡¯t break this oath, and they will get better.¡± I turned, and patted the legionary on the shoulder. Unsurprisingly, she recoiled. ¡°I swear it by my honor,¡± I continued, firmly.


    ¡°A villain¡¯s honor,¡± she muttered. ¡°But yes.¡± A pause. ¡°Thank you. For this, only.¡± There was still hate in her eyes.


    I accepted it with a nod, my smile vanishing as I reached to exit the room.


    Hate.


    What a strange thing.


    <hr>


    When I came to my bed that night¡ªalone, for once: I had bade Mercy a farewell that was met with careful concern¡ªI sat and looked at the night and realized I was scared.


    It was the same fear that had propelled me to gamble in Tyche, settling in like a cold anticipation for a plummeting fall. It was staring me in the face, that abyss: a gaping grin of a maw, carved in the mask of death and all that it brought with. The moment before the jagged teeth sank in your arm: a pure, terrifying certainty that the bite would hurt, and it would hurt badly.


    I would fall¡ªI would, could, and perhaps should¡ªlike Cyrus and Orion, gone to the whispers of ghosts long gone, buried under the grave and inscribed as a sister, daughter, and loving friend.


    Written off in the annals of history.


    Forgotten.


    That nightmare sunk into my bones, the fear of being forgotten, now with a new taste I wasn¡¯t sure I liked: the fear of death.


    And, I supposed, another, more furtive of a shadow: the fear that I would die without anyone to know what I had been through.


    If Greta succeeded, there would be no more Chosen. There would be no more Cages, no more Seraphinas, no more Cyruses and Orions. That feeling settled in me like a steely knot, twisting and turning like string. The Empire would be better for it, I knew, but there would be no more families. No more laughs, no more knives, no more sleeping with one eye open.


    No more family paintings, diplomatic dinners gone wrong, or tea parties¡ªthere would be no more Greta chasing Orion around in thinly veiled rage, no more Arathis to invoke her wrath and Josephine to fan the flames, no more Cyrus trying to strike me down with Lightning. Three Daycycles¡ªand counting¡ªsince the Cage, but it had been fun. Interesting, exhilarating, whatever you called it, it wasn¡¯t boring.


    There would be no more that for the other generations. There would also be no more blood stained in their nightmares, or speeches haunting their dreams, ghosts and wraiths wailing their words of wisdom. The Song wouldn¡¯t hum in their ears, and that promise wouldn¡¯t lay at the end of their paths: those accursed golden bars wouldn¡¯t follow them to the ends of the world, and for that I had nothing else to say.


    See, there was that feeling again.


    That feeling, that I had passed the point of no return, but it was so wrong and unsettling that I ignored it.


    Because I could turn back¡ªI could turn away from the sun and fall back onto the cliff, play along and be killed and reviled: I could wait, until someone put their hands around my neck and decided that was enough with me and that I had served my purpose.


    Because now turning back was a choice that had never been a choice.


    Because I needed to carry on, otherwise all the people I¡¯d killed and used would¡¯ve died for nothing, and I didn¡¯t get to decide when to turn back.


    Only cowards turned back.


    And Seraphina Inevita Queenscage was many things¡ªloved, hated, feared.


    But she was no coward.


    <hr>

 53. Death III

    <hr>


    When I crash and burn


    ¡ªAnd I will, because I cannot go the way I want to go,


    I cannot go that high this soon¡ª


    Do not catch me.


    Let me burn.


    I might hate you for it, but let me fall.


    Because it has been but I


    That pick up my pieces


    And I do not trust others to do the same.


    It has been but I


    That has built myself


    On what I could become


    And I do not trust others to do the same.


    It has been but I


    That reached for the sun


    And it will be but I


    That will burn.


    Do not catch me.


    I do not trust you to survive my falls.


    ¡ªTO MY ICARUS, POEM


    <hr>


    SEE, CYRUS DIED TWO TIMES TO THE EMPRESS OF THE ETERNAL EMPIRE.


    The first time was when the news came, at breakfast when Arathis was talking about birds, the weather, and the politics behind the development of the Imperial military; and the second time¡ªthe last time¡ªwas when his ghost appeared at her ear.


    Josephine had started off the affair with human bones and Gorgonian necklines and laces.


    ¡°The Myth of Medusa told of a stone island that was destroyed in the rise of the Cage before the First Emperor took the throne,¡± she said. ¡°It was said that the statues of her victims after she was slain were collected for its novelty and given to the First Emperor as a coronation present from the Gods. It exchanged hands and saw eras...before some dipshit Chosen decided to raid the Imperial Treasury and smash everything into pieces.¡±


    She paused.


    ¡°Said dipshit Chosen,¡± she admitted, ¡°was my great-great-something-great grandmother.¡±


    Arathis waved an airy hand. ¡°Ah, are you telling this old story again? Didn¡¯t you do it last last year¡ª¡±


    A harpy wing was unceremoniously shoved into the Forsaken¡¯s mouth, upon which the former courtesan continued.


    ¡°The point is, that I have a very personal connection to Gorgonian hemlines. And necklines. And lace,¡± drawled Josephine.


    Greta¡¯s tone was flat. ¡°No, I¡¯m not opening the Imperial Treasury so you can get your dresses made in Arachne¡¯s silk. Or any silk, for that matter.¡±


    Josephine twisted her lips into a pout.


    ¡°Why?¡± the Fourth Princess protested, dodging a narrow harpy gizzard thrown by her brother. ¡°It¡¯s just a tiny bit of silk! I already subjugated the anti-Imperials in the capital¡ªTartarus, I even used my Ability so I could personally puppet the leader! And what did Ara do? Fetch a noble writ? This is very obviously favoritism. Nepotism, too¡ª¡±


    ¡°We¡¯re related,¡± reminded her brother.


    ¡°Whatever,¡± brushed off the former Lady Williams. ¡°This is...prejudice!¡± She stood up abruptly, with an exaggeratedly haughty sniff. ¡°I¡ª I will not stand for this.¡±


    The Empress raised a hand towards the table.


    A beat.


    ¡°Then sit,¡± replied Greta.


    A silence.


    ¡°Oh, come on¡ª¡±


    ¡°That was a joke? Sister made a joke?¡±


    After a moment of mock-incredulous clamor¡ªduring which Josephine seemingly dropped the topic¡ªArathis raised another point with a wave of his finger sandwich. ¡°And, by the way,¡± he said, biting it, ¡°I did not just ¡®fetch a noble writ,¡¯ alright? I repurposed an entire aristocracy¡ªand on very short notice, I might add. I even made it legal and everything without our dearest sister needing to lift even a finger.¡± He raised his eyebrows. ¡°What did you do, quell a rebellion?¡±


    He leaned towards Greta, exaggeratedly enunciating the word: ¡°amateur.¡±


    The three syllables, of course, deserved a rebuttal, which consisted of: ¡°Repurposing an entire aristocracy? Isn¡¯t that just a fancy way of saying bullying the law until it spits out a loophole? It¡¯s not even stealing candy from a baby¡ªthe baby can¡¯t even talk.¡±


    The affront was countered after a dramatic gasp.


    ¡°Do you even know how hard it is to restructure the Second Isle¡¯s dominion? The Imperial announcement isn¡¯t even out yet! With the Drakos¡¯ factories up and running, and Fourth Aunt and Uncle quibbling over how much of the weapons go into the stockpile¡ªwell, I practically did away with the entire Armistice!¡± Arathis crowed that last sentence in triumph, eating another sandwich, as Josephine raised her eyebrows.


    ¡°Really?¡± Josie questioned. ¡°Well, with the project with Timmy that Sister just gave me¡ª¡±


    Just as Greta was about to watch Arathis call her a traitor, the breakfast room¡¯s doors opened and a messenger stumbled in.


    The Empress raised her eyebrows at the Guards at the windows, and Deimos¡ªwho had been beside them like a lurking vulture the entire time¡ªstepped forward and bowed.


    ¡°A messenger has arrived from Bellum, Your Imperial Majesty.¡± The old attendant frowned. ¡°Although I do not know why they were allowed in¡­¡±


    Something pricked at the back of Greta¡¯s neck.


    Years had honed that instinct, and so the Dionysus¡¯ Chosen held up a hand, stopping Deimos from probing further.


    ¡°Speak,¡± said Greta.


    The messenger, dressed in the regalia of an Imperial staff, gasped for breath. Evidently they¡¯d been a rush.


    They kneeled, before they followed Greta¡¯s command.


    ¡°N-news from Bellum, Your Imperial Majesty.¡± Their voice was shaky as they clasped their hands in deference. ¡°Third¡ª Third Prince Cyrus is¡ªhe¡¯s dead.¡±


    Then there was the second time.


    <hr>


    ¡°You just handed over all the secrets?¡± Alina¡¯s voice rose. ¡°What were you thinking, Timaios?¡±


    ¡°Well,¡± said the Marquis, ¡°I was thinking about how I was going to be able to man an operation that would support me¡ªand the marquessate¡ªoutside from weapons. You know the new grand duchy¡ªeven if the existence of it hasn¡¯t been announced to the public yet¡ªis to keep the Empress¡¯ chokehold on weapons production. Instead of being stupid, like my father, and starting a rebellion, I decided to move.¡± His green eyes bore deep. ¡°I¡¯m not one to just teeter on the precipice, Duchess.¡±


    Alina¡¯s face contorted. ¡°What exactly are you¡ª¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t play dumb,¡± retorted the Dragon King. ¡°I¡¯ve heard of Prince Arathis¡¯ play to get you on Princess Seraphina¡¯s side. What he¡¯s doing at first glance may just be trying to divide the Imperials, but he¡¯s also reining you in, Duchess. He told you to wait out Greta¡¯s reign, didn¡¯t he? And cultivate Seraphina to be a successor that¡¯s partial to Evlogia? He told you to heel, and you listened.¡±


    Timaios shrugged.


    ¡°Not that there¡¯s anything wrong with cowering,¡± he admitted. ¡°But you can¡¯t either-or this.¡±


    The Duchess¡¯ lips curved into a sneer. ¡°Speak for yourself, boy. You can¡¯t just rally all the military marquessates to become self-named information brokers like you¡¯re planning to do. You¡¯re going to drive Drakos into the ground, Timaios. Surrendering all control over weapons to the Imperial Family? That¡¯s a coward¡¯s move, and I¡¯ve been with the Imperial Family longer than you have.¡±


    The other raised his eyebrows. ¡°You should keep your eyes on your own cards instead of watching what others are putting down,¡± Timaios warned. ¡°This is a matter of the Armistice. Just because Doxa can¡¯t pick a side doesn¡¯t mean Drakos has to refrain¡ªbesides, instead of trying to get me to not air the nobles¡¯ dirty laundry, shouldn¡¯t you be taking care of your own city? You know, the one that¡¯s suffering because of the severed trade?¡±


    ¡°You are a noble.¡± Alina ignored the taunt. ¡°This is a mistake. Are you going to put all of the aristocracy in danger, just to win a war?¡±


    ¡°The current aristocracy,¡± corrected Timaios. He leaned back in his chair. ¡°You¡¯ve seen years and years of this with the Nightbidden¡ªhow everyone¡¯s grown complacent. All those lies, all those dirty deeds¡ªall the secrets of the nobles, I¡¯ve seen. I¡¯ve kept secrets that would destroy names. I¡¯ve seen faces that could collapse clans. This aristocracy¡ªthese people¡ªhave brutalized and tortured, stepping on the people they¡¯ve vowed to serve, and that is not right.¡±


    The Duchess snorted. ¡°Do you really think that the next will be better than the last?¡± asked Alina, derisively. ¡°Might makes right. Does it matter, what is good and what is bad, as long as we survive?¡± She pointed at Timaios, gesturing widely. ¡°This¡ªthis plan? It¡¯s not necessary. You¡¯re driving the knife near the heart¡ªno, you¡¯re handing the knife to Imperials to cut out what is good and what is bad. And you of all people should know¡ª¡±


    ¡°To never trust Imperials?¡± argued the Marquis. ¡°I beg to differ. I always trust Imperials¡ªat least, to do what it takes to survive.¡± He stood up. ¡°And if what this Empire takes to survive is to cut out the rot in its aristocracy, then I¡¯ll gladly hand over the knife¡ªbecause, well, if they don¡¯t take it¡ª¡±


    Green eyes glimmered.


    ¡°Who will?¡± he asked.


    <hr>


    Arathis strolled in the gardens and watched the sunlight stream through the leaves with a satisfied smile on his face. After finding a satisfactory marble bench, the Fifth Prince shuffled his legs on the seat and sprawled himself on it, pale gold spilling over his skin as he closed his eyes and enjoyed the atmosphere. The scent of the tree was bitter and filled his nostrils like a pleasant cud, leaves fluttering and brushing against his cheeks in the wind.


    But inside, he felt the same way he¡¯d always had.


    Hollow.


    Empty.


    But that sense of fear¡ªfleeting, as it was¡ªwas the only thing that exhilarated him these days.


    Death was, after all, death.


    A person who could Revive people, being scared of death.


    How ironic it was.


    Arathis sighed, but opened his eyes to footsteps and curled his lips into a smile.Unauthorized usage: this narrative is on Amazon without the author''s consent. Report any sightings.


    ¡°Well, well, look who¡¯s here,¡± remarked the Forsaken. ¡°Long time no see...Aunt Alina.¡±


    ¡°Arathis,¡± acknowledged the Duchess. A hint of¡ªsomething¡ªwas in her eyes. Something exploitable, rattling. Alina nodded at the bench. ¡°How¡¯s the view from down there?¡±


    The Prince shrugged. ¡°Same old, same old.¡± It was his favorite spot, after all. But Arathis didn¡¯t move or make space for the Duchess, which made Alina secure another marble bench just a step away.


    ¡°You want Greta¡¯s reign to continue,¡± said Nikephoros¡¯ Hound, flatly. ¡°You deceived me. Why?¡±


    The bored expression that was on the Chosen¡¯s face shifted into a faint smile, as he closed his eyes again. ¡°I didn¡¯t deceive you, dear Aunt. You just assumed that I was going to use Youngest Sister to seize hold of the end of Oldest Sister¡¯s reign.¡± He stretched his back on the bench, halfheartedly shrugging after. ¡°It wasn¡¯t your fault that you assumed wrong.¡± The Forsaken smiled, letting silence occupy a beat. ¡°But it wasn¡¯t mine, either.¡±


    There was no rage in the Duchess¡¯ expression.


    ¡°Then what do you want?¡± she said with a sigh, breaking off her stare (his eyes were still closed, but he could tell). ¡°Besides pitting your siblings against each other?¡±


    A leaf broke off from the tree and fluttered its way to rest on the Forsaken¡¯s eyes. ¡°We were never against each other in the first place,¡± remarked Arathis. ¡°And that¡¯s what you all will never understand.¡± He opened his eyes. ¡°Because you all will never understand us.¡±


    ¡°So you care about them?¡± she laughed. ¡°You all certainly have strange ways of showing it.¡± Her chuckle was dry but her eyes were flickering with surprising melancholy, likely in remembrance of her old (dead) friend.


    ¡°Sera will snap,¡± provided Arathis, seemingly out of the blue. ¡°I¡¯m just nudging things so that when she does, she¡¯ll stop Greta¡¯s journey right where we need it to.¡± He dangled a finger in the air and swiped it across, drawing a line. ¡°Right before the point of no return, but right after Greta¡¯s done what she wanted to do¡ªso that our oldest sister doesn¡¯t cross the line and carry the Empire with it.¡±


    He opened his eyes, finally, the movement hurtling the leaf towards the ground.


    ¡°But I won¡¯t stop the operation that Timmy and Josie are cooking up, Aunt. I¡¯m actually helping you, really¡ªso that Greta doesn¡¯t carve out too much of this Empire.¡±


    ¡°You want Seraphina to go past the line,¡± said Alina.


    Arathis shrugged. ¡°Greta can¡¯t go too far too soon,¡± was all the Prince said. ¡°But the point still stands: this isn¡¯t me against Greta, or Sera against Greta, for that matter.¡± He looked upwards, at the Sky.


    ¡°I''m playing the long game, dearest Aunt,¡± said the Chosen, lips curling into a smile. ¡°And I will win against Olympus.¡±


    Who said he needed the favor of the Gods?


    <hr>


    Julian was angry.


    The praetor stood at the Senate as he always did, but instead of the high, arching ceilings that came with the Curia¡¯s meeting room, the opalescent ceiling tiles of the Romanus Estate roofed his head. The Curia¡ªthe one that had been standing for he didn¡¯t know how many years¡ªhad fallen into ruin, and now was little but a reminder that he should¡¯ve known better: he should¡¯ve done better.


    He had known Marianus had turned, but had¡ªlike a fool¡ªthought that it was just information that he¡¯d leaked, that he could just interrogate his friend and change the data and it¡¯d be all alright. Of course, the praetor had known that there had to be some repercussion for the actions he¡¯d done, and so after the hours he spent cleaning up after the Curia incident he¡¯d asked Cecilia to take care of it, but¡ª


    ¡°Marianus is dead, Julian.¡±


    He¡¯d looked up from his position, tired and sunken by the window, and met the Praetor Romus¡¯ eyes.


    ¡°What?¡±


    ¡°He hung himself last night, using his restraints¡ªI don¡¯t know how he managed to, but¡ª¡±


    And now, he was all alone.


    Arguably, it was all Seraphina¡¯s fault.


    If Seraphina had never tried to recruit Marianus, if she hadn¡¯t gotten into Marianus¡¯ head, if she wasn¡¯t so Tartarus-bent on gaining and winning and¡ª


    But Julian still couldn¡¯t take off the damn ring.


    Because he¡¯d made a promise, and that promise was the only thing left. If he had anyone to hate, anyone at all that the world justified him to hunt to the ends of the world until there was no horizon left, it would be her¡ªshe¡¯d ruined everything he¡¯d had but, damn him, he still was bound to her and her hollow Oath.


    And so the boy was alone again, back in the darkness playing soldiers¡ªjust where he¡¯d started.


    Valerius was dead. His death had been confirmed, and Marcellus¡ªJulian¡¯s father, that monster of a man¡ªhad an unrecoverable injury to his spine from when the Consul had tried to protect his companion, and so Marcellus was bound to a chair for the rest of the man¡¯s life. Even in the face of death, the Consul had been right: Cecilia was a candidate for the Consulship of Romus, and Julian was now in this Godsforsaken excuse for a Senate hall for the next step to recovery.


    ¡°I nominate Praetor Julian Marius Romanus as Acting Consul of the Republic Roma.¡±


    There¡¯d been bickering, sure, but that line had condemned Julian to a fate worse than death: bureaucracy.


    Of course, he would¡¯ve joked about it and meant the joke before, but he wasn¡¯t in the mood for any jokes at the moment.


    As the patricians who¡¯d survived chose to extend their dirtied hands towards the one who would glove them¡ªhim¡ªhe couldn¡¯t even speak a word of protest.


    He felt as empty as the rest of them.


    And that made him angrier than ever.


    <hr>


    As the two Acting Consuls, the two former praetors were huddled over a table and discussed the future of a nation.


    ¡°Go get some sleep, you dumbass.¡±


    ¡°No¡ª¡±


    ¡°You spent hours taking care of the explosion. I can handle the patrician family successions and do some of the appointments while you catch some sleep.¡± Cecilia¡¯s voice held no sign of strain, but then again she was alleged to be made up of the same metal as Heroes were forged in. Of course, Hero blood did diminish only some fatigue, and it was worrying that Cecilia would be in charge of all administrative duties for a length of time¡ª


    ¡°I¡ª¡± Julian began.


    ¡°Don¡¯t make me argue.¡± This was snapped, and as Julian¡¯s eyes met hers he found no concern. Just dead eyes that had learned not to feel, but to do.


    There was a silence, where the temporary Consul searched for something that he didn¡¯t find before he leaned back.


    ¡°Fine,¡± he relented.


    Julian closed his eyes, and thought.


    Lessons flashed in his head, lessons taught by his father and that glinting star.


    ¡°The problem,¡± he spoke aloud, still resting his eyes, ¡°with hereditary succession is that some people argue that the right to govern shouldn¡¯t be handed over to people on a silver platter. That a person should not be allowed to rule unless they have been ruled, because you cannot govern the people unless you are a part of the people. Not the higher echelons of said people, either.¡±


    He shrugged. ¡°Some argue in favor of a meritocracy, that people should be judged based on their merit, but can there really be such a thing? An all-encompassing standard that judges who can ascend and who cannot? A force that can judge every single person of a country, and can tell which have truly ¡®earned¡¯ their position?¡±


    The Republic said that if you served, you would rule.


    But was that really the case?


    ¡°That¡¯s why I find the Empire interesting, either way,¡± the boy murmured. ¡°True ¡®Chosen of the Gods,¡¯ battling it out to see who¡¯s the last one standing. Others would call it barbaric, and maybe it is; but consider the fact that, for once, it¡¯s not merit or hard work that gets you through¡ªit¡¯s the pure willingness to survive.¡±


    Cecilia hummed.


    ¡°Stop philosophizing and go to sleep,¡± she said back with a sigh.


    How can we win against those who have Won?


    Julian acquiesced and drifted off to sleep before an answer materialized in his head, one he wasn¡¯t sure he liked:


    You don¡¯t.


    <hr>


    Titus Summanus had, in fact, survived. That was a fact Cecilia noted with a frown, but it was still one that could be contained: Julian had dirt on him, one that had been turned over to the Senate for further address before the war had started. Then the matter had been eclipsed with more important things, but bribery, blackmail, and some political maneuvering could keep the Patrician Summanus in check, and in turn Summanus.


    Cassia was more problematic.


    Julian¡¯s primus pilus¡ªMarianus, the one who¡¯d caused the entire mess¡ªhad been a bastard but an official one, which meant that he¡¯d been supposed to be in charge of the entire line of tricksters. After Alberta¡¯s execution at the hands of the Empire¡ªof course, there¡¯d been something behind it, some thread connecting the Republic and the Empire because, well, come on.


    Cecilia wasn¡¯t stupid. The Cassia line would have nothing to gain from assassinating the Emperor, which meant that someone¡ªlikely someone from the Republic¡ªhad puppeteered the entire thing. And, of course, Uncle Marcellus was likely involved in it, along with the people of the Empire.


    She¡¯d been told that the war had started because two Queenscages had conspired to assassinate Uncle Marcellus, and she doubted the only reason was revenge. Even if it was revenge, unless the Imperials had some hard evidence that Marcellus was behind the Emperor¡¯s assassination, why exactly would they do it in broad daylight? And why had they been only punished by solitary confinement?


    The Empire had wanted this war.


    Cecilia¡¯s father had told her about the protectorate, but the fact had been hidden to only the Senate. If they had accepted the protectorate, the rest of the Republic wouldn¡¯t stand for it. But if they¡¯d rejected it¡ªlike they¡¯d had¡ªand if the war had ground away at people¡¯s morals, people would argue that they had placed pride over survival of the people.


    Based on what Valerius had told her, there had been some very generous terms on the table.


    The Empire had given them an excuse to tie the cause for the war in a pretty pink bow.


    And that was what Cecilia was suspicious of.


    Never look a gift horse in a mouth, her ass. If that gift horse was sent by the Empire, she would send half her Army to make sure it wasn¡¯t dangerous.


    The temporary Consul clenched her fist.


    This variable was something that they could use against the Republic, a weapon. And the attack¡ªalthough morally horrifying¡ªhad shaken the Republic¡¯s capital, its center: of course, Gloria would be the last to fall; but Honos was the headquarters of the entire thing. The victories in the Empire¡¯s east would be null and void if she couldn¡¯t rein in the remaining members of the Senate to pass the military orders she needed them to pass.


    And, as of now, said Senate was an absolute fucking mess.


    The capital¡ªthe situation outside¡ªwas also an absolute fucking mess.


    Azareth had fallen. Bellum had been taken over. Honos had been shaken.


    ¡°I¡¯ll be damned if they don¡¯t strike now,¡± Cecilia murmured aloud under her breath.


    But there was something. The Imperial that had charged Bellum was dead, which created an opening for action. But balancing striking and defending? That was an art, that took years of strategizing and planning. It took a brilliant tactician, and currently the Republic¡¯s best tactician was unconscious and could barely walk; the other best tactician was freshly buried underneath the ground and covered in cheap flowers.


    She couldn¡¯t treat this like a battle.


    This wasn¡¯t a singular battlefield, where the only aim was to survive and win.


    This was a country.


    ¡°Why did he have to die?¡± The former praetor furrowed her brows. Everyone called her impulsive, too emotional to follow orders¡ªbut it didn¡¯t change the fact that she still took them.


    What was she going to do?


    The capital¡ªthe situation outside¡ªwas also, conveniently, also an absolute fucking mess.


    Azareth had fallen. Bellum had been taken over. Honos had been shaken.


    ¡°I¡¯ll be damned if they don¡¯t strike now,¡± Cecilia murmured aloud under her breath.


    But there was something. The Imperial that had charged Bellum was dead, which created an opening for action. But balancing striking and defending? That was an art, that took years of strategizing and planning. It took a brilliant tactician, and currently the Republic¡¯s best tactician was unconscious and could barely walk; the other best tactician was freshly buried underneath the ground and covered in cheap flowers.


    She couldn¡¯t treat this like a battle.


    This wasn¡¯t a singular battlefield, where the only aim was to survive and win.


    This was a country.


    ¡°Why did he have to die?¡±


    The former praetor furrowed her brows.


    Everyone called her impulsive, too emotional to follow orders¡ªbut it didn¡¯t change the fact that she still took them.


    What was she going to do?


    <hr>


    What was I going to do?


    That was the question that echoed in my head as I crouched in the dark wagon. It was, conveniently, filled with haystacks for the stationed soldiers¡¯ horse-feed, and so my nose was horribly itchy all the way. It was a miracle I hadn¡¯t sneezed my cover away after the Republica guards¡ªwho were more thorough and less susceptible (although not immune) to bribes¡ªchecked the farmer¡¯s wagon.


    There had been raised eyebrows, but I had hired a particularly smooth-tongued farmer that had shrugged, blamed the bureaucracy, and said ¡°I don¡¯t know, man¡± at the right times.


    Xandros and Mercy came in the later wagons, and we met up a distance away from the entrance gates at a corner of a street. I had used powders to make my nose prominent and my eyes bigger¡ªwith my now-painted lips and a wig, it was enough to pass people¡¯s suspicions...of course, if I bumped into Julian or someone who knew my face, that would be troublesome, so I faced away from the bustling people still.


    ¡°I thought that, with the war, people would be staying inside and avoiding crowded places,¡± murmured Xandros as he saw the hurrying people on the streets.


    ¡°The first attack targeted the Curia and the politicians there,¡± I replied back. ¡°That was the first cry of urban warfare. Those that can afford to are likely already making preparations to move to Gloria or Bellum¡ªcalculating risks, gathering resources, and biding their time. There haven''t been Imperial troops actually attacking the city, so they can still hold out for a while until they find a way to survive.¡±


    I looked up at the sky.


    ¡°They say the eye of the storm is the safest place to be in,¡± I said in a low voice. ¡°It¡¯s true¡ªif you know where the storm¡¯s going.¡± I nodded towards the people. ¡°You see the people going out? They¡¯re mostly middle-class civilians. It¡¯s inconvenient for them to move their businesses so quickly¡ªthey need to make a living, after all. Some of them probably know a friend who knows a friend who has connections in the government.¡±


    Honos was a surprisingly familiar city, constructed in that Republica style but still forming a similar landscape to Imperial Strongholds, high walls reaching high¡ªbut not high enough to grasp the sun that eluded their turrets and guardsmen. Roofs decorated with sparse frescoes glinted under the sun, pillars grunting to support the lanterns that twisted them into streetlights. Pathways folded into squares where fountains erupted into pleasant geysers, dry concrete and shimmering coins.


    Tasteful.


    Distant.


    Starkly beautiful.


    ¡°They¡¯re probing out the situation,¡± spoke up Mercy. ¡°But we don¡¯t know what the situation is, my lady.¡±


    I considered it. ¡°It¡¯s true. A lot could¡¯ve changed in the one day we¡¯ve been gone.¡± The horses had been going at breakneck speed, and I did want a good night¡¯s sleep. But could I really afford it.


    ¡°Oh,¡± I said as an afterthought, ¡°what have you done with the sarawolf victims?¡±


    ¡°Stashed them in a warehouse on the outskirts,¡± informed Xandros, grimly. ¡°I¡¯ve already instructed them to take their doses and I¡¯ve written out their treatment plans like you asked me to, Boss, but they¡¯re not going to be any help here.¡±


    Yes, they wouldn¡¯t.


    ¡°How long can we leave them alone for?¡± I asked.


    ¡°A Dayhept at longest, provided they listen to instructions, Boss.¡±


    And they would.


    I paused, frowning my brows in thought.


    ¡°The first thing to do,¡± I began after a while, ¡°would be to find out what happened to Marianus. Now, everyone¡¯s on edge¡ªI can¡¯t approach them like I did back in Zephyr, so our best bet would be to get in contact with Anaxeres¡¯ spiders, the one who pulled off the explosion. Then we try to get settled in while we wait for further orders.¡±


    Mercy and Xandros nodded.


    No one asked ¡®how exactly are we going to do that, Seraphina?¡¯, which I appreciated, as I took a while to draw out the thought.


    ¡°As much as I¡¯d like to approach my Mari right now, it would be, one: a terrible mistake that would likely get us arrested, and, two: the wrong time.¡± I let my sigh fill the pause. ¡°That leaves the other connection to Honos being Marianus, who I can predict more than I can Julian. If you do chance upon an informant, finding that out¡ªand establishing a point of contact¡ªwould be integral. I¡¯m sure Naxy has something designated already, but don¡¯t trust him and his people too much. We¡¯re all technically on Greta¡¯s side, but my interests are my own. But don¡¯t place that above the operation. Play nice.¡±


    Two nods.


    ¡°As for how to contact Naxy¡­¡± I¡¯d already thought about that on the carriage. ¡°I already have an absolutely brilliant idea.¡±


    Assuming his spies hadn¡¯t all been caught behind the attack already¡­


    I grinned.


    ¡°We have an embassy to raid.¡±


    <hr>

 54. Interlude: Sky

    <hr>


    From forth the fatal loins of these two foes,


    A pair of star-cross''d lovers take their life.


    <hr>


    PAST I


    The Sins We Often Regret


    ANASTASIA ANDINO KNEW QUITE A FEW STORIES ABOUT THE CURRENT EMPEROR. Nikephoros the Nightbidden, a supposedly kindly man who ruled over the Empire quite competently, wasn¡¯t all he seemed.


    The first red flag was, of course, the most obvious one: no one had any strong opinions about him. The public opinion about him was a bland consensus that he was competent: if there had been controversies, it had been about his vassals, not Nikephoros himself.


    Not once had the blame even reached him or the Imperial family¡ªwhen Alina de Evlogia, his closest aide, had reached a rock and a hard place when dealing with Gailbraith traders, the issue had been but a flickering rock across the pond: the ripples had been minute across the Empire, although Doxa had been shaken.


    Anastasia knew how hard mitigating damage was. She¡¯d originally wanted to be an engineer, overseeing the construction of new industrial infrastructure in Tyche. She had merely dabbled in blacksmithing and engine designing, even though it was close to her heart, it wouldn¡¯t bring her any places she wanted to go.


    But here she was, a fresh graduate of the Library of Alexandria, brought before the Emperor because of her inventions.


    Fuck, would be a very apt term.


    She bent her head as the Emperor spoke, pleasantly.


    ¡°Face Andino,¡± addressed the man, ¡°it has been brought to my attention that you have designed siege weapons that could potentially destroy the Empire.¡± He smiled genially, robes and Imperial cape flowing down the sides of the dias as he leaned forward, eyes twinkling. It was worn but not as worn as it should be: age touched the Emperor¡¯s face but it did sparsely, like an unblemished glove, or a glistening crown.


    At his right stood a tall young girl with a long flaxen braid and green eyes, unsmiling but regal, holding herself like she didn¡¯t own the world but was watching it. She leaned on the pillar behind her throne, her face obscured by shadow, but Anastasia assumed¡ªcorrectly¡ªthat it was the First Princess.


    ¡°Your Imperial Majesty.¡± It was undeniable that there was panic gripping at her throat, but with the fear was a dawning realization that she hadn¡¯t been executed yet. Did they¡ª need her?


    Was it too arrogant of her? Had she made too many enemies, too little friends? What would become of her inventions now that it was in the Empire¡¯s hands? Questions came and went like darting fish, as if a string had been inserted into her ear and out the other, threading away at her brain: mentally unpleasant, and physically impossible.


    But here she was.


    Anastasia cleared her throat.


    ¡°Your Imperial Majesty,¡± she croaked again, ¡°I¡ª¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re not in any trouble, Face,¡± the Emperor interrupted, his voice assuring. ¡°I looked at the siege weapons myself. They could potentially destroy the Empire, yes.¡± His smile was still placid. ¡°But only when they fall into the wrong hands¡ªin this case, I¡¯ll clarify the term: hands outside of ours.¡±


    He said it in a way a villain would say it, but in a fatherly way: gentle and paternal and deceptively smooth. No trace of malevolent intent at all - but Anastasia heard a soft snort in the silence. When the Analyst looked up at the First Princess, her face was dead still - in a cold way compared to Nikephoros¡¯ warmth - but the Emperor still turned to the pillar.


    ¡°Daughter,¡± he chided, gently, ¡°I¡¯m in the middle of something.¡±


    The First Princess shrugged offhandedly. It was more careless than anything else, but her eyes were strange, tracking the scene with caution. She didn¡¯t speak again as Nikephoros continued.


    ¡°You¡¯re here because I have an offer for you,¡± said Nikephoros the Nightbidden. ¡°This Empire needs, well, not to advance but to have that path¡ªthat choice¡ªto. I¡¯ve had someone explain your weapons¡ªthe ballistae, if I¡¯m correct¡ªand I believe that you can help me pave that path.¡±


    The Emperor tilted his head.


    ¡°Of course,¡± he conceded, ¡°like all offers, this is something that can be turned down. But I will give courtesy when courtesy is due, and say that, without this offer, you will be torn to metaphorical¡ªand perhaps physical, you never know with these things¡ªshreds.¡± There was no triumph in his tone as he said that¡ªthe words were bland and warm, like oatmeal.


    Anastasia sighed internally.


    It wasn¡¯t much of an offer, was it? A veiled threat, more likely.


    ¡°This loyal subject will follow the Emperor¡¯s wish, and accept your offer,¡± the Analyst said, as cautiously as she could. What was she supposed to do, shout ¡®Long live the Emperor¡¯ after this? Pah.


    Her heart was still hammering inside her chest, but she met Nikephoros¡¯ eyes as calmly as she could.


    ¡°Good,¡± said the Emperor, still smiling. ¡°With this offer, of course, comes an invitation and an appointment.¡± He stood up from the seat powerfully, descending the dias as if brandishing a knife. Anastasia met his eyes¡ªthey twinkled like stars about to implode, and she heard another scoff from behind the throne.


    Nikephoros raised a hand towards the woman.


    ¡°Rise, Anastasia Andino, for the Chryselephantine Throne appoints you to the rank of Dame, and assigns you to a residence in the Imperial Palace as an Imperial Analyst.¡±


    Well.


    Gods, she was dead.


    <hr>


    Anastasia was hidden away on surprisingly generous terms.


    It started when the first person tried to poison her at a tea party.


    The clouds were murky and so were the moral compasses of the people sitting next to her, but it was less terrifying and more I-want-to-go-home-please-ignore-me. Fortunately¡ªor perhaps unfortunately¡ªGreta was her unofficial societal shield, even though the First Princess seemed to be content with Anastasia being the target of snipes as long as nothing went over the Imperial Family¡¯s bottom line.


    The poison apparently did, though.


    ¡°Stop.¡±


    The word was said firmly, just as Anastasia raised the cup to her lips.


    Green eyes blinked at the Analyst, and a finger was pointed.


    ¡°Sarawolf,¡± said Greta dryly, in the same tone of pronouncing someone dead. Surprisingly gently, she plucked the cup out of Anastasia¡¯s hands. A pause, as the Analyst blinked¡ªand Greta threw the imported Tianyan porcelain as it sailed through the air in a vicious arc, slamming it in a noble lady¡¯s face as the latter screamed.


    Anastasia winced throughout the terror at the large clunking noise it made as it smashed into the woman¡¯s nose, blood streaming from the noble¡¯s nostrils as the Analyst heard the cup ricochet off the noble''s face and onto the lawn, smashing itself into the lawn grass.


    ¡°Sarawolf,¡± repeated the First Princess. ¡°Coated on a specific area of the cup. Amateurs.¡±


    Greta¡¯s eyes flickered to the Guards behind her, who wordlessly came forward to seize the writhing noble and drag her out of the square.


    ¡°Dismissed,¡± the Chosen said to the other nobles around the table, who gladly took the chance to follow her orders.


    And then, Anastasia and Greta were left alone, to which the First Princess spoke.


    ¡°This current arrangement won¡¯t be enough, I think.¡±


    The Analyst could do nothing but nod, which was how she got imprisoned in a partial dungeon.


    <hr>


    ¡°When people usually imagine the life of a Chosen, they probably think of something more refined than throwing a teacup in someone¡¯s face,¡± said Greta, studying Anastasia¡¯s face. Her eyes were unnerving, the Analyst realized¡ªa green that was too green, a shade too vivacious of a viridian but also so unnervingly dull.


    Anastasia coughed.


    ¡°I¡¯m sure there are plenty of other refined things about your lifestyle, Your Highness,¡± lied the Analyst, removing her gaze from the Princess¡¯ eyes. ¡°I wouldn¡¯t want to assume anything about it, though.¡± The ballistae designs were much less intimidating, Anastasia thought. What was with Imperials and eye contact?


    ¡°Assumptions,¡± the Analyst heard the Princess remark, ¡°are a double-edged blade. On one hand, they can keep you alive; on the other hand, it can create bias. Prejudice. Unnecessary things.¡±


    There was a strange uncertainty, like she didn¡¯t mean the words she was saying.


    ¡°It depends what you make the assumptions off of,¡± mused Anastasia, absentmindedly. ¡°A person¡¯s character can change. Their motivations with it, as well as their identity. You can only make assumptions based on what you assume will stay constant. If you assume that the sky is blue without looking out the window, you¡¯re also assuming that there isn¡¯t a world apocalypse happening outside. Even if you¡¯re looking at the sky as you say it, you¡¯re assuming that the sky isn¡¯t an illusion fabricated by some sort of technology or magic. Constants. Variables. Hypotheses.¡±


    Greta hmm¡¯ed just as Anastasia processed what she herself was saying.


    ¡°The only constant to life is that there is no constant,¡± the Princess returned. ¡°Assumptions can create unnecessary things, but you¡¯re right in that some constants have to be necessary for people to continue to assume about¡ªno, try to understand the world around them¡ªotherwise they would go insane, wouldn¡¯t they?¡± The last part was said as if musing to herself, and the Analyst remained silent.


    There was a long length of quiet.


    ¡°There needs to be a constant to change,¡± murmured the Chosen. ¡°Well, that¡¯s interesting, isn¡¯t it?¡±


    Ominous.


    Anastasia shook the dreary atmosphere off as she continued working away at the plans. She winced internally as she felt Greta lean across the table to watch her work, but kept her mouth shut.


    ¡°I¡¯m not good with weapons,¡± the girl remarked, ¡°but aren¡¯t these plans for siege weapons? Ballistae, Father mentioned.¡± The Analyst felt the Chosen tilt her head. ¡°Although I¡¯m curious what interest a...civil engineer has towards military weapons, I won¡¯t ask further.¡± Her formality was a bit strained, but Anastasia swallowed.


    ¡°Just a hobbyist,¡± the Dame murmured.


    A scoff.


    ¡°A hobbyist,¡± repeated Greta.


    Anastasia could imagine that stone-like face.


    ¡°A hobbyist,¡± agreed the older woman after a while.


    A silence again.


    ¡°You know,¡± Greta interrupted, ¡°I read this particularly interesting paper the other day. It was called...On Industrialization, I think. About how the Empire¡¯s transition from an agrarian society to an industrial one will come¡ªhow did they phrase it¡ª ¡®like a clunky vehicle: stopping at the most crucial parts, only to move when no eyes are on the helm by an invisibly competent driver.¡¯¡±


    Green eyes bore into the Analyst¡¯s back.


    Gods.


    ¡°It said,¡± continued the First Princess, ¡°that for a society truly independent from social norms to form¡ªin the context that, regardless of what social or political changes happen in the role of the Chosen and the Emperor, the society will continue to function¡ªits technologies to defend from external forces applied to it will need to develop.¡±


    There was a bead of sweat trickling down from Anastasia¡¯s forehead.


    ¡°¡®If a pillar supporting a roof is weak, it will crumple with the slightest push from an external force,¡¯¡± Greta quoted. ¡°Do you know anything about this, Face Andino?¡±


    Anastasia felt the threat very well.


    ¡°Maybe,¡± the woman croaked.


    There was a laugh.


    ¡°It could be taken as treason, you know,¡± said Dionysus¡¯ Chosen. ¡°Suggesting that the Empire won¡¯t be eternal. But it¡¯s pragmatic. The Empire needs to be changed, doesn¡¯t it?¡±


    This was a trap.


    She was just a girl.


    But a girl who could chop off her head in an instant.


    ¡°That¡¯s a rhetorical question, isn¡¯t it?¡± was all Anastasia could say.


    There was another laugh, and all the Analyst could think was that she just wanted to go home.


    <hr>


    It was raining, a couple of years later. She¡¯d been hidden away like the Empire¡¯s fate hung on her shoulders, one of those Gailbraith tales of princesses locked in towers except she was less of a princess and more of a Imperial tool. It would¡¯ve driven her mad, if she hadn¡¯t been given free rein over a small pavilion that included no screaming Analysts accusing her of blasphemy, plagiarism, or both.


    Ah, she didn¡¯t miss the Library of Alexandria.


    At all.


    Greta visited surprisingly often, but other than Anastasia¡¯s name being carefully forgotten, she brought no news. The first year was bearable, the second tortuous, but the third¡ªwhen she¡¯d been allowed to wander the gardens under the cover of night¡ªwas beautiful, yet by the fourth Anastasia wanted to die.


    The Analyst had everything at her fingertips, almost every military resource the Empire had.


    The first year had only brought the invention of the gun.


    Anastasia had heard about the Tianyan weapon, refashioned it into something more portable, and she¡¯d been rewarded with a pet peacock.The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.


    You heard her right.


    A pet peacock.


    The older woman was only five-or-ten-some years the Emperor¡¯s junior, but really?


    A pet peacock? She would¡¯ve blamed it on the generational gap if they weren¡¯t around the same age.


    The Analyst had practically revolutionized military technology, but her ¡®gun¡¯ had been stored away ¡°until further production,¡± the Emperor had explained.


    The next years were the completed ballistae and the bayonet, the former being Pub-tech-based and the latter with an abomination of Gailbraith ideal. They had been revamped with an Imperial touch, but the blueprints and initial models had been hidden away ¡°until further notice.¡±


    It made her wonder exactly what they were hoarding it for.


    But the name of ¡®Anastasia Andino¡¯ had been erased from the academic world concerningly thoroughly, so even if she did suspect some sort of political ploy, she would be dismissed and silenced. She didn¡¯t know what exactly Nikephoros and Greta saw in her, but her life right now provided survival.


    She still held a grudge for a noble brat leaking her siege weapons to the Library Head and bringing it to the Emperor¡¯s attention, but what was done was done. It was either be killed and let her work be pillaged, or this, and Anastasia didn¡¯t want to push the man at all.


    She sighed.


    The rain was grey, but so was the surroundings around her.


    Five years, with the same view and the same name and the same two faces.


    Thunder roared ominously, and the Analyst remembered a superstition, her mother¡¯s voice snaking in her ear, that whisper: ¡°It rains when te¡¯ Gods are angry, Ana. It rains before te¡¯ flood, it wails before te¡¯ storm.¡± The thick Tyche accent made Anastasia¡¯s fists curl inwards as lightning streaked across the sky. As her nails dug in her palms, she heard a door creak open.


    The Analyst whirled around to see strange eyes.


    The Emperor sat down.


    ¡°It¡¯s a stormy night, my love,¡± said Nikephoros, looking out at the expanse.


    ¡°Don¡¯t call me that,¡± sighed the Analyst, but it was affectionate. She returned her gaze to the window, rain pebbling on the window and streaming down the glass. The Emperor came behind her but it was a bland approach: instead of sweeping Anastasia into his arms, he put a light hand on her shoulder and squeezed.


    ¡°There¡¯s a storm outside,¡± repeated Nikephoros, lighter. It could be taken as a threat if she felt threatened, but really it was just one of his strange remarks.


    She leaned closer.


    Lightning sparked as she kissed him and they fell back, darkness consuming the room as the storm continued.


    <hr>


    A year later, an amber-eyed archer pointed an arrow at Anastasia¡¯s baby.


    ¡°Orion,¡± warned Greta.


    The Princess stood tall, wheat hair twisted behind her and baring her fair temples as a severe pin stabbed its way through a whimisical bun at the back. The years had refined her, like a pearl being formed around a coarse piece of sand, but a new resolve hung her head high.


    The new Prince stood by her side¡ªrough around the edges and jumpy: Anastasia had heard rants from Greta about his twitchy arrow finger and his strange quietude, while Nike had only expressed concern at his ability to adapt to a new environment. There was a callousness about his eyes, as if he would leap at her any second.


    ¡°I don¡¯t know you,¡± he said, his voice tight. ¡°I¡¯m not going to listen to people I don¡¯t know. But I know that this¡ªif I¡¯m assuming right, and I know I¡¯m assuming right¡ªis a taboo. You¡¯re going to get us all killed.¡± He said that rudely, but with an apathetic glint in his eye, as if letting go of the arrow would just be another movement to him¡ªan impulse, a reflex, a twitch of his fingers.


    Green eyes burned with uncharacteristic fire.


    ¡°Put the arrow down, brother.¡±


    There was fear in Anastasia¡¯s heart, coming in pangs as she held the baby closer. The boy cried, but¡ª


    Greta reached for the archer¡¯s shoulders and met Orion¡¯s eyes, not in an attempt to stop the arrow but with finality. Anastasia watched as the Princess¡¯ fingers dug into her brother¡¯s shoulder and¡ª


    ¡°Put the arrow down, brother.¡±


    The Analyst heard the sounds of something being rummaged and torn as the world¡ª


    ¡ªstopped.


    A beat. Two beats.


    Orion froze. Greta looked strained.


    Something was mangled, a sense of jarring wrongness that made Anastasia clutch the baby closer.


    ¡°I¡¯ll take care of Father and Orion,¡± said Greta quietly as her brother slumped to the floor. ¡°They won¡¯t remember a thing, I swear to the Gods.¡±


    Anastasia wasn¡¯t given a second to process the sentence, before the Princess swallowed, her pupils dilated as if she was seeing something the Analyst couldn¡¯t, as if she had done something that violated some kind of law.


    ¡°Name,¡± whispered Anastasia, hoarse. ¡°Won¡¯t Nike¡ªname my¡ª¡±


    ¡°Aeron,¡± said Greta, as if throwing out a random name, an edge to her voice as she pointed to the baby. ¡°Now go.¡± Urgency was conveyed as a storm formed at the edges of the distant horizon, fast and angry and dark. The Anothen Sky thundered the Lightning King¡¯s wrath at a taboo being broken, and Anastasia left, only one destination in sight.


    The Analyst whose name history forgot returned to her home.


    Aeron.


    <hr>


    SOME TIME LATER


    PAST


    ¡°A secret for a secret, dearest First Princess,¡± chided Anaxeres. ¡°I¡¯m being generous here: I¡¯m giving up a whole web of secrets, while I¡¯m only asking one.¡± The Duke¡¯s young face was affable and smiling, the older woman across from him completely the opposite.


    ¡°What about a story instead?¡± the then-First Princess offered. ¡°One with a secret of...let¡¯s say, the Sky?¡±


    Thunder crashed outside the dimly lit parlor.


    The gambler inched closer as lightning illuminated two faces.


    ¡°I¡¯m listening.¡±


    <hr>


    SOME TIME BEFORE


    PAST


    Are Ones We Do Not Commit


    The Williams Marquessate had a long and illustrious history. Josephine didn¡¯t know it all by heart because, one, she hated her family; and, two, there were too many Imperial loyalists and anti-loyalists to conclude a satisfactory political mean. Josie called it an overload¡ªtoo many extremes led to Williams being easily swayed to a side, until someone competent had finally taken the seat and found a balance.


    A bland one, but a balance still.


    She focused on the entertaining bits, most of the time¡ªhearing about plundering when you weren¡¯t the one being plundered was detestable, sure, but it was the stomachable kind of detestable when it wasn¡¯t in front of your face. It was still morally horrifying¡ªof course¡ªbut it was a distant guilt you could get over.


    A distant guilt Josephine had gotten over.


    But that was not her life, not anymore.


    Dame Efch¨¢risti leaned closer. ¡°Hello? Yoohoo, is anyone there?¡± Two bright eyes belonging to an aged face peered at Josephine, who didn¡¯t so much snap to attention as she returned to it.


    The courtesan smiled. ¡°Here. Sorry, could you repeat the question?¡±


    There was a twisted form of sympathy on the crone¡¯s face as she put a gnarled hand on Josephine¡¯s face. Gods. Goosebumps appeared under the courtesan¡¯s clothes as disgust reared its ugly head again, a shiver threatening to roll its way down her spine, but the courtesan forced it away as she always did, smiling as she looked at her superior.


    Nails dug into Josie¡¯s cheek as Efch¨¢risti did repeat the question, slower: ¡°I was asking you whether or not the Ecstasy deal went through, Josie.¡±


    The pain wasn¡¯t bad, the former marquis¡¯ daughter thought. Just another digging poison, something to tolerate, something to play along with.


    It would leave scratches, though.


    ¡°It went through,¡± answered the courtesan, simply. ¡°No hitches.¡±


    Some hitches.


    But they were expected to be taken care of, and mentioned only when asked.


    The claws still dug in her skin, but they relaxed just a bit.


    ¡°Good.¡±


    The crone leaned backwards, hand retreating, but Josie didn¡¯t relax.


    ¡°Good,¡± Efch¨¢risti repeated. A hand was waved. ¡°Dismissed.¡±


    The girl inclined her head and exited the parlor.


    Her face felt dirty.


    <hr>


    Disgust coiled in the courtesan¡¯s hand as she shook the man¡¯s, repeating empty courtesies as the fool blubbered on and on about how he¡¯d like to see her again. Josephine took the Ecstasy package with a forced silent smile and exited the warehouse.


    The streets gave a small berth as she walked, which she¡¯d gotten accustomed to over the six years she¡¯d been here. Being the ¡®lieutenant¡¯ of the person who ¡®ruled¡¯ over most of the Pleasure District gave a strange type of prestige in the way that Josie never got any more trouble than the occasional fool.


    Her nook in the cellar of the ¡®tesan-house had been upgraded into her own room, and life was¡ª not good, but not as bad as it had been, back in that dark piece of home.


    How many times had she had to suck up to Efch¨¢risti, that shrivelled monster? She¡¯d lost count.


    Josephine¡¯d done many things that she hadn¡¯t wanted to do. Of course, she drew lines at some things¡ªshe¡¯d adamantly refused administration over the Carnival, and, after some convincing, Efch¨¢risti had let Josie appoint the new abbess: a kindhearted but business-savvy person who she¡¯d struck a deal with under the table to drug most of the clients and scam them into paying.


    Efch¨¢risti knew, of course, but the old witch had ignored it.


    Dame, her ass.


    It was a leftover title, from when Efch¨¢risti had been favored by the last Emperor¡ªof course, if she¡¯d had children, the courtesan would¡¯ve been immediately slaughtered along with said child; which really was a tricky game¡ªbut it was a title nonetheless.


    If Josie bided her time, she would rise and take over the old witch¡¯s position, soon enough.


    Efch¨¢risti liked her, at least enough to take her in and shape her into being a supposed ¡®successor.¡¯


    ¡°Josie.¡± A warm face welcomed her at the door she¡¯d stood in front of. ¡°You¡¯re here.¡±


    Josie wordlessly slipped the Eck pieces into the abbess¡¯ hands¡ªonly a piece of Efch¨¢risti¡¯s package¡ªand squeezed. ¡°Be careful with the incense,¡± muttered Josie. ¡°Don¡¯t let her catch on.¡±


    Play along.


    Everyone knew how to do that.


    If they didn¡¯t, they wouldn¡¯t survive.


    And everyone wanted to survive, didn¡¯t they?


    ¡°¡®Course,¡± replied the abbess, voice low. ¡°The children are alright. I¡¯ve taken in a couple of new ones, escapees from those Gailbraith nuns. Especially when that Jason¡ªwas it his name or his son¡¯s name?¡ªrazed that building to the ground all those years ago, the missionaries are still holding a grudge against us. Gods, it¡¯s been thirty-two years, and they still won¡¯t cut us some slack.¡±


    Josie shrugged, a smile growing on her face. ¡°Temperance doesn¡¯t apply to pissed nuns, I guess.¡±


    The abbess sniffed haughtily in return, and after a few more words, they parted ways and Josephine returned.


    <hr>


    It was nightfall when she heard the voices. It wasn¡¯t really a collection of voices, as it was something singular: sounds bottled up into one statement. Somehow she knew that the fluttering of wings at the corner of her hearing belonged to a dove (which was ridiculous because she¡¯d never seen a dove before, let alone memorized how their wingbeats sounded). As if a conch shell was covered over her ears, distant waves roared at the shore, chittering sparrows on myrtle trees echoing at the same volume.


    A single statement that she couldn¡¯t understand.


    Of course, Josephine¡¯s first thought was that she was going insane, or that she was hallucinating from lack of sleep: but then again, she¡¯d slept far less before.


    Yeah, she was hallucinating.


    Sleep.


    Go to sleep, an enchanting voice whispered in her ear.


    It was siren-like, beautiful.


    Josie could feel invisible hands on her cheek and head, as if someone was behind her stroking her hair. Immediately she turned around at the sensation, thoughts jarring and muddled as she saw nothing but air. The sensation of another presence remained, but the hands were gone.


    Oddly enough, Josie didn¡¯t feel tainted by the feeling, the alarm inside her head dulling.


    Just a bit, just enough for it to be subtle.


    The bed was just right around the corner. She didn¡¯t feel herself stretch and get up from the small desk in her room, but she still did, walking over to the bed. Her eyes closed as soon her head hit the pillow, and darkness slowly consumed her vision, consciousness weighed down by a fog that wasn¡¯t there before.


    You can¡¯t blame me for being impatient, can you?


    Before Josephine even solidified a thought, a voice cut through the abyss.


    Even if she wasn¡¯t given enough time to process it, the former noble still understood it, the same way she knew the sounds of the doves and the myrtles¡ªshe felt the heat from the words settle in like a shawl around her shoulders, a cool warmth.


    Greetings, said the Voice, pleasantly.


    My Chosen.


    <hr>


    She hadn¡¯t wanted to go to the Queen¡¯s Isle.


    But Fate had driven her there.


    She had got up one morning and went to check on the boats¡ªbecause, coincidentally, that day Efch¨¢risti needed to check a potential Eck shipment (or was it imported perfume?). Josephine doubted that the old witch had conspired with the Gods to make her life miserable¡ªeven though she wouldn¡¯t put it past her, really¡ªbut now, reflecting on it, there were too many things chalked up to coincidences.


    The sky was blue.


    That wasn¡¯t premeditated.


    It was a beautiful day. That made her raise an eyebrow, because usually at this time of year it rained shitloads: the Daycycle during the Cage¡¯s opening usually did, an added dramatic flair as the calm before the storm.


    There wasn¡¯t a distinguishable pattern to the Queen¡¯s Isle opening. Usually, it was after the year ended and the next began¡ªJosephine hadn¡¯t really cared all that much back then, since the Emperor generally sent out a decree when it was confirmed that every Chosen had been selected and the Cage was now closed.


    It wasn¡¯t a momentous occasion, really; rather something that just...happened. Back in the days when she¡¯d been a noble, it had been a source of anticipation: political favor and Glory Prince and all that. The Marquis and Eleanora had been hunched over a table and she, a three-year-old, had listened quietly in the back. Her memories were fuzzy.


    When she was thirteen, a year or two after she¡¯d run away... now that she remembered.


    ¡°He¡¯s a halfie,¡± people had breathed. ¡°And a bastard, and that.¡±


    But no one had ventured further, because, even though Imperial Anothen weren¡¯t especially devout, no one wanted to bring (more) bad luck on themselves.


    His name had been Cyrus, Josephine remembered.


    Had he gone willingly?


    The sky was blue. Josephine recalled the exact shade, a blue bluer than blue, a kind so impossibly vivid that you wondered if you were seeing things.


    The waters beneath the harbors had also been blue, a rolling dark blue that lapped at the end of a fall.


    She¡¯d leaned forward to properly see the shade¡ª


    ¡ªand then she¡¯d fallen into a boat and the ferryman had somehow silenced her.


    Josephine remembered a haze of blue and distant green, until gold had appeared on the horizon and she¡¯d¡ªas if she¡¯d been teleported¡ªfound herself in the Bars.


    She hadn¡¯t wanted to go to the Queen¡¯s Isle.


    But she had no other choice.


    <hr>


    And so she found herself here, laying with a boy whose smile was brighter than the sun. He was a fool, Josephine thought. One who had fought for her until the end, one who wanted to test the limits of the Gods¡¯ patience and live together¡ªwith her¡ªbecause he could, because no one had told him not to do impossible things. No one had told him not to pluck the stars, and because he wanted them, he tried.


    She envied that.


    Who knew whether the stars were something he couldn¡¯t have?


    He was a fool, and he loved her.


    He was a fool because he loved her.


    She shifted her position on the grass.


    The night stretched across the sky like a streak of dour paint, dark in all its misery, as the green beneath her dug into her back and hands. He was staring at her, smiling, as if she were the brightest thing in his¡ªundoubtedly small¡ªworld. As if she¡¯d charmed him with her Ability, and the funny thing was she hadn¡¯t.


    ¡°You¡¯re such a fool,¡± she said aloud.


    His eyes crinkled as he smiled. ¡°Why?¡±


    Scarlet was scattered on his knuckles as he reached for her face, fingers rough and warm. Sticky red came away from his fingertips, but the touch wasn¡¯t disgusting.


    It...left her hollow as he withdrew. Empty.


    Blood on the side of her face, she looked into his eyes.


    ¡°Gods, you¡¯re such a fool,¡± she repeated, with less anger and more wistfulness. Not affection, but close (who was she kidding? It was affection).


    He had done bad things.


    Terrible things, in fact.


    Slaughtered because she told him to, maimed because he could.


    Was it her place to forgive him? Of course it wasn¡¯t.


    But that hope¡ªthe hope of a new horizon, a new day¡ªlingered within her, and it left her with an undeniable¡ª


    Pain.


    Her heart wasn¡¯t dropping, it was falling, and she was the one who¡¯d chucked it off the cliff.


    It was her, not him.


    It was her, from the beginning to the end, it was her.


    She¡¯d manipulated people into protecting her, because she was, after all, such a lovely, helpless maiden who couldn¡¯t possibly do anything wrong¡ªand at the end of the day, when she asked herself why she¡¯d done it, the answer wasn¡¯t enough. The ends were a hollow definition for the means. The excuse was feeble, but she just¡ª


    She just wanted to survive.


    Why wouldn¡¯t the Gods let her?


    Before she knew it, she felt tears streaming down her face and she embraced the Chosen quietly.


    ¡°I¡¯m so sorry,¡± she kept repeating, whispers. ¡°I¡¯m sorry. I¡¯m sorry, I¡¯m sorry¡ª¡±


    The other was concerned. ¡°What are you crying about? There, there¡ªhush, it¡¯s alright.¡±


    It was approaching midnight when they slept.


    When it dawned, she said her final apology and saw the sun.


    Alone.


    <hr>

 55. Empire I

    <hr>


    Whoever said, ''let bygones begone'' must''ve not lived very long.


    - UNKNOWN IMPERIAL


    <hr>


    "WE''RE ALL FUCKED," one legionary muttered. ¡°All this country bullshit? It sure as Tartarus won¡¯t get us through today, or the next day, or the next day. Don¡¯t even know why I¡¯m still here.¡±


    The other shrugged. ¡°If you die, at least your wife and kids¡¯ll get a remuneration outta it,¡± he offered half-heartedly. ¡°I mean, it depends on whether there¡¯ll be a government to get that remuneration by the end of this shitshow, but maybe we¡¯ll get lucky. Don¡¯t get too down in the dumps, man. Maybe we¡¯ll get a new victory soon.¡±


    The first legionary sighed. ¡°I don¡¯t know, man. It doesn¡¯t feel like this¡¯ll ever stop. Everything¡¯s moving too fast. The attack was just yesterday, and...I don¡¯t know, I could¡¯ve been in there, man. I could¡¯ve died, and it just...puts me on edge. Maybe I¡¯ll just¡ªthere¡¯ll be a ton of deserters around this time, yeah? They probably don¡¯t have enough manpower to chase¡ª¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t,¡± snapped the second, looking around as if someone was watching. ¡°Don¡¯t go there, man. We¡¯ve a pledge to this country¡ª¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s a broken mess of a country,¡± the other shot back, although quiet. ¡°This¡ª wasn¡¯t the country I was fighting for. I was fighting to keep my wife and kids safe, man, not to watch everyone else¡¯s die.¡±


    A quiet.


    ¡°It¡¯s not any Imperials¡¯ll actually come to the embassy, anyways,¡± he continued, softer, although an abrupt change in topic. ¡°We¡¯ll be fine, alright?¡± After a beat of hesitation, he patted his friend on the back. ¡°Sorry if I worried you, man. I¡¯ll stop, alright?¡±


    There was a grunt, before the second¡¯s head turned. ¡°Hey, isn¡¯t that a beggar over there?¡± he asked.


    The first legionary followed his friend¡¯s gaze, to where, by the corner of the street, there was a hunched cloaked figure, ragged clothes and all. The beggar¡¯s face was surprisingly friendly, hands out with a broad smile as he pestered the people on the street. Of course, the beggar¡¯s smile faltered with every sharp refusal, but still he was persistent. Occasionally, the beggar¡¯s fingers danced on the ground as if twirling something invisible over his knuckles.


    ¡°Isn¡¯t that a bit suspicious? He looks different from all the other beggars¡ªthat smile,¡± the second pressed.


    The first shrugged. ¡°I don¡¯t know, man¡ªif you want to check it out, you can.¡± His features were contemplating. ¡°I just hope,¡± the legionary finished, ¡°that he can stay smiling for as long as he can.¡±


    The two watched in a twisted silence at their posts as a blonde Republica girl in the crowd across the street seemingly hesitatingly surrendered a coin to the beggar¡¯s hands. The beggar¡¯s smile grew visibly wider, and the girl darted away, blue eyes dancing.


    ¡°We can only hope,¡± the other said.


    <hr>


    I watched Anaxeres¡¯ eyes crinkle into a smile. I was surprised that I didn¡¯t have to raid the embassy, really: I thought the spies would¡¯ve been stationed inconspicuously so that I would have to attract at least some sort of attention to contact them, but alas. I internally sighed.


    Really, I thought, the more surprising thing was that Anaxeres himself is here.


    I didn¡¯t ask where Petra was¡ªthis was enough, especially as I felt the legionaries stationed outside have their eyes on me.


    Two legionaries?


    That was a surprisingly low number: much lower than I¡¯d expected, actually¡ªevidently the Curia¡¯s explosion had rattled the Senate enough for them to spread their numbers thin. The embassy was an obvious route; but too obvious to be viable, apparently. The city itself was on the tipping scales, and I thought¡ªalright, I¡¯ll admit it, for the first time¡ªhow easy this all was.


    It wasn¡¯t easy for other people, I knew.


    So many people had died: at the Battle of Ends, in Notus; at the Harbor City¡¯s blockade, in Azareth¡ªat the Eastern Fires, the unofficially named Bellum Takeover. Cyrus had died. Yes, this felt personal¡ªbut, I mused to myself, not personal enough to make it hurt, to twist that knife when it¡¯d been hilt-deep. Not enough to kill me, and I knew something¡ªsomeone¡ªout there could.


    Ignoring the personal connotations behind this war, this wasn¡¯t just a I-want-to-kill-more-people thought.


    War usually took years, not Daycycles.


    A war to seize a third of a continent? Even longer.


    This wasn¡¯t just purely genius strategies, even though strategy had sure helped¡ªI couldn¡¯t chalk this up to the Republic having a corrupt government, either; even though that had surely been a factor. I was certain that the monsters at the Union-Republic border wouldn¡¯t cripple the Republic enough for Greta¡¯s blow to drive them to this state; everything we had done wouldn¡¯t, theoretically, corner them to desperation.


    There was something else¡ªanother shoe that was going to drop, I (or my Ability) could feel it.


    I was¡ªnot sure, but decently certain¡ªthat if we continued at this rate, we would conquer the Republic by another Daycycle.


    And that scared me.


    Don¡¯t look a gift horse in the mouth?


    If the Trojans had cut the horse open, their city wouldn¡¯t have been razed.


    ¡°Paranoia,¡± I whispered to myself as I rounded the corner. ¡°This is paranoia.¡±


    But this wasn¡¯t how it was supposed to go.


    I was reminded of Rayan¡¯s words, from back in the Cage¡ªsomething along the lines of, ¡®You haven¡¯t lost everything so you don¡¯t understand¡¯?


    This was too easy.


    But I didn¡¯t say it aloud.


    ¡°What¡¯s up, Boss?¡± Lately, Xandros¡¯ eyes were mostly filled with genuine concern and care, a bit more than I was usually comfortable with, but he was a good minion, so exceptions were made. Mercy, on the other hand, remained as stoic as ever, occasionally gracing the Moirai with a wry smile or two.


    ¡°Saw Naxy,¡± I replied. ¡°He¡¯ll be in contact soon. We couldn¡¯t get an exact time since we were being watched, but let¡¯s just wait around here.¡± The blond wig was itchy, I couldn¡¯t deny it, but it would have to do.


    ¡°Got it, Boss.¡±


    I turned to Mercy. ¡°Where are we on possible shelters?¡±


    The assassin pressed her lips together.


    ¡°We can¡¯t acquire a shelter without making a scene, Your Ladyship,¡± said Mercy, her tone casual and low. ¡°The legions are watching the inns¡ªwe do have solid identities, but if they make it a point to vet us, we can¡¯t guarantee that we won¡¯t be found out.¡±


    ¡°So we¡¯re depending on Naxy, aren¡¯t we?¡± I gave a sigh. ¡°Sister really did send us over without a single Imperial safehouse. Pah.¡± Not that we had many safehouses in Honos in the first place. The capital was a strange place¡ªif you made a misstep, you¡¯d blow yourself up politically: it made sense that Anaxeres would have one, or maybe even multiple; but the alliance between spies and the Empire was blurry. Everyone knew we had spies, and it was Evimeria¡¯s role as a duchy to take control of them, but¡­


    ¡°We can¡¯t stand here anymore, Boss.¡± Xandros leaned forward and whispered. ¡°People are going to get suspicious. We can pretend we¡¯re going home, or something, until the Duke contacts us¡­?¡±


    ¡°Yeah, that¡¯d probably be best,¡± I agreed, snapping myself out of my reverie.


    <hr>


    We went down the alleys and roads curving around the city, careful not to stray too far from the area we found Naxy. The cool air around my cheeks was surprisingly refreshing, but there was that tension outside of our little bubble of marauders, and I didn¡¯t want to think too much of it, yet still my thoughts wandered.


    I pulled them back, of course: reined them in easily¡ªthey weren¡¯t wild horses¡ªbut there was little to enjoy in the weather when the climate was terrible.


    Honos¡¯ buildings rose tall and I rested in the shade with my minions, from sight. The bark was craggy against my back, and I scanned my surroundings for any of Anaxeres¡¯ spies disguised as beggars¡ªI was surprised when a gentleman came instead, dressed in a clean Republica waistcoat and loose trousers. Naxy was walking with a cane, shiny and dark, hair slicked back and trimmed; broad grin stretched across his face as he offered an arm.


    I took it, and Mercy and Xandros trailed after me like a mini-entourage as we toured the streets and made brisk conversation about politics and the fate of the continent.


    ¡°How was the operation?¡± I asked as we walked.


    ¡°The former Consul Valerius of Romus has perished,¡± responded Anaxeres. ¡°The other Consul, Marcellus Romanus, was severely injured. Reportedly, his lower legs are permanently paralyzed, and it¡¯ll be a long way till he¡¯ll be back into commission. Half of the Patricians in the Senate are dead, and currently the Curia¡¯s replacement would be the Romanus Estate, where both the current praetors were promoted to Consul just a couple days ago. Both the main Romanus and Romus political factions are crippled.¡±


    I processed the information.


    ¡°All in a day¡¯s work, I suppose,¡± I murmured. ¡°Do you have any political ins?¡±


    The man grinned.


    ¡°Most of the families we contacted are out of commission,¡± he said. ¡°The good thing is that their military forces outside of those in Honos are sparse, so even if they try an offensive course of action, it¡¯s unlikely that they¡¯ll succeed. Right now, Bellum¡¯s the supposed weakest point after your brother¡¯s death, since Elexis is busy cleaning up after the Fires, but really, they just need to get their own house in order before setting other people¡¯s on fire. Again.¡±


    Your brother¡¯s death. The words seemed distant, as if he were talking about some other brother in some other country.


    I moved on.


    ¡°I¡¯m betting they¡¯re slamming up every defense,¡± I murmured. ¡°Are you sure your spies won¡¯t get caught? Was it a suicide mission?¡±


    I was planning to ask about Marianus, but the current situation¡­


    ¡°Our dear centurion managed to sneak in our spies in Claudia¡¯s staff, and the explosives in crates under the excuse of sprucing up the Curia¡¯s gardens,¡± Anaxeres answered, smiling. ¡°The explosions were detonated, and the spider in charge of the mission¡¯s dead. We left no traces behind...for the most part. Even if they¡¯re trying to follow our trail, it¡¯ll be at least a few days before they find anything worth sniffing.¡±


    I let an amused smile crawl its way up my face.


    ¡°And you¡¯re not exactly going to let them sniff it, are you?¡± I asked rhetorically, turning my head towards the end of the street. ¡°I¡¯m more worried resource-wise, really. Food, water, shelter¡ªare your spies all set in income? Greta can¡¯t exactly fly over denarii, and we can¡¯t use the same trick twice, is all I¡¯m saying.¡±


    The Duke laughed. ¡°Fear not, my little spider. Most of my spies are alright. Some, however¡­¡± he hummed. ¡°I just need a chat or two, and we¡¯ll be right as rain."


    I didn¡¯t dwell on the chat bit.


    ¡°As long as you¡¯re doing alright,¡± I said with a shrug, before I paused. ¡°What about Petra and Gaius? Are both of them at the safehouse?¡±This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.


    ¡°Petra¡¯s back at Notus, terrorizing their citizens,¡± replied Anaxeres with a casual wave. ¡°Gaius on the other hand...well, last I heard he killed himself in custody.¡±


    I stopped almost abruptly. What?


    ¡°He...killed himself?¡±


    Marianus¡ª?


    The bitter man, that general that had led the Republic in the Battle of Ends? The bastard child that had refused to bend until he broke¡ª the one who¡¯d accepted my offer, bit into the apple? Angular, snappish, grudging Marianus¡ª


    The Duke raised his eyebrows at our detour.


    ¡°It seemed like he couldn¡¯t handle the guilt of turning,¡± Anaxeres said. ¡°At least he didn¡¯t outlast his use¡ªnow, that would¡¯ve been messy.¡±


    I started again, feeling the cold spring air.


    ¡°It would,¡± I acquiesced, ¡°have been messy.¡±


    There¡¯d been the hope that it¡¯d not be the bloody kind.


    <hr>


    We turned the corner and I spent the night in the safehouse. It was a homely place, if you ignored the unusually dressed people that came in and out at ungodly hours of the day. Butchers, bakers, candlestick makers¡ªmaids and fishermen, businessmen and merchants¡ªwere all disguised as regular Republica citizens and slipped papers under the door, sometimes even coming in.


    Codes were written and listed, and I just crouched in a corner reading reports with Xandros and Mercy for a good hour before Anaxeres made me run errands.


    ¡°You can recheck some numbers if you want to get out,¡± he¡¯d said. ¡°Wait¡ªwe need groceries, I forgot.¡±


    The sixth Imperial princess, the Hundredth Chosen and Grand Duchess of the Empire, being sent out to buy groceries.


    I lamented my fate as I put on that itchy blond wig again and slipped out alone. I gave Mercy specific orders to not show up until I gave the signal, and so I enjoyed the spring air with complicated questions and not enough answers.


    Right where I¡¯d started.


    I curved around a corner and spotted a general goods store. After buying a bag of potatoes and heading towards the safehouse, I saw¡ª


    ¡ªa purple cape, glistening under the sun.


    I automatically dropped my bag and leaned forward.


    Electric blue eyes.


    He¡ª


    Was here?


    ¡°Cas¡ª¡±


    I stepped forward and followed the shadow through the streets, picking up speed as I followed the person¡ª laughing under the sunlight¡ªand darted under an arch¡ª


    And the moment was fleeting, bitter as it was, as I bumped into a familiar chest.


    ¡°Who¡ª¡±


    A familiar voice.


    <hr>


    His eyes were different. Not colder, harsher, or harder¡ªthey weren¡¯t even indifferent: the burning hatred in them erased any assumption that could be made about the matter. It was really rather obvious, I thought. Most people would blame the person who¡¯d done it, even though I wasn¡¯t sure he knew I¡¯d been the one who¡¯d thought of it.


    Did he hate me?


    For all of the villainous things I¡¯d done, this was..different.


    We¡¯d eaten and laughed together just a Dayhept ago.


    His eyes had been light and warm, back then. As if inviting you to meet their gaze.


    It wasn¡¯t that I struggled to meet his eyes¡ªit was just that it was... harder than before, I decided. Not out of shame or pride, or even regret¡ªthe taint of uneasiness. Guilt, my Ability echoed before I did.


    Hazel eyes met my own blue ones.


    You feel guilty.


    Yes, I agreed. Yes, I do¡ª


    Move back.


    The hairs on the back of my neck prickled, and I hesitated, just for a bit¡ª


    MOVE BACK.


    ¡ªand then Julian unsheathed his knife and swung, just as I fell back.


    The blade kissed my nose and blood leaked from the bridge where I¡¯d been nicked, but I didn¡¯t have time to gawk in error. I unsheathed my own dagger and met his sword head-on, readjusting my posture and parrying it edge-on-edge. He didn¡¯t balk, instead pressing harder, falling back as he swung at my neck. I dodged but the blade pulled off the blonde wig, the soldiers behind him¡ªhow had I not noticed?¡ªgasping in realization as my hair dropped to my shoulders.


    My lips curved as Julian swung expertly again. I withdrew one of my smaller blades, matching it with my first one, using both to parry again before I took the former and aimed for his exposed stomach.


    The praetor¡ªConsul¡ªpushed forward as I swiped in a burst of surprising strength, knocking me off my feet as he pressed a hand against his now-bleeding gut. I knew he¡¯d noticed it¡¯d been shallow but just shy of digging deep¡ªmercy where I hadn¡¯t meant there to be.


    My back had been slammed against the ground in the fall¡ªhe hadn¡¯t held back¡ªand I was sure it would leave bruises, but still I dug my elbows into the sand and hoisted myself up, Julian looking at me warily as he raised his blade once more. There had been opportunities, I knew, where he could¡¯ve dove for the kill: called his men to surround me and take me captive, maimed me and used his Hero strength more; but this was less of a mercy and more of a moment of clouded judgement.


    Something personal.


    I called out in Imperi as we circled each other, coming back to my senses.


    ¡°My dear, are you becoming Forsworn?¡±


    The syllables were strange in the silence.


    ¡°Would be hard to marry me,¡± I continued, ¡°if I was dead.¡±


    Julian looked from watching my stance to meeting my eyes.


    ¡°Do you really think,¡± he rasped back in the same language, ¡°that I would kill you?¡±


    I shrugged. ¡°I think,¡± I returned, ¡°that you certainly could.¡±


    A silence followed, as his expression contorted.


    ¡°You crippled my father,¡± he said, tone flat and barren of emotion. Ah, so it wasn¡¯t that.


    ¡°That I did,¡± I agreed.


    ¡°You,¡± he forced the accusation out like he was drawing water from a stone, ¡°killed people. Lots of people. Innocent people¡ªmy people.¡± He drew his sword again. ¡°Marianus hanged himself,¡± he said. ¡°You made him kill himself¡ªyou gave him that choice. It was because of you.¡± The last words were snarled, in anger and something beyond that¡ªand, rather than deflecting or dismissing it (like I normally would),I paused.


    I hesitated.


    I¡¯m sorry wouldn¡¯t fix this¡ªthis was¡ª


    ¡°Look at what you¡¯ve done,¡± the Consul said. ¡°Look, truly look at yourself and the things you¡¯ve done. You can¡¯t ignore it, or run away, or tell yourself that it isn¡¯t as bad as people tell you it is, because it is. All that Thinking and all the planning? All those calculations and possibilities and choices? Turn around and look behind you. You can¡¯t just tell yourself to keep moving, and I¡¯m not here to tell you to stop forever.¡± His eyes were angry.


    ¡°Just stop,¡± said my Mari. ¡°Turn around and look at what you¡¯ve done, please. Just for a while.¡±


    He really didn¡¯t want to kill me, I realized at that moment. He knew if he did hate me, it would be me I hated and not my choices. Hating my choices but forgiving me would be the easy way out; but it would dishonor Marianus, dishonor the people who he saw died¡ªforgiving me would dishonor himself, and even I realized that I didn¡¯t want to ask that of him.


    Not anymore.


    It wasn¡¯t that I¡¯d suddenly become a good person overnight, it was just that I was standing at the precipice and it was a Tartarus of a long drop¡ªI¡¯d always known it was a Tartarus of a long drop, but it hadn¡¯t been a cliff, it had been a journey.


    There¡¯s a bigger picture, Sera¡ªyou might see it, you might not.


    Gods. Why was he¡ª


    This is a stepping stone¡ªit provides power, a first step floating on a lake of no return¡ª there¡¯ll be a first, and a second, and a third; a fourth, and a fifth, and a hundredth, and a thousandth, and a millionth, and maybe it¡¯ll be an endless journey.


    Why was he¡ª


    He was dead.


    There¡¯s more. It might be too easy, it might be too difficult, but there¡¯s more for you like there isn¡¯t for me.


    He was dead, but now you have the knife.


    The Consul stood tall like a distant statue, an overbearing presence: an executioner¡¯s knife fashioned into a Sword of Damocles. The knife was bloody and it was mine, but now it was asking me to look at the bodies behind me: the faces of the people I had stepped on. Julian was, of all things, asking me to stop playing and look behind me, at the Crownboard I was playing on and the people I was playing with.


    I blinked.


    I searched his face for some kind of ingenuity, some kind of falsity.


    Weakness, my Ability accused. Offering mercy to an enemy¡ª


    But this wasn¡¯t a mercy.


    He knew I would fall.


    I dug my nails into my palms in a clenched fist, letting my smile drain away as I looked blankly at the Consul.


    ¡°Are you,¡± I asked, switching to Republica, ¡°going to kill me, Consul?¡±


    This wasn¡¯t fear, was it?


    He was going to kill me.


    He didn¡¯t want to, but he would; because if you reached into a man of honor¡¯s core and ripped everything he needed to prove out of him, all that was left was a brittle tree without branches. He had to keep standing, had to soak water out of the ground by his roots, and I wasn¡¯t going to prance around saying I didn¡¯t deserve to die¡ªbecause, by all means, I did.


    I deserved to die.


    No, a voice in the back of my head argued.


    No one deserves to die.


    But I was just as bad as the people surrounded myself with, wasn¡¯t I?


    I wouldn¡¯t be achieving any moral victories anytime soon.


    ¡°Are you ready for me to kill you?¡± Julian returned.


    ¡°I don¡¯t want to die,¡± I whispered.


    It was a rasp, barely a breath, but the Consul¡¯s jaw clenched.


    ¡°I don¡¯t,¡± I continued, in Imperi because this was rather embarrassing, ¡°want to die. I never wanted this¡ªall of it¡ªbecause I never asked, not even once, but I never¡ª¡± I took a staggering breath. ¡°I never wanted to live like this, but I did¡ª I do, I am living like this because I don¡¯t want to die but I don¡¯t know how to live¡ªI don¡¯t know how, Mari, or why, but I just had to, so I killed them¡ª and now I have to live with this world and myself but¡ª¡±


    I cut myself off with a laugh.


    Could I run?


    Flickering flame, an elusive thought.


    There were legionaries all around me, so that was out of the option¡ª


    ¡°Are you going to kill me?¡± I asked, louder, in Republica. ¡°Or take me captive? Interrogate me for information? Torture me?¡± I raised my eyebrows. ¡°Don¡¯t leave me hanging here, my Mari. It¡¯s unbecoming¡ªleave me some dignity here, eh, my love?¡±


    The fingers on his blade twitched, and if he swung, I wasn¡¯t going to hesitate again.


    ¡°You¡ª¡±


    He leaned forwards as if about to swing, and I stepped back ready to counter the blow, before a voice interrupted the expanse.


    ¡°Consul Romanus.¡±


    An unfamiliar, strong voice cut through the tension like a knife.


    The former praetor folded himself upwards again as he blinked, not lowering his sword or his gaze but moving his attention. ¡°Consul Romus.¡± His voice was flat but his shoulders relaxed themselves, as the other former praetor strode over.


    This praetor was older¡ªaround Cyrus¡¯ age¡ªbut still young, with hard eyes and almost Greta-like blonde hair, only more vibrant and let loose around her face instead of tied up. She laid a hand on Julian¡¯s shoulder briefly as she came up in front of the troop, lifting it after absorbing the scene.


    ¡°Romanus,¡± she repeated, lower. ¡°We have to judge her by the Senate before executing anyone on any grounds of treason against the state.¡±


    I could see Julian¡¯s knuckles whiten as the Consul clenched his hand over his sword¡¯s hilt, but betraying no visible emotion. His eyes still burned.


    I saw no way out.


    I stepped forward, and everyone stiffened¡ª


    ¡ªbut I dropped the two daggers I was holding onto the ground.


    What could be done to an enemy royal during war¡­


    I reached into my robes again and found three other knives, all of which I let drop with a clang. I kicked off my sandals and dug into their empty soles, bringing out a large vial of sarawolf antidote that I carefully laid against the ground. I found the tiny knife-discs I hid under my sleeves and let them skitter to a halt at my feet. After bringing out a variety of poisonous bottles and placing them in a uniform row in front of my toes, I plucked the sarawolf antidote and stepped forward.


    (Of course, I left a dagger somewhere. This was more of a show than anything else.)


    ¡°Ego nunc deficere,¡± I said, loudly and clearly.


    Julian didn¡¯t seem surprised, but there was a tilt to Cecilia¡¯s eyebrow as I reached forward and pulled my Mari¡¯s hand from his sword. He let me, surprisingly¡ªhe just looked at me for further elaboration when I placed the bottle in his hand, letting it stay there.


    ¡°Sarawolf antidote,¡± I explained, before rattling off the location. ¡°There should be poisoned Republica legionaries from the remnants of the Fourth and Fifth Cohorts of your army. Remnants are a very generous term, but...I think I¡¯ve written down the treatment plans somewhere there. Follow them and they¡¯ll get better.¡±


    There was no surprise on the Consul¡¯s face, but he folded his fingers over the bottle just as my hand retreated.


    Not a sign of forgiveness, but acceptance that we would have to sort this out sometime else.


    I met his eyes and discreetly tapped my ring, just once, in a question.


    He shook his head but turned away, so I turned to Cecilia instead.


    ¡°So, Your Consulship,¡± I said briskly, ¡°will it be torture or diplomatic negotation first?¡±


    <hr>


    Anaxeres watched the scene with a smile on his face.


    ¡°Well,¡± he said aloud, ¡°she certainly has the steel for it, doesn¡¯t she?¡±


    When no one responded in the silence, he examined the people conversing in front of the estate.


    ¡°My knife¡¯s returned home,¡± the gambler mused to himself. ¡°Now Greta¡¯ll get brave, won¡¯t she?¡± He shook his head as he snorted. ¡°This alliance was a gamble so she could get my spies and Tyche would support her¡ªbut now I¡¯m actually thinking about sticking it out. Huh. Curious. Petra¡¯s right, all this monologuing really is getting to my head.¡±


    A pause.


    ¡°Won¡¯t stop me from doing it, though,¡± Anaxeres chided the invisible mirage of the Ducal Lord.


    Greta would get pissy if Anaxeres just left Seraphina alone.


    The Duke Evimeria sighed, and got to work.


    Really? Not even a ''thank you'' in advance?


    <hr>


    Cogs whirred. Machinations were started.


    The stage was set.

 56. Empire II

    <hr>


    Death is nothing to us, since when we are, death has not come, and when death has come, we are not.


    <hr>


    I WOULD SAY THERE WAS NO WAY OUT, but that would be a lie.


    It wasn¡¯t that I thought ¡®everything could be solved,¡¯ it was that ¡®nothing was impossible,¡¯ and by that standard this could be a problem that I couldn¡¯t solve, just as¡ªby that standard¡ªthere could be a way out and I hadn¡¯t found it yet.


    Really, what loomed over me right now was that this felt too coincidental, too alike to Fate pulling its strings and sewing events together¡ªtoo jarring yet fitting at the same time: like how I¡¯d found my way to the Queen¡¯s Cage. This feeling I couldn¡¯t pinpoint¡ªthis paranoia that was unwarranted¡ªI had seen this face before, but placing the name divine intervention to it seemed strange.


    Unusual.


    But there were far more pressing matters.


    ¡°What will it be, Your Consulship?¡± I said to Cecilia, spreading my hands. I was careful not to sound challenging, keeping my tone even and soft. Now that I looked at my surroundings, this was a very large courtyard I was in. Thick, luscious plants and the occasional Eurusan-esque pillar, a palatial building in the distance¡ªah, and Roman legionaries everywhere. The Romanus Estate, I was sure of where I was now.


    Divine intervention.


    Damn it.


    After the conversation and the dramatic reveal, the Consul Romus¡¯ face hadn¡¯t hardened or softened, studying me like a war map before Julian cut in.


    ¡°Seize her,¡± he said, head still turned away from my eyes. Not now, was the most diplomatic equivalent.


    I was seized and I walked mildly, Cecilia approaching me as I let myself be dragged across the tiles. The legionaries were needlessly rough but I grinned at the Consul as the former did, and she didn¡¯t smile back as she spoke in a Galani dialect (which was terribly difficult to learn and of course hidden from the legionaries).


    ¡°Do you understand me?¡±


    I continued smiling. ¡°Yes.¡±


    ¡°Good.¡± She continued walking as I was dragged, speaking just loud enough for me to hear her at the distance. ¡°You¡¯re going to be put in a room for now, as an esteemed guest. No one will know your identity, no one will be able to help you, but you will be treated fairly before your interrogation in front of the Senate, when you will be debated over.¡±


    ¡°Then my fate lies in your hands, Your Consulship,¡± I returned, equally evenly. Interrogation in front of the Senate. That seemed ominous.


    ¡°You are a prisoner,¡± replied Cecilia, simply. ¡°Call off your hounds. If they try to rescue you, your eyes will go first.¡±


    Threat of torture¡ªI¡¯d never found the taste for it.


    Should I kill myself before they wrangled the information out of me? The pain was pointless after all, but¡­


    I needed to see how this would unfold.


    ¡°I am a prisoner,¡± I said as the legionaries continued to yank me forward, ¡°but you are not a warden anymore.¡±


    She didn¡¯t halt or stop at my taunt, raising her eyebrows instead.


    ¡°Kings can¡¯t fight on the battlefield,¡± I continued. ¡°If you die, who¡¯s going to replace you? You¡¯re not guarding the fortress, you¡¯re in it¡ªyou¡¯re not fighting for the city, you¡¯re ruling over it¡ªbut whatever you do, I hope you do it well.¡± I was uncharacteristically earnest on the last bit. ¡°Of course,¡± I continued to chatter, ¡°if you¡¯re going to torture me, the well wishes might sour a bit, but¡ª¡±


    ¡°Which side are you on?¡± Her voice was steely.


    I was dragged into a back door, along a short hallway, into a room with a high stained glass ceiling with hanging crystalline baubles dangling from complicated wire strings, a spiderweb above sewing pillars and fusing concrete together. The legionaries peeled away from me as Cecilia snapped a signal, sunlight streaming through above and hitting the baubles in dancing shapes, leaving kaleidoscopic fingerprints on the Consul¡¯s face.


    I could easily stab her¡ªbut what would that really do?


    Warrant a painful execution?


    If I could get through to Julian¡ªif there was anything to get through to¡ªthis was someone my Mari could influence. If Greta did offer a protectorate after all this, would this Consul be a forgive-and-forget type? The latter¡¯d been the head of an administrative body, practically: she wasn¡¯t a saint, but what kind of sinner was she?


    There was no political benefit to me taking up the knife.


    I studied her before letting my gaze drift away, letting it dance around the expanse as I ignored her question.


    ¡°Is this going to be my room?¡±


    Sparsely decorated, with a rug thrown on the floor and a collection of sewn cushions in a corner. ??One table, one chair¡ªnot even any color, save the spheres and a small mosaic on the wall. It was the size of my closet back home¡ªor even a bathroom. Well.


    My Ability sparked as it reached out uncharacteristically dynamically, strands wrapping around the room as I stopped restraining it. I felt the Consul¡¯s presence behind me, tracking my movements like a wolf as I walked around and flopped myself on the floor.


    ¡°Interrogation,¡± I enunciated. ¡°What are you going to do before that? I¡¯m sure you guys need time to collect yourselves, but I¡¯m open to friendly questions.¡± I watched the Consul study me as I returned her gaze with a wide smile.


    ¡°You will be guarded,¡± Cecilia said, the legionaries behind her trailing away. ¡°Hand over the knife you slipped.¡±


    Surety. The promise of further action. Read was back, strands wrapping around the Consul¡¯s expression. I reached and tried to untangle more as I closed my eyes.


    ¡°How do you know I slipped a knife?¡± I asked lazily. ¡°Hero blood?¡±


    I could feel her eyebrows dip, just a bit.


    ¡°Knife,¡± the Consul switched languages.


    I reached in my robes and felt for the flat blade, sliding it to my hand before I poised it in the general direction, feeling it spark towards the Consul as I threw it towards her. My eyes closed and felt Cecilia snatch it out of the air almost expertly.


    ¡°¡®What side am I on?¡¯¡± I repeated out loud.


    My memories flashed before me, deadly dinners and crude jokes, familiarly shaped smiles and the warmth of a portrait. Yet still. The grass beneath me, prickly and warm as I laid sprawled on the dirt, a flower crown on my head and one on another¡¯s, spilled blood engraved in my hands and sleepless nights. Would I be better off dead than alive? I wondered. Orion¡¯s amber caves of eyes, echoes of what the man that had been my brother used to be: but I hadn¡¯t seen what Orion used to be: I¡¯d only been here for so long.


    What if it had me that had thrown myself off the cliff that night?


    ¡°As I¡¯ve always been,¡± I said aloud, smiling, ¡°I am on no one¡¯s side but my own.¡±


    <hr>


    This princess had a flair for the dramatic. It felt like an over-exaggeration, but it wasn¡¯t really¡ªeverything she did felt like an exaggeration, but it hit all the right beats and the lines were delivered so smoothly that it felt more like a well-constructed Play than anything else.


    Her eyes were closed, right now, but the knife Cecilia had caught had been delivered smoothly. They¡ªand by they, the Consul meant Julian and Seraphina¡ªhad been in a fight, it had been obvious. From the way the princess held her knives, not like they were cherished possessions but like they were tools: the glint in her eye had been sharp, but strange.


    Cecilia had never seen the two interact with each other before, but the air had been gnarled like a twisting bramble bush, heavy but not warm: there hadn¡¯t any fire, no scorching hate or scathing wrath. Intense. From how Julian¡¯s expression hadn¡¯t even twitched at Seraphina¡¯s familiar way of speaking, that meant Cecilia had a lot of things to talk to the Consul about.


    And not as a fellow Consul.


    As a somewhat-cousin. (Sister? Friendly war companion? Comrade?)


    ¡°Are you doing something?¡± Cecilia asked, giving a wave that the Consul somehow knew that she would feel. The legionaries left, and there was a silence.


    The room brimmed with colorful light, but there was something else that it was humming with, something that warmed Cecilia¡¯s Hero blood. It was faint, but Cecilia relied on her senses the same way Julian did his strength. The Consul felt the temptation to shake something off, like an invisible spider that had landed on her shoulder: that unsettling crawl, the feeling magnified by those crystalline blue eyes.


    The princess¡¯ tone sounded genuinely surprised, even if the feeling was mild. ¡°You can feel it?¡±


    It.


    ¡°Your...Ability,¡± guessed the former praetor.


    Does it give her the Ability to see everything even when she closes her eyes? Sensory omniscience?


    ¡°Yes.¡± Her Republica was fluent, the accent just barely there. The Imperial Princess opened her eyes, rainbow light scattering over her bronze skin in ripples. ¡°I¡¯m surprised you can feel it. I don¡¯t know if it¡¯s you, or it¡¯s new.¡± She tilted her head, as if musing to herself without speaking.


    Silence.


    ¡°No sane person,¡± Cecilia felt herself say, breaking it, ¡°would come in here without at least a backup plan.¡± If the Consul were talking to a friend, she¡¯d have a roguish grin on her face; but this wasn¡¯t a friend.


    But there was an unusual feeling that she wasn¡¯t an enemy, either.


    ¡°To answer your earlier question,¡± the Consul clarified, pushing the feeling down.


    ¡°Huh.¡± The princess¡¯ lips curled.


    (Seraphina was young, the same age as the spoiled patrician scions that ran down the streets like they owned them with their gaudy robes, but it was like Cecilia was dealing with a ghost. A spirit, possessing someone¡¯s body. There was something unreal about this conversation that most would classify as shock. The Consul blamed it on sleep deprivation.)


    The princess laughed, long and hard, as light twinkled in her eyes.


    ¡°You¡¯re the first person who¡¯s called me sane to my face,¡± she admitted.


    I can see why.


    The Consul shrugged. ¡°It¡¯s not a question of sanity when something¡¯s predictable.¡± Cecilia nodded towards the Imperial Princess. ¡°The fact that people usually do anything it takes to survive? That¡¯s predictable. But just because you can¡¯t predict a person, that doesn¡¯t mean they¡¯re insane¡ªno one¡¯s completely unpredictable if you know enough about them.¡± She felt herself lean casually on a pillar. ¡°The fact that they¡¯re going out of their way to seem unpredictable? That¡¯s what makes them sane.¡± The words she used to address her troops, being spoken towards the enemy, felt foreign in her mouth.The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.


    Know the enemy.


    That was the first lesson taught to anyone and everyone even near the Armies.


    It was so cliche, so overused that most people used it as a fundamental without even being taught its lesson.


    ¡°Are you my enemy?¡± the Consul asked the princess.


    As if they were friends, Seraphina smiled evenly.


    ¡°The more pertinent question is,¡± the Chosen replied as she stretched, getting up from the floor, ¡°can I be your friend, Your Consulship?¡±


    Cecilia chuckled, meeting those blue eyes. Seraphina¡¯s likeness had been drawn in a portrait, for the Senate but not able to be widely distributed just yet¡ªthe painter hadn¡¯t been able to capture that unnerving gaze, the edge of the smile.


    The Sixth Princess hadn¡¯t been considered a proper threat.


    The Consul raised her own lips in a smile. ¡°Would you be willing to be my friend then, Your Imperial Highness?¡±


    The small room felt brighter than it was as Seraphina¡¯s grin sharpened, pulling back to reveal teeth.


    ¡°But there lies the problem, doesn¡¯t it?¡± asked the Chosen. ¡°Can I afford to?¡±


    A finger was pointed, gestured between the two.


    ¡°It all comes down to cost and benefit, as it always does,¡± said Seraphina. ¡°The question for you, dear Consul¡ª¡± her eyes crinkled at the corners as she smiled pleasantly ¡°¡ª is that can you afford to make me your enemy?¡±


    This was phrased deliberately like a childish threat, Cecilia about to reply when the Princess undercut herself with a laugh.


    ¡°Let¡¯s talk shop then, Consul,¡± she said while leaning back into a cluster of cushions. ¡°Torturing me won¡¯t be productive. Not that I¡¯m saying that I¡¯ll grit my teeth till the end, but I can be much more useful alive than half-dead¡ªI can¡¯t promise that Naxy won¡¯t try something, but what I can promise is that, as long as you keep me alive, my dearest oldest sister won¡¯t do anything to get me out.¡±


    Cecilia raised her eyebrows. ¡°Is that a guarantee?¡±


    The other blinked. ¡°It¡¯s what¡¯s pragmatic,¡± explained the girl. ¡°I don¡¯t have any terribly important plans in my hands¡ªat least, plans that you haven¡¯t considered¡ªso why would she need to rescue me? Even though the public do somewhat favor me¡ªMace¡¯s public relations one-man-army did wonders¡ªrescuing me because I made a stupid mistake won¡¯t do anything. She knows I¡¯ll stay alive, and as long as I stay alive, I¡¯m not off the board. And if one of her pieces isn¡¯t off the board, she doesn¡¯t need to waste her moves.¡±


    On the board. Waste her moves.


    Following the metaphor, the Consul spoke. ¡°Is this endgame, then? Her closing moves?¡±


    A crucial question.


    Seraphina tilted her head. ¡°Endgame¡¯s the logical conclusion at the moment,¡± the princess admitted. ¡°But I have a feeling that something¡¯s going to happen. Someone¡ªand I do have speculations about who that someone may be, for the record¡ªwill start playing a very different game, I can feel it. This isn¡¯t the end of it.¡±


    For once, Cecilia agreed. There were too many cards at play, too many loose ends. But¡ª


    ¡°You don¡¯t know what your sister¡¯s up to?¡± questioned the Consul.


    There was common sense telling Cecilia to strategically extract information, maneuver the conversation. But there was instinct telling her to throw common sense out the window and follow this trail.


    ¡°Does anyone?¡± Athena¡¯s Chosen offered in return. ¡°If you¡¯re worried I won¡¯t be of use, have no fear¡ªI can help you out with your current situation, even though that would mean entrusting me with classified information.¡± She paused. ¡°But I do feel that my active role in this war has come to a bit of an end. I don¡¯t know what Greta wanted me to do here¡ªprobably damage control with Naxy¡ªbut there¡¯s nothing I can do that Greta can¡¯t ask someone else to.¡±


    This was¡ª


    ¡°You would help the enemy?¡± There was surprise, but then Cecilia had to remind herself that Imperial loyalty¡ª


    ¡°Who said I was going to help?¡±


    The question was mild, the wording brusque.


    ¡°I said I can,¡± corrected Seraphina, continuing. ¡°And that I could be of use. I never said that I would help you win this war.¡±


    A few beats of silence.


    She was serious.


    ¡°My part has been played,¡± the girl said. ¡°What other roles I can¡ªand am willing to take¡ªare up to negotiation. But I cannot¡ª¡± the words were emphasized strangely ¡°¡ªstand by you against the Throne.¡±


    There was a subtext that Cecilia wasn¡¯t picking up on.


    ¡°Not that,¡± the princess continued, ¡°I would want to, all things considered¡ªno, I¡¯ve gone too far now. I¡¯ve gambled away too much¡ªI owe too much to this Empire to betray it. You might as well be asking for my life at this point.¡± Then she laughed, as if the last sentence was a hilarious joke. ¡°Never thought I would say that,¡± the girl muttered to herself.


    There was a step.


    ¡°Negotiation,¡± the Consul tested out the word, as if reaching out for a rickety banister.


    Why did she feel like she was losing?


    Seraphina propped her chin on her hand, leaning forward.


    ¡°So, Consul,¡± said the Queenscage, ¡°what will it be?¡±


    <hr>


    Josephine had never seen Greta alarmed. Never. Concerned? Shocked? Surprised? In the ten-some years she¡¯d known her sister, the mask had stayed on. It wasn¡¯t even indifference, because Greta could feel emotion. Irritation, annoyance, frustration¡ªJosephine could tell that Greta had been upset about Orion¡¯s death: ¡®upset¡¯ in this case, of course, being an umbrella term for shutting everyone out about it.


    None of the Imperial Family talked about their feelings. If they wanted to feel something, they dove themselves into their self-destructive endeavors, poisoning and plotting and politicking. On the rare occasion that they were vulnerable, nobody put it past anyone to not strike when they were. Moments of weakness were just that: weakness. There was no sense of family in that: there was loyalty, of course¡ªmaybe even bonds¡ªbut these people, Josephine thought, knew best of all how nothing was below them.


    What they wanted, they took.


    They had that right¡ªthey¡¯d fought for that right, they¡¯d sacrificed for that right.


    Whether or not that was their due, was it really anyone¡¯s right to contest it?


    When Josephine had first come inside the Palace ten-some years ago, she remembered the scene very vividly: Greta and Orion, voices not raised, but in a seemingly quiet argument; Cyrus polishing¡ªhis sword or his spear, Josephine didn¡¯t remember.


    ¡°Josie, nice to meet you.¡±


    She¡¯d grinned even though she¡¯d wanted nothing more than to shut herself in her room and never come out again, bathe herself of invisible sticky blood and throw things and be angry at everyone but herself¡ª


    She felt so tired.


    Everyone¡¯d paused for a beat, green and amber and blue eyes tracking her movements for the longest of seconds.


    ¡°Cyrus.¡± The first voice had been brusque, cold.


    ¡°Orion,¡± offered the second, quiet.


    ¡°Greta.¡± The tall woman¡ªas Josephine had labelled her¡ªstilled.


    Cyrus gestured to a seat, sharply but without hostility, unlike what Josephine had expected. There had been no tests, no probes.


    Josephine had sat.


    A silence had prolonged as Orion and Greta had taken a seat at the table. Flowers had filled the air with an indistinguishable scent, leaves falling from the trees and onto the ground in a peaceful scene. It had felt absolutely nothing like Josephine had expected: it wasn¡¯t until the others joined when it had become exciting, but the peace she¡¯d felt back then was in a league of its own.


    ¡°What tea?¡± Cyrus had asked, breaking the quiet. He¡¯d laid the weapon aside and was picking up the teapot¡ª gently.


    Gently.


    His tone was firm and even, but it was restrained, as if trying not to scare her off.


    ¡°Apricot,¡± she¡¯d replied.


    ¡°Okay.¡± Cyrus had poured the tea. His eyes were careful, unlike the others¡¯. Orion was watching Josephine intently with vague curiosity¡ªno ulterior motives, she would¡¯ve known¡ªwhile Greta had been still.


    It was all twisted and strange¡ªnot even anything dramatic, like she¡¯d expected.


    Pressing her lips together, the marquis¡¯ daughter had pointed to a biscuit on Cyrus¡¯ plate. ¡°Can I have that?¡±


    It would¡¯ve been stranger if he hadn¡¯t questioned it. ¡°Why?¡± had asked the prince.


    Josie had tilted her head, intent on pushing just one limit.


    ¡°I like it,¡± she had settled on.


    Blue eyes had narrowed. ¡°I like it, too.¡± As if to prove his point, he had picked it up and stuffed it in his mouth daringly.


    Josie¡¯s eyebrows had raised themselves.


    ¡°Ask the kitchen for more, Cyrus,¡± had admonished Orion. ¡°Don¡¯t pick on the kid.¡±


    Kid.


    As Josephine had been considering whether or not she should be offended, silent pale fingers had reached forward and pushed a biscuit on Josephine¡¯s plate. The very same biscuit Josie¡¯d asked of Cyrus.


    A show of support?


    She hadn¡¯t known, and to this day she still didn¡¯t know.


    Greta Highlander was a mystery, but the fact that the Empress was grieving was not.


    Josephine entered the mausoleum with a smile, greeting the Undertakers with an urn and a package before stepping in front of Cyrus¡¯ corpse, laid bare on a coffin.


    She reached for her brother one last time after setting the urn and package on the floor.


    ¡°Brother,¡± she pronounced, ¡°I brought you Brother.¡±


    Dead silence.


    ¡°Come on, that was a good one. You¡¯d be rolling on the floor laughing right now if I could see your ghosts.¡±


    A pause.


    ¡°On second thought, I don¡¯t know if I believe in ghosts,¡± she amended, ¡°but the point still stands.¡± In the quiet that followed, the Fourth Princess reached for the package and unfurled it to reveal a tea set, a bottle of alcohol, and three small cups. Picking up the bottle of alcohol first, she uncorked it and poured herself a cup, doing the same for the other two cups before she sipped one while setting another in front of the urn.


    ¡°This,¡± she introduced with a flourish, ¡°is the wine you were drinking that day, Oldest Brother.¡±


    Another silence followed, one that Josephine occupied by setting up the tea set, pouring cold apricot tea into a glass and placing it next to the corpse.


    ¡°And this,¡± she added, ¡°is the apricot tea that I wanted the first day that you poured for me. You poured, what? Red tea?¡±


    A pause.


    ¡°Ara¡¯s still running amok, by the way,¡± Josephine informed the empty room. ¡°Doing his thing, making political plans, trying to stop Oldest Sister like he always has been: I mean, this time, he¡¯s more obvious, but he¡¯s still doing what he¡¯s always been doing.¡± She took a sip of the wine. ¡°Greta...well, all things considered, I¡¯m concerned.¡±


    The princess looked at the urn.


    ¡°You were supposed to be the one to stop her before she went too far, Oldest Brother, but I suppose you can¡¯t really do that now.¡±


    A beat.


    ¡°Oh come on, that was a great joke, Older Brother¡ªI can feel you glaring. I swear you¡¯re going to be one of those vengeful ghosts who haunt the kitchen.¡± Josie rested her eyes on the corpse, looking at the cold tea and colder skin.


    ¡°You know,¡± she said, leaning forward and propping her chin on one hand while taking another sip with another, ¡°I thought of Reviving you¡ªboth of you, actually. But then I thought of the morality of it all¡ªyou know, philosophy¡ªand I asked myself, ¡®Would I want to be alive?¡¯ But then I was like, ¡®You know that¡¯s a stupid question, Josie, that¡¯s where everyone goes wrong,¡¯ but then I thought about both of you, and I realized if you kept going you would run yourselves into the ground.¡±


    Sunlight streamed in from the window and illuminated a dead man¡¯s face, an urn, and a talking woman with golden eyes.


    ¡°That¡¯s the way the saying goes, doesn¡¯t it? ¡®Run yourselves into the ground¡¯?¡±


    Without waiting for an answer, she continued.


    ¡°And then I thought about both of you again, and then I realized what I wanted to say, and it¡¯s that I¡¯m sorry.¡±


    Another sip.


    ¡°This is a shot of courage, you know.¡± The Fourth Princess wiped her lips. ¡°I¡¯ve never, ever, not even once told anyone I¡¯m sorry¡ªexcept that one time¡ªbut I am. I don¡¯t know what I¡¯m sorry for, and I don¡¯t even know if I want you both to come back, but¡ª¡± she hiccuped ¡°¡ªshit, I¡¯m drunk. I¡¯m a bad drunk, aren¡¯t I? I don¡¯t even know what I¡¯m saying and I¡ª¡±


    Her voice finally gave way.


    Her daring smile was gone as she lowered her gaze.


    ¡°I just want to stop playing my part,¡± Josephine murmured. ¡°I want to go home, and I don¡¯t think I¡¯ll ever find it¡ªI don¡¯t think any of us¡¯ll find where we¡¯re meant to be, because¡ª it sure isn¡¯t here; we aren¡¯t supposed to be an us, this isn¡¯t who I wanted to be, and I think that applies for all of us because I just¡ª¡±


    She broke off again and pressed her hands to her eyes, fingers coming away with moisture.


    ¡°I just wanted to live,¡± she said after a lingering while. ¡°And I don¡¯t doubt that both of you did, too.¡±


    Aphrodite¡¯s Chosen set down her cup.


    ¡°So I won¡¯t Revive you,¡± the woman conceded with finality. ¡°And this is my favor to you.¡±


    The tea tasted cold and bitter, she thought before she took the urn with her and left, the cup of apricot tea laying cold beside Cyrus¡¯ body.


    Victory always did.


    <hr>

 57. Empire III

    <hr>


    You are who you choose to be.


    - PAGE OF OLD IMPERIAL STORYBOOK, INEVITA LIBRARY


    <hr>


    UNSURPRISINGLY, the discussion between me and the Consul began with little fanfare.


    It was just Cecilia and I in the small room scattered with kaleidoscopic light, sitting on the floor on opposite sides of a squat cushion that functioned as a table. Would it make history? Likely not.


    But these things rarely did.


    ¡°I want you to help the Republic win the war,¡± the Consul said.


    It was a condition I¡¯d rejected, but evidently the Consul was persistent.


    I sighed. ¡°Say I take you up on your offer,¡± I proposed. ¡°What do you think little old me could do? I¡¯m the Third-in-line to the Throne¡ªthe only way I could declare an official ceasefire is if Greta, Josephine, and Arathis died; and that¡¯s not something I¡¯m willing to do¡ªor can do, for that matter.¡± I paused. ¡°If you ignore the official route, and you just want me to be a figurehead to a Republica morale boost, that¡¯s something I can¡¯t do. I cannot,¡± I emphasized again, ¡°stand against the Throne.¡±


    Or am willing, for that matter.


    But Cecilia didn¡¯t need to know that.


    ¡°Oath,¡± she finally said, realization settling on her face.


    A smile twisted my lips. ¡°Oath,¡± I agreed.


    She also didn¡¯t need to know that it was Greta I owed my sworn loyalty to, and not the Empire.


    A silence.


    ¡°You mentioned an active role,¡± Cecilia began, slowly. ¡°What active role have you occupied in this war so far?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯d think your intelligence reports would¡¯ve included the answer to your question,¡± I idly remarked. ¡°But if the real question here is, Have I directly acted against the Republic in any way shape or form, to the point of no return, if I answer in good faith, the answer would be yes. You can¡¯t redeem me to the public if all information about me were to be leaked¡ªand I¡¯m sure word¡¯s already spread. Even if you blamed it on my former supervisors, you can¡¯t spin me as this magical double-agent panacea. I can¡¯t be your public savior.¡±


    (And I was also unwilling, but then again, she didn¡¯t need to know that¡ªif even she did, everything I said was rational.)


    ¡°Humor me regardless,¡± responded the Consul. ¡°What have you done?¡±


    It was a question full of condemnation, but Tartarus if I wasn¡¯t ready to face it.


    ¡°I helped in the Battle of Beginning and Ends¡ªthat¡¯s the one in Notus, by the way, where Marianus was captured.¡± I let my lips twitch. ¡°I was the one who turned him. It took only a couple of days, if not less¡ªbut Anaxeres was the one who used Gaius¡ªMarianus¡ªin that way. I¡¯m not saying it to shift blame, because maybe I would¡¯ve done it too¡ªused Claudia and Marianus¡ªbut not in that way, I wouldn¡¯t have wanted him to¡ª¡±


    I sounded hysterical. Why was I¡ª


    I took a deep breath in, withdrawing my Ability from the Consul and forcing it in my voice.


    ¡°¡ªkill himself,¡± Cecilia supplied. ¡°But you led him to.¡±


    I dug my nails into my palm.


    ¡°Yes,¡± I answered, evenly. ¡°It seems I did.¡±


    The Consul¡¯s gaze was steady, even though I would¡¯ve expected her to be angry, hateful¡ªlike Julian, she should¡¯ve showed some sort of emotion¡ª


    She¡¯s like you.


    ¡°Do you regret it?¡± asked the Consul.


    The question sunk into my skin, permeating my bones and weighing them down.


    ¡°Does it matter?¡± I returned, quietly smiling back.


    A silence.


    ¡°It does,¡± Cecilia replied. ¡°Everything you say, everything you do¡ªit matters.¡± Her face was all angles, like you could put a ruler to her features and her features would win. She¡¯d been the one who set fire to the Library of Alexandria, the one who¡¯d helped with the Eastern Fires. ¡°If you can¡¯t live with yourself, who can?¡±


    I leaned forward, multicolored light spilling under my hands as I brought them together.


    ¡°If I do regret it, but I would do it all over again if I had the choice, does that make me a bad person?¡±


    Would you do it all over again? my Ability asked me.


    There was no sure answer, but I had survived. I was still breathing, even now¡ªwhichever corner I found myself in, I was still alive. And that counted for something, because if I was still alive¡ªif I had a road ahead of me, regardless of the choices in front of me¡ªthat meant everything.


    The Consul shrugged. ¡°Doesn¡¯t necessarily make you a ¡®bad person.¡¯ The term¡¯s subjective. It just makes you a coward,¡± she said.


    The word made my fingers clench.


    ¡°For not following the path I wouldn¡¯t regret?¡± I questioned, not letting derision seep into my tone, even though I was certain¡ªfor some reason¡ªthat the Consul would hear it. ¡°If a person,¡± I continued, ¡°never had the choice to follow that path, would you call them a coward?¡±


    Cecilia¡¯s eyebrows were raised.


    ¡°You made bad choices,¡± she responded, simply. ¡°That¡¯s why you¡¯re here.¡±


    ¡°If you had the choices that I did,¡± I countered, all the fire from before gone with the wind, ¡°every choice you would make¡ªevery road you could take¡ªwould be bad ones to you.¡± The only good choices were the ones where you survived.


    There was no other option.


    Cecilia squinted at me. ¡°There¡¯s no use following this point,¡± the Consul conceded. ¡°You¡¯re too far gone.¡±


    And that made me angry, for some reason.


    But I let it pass.


    ¡°Right,¡± I agreed, although not easily. ¡°Point is, you can¡¯t make me a public martyr.¡±


    ¡°Then what can you offer us?¡± Cecilia raised her eyebrows. ¡°All you¡¯ve done is shrug off blame. At this point, you should remember that you are our guest. You can¡¯t run away¡ªyou willingly came here. And for what? A last-ditch attempt at Julian when you know nothing about him¡ªwhen all you two have between each other are, what? Two shiny rings? He promised you nothing, and he can¡¯t help you now.¡±


    Choices, choices, choices.


    ¡°Whoever said I came here because of him?¡± I asked amusedly. ¡°If I wanted a crack at him, I would¡¯ve waited at least a couple days to let him stew in peace, even if I wasn¡¯t aware of Marianus. You can¡¯t strike when the iron is hot, or at least, when it comes to our dear Consul Romanus.¡±


    Cecilia hummed. ¡°You¡¯re changing the topic.¡±


    ¡°Never said I wasn¡¯t.¡±


    The other Consul¡¯s eyes gleamed. ¡°I¡¯m running out of patience, Princess. And you¡¯re running out of time.¡±


    I let myself smile. ¡°Really? Am I the one who¡¯s stalling here?¡± I leaned forward again, studying the former praetor¡¯s gaze. ¡°Or are you?¡± I stage-whispered, adopting the tone Arathis used when cornering people.


    She already had a use for me¡ªmultiple uses, in fact.


    I¡¯d rejected her first offer, so she was going to strongarm me into her second one.


    ¡°Let¡¯s stop dancing around each other,¡± I continued, exposing my teeth as I smiled. ¡°What do you want¡ªno, what side are you on?¡±


    Cecilia smiled back.


    ¡°The Republic¡¯s to the very end, Princess¡ªand you¡¯re right, we should stop wasting time.¡±


    She leaned forward dangerously close, probably in a form of intimidation.


    I could probably take the chance to tackle her to the ground, but it wouldn¡¯t work.


    I stared back.


    ¡°¡®Unite the house, and then the country,¡¯¡± I quoted, before reaching out a hand. ¡°I¡¯m surprised you¡¯re trusting me with the key.¡±


    The Consul pushed my hand back.


    Her lips curled.


    ¡°¡®Who said I was?¡¯¡± she quoted back at me.


    I repressed my grin.


    Now we¡¯re talking.


    <hr>


    The East was a mess.


    Greta could see that fact very, very clearly.


    But what if it wasn¡¯t a mess?


    Elexis being Seraphina¡¯s maternal grandmother weighed heavily, especially since the current Duke Marksman wasn¡¯t blood-related to Eurus¡ªSeraphina held no affection for the Duchess, Greta knew, but the fact that they were related provided many, many excuses for many, many potential encounters. Not that they would have any other problems, Greta thought. She¡¯d taken care of that.


    But still, the Snakelands and Eurus were a problem, especially since the Fires. Greta knew most of Cyrus¡¯ Galani compatriots had relocated to Bellum, but there was still unrest that Greta wasn¡¯t sure Elexis could handle¡ªor, at least, the way Greta wanted it to be handled. The Empire¡¯s hold on the Snakelands would weaken if the Snakeland Fire and the burning of the Library of Alexandria permanently worsened the situation there¡ªeven though Cyrus had won over the Galani leader, Cyrus was gone now.


    And so was the Empress¡¯ hold on Bellum.


    Now that was a thorn in her side.


    Greta¡¯s back was aching from the constant hunching over strategy maps. She hadn¡¯t gotten a good night¡¯s sleep in Daycycles, and her eyes were bleary.


    Not that she would ever admit it.


    Josephine came in with a whirl of her skirts and a smile, Greta¡¯s younger sister bringing the Empress into a silent embrace.


    First, the Empress thought that that it was an assassination attempt.


    But then Greta relaxed into it after the first few seconds of hesitation, her arm hesitantly patting Josephine¡¯s back.


    This would be a situation where someone would ask what¡¯s wrong.


    A lot of things were wrong, Greta thought.


    She saw amber eyes everywhere, and now some were blue¡ª


    Did she have a soft spot for her family?


    If they didn¡¯t become her weakness, she owed it to her father to take care of them. Use them, perhaps¡ªbut they needed to stay alive.


    Right? If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.


    Orion¡¯s voice answered. Right¡ª


    Josephine¡¯s body shook as the Fourth Princess cried. She¡¯d always worn that perfume for the past ten years, Greta knew. Whenever Josephine went out, and even sometimes when she didn¡¯t¡ªCyrus had said in that monotone of his (on multiple occasions) how it would scare off even the most daring of suitors, because it would destroy another one of their senses permanently. Josephine had kicked him in return.


    Was she mourning the memories or the people, Greta wondered. But pain was pain.


    It isn¡¯t your place to ask, Orion answered back, in that amused tone of his. Are you mourning me or how well I knew you?


    The Empress¡¯ fingers dug into her palms.


    Begone, ghost.


    Would Cyrus become Josephine¡¯s ghost, Greta didn¡¯t know. There hadn¡¯t really been any understanding, as much as Josephine had tried to lure Cyrus into traps that Cyrus sometimes avoided and sometimes managed to get himself tangled up in.


    Cyrus.


    He¡¯d been the most foolish of them all, but in his way the wisest. He¡¯d been patient, excruciatingly so, to the point where Greta¡¯d had to test his taste for revenge. If he¡¯d survived the Cage, he should¡¯ve achieved revenge in half of the time he¡¯d been in the Palace. Was it hesitation? Fear? The hate he¡¯d held had been unmistakeable, but who was it he hated?


    The Cagekeepers¡¯ record of Cyrus had been¡ª


    Strange.


    The Cyrus in the Cage had been braver, younger¡ªthe type of person who¡¯d single-mindedly focus on revenge. A person who had less steel and more brute strength, a person who plowed through the right places at the right times, a muddle of strategy, tactics: a leader, which was why Greta, after watching the Cage¡¯s record, had decided to send him to Eurus at first.


    Even as Josephine cried in Greta¡¯s arms, all the Empress could do was think about what they had lost.


    What was family, after all?


    People who loved each other? Supported each other? Were there for each other to lean on? A group of people who had the same interests and goals?


    Was blood and title really all there was to it?


    They were never really against each other in the first place, were they? The Cage, the Gods were what had caused them¡ªand the Empire¡ªto plummet into the pit of ruin. But the Gods weren¡¯t what had taken Cyrus and Orion away, the Gods weren¡¯t why the six people that had gathered so far in the Palace were twisted beyond their will to survive.


    Greta would make this the last Cage, the last time.


    She would wrest the Anothen Sky from the Gods and make it her own.


    <hr>


    Julian stood to attention at the Senate.


    ¡°First of all, fuck you,¡± a patrician. ¡°And¡ª¡±


    ¡°Fuck me? I doubt you¡¯ve ever been fucked in your life, have you? I mean, I¡¯ll do it for the experience, but there¡¯s a line outside, and it¡¯s longer than my¡ª¡±


    ¡°Order to the Senate!¡± Julian slammed his fist down with uncharacteristic force and it broke wood, the sound ricocheting through the ballroom that is currently moonlighted as the political nexus of a continental power. The ceilings were slopes, mosaics of the Founding Wolves, and, not for the first time, Julian wondered what the fuck he was doing here.


    This was just the first time with expletives.


    The patricians turned and looked¡ªnot wide-eyed, because this wasn¡¯t the first podium destroyed in today¡¯s proceedings¡ªat the Consul, before one of them raised their voice.


    ¡°Your Consulship, I am concerned that this meeting won¡¯t be productive¡ª¡±


    Obviously-


    ¡°¡ªwithout Consul Romus¡¯ presence. As Your Consulship may well know, the Senate cannot be held without the presence of both elected Consuls.¡±


    Titus, that slimy little piece of¡ª


    ¡°Patrician Summanus, I am aware of this fact, as is the rest of the Senate. However, as regulations state, in extended circumstances¡ªsuch as when one Consul is overseeing important situations crucial to the survival of the Republic¡ªthe Senate may continue to be in session,¡± said Julian with an internal sigh, waiting for¡ª


    ¡°Which important situation is Consul Romus overseeing that is more crucial to the survival of the Republic than our current agenda?¡± called out another patrician.


    A familiar face.


    ¡°Patrician Hadrianus, please observe proper Senate etiquette.¡± Julian was curt. The old man he¡¯d saved because Hadrianus was an ally to Romanus¡ªbut, evidently, Julian¡¯s maternal grandfather was deliberately using incorrect timing. ¡°To address Patrician Hadrianus¡¯ point,¡± the former praetor continued, ¡°the Republic is currently in possession of a prisoner, as is written in the emergency agendas that were passed out a few minutes ago.¡±


    The emergency agendas that no one bothered to read because they were insulting each other¡¯s circumstances of birth, he didn¡¯t say.


    Now that raised a clamor.


    ¡°A prisoner? Who?¡± yelled out one of the four patricians alive.


    ¡°Patrician Tiberius, please observe proper Senate etiquette,¡± the Consul said. ¡°But yes, we will all go over the situation after Consul Romus observes proper regulation by the laws of House Roma and the Senate, and transfers the prisoner¡ªwho is the Sixth Princess of the Empire, for the consideration of the Senate¡ªaccordingly.¡± Someone opened their mouth, but Julian cut them off with a raised hand.


    ¡°Currently,¡± the former praetor continued, ¡°the first and foremost topic on the agenda is to one, mitigate the damage caused by the explosion in the Curia; and two, observe the election of the twelve empty patrician seats that are needed to come to a full vote, as considered by the laws of House Roma and the Senate. We will address these topics as per order of importance, as written in the agenda.¡±


    Unsurprisingly, they didn¡¯t shut up.


    ¡°Request for an override to the Consul,¡± said Hadrianus, voice raspy from smoke inhalation but confident, the old man¡¯s eyes clear even with his injuries.


    ¡°Denied due to the inability of a full vote to be cast,¡± returned Julian.


    The boy stood at the broken podium and shuffled his papers.


    "If there are no other requests," he felt himself say, his voice tight, "the Senate will continue its session. The first point of order, as mentioned previously, is the mitigation of the damage caused by the explosion in the Curia¡­"


    <hr>


    The monsters at the Union-Republic border. That was what I was eyeing.


    It was less of a shiny piece of bait and more of the only rope being thrown to me that wasn¡¯t poisonous¡ªI¡¯d dug this hole, even though I was still questioning why I did, and it was time to find my way out.


    Cecilia wouldn¡¯t trust me enough to get her house in order, and I wasn¡¯t sure I could, or would: I wanted the Empire to win this war, and directly helping the Republic, even if I could get some information along the way, wouldn¡¯t help my cause. Pretending to turn fully wouldn¡¯t do anything, either¡ªI¡¯d be practically under lock and key, and I doubted the Senate would trust me any further than they threw me.


    The Consuls wouldn¡¯t risk their positions trying to drag me into their mess¡ªCecilia¡¯s martyr proposition was likely either because one, she wanted a you-rejected-the-first-one-now-you-get-what-you-get bargain to corner me into the Forsaken thing; or two, she actually wanted to get me past the trial unscathed by convincing the Senate that I wasn¡¯t that bad. I wasn¡¯t sure which option was worse, just as I wasn¡¯t sure which one was better.


    Now that I thought about it, there weren¡¯t actually any good political reasons for why she would want me to be executed, not if she had a use for me. But the fact still remained that I could be tried as a scapegoat for the Curia explosion since they hadn¡¯t followed Anaxeres¡¯ trial, which was, quite obviously, not good.


    Some people would want me as a scapegoat, that was for sure.


    It would be a good way out, an easy way¡ªespecially since I had pushed the I-have-no-information on the Consul.


    I was, practically speaking, useless.


    Greta would likely want me to stay here for the remainder of the war, even if the ideal position would be for me to take up my grand ducal duties as soon as possible. Or she would want to break me out as soon as possible.


    One thing hadn¡¯t changed, at least: I still didn¡¯t know what in Tartarus my sister was thinking.


    Or the woman in front of me.


    ¡°The Forsaken border,¡± Cecilia brought up. ¡°It¡¯s an unnecessary drain on our resources, keeping the monsters at bay¡ªbut I¡¯m sure you know that, don¡¯t you?¡± The Consul tilted her head. ¡°That was why the Empire took the risk to strike when the Throne was unsteady, wasn¡¯t it?¡±


    I ignored the question.


    ¡°What does the Republic want me to do at the Forsaken border, then?¡± I asked. ¡°Invigorate your troops? Kill a Minotaur, skin it as a carpet, and bring it home? I¡¯m up for a challenge.¡±


    If they want me to go at all.


    Keeping me guarded throughout the transportation to Gloria would be needlessly hard work. Cecilia might just be dangling the option in front of me to see if I¡¯d bite, but then again I¡¯d steered the conversation so I¡¯d be the one seeing the rope.


    Was she giving me enough rope to hang myself with?


    I knew things, but I didn¡¯t; and to that I smiled as she spoke.


    ¡°We¡¯ll discuss it more another day,¡± promised the Consul, and got ready to get up.


    Yeah, she was dangling it.


    ¡°Of course,¡± I said to the abrupt change of topic, not letting my smile fade as I let my eyes track Cecilia across the room. I heard her call the legionaries back, and they came, stern faces and all.


    I leaned back into the bed of cushions, staring up at the ceiling at the multicolored lights. It was spangled across the arches that made up the roof, dancing across the room the same way the glass spheres were dangled. A familiar viridian, a pretty golden, and a resounding violet.


    The same colors that haunted me, even if they didn¡¯t know that.


    It was pretty, for a prison.


    I turned my head to the legionaries, eyes turned towards their faces as I smiled.


    ¡°Do you guys have any tea?¡±


    <hr>


    Hadrianus, Summanus, Cassia, Tiberius, Quintus, Cornelius, the major players, belonging to either the Romanus or Romus factions.


    Publius, Felicius, Decimus, Manius, Spurius, the minor ones, vassals of said major players.


    And the last: Romanus, Romus.


    The Branches of House Roma, and the seats of the Senate. The twelve patrician seats, and the seats of the two Consuls¡ªthey had been filled, at least temporarily, and the entire affair had taken six hours. It was approaching the middle of the day, the afternoon sun dipping towards the horizon just a bit, and the break consisted of Julian drinking as much water as he could to rid himself of a dry throat.


    Unfortunately, there wasn¡¯t a remedy for thinning patience.


    Cecilia came afterwards, seemingly unrattled, but she seemed tired. Julian tried to speak to her further, but she shut it down for some reason and told him to go visit his parents while she took charge of the rest of the session. The boy hesitated to do so¡ªit would give Romus domination over the rest of the Senate session¡ªbut then again Cecilia had trusted him with the first shift, and so Julian acquiesced in a small leap of faith.


    Julian was about to visit Marcellus either way, what with the Hadrianus situation¡ªJulian¡¯s maternal grandfather had proved unhesitatingly difficult¡ªand the Consul had hopes that Marcellus¡¯ alliance with Hadrianus, without Claudia in the equation, would count for something.


    Even if it meant putting his trust in the slivers of consciousness his father had come in and out of these days¡ªand by consciousness, Julian meant the times when the former Consul spoke like the man he was before.


    The chances were slim, but it was still a chance.


    ¡°Marius.¡±


    Perhaps, Julian thought, it was that statement that had summoned Mother.


    Claudia Hadrianus stood with a smile, leaning at the archway that led into Marcellus¡¯ private gardens.


    ¡°Mother,¡± said the former praetor, masking his uneasiness.


    ¡°Marius,¡± Claudia responded again. ¡°I haven¡¯t seen you in a while¡ªyou¡¯ve been busy, haven¡¯t you, my boy?¡± Her eyes drifted to the uniform he was wearing¡ªcape and all¡ªand the expression on her face faltered, just for a bit, before his mother renewed her smile and reached for his neck.


    The clasp that held the cape around his neck was adjusted, the fabric shifting around his shoulders. Familiar medals on a foreign uniform, but still one he had stared at for as long as he could remember.


    ¡°I have,¡± he answered, mouth moving on his own.


    Cold fingers patted his cheek as Claudia shook his head.


    ¡°My poor son,¡± she murmured. ¡°They¡¯ve been working you hard.¡± She leaned away with a disapproving frown. ¡°Working hard¡¯s all well and good, but make sure to rest once in a while. They promoted you, right? From centurion to primus pilus?¡±


    He didn¡¯t know if she did know and was pretending otherwise, or had forgotten.


    ¡°Yes, I¡¯ve been promoted, Mother,¡± Julian agreed.


    Claudia looked sympathetic. ¡°You¡¯ve worked hard, Marius¡ªbut know that Mother loves you, no matter what.¡±


    Mother did love him. It had always been Mother who had loved him.


    Which was what made the fact that those Imperials had gotten into the Curia through deceiving her so unforgivable.


    ¡°I love you too, Mother,¡± Julian promised, before hesitating. ¡°Did you..hear about Gaius?¡±


    Branch Hadrianus¡¯ formerly prized daughter blinked. ¡°I did¡ªit¡¯s really a pity. Devastating.¡± She said it like it was a courtesy, and that gave Julian pause.


    ¡°Gaius,¡± the boy repeated. ¡°Marianus Gaius Cassia, my¡ªbest friend.¡±


    ¡°Yes, Gaius,¡± Claudia agreed. ¡°The boy with the secrets and spies.¡± Her fractural gaze rested on Julian¡¯s face again. ¡°He didn¡¯t follow my advice. He broke under his burden.¡±


    The words slammed into him a few seconds later.


    ¡°Your...advice, Mother?¡± Julian managed to get out.


    The other hummed. ¡°Yes, my advice¡ª ¡®if all men were fated to be kings, there would be no men.¡¯¡± She turned her face away, staring at the distant horizon. ¡°Your grandfather told me that. He said that I was a soldier, and under the small burden I¡¯d been given, I¡¯d have to accept it.¡± Her hair twisted and turned, the boy¡¯s mother smelling of dirt and flowers.


    ¡°And then he threw me away,¡± she said. ¡°Abandoned me. Like your father. Amadeus was handsome back in the day, you know.¡± Claudia faced her son again. ¡°You look so much like your father, you know that?¡±


    You told me to never become him.


    Words were pulled out of the Consul¡¯s throat. ¡°What did you tell Gaius, Mother?¡±


    Kaleidoscopic eyes shifted.


    ¡°Everything the world told me,¡± answered Claudia, smiling lightly. ¡°That monsters deserve to die.¡±


    Betrayal came again, in a heavier torrent than the last time, but it was mixed with less anger and more shock.


    ¡°You¡ªknew,¡± drew out Julian. ¡°That Marianus was using you.¡±


    The silence that came after could swallow worlds.


    ¡°Of course I knew,¡± responded the other, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. ¡°I told you. Monsters deserve to die: and your father¡ªno, everyone in that building, who fights for this country and themselves?¡± Like telling the conclusion of a bedtime story, Julian¡¯s mother leaned closer. ¡°They¡¯re the worst of them all.¡±


    There was still no anger.


    Julian wanted to be angry.


    He saw the faces of the people he had saved¡ªthe children, the innocents that had been maimed, nearly killed¡ªand they¡¯d started to haunt him more than killing that Minotaur ever did.


    His Mother¡ª


    Claudia¡¯s gaze flickered innocently. ¡°You¡¯re angry.¡± She tilted her head. ¡°Even before we talked, you were angry at something. Everything. And someone, too.¡±


    His chest felt like he was suffocating, and¡ª


    ¡ªhis mother reached forward and wiped away forming tears.


    ¡°Don¡¯t be angry,¡± the Consul¡¯s mother advised.


    Pieces of a woman that once was, a picture that Julian had never seen before. Shattered, reformed, cast and re-cast.


    ¡°If they¡¯re like me,¡± Claudia said, ¡°and I have a feeling that they are¡ªthen they only did what they had to do.¡±


    The words were empty, and no one spoke them, but Julian heard.


    Choices, choices, choices.


    <hr>

 58. Interlude: Star (Part I)

    <hr>


    As man sows, so shall he reap. In works of fiction, such men are sometimes converted. More often, in real life, they do not change their natures until they are converted into dust.


    <hr>


    As You Sow


    PAST


    TO GIVE THE REPUBLIC CREDIT, Marcellus thought, the political difference between Imperial and Republica methods of succession had been debated over for a long time.


    One side called the other barbarous and cruel; the other would retaliate by writing about primal nepotism. The Republic would accuse the Empire of searching for a crude meritocracy (where the merit was being able to kill people) in the name of religion, and the Empire would argue back by saying the Republic¡¯s militaristic culture meant basically the same back, except worse.


    It was less of a vicious cycle, and more of a series of whispers done behind closed political doors. Ever since the Skirmish, there¡¯d been a lot of change in Imperial-Republica relations: the Angelian Reforms on the Empire¡¯s end, as one; but the Republic had experienced a mighty blow to the, quote, ¡°gut, and the ego.¡± It wasn¡¯t something you could classify as just ¡°change.¡±


    Marcellus had been taught about Keto, the Stronghold¡ªFort¡ªthat was now more commonly known as Notus. It had been a source of borderline flaunting (of military might), and, as the tutors taught it, a symbol of how the great Republic Roma stood against the Empire and their Chosen.


    Apparently.


    But that didn¡¯t change the fact that the Republic¡¯s wariness had turned into fear. As the years prolonged, some people forgot, but that ¡°some¡± never became ¡°all.¡± Patricians preached that the current Anothen-Kato population living in harmony meant that the Republic was tolerant to differences in religion, some even portraying the Empire as Anothen zealots (with the Slaughter as an example), but just because there wasn¡¯t a problem in that aspect on the surface didn¡¯t mean there wasn¡¯t one.


    The Forsaken population in the Republic, many of whom were Kato, swelled whenever the monsters grew in the winter. It was an open secret that the Republic shared an agreement with the Union to carve away at the border together with Gloria, but common knowledge didn¡¯t erase the fact that it was a turbulent relationship.


    Hypocrisy.


    There would always be those patricians who said that they were concerned about population this and resource that, as if they didn¡¯t hoard more than the rest. ¡°They¡¯ll waste our current supply,¡± they would argue. ¡°More people means more mouths to feed.¡±


    It wasn¡¯t pity that Marcellus felt for the Union, it was a strange emotion. Like you were watching a person from another group get beaten up by a person you were on the same side with, but you couldn¡¯t do anything about it, because those people you were taught to have a bond with.


    It was his country¡ªit was as simple as that. Even if the people around him were idiots, they were his idiots¡ªwithout endearment or affection. His burden. He couldn¡¯t run away from it¡ªthis would be his role until the day he died. And he deserved to live: why would he die for his honor, when he could die for the country¡¯s?


    He just needed to suck it up.


    All that hypocrisy, all that foolishness, all that cowardice.


    It was simple, living out something predetermined.


    This is my destiny was too poetic.


    This is my burden, would be more accurate.


    Whatever embers of a dream at a normal life would die out, because there was no point in thinking otherwise. It wasn¡¯t complicated:


    Live.


    ¡°To live is to die,¡± he said aloud now, to Evander. Yes, Evander. The Romus scion he supposedly needed to compete with in the Senate. The boy with the too-dry smile and too-suspicious eyes. Valerius Evander Romus was very, very charming when he wanted to be, Marcellus had realized very early on. And very, very smart. Charismatic under that straightforward demeanor. A person who was deceptively honest.


    ¡°Is that a reference?¡± Valerius raised both eyebrows. ¡°Sounds depressing.¡±


    ¡°No,¡± Marcellus responded, ¡°at least, to the reference part.¡±


    This was their...third deployment together, if Marcellus remembered right. They practically lived together¡ªtrained together, shared a room together, got drinks together; to the point where there were whispers about whether or not the next heirs of Romus and Romanus would need to get adopted.


    (The last word was always said with scandal. The importance placed on Hero blood didn¡¯t help the non-nepotistic rebuttal.)


    Valerius was easy enough to get along with.


    ¡°My mother told me that,¡± was all Marcellus began with. ¡°If a person is made up of their dreams, hopes¡ªambitions¡ªthen, eventually, some of them will change as their experiences do: because, well, experiences shape what you want to do, and who you want to be.¡± He reached for a glass, fingers reaching shy of the handle before Valerius¡¯ hand closed over the grip. It was casual, but caused the then-primus pilus to look up before continuing to speak.


    ¡°As they change, and as they die, she said a little part of ourselves die too, on the inside. But that¡¯s life¡ªexperiences change who you are. There¡¯s nothing wrong about it¡ªthere¡¯s nothing wrong with living.¡± The alcohol had loosened Marcellus¡¯ tongue.


    ¡°And?¡± Valerius¡¯ hand was still there, more of a silent move than anything else. This was a political play, Marcellus realized: when that sharp edge to his friend came, it was with the intent to cut. ¡°What about dying? Is there nothing wrong with dying?¡±


    Eyes met.


    ¡°There¡¯s nothing fundamentally wrong with it,¡± enunciated the Romanus scion. ¡°Things disappear. People die. The world changes¡ªbut there¡¯s no way to tell people what to feel. They can reach for false hopes, they can despair¡ªbut what¡¯s it to us?¡±The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.


    It wasn¡¯t disgust that made Valerius pull away at that second¡ªit was revelation.


    ¡°Aren¡¯t you fighting for your country? Your people?¡± The Romus scion didn¡¯t sound repulsed, just confused, and perhaps that was repulsive in itself.


    Like a person who¡¯d thought they solved a puzzle, realizing they solved it wrong.


    Marcellus gave a wave. The motion was sluggish. ¡°Can I claim the people to be mine? Once you get into that hole of belonging, there¡¯s no going back¡ªthis is mine, that¡¯s not yours. There¡¯s always the takers, and never the givers. I¡¯m a part of this country, I¡¯m a member of the people here¡ªthey¡¯re not mine. You don¡¯t have to own something in order to defend it, but being a part of a group makes you care about its survival. Pragmatism, practicality¡ªcall it whatever you want, but it all boils down to what you feel in the end. Emotion.¡±


    His vision was hazy, just a bit.


    ¡°I don¡¯t care about this country, or its people, or whatever hogwash they spout. What I care about is myself, my honor, my¡ª¡±


    It was the alcohol.


    ¡°If I don¡¯t care about something,¡± Marcellus whispered, ¡°they can¡¯t take it away from me.¡± The primus pilus drove his hand into the table, the glasses on it twinkling and clinking as they pushed against each other. If this had been in the open, maybe he would¡¯ve held his tongue, but¡ª


    ¡°I don¡¯t care about this country.¡±


    And he never would.


    Valerius opened his mouth, about to say something¡ª


    <hr>


    ¡ª ¡°Monster,¡± Claudia said.


    She lay battered on the floor of the tent, arms pale and bare but back criss-crossed with angry scars, glass weaving a bloodied tapestry of skin. She wasn¡¯t angry, she had something brewing in her that was far worse than that. She was beginning to hate him.


    Marcellus somehow knew that doing something¡ªanything: apologizing, rescuing her, loving her¡ªwouldn¡¯t erase this story. He could try: he could sing to her flowers after this, plant a garden and watch their son run around descretating it, but at this moment, right now, this was a story and he was the villain. He was the husband who had left her to rot in the pits of Tartarus, who let her be tortured and humiliated and broken. He was the monster¡ªa monster¡ªand maybe she was right.


    He could offer a hand right now.


    There had been a hope once that he would¡¯ve taken care of Claudia. Loved her. Cherished her with some form of loyalty. She was his burden¡ªan unwanted one, but then again all burdens were unwanted¡ªbut he was hers too. He couldn¡¯t love her, but he could try.


    That hope¡ªthat dream¡ªdied in this story.


    She wanted him to die, there was no doubt about that.


    Villains¡ªmonsters¡ªwere supposed to die.


    As she fell unconscious, hurling that last accusation, he felt his subordinates behind him look at him: with not pity, but disgust.


    Yes, everyone knew.


    The story of the honorable general and his beautiful wife and loyal son?


    It was dying, even¡ª


    <hr>


    ¡ª ¡°After all I¡¯ve done for this country.¡±


    He¡¯d heard that phrase many times.


    ¡°After all I¡¯ve done for this country,¡± they would scream, after getting forgotten and outcast.


    ¡°After all I¡¯ve done for this country,¡± they would weep, at the graves of their families and friends.


    ¡°After all I¡¯ve done for this country,¡± they would say in indignation, laying their sacrifices bare.


    And what have you done for this country? the others would ask.


    The angry ones would show their wounds and scars, their losses and betrayals; the weeping ones would name their loves lost and battles won, old memories and depict haunting dreams; the indignant ones would embellish their sacrifices and claim shallow waters deep¡ªand, funnily enough, it was always the indignant ones that won at the end of the day.


    A sob story of the past was nothing more than a consolation prize from war, a prize that scored you nothing but pats on the back from ¡°patriots¡± and pity from bleeding hearts. A true patriot wouldn¡¯t be angry at the country they served, wouldn¡¯t they? Why should a true patriot cry for something that wasn¡¯t their country? Why should patriots believe in anything but their leaders?


    Marcellus looked towards the sky.


    And what have you done for this country? they would ask him, and he wouldn¡¯t show him scars or people: the world had enough of anger and sadness and pity.


    Enough, he would claim.


    I have done enough. Because he had¡ª


    <hr>


    ¡ªThe boy who was his son.


    Julian.


    He didn¡¯t stare at Marcellus¡¯ medals as much as the former glanced at them when he thought Marcellus wouldn¡¯t notice.


    The Consul had to give it to the boy: Marcellus didn¡¯t know what exactly Julian was staring at until the fifth-or-so time. And then it was obvious.


    It was the award he hated.


    The one that had been given to him because the Senate had slacked off and managed to get his wife kidnapped. It was prestigious, yes, but it had been the accumulation of years and years of lesser awards that he¡¯d given up for political advancement.


    The Star.


    ¡°Do you want it, boy?¡± asked Marcellus one day.


    The boy was hesitant. ¡°Yes¡ªYour Consulship.¡±


    Everything in moderation, except cruelty in war.


    His son would need to know.


    ¡°Hand.¡±


    Marcellus turned and lowered himself to the ground, detaching the star from his chest and pressing it into his son¡¯s awaiting palm.


    ¡°You need five things to survive in this world, like the five points on this star, Marius.¡±


    The Consul put his hand on one point.


    ¡°Honor.¡±


    Honor to yourself.


    He moved it to another.


    ¡°Loyalty.¡±


    Loyalty to those you promise it to.


    Another.


    ¡°Prestige.¡±


    Prestige in the eyes of all.


    ¡°Bravery.¡±


    Bravery to act.


    ¡°Trust.¡±


    Trust who you are.


    That would be the only piece of advice he would need in this life and the next.


    Marcellus opened his mouth as the boy met his gaze¡ª


    <hr>


    ¡ªand, decades later, a man woke up from his dream, sweating with the taste of long-gone alcohol on his tongue. His back burned, searing with pain and he remembered a collision and an explosion, muttered orders and a dead friend, a wife that hated him and a country that needed him¡ªand, most of all, a star under his fingers.


    It was his turn now.


    His son, the patriot.


    <hr>

 59. Interlude: Star (Part II)

    <hr>


    As man sows, so shall he reap. In works of fiction, such men are sometimes converted. More often, in real life, they do not change their natures until they are converted into dust.


    <hr>


    So Shall You Reap


    PAST


    Evimeria, Tyche


    They say the end defines the means, but Anaxeres realized from a young age that the opposite was true.


    If you had terrible means¡ªor if you used the wrong ones¡ªyou wouldn¡¯t live to see the end.


    Nephele Evimeria was one of Anaxeres¡¯ more famous forebears. She was Lysimachos¡¯ lover, killed by the Insane Emperor himself after the Slaughter began. There had been scandalous rumors of how her child¡ªthe Duke of Tyche after¡ªhad been Dantaleus¡¯, of how she¡¯d bewitched the entire Palace, etc. etc., but all possibilities of it being luck had been out of the equation.


    She¡¯d been reportedly very very callous, very very proud, and very very beautiful, which was apparently a very dangerous combination.


    But what hadn¡¯t been revealed to the public was her journals. Even though she hadn¡¯t been a Cardinal, she had been in charge of the Imperial spies for quite a while¡ªwhile she¡¯d lived, until she¡¯d died. My spiders, she called them. My eyes and ears.


    Secrets.


    So many secrets.


    Anaxeres was enchanted with them while he was younger.


    He¡¯d gone gambling for the first time when he was thirteen. That was also the first instance where he¡¯d shot himself in the head and lived.


    It started with a kidnapping by a slightly off-kilter Denmaster.


    ¡°And¡ª aww, Lord Anaxeres, you¡¯ve lost¡ªa hundred drachmas!¡±


    The Denmaster smiled.


    ¡°All in a good day¡¯s work,¡± Anaxeres said, voice trembling, just to keep the guy talking.


    Mother please rescue me. Mother please¡ª


    Anaxeres remembered, very distinctly, almost wetting his pants. The warm light from an abandoned gambling Den, the stench of alcohol and dust so thick he¡¯d nearly coughed, and the blurry face of a man who terrified him. Thankfully, all the guy had done was make Anaxeres play games with the former¡ªcard games, games the young lord knew due to his mother teaching him when he was younger.


    Solitaire. Old Maid. Blackjack. Mostly Rhianite games¡ª


    But next, the Denmaster pulled a stack of cards and a golden gun from under the table.


    ¡°Alright,¡± said the Denmaster, after a moment¡¯s hesitation. ¡°We¡¯ll begin the match! Whoever loses, takes a shot!¡±


    That was also distinctly when Anaxeres remembered starting to cry.


    The Denmaster prattled on, explaining a game, and the abducted thirteen-year-old boy was shaking.


    His guards had been all killed¡ªshot by that very gun; and now the kidnapper was reloading it so that there was a ¡°chance game to be played.¡±


    ¡°You won¡¯t play, will you?¡± asked the older man, daringly. He cackled. ¡°Tyche is a fucking Tartarian city, little boy. And your mother¡¯s running it into the ground by helping out Alina Evlogia and her cronies in Doxa¡ªand you¡¯ll be the price she has to pay if she doesn¡¯t stop helping Evlogia right now.¡± He put his fingers out to retrieve the gun in the middle, withdrawing the game¡ª


    ¡ªAnd Anaxeres still to this day didn¡¯t know how the fuck he put his hands forward and took the gun from the older man.


    ¡°L-Let¡¯s play,¡± he managed to say.


    A shocked silence, but Anaxeres didn''t distinctly remember the Denmaster saying yes or no, or what he said, but the game had begun.


    Younger him had lost¡ªand oh, his hands had been shaking and his eyes had been tearing up, but the adrenaline was well worth it. Unfortunately, out of all the chambers, the first shot had been loaded. The bullet had slammed into his head with the force of, well, a bullet; and blood had cascaded from his head¡ªand darkness, in all its hypnotizing kaleidscopic glory, had ebbed and flowed as he fell to the ground, trying to scream.


    He remembered the Denmaster¡¯s panic, but that was all he knew of that day before waking up in his bed a Dayhept later, amidst worried attendants; and Anaxeres had lied.


    He''d said that the kidnapper had shot him.


    The kidnapper was sentenced to death.


    And that was the day when a lost gamble changed everything.


    Because he saw the finish line that day.


    The end.


    <hr>


    They came when she called. Like dogs.


    See, that was a barbaric comparison. Arguably.


    But you could argue anything.


    Anaxeres knew about Delphine¡¯s secret strategy manuals. It was published under a pen name, of course, but given that the issue had first been raised through his network, he knew. Socialites, like Timaios and Josephine and everyone before them, could raise alarms and start scandals¡ªand Anaxeres didn¡¯t discredit their work: they were very good at what they did¡ªbut some secrets could ruin a nation while some just ruined lives.


    It was just a matter of telling which was which.


    Who to tell? Who was lying? Who was telling the truth?


    Questions and answers, answers and questions.


    He¡¯d already tested his luck once, his mother kept saying before she died¡ªwhy did he insist on doing so again and again?


    Dance on the blade of a knife and you¡¯ll get cut.


    The Empress had told him a secret that could arguably ruin Gods.


    ¡°A trade,¡± she¡¯d agreed. ¡°For allegiance to a nation, why not a secret that could destroy it?¡±


    And Greta had told him.


    The late Emperor¡¯s dalliance, a son that had been erased from history and memory. Until Anastasia Andino had died, only two people had known Nikephoros¡¯ secret¡ªGreta had erased her father¡¯s memory, and Orion¡¯s; leaving no trace of the Emperor¡¯s violation of piety.


    Why, she was practically handing Anaxeres a weapon.


    But why?


    What was true? What was false?Reading on Amazon or a pirate site? This novel is from Royal Road. Support the author by reading it there.


    Anaxeres stood at the entrance of the Den. It bore the curse of Tychean infrastructure¡ªthe tops were choked with mist, giving it the ghastly old Evimeria look, but the entrance was decorated with twinkling lights that served as homing beacons in the fog. The Duke himself donned a cloak that shrouded his frame and shoulders, silken on his skin and gloves, as he stood in front of the door.


    Aeron Andino.


    If used wisely, this could be a thorn in Greta¡¯s side. If used incorrectly, and Anaxeres had no proof to back up his claim¡ªif the Duke would publicize the secret behind Aeron, at all¡ªhe¡¯d be practically inviting the Imperial Family to his doorstep. Even his dear friend Arathis, if the former wanted to, would have no mercy.


    The Duke had pledged his allegiance to Greta¡¯s reign, as well as surrendering his¡ªand Tyche¡¯s¡ªcontrol over the Imperial spies. Greta having control only extended towards the duration of the (potential) conflict that the Empress hinted at, and based on the hints the newly-crowned Empress was playing a very dangerous game.


    But aren¡¯t we all?


    The gambler, after another moment, crossed the threshold and sat in a corner after greeting the Denmaster. Flint.


    A man came soon after, speaking to Flint in a friendly tone, before casting a glance towards the Duke. Anaxeres was tempted to wave, but he put on his mysterious persona and sat solemnly, hands clasped. As Aeron drew nearer, the dim lights of the Den (the Den like that very day, the gun and the blood and the thrill) shifted and revealed a face that looked nothing like Nikephoros¡ªsure, there was a resemblance; but it was faint.


    That was bad.


    ¡°Heya there, mate,¡± said the dealer. ¡°How may I help yer?¡±


    A thick Tychean accent.


    Anaxeres leaned back.


    ¡°I¡¯m looking,¡± said the man who¡¯d tempted fate, ¡°for an Aeron Nameless.¡±


    He would see the end.


    <hr>


    Diamandis, Notus


    They say the end defines the means, but Petra realized from a young age that the opposite was true.


    They stood.


    Some argued that the people of the world had only one thing in common¡ªamidst all that vainglory and greed and selfishness¡ªand that was the desire for conflict.


    Sure, others argued back, the human race was a violent one; but to say conflict was human nature would be to excuse the ¡°bad¡± actions of the individual and praise ¡°goodness¡± in other people when it was what is expected.


    How much bad could you blame on ¡°human nature¡± and how much good was the individual themselves?


    A person wasn¡¯t born a blank slate¡ªthey were already written on by birth, by whichever circumstances they were ¡°destined¡± to be raised in, and for Petra those circumstances had been as the illegitimate child of Diamandis.


    Petra Castellanos.


    Petra¡¯s mother had been a good mother.


    Yes. A good mother.


    It was in her memory that they took over Notus and nearly destroyed the Diamandis duchy.


    Yes. In her memory.


    Totally not because of the fact that Petra wanted money and power.


    Of course.


    The general and their comrades, battered bandits and rogues, poured beer into mugs as the group who held three quarters of Notus talked. One man with a grizzled beard and a beer-stained mouth drunkenly clambered atop the long oak table, staggering at times as he raised a full-to-the-brim mug.


    ¡°To all the Gods!¡± He lurched. ¡°All the people we¡¯ve sacrificed, all the people we¡¯ve doomed! Everyone who¡¯s abandoned us, everyone who called us lost, we¡ª¡± he thumped his chest violently, spilling alcohol on the pot roast near his boots ¡°¡ªfight! And I¡¯m here to give a toast to our general. Bastard that they are, bastard that all of us are, they brought us together. Rogues, cut-throats¡ªeven old Rudolph there, who stole my beer when I was on shift near the walls¡ªare here for you.¡±


    The drunken man raised his goblet.


    ¡°A toast! Huzzah to our army of the lost and abandoned!¡±


    ¡°HUZZAH!¡±


    The inn erupted in laughter after the toast, scarred bandits cheerily exchanging jokes and gory anecdotes¡ªit was as if this was a family gathering, and not a celebration of a takeover of a Cardinal Stronghold. Sure, once in a while the conversation would take a concerning turn¡ª¡°Didn¡¯t we kill that noble family because they were trying to support Diamandis?¡± or ¡°Wasn¡¯t that the Republica spy that tried to poison the general?¡±¡ªbut it was lively even when it wasn¡¯t.


    Republica and Imperi, spoken hand in hand like a mixed language, flooded the room; even some Tartari expressions here and there.


    Of course, in other places, even knowing some of the Union¡¯s language would get you mauled; but here¡ªNotus being the most Kato-friendly place in the Empire¡ªit was less religious blasphemy and more, ¡°hey, where¡¯d you learn that?¡± But Notus was different in the way that you didn¡¯t really have the time to ask questions: if you weren¡¯t busy worrying about whether you¡¯d get robbed in broad daylight, you were busy worrying about finding who to rob in said broad daylight.


    It was an Imperial thing.


    ¡°Another!¡± bellowed a drunk bandit, after leaning back and stumbling into another drunk bandit, who leaned back into, lo behold, a crowd of drunk bandits. The atmosphere didn¡¯t shift but the bellowing drunk got a kick in his rear and was booted onto the floor.


    Playing cards were distributed in a corner¡ªthe entire pub was filled with Petra¡¯s army¡ªand a woman threw a royal flush down to an uproar, cackling as she raked in piles of twinkling drachmas. Appetizers were clinked together instead of glasses, miniature cubes of meat meeting each other in unhygienic cheers, and the celebration continued like a parade no one could stop.


    Except it was, Petra thought.


    Stopped, they meant.


    With the obstruction of a knife slicing into a cake¡ªexcept the cake was moldy and had the texture of a stone, making the knife¡¯s entrance a jagged hammering of an axe that brought out all the annoyance it possibly could¡ªthe raucous chaos was interrupted.


    The doors to the tavern crumpled in, and an army of soldiers marched in.


    At the head was a woman dressed in the uniform of the Imperial Army¡ªthe Notian branch¡ªwho was, conveniently, Petra¡¯s father¡¯s beloved henchman. She made a beeline for Petra, the festivities pausing as everyone rose to their feet and reached for their weapons, and so Petra smiled as they came face-to-face.


    They didn¡¯t get up from their seat at the table, and at that the woman wrinkled her nose distastefully.


    ¡°Petra Castellanos,¡± she acknowledged, drawing out the words, ¡°I am here as a messenger from His Grace, Duke Diamandis of Notus, and to inform you that you have been recognized by the current Duke of Notus as a successor to the Diamandis Duchy.¡± As if the words were poison, the woman pressed her lips together and kneeled afterwards, the guards behind her following.


    ¡°I¡ª¡± again, like the words were poison ¡°¡ªpledge my allegiance to the line of Diamandis.¡±


    A long, long silence.


    And then Petra laughed¡ªthey laughed long and hard, pulling their lips into a hard grin in the silence that followed.


    ¡°Well,¡± the general said under their breath, ¡°sure took you long enough.¡±


    <hr>


    Petra Castellanos, Ducal Lord of Notus.


    If their troops demanded to ignore the surrender¡ªand it was basically a surrender, they¡¯d come to understand¡ªand shove past to take Notus through violence, Petra wasn¡¯t sure how much losses they would take (not could take, the wording was obvious¡ªthe rogues, as they¡¯d taken to calling themselves, had the upper hand here).


    Petra¡¯s father, the old man, was offering a ceasefire instead of bloodshed. With the Duke¡¯s official recognition of Petra¡¯s title, all was well and good. Of course, the general had killed their father at the behest of, well, revenge; but after that all was well and good. Petra¡¯s best people were awarded seats at the Notian Council and the title of Chancellor, and the former had finally strong-armed the Empire into submission¡ªmeaning that the Emperor Nikephoros himself would see Petra¡¯s standing¡ªand the conflict had ended.


    They heard what others said.


    Strategy or brute force? How much of it was luck and how much was ability?


    Petra was at the center of the storm, so they couldn¡¯t really see the sheer size of it; but they knew that what they had done was, as everyone else told them, ¡°incredible.¡±


    They¡¯d led an army of the lost and abandoned, and won.


    The ends define the means, after all.


    And they would see the end.


    <hr>


    Diamandis, Notus


    -After a Certain Republica Consul Was Told to Betray His Country


    Two figures stood, in the tent.


    ¡°The point of all this,¡± a Ducal Lord said in the silence, ¡°is that we¡¯re giving the guy enough rope to hang himself, and¡ªI know I hated when people did that to me, but...does the fucker really deserve it?¡±


    A Duke put his hands on their shoulders. ¡°Does anyone?¡± Anaxeres asked quietly, his broad face for once still.


    Petra shook the gambler off. ¡°I¡¯m not asking if this is right, Naxy,¡± they rebuked in a lowered tone. ¡°I¡¯m telling you this is wrong.¡± Their eyes were heated as they met the Duke¡¯s gaze¡ªclear as water, Anaxeres¡¯ eyes always had been: serene as a madman awaiting death. ¡°The fucker doesn¡¯t deserve it,¡± Petra continued. ¡°And I¡¯m not saying it because I¡¯m a bastard, too¡ªI¡¯m saying this as a person.¡±


    A beat.


    ¡°Are you going to stop doing this,¡± Anaxeres said, ¡°just because it¡¯s wrong?¡±


    Petra snorted. ¡°You¡¯re asking questions that you already know the answer to,¡± they responded, voice plummeting to a whisper. Bandages shifted over their wounds, scars mottling their arms, as they spoke again. ¡°Can we stop at all?¡±


    The ends justify the means.


    Both of them looked, through layers of fabric and sky, at the Sky they were under. On it glistened a splattering of stars, constellations that formed stories, and they would form their own.


    What is a person¡¯s destiny, if not to die breathing in the Sky?


    Where is a person¡¯s destiny, if not written in the stars?


    There would be an end to all this.


    And both of them would live to see it.


    <hr>

 60. Blood I

    <hr>


    War makes monsters of men, you once told me.


    Well, so does too much knowledge. Too much knowledge of your fellow man, too much knowledge of their weakness, their pathetic greed and vanity, and how laughably easy it is to control them.


    <hr>


    MERCY WAS NOT FEELING WELL.


    She didn¡¯t have a fever, stomachache, or any of the sort - rather, she thought, an ear-splitting migraine that won''t go away any time soon. A migraine that was inversely proportional to the amount of sleep she had gotten last night.


    ¡°Driven mad with worry,¡± was now a metaphor she could relate to.


    Where was she?


    It was a question that was answered by Anaxeres the Duke, yes; but it was a whirring cog, hammering teeth and all - there was a mechanical certainty in the fact that she asked herself that. It was a spinning of the wheel of every question, a wheel that led back to one result:


    Where was she?


    Where was Seraphina Queenscage?


    The Romanus Estate.


    Why was she there?


    (The answer was I don¡¯t know, so it didn¡¯t count as a question, not really.)


    What is she doing now?


    (Also not a question.)


    Where is she?


    The look on Xandros¡¯ face when she¡¯d told him¡ªshe sometimes forgot she was his junior in age¡ªwas as if Mercy had said the sky was falling.


    Her Highness is gone.


    When he¡¯d recovered from his shock and formed the syllables - gone where? - Anaxeres had strolled by and provided the answer.


    The Romanus Estate, of course. Where else would she be?


    Here, Mercy wanted to reply.


    She¡¯s supposed to be here.


    Xandros was sitting beside her, legs swinging over a box that sat in a corner of the squat flat, dark hair resembling brown in the sunlight. His suspicious, contorted glare of a face had changed as they¡¯d stayed together¡ªless suspicious and more bland, in the city; less bland and more animated while travelling; and less animated and more energetic in recent days. It was almost a miraculous transformation, in the folding of his face¡ªbut the tension in his shoulders had never loosened, not even once.


    A Gordian knot.


    ¡°Well,¡± he remarked as she went over, ¡°you look like shit.¡±


    She didn¡¯t mince her words.


    ¡°And feel like it, too,¡± she responded dryly.


    He scooted over without being prompted, and the assassin slipped into the empty space silently.


    Xandros was silent. ¡°Is she¡ª?¡±


    ¡°Still gone.¡±


    ¡°Right. Are we going to rescue her?¡±


    Mercy shrugged. ¡°Do you want to?¡±


    The other shifted uneasily. ¡°I mean, aren¡¯t they going to, you know, torture her something?¡± There was bite, and it was meant with hostility, but it fell apart.


    ¡°She hasn¡¯t ordered me to rescue her.¡±


    It was a bad answer, Mercy knew.


    Alexandros looked her in the eye. ¡°Did the people in the Lower Quarter seriously let you get away with this bullshit?¡±


    It stung even though it wasn¡¯t supposed to.


    ¡°Whoever has the better knife gets away with anything,¡± Xanthe retorted back, irritated. ¡°Aren¡¯t you supposed to know that, Guard initiate?¡± Even in her darkest times, she had never even thought about joining the Guard¡ªjust thinking about those corrupt debt collectors made her taste something sour.


    Alexandros¡¯ face darkened, and the silence itself soured.


    ¡°What were you doing?¡± he finally asked. ¡°Before she picked you up?¡±


    How did she pick you up, was the unspoken question.


    Xanthe shrugged. ¡°My brother was a friend of hers,¡± she said, evading it but not quite. ¡°She searched for me after he died.¡±


    There were no condolences offered as the other raised an eyebrow. ¡°Out of responsibility?¡±


    The assassin snorted. ¡°What do you think?¡±


    In fact, she didn¡¯t know. It wasn¡¯t out of pity, that was for sure. Guilt had been a very strong option¡ªand still was, in fact. But the fact that Seraphina had turned down Xanthe¡¯s Oath¡ªhad it been a decision made out of emotion or rationale? It had been a long time since Xanthe had decided to stop asking questions¡ªeven though the three (now four) Daycycles she¡¯d been with Seraphina hadn¡¯t been a very long time¡ªbut they were still there.


    ¡°I don¡¯t know,¡± replied Alexandros with a shrug. ¡°I don¡¯t know anything about Boss. But you do.¡±


    Yes.


    Mercy did.


    She¡¯d never separated from the Princess in the...one hundred twenty? Approximately? Yes, one hundred and twenty days they¡¯d been together. They even slept under the same roof, in a slightly less creepy connotation. Sometimes Xanthe even had to ask the maids¡ªat their discretion, of course¡ªto move a small cot in the corner of the Princess¡¯ room when the assassin had a particularly bad feeling, and Seraphina hadn¡¯t even batted an eye.


    The Princess had just asked whether Xanthe was going to take her dinner together in the room, and whether she wanted to play Crown.


    A friend? A companion? A very scary employer?


    Xanthe always had a multitude of questions when it came to the Princess Seraphina.


    None of them were answered.


    ¡°I don¡¯t,¡± she responded, finally. ¡°No one knows her.¡± Not even herself, sometimes.


    It wasn¡¯t unpredictability, it was volatility. You had to have at least some sort of shield in order to interact with her and make it out in one piece. That was just the sort of person she was: Seraphina didn¡¯t bring destruction, she made you get destroyed yourself. Mercy doubted she even realized it.


    The Princess was a collection of turbulent winds: sure, it was your choice to captain a ship alone and try to make it alive to the eye of the storm.


    And that was where they were, Xanthe had realized.


    If you were by her side, you moved with her. You wouldn¡¯t get hurt. Xanthe sometimes doubted the position of Seraphina¡¯s siblings in the storm¡ªthey weren¡¯t her companions or her subordinates, but never once had Seraphina considered fighting against them¡ªat least, politically. They all were separate entities¡ªplanets, coexisting within each other¡¯s orbits; hurricanes that existed on the same plane.


    And two of the hurricanes were gone.


    ¡°Do you think she feels sad?¡± Alexandros asked. ¡°Right now, I mean. I¡¯ve never seen her sad, not really¡ªcrying and being sad aren¡¯t the same thing.¡±


    Mercy raised her eyebrows.


    ¡°You don¡¯t see it?¡±


    Her eyes flickered from Xandros to the window, where curtains obscured a sunset.


    ¡°She¡¯s always sad. And angry¡ªit¡¯s not that she doesn¡¯t feel emotion, it¡¯s just that she expresses it differently.¡± The assassin examined the ridges of the Republica buildings¡ªin the Eternal City, Boreas, Notus, Zephyr, and even Azareth the sunset looked the same. Irritatingly bright. ¡°Why else would she fight?¡± Mercy asked the boy beside her. ¡°Why do you think she fights?¡±


    Xandros shrugged. ¡°To survive?¡±


    ¡°She doesn¡¯t need to fight to survive,¡± the other corrected. ¡°She already did, once. Now she¡¯s fighting to live. With herself, with the world¡ªwhichever.¡±


    ¡°¡®Those who search for an end will find one,¡¯¡± quoted the orphan. Not understanding, but a sudden furrow wormed its way into Alexandros¡¯ dark brows. ¡°Captain said that.¡±


    Lionel Moreau.


    ¡°Why doesn¡¯t she want an end?¡± questioned the other orphan. ¡°Why isn¡¯t she searching for one?¡±


    To be Seraphina Queenscage was a wretched existence¡ªthe longer time you spent with her, the more you would know.


    ¡°Does she think she doesn¡¯t deserve one?¡± Alexandros said.


    Mercy shrugged. ¡°Maybe, deep down.¡± She looked back at the boy. ¡°But the point is, she wants to make a better future for the people she¡¯s seen. People like us. Maybe she won¡¯t admit it, maybe she hasn¡¯t realized it yet, but she¡¯s already doing it. Look at us¡ªlook at us, Nameless.¡±


    Seraphina had made Xanthe into an adopted daughter of a barony. If Xanthe¡¯s ¡°parents¡± died, she¡¯d be a baroness. And they seemed decent enough for people who¡¯d been bribed into it: maybe, when things settled down, Xanthe would get to know them better. Maybe.


    It had been an almost rags-to-riches Tale, being the assassin of arguably one of the most powerful people in the Empire. Even if Seraphina was still a seventeen year old girl, Xanthe was all set. She believed in Seraphina, more than she believed in anything else. And sure, maybe the assassin would march up to Anaxeres after this and demand a course of action, but nobody needed to know that. Maybe.


    ¡°My brother,¡± Xanthe said aloud, ¡°was a Chosen.¡± She remembered glimmering blue eyes and a toothy smile, a boy good with a knife and good with his words¡ªdamnably good in an argument and a fight. Caspian cared about his sister¡ªlike he¡¯d always done¡ªbut they¡¯d fought.


    ¡°We fought a lot,¡± she conceded. ¡°I didn¡¯t believe him when he said that he had no choice but to go to the Cage¡ªCas wanted to change the Empire. He wanted to rise high and I believed¡ªstill do¡ªthat he wanted to experience the thrill of the fall just as much.¡±


    Now, there was recognition.


    ¡°She killed him,¡± Alexandros said, the subtext evident.


    ¡°In her way, yes. But she loved him,¡± Xanthe replied. ¡°Liked him, cared about him¡ªthe word makes no difference if the meanings are the same.¡±


    The eye of the storm.


    ¡°Loving Seraphina Queenscage will make no difference,¡± Mercy said to the orphan, green eyes overlapping dark ones and faint blues, ¡°but believing in her?¡±


    That changes everything.


    <hr>


    Macedon was a free man.


    Metaphorically, of course.Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on Royal Road.


    He¡¯d spent the first few days drinking his joy away¡ªhe¡¯d basically fired all the incomptent employees, hired new ones, and was now possessing quite a sizable source of income. The Emerald Seas was refurbished after the scandal at the investigation, bringing in more customers with money, and catering more to the affluent clients while keeping the old ones. Sometimes Macedon loaned money to the more desperate ones, swooping in with his enforcers when they didn¡¯t pay up, which meant that he had made Seraphina a very, very rich Princess.


    Sure, he couldn¡¯t embezzle anymore; but the cut he¡¯d negotiated out of Mercy was worthwhile. He was content, even if the itch in his fingers to erase a zero or two hadn¡¯t subsided. The action itself was easy, but the consequences were not.


    But that Oath.


    It bound him to Seraphina, practically forever¡ªMacedon knew that the Princess was a...fair leader, if a bit...extreme at times. She wasn¡¯t impartial, nor did she pretend to be, but she wasn¡¯t bad to her subordinates (and that was what they were: all they were). Macedon owed a lot to her, and she knew he knew it.


    She¡¯d transformed a lowly con artist into the manager of a large courtesan house, a well-respected Sir of the gentry, and an admittedly wealthy man.


    All she¡¯d demanded was his skills and loyalty, and both he¡¯d given.


    ¡°You¡¯re slacking.¡±


    Alyssa le Callas with the red hair narrowed her eyes at Macedon as she spoke. The one named Alia Bloodthorn¡ªSeraphina¡¯s official secretary¡ªwas next to the redhead, sniffing aristocratically while holding an expensive-looking clipboard.


    ¡°What else would you have expected?¡± the Bloodthorn murmured out of the corner of her mouth.


    ¡°I¡¯m not slacking,¡± Macedon said, offended. ¡°If you¡¯d seen me before the Princess left, you would see nymphs dancing right now.¡± And it was true: he worked hard, now. He was a reformed¡ªalright, perhaps too extreme of a word¡ªman. He was independent.


    The Callas raised her eyebrows. ¡°Then I pity Her Imperial Highness,¡± responded the lady-in-waiting, ¡°for having a subordinate as fine as you.¡±


    Macedon let the noble have the last word¡ªshe was his colleague now, and she was, admittedly, somewhat shrewd under all that sharpness¡ªand looked at Alia. ¡°So, Lady Bloodthorn, what¡¯s first on the secretarial agenda today?¡±


    Alia looked between Alyssa and Macedon, haughtily sniffed again, and then spoke. ¡°There have been no political meetings requested due to Princess Seraphina¡¯s absence, so there will be no envoying today.¡±


    Even though technically Mercy was a noble and Seraphina¡¯s second in almost everything, Alyssa and Alia had been appointed as ¡°envoys¡± to when people made political demands, Macedon had been told. Alyssa, being a count¡¯s daughter and outranking Alia by a rank, was more fitting (apparently).


    ¡°The only instance you had to envoy was when that Cirillo guy decided to randomly seek revenge,¡± Macedon muttered under his breath.


    Damn the Bloodthorn¡¯s ears, she caught that. ¡°Baron Cirillo did not, in fact, randomly decide to seek revenge. I genuinely just explained it to you a Dayhept ago¡ªthe capital¡¯s a minefield right now.¡±


    Macedon shrugged. ¡°I wouldn¡¯t know. War¡¯s good for business.¡±


    The more riled up the nobles got, the more they spent their money unwisely. And, well, if they spent their money in the Emerald Seas¡­


    ¡°Politically,¡± Alia said. ¡°Look, two Princes died recently, and there¡¯s a war going on. The Empress has only been on the throne for what, a Daycycle? Even though she¡¯s got the Cardinals, the administrative duchies, and the Armistice on her side; the counties, the viscounties, and the baronies under the higher-ups are shifting. They¡¯re restless. And with the new rumor¡­¡± Alia exchanged looks with Alyssa. ¡°Things aren¡¯t good. It¡¯s understandable¡ªthough unwise¡ªfor anyone with Imperial connections to pull on them, good or bad.¡±


    Alyssa sighed. ¡°She¡¯s right, Mace. Two Princes have died, and the other two Chosen¡ªin the capital, at least¡ªhave only gone out to deal with things that we don¡¯t know about. Rumors are all over the place¡ªlike that a Chosen was dispatched to deal with the anti-Imps, and that a new centralized power given Imperial authority over the Armistice has secretly risen. Everyone¡¯s flailing blind.¡±


    Even without the political developments, Macedon would¡¯ve known that.


    ¡°A new rumor?¡± the con artist¡ªsorry, respectable businessman¡ªdrummed his fingers on the table. ¡°What is it? If I haven¡¯t heard any major rumors through my grapevine, I sincerely doubt that this is about anything other than politics.¡±


    A silence, whether both of the noblewomen shifted uneasily.


    That was new.


    And unsettling.


    ¡°I¡¯m only going to tell you this because you¡¯re one of the Princess¡¯ men,¡± Alia began, quietly. ¡°Untrustworthy as you are, and as sincerely as I doubt that you¡¯re here for anyone¡¯s benefit besides your own, you¡¯re what we¡¯ve got.¡±


    Macedon was about to make a joke about how his feelings were hurt, but he stopped, pressing his lips together. Part of making deals was to know how to read the room, and this was turning out to be a very serious room. ¡°Go on.¡±


    Alyssa took over. ¡°Timaios is acting weird.¡± She looked earnestly concerned. ¡°He¡¯s been meeting with Princess Josephine loads. And this isn¡¯t because I¡¯m jealous¡ªhe¡¯s been consulting his papers, calling in favors¡­and it¡¯s already been days since his father died and he succeeded the title. He¡¯s planning to return to the stage and work with the Imperials¡ªwe all can tell, even if he¡¯s shutting us out of his plans.¡±


    The Dragon King, the socialite that had been formerly at the top of the scene before Josephine had slowly ousted him. Macedon had thought that the Drakos Marquessate would¡¯ve been enough to chain him, but you never knew with nobles.


    If they wanted something bad enough, they would take it.


    Because they thought they had the right, just because they could and wanted to.


    The businessman pressed his lips together, tighter.


    ¡°And?¡± Macedon asked. ¡°Don¡¯t make me ask what this spells out. I¡¯m a con artist, not a politician.¡± (Even though the two words arguably meant the same thing, he wasn¡¯t here to be a cynic.)


    Alia tucked her clipboard under her arm.


    ¡°Reforms,¡± said the Bloodthorn, stiffly. ¡°Big ones. We¡¯re not sure if these are exaggerations, but people are saying that these could potentially be the size of the Angelian Reforms after the Skirmish, except used in the war, not after it.¡±


    There was silence.


    Macedon¡¯s fingers clenched.


    ¡°Pardon me if I¡¯m remembering wrong,¡± said the businessman, slowly, ¡°but wasn''t the aristocracy part of the Angelian Reforms a mass ousting of corruption? As in, tens of noble houses with thousand-year lineages, gone like that?¡± Macedon didn¡¯t need to snap to accentuate his point, but Alia¡¯s and Alyssa¡¯s faces were grim.


    He¡¯d never paid attention in history before, so a No, you¡¯re remembering wrong would definitely¡ª


    ¡°You are,¡± Alia responded reluctantly, ¡°not incorrect.¡±


    ¡°Even though this is following the exaggerations,¡± Alyssa reminded quickly. ¡°But we don¡¯t know the actual truth¡­¡±


    The unspoken words lingered: Because we don¡¯t have inside men in the Palace.


    Alright, maybe ¡®inside man¡¯ was too lax of a description for their esteemed superior the Princess, but the fact remained.


    ¡°So the corrupt nobles are jittery because they¡¯re going to get a thorough spring cleaning,¡± Macedon guessed.


    Another silence.


    ¡°It¡¯s not as simple as that,¡± Alia said, this time quieter. Her voice was soft, almost weak this time. ¡°What you call corruption¡ªit¡¯s the core of Imperial society. The aristocracy hoards resources¡ªall of them. We care about lineages, not people: so whenever there¡¯s a weak heir, they train them. Harshly. Or if the heir dies, they give birth to a new one; or go harsher on their sibling. They make political marriages so there¡¯s a scapegoat if something goes wrong¡ªnot they, we,¡± the secretary corrected herself, noticing the wandering of pronouns.


    Alia¡¯s sister...was a Chosen, Macedon now remembered. Was it sadness? Frustration? What¡ª


    ¡°Corruption,¡± Alyssa took over again, ¡°is how we got here. It¡¯s how we stay here, because we do anything to stay here, in power. And power fluctuates. Kings die, they get dethroned¡ªChosen come, Chosen go. And they¡¯re powerful. But nobles have always been here in the Empire: aristocracy as a concept¡ªlineages and families, vassals of the leaders.¡±


    A beat.


    ¡°The mere option,¡± Alyssa continued, ¡°of the aristocracy being carved out being considered...it doesn¡¯t just scare nobles, it terrifies them. You can¡¯t survive as a noble without being willing to do anything to defend what you have¡ªyou can¡¯t survive, without being selfish. And when people get selfish¡­they get corrupt. It¡¯s not just absolute power that corrupts, it¡¯s people being willing to do anything to keep it.¡±


    Macedon blinked.


    ¡°So,¡± he said slowly, ¡°you¡¯re saying that basically every noble is corrupt.¡±


    ¡°Yes,¡± Alia agreed. ¡°If not them as an individual, then their families.¡± The clipboard was now in her hands, skittering fingers running along its sides in not ennui, but worry. ¡°The problem,¡± the Bloodthorn said after a while, ¡°is that we don¡¯t know who the Empire is going to tell the world they¡¯re corrupt. We know that the Empress is going to pick and choose, if the rumor is true, but...which faction will come out on the victorious side? Which one¡¯s holding the knife and which one¡¯s going under it?¡±


    The businessman would¡¯ve thought more of the worry would¡¯ve come from the aftereffects of the Reforms, but¡­


    ¡°You guys are scared,¡± Macedon said. ¡°Worried...about yourselves. Your family.¡±


    Alyssa snorted. ¡°Why wouldn¡¯t we be?¡± she said. ¡°I don¡¯t give a rat¡¯s ass about whether I get poor. I give a rat¡¯s ass about whether the Princess is going to get rid of me when I get poor.¡±


    ¡°Language,¡± Alia absently chided.


    The two women with their polished faces and expensive robes¡ªwith hands that had never been battered, but were bloodied from the day they were born¡ªsat in silence for a while.


    Flailing blind.


    And isn¡¯t everyone scared of the dark, just a little?


    <hr>


    Alina de Evlogia had tried reason. She had tried bribery, she had tried blackmail, and Tartarus she had even tried poison. But all of them had failed miserably: Arathis had circumvented reason with a monologue about the meaning of life, had looked dramatically offended at even the prospect of bribery, laughed at her attempt at blackmail, and asked Alina whether she wanted to compete against him in a ¡°poison race.¡±


    She¡¯d then been delightfully enlightened on Seraphina and Arathis¡¯ long-standing competition, which had been ¡°unfortunately¡±¡ªhis words, not hers¡ªcancelled due to Nikephoros¡¯ assassination, Greta¡¯s coronation, and the war. Alina had, in fact, not been mildly concerned at the fact that Arathis had tried to lace a teapot with sarawolf, but at the fact that there had been no point.


    It hadn¡¯t even been a competency test or anything.


    ¡°What, none of us have accidentally killed each other,¡± Arathis had defended himself. ¡°That¡¯s crossing a line. All of us have survived this far¡ªwhy would we die now?¡± And then, as if the Chosen had realized his words, a flicker of emotion¡ªsome sort of sentimentality that the cavalier Forsaken had never shown before¡ªappeared in his eyes, before it was gone. He¡¯d smiled then, as if he¡¯d noticed that she¡¯d noticed, and that they were sharing a secret. And he¡¯d winked.


    Nikephoros Adamos, you¡¯ve certainly raised some monsters.


    Leaking the secrets of the Imperial aristocracy in order to carve out a political faction, like the rumors were saying? What political faction? The Empress had already merged the Cardinals and the other duchies into one messily-motivated Imperial faction until the war ended, and the Armistice rebellion had been very quickly dismantled.


    This wasn¡¯t reformation, this was for the war.


    The Republic.


    Arathis had apparently taken his own form of pity on Alina after the first few rounds of conversation. ¡°When Imperial Father died,¡± he¡¯d said, ¡°the Republica came, didn¡¯t they? And then they went back, and war was declared because I¡¯d tried something? The public doesn¡¯t really know the specifics¡ªor the nobles aside of the Dukes, I¡¯m assuming. You remember what I¡¯m talking about, right, Aunt Alina?¡±


    He¡¯d tried to shoot the Consul.


    Of course Alina remembered.


    ¡°Yes,¡± the Duchess had replied, with none of the dryness she wanted to summon.


    Arathis had been lying on the very spot she¡¯d found him the other day¡ªsprawled on a bench, light scattered on his closed eyes. Uncharacteristically serene¡ªuntil he¡¯d opened his eyes. They were pale, unnaturally so: the Forsaken shade that matched his hair, but intermingling with dark so it wasn¡¯t obvious.


    ¡°If I told you I¡¯d orchestrated the entire thing,¡± had said the Chosen, ¡°you wouldn¡¯t believe me right away, would you?¡±


    A beat, as Alina had tried to wrap her head around it¡ª


    ¡°No,¡± she had felt herself admitting. ¡°I wouldn¡¯t.¡±


    A smile had curled on the Fifth Prince¡¯s lips.


    ¡°That¡¯s good,¡± he had conceded. ¡°Because I didn¡¯t. Orchestrate the entire thing, I mean.¡± His eyes wandered to the faraway main Palace building, gleaming gold towers and all. ¡°No one really orchestrated the entire thing. Plans aren¡¯t just come up with. You build one, piece by piece¡ªplans like these, everyone contributes a brick. The war itself would¡¯ve happened sooner or later, and around that time¡ªthe coin was in the air, and both of them had tossed it. War, or no war. War because of this reason, or war because of that.¡±


    Alina had felt a leaf struggle its way into her hair.


    ¡°You just made sure which side would land up,¡± she¡¯d summarized.


    Not surprise, but satisfaction in Arathis¡¯ eyes.


    ¡°See, you get it,¡± he¡¯d praised. ¡°Everyone who says war¡¯s an art¡ªthey¡¯re wrong. Or right, who knows¡ªart¡¯s subjective, whatever.¡± He¡¯d waved an aimless hand. ¡°The mechanics of it are an art. They¡¯re music. Every domino that falls, every deal that¡¯s made, it follows a tempo. And if you know what tempo it¡¯s going¡ªif you¡¯re the one who pushes over the first domino¡ªyou at least have some measure of control.¡±


    There¡¯d been a light bulb that went off in Alina¡¯s head.


    ¡°And that¡¯s what you want,¡± she¡¯d realized. ¡°Control.¡±


    That was the instant that¡¯d sparked some acknowledgement in the Prince¡¯s gaze.


    ¡°In this song¡ªthis war¡ªyes,¡± he¡¯d confirmed. ¡°Contain the flames, fan them¡ªI am the metaphorical fence in this pasture.¡±


    He¡¯d spread his arms dramatically, but it lacked the flamboyance it usually did. This entire conversation¡ªit wasn¡¯t dull, but it wasn¡¯t sharp. It...was flatter than it usually was, his voice.


    ¡°You¡¯re...mourning,¡± she¡¯d tried to place the tone.


    Arathis had side-stepped the statement so obviously that it was unlike him.


    ¡°I heard Roxane¡¯s very upset over Brother¡¯s death,¡± the Forsaken had responded. ¡°You should console her. Too much wailing and swearing that their graves will be next to each other is bad for the soul. And the heart. And arguably the ears.¡±


    A silence, as Alina had gotten up.


    ¡°I...offer my condolences, young Ara,¡± she¡¯d said while turning.


    He¡¯d barked a concerningly brittle laugh.


    ¡°Death doesn¡¯t need sympathy, Aunt. It¡¯s not a monster.¡±


    Quieter, he¡¯d called out:


    ¡°If you hear anyone call me a monster, Aunt Alina, tell them this: if I were a true monster, I would¡¯ve dug up my brothers¡¯ graves and made them live again.¡±


    A long laugh was heard in the gardens, startling birds and extending great, before the Duchess exited them.


    <hr>

 61. Blood II

    <hr>


    When elephants fight, the grass gets trampled.


    <hr>


    HONOS OUTSIDE MY WINDOW WAS DRAMATICALLY ON FIRE.


    Or, at least, it had been.


    The remnants of the Curia lay in shambles as the wind crumpled my curtains inwards, the breeze breathing life into the dangling spherical lights that hung from my ceiling. The clinking of the beads on the strings accentuated the very loud and very angry Republica from arguing guards in front of said Curia, very obviously in conflict with another group of guards that were stationed outside the site. From the scattered words I caught as I leaned out my window, they were engrossed in a discussion about something-something-bodies-Consul-Romanus-something.


    I sipped my tea as the Republica legionary eyed me warily.


    ¡°Look, lady,¡± he said in very slanted Imperi, in that tone that meant that was the most polite term he could offer, ¡°if you¡¯re going to off yourself, please don¡¯t bring the teacup with you. It¡¯s imported from Tianya, and¡ª¡±


    I gave an offhanded wave, still hunched over the open window¡¯s ledge. ¡°Don¡¯t worry, I¡¯m good with heights.¡± When that wasn¡¯t reassurance enough, I added, ¡°If I wanted to kill myself, I would¡¯ve done so very effectively much earlier. I certainly wouldn¡¯t have publicly surrendered in front of Mari and Celia, so have no fear.¡±


    I could tell the nicknames irked him, and his eyebrow twitched precariously as his gaze flickered to the teacup in my hand, but he didn¡¯t press further.


    I continued having tea on the makeshift terrace, balancing the cup on the windowsill as I propped my chin on my hand.


    The tea was good.


    The sunset was better, I mused to myself as I took another sip.


    If only there was a painter.


    Would this be my last sunset?


    No, it would not.


    The tea swam in my mouth as I swallowed, bitter and light. The thick floral¡ªrhododendron?¡ªflavor was almost overpowering, but it was balanced by something else. Something sweet. Honey? Sugar?


    It was foreboding.


    I could hear the clattering of dominoes again, feel the ricocheting sensation from the wind of a faraway explosion, taste the iron of blood in my mouth again. Sometimes memories came in clusters, sporadic bursts¡ªbut other times they came as faint warning, a warming of the skin or a cold wind blowing through the curtains.


    I was aware my hand was shaking as I drank the tea, unravelling my hand to settle around the cup as I set it down.


    The chill. It was the chill.


    There had been three ropes, I thought¡ªthree problems I could ¡°solve¡± to prove my use. In order for the ¡°trial¡± to not be the end of me, I had to prove to be useful. And I had to admit, being treated as an honored guest when you were basically a prisoner was...unsettling? Different? A unique experience, I settled on.


    Rather than being ordered to sort out their political affairs, or be a spearhead in their retaliation, I offered myself up to be used in diplomacy. Particularly of the Forsaken kind¡ªI knew something about the entire thing. Julian knew about Harbingers, assumedly from his father.


    But how much did he know? Had he thought like I did, that Greta was the Harbinger¡ªno, now I had to admit: it was a hasty assumption on my end. Did Julian know that I was the Harbinger?


    If I released the information that I was the Harbinger, and that I was the source of the monsters coalescing near the Source, would they try and kill me? No¡ªwould killing me even work? You wouldn¡¯t get rid of a prelude to end a song, would you?


    Research, I filed away. I could use it as an excuse, a bargaining chip.


    But the end goal was getting out, wasn¡¯t it? And learning as much information as I could along the way.


    Could I depend on other people to get me out? Naxy would try, I was sure, but I didn¡¯t know the limits of his abilities without exposing his agents in the city. I needed a plan, and right now I was stuck trying to find one.


    I could leap out of this window.


    It would be a hard fall, but I¡¯d make it. I was a fast runner¡ªbut there was a certainty that I¡¯d get caught. And then I¡¯d get more guards on me and needless animosity.


    The right time.


    Certainty.


    It spun along with doubt, that tiny feeling that something was wrong. Certainty. Uncertainty. Doubt. Paranoia. I had landed myself here, but how was I going to get out? Calling on my Ability, I tried to Weave together my thoughts, pulling on those invisible strings that I felt through the air. They were almost intangible, fainter but more solid than before at the same time¡ªnow is not the right time.


    The realization was clear. Certain.


    Just to test, I tentatively reached out towards the Guards as I closed my eyes. I could feel¡ªvaguely¡ªhis face. He was breathing slowly, at a regular pace¡ªhis heartbeat threaded itself through the Song, amidst the clattering and drumming. Alright. It was back. It hadn¡¯t been gone, though. Just not as strong¡ª


    I let out a breath, an obvious sigh of relief, and the tension around my shoulders unravelled just a bit. I opened my eyes again and looked down at my hands. They were steady. A bit of crystalline liquid rested, shrouding crumpled leaves, at the end of the teacup that rested inside my cupped hands. Dark¡ªno metallic scent¡ªclumped¡ªweight¡ªregularity. No poison.


    Certainty. That was good.


    Did it only come back in times of duress? The question floated to me, before I tossed it aside.


    Wind swept my hair¡ªnow free from that itchy cage of a wig¡ªback as it started up again, breeze tasting cold but refreshing in my mouth. The warmth of the tea balanced it out as I grinned at the sky, another possibility glimmering into existence.


    Would Thought¡ª


    Scarlet flashed before me again, and the teacup rattled in its position in my hands.


    Research, I Thought.


    The pathway opened, and¡ª


    Discovery. Pages rustling on tall slopes, even taller bookcases stretching towards the sky. A bargaining chip, a card in the hand¡ªthe building up of trust. Losses and gains, a dappled mural¡ªsatisfaction of curiosity. Revelation. Green eyes, crinkled in amusement.


    So it was a big outcome.


    An outcome that I had caused.


    Even though I¡¯d just thought about, I reached for something else¡ª


    Escape.


    Blood. The cracking of a plummeting fall. Bone falling apart, the rushing of footsteps. Yelled Republica. Haplessness, danger¡ªuncertainty¡ª


    I cut the trail off.


    So that was a no-go.


    I needed to promise Cecilia something solid to help the Republic on the Forsaken-Republica front¡ªand I needed her trust. Julian was my only leverage on this, and he¡¯d need to vouch for me¡ªif Cecilia and Julian believed I could be useful, they could keep me alive: even if it was just to get me past the Republica ¡°trial,¡± I would follow this rope to the end.


    Presentation.


    I needed information, and I needed a way to present that information to the Senate and the Consuls to extend my warranty in their eyes. To claw my way up from prisoner to potential ally would be a tall order, but it was all about theatre in the end. Promises, deals, and the right words said in the right way¡ªit¡¯d gotten me this far.


    So.


    I had a plan.


    But escape.


    How would I start?


    A smile fluttered its way onto my face but was gone with the wind before either of the guards could catch it.


    Based on the very loud Republica conversation across the street, Mari had been busy today.


    It was time to figure out who was who in this city.


    <hr>


    And Mari had come¡ªlater, of course, after the sun had set and midnight had tainted the sky¡ªand I¡¯d made idle conversation with the that-teacup-is-expensive guy, asking about his hobbies and great-grandmother who was (apparently) an expert in Tianyan porcelain, until he¡¯d seemingly realized I was an Imperial and refused to talk further. Otherwise, I¡¯d lain on the ground, stared at the ceiling, and¡ªfrom an outsider¡¯s perspective¡ªcounted the number of crystal spheres on the dangling lights.


    Of course, I had actually been trying to piece together what I could reveal and what would get me killed. I had it chalked up to, one, okay, if they know I¡¯m a Harbinger some of them might try to kill me; and, two, I need to find out if killing me actually works to stop the monster hordes. A very intricate master plan, I¡¯d been told.


    My Ability could criticize it all it wanted, but it was at least something.


    I¡¯d also been skimming through my memory¡ªthere hadn¡¯t been much actual, workable data collected on the monster hoards near the Dark Forest¡¯s Source throughout the ages (but, then again, there hadn¡¯t been much on monsters at all, really: at least, except for copies of Chosen diaries that consisted of Daycycles-long experiences). It was more focused on what the monsters were, for the more biological Analysts, then where and when they formed.If you spot this story on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.


    Technically, I¡¯d memorized everything there had been to know about monsters: Inevita¡¯s libraries had served as an almost-foundation for the knowledge that had gotten me through the Cage.


    But if I wanted to have an actual informational foundation, I needed to compile a historical account of the lifespans of various Harbingers¡ªwho had Dionysus mentioned? Angelo, Cesas, Lysimachos¡ªand compare them against the swelling of the monsters near the border, which would be a shaky foundation for any plan. And what was the plan? Would I lie and present Greta as the Harbinger? Would they ask me to help them kill her?


    No, I needed a revelation. Something to spin into a Tale, something to push me forward and keep me alive.


    Something to do with the border.


    I studied the baubles in front of me as I continued to think¡ªat least, before a familiar voice spoke.


    ¡°How many?¡±


    Eighty-two.


    I smiled brilliantly.


    ¡°Guess,¡± I said, reaching a hand upwards.


    The Consul deliberated but accepted it all the same, hauling me upwards.


    ¡°Eighty,¡± he guessed as I met his gaze.


    ¡°Close,¡± I conceded. ¡°Off by two.¡± I made a show of looking around the room for a chair. ¡°I would offer you a chair,¡± I said briskly as I shook imaginary dust off my robes, ¡°but I¡¯m afraid we¡¯re fresh out. Tea?¡± I gestured to the very-empty cup next to me, the cup itself balancing precariously on a pile of cushions next to the lonely table.


    ¡°Tea,¡± Mari agreed as he seated himself. He gestured for the two legionaries to move away with a, ¡°Please tell the maids to bring refills.¡± A pause happened in the beat after: ¡°And a Crownboard. The Imperial ones¡ªah, which one would you like to use in a theatrical visual representation this time around?¡±


    I beamed. ¡°You know me so well¡ªbut anything goes.¡± I gestured for him to seat himself as I did¡ªand he did, after he finished sending the legionaries out of the room.


    ¡°Have you had dinner?¡± was the first thing he asked.


    I shrugged, masking the surprise that came. ¡°Wasn¡¯t hungry. The tea was filling.¡± I raised my eyebrows at his tired-looking face. ¡°I¡¯m sure I¡¯m not the one you should be worrying about¡ªyou look like you¡¯re a foot in the grave.¡±


    Julian managed a snort. ¡°And whose fault is that?¡± he murmured, shaking his head. He sounded stabler than before, but there was a haunted look in his eyes¡ªhe¡¯d evidently come from a hard conversation. Or multiple, who knew.


    I could, if I tried to analyze him.


    ¡°How¡¯s your father?¡± I asked instead. ¡°Seems like he¡¯s been dealt a pretty heavy blow¡ªare you a temporary Consul, or has he relinquished the title already?¡±


    The now-Consul shrugged. It was a strange movement under his weighted regalia¡ªalmost uncomfortable.


    ¡°Was one of the first things discussed, but it wasn¡¯t really much of a discussion. Romus and Romanus are the only Branches that can succeed the positions anyway, elected or not. Since I¡¯m an only child, and the Cons¡ªMarcellus,¡± he caught himself, ¡°doesn¡¯t have any bastards, it wasn¡¯t much of a contest. It was bound to happen sooner or later, and arguments about my experience would be useless, and unproductive.¡±


    Hmm.


    ¡°You¡¯re plenty experienced in combat, though, aren¡¯t you?¡± I replied, leaning back. ¡°All those shiny metals have to count for something.¡±


    The other made a noise of irritation. ¡°You¡¯d think. I have plenty of military experience, and have a strong political presence¡ªbut this is a crisis situation. There¡¯s been talk of handing Cecilia¡¯s Patrician of Azareth title to someone else, and at Gloria...the situation¡¯s pretty much up in the air. Besides the fact that most of the subordinates I trust are dead...they can¡¯t rip it away just yet.¡±


    There wasn¡¯t really an offence intended with the ''dead'' part - especially since I''d killed some of them - but it would¡¯ve hypothetically stung.


    I made a thoughtful noise. ¡°Bellum¡¯s Patrician was executed for killing Brother, right? It seems like you¡¯ve done something, at least, with filling the Senate seats¡ªand no, don¡¯t get surprised, no one told me, I just have good ears.¡±


    Julian raised an eyebrow. ¡°You¡¯re right on that,¡± he admitted. ¡°But enough about me.¡± There was a knock at the door¡ªand the Crownboard was delivered, with¡­ a large meal.


    The teacup guy was back, and with a sheepish smile on his face.


    ¡°The Consul Romus sends her regards¡ªand a message, Your Consulship.¡±


    Julian didn¡¯t look amused, sighing deeply instead. ¡°What did she say, legionary?¡±


    ¡°Uh¡ª ¡®don¡¯t forget to eat, otherwise you¡¯ll die of starvation and bureaucracy,¡¯ and...uh, ¡®your Princess is certainly a slippery customer¡­¡¯ with, to the Princess, ¡®don¡¯t forget we¡¯re not done here. I won¡¯t leave any threats or warnings here¡ª¡¯¡± the guy looked awkward ¡°¡®¡ªbut we won¡¯t be done until the trial. You are still a prisoner under all terms of war, and until your status is revised at the martial trial¡ªwhich will be held next Dayhept¡ªyou will be treated safely as an honored guest, but nothing more.¡¯¡± The teacup guy looked up, and as if he was saying with meaning: ¡°¡®This is not the Empire.¡¯¡±


    I smiled at that.


    Cecilia had a way with words, even back during our conversation.


    The teacup guy stood aside, and plates of luxurious food filed in. I was tempted to look outside, just to compare the ashes of the Curia and the display of wealth I was seeing now, but it would only drive the point home: the food and message itself was a threat. This is not the Empire. The Republic has not fallen. It can afford to treat you like an honored guest, but only if you can prove your use at the trial.


    A laugh built itself in my throat as another table was moved in to accommodate the feast, and it erupted when candles were set. It was midnight, for Gods¡¯ sake. I started giggling, Julian studying my reaction as I let a pleased but equally amused grin settle on my face.


    ¡°Well, she¡¯s certainly very generous, isn¡¯t she?¡± I settled on, mildly.


    I looked up at the former praetor¡¯s face.


    He looked strange at the display, but had been very concentrated on my expression regardless.


    ¡°You were saying?¡± I prompted. ¡°¡®Enough about me¡¯?¡±


    Julian cleared his throat.


    ¡°Yeah, enough about me. Cecilia¡¯s already talked with you, right?¡±


    I smiled. ¡°At length, as you can see.¡± I tilted my head. ¡°She didn¡¯t fill you in?¡±


    The boy pressed his lips together. ¡°No,¡± he admitted. ¡°I¡ªjust returned from the Senate session.¡±


    My Ability reached forward towards his face.


    ¡°But that¡¯s not all, is it?¡± I guessed, picking up a fork to dig in the food. ¡°Come on, it¡¯s getting cold,¡± I urged the other, who¡¯d narrowed his eyes before sighing. Deliberating¡ªwhat? A question. Information.


    The former praetor picked up a fork after a pause, piercing a piece of shredded chicken and chewing it. ¡°No, that¡¯s not all,¡± he confirmed. ¡°I¡ªdid something else. But that¡¯s not the point, not yet. I wanted to ask you about the Azarethian prisoners, the ones that you told us to save.¡±


    I paused before spooning¡ªwere these potatoes? Yes, they were potatoes¡ªinto my mouth. ¡°And? What about them?¡± I said after finishing off another bite.


    He was grim. ¡°You do realize that they¡¯re evidence of your war crimes,¡± he said, ¡°and can be used to testify against you in court.¡±


    My mouth quirked. ¡°Yes, I¡¯ve realized the possibility,¡± I lied. Damn it. ¡°I mean, I haven¡¯t thought about it at length, but I¡¯m sure they can¡¯t harm me, directly or indirectly¡ªOathsworn, you know. I¡¯d have to summon my subordinate to get the exact wording, but I¡¯m sure you know more than I do. I assume they were interrogated¡­?¡±


    ¡°Not personally,¡± Julian confirmed. ¡°But...your argument will be weak.¡±


    I tilted my head. ¡°My, it sounds like you almost want to help me, my dear Mari,¡± I remarked. ¡°I¡¯m not refusing help, far be from it¡ªbut I am refusing a knife in the back, as hypocritical as it seems.¡± Honesty had been a main factor in our dealings before, and, even if the circumstances were different currently, if Julian had things to say, it was better now than never.


    And the former praetor seemingly did have things to say.


    After a round of silence in which his fish and my potatoes were thoroughly demolished, he spoke, with all the formality of a Consul.


    ¡°I promised you something, and regardless of the cost, I will fulfill it. I will try my best to stand by you until the end. That is loyalty.¡± A beat. ¡°But I cannot deny that you have done a disservice¡ªmany disservices, in fact¡ªto my country. My lineage. And when you look at those individual atrocities and rip off the excusing veil of war, I do not think I can move past this¡ªevery move I take from now on, I will have to take into consideration your actions. I will ask you to understand, but I am sure you already do.¡± His eyes burned. ¡°I like to think we understand each other quite well. Maybe one more so than the other, but the fact remains.¡±


    There was a terrifying earnestness in his words.


    (A lot of things scared me in this world, and some of them were even human, but this was the type of thing you couldn¡¯t explain. You couldn¡¯t draw it¡ªeven though some would try¡ªyou couldn¡¯t paint it, you couldn¡¯t even write about or describe it.


    It was something magnificent. Almost inhuman.


    It was a specific type of human spark.)


    Whichever it was, that made up honorable people, my Mari had it.


    Was he a fundamentally good person? No.


    But the unwavering belief Julian had¡ªnot in his country, but something¡ªwas...enviable.


    ¡°You¡¯ve changed.¡± I tilted my head. ¡°I can¡¯t say whether it¡¯s for the worse or the better, but I do admire you. That¡¯ll never change, believe me or not.¡± I looked at his face, tired and young, carefully. There was a hardness that wasn¡¯t there before. And for a second, I wanted the cake Mari back again. An uncomplicated relationship. Equals. Companions for the interval¡ªof what, a day? More than a day?


    I¡¯d lost a potential companion, and I selfishly admitted I wanted him back.


    But that road was gone.


    I made a thoughtful noise and tried to sound nonchalant. ¡°I do understand, of course. I guess the engagement¡¯s off the table, then¡ªnot the Oath bond, obviously, but I guess we won¡¯t move in together anymore, my dearest fianc¨¦.¡±


    The air was heavy.


    ¡°Maybe it¡¯ll change,¡± Julian began. ¡°The situation, I mean. Not not ever, but not now.¡±


    I snorted.


    ¡°But the ¡®now¡¯ is the most important time of all, isn¡¯t it?¡± I said, smiling. ¡°But yes, it¡¯s a pity.¡± I extended a hand across the table¡ªnot in a handshake, but a traditional handhold.


    He accepted it a bit awkwardly, but there was a serious look in his eyes.


    A silence reigned. He looked like he was about to say something else, but I cut him off.


    ¡°Right.¡± I withdrew my hand. He¡¯d said most of his piece¡ªeven though this felt like an unfinished conversation¡ªand I¡¯d said mine. Our relationship¡ªand the advantages that came with it¡ªwasn¡¯t unsalvageable.


    (Had the Oath forced him into this situation? Most definitely.


    Had my personality helped? I liked to think so.)


    ¡°Now,¡± I said, ¡°let¡¯s talk shop.¡±


    <hr>


    The bodies that were lifted from under the ground were numerous and practically unidentifiable. Faces were gnarled with burns, dark webbing over scorched bodies exposing tinges of yellowed copper and faded red. Skin was curled from the inside out, ash coating grotesquely meshed bone and limbs¡ªthe dead that had survived the wreckage were more pieces than whole: detached skulls, ribs coated in tar-like honeycomb, crushed fingers shaped by pitch.


    Anaxeres didn¡¯t take pleasure in seeing death. No one did. He was fine when he could choose his victims (at least, that was what he told himself to sleep at night). When people could choose gambles: individual faces, individual choices. There wasn¡¯t a distinguishable difference between a serial killer and mass murder, but Anaxeres had prided himself on not getting his hands dirty.


    The other side always pulled the trigger.


    This was the difference, Anaxeres thought. And it was a grim one¡ªone he couldn¡¯t deny nor welcome. (Responsibility was one of those political guests that you had to receive because you¡¯d cause a diplomatic incident otherwise, but still didn¡¯t like.) He couldn¡¯t shrug off the guilt, but he couldn¡¯t shrug off the responsibility either.


    The cane was gripped tightly as the gambler watched silently. He wasn¡¯t the only one¡ªmourners, some silent and some not, watched as the bodies were dragged out. Some faces were contorted with grief, others with fear, and it wasn¡¯t dramatic twists that his heart experienced: a hole dug deeper, a lingering certainty that whichever redemption he would find in the afterlife wouldn¡¯t be his.


    Cards were in his hand, and the gun had been fired. This chamber hadn¡¯t contained the bullet, but what about the next? And the one after?


    A gamble.


    That was life.


    It was a high-speed race¡ªwith horses and chariots and gladiators¡ªand what was at the end? The highest reward of all?


    All or nothing.


    This was his all.


    The gambler clutched his cane that he didn¡¯t need, the boy with the gun and the rope and the spiders.


    All or nothing.


    What would this game win him?


    Delphine and her urging for mandatory conscription had been put on a hold due to recent events, the Duchess herself being held up in Azareth. The supposed airhead, with her dominos and perfume and fluttering eyelashes, would start up a new play sooner or later. From what Anaxeres heard, Timaios planned to move soon, too. Obviously, the more conservative members of the nobility¡ªlike Evlogia¡ªwould oppose his Imperial-ordained move, but what could Alina do? Join up with Delphine, obviously.


    The Williams Marquessate and the Anthinon Duchy had been quiet, lately. It wasn¡¯t as if any of them were particularly verbal supporters of any side¡ªDamokles had agreed to supporting Greta because, one, choosing not to would be messy (the older Duke had never liked conflict); and, two, the Imperials had cleaned up the mess the Rhianites left behind.


    The Williams Marquessate, on the other hand, was more problematic. They¡¯d been a part of the ¡°rebellion¡± that the Empire had cut off before it began, but these machinations...it wasn¡¯t to say that the plans being grown on foreign country wasn¡¯t as important: keeping these cities were crucial, as well as striking that coup de grace to end the war before it stretched the Empire too thin.


    Ah, politics.


    Well, technically, he was too busy to think about anything else¡ªthis was his job, after all.


    But he had a Princess to rescue.


    The thought surfaced unprovoked, and as the sun began to rise, the Duke stretched.


    Ah, I knew I was forgetting something.


    <hr>


    The stage was open, and cogs were still whirring.


    <hr>

 62. Blood III

    <hr>


    And I stand here today chained and broken, above the place they claim as Heaven; and beseeched the Gods to take me.


    They held me in their hands and breathed life into me.


    ¡®Child,¡¯ they said. ¡®You are far too heavy. Your sins chain you to the ground. You cannot fly here.¡¯


    ''Are the gates open to only those with wings?'' I asked, and they answered.


    ¡®Leave behind your heart, and your stained soul,¡¯ they said, ¡®and you will have wings.¡¯


    I did not know what to say, and so they kissed me.


    ¡®Farewell,¡¯ they said, and let me plummet downwards, into the abyss.


    And I lay here today, chained and broken and dying¡ªForsaken by the Gods, in the place they condemn as Hell.


    ¡ªPROMETHEUS GAVE US THE HUMAN SOUL, PIECE OF VISAVAN LITERATURE


    <hr>


    DAMOKLES ANTHINON, the current Duke of Boreas, stood over a text. It was a book bound with cracking leather, tied together with loose but deft knots instead of neat stitches¡ªthe pages were yellowed and curved but strangely shaped, and the Duke (from the young, ripe age of when he¡¯d learned how to read all the tomes in the Athenaeum of Boreas) had suspected that it¡¯d originally been a scroll.


    He could speak about a lot of things¡ªhow the world of academia in the Empire was usually minimized to the fields of history, religious study, and other sciences instead of technological innovation, for one; the need for academic institutions to become more integrated into non-scholarly pathways, for another; but it was arguably all useless knowledge.


    Arguably.


    The Duke looked at the book in front of him.


    The Myth of the First Emperor and Speculations, it said. The author of it was unknown, but much mystery shrouded them. Damokles had heard theories about how Speculations was written by the same person as An Allegory¡ªhe didn¡¯t take out of the equation, per se (you could never really take anything out of the equation when it came to Imperial history), but since the timeframes of each were unknown, theories could only rely on estimates.


    ¦°¦Á¦Í. Pan.


    It was an incomplete word (not even a word, technically a prefix): an incomplete name, leftovers from history.


    If you thought Myth, your mind would drift to Pandora, of course. ¦°¦Á¦Í¦Ä?¦Ñ¦Á. Or ¦Ð¦Á¦Í?¦Ê¦Å¦É¦Á, panacea, if you relied on sound and ignored the first letter. ¦°¦Á¦Í itself came from ¦Ð¦Á?¡ªpas, ¡®whole¡¯¡ªso it wouldn¡¯t be so farfetched that it could mean something related. All-seeing, all-encompassing¡ª¦°¦Á¦Í was used in all of them. He had his own theories, of course: Speculations covered, true to its name, previous speculations as well as unusual rumors about the First Emperor themselves.


    (It was written strangely, Damokles had thought when he¡¯d first read it. As if the person had firsthand contact with the First Emperor.)


    All-knowing.


    His theory of their name being Pantogn¨®stis¡ª¦Ð¦Á¦Í¦Ó¦Ï¦Ã¦Í?¦Ò¦Ó¦Ç?¡ªstill remained. Was it even their name or Ability name? If¡ª


    ¡°Your Excellency.¡±


    The Wraith cut in.


    ¡°What?¡± Damokles¡¯ voice adopted a flat tone at being interrupted. He hadn¡¯t even opened the damn book yet, for Gods¡¯ sake.


    The Captain of the Winterdeath hesitated.


    ¡°They¡¯re still at it. The letters¡ªthey keep coming in.¡±


    Damokles pressed his lips together.


    ¡°And you¡¯re sure you sent away the messenger.¡±


    The other looked uneasy.


    ¡°I tried, sir, but one of them just said my rank wasn¡¯t high enough to go against the word of the Marquessate...whatever that means.¡±


    Damokles¡¯ lips twisted.


    ¡°Well, look who¡¯s wising up,¡± the scholar muttered, pushing his glasses up against his nose. ¡°They really are jittery. As if it isn¡¯t their fault their own heads are on the line.¡± The Duke looked up from the book and up at the ceiling. Murals of the Anemoi¡ªand Boreas himself, with Calais and Zetes as well as Cleopatra and Chione, carved in ice and frightening mosaic.


    It was cold inside¡ªbut wasn¡¯t it always?


    ¡°What about the investigation into Victoria? Has the Rhianite keepers¡¯ stances changed?¡±


    The silence before the answer was answer enough, Damokles thought.


    ¡°Victoria is only one state under the High King¡¯s command, apparently,¡± said the Wraith with an obvious scowl. ¡°With every letter, they come up with a new excuse. The last time we wrote, they said since the situation was already over, we shouldn¡¯t be complaining. Fucking pissants.¡±


    They looked like they wanted to spit against the ground, but it was too expensive to soil.


    ¡°Even when we said that a member of the Imperial family was dead because of them¡­¡± they clutched their spear tight, as they hesitated to ask something. ¡°Your letter was strongly worded, Your Excellency, but with all due respect...why aren¡¯t we doing anything else?¡±


    Geoffrey¡ª


    That intolerable asshat of a High King¡ª


    Damokles sighed. ¡°We can¡¯t afford to,¡± he replied, voice quieting. ¡°Apparently our investigations into the Victorian side of the Platin Bandit have been taken as inaction in the current war. Look at the Williamses now, trying to sway us¡ªthey¡¯re so worried that their head¡¯s going to be on the chopping block, they¡¯ve forgotten the fact they were silent when my mothers died.¡± The man¡¯s hand curled into an uncharacteristically vehement fist. ¡°¡®Bury the hatchet¡¯?¡± he murmured, voice a whisper. ¡°Who remembers longer, the tree or the axe?¡±


    A long silence.


    ¡°Deny all of their requests,¡± the Duke continued, the sharp edge now gone. ¡°And send a letter to that new Duke of Inevita¡ªLazarus, his name was?¡ªabout the fact that they¡¯re trying to pull over on him.¡± A pause. ¡°And the Empress, too¡ªbut I¡¯ll write that one personally.¡±


    (The Duke couldn¡¯t say that he agreed completely with the way that the Empress was doing things, but at least now some of the nobility were showing their true colors¡ªfor the second time.)


    He wasn¡¯t above asking the Empress to not go overboard on the nobility-culling bit, but he had been a bit more inactive than usual. The Rhianite bandits were gone, but platin trade hadn¡¯t resumed because of the war. Ever since the Library of Alexandria had burned down, Anthinon¡¯s academicians weren¡¯t giving the Duke a break: do something, the letters kept saying. Make the Athenaeum into an academic institution. We need Analysts to continue their education.


    Damokles reached forward for the book, tucking it under his arm as he turned his back on the others. He¡¯d be back to Iraklidis and his war stratagems again if the Empress called on Boreas again, he thought to himself as he nodded for the Wraith to follow him out. Even though the Stronghold itself would be one of the last to fall to the Republic¡ªit being in the north and all¡ªnow Boreas needed to worry about two countries.


    Flames flickered in winter braziers as the scholar-duke exited the library with the sole copy of one of the most important Before texts in the Empire.


    <hr>


    ¡°So what do you want?¡±


    That had been the first thing that he¡¯d said, and I¡¯d laughed.


    ¡°I should be asking you that question, I¡¯d think,¡± I remarked idly. ¡°I volunteered to help you all with the Union to save my own neck. Cecilia sure as Tartarus isn¡¯t going to let me go near the border¡ª¡± here was the perfect opportunity to insert a badly worded joke: ¡®sure as Tartarus wouldn¡¯t let me go to Tartarus,¡¯ but I benevolently abstained ¡°¡ªso what do you want me to do?¡±


    Julian¡¯s eyes narrowed. ¡°You were the one who made the choice.¡±


    ¡°Choices, choices, choices.¡± I waved a hand. ¡°There aren¡¯t very many. On one hand, I need to reveal enough information about my country in order to stay alive and useful; and on the other hand I need to withhold just enough information to win my country this war and not get branded an irredeemable traitor.¡±


    I made a sympathetic expression¡ªnot too sarcastic to be offensive, but with as much genuine empathy as I could muster (which, admittedly, wasn¡¯t much).


    ¡°I can see your dilemma here¡ªreally, I do¡ªand you¡¯ve been very generous in not torturing me so far, I¡¯ll give you that. But I promised something, and I will deliver. I can¡¯t swear to the Gods on that, but there¡¯s no war-winning secrets in my head that I can just magically tell you.¡± I was (kind of?) honest.


    The Consul leaned back.


    ¡°You¡¯re right, Sera,¡± he admitted. ¡°We have been very generous so far.¡± Well, that sounds ominous, I thought as he leaned forward. ¡°All this goodwill?¡± Julian asked, a bit of that threatening glint in his eye, ¡°the tea, food, opulence? Far from me to break this first, but buildings built on unsteady foundations will inevitably collapse. Unless you give us something to work with, Sera, we¡¯ll be forced to treat you like the prisoner you are.¡±


    (He used my name two times. He was trying to make this personal, use previous bias against me. I had an idea that he was doing it deliberately for me to notice¡ªbecause, Tartarus, who wouldn¡¯t?¡ªbut this was, honestly speaking, quite a bit underhanded after our previous conversation. I wasn¡¯t really one to talk, though.)


    But ¡®forced¡¯? Really? And using a prison cell and torture as a threat?


    I couldn¡¯t really laugh in his face, but he knew I wanted to. The damned praetor was trying to sound me out: if it wasn¡¯t physical threats that worked, it would be mental attrition. And they didn¡¯t have time for mental attrition, or psychological warfare, or whichever name people had for it. Julian was looking for the quickest, and most effective way for me to ¡®break.¡¯


    Was it my pride? My love for my family and my subordinates? My past?


    Whatever he¡¯d find, he¡¯d use.


    Truly, a formidable foe.


    Did I feel threatened by him? I did feel some sort of threat¡ªthat was why I¡¯d been (arguably) polite. I could¡¯ve been deliberately disrespectful¡ªto both of them¡ªin order to spark something, but this wasn¡¯t a diplomatic summit. There weren¡¯t any Guards behind me, any prestige or status to protect me, any pre-prepared machinations or familiar faces around. One misstep, and if I wasn¡¯t careful enough, I could get myself killed.Stolen content warning: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.


    But there was that thing about danger.


    A Daycycle of fighting for my life, killing monsters to eat and survive, making riskier and riskier plays with riskier and riskier people¡ªit hadn¡¯t really desensitized danger to me, as much as made it fade into the background.


    It was there, but accompanied by an exhilarating familiarity.


    If I could survive once, I could do it again.


    It was that mindset that got people killed, but it was a familiar one.


    ¡°I am a prisoner, yes,¡± I said, ¡°but trying to break me to get me to talk won¡¯t get information out of me. In fact, it¡¯ll just make me more of a headache trying to escape. You can shove me in a cell all you¡¯d like, and torture¡¯s definitely on the table judging by how heavily you¡¯re impling it, but that¡¯ll just mean I¡¯m near-death and desperate when you talk to me.¡±


    I leaned closer, stage-whispering.


    ¡°And desperate people come up with very, very creative things. Trust me, I speak from experience.¡±


    The Consul didn¡¯t seem to like that very much.


    ¡°You can¡¯t manipulate me into your chosen outcome,¡± the Consul said. ¡°This isn¡¯t a discussion, this is a negotiation. Your life¡¯s on the line here.¡±


    I could make a very sanity-concerning remark here, but I graciously abstained (again).


    ¡°My life¡¯s always been on the line,¡± I responded. ¡°I¡¯m trying not to die, I¡¯ll admit. But I¡¯m not trying to convince you not to kill me¡ªmy death won¡¯t be very productive for anyone involved, I make clear. I¡¯m trying to make our lives as convenient as possible. No lies, no overreacting, no dodging the question: I will try my best to help you. I¡¯m putting my best foot forward, Consul. And you have, too, I recognize that. The question is how we¡¯ll move forward together, yes?¡±


    Julian raised his eyebrows.


    ¡°And I¡¯m asking you how you¡¯ll move forward with the Union, yes? We can¡¯t waste our resources keeping you alive until you stumble upon something earth-shattering. In war you need to be shortsighted. People are dying¡ªand they need to be saved now, not later. I know that if I ask you if those lives matter to you¡ªright now, on Oath to the Gods¡ªyour answer wouldn¡¯t match mine.¡±


    The Consul leaned forward.


    ¡°This time, I¡¯m asking you: save someone other than yourself. Your country has your Empress, and now we¡¯re asking you to do something for everyone in this war.¡±


    Ah, the emotional appeals.


    ¡°What do you want from me, specifically?¡± I said. ¡°Give me something to do, we¡¯ll talk about a reasonable deadline, and I¡¯ll get it done.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re not one of our subordinates, Sera,¡± he responded. ¡°You¡¯re a person who has the fate of two countries in their hands.¡±


    I paused, considering.


    It¡¯d be wise to not tire the poor, poor Consul out.


    ¡°The protectorate,¡± I said. ¡°Let¡¯s talk about how this war started.¡±


    The food¡¯s getting cold.


    <hr>


    The food was getting cold.


    She was asking him an obvious question, saying an obvious statement, but it didn¡¯t feel like an obvious answer she wanted. But Julian put it forward nonetheless: ¡°We came, and your father was killed by Cassia¡ªwho seemingly acted as an individual.¡±


    ¡°No,¡± the girl said. ¡°You¡¯re wrong, and both of us know it.¡±


    Blunt.


    The impulse to raise his eyebrows came back, as she leaned forward.


    ¡°Don¡¯t you remember what I told you, that day, when we were playing Crown and you saw my father¡¯s corpse?¡± she questioned mildly, blue eyes gleaming.¡®¡°Your father¡¯s in Greta¡¯s pocket already,¡¯ didn¡¯t I say? Of course, it was at that time the two were working together, and afterward I¡¯m sure the alliance was broken off and forgotten, but you have to see everything, dear Consul. It wasn¡¯t Cassia¡ªwell, more specifically, it wasn¡¯t just Cassia who killed my father. It was your father, and my sister who urged him to.¡±


    She smiled.


    ¡°Or, should I say, bartered with him to.¡±


    But what did they barter?


    The question lay between the two.


    ¡°I would say ask your father, but I¡¯m told he¡¯s currently out of action,¡± the girl informed him. ¡°But moving on, my sister told your father to do it. At the time, I...misunderstood,¡± she admitted freely, ¡°that Greta wanted to kill all of us. Even before the attack, Father was poisoning himself, you know? Sarawolf tablets, apparently.¡±


    She shook her head, almost ruefully, but her smile was bland.


    ¡°When I found out that, and all the Cyrus-Orion incidents, it appeared on the surface that she was pitting us against each other¡ªmaking us kill each other, so she could get named Heir Designate. Glory Princess Greta the Great. I knew that if she wanted to, she would.¡±


    This was leading up to something.


    Progress.


    Even if it felt like Seraphina was withholding something, she was talking.


    ¡°And,¡± Julian felt himself saying dryly. ¡°You did something.¡±


    Mirth glimmered at her lips.


    ¡°I always do,¡± she responded honestly. ¡°Can¡¯t help it.¡± The words themselves were sheepish, but there was a bitter slant to them.


    Julian looked at the dishes left on the table.


    ¡°Go on,¡± he said.


    Seraphina chuckled. ¡°Anyway,¡± she continued, ¡°to answer your question, I did do something. A very stupid something.¡± She looked up. ¡°Did you wonder why, I contacted you that day at dinner?¡±


    Rhododendron.


    The smell climbed in his throat, familiar and acrid. Her eyes were like rhododendrons, Julian had thought previously. That day when they were out¡ªwhen they¡¯d ate cake and joked about their day. Blue rhododendrons. Danger. (Funnily enough, he¡¯d felt none.)


    ¡°You wanted an ally. A partner. Protection,¡± he guessed. ¡°Someone who had no choice but to defend you.¡±


    ¡°You had a choice,¡± Seraphina corrected. ¡°And you made it.¡±


    She was different, today.


    ¡°I Swore myself to my sister,¡± she continued, gaze petrifying. And she was back at it again, reading¡ªReading?¡ªan invisible page in his face. It had been unnerving at first, but Julian was somewhat sure it was her Ability. She was almost inhuman sometimes, the faint warmth ebbing away and startling cold taking its place.


    Swore.


    Realization settled in.


    ¡°Oath.¡± The word clawed his way out of his throat like a curse.


    ¡°And I stand here today chained and broken, above the place they claim as Heaven; and beseeched the Gods to take me.¡± She was quoting something, and Julian took a second to place it.


    ¡°They held me in their hands and breathed life into me,¡± the Consul absentmindedly provided. ¡°¡®Child,¡¯ they said. ¡®You are far too heavy. Your sins chain you to the ground. You cannot fly here.¡¯¡±


    ¡°¡®Are the gates open to only those with wings?¡¯ I asked, and they answered. ¡®Leave behind your heart, and your stained soul,¡¯ they said, ¡®and you will have wings.¡¯¡± Seraphina smiled. She was always smiling. ¡°I did not know what to say, and so they kissed me. ¡®Farewell,¡¯ they said, and let me plummet downwards, into the abyss.¡±


    An Oath.


    ¡°And I lay here today,¡± Julian finished, ¡°chained and broken and dying¡ª¡±


    ¡°Forsaken by the Gods,¡± Seraphina said, ¡°in the place they condemn as Hell.¡±


    A silence.


    ¡°What were the terms of the Oath?¡± asked Julian. ¡°Are there loopholes to exploit?¡±


    The returned smile was sharp and thin.


    ¡°And here it is,¡± said Seraphina. ¡°The catch.¡±


    Her blue eyes were piercing, and another realization settled in Julian¡¯s shoulders.


    ¡°How do we know?¡± His voice was tight. ¡°That you¡¯re telling the truth?¡±


    The Princess shrugged easily. ¡°Easy.¡± She put a hand over her chest, right above her heart. ¡°I Swear, to the Gods, that I am currently under an Oath binding myself to my sister, Greta Queenscage.¡± There was no thunder¡ªno sudden storm¡ªbut the words themselves were powerful ones.


    ¡°And?¡± Julian pressed. ¡°What are the terms of the Oath?¡±


    But he already knew what she was about to say.


    Seraphina shrugged again. ¡°Like I said,¡± she returned. ¡°There¡¯s the catch. I¡¯ve mentioned before that torturing me won¡¯t be productive. Me withholding information? Even though it¡¯s inevitable, it won¡¯t be productive, either. We both hold in our hands ways to make the other¡¯s life difficult.¡±


    She leaned closer. ¡°You do know how they interrogate accomplices to a crime, right?¡± she asked in a low voice. ¡°¡®Divide and conquer.¡¯ They say that the other¡¯s already thinking of turning on them, but ¡®there¡¯s still time¡¯ to confess first. If they both keep their mouths shut, they¡¯ll both walk away scotch free. If they both confess, both of them¡¯ll end up in a very hard place.¡±


    The Consul wanted to curse. ¡°Trust,¡± he ended up providing. ¡°We need trust for this to work. And it¡¯s not going to work, so you want an Oath out of us that we¡¯re going to keep you safe, in exchange for you telling us what you can actually tell us.¡±


    Who would have the advantage?


    It was obvious.


    ¡°You¡¯re giving us a hard sell, Princess,¡± said Julian, after a while.


    Seraphina¡¯s grin was gone, a mild expression in its place. ¡°You¡¯re just a tough customer, Consul.¡±


    The food was getting colder.


    Another silence.


    ¡°I¡¯m not the only Consul, though,¡± the former praetor acquiesced, getting up from his seat. The medals on his chest tinkled. ¡°I¡¯ll have to consult everyone¡ªSenate included, of course, to see if your trial can be moved up.¡±


    Time was ticking.


    The longer they hesitated, the more at risk they were of Imperial attack. And the longer the time until the trial, the more time Seraphina would have to prepare herself.


    This was not a good position.


    "Don''t eat the food," the last Chosen of the Gods said finally. "Cold food gives you stomachaches."


    Both of them left the table empty-handed, but one of them stayed with a grin.


    <hr>


    The city of Bellum was in a tumultuous state. Ever since Cyrus¡¯ death, it was a wonder the Galani had kept it under some form of order¡ªbut reports on said form of order had come from the Galani themselves, so there was that.


    Greta couldn¡¯t exactly trust the Imperial Snakelanders, the same way she couldn¡¯t trust Elexis to be sent to try to ¡®coax loyalty¡¯ out of them. The Galani duchess had not experienced much love from her people in recent years, though¡ªit had been Cyrus who had convinced them to help the Cadmi to charge Bellum as vengeance for the Eastern Fires; Cyrus who had ¡®united¡¯ them. It had been a possibility Greta had considered, but an unlikely one: to the end, Greta thought, a fighter.


    What could Cyrus have been, if he hadn¡¯t been so consumed by revenge?


    Whoever he is, whispered Orion¡¯s voice, he is family. Not a pawn.


    The voices were back, damn the Gods.


    ¡°Then what do you want me to do?¡± the Empress murmured, eyebrows raised.


    Family is family. What do you think you have to do?


    The implication was great.


    ¡°They¡¯re both loose cannons, Rion,¡± said Greta. ¡°Josephine needs to take care of Timaios and the others. She also has the anti-Imp leader under her thumb, so¡ª¡±


    I didn¡¯t mean Josephine.


    A pause.


    ¡°That¡¯s a gamble.¡±


    He is many things, after all, and a gamble is one of them. But you want a guarantee that Bellum is not taken over, correct?


    ¡°Delphine has Azareth, Elexis is busy with the East, Petra with the South¡ªDamokles would be too far, Evlogia and Tyche can¡¯t move,¡± Greta stated. ¡°So yes, I need someone on Bellum to¡ª¡±


    Keep the knife far away, Your Greatness.


    ¡°I thought he was family.¡± Her voice was dry.


    See, the only bad thing about being dead is that I can¡¯t kill you.


    ¡°You say that as if you¡¯re actually Rion¡¯s ghost.¡±


    Now that hurts my feelings.


    Greta turned around, away from the map table in her bedroom. She saw Orion, amber eyes and all, leaning on a pillar casually¡ªas if he were there, as if he were real.


    ¡°If you are¡ªand I wouldn¡¯t bet on my own sanity¡ªtake care of Cyrus for me,¡± said the Empress. ¡°I know you¡¯ll be back, but I just wanted to say that.¡±


    Why don¡¯t you tell him yourself?


    An innocuous question.


    You¡¯ve been ignoring him, Orion continued. His feelings are hurt, too.


    Just once, Greta¡¯s gaze strayed to the pillar opposite the archer¡¯s, where shadows flickered and formed blue eyes. The Empress looked away.


    ¡°Don¡¯t tell me what to do,¡± snapped Dionysus¡¯ Chosen. ¡°Get out of my head.¡±


    It was just a suggestion. He cares.


    ¡°In some way, yes,¡± the other agreed, ¡°but they all do. He¡¯ll do something, that¡¯s for sure.¡±


    But you¡¯re worried that that ¡®something¡¯ will stop the Empire.


    Essentially, Greta wanted to say. But both of them already knew.


    The figment of Orion spoke softer.


    Trust him. He won¡¯t stop you just yet.


    And what about after? she demanded, internally. And the day after that? And the years after that?


    But the answer was meaningless.


    ¡°Fine.¡± Greta¡¯s severe bun was unravelling at the edges, and with it the collective sharpness of the Empress¡¯ green gaze.


    She looked like more of a tired woman, and less of the stoic First Princess, or even the steely Empress. Her robes coalesced at her feet, cape and embroidery streaming down her shoulders, but they looked much too big for her. Exhaustion was pulling at her eyelids, and dark circles marred her skin. The orphan that had run the dark streets of the Harbors, foraging for bread and scrapping with the rats, was nowhere to be found¡ªbut everywhere at once.


    The woman moistened her dry, peeling lips and repeated the word.


    ¡°Fine.¡±


    More than one card was needed to play a suit, after all.


    The Empress turned her back on her ghosts.


    What would Arathis Delawar make of the Empire?


    <hr>

 63. Interlude: Mortal

    <hr>


    Humans, if nothing else, have the good sense to die.


    <hr>


    Years Ago


    When the Sun Set On the Last Chosen


    "AGAIN."


    The girl followed the speaker¡¯s orders, picking up another knife from the table and folding her fingers over it, efficiently holding the blade in a delicate balance. Blue eyes flickered to the targets scattered across the range, a disinterested expression on the girl¡¯s face as she raised her hand higher and drew it back¡ªthe action almost like nocking an arrow¡ªbefore sending it hurtling across the expanse with the ruthlessness of a snake. The blade slammed into the center of the target, just a hair¡¯s breadth away from bull¡¯s eye, and the first speaker pursed her lips.


    ¡°Almost, Your Ladyship,¡± the mercenary said, ¡°but not quite.¡±


    Seraphina looked at the other.


    Irritation was there, but a hollowed out form of it¡ªthe mercenary knew Seraphina could be polite when she wanted to, but most of the time the girl exhibited all the stereotypical behaviors of a noble brat but not. The airs of a scholar in an ivory tower¡ªrestrained emotion, unrestrained pride, and almost otherworldly detachment from the world. It wasn¡¯t a glare that the girl shot, but it felt a customized facsimile of it, a sharpening of the eyes and the smile that nailed you to the ground where you stood.


    ¡°Again?¡± Seraphina queried.


    ¡°Sit down,¡± said the mercenary. ¡°Give me the knife.¡±


    And there was that suspicion again.


    Searching for some kind of hatred, some kind of vehemence.


    ¡°Okay.¡± The word¡ªand the knife¡ªwas tossed casually, and the duke¡¯s daughter settled down on the soil as if it was a luxurious couch.


    She was, what, fifteen? Sixteen? (No, lessons had started on her fifteenth birthday¡ªso fifteen, obviously.)


    A long silence.


    (The sky was grey, and the expanse was too¡ªthere were Guards around, but something inside the mercenary had been concerned when they were all studiously ignoring the duke¡¯s daughter. Some of them were even playing cards. Sure, most of them looked up when Seraphina landed a particularly nice throw, but the mercenary had observed one of them elbowing the other and they''d laughed together, like they were watching a circus act. The rest¡ªthey¡¯d stared in fear. Some even in hatred.)


    What had the girl done?


    ¡°Tell me,¡± the mercenary said, ¡°about your teachers. Before.¡±


    Seraphina¡¯s eyebrows had raised.


    ¡°Does this have anything to do with knife throwing?¡± she remarked mildly.


    A silence, before she spoke again, out of interest.


    ¡°Which one?¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t know.¡± The other settled herself across from the aristocrat. ¡°Whoever you remember. Tell me a story.¡±


    The girl interlaced her fingers together.


    ¡°Okay,¡± she said simply. She said this as if she had nothing else better to do¡ªor something along those lines. But there was genuine interest in her eyes. A longing. (For conversation? Questions? Speech?) ¡°My first Tutor...I remember all of them, and it wouldn¡¯t really be an interesting story if I got at length, I suppose.¡± Seraphina paused, considering. ¡°But the first was a bald man. He had a mustache, and a beard¡ªit made his mouth seem small.¡±


    The mercenary got settled. (There was a point to this, of course.)


    ¡°And?¡± the mercenary pressed. ¡°What was his name?¡±


    The girl shrugged. ¡°I don¡¯t remember. It was a year ago. What I do remember, though, was that he was a bastard and I wanted to kill him.¡±


    Her lips stretched at that.


    The mercenary let the duke¡¯s daughter continue.


    ¡°The guy tried to train me like I was some sort of animal. You know, the experiment where you ¡®ring a bell when it¡¯s dinnertime, and feed the dogs after¡¯ so they inherently associate that sound with food?¡± Blue eyes crinkled. ¡°Only he refused to admit he was wrong. I would say something, and he would say, ¡®No, you¡¯re wrong,¡¯ and then say the exact same thing when he was correcting me, only in different words. Annoyed me to no end. Hours and hours of him repeating what I said. Slowing his syllables down. Like he was speaking to a child.¡±


    The disdain was evident.


    The girl waved a hand.


    ¡°And I know, I probably shouldn¡¯t want him dead for that,¡± she continued with a snort. ¡°But he started getting violent when he wouldn¡¯t get his way. ¡®See, this is why they call you a beast! You keep talking back!¡¯ And then he would pick whatever book he held in his hand, and fling it at my face.¡±


    No fear was in her face as she spoke openly.


    ¡°My mother came in once, when he was doing that. I didn¡¯t hit back once, you know. Not because I didn¡¯t want to, but because if I did, he would complain and then Theadora or Matthias would say something and remove him and not give me any tutors again.¡±


    Her fists curled, the first sign of anger. She wasn¡¯t speaking directly to the mercenary¡ªmore like nowhere and somewhere at the same time.


    ¡°Theadora came in and saw him throwing books at me. The first thing she said? ¡®Not the face! We have a ball to go to tonight!¡¯¡±


    Sarcasm hid frustration as she laughed.


    ¡°And he kept teaching, and kept lecturing me, for the better half of a Daycycle, before I apparently ¡®pissed him off to no end¡¯ and he just packed up his bags and went. Apparently he ¡®couldn¡¯t deal with it anymore,¡¯ that bastard.¡±


    Coldness settled in the girl¡¯s features.


    ¡°And then he went and started spreading rumors about me, saying things about how I was tyrannical, a brat, and arrogant, and how all the rumors about me being creepy were true. Matthias had a field day with that, believe me.¡±


    She laughed again.


    An acrid silence, as Seraphina looked from the sky to the mercenary.


    A small, lingering smile was on the noble¡¯s face.


    ¡°The next bastard,¡± she informed the mercenary, ¡°had a whip. And knives. Now that was a fun time.¡±


    Now Seraphina searched the mercenary¡¯s face, for some kind of reaction¡ªhate, vehemence, pity. This didn¡¯t seem like deliberate manipulation, the mercenary thought. The girl genuinely wanted to know what a person was thinking. And sure, the gaze was disconcerting¡ªeyes that were wide and expectant, almost unblinking¡ªwhich explained why Seraphina seemed visibly surprised when the mercenary met the girl¡¯s eyes.


    ¡°My name is Pallas,¡± the mercenary volunteered. ¡°At least, that¡¯s my name here.¡±


    Seraphina tilted her head.


    ¡°Like Pallas the Proud? The emperor before?¡±


    Pallas smiled wryly.


    ¡°You could say that.¡±


    The mask was rippling.


    Yes, you¡¯ll do quite nicely.


    <hr>


    Seraphina got scarily better. And it was terrifying, Pallas thought. The first few sessions the girl had treated herself like a hobbyist, throwing only to hit the mark and nothing else. But after that day, Seraphina had thrown herself into the ¡°study of the blade¡± with a ferocity that was almost manic, and Pallas didn¡¯t know whether or not it was a remedy or a poison.


    The study of the blade.


    See, the old fogeys in their aristocratic families had their swordsmanship Tutors and all that, but really they were taught only as a defensive skill and usually only in military families. It had been a surprise that the mercenary¡ªwho was, one, foreign; and, two, had a less than squeaky-clean reputation¡ªhad been chosen, and Pallas had asked.


    ¡°I chose you,¡± said Seraphina. ¡°Not me, not my parents¡ªwell, they wanted to choose an ¡®educated¡¯ Tutor, but we both know how that would turn out.¡± The girl smiled. ¡°You have quite a reputation in Notus, you know? I think there was a barony around that area whose caravans you attacked. The daughter of that family was very, very loud when describing your feats. Spinning blades and all.¡±


    Pallas¡ªdid remember that stint.


    ¡°So you took her word for it, Your Ladyship?¡± the mercenary asked, surprised.


    Seraphina scoffed. ¡°When would I take other people¡¯s words for anything? No, I dug deeper. You interested me. Your...unique sense of humor was what drew me. And the tavern rumors¡ªoh, the tavern rumors.¡±


    Pallas blinked.


    ¡°And the Guards...just followed your orders?¡±


    The mercenary wanted to add, No offense, but it doesn¡¯t seem like they have any ounce of respect for you, but it would, in fact, be offensive.


    ¡°I made them follow my orders,¡± the duke¡¯s daughter corrected. ¡°They can call me a witch all they want, but I am the daughter of the man who rules this place. The maids are really more problematic than the Guards¡ªthe cowards just need a bit of intimidation, but everyone in the manor itself hates me. They didn¡¯t, before. They just ignored me. But the rumors started becoming more intense, and they started collectively trying to oust me.¡±


    She looked mildly amused.


    ¡°I wonder what they¡¯ll think it¡¯ll achieve. If I¡¯m gone, Matthias and Theadora¡¯ll just cook up another baby, and as much as both my parents don¡¯t acknowledge my existence most of the time, it¡¯s time lost. It¡¯s as if some of them want to take my place¡ªand if they¡¯d asked, maybe I would¡¯ve even said yes, poor girls.¡±


    Opportunistic parents. A hostile household that isolated her. It was almost...pitiable, was that the word?


    Pallas tilted her head. ¡°You haven¡¯t tried to convince your parents otherwise?¡±


    Seraphina eyed the mercenary for a bit, as if wondering why Pallas was asking, but conceded, as if Pallas was an only option. ¡°Why would I? To them, I¡¯m an irreplaceable tool that needs no other maintenance than fulfillment of a whim every now and then. If I would try to convince them, what would it do? How long would I take, where would I start? I¡¯ve tried to start, but every route¡¯s ended up unfavorably.¡±


    ¡°People would call that fatalistic, you know,¡± returned Pallas. ¡°Saying you can¡¯t change them.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s my life,¡± responded Seraphina. ¡°Don¡¯t I get to decide how I want to live it?¡± It was almost challenging, childish.


    ¡°Never disagreed,¡± the mercenary said. ¡°It just doesn¡¯t seem like you have much choice.¡±


    The noble snorted. ¡°There¡¯s no point in bringing it up if you¡¯re not going to make a choice for me,¡± was all she said.This story has been unlawfully obtained without the author''s consent. Report any appearances on Amazon.


    Pallas shrugged. ¡°I guess you could say that.¡± The mercenary picked up a knife from the ground and twirled it around her knuckles. A parlor trick. Familiar.


    Pallas stood up, and offered a hand to the girl.


    ¡°Do you want me to teach you how to kill?¡± the mercenary offered.


    The interest was back again, and the hand was accepted.


    Blue eyes glimmered.


    ¡°And you said you weren''t going to make a choice for me,¡± Seraphina returned with a grin.


    <hr>


    The first fight was terrible.


    Seraphina was awkward lunging, and was more concentrated on slashing and getting hits in, than tactically doing¡ªwell, anything. And Pallas was all for that¡ªwho needed to listen to the people walking around and preaching that fighting was an art form, killing had a standard¡ªbut, one, the girl¡¯s style was unrefined; and, two, she was barely getting any hits in.


    (To give her credit, Pallas had years of experience¡ªand Seraphina, well, did not.)


    The mercenary sidestepped arcing blows and viciously timed attacks, and, after a while, when the sun dipped into the earth and Seraphina¡¯s wrist stamina gave way, the noble hissed and yielded.


    ¡°Is this supposed to be teaching me a lesson?¡± the girl asked. Fatigue was wearing away at her brow, sweat beading on the sides of her face, but she somehow still managed to phrase it like an accusation.


    ¡°Bluntly speaking, yes,¡± the mercenary responded, reaching out a hand for the knife. Seraphina eyed the hand, as if the noble was considering whether to chop it off at the wrist, before (reluctantly) surrendering the blade with all the grace of¡ªwell, a noble.


    ¡°As in, you¡¯re teaching me how to lose? Work hard? ¡®Not everything¡¯s fed to you with a golden spoon¡¯?¡± An acrid disdain¡ªthere it was again¡ªcame along with her wry smile. ¡°Believe me, I¡¯ve been ¡®taught¡¯ that lesson many times. I don''t believe it¡¯s a fundamental part of education, but I suppose anything goes here, right?¡±


    Mistrust, anger, irritation.


    They were all well-hidden under mildly dry remarks, but Pallas could feel the noble re-assessing her worth. It made you almost want to prove yourself, that feeling.


    The mercenary shook her head. ¡°You¡¯ll have to trust me on this one, Your Ladyship. I¡¯m not trying to hit a lesson into your head. It¡¯s unproductive. You can¡¯t learn how to climb just by hitting the ground¡ªI just needed a reference on how to instruct you. And I found it.¡±


    A long silence.


    Blue eyes squinted, as if trying to scrutiny the truth out of Pallas, but the mercenary¡¯s apparent earnesty had thrown the noble off.


    Seraphina smiled. Not in apology¡ªmore like a self-satisfied quirk of the lips.


    ¡°And what did you find, pray tell?¡±


    Pallas smiled. ¡°A lot of things.¡±


    Posture, grip, technique¡ªtechnically, the mercenary had been only employed to teach knife-throwing, but the asleep Guards and the unspoken invitation from the noble meant this was going to be an interesting time.


    ¡°You told me a story last time,¡± the mercenary added suddenly. ¡°I guess it¡¯s my turn now, isn¡¯t it?¡±


    The noble flopped ungracefully on the grass. ¡°An ethical dilemma to hammer your point home? Or a Tale?¡±


    ¡°A Tale, yes,¡± Pallas agreed. ¡°An ethical dilemma? Arguably. But a friend once told me that you could argue anything.¡±


    Seraphina made a vaguely affirmative noise. ¡°Go on.¡±


    The mercenary shifted, dropping onto the grass but a distance away.


    ¡°It starts with the Gods playing God,¡± Pallas Athena said, ¡°and another playing Hero, as all stories do.¡±


    <hr>


    Empires Ago


    When Olympus Stood in the Sky and Bright Eyes Guarded the City


    The name itself, Pallas, meant something along the lines of spear-warrior maiden, which sounded quite terrifying if one dwelled on it. (¦Ð?¦Ë¦Ë¦Ø, to brandish; and ¦Ð¦Á¦Ë¦Ë¦Á¦Ê??, maiden. Athena herself did not know whether Triton had consulted a seer at the nymph¡¯s birth, but the name was fitting.) Pallas herself was equally as formidable as her name, a granddaughter of Poseidon and his wife, Amphitrite; a daughter of Poseidon¡¯s son, Triton, whom Athena herself had been placed under the care of.


    Athena smiled.


    Are we having another match, today?


    (There were many variations on this specific Tale, but the ending was the same.)


    Pallas smiled back. ¡°Of course,¡± she said. Her nymph features made her naturally beautiful¡ªher dark skin glowed under the sun, sweat added a glistening sheen to her hard face. A spear, long and threatening, was held in her hand. It was sharp like her teeth as her grin grew wider and Athena¡¯s own began to match.


    Lake Tritonis glimmered behind the nymph, waves and waves of muted blue that mingled with bright green, and Athena smelled the salt in the air as readily as the salt on her skin. The sun was bright, almost threateningly full, and the sands beneath the two women¡¯s feet gathered on their bruised arms and eroded feet.


    Are we going to change it up a bit? asked the Goddess. His Majesty worries that I might be injured, but¡ª


    ¡°Come on,¡± assured Pallas. ¡°When have we ever injured each other?¡±


    Athena knew that they were both formidable warriors¡ªPallas fought bravely, although not rashly, with the same valiance that you would expect of a seasoned warrior. And the nymph was a seasoned warrior, Athena supposed, in all aspects: hardened by ferocious practice, but never losing what made her Pallas.


    They both were on each other¡¯s level, and Pallas was right: Athena and her had never injured each other severely before.


    It was fascinating, fighting with each other¡ªspears brushing against each other, iron sharpening iron. She was a Goddess, after all, and war was her dominion.


    Iron sharpening iron.


    There was a pause, where glances were exchanged, and then the two leaped into action.


    Whether it was the sun, the sea, or the wind in their hair, this fight was different. Sharper. More acrid, more tangible. Pallas¡¯ swipes were far more vicious¡ªAthena remembered she¡¯d taken up a new discipline¡ªand wide-reaching, which meant the Goddess expended most of her stamina dodging during the fight. Athena brought her spear outwards in a pointed strike, and Pallas easily dodged¡ªbut then the Goddess brought the tail back and let it slam into the nymph¡¯s side.


    Pallas was brought to the ground, but only for a second, as the nymph nimbly climbed upwards again.


    ¡°Well, that¡¯s going to leave a bruise,¡± was all she managed to say before she lunged, charging Athena, and the Goddess fell back as the nymph pressed.


    The exchange prolonged for a long time under the sun, and Athena laughed in enjoyment as Pallas¡¯ spear clanged against her own¡ªbut the Goddess had one more move left.


    The two were breathing hard by the time Athena cast her gaze upwards, and Pallas¡¯ own followed¡ª


    ¡ªand then the Goddess lunged forward, spear in her hands, and landed a blow that took all of her divine might.


    The nymph fell to the ground.


    Well, Athena said, it seems like I have wo¡ª


    Blood.


    The Goddess looked at the life draining from her friend¡¯s face, and paused.


    Horror on the face of a God.


    <hr>


    Empires Later


    When She Who Fights in Front Puts On a Mask


    Pallas¡¯ mask was slipping. Technically, she was not Pallas¡ªthe mask she was wearing was someone by the name of Imogen of Angau, a Gailbraith mercenary who had, in fact, bore the name of Pallas as a Notian freelancer. The original Pallas made up the current mask, mortal and not, grafted at the seams by divine power. (Dionysus preferred to call it possession. There was a better term for it.)


    Athena had wanted to descend to see. It was not curiosity, but more some sort of Morai-induced obligation.


    The last Chosen.


    All things considered, Seraphina...was, in mortal terms, strange. Athena had seen Odysseus himself in Ithaca, Paris of Troy, Ajax the Lesser, the Greater, and every mortal Hero that had existed under the Sky. Athena had not expected the girl to be on par with a young Hercules, or in need of aid like Perseus, but certainly the Goddess had a strange understanding of mortals.


    Gods felt mortal feelings, but they were not, fundamentally, mortal. They did not fear death, or divine judgement, and they did not reincarnate. They did not love the same way mortals did, or live the same way they did.


    When the Fates foretold the end of Olympus, Athena had felt a strange sort of desire. To see it all end, to see it all crumble.


    Of course, she had not paid it any mind before: the Chosen of the Queen¡¯s Cage, whether the process determined by Hera or not, had revitalized the Myths that made up the plane that was Olympus (and it had become a metaphysical plane, and not a reachable expanse, as the years had stretched on). There were no Tales to be made, no braziers or sacrifices to be lit or offered in temples of old, no fervent worshippers in the form of kings and men.


    There would be no more Myths to be made.


    And, perhaps, Athena conceded, that was why the Gods had retreated from the world. Exits from the plane were few and far in between, and very rarely authorized. The names of lesser Gods were washed away from the world. Nymphs, satyrs, every creature that had once walked the earth and made civilization wild¡ªthey had withered away into corners. No more drunk maenads, or pretty naiads¡ªwhich was probably for the better, Athena thought. At least, for Hera.


    Zeus had become increasingly reclusive, almost concerningly so, when the prophecy had been announced. He had sent out a decree saying that Gods were no longer ¡°allowed¡± to intermingle with humans, and Olympus became less of Olympus and more of a distant entity. A heaven that you could not see. A Sky that was Above, but one you did not look up to pray to.


    Gods started dying as their worshippers ceased. Some of them, who had left behind Legacies¡ªlike Tyche, and even Helios and Selene¡ªwere remembered; but the period before the Cage had changed everything.


    That was how the second ¡°Pandora¡± had been made.


    But that was something to be saved for later.


    Instead of telling the story she wanted to, Pallas Athena told the story she needed to: about Prometheus, and fire.


    <hr>


    Seraphina learned well. Terrifying well, in fact. That ruthless streak to her knives had arrived as they fought more and more, and Pallas had passed on a dual-wielding habit as a contingency: a paragon of Notian and Gailbraith ¡°swordsmanship,¡± except it was not really swordsmanship because there were not any swords in the process. It was mercenary, Athena thought, observing her mask¡¯s style.


    Arrogant.


    The Goddess herself had seen many, many styles of war¡ªCarian and Ionian influences were immersed in Eurus¡¯ warrior culture, even some western Thrace. A Mycenaen streak was in Anthinon¡¯s Winterdeath, with Sparta¡¯s shape melting into Notus (it was formerly a Roma city after all), and the names and traditions of many, many old cities bleeding across the modern Empire.


    But the Old World was no more.


    Athena did teach Seraphina some mortal tricks that she knew, but other than that the teaching was all Pallas¡¯ handiwork.


    Of course, a Daycycle or two would not shape a girl into a Hero, but just as Roma was not built in a day, it nearly burned in one. (The keyword was nearly, Athena thought. As it always was.)


    The Ability that Athena was about to give the girl was an abomination. An adaptable abomination, saved for the first and the last of the Gods¡¯ Chosen, but it was an abomination nonetheless. Technically, Athena was on the precipice of surrendering two of her divine Abilities: Weave, and Read¡ªwith the last gift from all of the Olympians, the premonition Ability Thought, which meant that Seraphina herself was the third (and last) Pandora.


    Pandora, the first¡ª¡°original¡±¡ªPandora.


    Pantogn¨®stis, the second¡ªand First Emperor¡ªPandora.


    And, finally, what Athena called Pantodynamos, the third¡ªand last¡ªPandora, the last Chosen of a very long line and Olympus¡¯ legacy: the Ability that the Gods had decided to give the last Harbinger.


    It was a lofty name, but then again all the greats lived up to theirs.


    (All standards considered, Pantodynamos was a Pandora¡¯s Box to Pandora herself. As more and more Empire-shaking events happened as Seraphina rose to prominence, Thought would become easier for the girl to use, and therefore the Box would be slowly opened, releasing all of mankind¡¯s sins to the world. And Olympus.)


    It was the power of the Fates¡ªand part of Olympus¡¯ last Legacy.


    And it would be what would make Seraphina into a Hero¡ª


    ¡ªif she decided to be one.


    And¡ª


    The doors were opened as Seraphina rushed out of the ballroom with a bloodied knife in her hand, weeping. She looked around, at the uncertain Guards, and decided to go down a specific hallway, to a specific residence. She was pitiful, and terrifying at once, knocking and pounding at the door as the knife hung carelessly in her hand.


    Athena¡¯s head swivelled.


    The knocks came a few seconds later, and the Goddess adjusted her disguise.


    ¡°Are you alright, Your Ladyship?¡± Pallas managed to rasp out, opening the door, before Seraphina burst out bawling in her arms.


    The sixteen-year-old was shaking, snot smearing on the mercenary¡¯s armor, as the noble¡¯s face contorted into a scared, almost childlike wail.


    ¡°I¡ªkilled a boy,¡± Seraphina said, as if this was not merely an obscene thing, or something unforgivable, but something beneath her. ¡°He¡ªwas an idiot, so I killed him, and¡ª¡± She hiccupped. ¡°They¡¯re all going to know. By tomorrow, by Dayend, by the end of this Dayhept, they¡¯re going to notice, Mo¡ªPallas.¡±


    Pallas pretended not to notice the near slip-up.


    The mercenary coaxed the rest of the background out of Seraphina, and instantly Athena knew.


    It was time.


    ¡°You are mortal, dear daughter,¡± Athena said. ¡°It is mortal to kill, is it not? War, death, conflict¡ªto explain the origin of all this as divine, it is utterly fitting. Mortal. It is mortal to blame. Only mortals would find a way to excuse their inherent nature, with or without the Gods. It is mortal to die. It is mortal to rage. Whether it costs lives, or eras, no being¡ªdivine or otherwise¡ªcan escape the mortal suffering that is life.¡± The Goddess felt Seraphina still in her arms. ¡°Wisdom is not gained with age. It is not gained with foresight or hindsight. It is gained through regret.¡±


    Blue eyes were glistening with tears.


    ¡°Regret this,¡± the Goddess told her Chosen. ¡°It is mortal to forget, but ¡®just because history repeats itself, does not mean you should ignore it the first time,¡¯ yes?¡± One of her favorites. Icarus had reminded her of both Daedalus and Odysseus, all of them so¡ªbeautifully? Terrifyingly?¡ªmortal. ¡°Regret, arrogant one,¡± continued She Who Fights in Front, grip tightening around her Chosen¡¯s arms. ¡°Fight. Live. Suffer.¡±


    It is mortal to forget.


    But Athena remembered. All Gods did. The exact sheen of sweat glistening on her friend¡¯s face, the exact shade of the blood on the sand; the exact whispered tones of her favored mortals as they called out one last time for their Goddess, their savior; the exact words that had caused every war, the exact faces of every death and every Hero that fought to prevent those deaths.


    And so the Goddess embraced her last Chosen, and dulled the vivid memories they had together, letting the important parts fade away to obscurity like grains of sand through mortal fingers.


    Death, the divine madness. Life, the mortal sanity, like Dionysus liked to say so often.


    Life did sober.


    Prometheus has given you this ardent flame of mortality, Athena told her Legacy. Suffer until the end, arrogant one.


    And with that, the Goddess left.


    <hr>


    Years Later


    When the Sun Rose On the Last Chosen


    You of conflict and desire, Pallas Athena said to the future Empress. Bow before me.


    <hr>

 64. Root I

    <hr>


    The trouble is that we have a bad habit, encouraged by pedants and sophisticates, of considering happiness as something rather stupid. Only pain is intellectual, only evil interesting. This is the treason of the artist: a refusal to admit the banality of evil and the terrible boredom of pain. If you can¡¯t lick ¡¯em, join ¡¯em. If it hurts, repeat it. But to praise despair is to condemn delight, to embrace violence is to lose hold of everything else.


    <hr>


    THE SKY WAS FAIR, AS ALWAYS; AND THERE WAS TWO, AS ALWAYS.


    ¡°Well, well, well.¡± The Forsaken brought his hands together. ¡°What do we have here? Last time you looked this serious, you ended up killing all my Residence¡¯s attendants. I¡¯m still holding a grudge over that, mind you. They were very hard to replace.¡±


    The Fifth (now Second) Prince was casual, as he (arguably) always was. You could describe his attitude as cavalier, Greta thought, but it was a poor descriptor for the shit-eating bastard that he was. Her brother¡¯s hair was slicked back with some sort of oil¡ªlikely made up of Anthinon olives¡ªthat made the pale strands stick to his scalp like a skintight accessory.


    In terms of looks, Cyrus had always been the dashing one¡ªtraditionally heroic. Orion was older, the hardened soldier, and Arathis had always stood out next to them. Not because he was short¡ªin fact, the Ninety-Ninth Victor was arguably rather lanky¡ªbut because of the way he stood.


    While the brothers had always stood straight and kept still, Arathis would always be either leaning back, moving forward, or in the process of doing something. Smiling. Hammering his fingers against the table. Watching. Over the five years Arathis had been a part of the Imperial Family, the boy had welcomed the light. The audience. Attention. (He¡¯d never demanded it, or asked for it, but Greta knew the Palace¡¯s spotlight was enough for him all the same.)


    He was young, and it was hard to forget it.


    And he was human, after all.


    ¡°So I¡¯ve been told,¡± Greta replied, as the Empress sat next to her brother. ¡°Where¡¯s Josephine?¡±


    The boy¡ªman, technically, over twenty but they were all children to her¡ªthrew his shoulders up. ¡°Have absolutely no idea,¡± he said carelessly. ¡°I thought she was busy with the new project you gave her.¡±


    Impatience crawled into her chest.


    ¡°Give me your best guess, then,¡± said the former princess. ¡°Where do you think she is?¡±


    A question.


    Pale eyes flickered as he drew his lips upwards in a smile. ¡°Why, dear sister, are you asking me for my valued opinion?¡± He was mocking, but it was more biting than it usually was, less probe and more insult.


    The Empress gazed at him.


    ¡°Yes.¡±


    Arathis countered it with his own, lazy amusement dancing at his grin.


    ¡°You told her to make the anti-Imps fall in line, didn¡¯t you? By charming that poor helpless boy? She¡¯s probably doing exactly that¡ªusing him as a mouthpiece to reorganize public sentiment and slowly get rid of the agitators, positioning the leaders where she needs them to. A nice neat round of dominoes, is it not?¡± He leaned forward (which had practically become a habitual motion at this point). ¡°But you¡¯re not here to play dominoes, are you?¡±


    Hollowed-out skeletons of monster meat, imported from the other side of the continent and very, very expensive, sat on the plate by his arm.


    Greta raised her eyebrows. ¡°Why do you think I¡¯m here, then?¡±


    The question hung in the air.


    Arathis snorted, as if it was a stupid question. ¡°Because you need me. Because I¡¯m family. Because you¡¯re the only one that can handle me. Because someone else told you to. Because you can. How would I know, dear sister?¡±


    Well, this is uncharacteristic, she would¡¯ve thought, if she hadn¡¯t caught that gleam in his eye as she¡¯d asked.


    ¡°Then you know what I¡¯m about to ask?¡± the Empress questioned, letting a smile ghost her face.


    This was the very table they¡¯d played Crown on just a couple Dayhepts ago.


    ¡°Well, there¡¯s a proposal for mandatory conscription from Zephyr sitting on your desk right now¡ªalready approved, obviously, but you haven¡¯t started implementing it. It¡¯s obviously very corrupt¡ªvery morally horrifying, yes¡ªand would cause a lot of trouble if it¡¯s leaked, I mean.¡±


    The Empress¡¯ brother had a playful tinge to the supposedly threatening words.


    ¡°Since the proposal¡¯s already in its first stages and you¡¯ve already ordered the Merchants to lend their ships to blockade Azareth, you need to implement it soon otherwise they¡¯re going to rebel and demand their money back...but you¡¯re worried about it being a risk to your current attempt at a coup de grace, so there¡¯s that.¡± Hades¡¯ Chosen sighed. ¡°You¡¯re a very busy person, Your Imperial Majesty, and that¡¯s not even mentioning the Williams thinking of rebellion again. I wouldn¡¯t dream to know what you¡¯re going to ask.¡±


    A beat.


    Two.


    Three.


    ¡°Sarcasm isn¡¯t a good look on you, brother,¡± was the Empress¡¯ only comment.


    ¡°It isn¡¯t on anyone,¡± Arathis agreed, moving a plate in front of his sister. ¡°Sandwich? Haven¡¯t touched it.¡±


    Greta shook her head. ¡°Already ate.¡±


    Her brother smiled. ¡°You¡¯ve spent the entire day so far in meetings and holed up in your office and the throne room¡ªDeimos can¡¯t do everything. I doubt you want me to make the calculations, and Orion¡¯s not here to strongarm you¡ªif you want me to go to Bellum, eat.¡±


    The plate was pushed further.


    The Empress eyed the meat for a second, as if analyzing the advantages and disadvantages of pursuing the topic, before picking it up unceremoniously¡ªbut regally¡ªscarfing it up. While she was, the Prince spoke.


    ¡°You have other bad news to bear, I assume? Aside from the ¡®don¡¯t destroy Bellum and cause another diplomatic incident¡¯ talk?¡± Arathis was still smiling, but his eyes gleamed.


    Greta wiped her mouth.


    ¡°You already managed to figure it out,¡± the Empress murmured in between bites, less of a realization and more of a remark.


    The Prince made a noise of agreement. ¡°Seraphina¡¯s in trouble?¡±


    ¡°Captured,¡± Greta volunteered. Her eyebrows threatened to knit together. ¡°A couple of days already. She can hold out for that long....Anaxeres¡¯ already planning to get her out, but we don¡¯t know whether she¡¯s taking the opportunity to gather information, or she needs us to get her out as soon as possible.¡±


    ¡°Point of contact,¡± Arathis supplied. ¡°But, one, you¡¯re already in debt from the blockade on Azareth. If you¡¯re going to continue to hold it without satisfying the Merchants¡¯ end of the deal, you¡¯re going to dig yourself a deeper grave. And two, the new Duke Marksman isn¡¯t doing a good job of rounding in their horses. It¡¯s not that we use the ¡®guns¡¯ a lot, per se, but with the limited production, it¡¯s easier to monopoly, is what the Williams are thinking. Monopoly, gather allies and advantages, pull one over on you while you¡¯re busy, etcetera etcetera...Drakos is too busy to act as a counterweight, too.¡±


    It was nothing Greta hadn¡¯t heard before, but Arathis had a sharp eye. Even if he was a wild card...


    The Empress¡¯ gaze was clear. ¡°And what do you suggest?¡± she asked, finishing off the sandwich.


    Arathis sipped a glass of water.


    ¡°You¡¯re well underground on the internal unity part. That¡¯s always the bad part with dealing with Imperials. And on the external pressures part...well, we¡¯re in a war, aren¡¯t we? The Republic¡¯s looking to strike back, and on the surface, Bellum¡¯s the best target. The easiest, because it¡¯s swarming with Galani and Cadmi, who don¡¯t have the best relationship in the world.¡±


    The Chosen hummed.


    ¡°The fact that you¡¯re not sending Damokles there, and me specifically, well...you need guerilla tactics. Underhanded ones, at that. You want me to bait the Republic into an offensive on Bellum, and distract them while you get your house in order. And after that, you¡¯ll launch your assault on their people¡¯s morale, and do one final attack to sweep Honos in. Gloria¡¯s in the bag after that.¡±


    He was right, of course.


    ¡°But,¡± the Empress said.


    ¡°But,¡± the Forsaken agreed. He stretched lazily, putting down the glass. ¡°You¡¯re in a tight spot in the Zephyr bit¡ªthank Gods you didn¡¯t implement it in Doxa, too, otherwise that would¡¯ve been a pretty little mess¡ªbut you can get out of it. Exploit the loopholes.¡±


    A silence.


    ¡°And you¡¯re not going to tell me any further than that,¡± Greta guessed dryly. Imperials.


    Arathis laughed.


    ¡°A magician doesn¡¯t reveal all his tricks, sis. Besides, you know what I¡¯m talking about.¡±


    The Ninety-Ninth Victor grinned, mockingly spreading out an invisible deck as he swept his hand in a semi-circle. His pale hair gleamed under the sun, gold mingling with silver, as his grin took on an almost familiar sharp, carnal quality.


    ¡°Pick a card, Your Imperial Majesty,¡± the Hanged Killer offered.


    <hr>


    Your Imperial Majesty,


    Enclosed is the second draft of the initial approved proposal, and the ledger of the recorded transactions. I, as a subject and a Duchess, strongly suggest the implementation of mandatory conscription as soon as possible. I have received word from my Princeblood in Zephyr that Merchants are unsettled, and although I have tried my best to scrounge up compensation from Azareth, they will not be appeased for long. My seat is unstable, at best.


    Zephyr is at heart a trade city, and with the ban on trade from the Republic, there has been unrest beyond the eye can see. We have threatened them into submission, but if there is no threat carried out, they will begin to point fingers, and the blame will inevitably lay in our Empire. I, as a leader, must deliver on what I have promised.


    I apologize if I am overstepping my bounds, but we are in dire straits. They are not unnavigable, but these are treacherous waters[...]


    My people are currently making efforts to improve the standard of living in Azareth and supplant the reliance of the Fort on Republica domestic administration. But, admittedly, it is hard to gain the trust of a people whose city you have conquered. They remain hostile, especially after the remnants of the Republica Army Imperial Princess Seraphina have scattered[...]


    I, frankly speaking, cannot think of any long-term strategy to maintain my tenure as both Duchess of Zephyr and current administrator of Azareth. The Princeblood I have brought here are going hungry, and there is no way to feed them without taking from Azareth¡¯s resources, which gains animosity from the city[...]


    Mandatory conscription will undoubtedly bolster our army and foster trade[...]


    I beseech Your Majesty for an answer. Long live the Empire.


    Delphine Hyacinth


    Duchess of Zephyr


    <hr>


    For The Eyes of the Managers of the Imperial Treasury and Her Imperial MajestyEnsure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on Royal Road.


    From the Desk of Delphine Hyacinth of Zephyr


    A Ledger of Confirmed Support from Zephyrean Merchants to the Imperial Army


    Written by the Duchess of Zephyr, in Conjuction with Imperial Princess Seraphina Queenscage


    Horatio Pseftis


    ¡ªTwo galleons


    ¡ªTen shortswords


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    Acastus Baros


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    [...]


    APPROVED BY


    DEIMOS


    Manager of the Royal Treasury and Aide to the Throne, Appointed By


    Nikephoros the Nightbidden, First of His Name


    Continuing Tenure Under Her Imperial Majesty Greta the Great


    <hr>


    To the Duke of Marksman,


    It has been brought to my attention that the Williams Marquessate has been in contact with my subordinates of the duchy of Anthinon in order to engage in what can only be called as high treason. They have offered much, by way of weaponry, position, and prestige; but I can only state simply that this is a paltry offering. I do not balk at political plays, but I certainly cannot stare betrayal in the eye and remain stoic.


    This letter is written with no attempt to offend the duchy of Marksman. I understand that you have succeeded to the seat only recently, but I offer only one piece of advice: you must keep your eye on all your cards. I have, however, brought this matter to the attention of Her Imperial Majesty, and I expect for both of us to be in contact over this. And with that I advise you, not as duke to duke, but as a more experienced figure, to approach this with utmost caution. Affairs during war are no less, if greater, than affairs during peace. I hope you do not think Anthinon presumptuous for approaching this matter as such.


    I state here that I have turned away Marquis Williams¡¯ envoys multiple times. Anthinon will have nothing to do with the storm brewing in the Armistice, and remains loyal to the Empire.


    Damokles Anthinon


    Duke of Boreas


    <hr>


    ¡°Sister.¡±


    The Empress visited her sister next.


    Josephine was dressed in a cloak, golden eyes gleaming as she smiled. It was almost a genuine one, but it touched her eyes similar to how grief couldn¡¯t be hidden as well as vulnerability could. Josephine wasn¡¯t an emotional person, Greta thought¡ªand none of them were (or could afford to be). But Arathis had felt different, these past few days, and Josephine had, too. Brittle around the edges.


    Arathis¡¯ attempts at getting her to eat had been...a worrying development. It¡¯d lurked at the edge of Greta¡¯s consciousness as she¡¯d thought about a thousand things at once. It hadn¡¯t even been emotional, or anything along those lines. Just...concern? Coming from Arathis, who¡¯d tried to kill her at least ten times, and tried to overthrow her at least eight? The lack of usual opposition coming from her siblings was...a strange quiet. After their stunt that had kick-started the war was when it¡¯d started. No, maybe even before that, Greta had conceded. After Orion¡¯s death.


    They were almost playing at being human¡ªand perhaps that was unfounded, at least with Josephine. She¡¯d always been more...reachable. And the footage from her Cage had shown that¡ªshe¡¯d loved that Chosen of Zeus, that had been as clear as day. (But then she¡¯d killed him anyway, Greta supposed, but the emotion wasn¡¯t rendered null because of it.)


    Arathis, on the other hand, could never be genuinely human in the way that the others could. He¡¯d led eleven Chosen by the nose before killing all of them. No remorse, no guilt, absolutely nothing except an almost manic obsession with manipulation. The concern was deliberate. And it wasn¡¯t because Greta assumed the worst, it was because she just knew.


    What was he playing at?


    The other thing he''d implied, though - she''d gotten it at first try, which didn''t bode well...


    ¡°Josie,¡± Greta greeted. ¡°How¡¯s Timaios?¡±


    ¡°Timmy¡¯s busy with running his fief. Sophie, Tanis, Katherine, and Alyssa are absolutely wonderful people for putting up with him, as cherubic he seems to be, that Adonis,¡± Josephine drawled. ¡°I was just returning from the city, finalizing things with the anti-Imps. A report should be on your desk by the end of the day, but I¡¯m sure that¡¯s not what you¡¯re here for.¡±


    Her voice was different, an influence lingering on it like a sickly sweet perfume. Her Ability, likely.


    ¡°You¡¯re right.¡± Greta cut to the chase. ¡°It¡¯s about your parents.¡±


    The jarring change in topic didn¡¯t seem to rattle her.


    ¡°And what about them?¡± the Princess asked, eyes blinking. ¡°Are they planning a rebellion again?¡±


    Again. That was how ludicrous the situation was.


    Damokles¡¯ letter to her had been...intriguing.


    ¡°Unfortunately,¡± was all the Empress replied with. ¡°This project can¡¯t be postponed, but I¡¯d rather send you instead of Timaios.¡±


    Josephine raised her eyebrows. ¡°I doubt I¡¯ll have any major influence on them,¡± she said breezily, ¡°but I can try. What do you want me to do?¡±


    Greta didn¡¯t hesitate to reveal the information. (She¡¯d learn from Arathis sooner or later, either way.) ¡°Seraphina¡¯s captured, and can¡¯t relay orders to the new Duke Marksman, who¡¯s having trouble keeping his vassals in line. The Marquis is seeking help from the north.¡±


    That caused a small furrow in the Victor¡¯s brow.


    ¡°Father always hated the north,¡± remarked Josephine. ¡°He talked about how it was cold and dreadful there all the time, and was nothing but a breeding ground for scholars who turn their noses up at everything. But times change, I suppose. Haven¡¯t contacted him in...what, sixteen years? More?¡± That last bit was Aphrodite¡¯s Chosen trailing off, as if musing to herself.


    Greta acknowledged her sister with a nod. ¡°You can hand over your duties to me and Timaios. Arathis will be elsewhere.¡±


    The Eurusan woman¡¯s gaze caught. ¡°Where?¡± Curiosity.


    ¡°Out,¡± the Empress simply replied.


    A beat.


    Two.


    Three.


    Mild surprise was carefully covered up by a giggle. ¡°Well, the Republic¡¯s in for a treat, I suppose,¡± was all Josie said. ¡°Other than that¡­I¡¯m sure you¡¯re aware that I¡¯ve been taken out of the succession line for...quite a long time. I can¡¯t legally succeed the Marquessate, so all I can do is use Imperial authority to intimidate them into inaction¡ªor confiscate their arms production, as small as it is.¡±


    This felt awfully like a genuine conversation and not a trap, was all Greta could think. After the escapade where Josephine had¡ªsurprisingly¡ªrevealed her genuine feelings, the situation had been slightly awkward for a while, but the tension had been cleared away suspiciously easily. (Not that there had been much tension before. Greta could count on one hand how many Josie had tried to genuinely murder Greta.)


    But.


    ¡°Don¡¯t scare them too much,¡± Greta responded after a while. ¡°Too many new successions¡¯ll make other people think I¡¯m deliberately targeting the opposition, and scare the opposition into making more stupid moves, which we don¡¯t need.¡±


    Josie grinned. ¡°Of course, Your Majesty.¡±


    The Empress stayed there for a while, thinking.


    ¡°How are the anti-Imps?¡± asked Dionysus¡¯ Chosen, partially out of conversational obligation and partially out of reason. ¡°You don¡¯t need to put a report on my desk, I¡ª¡±


    ¡°Will handle it,¡± Aphrodite¡¯s Chosen promised, cutting her sister off. ¡°I know you have things to do.¡±


    The tension was back in her shoulders.


    The Empress raised her eyebrows in response. ¡°I did not know you were a ruler of this nation,¡± she said.


    ¡°Just the second-in-line for it,¡± replied Josephine, a flicker of something indistinguishable in her eyes. ¡°But I would give up the right, so it¡¯s nothing to flaunt.¡±


    How had the conversation taken this turn? Greta would¡¯ve wondered¡ª if she hadn¡¯t used her Ability carefully and dipped into the recesses of Josephine¡¯s mind. (It was a Sacrifice, and it Cost her, but it was worth the risk, Orion whispered.)


    And (as always), there was a restrained, bitter hate for the world, bordered by a twisted form of grief (which was expected).But there was hope, coated in the oils of something akin to frustration. At her.


    Greta¡¯s heart contorted in that way it always did when she used her Ability, flashes of pain ricocheting through her chest that she knew was imaginary. The Empress drew her Ability¡¯s hands back. Why had she used it anyway¡ª family, Orion reminded. You care about them. Did she? Or was that what she told herself¡ª she did.


    Unnecessary, these thoughts were.


    Arathis (for once) was right. Maybe she was eating too little.


    ¡°You have already fought for the right to survive,¡± said Greta. ¡°It is unfair for the world to ask you to live for others.¡±


    ¡°Have you once,¡± Josie replied, ¡°ever thought the world was fair?¡±


    The cloak¡¯s hood rested on her shoulders, dark hair tumbling down and revealing a familiarly drawn face.


    ¡°Sixteen years, sister. You may have hid or disdained the people I dealt with¡ªand they may deserve it¡ªbut I have shaken hands with them, talked to them, laid with them for sixteen years. I know the underbelly of this city, and they have done as much as we have. Was it fair that I, a noble runaway, a prostitute and a glorified traitor, got to live? And not even live, I flourished.¡±


    The words themselves sounded aggressive¡ªan assault¡ªbut it felt more like a practiced speech, the words settling in like a calming elixir.


    ¡°The world is unfair,¡± the Princess conceded, ¡°and you want to make it fair. I both admire you, and disdain you for it, and that is that. I have no right¡ªI will not fight for the right, to rule the world.¡±


    The realization came quickly.


    ¡°You did not want to kill for it,¡± Greta said. The Throne, at the initial assault.


    Josephine shrugged. ¡°I would kill for plenty of other things. Doesn¡¯t excuse me.¡±


    At that, amusement came quickly, too, like a familiar dancer.


    Greta tilted her head. ¡°Did you know all along?¡±


    ¡°That most of it was an illusion, to get Seraphina on your side? And the other parts weren¡¯t, in order to get you the Throne?¡± The other leaned close, before bringing her hands together smilingly. ¡°No, I didn¡¯t. Not all of it, anyway, but the point is that it worked. The world doesn¡¯t know that you¡¯ve killed your father, Oathbound your sister, and sent¡ªarguably both¡ªof your brothers off to their death, to get where you are now.¡±


    The words could¡¯ve stung more, Greta thought, if they weren¡¯t the truth and rather a vehement accusation. (A twisted version of the truth, sure, but the facts remained.)


    ¡°You are relieved,¡± the Empress replied, ¡°that I will hand my Throne over to Seraphina peacefully, and our family will remain as it is.¡±


    ¡°I will only be relieved,¡± said the other, ¡°when I am dead and free of this world.¡±


    The morning wind swept up Josephine¡¯s curls almost theatrically, as if it was an actor Aphrodite¡¯s Chosen had paid, whispering strands into her eyes and resting above her brows in sweeping arcs of painter¡¯s ink. (It was a terrifying beauty that Josephine possessed, in the way that yes, she was not a middling, blushing beauty with painted-red cheeks; but no, she also was not a tyrannical beauty or a calamity of a storm that begged to be tamed. Josephine did not beg, and in that aspect she made a fitting Princess.)


    ¡°Your hands will not be clean, even at the gates of Hades,¡± was all Greta responded with. ¡°Death is not liberation.¡±


    It is an escape, Orion said.


    But not liberation.


    The Imperial Princess chuckled before she spoke.


    ¡°But still I hope, dear sister,¡± Josephine Queenscage said, ¡°that, until death, I will not have to clean my hands after I hold yours.¡±


    <hr>


    The Republic of Roma has experienced a multitude of history. If not of war, then of peace, as we fight¡ª


    Platitudes. Pah. Julian perused the first paragraph, scanning for the words he need¡­


    The wolves of Romulus and Romus guide us all, as the spear is¡ª


    Gods, they¡¯d upgraded themselves. "The first thing," one of the first lessons a former grammar teacher of his - a grizzled patrician - had taught Julian, "you need to distinguish when it comes to writing, is the different synonyms for one word: ''want.'' And that''s if you''re lucky, and they actually tell you what that they want something from you.


    Read in between the lines, son of Roma. That''s the first thing you need to know when talking about politics. They''ll use all the fancy words in the world, but all you need to know is that people talk for the sake of talking. They want for the sake of wanting."


    When people talk to you, they want something from you.


    That''s what he''d been taught.


    For the glory of Roma, we beseech¡ª


    Ah, there it was. Julian stopped.


    We beseech both Consuls, the twin wolves of Roma, to fight against the Empire¡ª


    His eyes caught¡ª


    ¡ªand arm our most vigorous hands, trusted by our nation and its history of¡ª


    Ah. They wanted weapons. That was both unsurprising, and unusual. (They had to know it was a useless appeal.)


    Signed,


    The Patrician of Hadrianus¡ª


    The door slammed open.


    ¡°What did she tell you?¡±


    And, there it was.


    Time was ticking.


    <hr>

 65. Root II

    <hr>


    The urge to create something but have nothing to create is the worst of all [...] there is always the stereotype of the tortured artist, that makes art out of their own pain [...] then is art not a self-sacrificing thing, to give away parts of one''s own self in order to create?[...] Giving away one''s beauty to something inanimate, to impose upon the object the suffering of existence?


    It is not because of art that tortured artists suffer so. It is the lack of it; the lack of beauty that both [artists] and the world suffer from. If there is no beauty, we must create it, they think. If there is no art, we must make it. If there is suffering, we must take it.


    Yes, the urge to create something but have nothing to create must be the worst of all. But is an imaginary urge in the way that it only exists in the mind, and therefore I am condemned to suffer in silence.


    - THE RAVINGS OF A MADMAN, a literary piece published through an anti-Censoring movement after the Angelian Reforms


    <hr>


    "WHAT DID SHE TELL YOU?"


    The question was simple, but not.


    ¡°What was she supposed to tell me?¡± was the only thing Julian had to say.


    Cecilia¡¯s hair was all over the place, but an uncharacteristically on-edge expression was on her face. Her eyebrows were drawn together like a tight curtain, wrinkles dappling pale edges above her eyes, and the Consul grabbed the other roughly by his collar.


    ¡°This is no time for snark, Julian,¡± she snapped. Again, she sounded surprisingly tense. ¡°What if she got into your head?¡±


    The former praetor felt the tightness around his neck as he was pulled from his seat. Cecilia was strong, but it was more from the shock of it than anything else¡ªJulian ripped his neck from the other Consul¡¯s hands, letting the seams stretch with a resounding tear as he raised his eyebrows.


    ¡°It seems more like she¡¯s gotten into your head, Consul,¡± remarked Julian, evenly, the only signal of the inhuman gesture a bit of stinging pain at his scruff. ¡°Why are you so worried she¡¯ll win me over? Is it because she nearly swayed you, Eva-Valeria?¡±


    Cloth lay flatly, hanging in tatters within Cecilia¡¯s grasp.


    ¡°Don¡¯t change the subject,¡± she responded back, looking unperturbed as she shook her hands free of threads, scraps falling to the ground. ¡°You either gained nothing or everything, judging from that look in your eyes.¡±


    ¡°Judging from the bags under yours, I might not be the only one who needs rest,¡± returned the younger boy. But, as it was intended to, Julian¡¯s voice fell through.


    The other Consul fell back on the seats across from him. ¡°You¡¯re changing the subject again, Marius. What did she say to you?¡±


    They never were really that familiar, Julian thought. At least, not enough to use names. When Julian and Cecilia would succeed their fathers¡¯ positions as patricians, Julian had always assumed they¡¯d assume the cat-and-dog dynamic as head of opposing factions: fire and ice, ice and fire.


    She¡¯d always been a distant figure, the only daughter and descendant of Romus, a product of a ¡°mistake.¡± They¡¯d gone to the same military academy, and gotten shipped off to different spots afterwards: Julian as a ward of the Patrician of Gloria, and Cecilia as a ward to Azareth. They both ¡°part-timed¡± between different Strongholds, and caught each other¡¯s eyes often, but they were acquaintances, Cecilia being years older. Encountering each other was inevitable, but it usually came as stories founded on gossip, and people even spun it into a rivalry: Cecilia would catch a boar, and Julian a Minotaur; Julian would win a duel, and Cecilia a political dispute.


    As praetors, they¡¯d clashed. Both of them were stubborn, and at times when they met each other, they usually avoided each other. Cecilia was almost an older sister, or a cousin, in childhood; a distantly close one, one he was supposed to see but never did.


    ¡°What did she say to me?¡± Julian repeated, as if considering honesty, flopping back onto the seat. ¡°Not many things. But I suppose we can¡¯t play that game now.¡± He pushed the letter he was reading across the table. ¡°Hadrianus is asking for weapons. Marcellus¡ªFather¡ªisn¡¯t in any shape to coax him.¡±


    ¡°We¡¯re not in any shape to pull an offensive,¡± was all Cecilia said. ¡°He knows that. You know that. We all know that.¡±


    A silence.


    ¡°I want,¡± replied Julian, finally, ¡°to reveal why this war started.¡±


    The words were a surrender, and Cecilia¡¯s eyebrows were raised like white flags.


    ¡°The war started,¡± the other replied, coolly, ¡°because the Empire tried to kill our leader during a diplomatic summit.¡±


    ¡°The war started,¡± corrected Julian, ¡°because of politics.¡± The boy shifted on his seat. ¡°Marcellus and Valerius refused a protectorate. Not everyone knows that.¡±


    Cecilia looked horrified.


    ¡°If we tell our people that there was a way out of this mess and we didn¡¯t take it, there¡¯ll be riots, Julian,¡± she responded, stating the obvious. ¡°Riots we can¡¯t afford. You¡¯re basically telling them this is a losing war.¡±


    And? The walls of Julian¡¯s throat tightened. Isn¡¯t it?


    ¡°Then?¡± he snapped. ¡°What do you suggest? We¡¯re losing, Eva. We can¡¯t afford an offense, and the only weapon we have in our arsenal is Seraphina, who¡¯s holding a Godsdamned Oath over our necks.¡±


    ¡°What?¡±


    Cecilia Eva-Valeria Romus was smart. He couldn¡¯t deny that, Julian thought as he saw the cogs spin to a halt in her head.


    ¡°That¡¯s why,¡± she said, breathlessly. ¡°She was dropping hints the entire time throughout our earlier conversation, that bastard. That¡¯s why she emphasized¡ªfuck.¡± The other Consul slammed a fist into the desk.


    ¡°She¡¯s leading us around by the nose,¡± Julian admitted, tactfully. ¡°We can¡¯t pursue this without losing at least something we can¡¯t afford to lose.¡±


    Green eyes met his own.


    ¡°We¡¯re not abandoning this route,¡± she said, firmly. ¡°But we¡¯ll set this aside¡­for now.¡±


    You haven¡¯t won, was what she was saying.


    ¡°Fine,¡± Julian acquiesced all the same, sighing. He shifted the papers in front of him and brought out another. ¡°This,¡± he explained, ¡°is the death toll and damages from the attack on the Curia. The unedited version, not the one we used to coax the Senate to back down.¡± He leaned back. ¡°All of the bodies have been claimed and buried. I was thinking of paying for a mass funeral service out of Romanus¡¯ pocket, but if the patricians asking for weapons, we won¡¯t be able to.¡±


    Cecilia was drumming her fingers on the table. ¡°It might appease the victims, but it¡¯ll just seem like a publicity stunt,¡± she pointed out, coolness settling on her features. ¡°And our funds need to be carefully managed. The granaries and imports from Azareth have already been cut off because of the blockade. The taxes on Azareth and Bellum can¡¯t support us anymore, and if we raise the taxes in Honos now¡­¡±


    ¡°I know,¡± Julian said. ¡°But I was planning to ask for tributes from the patricians¡ªand no, not the ones asking for weapons. The minor ones that died in the explosion have to have left some wealth behind that. And while they¡¯re quibbling over successions, we just need to pass a regulation confiscating most of their treasuries.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯ll backfire,¡± Cecilia warned. ¡°Although, I¡¯ll admit, not as much as your protectorate idea would.¡± She sighed, the sound echoing. ¡°But you know we can¡¯t be on the defensive most of the time. We have to fight back soon¡ªwe need to move before they do.¡±


    ¡°As long as you¡¯ll put the confiscating treasury regulation on the Senate agenda,¡± said Julian. ¡°We can leave the morale management and potential offensive second.¡±


    Cecilia scowled.


    ¡°And I¡¯m assuming I¡¯m leading the meeting on that,¡± she remarked with a sigh. ¡°Fine. I¡¯ll take it. I suppose I¡¯ll have to put that down as ¡®on Senate funds and management,¡¯ then. I¡¯ll be sure to bring a treasury representative¡ªI¡¯m sure someone will cut in with an issue on weapons, so I¡¯ll have to nab another witness on that. With the trial last, as per your benevolent wish.¡±


    ¡°Alright.¡±


    A pause, as Cecilia looked up tersely.


    ¡°Do you have something else to say, Consul?¡± she said with a sigh, grabbing a piece of parchment and a quill before looking back down titling the former ¡®Draft for Senate Agenda.¡¯ Julian watched her put down ¡®On Senate Funds and Management, Potential Confiscating of Taxes, Addressing the Issue of Weapons Distribution and Offensive¡¯ as he considered it.


    ¡°How are they maintaining that Azareth blockade?¡±


    A silence, and Cecilia broke it after she finished signing off on the draft.


    ¡°Is that a rhetorical question or a real one?¡± the woman asked with a sigh. ¡°They¡¯re using Zephyrean merchant ships and Princeblood troops. Based on you interrogating the poisoned legionaries, the Imperials strong-armed their way into the city through the docks, and toppled the reinforcements that were supposed to arrive.¡±


    The theory was already turning its wheels.


    ¡°She¡ªSeraphina¡ªtold me to think about how the war started,¡± said Julian. ¡°But ignoring that, think about Imperials¡ªmore specifically, their Merchants. They wouldn¡¯t be happy because of the ban on Republica imports. How would the Empress ask for their aid?¡±


    The other Consul¡¯s quill stopped writing.


    ¡°Money?¡± she offered, looking up, but it was half-hearted.


    Julian shook his head. ¡°They¡¯re Imperials. The Queenscages wouldn¡¯t empty out the palace¡¯s treasury for the Merchants. War costs money¡ªsoldiers cost money. Tossing scraps at the Merchants wouldn¡¯t lead them to volunteer their ships either. No, think about the Imperial way. Manipulation. Blackmail. How does it work?¡±


    Julian drew out the words, one lingering in the air.Stolen content alert: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.


    Fear.


    Cecilia met his eyes. ¡°You¡¯re suggesting that Azareth won¡¯t last because the Merchants won¡¯t be scared of threats for long?¡± Her tone wasn¡¯t incredulous, just flat. ¡°Even if they want to,¡± she pointed out, ¡°withdrawing entire supplies of food and ships won¡¯t be an easy feat¡ªif you¡¯re using this to justify a possible offensive on Azareth, Julian, it¡¯s suicide. I can¡¯t condone that.¡±


    The former praetor shook his head again.


    ¡°Do you really think I, of all people, would encourage an assault at this point?¡± he said, tiredly but with venom that surprised himself.


    The boy sighed. ¡°I¡¯m saying that,¡± he continued, softer, ¡°that if we do the calculations, there might be a possibility that the Empire¡¯s biting off more than they can chew, at least monetarily. With our estimates of their treasury, there¡¯s a possibility that the Imperials can¡¯t sustain their current advantage and effectively attack us¡ªat least, at the same time.¡± We have to take into account Greta¡¯s turbulent reign, Imperial morale, and their political system, right?


    It was an uncertain reach, but all Julian had to do was grab a treasurer, confirm some things, and question Seraphina again. It was a risk, but playing the waiting game until the Empire broke themselves apart was on the table.


    The Senate isn¡¯t going to be happy with it, he thought idly.


    But when was the Senate ever happy?


    Green eyes searched his own, hard and cold, and Julian saw the loss of a father in that gaze. The girl who was behind scorching miles and miles of Imperial land, the girl who was behind the Eastern Fires¡ªeven before then, Julian thought ruefully, she¡¯d always been the one who¡¯d had to make the hard decisions. The older one, the stubborn one. All he¡¯d had to do was play the hero, the hound, the loyal servant¡ªshe had to be all three at once. It wasn¡¯t easy to be off the battlefields.


    Desertion would never be an option for both of them.


    Cecilia broke eye contact first, sighing.


    ¡°I swear to all the Gods, Jupiter and Saturn,¡± she muttered under her breath, ¡°this better not be just because you want to save that girl.¡±


    But it was halfhearted, because they both knew what the other did¡ªthey¡¯d seen the similar inscription in the bases of ancient vases and medals: the homeland above all.


    Our people of Roma, always first.


    <hr>


    Anaxeres of Tyche, I thought, had the type of face that could blend in anywhere.


    His smile could have belonged to someone in one of the Tyche¡¯s gambling Dens or luxurious casinos; or someone strolling through the Palace or sitting on the noble seats in the throne room during meetings. I¡¯d seen him stand to attention with bloodied corpses at his feet in a torn Healer tent, at the top of a siege tower with a spyglass in his hand, even in the middle of a battle-scorched plain; but he¡¯d never once looked out of place.


    The legionary uniform was a new look, and I told him so.


    ¡°Thank you, dear spider,¡± he said, smiling. ¡°But. The point. Are you ready for extraction? We only have so many openings. They really are tightening it up.¡±


    He was dusting off his uniform, I noticed, before he sat down across from him.


    ¡°I¡¯m ready,¡± I said, ¡°but I haven¡¯t gathered anything useful yet except the fact that they¡¯re desperate. And the obvious, of course. They¡¯ve scheduled a trial for me in a day or two, and have hard evidence for execution, but they¡¯re not letting me handle anything because I haven¡¯t let anything slip. But they need me. If you pull me out, I don¡¯t think you can get anyone else close to the source in that short of time.¡±


    Naxy examined me closely.


    We were wedged in the corner (windowless) bathroom that I had permission to commandeer for five minutes a day, but I¡¯d stalled for more by pretending to be on the rag and making sure that the room itself was soundproof. I¡¯d already heard them arguing whether to stick someone in here: it was only a matter of time, and Anaxeres had waited the entire day here, apparently.


    ¡°You can¡¯t do it,¡± he said after a while. ¡°I can see it in your face. You¡¯ve spent the entire night grasping at straws. You¡¯ve played all your cards, spider. Things are happening in the Empire, and you won¡¯t be there for it. You¡¯re Greta¡¯s linchpin, and currently you¡¯re at a disadvantage, and even you can¡¯t keep negotiating like this¡ªit¡¯s not fighting a losing battle, it¡¯s fighting a battle we don¡¯t have time for. You¡¯re unstable.¡±


    A short beat.


    ¡°I won¡¯t spend time arguing the point,¡± I conceded, ¡°maybe I am. But we¡¯re wasting a vital opportunity¡ª¡±


    A knock came at the door. ¡°Imperial? Are you finished yet?¡±


    I raised my voice, pretending to be somewhat uneasy. ¡°Could you send a maid in with linens and a pail of water? They¡¯ll understand¡ª¡± I switched to a lower tone ¡°¡ªit¡¯s not my pride that¡¯s in the way here, Naxy. It¡¯s the fact that this might be it. This might be the turning point, and we might lose it.¡±


    Even I could hear my own desperation.


    Why did I want to win this one so badly?


    I switched my Ability on at full volume. If I was¡ªstable¡ªand I wasn¡¯t me, even my Ability would see a girl who was making a foolish, foolish decision.


    My teeth dug into my lip as I looked back at the Duke, whose dark eyes were expectant. Waiting.


    Gambling.


    ¡°If I don¡¯t come now, you¡¯re going to make an executive decision and force me with something, aren¡¯t you?¡± I guessed, coldness seeping into my tone.


    Anaxeres shrugged.


    ¡°The wheel of fortune turns, it always does. You¡¯ll get new opportunities. As of now, we¡¯re not taking personal opinions or sides.¡±


    He was much too straightforward to be like Arathis, I thought. No, I corrected myself. He¡¯s changing his stance completely. Half-truths, all false. He¡¯s exactly like Arathis.


    ¡°Look at this objectively, spider,¡± the gambler continued. ¡°You¡¯ve done this before¡ªnow is no different. If Greta wanted you here, you would be here. She trusts you¡ªshe even asked me to carefully consider your opinion. If you being here could win us the war, the exact opposite could happen. You can¡¯t just pull the trigger and gamble on someone that didn¡¯t ask you to.¡±


    He was going to get me out, one way or another, I guessed. But I knew that if I¡¯d convinced him in the beginning, he would be on my side. But my argument was too weak. He was, objectively speaking, right.


    I was unstable. Like Thought told me, I could mess around in the Republica archives, bullshit for¡ªwhat, how long? The Republic wasn¡¯t stupid.


    Where¡¯s your sense of self-preservation when you actually need it? my brain whispered sarcastically. You need to stay alive.


    I couldn¡¯t be reckless.


    Iron filled my mouth, acrid, as my fingers dug into my palms. My hand still hurt from the Zephyr stint, and again it was shaking.


    ¡°You¡¯re right,¡± I said aloud in a whisper. ¡°I don¡¯t like it, but you¡¯re right.¡±


    I didn¡¯t have time, and I always hated those people in stories putting their pride above all else.


    I don¡¯t want to die here.


    I caught a glimpse of myself in the bathroom mirror, and fuck, I wanted a hairbrush and a shower.


    If there¡¯s a way out, even a deal with the devil, why not take it?


    There was all there was to it. I wanted to survive. If Greta didn¡¯t want me here, I would go. I wanted to win this war.


    Anaxeres studied me for a while, with disturbing emotion and almost empathy, before letting out a low laugh.


    ¡°Choices, choices, choices. Here, you make the wrong one and you die,¡± he remarked aloud, before winking. ¡°But no pressure, Sera. Even if you didn¡¯t make the right one, you still have me. And I have a plan.¡±


    And with that the Duke smashed his hand in the bathroom mirror, spilling glass fragments and blood over his knuckles as his grin widened and the legionaries came marching in.


    I, of course, threw the first punch.


    <hr>


    ¡°You were really cutting it close there,¡± the man said, leaning back as I finished off the last legionary. ¡°And you¡¯re only incapacitating them. Really?¡±


    I shrugged. ¡°I killed one of them, and knocked out two,¡± I pointed out. ¡°And you can¡¯t talk, you barely did anything.¡±


    Anaxeres shrugged back at me. ¡°You¡¯re much better with knives than you are with fists,¡± was all he responded with as he opened the bathroom door and stuck his head out it. ¡°All the Romanus Estate employees, little as they are, should be having breakfast. The guards are on rotation, but only three were assigned to you. I¡¯m not sure whether they¡¯re underestimating or overestimating you¡ªwhy haven¡¯t you exploited this interval yet, again? I expected more of you.¡±


    ¡°What about the rotation?¡± I replied, ignoring the other comment as I leaned back. ¡°And it¡¯s four. One of them went to call the maid, and they¡¯ll be back soon, so we have to¡ª¡± I cut myself off once I realized.


    Did he really come up with this plan while we were talking?


    I wasn¡¯t surprised, though.


    The maid came and I clocked her in the face, putting on her dress over my robes while wrapping a shawl around my face; Anaxeres kept his legionary uniform while I took the pail in one hand and linens in the other. He confidently went out first and I trailed after him, walking with subservient confidence through the lit Republica hallway.


    It was, true to his word, strangely empty¡ªtrue to my paranoia, I swept my Ability through the elongating passage, all harsh but sleek brick and mosaic. Nobody¡ªyet.


    I didn¡¯t speak as I passed floor-to-ceiling glass windows, the view exposing a side plaza to the left full of flowering shrubs: it was almost as luxurious as the Palace¡ªhome¡ªexcept far more severe and more white concrete than gold ornament. The silence was excruciating, goosebumps rippling against my skin as I felt uncharacteristically out of place in these carved-hollow halls, but I kept it off my face well enough.


    How did people live here?


    The war had emptied the staff, probably, I thought idly while juggling a conversation with Anaxeres. At the palace, you¡¯d see people at every corner at any given time, whether to eavesdrop or gossip. It¡¯d breathed a strange sort of life, one that Julian¡¯s home¡ªand now Estate, likely, given the state of his father¡ªlacked.


    Naxy filled the excruciating, gnawing silence with casual conversation. ¡°We¡¯re going out through the gardens,¡± he said, loud enough to seem natural but quiet enough for people to strain themselves trying to eavesdrop. ¡°No one should be there except Claudia and her staff¡ªmost of which, admittedly, were infiltrated. She¡¯s on heavy guard, but two cousins escaping to see their family shouldn¡¯t raise too much of a ruckus. At least, a ruckus that involves Consuls and patricians, all of whom are supposed to be on the other side of the building in a Senate meeting.¡±


    It was surprisingly well thought-out.


    ¡°Maternal or paternal cousins?¡± was all I said, running through the scenario while I calculated the turns. (The manor seemed to be based on ancient Roma ceremonial structures with a sleek, almost Rhianite twist. The bathroom was located on the ground floor, a corner away from my prison; the latter led to an outside terrace that Naxy was leading us towards. And said terrace was on the edge of the very garden I¡¯d stumbled through, which meant I would exit through my entrance: very poetic.)


    ¡°Maternal,¡± Naxy decided. ¡°I¡¯ll be Tiberius, and you can be Cara. You¡¯re a new hire after I pulled some strings for my younger cousin who got fired due to the war, and Tibby¡¯s already a persona that has some ground since one of my agents already used it once or twice. The problem is that they¡¯re over thirty.¡±


    ¡°Tibby? Really?¡±


    We walked efficiently along the hall before turning and reaching a nook in damask curtains, where I paused and raised a hand to stop. My heart was still pounding as Anaxeres raised his eyebrows questioningly.


    ¡°Ability,¡± I offered as an explanation, closing my eyes. The plan had likely solidified enough for me to use Thought, and so I repeated it aloud, and vivid images seared.


    Pale, cool hands.


    ¡°Your eyes look like blue rhododendrons¡ªdon¡¯t they, Father?¡±


    ¡°Consider my argument and get your hands off the poor maid, Claudia.¡±


    I drew in a breath as my eyelids flung open.


    The Duke was staring at me curiously, analytically. Again, like Ara.


    ¡°Patrician Hadrianus and Claudia are going to be in the gardens,¡± I said. ¡°At least, it¡¯s very likely.¡± I turned to him. ¡°The proper etiquette for greeting a patrician is just a regular bow, right? Not a military salute?¡±


    Naxy nodded before moving from the curtains. ¡°Let¡¯s walk while talking. We don¡¯t have much time.¡±


    Blue rhododendrons.


    It seemed like an awfully romantic thing to say, I thought.


    But what was Julian¡¯s mother doing there?


    I cursed internally as we moved forward.


    <hr>


    The captain of the Winterdeath cleared their throat.


    ¡°Ajax Panthon. With your contributions towards Boreas and the Empire during the Platin Platoon¡¯s terrorizing of Rhianite-Imperial trade, and now towards this current moment, we, the Winterdeath, recognize you as a Major of the Imperial Army. We recognize you for your courage in the face of adversity, and commend you for your service to this nation. Rise, and remember¡­¡±


    ¡°We, the winter sun, do not forget,¡± the soldier completed.


    He would be mandatorily moved to the capital for his promotion, damn it.


    Damokles¡ªa man he¡¯d gotten surprisingly close to the last two Daycycles¡ªdraped all the ceremonial regalia over him.


    Ajax knew that his promotion was because of the turmoil with the Williamses, too¡ªthe fact that he¡¯d been chosen to shadow Anthinon¡¯s political rivals hadn¡¯t gone over well with him, but orders were supposed to be followed, after all.


    Surprisingly, his mind wandered to whether the bright-eyed girl¡¯s offer was still open.


    Wasn¡¯t it?


    The offer¡¯s always open. At least, until you go and do something stupid like rebel against the Imperial Throne or anything of the sort..


    Orders were to be followed, Ajax knew.


    If orders were followed in a specific way, you would get promoted.


    If you got promoted enough times before you died, you would get money and power, two forces that ran the Empire.


    The soldier wondered where the line would end.


    <hr>

 66. Root III

    <hr>


    ''Nothing is too heavy for those who have wings,'' they said to me.


    Was it a condemnation or a false hope, I do not know to this day.


    The former says, ''I scorn thee,'' the latter says, ''I cannot save thee,


    So pray to the heavens to forgive your sins, be as it may.''


    Do I pray, I ask myself, for forgiveness or divine redemption? The former


    Is freely given, freely taken, out of human benevolence; but is the latter not


    Because my sins were too heavy for a mortal to forgive?


    ¡ªPROMETHEUS GAVE US THE HUMAN SOUL, PIECE OF VISAVAN LITERATURE


    <hr>


    JULIAN''S MOTHER DIDN''T LOOK A BIT LIKE HIM, I THOUGHT. Or a bit like anyone I¡¯d ever seen before.


    She was pale, almost too pale for the Visavan sun¡ªwith unblinking eyes that were almost too big for her face, she reminded me of an older, sallower Greta. Or even a greyer Cecilia. Pale hair, the color of silver flax, rolled down her neck as she regarded the man across from her¡ªharboring hard features and a straight nose that greatly resembled Julian¡¯s¡ªwithout a care.


    ¡°Claudia, I¡¯m giving you a chance to earn back your name,¡± said the man, very carefully, as if he was coaxing a wild animal. ¡°After you were¡­defiled by your abductors, Branch Hadrianus sought a deal with Marcellus in order to protect you. It might¡¯ve seemed like we abandoned you, but it was your father¡¯s own foolish decision to part from you. Please, listen to reason. If we manage to take young Marius in hand, we can rise again and win this war. You¡ª¡±


    Her detached gaze passed over the pillars and instead landed on us. I could feel her eyes on my back, even though the discussion was happening a good few paces away.


    I made sure not to stiffen, and Naxy didn¡¯t, too¡ªwe were already a good few paces away, close enough to hear but not enough to stand out, but it seemed it was inevitable that we¡¯d get caught.


    Thought was right.


    Still, we walked, before my Ability alerted me to the patrician following his daughter¡¯s gaze.


    ¡°Claudia,¡± he said, warningly. ¡°Their presence is likely excused. Don¡¯t go digging up graves where there aren¡¯t any.¡±


    We were in the middle of the winding path, my pail tucked beneath my hand and a confiscated shawl tightly drawn over most of my head. The dress was too tight around the waist, and itchy near my neck, but the exit¡ªthat was sparsely populated, with dwindling legionaries that Anaxeres would need to deal with¡ªwas a minute away.


    My feet kept moving, and they admittedly felt like iron in the maid¡¯s tight shoes. I forced myself to walk briskly (but not too briskly), folding myself in an Imperial servant¡¯s posture, crumpled and demure. I wasn¡¯t sure whether to talk to seem more natural or not, but Anaxeres kept looking forward silently, as if contemplative, facing away like an actual legionary; so I followed his lead.


    Claudia was still watching us. That didn¡¯t bode well.


    After a few more excruciating seconds, sweat threatening to bead on my hands, she called out.


    ¡°Hello! You two! The guard and the maid! Come here, won¡¯t you?¡±


    Even though I¡¯d already known this would happen, panic flared in my chest as I stilled, but turned around.


    The two servants around Claudia had their heads lowered, so they wouldn¡¯t be likely to recognize us, but the Hadrianus guards were already looking at us in suspicion. We could incapitate them, I thought, but, one, we lacked the element of surprise; and, two, we¡¯d cause a scene that¡¯d draw the exit legionaries here. They were all likely trained, somewhat competent, and it would be a very, very hard battle that would end me back in a sticky situation.


    The best bet would be to deal with this quietly¡ªI¡¯d been encouraged to keep my mouth shut as soon as possible.


    Anaxeres walked forward confidently¡ªand then immediately kneeled in an official position. I followed, bowing, before Claudia clicked her tongue.


    ¡°No, no. No formalities. Come, I want to see your faces.¡±


    Hadrianus sighed, in a ¡°not this again¡± type of way, and immediately relief bloomed inside.


    She isn''t doing this to just us.


    Naxy rose from his bow and hesitatingly met Claudia¡¯s eyes. I watched as she stood up and reached out her hands, putting them on his face like she was examining a particularly pretty vase. The Duke, to his credit, played the part of the uneasy legionary¡ªClaudia tutted as he blinked, withdrawing her touch.


    ¡°¡®Vice and virtue, virtue and vice,¡¯¡± she quoted, smiling. ¡°You seem like a very smart man.¡± And then she leaned in and whispered something that was too quiet for me to catch¡ªsomething that ominously caused a flicker of surprise in the gambler¡¯s eyes (shock¡ªacknowledgement¡ªcalculation) and then disappeared.


    ¡°I am honored, Lady Claudia.¡±


    Claudia tittered. ¡°Well, I¡¯m sure stereotypes would beg to differ.¡±


    She knew.


    It was a twisting feeling, and one I couldn¡¯t completely discern, because this was the first time I was meeting the woman in person. I knew about her, but Naxy likely had more interactions with her, what with using her as an in for the Curia explosion, but¡ªif she¡¯s this smart, what if she knew about the explosion before it happened? My Ability was whirring, but this wasn¡¯t the time or place.


    Next, the noble looked to me, pulling me from my bow and putting her cold, cold hands on my face. They were freezing compared to Julian¡¯s dry ones, moist like sno. The dread already coalescing at the pit of my stomach heaved as her face neared mine.


    ¡°Your eyes look like blue rhododendrons,¡± she whispered, before turning her head. ¡°Don¡¯t they, Father?¡±


    Danger, beware. Or, beware, I am dangerous.


    As if unaware of the symbolism, she looked at her father as Patrician Hadrianus sighed tiredly. He hadn¡¯t looked carefully at my face, thank the Gods.


    ¡°Consider my argument and get your hands off the poor maid, Claudia.¡±


    She didn¡¯t, but Julian¡¯s mother hummed as she met my eyes again.


    She knew.


    ¡°You¡¯re the one,¡± she whispered, very quietly so only the two of us could hear, inching closer. ¡°That my son was angry at. But you only did what you had to, didn¡¯t you? You aren¡¯t a monster.¡± I almost flinched at that. Cold hands and cold eyes. Fractural, glassy eyes.


    And then Claudia¡¯s hands fell away.


    ¡°Monsters deserve to die,¡± she said, aloud to the curiosity of her father and Anaxeres, ¡°but you aren¡¯t a monster, no¡ªnot yet, anyway. But you are the seed, and the seed hasn¡¯t been sown. The roots have grown, but the branches have not. You aren¡¯t a monster yet.¡±


    And then Claudia smiled, brilliantly, if she¡¯d just delivered incredible news, clutching my hands as her face transformed. The flowers consumed the trellis behind her, but they were equally blinding and beautiful as her smile.


    ¡°I want to use you as an inner chamber maid! What¡¯s your name?¡±


    Her father¡¯s gaze suddenly came up, and I hoped the shawl covered most of my face. I¡¯d never been particularly devout, but I was praying.


    ¡°C-Cara, L-Lady Claudia,¡± I forced out, in rough Republica, trying to mimic the Tianyan-porcelain guard (the only reference I had). One of the servants frowned, others trying to place the name by mouthing it questioningly. Yeah, this isn¡¯t a good sign.


    ¡°Cara.¡± Claudia was still smiling. ¡°That¡¯s a beautiful name. Look, Cara, how about I give you a day off right now? Come here again tomorrow. You and your cousin, yes?¡±


    She withdrew, then, but not before whispering something else in my ear, something, again, that no one else could hear.


    ¡°You should work on your heartbeat, yes? Regular servants are at least nervous when these things happen.¡±


    And then we were off.


    The guards, who¡¯d seen the scene and assumed our identity as verified, let us pass.


    We escaped, surprisingly.


    <hr>


    Anaxeres walked with the girl, and ran when she ran. He¡¯d stashed a cane and two coats across the street, near the site of destruction that was the Curia. A stark, scowling mosaic loomed over the two as the girl tucked most of her locks inside a shawl that she wrapped around her neck, a fashionable knot above the coat.


    She changed her surprisingly uneasy expression into a comfortable one; and they walked along the Honos streets arm in arm¡ªas changed people, ones that belonged there. The streets were populated, but in clumps: everyone eyed each other with suspicion and tense paranoia, as if the ones walking near them weren¡¯t Imperial spies.


    Honos almost seemed like the Eternal City on a good day.


    ¡°Xandros and your assassin have been worried,¡± said the Duke. The words from before, with the praetor¡ªno, Consul¡¯s mother, echoed in his ears. You seem like a very smart man, Claudia had whispered, before leaning closer. Smart enough to come up with that plan to unsettle the city, yes? It was a gamble. One bullet, one chamber?


    A monster.


    He felt the blood at the back of his head, from that one night¡ªa miracle, a gamble¡ªdry under the sun. Guilt made people mess up, Anaxeres thought, when going under.


    Guilt of deception, or the burden of uneasiness. Of being out of place. What would happen if I get caught? they asked themselves. Then they would sabotage themselves. The anxiety would get to their heads.


    He was a gentleman on a walk with his younger cousin.


    It was the truth.


    ¡°I¡¯m sure they had more pressing matters to worry about,¡± replied Seraphina. ¡°And will continue to have, when Mari finds out I¡¯ve escaped. Have there been any more reports from Greta?¡±


    Anaxeres hummed. ¡°She¡¯s in quite a pickle, really¡ªI mean, you were the one who was involved in that Zephyr scandal, weren¡¯t you, so I¡¯m sure you know more about it than I do.¡±


    ¡°I do.¡± The Princess tilted her head. ¡°There is a way she can settle it, though I¡¯m sure it¡¯ll make everyone happy. But what else? Any attempted coups while I was away? Any whispers in the ground?¡± Her eyes were curious, but subdued, as if still considering remaining in the Romanus Estate; but she was remarking on her being held hostage as some picnic that¡¯d lasted a while.This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.


    What was it Anaxeres had said? She had the steel for it.


    ¡°That¡¯s what I should be asking you, dear Princess,¡± he chided as he scanned his surroundings, squat buildings stacking atop of each other in stark whites and browns. ¡°Have you heard any options on how to win this war?¡±


    She laughed, her eyes twinkling. Both of them hadn¡¯t answered the other¡¯s question, and both of them had noticed the fact.


    ¡°Sensitive conversation is best reserved for behind closed doors then,¡± she amended, shifting her gaze to the right, eyeing two young boys rolling dice on the street. ¡°Or when not on the run.¡±


    There were only a couple more corners until they reached the safehouse, and no one had glanced at them long enough to remember them. Anaxeres would let out a sigh of relief, but he was still holding his breath. (It hadn¡¯t been easy to make the safehouse, in the first place: even in ¡°peacetime¡± he had planted some spiders in Honos, invested in them, laid them cold and bare for long-standing identities. Why would he expect anything less than a sudden gust of wind to topple his plans whole?)


    He¡¯d taken a day to plan the escape, and had burned bridges in the process, but the Princess was a valuable asset. Her newfound Ability that she¡¯d pulled back in the curtain¡­when things stabilized, she¡¯d be a formidable political rival. And it was when, not if.


    There were very few things that Anaxeres of Tyche believed in, but this war had to be won.


    Seraphina walked by his side and whispered nonsensical jokes that he pretended to laugh at, both of them cautiously observing their surroundings.


    ¡°One more corner,¡± she said aloud, smiling. ¡°I still have that feeling that guards¡¯ll be waiting when we get back. I believe it¡¯s called ¡®unwarranted paranoia,¡¯ yes?¡±


    The gambler laughed.


    The cobbles of the city felt rough under his feet, the sky wide and open like a gaping maw, waiting to swallow the unsuspecting people under it whole.


    ¡°Nothing¡¯s unwarranted when everything¡¯s fair game,¡± replied the Duke. ¡°You have to consider every possibility when playing the Game, so that winning¡¯s a pleasant surprise. ¡®Consider running before you consider fighting,¡¯ as the saying goes.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s ¡®consider losing before you consider winning,¡¯¡± Seraphina corrected, amused. ¡°But I suppose both works.¡±


    They were both tense, their casual conversation needing minimal participation as the building was a few paces away from them. Even Anaxeres felt the walk was excruciating. But running would draw attention, and so the two walked through the entrance and went along the passageway to meet Seraphina¡¯s awaiting subordinates.


    The Princess, to the Duke¡¯s surprise, accepted wordless embraces from the two of them; before flopping to a space on the floor and immediately going to sleep. And, as if this was a repeatedly recurring experience, the Princess¡¯ assassin began to stand to attention at her left; her aide sat on the right, scrawling what looked like a battle plan down on ragged parchment.


    And Anaxeres of Tyche went to write a report and deal with the consequences.


    Espionage was a tiring affair.


    Especially missions that were easy to execute on the surface, but in reality were anything but.


    <hr>


    #19293700239


    ITEM DECLARED UNFIT FOR PUBLIC DISTRIBUTION, IMPERIAL CENSOR OFFICE


    Reason: Public Incitement


    Location: HYACINTH, ZEPHYR


    Author: [REDACTED]


    The State of Affairs in the Trade Cities, In Relation to Current Events


    It is not enough to deem the Duchy of Inevita and the military Marquessates as strictly ¡°combat¡± Strongholds; the same way it is not enough to simply label Doxa, Zephyr, and Tyche as ¡°trade cities.¡± Although the geographical positions of both Doxa and Zephyr are optimal to establish naval trading routes with the Republic, it is important to consider one statement, which will be established through two specific examples:


    <ol>


    <li style="font-weight: 400">The movement of platin (both Republic¡ª and Rhianite-sourced) throughout the Empire;</li>


    <li style="font-weight: 400">The movement of Tianyan porcelain throughout the Empire.</li>


    </ol>


    Zephyr, Doxa, and Platin:


    Platin comes from the Rhianite word ¡°plata¡±, also used to refer to a silvery metal that is mainly used for its malleability in industrial and other applications. Considering the fact that platin deposits are only found in specific areas of the Republic (in Visava), and commonly in Victoria, a Rhianite state; Anthinon is a source of intercontinental trade even with its cold climate because of both its geographical location, and convenient across-ground access.


    On the other hand, Azareth is the Empire¡¯s main source of platin ¡ª mercantile ships go back and forth from Azareth to Doxa, due to the main barrier of the Epivolous Range obstructing Zephyr (the closest city). However, said platin is usually received through an arduous process, mainly a trip going around the Epivolous Range from Azareth to Doxa. Zephyrean merchants, if in need of platin, also have to transport Republica platin from Doxa to Zephyr at an already-exorbitant cost. This originally high cost to procure the imported metal, coupled with the high platin possession costs in Zephyr, has been a point of much friction between Zephyrean merchants and the Hyacinth Duchy, leading to the establishment of the ¡°Merchant¡± title.


    Only ¡°Merchants¡± (capitalized) that are recognized by the Duchy and the Empire can trade under reduced tariffs and transportation taxes due to ¡°economical contributions to the Empire¡±, leading to the rise of the ¡°Merchant¡± class. This has led Merchants in Zephyr to form a very tight-knit relationship, both relying on the other for growth.


    In light of recent events, with the ban on Republica imports and the use of mercantile ships in the Azarethian blockade, this tension has risen again. There have been rumors of a deal between the Hyacinth Duchy and the Zephyrean Merchants backed by the Empire, which could potentially create tensions the more it prolongs. From a trusted source, said Merchants are Oathsworn to not reveal the price, but it is a heavy one. ¡°Believe me or not, it¡¯s not even just the Duchess that chained us. It was a [REDACTED], making the deals,¡± reports the anonymous source. ¡°The Empress on the throne is pulling out all the stops to win us this war, but that leaves a pretty mess for the Duchess to clean up. We¡¯re not saying we¡¯ll rebel, but Hyacinth will never go back to the same way it was before the war. This war''s only been fought for what, two Daycycles? You can''t seen it on the surface, but [the Empire''s] changing...[this war is] more of a Queen''s War than an Imperial [war] if you ask me: it''s being fought more by the Queenscages, for the Queenscages, and shedding Imperial blood in the process.¡±


    When questioned whether the offer was optional or coerced, the Merchant declined to comment.


    <hr>


    Josephine had spent all of five minutes in Inevita, and already she hated it.


    And¡ªsurprise surprise¡ªit wasn¡¯t just the horrendous weather.


    ¡°You both make horrid company,¡± she told the people in the boat with her. ¡°Absolutely terrible conversationalists. It¡¯s a wonder someone hasn¡¯t tried to shoot you at a banquet.¡±


    The one who¡¯d introduced himself as Ajax smiled uneasily. ¡°Thank you, Your Highness. I, too, like to think my only saving grace is the fact that I¡¯m not dead yet.¡±


    Alright, that remark was passable.


    But everything else?


    ¡°I swear to the Gods, if it rains on top of having to travel with you both and see my parents,¡± remarked the Princess darkly, looking at the stormy sky with disdain, ¡°you¡¯ll have to bury my corpse after I drown myself in the lake and my own tears. Make sure to ask Sister for my Arachne¡¯s silk while you¡¯re at it, though¡ªI refuse to be buried in anything but the best material.¡±


    Lazarus, that brooding terror of a man, spoke up. ¡°My mother was buried in a burlap sack,¡± he said, as if it was a comment on the weather.


    A beat.


    Josie threw her hands up in the air. ¡°See? This is what I mean! I¡¯ve met smugglers with better manners! You don¡¯t talk about personal tragedies until after the life-threatening event, you uncultured¡ª¡±


    The other soldier coughed politely, cutting in. ¡°My condolences, Your Excellency.¡± And then the grizzled man changed the subject, because at least he had some sense of etiquette, deep, deep down under that unshaved beard and unwashed military uniform. ¡°Is it really going to rain, you think?¡±


    Cutting off Lazarus, Josephine spoke. ¡°It shouldn¡¯t. If it does, it wouldn¡¯t be more than a light drizzle¡ªwe¡¯re approaching Armistice waters soon, and the only good thing about our territory is the weather. Not rainy enough to be the Second Isle, not scorching enough to be Eurus.¡±


    Ajax blinked curiously at that. ¡°Do you nobles call it the Armistice, too?¡±


    A flicker of amusement danced across Josephine¡¯s face. ¡°Of course we do. Referring to the ¡®military marquessates¡¯ every single time would be a mouthful¡ªbesides, it¡¯s catchy and it¡¯s accurate.¡±


    The strip of land between Tyche and Eurus that contained Drakos and Williams did contain most of the Empire¡¯s blacksmiths, weaponsmiths, and weapons manufacturers¡ªit was accurate to say that only an ¡°armistice¡± stood in the way of the precarious balance between the two. That, and politics, Josephine thought to herself as she gazed out at the view from the boat.


    Currently, she and the Duke and the soldier¡ªit somewhat did sound like the beginning of a bad joke, but she¡¯d exchanged conversations with far stranger people in her lifetime¡ªwere floating in a rather luxurious boat somewhere in Lake Ichor, bobbing towards the Northeastern shoreline and the Armistice. The Duke himself had been assigned to the task, to the surprise of the Princess when Greta had told her; along with a representative from Anthinon, who¡¯d undoubtedly been grievously wronged in the attempt at a coup.


    Ajax had seemed very, very confused when he¡¯d first been plopped in the boat with Josephine to fetch Lazarus Marksman. Apparently, he¡¯d only been there at the capital to receive his title as a newly-instated Major in the Imperial Army. ¡°Congratulations,¡± the Chosen had first greeted him with. ¡°We¡¯ll get along swimmingly.¡± Major Panthon, as he¡¯d hesitatingly introduced himself as, had revealed that he had recently won the trust of the Duke Boreas and been sent as a political representative.


    ¡°Ah, that¡¯s why,¡± the Princess had realized, before squealing. ¡°You¡¯re a new political scapegoat! How adorable!¡±


    He had not seemed very happy with the revelation, choosing to sulk at the helm until Lazarus had boarded the boat and Ajax had seemed the tamer one.


    The Duke Marksman resembled a socially inept Cyrus, except worse and with no sense of emotional propriety at all. Two hours into the boat ride, he¡¯d recounted increasingly concerning amounts of emotional and physical trauma in an attempt to befriend the two. It might¡¯ve worked on other people, Josephine thought¡ªlike overly excitable Imperial guards¡ªbut the Princess had seen far more wretched backstories.


    The new Duke would get massacred at the next Imperial banquet.


    ¡°Wait,¡± Ajax suddenly came to a realization, ¡°Princess, you¡¯re related to the people we¡¯re going to?¡±


    Josephine raised an eyebrow. ¡°Yes?¡± He really does know nothing, she noted with an internal snort. He would have a field day with her parents.


    ¡°Josephine Eleanora Williams,¡± said Lazarus, flatly, as if reciting something with a faraway look in his eyes. ¡°Daughter of Marquis Williams and his wife, Marchioness Eleanora Williams, formerly of Cadmus. Granddaughter of Elexis Cadmus, the current Duchess of Eurus; also known as the Ninety-Eighth Victor, Aphrodite¡¯s Chosen, and the Empress¡¯ younger sister. Currently, First-in-line to the Chryselephantine Throne.¡±


    His eyes weren¡¯t blue, Josephine noticed, as he raised his head. Probably because of the lack of Galani descent in him. The inconsistency had made Eleanora¡¯s eyes the Eurusan golden, as well as Aunt Theadora¡¯s¡ªonly Uncle Leon, who remained in Eurus, had the Galani blue. The Princess wasn¡¯t sure whether Seraphina had gotten lucky, or the opposite.


    ¡°Only if you calculate succession in terms of seniority,¡± she corrected, smiling. ¡°And that isn¡¯t the way these things work, do they?¡±


    Seraphina, likely, was the one who made him memorize it.


    Josephine missed her sister.


    Ajax, now somewhat wide-eyed, cut in again. ¡°But, wait, if you¡¯re related to them, and we¡¯re here to stop them from doing something, can¡¯t you just¡ª¡±


    ¡°Tell them to stop?¡± The Princess raised an eyebrow. ¡°I ran away when I was twelve, and was struck from the family register soon after. They won¡¯t listen to me if I tell them to stop, but they will listen if I talk to them.¡±


    Ignoring the fact that Greta was dangling a chance at succeeding the Williams Marquessate in front of Josephine¡¯s face, and the fact that the Empress wanted Josephine out of the city when enacting her and Timaios¡¯ plan, it was a break. Not a nice one, but one still.


    Negotiation.


    Ajax tilted his head. ¡°They came to Boreas with very persistent messengers.¡±


    ¡°The reason why they¡¯re jumpy is because of the movement in the capital,¡± Lazarus provided blandly, again, as if regurgitating an analysis. ¡°Marquis Williams sees weakness. The rest of the Empire is at war. The current Marquis Drakos is in the capital¡ª¡±


    ¡°¡ªAnd younger than him,¡± the Chosen cut in. ¡°Much, much younger than him. That¡¯s definitely a sore spot, besides the fact that Timmy is much more inclined to side with the Empress than the Armistice in a rebellion.¡±


    ¡°Rebellion? We¡¯re quelling a rebellion?¡± the Major said, his eyes widening further.


    Josephine patted the older man on the back. ¡°Don¡¯t worry. Scapegoats always get underestimated. I¡¯ll make sure you get out of the place in one piece.¡± And then she stretched, eyes flickering to the north of the boat. A scraggy dock jutted into the sapphire waters, a very distant¡ªbut familiar¡ªstone structure. The boatman cleared his throat to signal their arrival, and the Chosen made sure to sweep the shore again.


    An arrival without armed forces greeting us.


    That was always a good sign.


    The runaway Princess was home.


    <hr>

 67. Wings I

    <hr>


    He stood on the ledge, and looked into the gaping chasm¡ªit was an abyss, endless and gasping, choking on its own darkness. It looked him in the eye, and dared him.


    And so he leaped.


    - THE DARK FOREST, IMPERIAL NOVEL


    <hr>


    I''D NEVER PARTICULARLY LIKED SLEEPING.


    Or needed to, for that matter.


    There was a time when I¡¯d hated it.


    Hated sleeping, hated having those dreams, hated waking up with my hands shaking.


    But it was useless to hate things if you couldn¡¯t kill them.


    Thankfully¡ªI muttered a quick, albeit irreverent prayer to the Gods¡ªI was too exhausted to dream. And it was surprising, because I hadn¡¯t felt the exhaustion until I¡¯d entered the threshold of Naxy¡¯s safehouse and my Ability said sleep, a bone-dry accumulation that was far too sudden to be rational.


    I woke up with my lips dry.


    ¡°Water,¡± I said. It would¡¯ve been more accurate to say I croaked the word, but Xandros allowed me a shred of dignity by ignoring the quaver in my voice as he obeyed.


    I turned to Mercy.


    ¡°How long?¡± I said, and then cleared my throat. The rasp was rather embarrassing.


    ¡°An hour,¡± replied the assassin. She helped me up silently, ignoring the stumble in my ankle as I stood.


    Weakness. Physical weakness wasn¡¯t an option.


    But I was safe now, wasn¡¯t I? Technically, at least.


    ¡°Naxy?¡± I asked evenly, accepting the water cup that Xandros handed to me as he neared.


    ¡°Should be somewhere around here,¡± he answered, my right hand (or left?) scanning my face with surprising concern. ¡°I think he¡¯s writing up some paperwork. Or dealing with the fallout from your escape¡ªit¡¯s Tartarus out there, Your Highness.¡±


    An unsurprised smile made its way across my face. ¡°Nothing unexpected there. An hour, though. How many?¡±


    Xandros hesitated. ¡°I¡¯m not sure,¡± he hedged. ¡°At least half the legionaries stationed here, I think. They¡¯ve swept the entire city¡ªor, at least, the Imperial-y neighborhoods; and I didn¡¯t even know there were Imperial-y neighborhoods here¡ªand are conducting surprise raids now somewhere in the east. They¡¯re moving fast and closing in.¡±


    ¡°How?¡± I tilted my head. ¡°They should¡¯ve taken at least a minute to discover my absence, and then another couple¡ª¡± I paused, my voice breaking off as my Ability coalesced.


    And then I laughed.


    It would¡¯ve taken at least twenty minutes to assemble troops and implement such an organized effort. Based on Xandros¡¯ report, they¡¯d already gotten concerningly far. It wouldn¡¯t been possible unless¡ª


    ¡°They already put a what-if protocol in place just in case I escaped,¡± I noted out loud with an unseemingly cackle. ¡°Either Celia or Mari¡¯s behind this, likely, since they didn¡¯t even get to introduce me to the Senate. It¡¯s almost flattering, really.¡± And then I paused. ¡°Are they violent?¡±


    Xandros blinked. ¡°The raids? Not yet. I got most of this information while out buying groceries¡ªwanted to get the sweets you like, Boss, but they were out of stock¡ªso it might not be reliable, but¡­I don¡¯t think the Consuls have a whole lot riding on the searches. There were legionaries whispering that the praetor¡ªsorry, Consul now¡ªbut¡­¡±


    ¡°They¡¯re trying to flush out everyone.¡± My Ability whispered it, and my fingers loosened as quickly as they clenched. ¡°It¡¯s not that they particularly want to get me back¡ªno, I mean, there¡¯s no practicality in funneling all of the capital¡¯s resources towards a city-wide manhunt while there¡¯s a war going on. They¡¯re trying to find the ones behind the Curia along that route¡ªNaxy¡¯s spies. And then, potentially, get to me through them. A big net.¡±


    Senate pressure would drive them further¡ªJulian would likely counsel against an ¡®impulsive reaction.¡¯ That would be how he put it, likely. (I could see him at a tall podium, speaking with the same measured-but-not words, unrelenting but not undefeatable. He had changed, but he hadn¡¯t¡ªthat honorable praetor. He¡¯d be angry that I escaped, but he wouldn¡¯t have been surprised. He knew better than that. He knew me better than that.


    But then he¡¯d changed, I thought. Or I had. Or just our circumstances.


    But that was that. It wouldn¡¯t do to dwell.)


    Cecilia, I thought, had a way with words, but even she wouldn¡¯t be able to convince all of the Senate. It was the old fuckers against the new ones, and everyone knew that, regardless of who won, a fight was a fight.


    The Republic was crumbling, and I surprisingly did feel something other than apathy and distant pity.


    It¡¯s a shame, I would¡¯ve liked to say, but I didn¡¯t. Saying it aloud felt like a desecration of centuries of history (but then again, just because I didn¡¯t say it didn¡¯t mean I wouldn¡¯t. But what was a proper response to it all? War was war).


    I was digressing.


    ¡°What¡¯s Anaxeres doing?¡± I said aloud after a long while. ¡°Have any other spiders swung by while I was gone?¡±


    Mercy shook his head. ¡°None. It¡¯s been quiet; the Duke¡¯s in the drawing room. Should I fetch him?¡±


    I waved off the offer. ¡°Nah. I¡¯ll go talk to him.¡± A pause. ¡°Xandros, are you sharp right now?¡±


    The boy jumped. For an instant, I saw the scowling suspicion of the Guard initiate he¡¯d been before; but then it was gone, replaced by mild confusion and careful consideration from the boy who¡¯d come up with the Trident Formation (again, a terrible name).


    ¡°I¡¯m fine,¡± he responded after a while.


    I raised my eyebrows. ¡°That¡¯s not what I¡¯m asking, though,¡± I chided, and Xandros thought again, caution clawing his face.


    ¡°I¡¯m sharp,¡± he corrected himself. I¡¯m fine. I can come with you, he was saying.


    (He was lying, just a little bit. My absence had taken an unfortunate toll on both of them, the poor dears. I could see exhaustion in the tiny Hints that scattered across his figure.)


    ¡°If you say so,¡± I accepted the answer with a wave. ¡°Come with me¡ªMercy, before you make dinner, could you collect the reports of what happened the last few days?¡± And then I turned, putting a hand on Xandros¡¯ shoulder.


    He looked worried, the dear.


    ¡°Don¡¯t worry, you¡¯ll be fine¡ªNaxy doesn¡¯t bite,¡± I reassured him (even though I knew exactly what he was worried about, and it wasn¡¯t an Imperial spymaster with a concerning similarity to my remaining brother).


    He, thankfully, didn¡¯t comment on the fact that I¡¯d been clenching my fists since I¡¯d woken up.


    <hr>


    I owed the madman a debt.


    So I looked him in the eye, he looked at me back, and when neither of us opened our mouths to cash it in or lie, we both ignored the fact that it ever happened.


    (I had no doubt the bastard would bring it up later. Debts weren¡¯t a huge deal, unless accompanied by some sort of Oath of Temporary Fealty until said debt was paid off, but I wouldn¡¯t let Anaxeres of Tyche¡ªor anyone¡ªforce me into another Oath again.)


    ¡°I brought Xandros here along to help you out,¡± was all I said after the small silence. ¡°I hear they¡¯re hunting your operatives. You did mention some resistance earlier, yes?¡±


    The man tilted his head. He was now in Imperial robes, of a surprisingly bright yellow, and somehow the spymaster pulled it off as he spoke.


    ¡°Yes, dear spider, but I¡¯m handling it. None of them have been burned yet.¡±


    ¡°Yet,¡± I echoed, before presenting Xandros like a painting at auction, ¡°but I¡¯m sure an errand boy wouldn¡¯t hurt, yes? You mentioned a lot happened while I was gone. I¡¯ll help with something else, since I can¡¯t go out this soon.¡± I dramatically spread my arms. ¡°What about it?¡±


    Naxy laughed. ¡°If you want to sit, you can,¡± he said. ¡°I don¡¯t think you¡¯re in any state to do anything, though.¡±


    I laughed, but still sat next to the Duke while glancing at the paper in front of him. Names. Identities. Addresses. Even pictures were there¡ªmessily drawn sketches¡ªof hardened spies and veterans, very obviously Imperial and dressed in familiar robes. I memorized them in seconds, ink settling in my head, and then looked away.


    He¡¯d caught me, of course, but he pretended not to as he rattled off orders for Xandros.


    And then off Xandros went, and I leaned back in my chair and watched the Duke work.


    He was very efficient, objectively speaking, even though I didn¡¯t know what he was doing. I stared as he sketched shapes¡ªstars, circles, and even adorable-looking hearts¡ªon the sides of the papers in various orders, pausing in various instances to consider the shapes before crossing some out and re-ordering them. It seemed like a mangled categorical system, one that I tried to figure out but couldn¡¯t¡ªit technically wasn¡¯t important to risk Ability strain on, anyway.


    He shuffled the papers into some semblance of order, and then looked at me.


    ¡°What do you want?¡± he asked casually, as if we were sitting on a table on a terrace in the Palace with Arathis¡¯ sandwiches between us. (I didn¡¯t know I could miss harpy gizzard this much, I realized, even though my brother would hear it over my dead body.)


    ¡°What are you doing?¡± I returned. The old trick of answering a question with a question never got old.


    ¡°Politics,¡± said the Duke. ¡°What else?¡±


    I tilted my head. ¡°You¡¯re deciding which of your spies to kill and which ones to keep. I¡¯m assuming the shapes either represent what state secrets they¡¯re privy to, or some other descriptor of their circumstances¡­it is politics, yes. But is it more important than the current state of the Empire, which I request of you to inform me? Jury¡¯s still out.¡±


    His eyes twinkled. ¡°Are you ordering your supervisor?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m asking a friend of a friend,¡± I corrected.


    Anaxeres looked thoughtful, and then laughed. It was a belly laugh, not at all chilling, and then he spoke.


    ¡°A secret for a secret then, friend of a friend,¡± he said, pushing the papers aside. ¡°Don¡¯t worry, I¡¯ll make it quick¡ªI have paperwork to do, after all.¡± The bright yellow hue of his robes brought out the slight yellow of his teeth as he smiled, I thought, and then the gambler leaned forward and spoke.


    ¡°Do you love your brother?¡± Anaxeres of Tyche said, before he clarified. ¡°Delawar Arathis, of course, since he¡¯s the only one left.¡±


    I put my hand over an imaginary wound, raising my eyebrows. ¡°You hurt me, Naxy, you really do.¡±


    And then I pretended to think, but really I was trying to calculate how useful the answer would be to him. He would likely reveal some sort of correlation later after dancing around the subject. I (unfortunately) was well-versed in the mechanics of aristocratic conversation.


    ¡°It¡¯s complicated,¡± I admitted, honestly. ¡°I care if he dies, and I care about him, but it would be rather presumptuous to say I love him when he would kill me and vice versa. It has only been five Daycycles since I¡¯ve met him. Jury¡¯s still out.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s not a concrete yes or no,¡± Naxy chided, before relenting. ¡°Still, an answer¡¯s an answer: the first new happening is that our dear Arathis is going to Bellum.¡± He looked up. ¡°Greta wants us to help provoke Honos¡¯ lovely Senate into an attack on the Mountain City in order to pick off what¡¯s left here. She¡¯s going to start mandatory conscription in Evlogia and Hyacinth, on a small scale to appease Delphine and to funnel the little manpower from the west to the east.¡±


    An obvious fallout of the Eastern Fires, but in reality an easily-grasped tool for Bellum.


    ¡°Ara?¡± I asked, letting my obvious disbelief tange with mirth. ¡°My Gods, she¡¯s really going all-out.¡±


    There were obvious repercussions because of this, but the Duke wasn¡¯t done.


    "The second new happening involves your sister," he informed me. "Princess Josephine is settling another rebellion in the Armistice, leaving Timaios and Greta to their own devices. The most likely option is that they¡¯re planning to either release something that Josephine doesn¡¯t approve of, or¡ª"This story has been taken without authorization. Report any sightings.


    "¡ªSomething that involves the Armistice and requires Josephine in the middle of it," I finished.


    ¡°Exactly,¡± Anaxeres said, looking rather pleased. And then his dark eyes crinkled. ¡°A secret for a secret, then a choice for a choice.¡±


    I laughed. ¡°You rescued me,¡± I continued, ¡°to increase Senate pressure on the Consuls to help with that provocation, I assume?¡±


    Choices, choices, choices, Anaxeres had said. Here, you make the wrong one and you die. But no pressure, Sera. Even if you didn¡¯t make the right one, you still have me. And I have a plan.


    Plans in plans in plans.


    Machinations in machinations in machinations.


    Choices in choices in choices.


    The Duke smiled at me. ¡°That¡¯s a good eye you have there,¡± he commented, with a glint in his eye that made me feel that if there was a glass, he¡¯d have toasted it. ¡°But debts, no matter the intention when making them, are debts after all. And I saved you, so you¡¯ll have to save my hide in the coming days¡ªtell me, how do you use the Ability you used earlier?¡±


    And then I laughed again, because, as shameless as it sounded, he really was extracting information from me at every turn.


    ¡°Do you want to know how it¡¯ll turn out if things go according to plan?¡± I laced my hands together and whispered conspiratorially. ¡°I guess I could find out¡ªbut then the ¡®debt¡¯ would be paid, right?¡±


    And so I Thought.


    Hordes. Not even hordes, collections of soldiers. Craggy mountains, dipping and curving; bloody sands. Spears and blue eyes, sun glinting off steel glinting off sweat-glistening skin. Bodies hit the floor, strings and strings and strings. An orchestra¡¯s crescendo, a baton clutched in a familiar hand; a pale devil reached out a hand, and war clutched it.


    My eyes flung open, and I kept myself from looking perturbed.


    Interested eyes¡ªa blade-like edge¡ªsearching for a tool¡ªmore calculation than curiosity.


    ¡°You have almost the same eyes as Ara,¡± I said, purposefully. ¡°Almost.¡±


    He didn¡¯t look taken by surprise, but it was there.


    ¡°What¡¯s missing?¡± Anaxeres smiled easily.


    I dropped my voice to a whisper.


    ¡°You¡¯re not a Queenscage,¡± I said lightly.


    The Song was gone, I thought. Not gone, but not roaring. Not yet.


    ¡°And does that matter?¡± The gambler spoke idly, but he did seem interested.


    I laughed. ¡°It always does.¡± And then I started smiling, before turning towards the papers. ¡°So, about Bellum and the spies¡­¡±


    <hr>


    The sky was split into halves, Arathis thought. And halves within halves within halves. The sun was bright as it always was, light streaming through delicate wisps of white¡ªtoday was as bright as the day the Cage¡¯s doors had opened, the Forsaken thought, and as bright as the day it had closed.


    His mother had died on a sunny day just like this, the Prince realized as he blinked lazily at the blue expanse. Father had, too, when I think about it.


    It had been a bright day when the assassins came and the envoys were there¡ªbut a dark night, as if the languid heat from the morning had been bottled and balanced; before being deemed lacking and replaced with a cold of an equal measure.


    Delawar Katriene had died beaten and broken in a pool of blood.


    Nikephoros Pax had died¡­how had he died, again?


    Peacefully, but with an assassin¡¯s blade through his heart.


    The Second-in-line (technically, in order of seniority) to the Chryselephantine Throne let his hands wander to his chest, closing his eyes and listening to the thrumming of his life beneath his fingers.


    Right here. The knife had been right there. It had likely pierced a blood vessel instead of the actual organ, and Ara found himself thinking that a quick death suited the old man.


    How do you want to die? someone had asked him, once. He didn¡¯t remember who, but it was either Josie or Sera. They asked questions like those ones.


    I want to die slowly, he¡¯d answered with a grin. Slowly, and painfully.


    And on my own terms, he¡¯d thought.


    ¡°Lord Arathis,¡± an attendant spoke from outside the carriage. ¡°We¡¯re ready.¡±


    He opened his eyes as the door rattled open, to which a fresh-faced boy with a somewhat strained smile met him.


    The Forsaken climbed out, ignoring the boy¡¯s hand, to watch the walls of the Stronghold nearby. There wasn¡¯t a procession in front, but he hadn¡¯t expected one; armed Galani soldiers at the gates welcomed him with naught but a hostile nod and glance. This was the place where his brother had died, Arathis thought. Bellum. The Mountain City,


    Depressing.


    He could smell it in the air¡ªa slaughter was coming.


    ¡°By the way,¡± he remarked to the boy, conversationally. ¡°It¡¯s not Lord.¡±


    Pale hair gleamed. And it would start with him.


    ¡°It¡¯s Prince,¡± said Arathis Delawar, before smiling.


    It was never too early for a bloodbath, was it?


    <hr>


    Home was excruciatingly quiet, Greta thought. And it was surprising.


    She wasn¡¯t above carving the Palace hollow by her own hands, but there was a difference between making that choice and seeing it. The halls were quiet, none of the Servants were there to spy on her, and dinner was taken alone (usually with Deimos or some other important figure that had better things to do than try to poison her).


    ¡°You¡¯re making things very hard, Your Imperial Majesty.¡± The Dragon King didn¡¯t sigh, but his tone was weary. ¡°You¡¯ll throw the West into a riot if you do this. Unless you¡¯re planning to cast out the Hyacinth Duchy and give a Merchant the position, there¡¯s no way to placate them fully.¡±


    The Empress tilted her head.


    ¡°It is not necessary to placate them,¡± Dionysus¡¯ Chosen responded, ¡°so why try?¡±


    Surprisingly, the Marquis Drakos didn¡¯t seem visibly frustrated. He sounded tired as he spoke, but it was as if he had limitless patience lurking inside of him. He was conveying emotion without feeling it, those alert green eyes and that mild smile. It almost reminded Greta of Nikephoros.


    He was smarter than his predecessor, as young as he was.


    ¡°Then, you have some other way of maintaining the blockade without using the Zephyrean merchant ships,¡± stated the Marquis. Not you must, or you should, or even the question, do you.


    This would be where people would¡¯ve laughed, finding him amusing.


    Greta abstained, only looking directly into his eyes. Green, browner than Greta¡¯s wn.


    ¡°Marquis Drakos,¡± she said, evenly, ¡°the purpose of the blockade was to take control of Azareth. Said purpose has been achieved. The rest operate on uncertainties, and are therefore classified as contingencies¡ªalthough they are necessary, they are not a concern.¡±


    It sounded dismissive, but the younger man carefully considered it as if it was an Imperial Order.


    He would be intelligent enough to get the connotations. She¡¯d seen his lot.


    The Empress turned to her aide. ¡°Deimos, hand over the drafted Order.¡±


    The paper was placed in front of her as the Marquis thought, and Greta Queenscage stamped the Imperial Order as the peacock bled gold onto the parchment. Deimos shuffled it away, and the Chosen leaned forward, ceremonial regalia draped on her shoulders drawing back.


    ¡°Are you finished, Marquis, or do you need further explanation?¡±


    Timaios looked at the Empress for a while longer, and then shook his head.


    ¡°No, thank you. Please continue, Your Majesty.¡±


    Greta accepted the answer with a nod, gaze unflinching as she spoke.


    ¡°I am quite sure you have gotten the papers ready for public release, Marquis¡ªI would not expect incompetence¡ªbut I am also sure that you must have many questions about the entire plan¡ª¡± she met his eyes again ¡°¡ªand I, of course, will not directly answer any of them.¡±


    The Empress paused for effect, a habit she¡¯d inherited. The other was still listening intently. Good. She had him.


    ¡°But,¡± Greta continued, ¡°fortunately, I dislike keeping my subordinates completely in the dark unless I deem it completely necessary, so allow me to explain some of the thought behind this.¡±


    A pause, that the younger man seized.


    ¡°There is a cost,¡± Timaios realized, slowly. Again, a statement.


    ¡°There always is,¡± the Empress agreed, somewhat amused, ¡°but why barter with someone, Marquis, when I can order them?¡±


    (Greta had always found those bleeding-heart aristocrats that refused to use their power somewhat distasteful. Power was power. Refusing to acknowledge it was easily seen as spitting in the face of those abused by it.)


    The Dragon King leaned back, somewhat mollified. ¡°Of course. My apologies, Your Majesty. Please continue.¡±


    Interesting.


    ¡°The reason why I chose this route, specifically, was because I want to change this Empire, Marquis,¡± said Greta, slowly. ¡°You could argue that this Empire has not been truly changed¡ªor even attempted to¡ªsince the Angelian Reforms. Complacency has gripped the aristocracy, and anyone would be a fool not to see it. Or the necessity of it, for that matter.¡±


    There were those who were powerful, and those who were in power¡ªthe aristocracy, and the Imperial Family. The concept of rulers was, arguably, a necessary one, but it didn¡¯t excuse the fact that the Empire was rife with corruption. People feared betrayal more than their lives. And it was currently necessary, Greta conceded, but only because the tumultuous state of affairs meant that the Throne couldn¡¯t handle another obstacle in its path.


    The Empress continued. ¡°The people of this Empire cannot live properly, because they live in fear. Of each other, of those in power¡ªof the Empire itself; they live in fear, mostly because they have been taught to. They have seen generations of despots who are only concerned with themselves and their Victories.¡±


    She pointed at the other papers, the ones that Timaios had brought with his entrance.


    ¡°This will give them hope. Maybe it will not last, but it will give the people of this Empire hope, that the land they live on can truly be changed.¡±


    A smile made its way up the Empress¡¯ face, but it was a terrifying one; cold and warm all in one.


    ¡°I will change this Empire, Marquis,¡± said the Ninety-Fifth Victor, ¡°no matter what it takes.¡±


    Because it was necessary, to become Victorious. Greta Queenscage hated to lose, because¡ª


    ¡°I have,¡± Timaios cut in, ¡°booked the venue for tomorrow, Your Majesty. And helped Imperial Aide Deimos sent out an Order. Most of the Eternal City will be in the square in front of the palace in the morning to receive your speech.¡±


    And then the Empress smiled again, and then laughed, surprising even herself.


    Father, are you seeing this from Below?


    Greta the Great hated to lose, because she loved to win.


    <hr>


    Cecilia Eva-Valeria Romus was at her wit¡¯s end.


    ¡°Tell me that you can¡¯t find her, one more fucking time, and I¡¯ll rip your fucking head off¡ª¡±


    ¡°What Consul Romus means to say,¡± cut in a familiar voice, a hand on her shoulder, ¡°is that we¡¯ve immobilized half of the legionaries and guards stationed in the capital on a protocol that was already gone over. What results have you found, legionary?¡±


    Julian was starting to speak more like a politician than a soldier.


    Cecilia shrugged off his hand with a barely-contained glare. The legionary in question, a recruit that was undeniably greener than her father¡¯s prized grass, squeaked.


    ¡°As you know, P-prae¡ªConsul R-R-Romanus, there is a s-s-s-s¡ª¡± he took in a breath, struggling with the sound, but Julian waited as Cecilia stamped down on the urge to maul someone.


    ¡°S-s-s-s¡ªunique ar-rea of Honos, that the Imper-rial population tend to gather-r in,¡± the legionary finished, flustered. ¡°We¡¯ve s-s¡ªlooked through most of it, but nothing. No s¡ªagents, Cons-sul.¡±


    ¡°That man named Anaxeres,¡± said Julian. ¡°He¡¯s the leader. An Imperial Duke, and suspected spymaster of the Empire. He wouldn¡¯t really be stupid enough to leave traces, especially in the obvious locations.¡±


    The protocol had been to placate the patricians, anyway. Cecilia resisted the urge to scoff. Even she knew that.


    ¡°Re-assemble a squad out of a select few members from your group and sweep the area around the Estate for any suspicious activity,¡± the boy ordered the small legionary. ¡°Trusted ones only. Keep this quiet, legionary, and between us. When someone asks you what you¡¯re doing, tell them that this was a direct order from Consul Julian Marius Romanus, and not to question further. If they¡¯re higher-ranked than you, show them this.¡±


    Cecilia watched a small, but valuable button being slipped into the legionary¡¯s hand.


    The Romanus sigil.


    ¡°By any unusual activity, Consul,¡± the young boy said, hesitantly. ¡°What do you mean¡­?¡±


    Julian pressed his lips together. ¡°Anything and everything. Imperial robes being ordered, any house that looks too clean or too dirty, even people who don¡¯t speak Republica¡ªanyone who knows too much, or too little. Trust your eyes, and then your gut. Do not, and I repeat, do not, engage violently with any suspicious people. Especially ones with blue eyes.¡±


    And then the legionary was off after a vigorous nod, and Cecilia chuckled.


    ¡°Do you really think Seraphina and company will get caught?¡± she asked. ¡°No, wait¡ªthis is more of a message, isn¡¯t it? ¡®I know you¡¯re hiding around here, and you¡¯ve fucked me over more than once but I forgive you, just don¡¯t get caught¡¯? She¡¯s fucking with your head, Marius. This isn¡¯t the Marius I know.¡±


    Julian whirled around, an edge to him as he bit (a bit like a cornered wild animal, really. Almost endearing).


    ¡°I¡¯m not forgiving her,¡± he said as if the option was poison. ¡°I can¡¯t go after her right now. What¡¯s happened, has happened; but now we need to worry about the patricians pushing us into an offensive more than ever. Why would I ever forgive the girl who murdered my brother?¡±


    You seemed really chummy with each other, seemed like the wrong thing to say; especially when there was so much anger in Julian¡¯s face. And some very conflicted regret amidst disgust, resignation, and betrayal. Resignation¡­


    Her heart fell.


    ¡°You knew that she would escape,¡± Cecilia almost accused. ¡°Oh my fucking Gods, Jupiter and Saturn¡ªyou knew that she would escape¡ª¡±


    ¡°I didn¡¯t, okay?¡± Julian was almost yelling, now. ¡°I didn¡¯t know. I had a feeling, that she would escape sooner or later, so I tried my hardest¡ªit was just a fucking feeling, you don¡¯t know¡ªdon¡¯t accuse me, I didn¡¯t betray¡ª¡± He was almost gasping for breath, some sort of vivid emotion painted over on his face, bright and fiery and ugly. He seemed completely different from the self-composed praetor who¡¯d remained calm even after being released from enemy capture back in Eurus¡ªtoo animalistic, too desperate¡ª


    ¡°Oh my fucking Gods,¡± Cecilia repeated herself. ¡°You think we¡¯ll lose.¡±


    It seemed like the most absolutely wrong conclusion to draw, but the stiffening of the other Hero¡¯s stance drew a long, cold laugh out of her.


    ¡°Julian Marius Romanus,¡± the Consul Romus drew out the syllables, making the boy shudder with guilt all the while, ¡°thinks we¡¯ll lose this war. Him, of all people. The King of the Battlefield, the Minotaur Slayer, the only scion of Branch Romanus and Blood of House Roma¡ªhe thinks we might lose.¡±


    The funny thing was, Cecilia was all out of poison and resentment. She couldn¡¯t even blame the kid¡ªthere had been too much terror and too many losses. And Julian felt torn, she could see it in his face: he felt absolutely wretched that his loyalty had supposedly wavered¡ªTartarus, he was crying. He wasn¡¯t sobbing, but his eyes were moist.


    ¡°Fuck¡ªdon¡¯t cry, Marius.¡± The situation had warped so badly it was grotesque, and Cecilia hesitated before she settled for patting the other Consul on the back.


    ¡°Hey,¡± she offered after a while, detaching a flask from her waist. ¡°Here, have a drink. You can cry if you want to, but at least have an excuse, yeah?¡±


    (Tartarus, what was she doing? People were dying, and here she was¡ª)


    Julian opened the flask, and magnificently downed it all in one gulp.


    Well. There went the last of the limited Eurusan wine.


    Cecilia waited for a while. She was generous, even giving the boy ten minutes to process his grief before clearing her throat.


    "So, uh, Marius¡ªyou know Seraphina¡¯s brother? Yeah, the youngest one, who¡¯s been in the capital since the beginning of the war?"


    A sluggish nod. He isn''t going to like this.


    "Well, our sources in Bellum have news that..."


    <hr>

 68. Wings II

    <hr>


    Aside from the obvious genocidal repercussion of Lysimachos¡¯ Slaughter, there was a massive ripple in diplomacy with other nations. The Union of the Forbidden¡¯s Agamemnon and Clytemnestra raised an uproar, and as did the Snakeland Galani. Tianya¡¯s military House Chu¡ªwhich gained power as a result of the Thousand Mile War¡ªrefused to trade with the Empire in the name of a cautionary measure. Rhianite peacekeepers were dispatched to the Empire as a precautionary measure. There were riots at Notus.


    Trade suffered; diplomacy suffered; people suffered: the three components of a nightmarish time in Imperial history. The secret bastard of Lysimachos, given birth to by Nephele Evimeria and disdained by the Gods, ended up being the next Victor, but was struck down by Lightning soon after ascending to the Throne, leading to ten long years of political instability.


    As such, the Insane Emperor¡¯s reign led to millions of deaths, some indirect and some not. Which leads to:


    <ul>


    <li style="font-weight: 400">The Golden Rule of Ruling: Do not commit genocide. Ignoring the moral implications, it is disastrous for diplomacy and will inevitably lead to geopolitical tensions.</li>


    </ul>


    - RULING: A SERIES OF DO''S AND DON''TS, "SOMEWHAT SATIRICIAL"


    <hr>


    I HEARD VOICES OUTSIDE, and after I shot a glance at Anaxeres and confirmed that yes, they weren¡¯t a figment of my imagination, I listened.


    ¡°He¡¯s going to think you¡¯re an idiot.¡± A brusque¡ªbut young¡ªvoice.


    ¡°He already thinks-s I¡¯m an idiot, but you know he really can¡¯t pick and choose.¡±


    ¡°What did he say again? Don¡¯t engage violently with any suspicious people?¡±


    ¡°¡®Es-s-specially ones with blue eyes,¡¯¡± agreed the other one. ¡°The one that escaped had blue eyes-s. I think. She was a Chosen, apparently. The Sixth Imperial Princess of the Empire¡ªthe latest one.¡±


    ¡°See, I told you, you speak better when you relax. Besides, there haven¡¯t been that many suspicious people, unless you count that grandmother who offered us that apple pie a few buildings back. She might¡¯ve been trying to poison us. You can go tell the Consul.¡±


    ¡°Sh-sh-shut up.¡±


    I raised an eyebrow at Anaxeres, who was seemingly paying attention too.


    Send Mercy, he mouthed.


    He couldn¡¯t use a legionary identity this time.


    I quietly rose from my seat at the table, spreading my Ability across my feet as I delicately opened the door and found Mercy gathering reports like I¡¯d asked her to. The assassin was multitasking, holding a bundle of potatoes but also tilting her head as if listening, and we heard several boots trudging against the stairs as they came near. The time was excruciatingly slow as they started on the bottom floor, one that Naxy had rented out to an elderly couple that stayed in their rooms often enough that they could feign ignorance to the comings-and-goings of Anaxeres¡¯ colorful employees.


    ¡°Move all the papers to the drawing room, quickly,¡± I said, briskly but evenly. ¡°Abandon your reports and put some potatoes on the stove. You live here, alone, with your brother, Xandros. Re-use the identities we used in Azareth. Invite them in for dinner and act like a gracious host¡ªdon¡¯t let anything slip. If anything goes awry, jump out the window and we¡¯ll meet you at the store nearby. We¡¯ll wait as long as we can.¡±


    And then I scrambled into action, pushing all the boxes of papers into the drawing room as Mercy started cooking, discarding her Imperial robes in favor of demure Republica attire that she found in Anaxeres¡¯ costume box (it made sense: this was a spy headquarters, after all).


    The boxes weren¡¯t that heavy, thankfully: Naxy abandoned his papers and helped me lug all the boxes of official reports from his spies into the drawing room with only minimal obscenities when he accidentally dropped one on his foot. Mercy came in and shoved a grandfather clock over the door to the room, effectively sealing us in.


    Unless one of the legionaries was particularly smart and realized that this flat and one room less than the other ones, it would be a temporary fix.


    They came afterwards, and I pressed an ear against the wood as Anaxeres did. The Duke didn¡¯t seem shocked or concerned, but a specific sort of grim that I hadn¡¯t seen on his usually-smiling face before.


    Muffled noises came from outside, but they sharpened as I abruptly condensed my Ability to reach into the door¡¯s hinges and beyond the clock. The spiderwebs


    ¡°Salv¨¥te, miss,¡± said the second legionary at the door, the ¡®What did he say again?¡¯ one. As expected, he was the main talker. He oozed with boyish charm. ¡°We¡¯re here on behalf of the Honos branch of the Romulus Army of the Legion, to conduct a routine inspection. Don¡¯t worry, miss, you didn¡¯t do anything wrong; we¡¯re just here to ask some questions.¡±


    Mercy was hesitant, like any innocent citizen would be.


    ¡°I¡¯m really sorry to ask this of you,¡± she said softly in the Republica I¡¯d taught her. ¡°But would it be alright if I asked where your identification badges are? I¡¯m home alone, so¡­if we can¡¯t talk like this, could I ask only one of you to come in?¡±


    (She could take one, I knew she could. It was smart of her to not call them all in at once.)


    A pause, as Mercy spoke again.


    ¡°There¡¯re potatoes inside. You can eat for your trouble. Again, I¡¯m sorry, but in these times, safety¡­¡±


    The speaking legionary cleared his throat after a round of murmurs that I could only barely catch. ¡°We understand, miss. We¡¯ll do our best to accommodate you. With that said, I can only show you our legionary badges if you open the door¡­but it¡¯ll be only me coming in, miss. We encourage your cooperation.¡±


    I heard the door open and the hairs at the back of my head stand to attention in anticipation. I¡¯d already used Thought twice, and was using my Ability currently to overhear the conversation¡ªif I strained myself, and if the situation went awry, I¡¯d run slow.


    Better not risk it.


    ¡°Hello,¡± I heard Mercy greet, nervously. ¡°Would you like some potatoes?¡±


    The legionary coughed. ¡°I appreciate the offer, miss, but legionaries can¡¯t eat on duty.¡± He sounded wistful¡ªlonging-warring-practicality¡ªbut was ultimately professional. ¡°I¡¯m the newly-appointed centurion of the current Cohort in Honos, miss. Tiberius. You can call me Tibby, miss.¡±


    If it were any other day, I would¡¯ve burst out laughing. But now, with a mask fixed on my face, I looked at Anaxeres and deliberately let my lips twitch. As if to offset the tension, he rolled his eyes in response. Somehow, it was in this moment that a fleeting thought pulled at me: This was the man who¡¯d killed Marianus.


    ¡°Then salv¨¥te to you, too, Tibby,¡± responded Mercy. ¡°What questions do you have for me?¡±


    And then came routine, almost mechanical questions. The boy wasn¡¯t nervous¡ªhe was steady, firm. I couldn¡¯t see his face, but I could picture it: almost like that stable boy I¡¯d met in that one town, cheeks round and flushed, with fingers that twitched and gestured animatedly when he spoke.


    I shook the picture off as the important questions came.


    ¡°Have you seen any suspicious activity around?¡± I had to give to him, he was deceptively casual.


    ¡°Plenty.¡± Mercy hesitated. ¡°I stick my head out the window, I see shadows scaring me. Ever since what happened to the Curia happened, and all the news¡­I wouldn¡¯t want to voice any of my suspicions. I¡¯m superstitious, you know. My brother, he says I sound more like an old woman than our own mother.¡±


    ¡°You have a brother? You live with him?¡±


    ¡°Ever since our mother died, yes. We¡¯re orphans. He¡¯s out on errands right now, but I don¡¯t think he¡¯ll be back until late.¡±


    ¡°Errands?¡±


    I could feel the faux guilt in her voice. ¡°That¡¯s what he tells me¡­but my friend, she saw him at the district downtown¡­¡±


    After throwing the legionary a couple more false crumbs, about Xandros who was supposedly in debt after falling in love with a prostitute, and them being orphaned after their mother took their own life due to grief (after their other sister died), the boy (surprisingly) didn¡¯t show any sign of impatience. Mercy kept the story plain and vague, with no specific names and no easily verifiable information.


    The legionary listened, and as the conversation prolonged I almost let my guard down, except my Ability blared as I heard shuffling.


    The boy unrolled a¡ªpiece of paper.


    ¡°One last question, miss. Can you read this?¡±


    A pause.


    "It¡¯s Imperi, isn¡¯t it?" Mercy hedged. "I don¡¯t think¡­"


    ¡°It¡¯s fine, just give it a shot, miss. Or I could read it aloud, if you want. The only thing that matters is that it¡¯s heard.¡±


    ¡°Oh¡­alright.¡±


    As if there were Republica subtitles beneath the words, the smooth talker spoke in jagged Imperi:


    ¡°Seraphina Queenscage, if you are listening, we need you to know that we have been ordered not to violently engage with any suspicious people. We don¡¯t want to apprehend you¡­yet.¡± The pause seemed choreographed, stilted. Were they really reading it aloud in every household? ¡°Our orders come from the Consul¡ª¡± the words came in Republica ¡°¡ªRomanus, who we assume does not want to harm you. But we warn you, if you are in fact here: do not make any large movements. If you do, we will be back; even after we report back to the Consul, if you are here, we will know, and we will act. Do not harm our country.¡±


    And then he left, after a silence in which he assumedly eyed Mercy for any visible reaction. He closed the door behind him, and after Mercy pulled away the grandfather clock and let us out, I was smiling (and sweating, the drawing room was unbelievably humid).


    ¡°We¡¯re in deep shit, then,¡± I voiced, cheerfully. ¡°Now¡ªyou mentioned potatoes?¡±


    <hr>


    ¡°Gods, these are damn good,¡± I said through bites. ¡°You really should replace Hawthorne: no matter how good that man¡¯s moustalevria is, he really can¡¯t top these. It might just be because I¡¯m starving, though, so don¡¯t take my word for it.¡± I turned to the man to my left. ¡°You want the rest, or should I take it?¡±


    ¡°All yours,¡± Anaxeres said pleasantly, and after I turned to Xandros and Mercy whose responses weren¡¯t an outright no, I polished off the rest of my portion and reached for another spoon before I spoke again, seizing the lull in conversation.


    ¡°The legionaries read it for others, too, didn¡¯t they? The elderly couple downstairs.¡±


    ¡°Likely,¡± Naxy agreed. ¡°I mean, I could get it out of them with a well-placed bribe, but I would rather make a decision before we do. Discretion is key.¡± His dark eyes flickered to me, holding my gaze after his dipped to the ring on my finger. ¡°How much does the boy care about you?¡±


    ¡°Not much, after you basically offed his brother,¡± I replied diplomatically. ¡°But I suppose not violently raiding the houses here is his form of an honorable mercy. If we don¡¯t get out now, I don¡¯t doubt that he¡¯ll find me here and drag me back to that Estate by the hair. It¡¯d be easier to present the Senate a scapegoat to blame all the Consuls¡¯ military faults on¡­but he¡¯s either being soft or making a rational decision because I¡¯m not his first priority now.¡±


    It was undoubtedly the latter, I thought, even though I didn¡¯t tell Anaxeres that.


    Julian wasn¡¯t an incompetent, lovestruck fool. Honor-driven, yes, but never one to sacrifice the many for one, least of all a supposed greedy, ruthless Imperial like me. This wasn¡¯t an honorable mercy¡ªthis was containment, of an accumulating force (patrician greed) that had now appeared on the battlefield.


    When push comes to shove, the rock ends up rolling down the hill again.


    Xandros tilted his head. ¡°He knows my face,¡± my aide murmured. ¡°And Mercy¡¯s. Even though he doesn¡¯t know the Duke¡¯s, it¡¯s only a matter of time before they narrow down on the search and ask around.¡± His green eyes glimmered as he met my own. ¡°We need to leave, Your Highness.¡±


    I know, some part of me wanted to say.


    I just continued eating my potatoes as silence reigned again.


    ¡°Julian didn¡¯t order them to flush out the suspicious people,¡± I said, after another bite. It was their own decision¡ªrestless little children. ¡°He probably meant discreet reconnaissance. It was their own decision to do it¡ªI don¡¯t even think all of them speak Imperi. Julian wanted them to probe around and report back, not obviously knock on the door and poke the sleeping bear.¡±The story has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.


    A smile crawled on my face. A mistake.


    ¡°Well, that does gain us some advantages. We can now pack up and leave without looking back.¡±


    Of course, I was saying this for the benefit of Anaxeres, who fixed me with a steady smile.


    ¡°Are you planning to leave me alone then, Sera?¡±


    I didn¡¯t turn to face him, merely casting a deliberately careless glance back before I finished off my portion again.


    ¡°Your objective,¡± I responded, ¡°is to provoke Honos into an attack on Bellum. With my escape putting pressure on the patricians, it¡¯s only a matter of a time.¡± I smiled. ¡°Think of it as a ¡®rational retreat¡¯. Someone has to keep Arathis in check.¡± That much was true, at least¡ªhe¡¯d get the Galani and Cadmi at each other¡¯s throats in order to make an ¡®interesting¡¯ assault.


    Anaxeres hmm¡¯ed. ¡°I don¡¯t think the Empress¡¯ll be too happy about that. She didn¡¯t order you to do that, did she?¡±


    I laughed. Really?


    ¡°Greta?¡± I voiced my incredulity, although blandly. ¡°I don¡¯t think you know her at all then, Naxy. The one thing my sister prizes above all things is necessity.¡± Again, that bit was true, at least. ¡°She may trust Arathis with wreaking havoc on Bellum and Honos without doing anything too unnecessary, but your objective is your objective. My orders are my orders.¡±


    And I will not relinquish them, was what I left unsaid.


    I raised my fork and casually pointed it at the Duke the way I would a knife.


    You could gouge his eyes out, a voice at the back of my head said. He¡¯s challenging your power. Your knowledge.


    Too late, I said back. It would¡¯ve worked if I was a year or two younger, but I knew now that there were bigger fish to fry than my impulse to be the strongest.


    ¡°It¡¯s a gamble,¡± I continued, smiling. ¡°But aren¡¯t you a gambling man after all, Anaxeres of Tyche?¡±


    A challenge.


    And then Anaxeres laughed, and it was surprising how hollow it was. It was nothing like the affable man with the genial smile, the chameleon spymaster who get along with anyone, the trader of secrets who always felt¡ªnot warm, exactly, but devoid of substance in the way that his own personality warped around other people¡¯s, and that was how he survived: by staking his own words on how much he knew of others.


    The laugh was cold, almost bone-chilling¡ªshrill¡ªand then he stopped to look at me.


    I didn¡¯t have to force myself not to stiffen, but the impulse was there.


    He leaned close to the fork, as if it was really a knife and we were back in Notus and my hands were around his throat, daring me to grab him again and crush his windpipe (to sever his vocal cords, as I¡¯d once done to that poor Chosen of Apollo Iason, would be an easy feat if he was willing).


    The fork was at his chest, now, above his heart.


    ¡°My dear Sera,¡± he said mockingly, so much like Arathis, ¡°how ever did you know?¡±


    And then we both laughed, as if it was the funniest joke in the world, but I didn¡¯t move my hand and he didn¡¯t move himself.


    But I had won.


    Now my decision was cemented.


    I was going to Bellum to witness the fall of a kingdom.


    <hr>


    Cagekeepers didn¡¯t often leave the Cage, Fos thought. Which was why their fingers felt foreign to them as they clasped them together tightly. Bone-tight, peeling gold skin tightening around each other like strangling vises, that would''ve cut off blood (if, Fos conceded, they were human).


    ¡°Greetings,¡± they said, ¡°Queen.¡±


    The Queen¡ªor, as her personal name went, Margaret Highlander¡ªlooked like all humans did. If Fos was asked for elaboration, they would say that the curve of her brow and nose looked slightly like the one they called Alexander the Great, her eyes shaped like the one they called Lysimachos¡ªall humans were a bit like that, Fos reflected. Cobbled together with pieces of their predecessors, servants of history.


    ¡°Greetings,¡± Margaret responded, her reaction miniscule as green eyes met ones bleeding golden. ¡°Cagekeeper.¡±


    ¡°The Queen asked,¡± Fos said, ¡°for the Records.¡±


    Inside the Keeper''s hands they held three crystalline compacts, forged from the metal of the Gods. The prayer to get them had been methodical, careful, as if the Empress was a Cagekeeper herself, but the main thing Fos disapproved of was the sheer lack of reverence in the Empress¡¯ words. But, they reprimanded themself, it is characteristic.


    Humans, after all, could be predicted.


    ¡°Thank you, Keeper,¡± said the Queen as she rose and took the baubles from Fos¡¯ hands.


    ¡°This invention,¡± Fos said, enunciating the words slowly, humanly, ¡°contains a substance inside the metal. It resembles ambrosia, but not quite. Our Lord¡¯s sister, She-Who-Gave-Birth-to-Nine¡ªMnemosyne¡ªmodels it as a food that recovers certain selected memories. Your father ingested it, and so did his mother before him, to gain knowledge of the Chosen living then.¡±


    Each compact had animals engraved onto them: a dove, for Lady Aphrodite¡¯s Chosen; a screech owl, for Lord Hades¡¯; and a barn owl for Lady Athena¡¯s. Fos knew the current Empress would know which was which.


    Now, comes my Duty.


    Fos breathed in.


    ¡°This version of the invention, can, however¡ªas requested¡ªshow these memories to other people, if the participants willingly ingest the substance. Even then, these memories will not be selective¡ªthe whole experience of the Chosen will be shown to these participants as a third-party observer. There will be no, as humans call it, ¡®sugarcoating¡¯. Every murder, every torture, every step of the way in the Cage are in these Records.¡± Fos had taken a long time to write the speech.


    Cagekeepers used this memory-ambrosia¡ªan¨¢mnisia¡ªto keep Records, after all. There was no ¡®current version¡¯¡ªanyone could ingest an¨¢mnisia and see their memories, but since it was limited to usually the Emperor who hoarded it for themselves, there was usually no need to express that to others. But Margaret had prayed for it anyway, so the Keepers had decided to pretend that they had made new Records for the current Empress, regardless of whichever treacherous reason she had behind this.


    ¡°You are warned,¡± Fos said, looking into this human¡¯s eyes. ¡°What you are planning to do, it is¡ª¡± Reckless, Afaneia would say; but Fos decided to be more diplomatic ¡°¡ªdangerous,¡± they completed. ¡°If this endangers our Lord, we will not stay still.¡±


    ¡°This does not endanger the Titan Hyperion, I assure you,¡± the other replied. ¡°It might weaken his forces, but I am sure you are aware of what I am planning.¡±


    Olympus¡¯ Legacy.


    If the Cage falls, the Keepers do, too.


    Suddenly the Light was back and it scorched Fos¡¯ skin, searing, blinding, illuminating.


    Fos. Recalibrate. I have something to say.


    Lord Hyperion¡ª


    Fos slumped, and Greta looked at them curiously as they jerked forward and up, like a marionette. It was almost disconcerting, but it was an honor. Was this what it felt like, possession? Light glimmered in Fos¡¯ body, spilling and overflowing, burning up like a fountain in summer (had they even ever been to a fountain in summer?). It pillaged Fos¡¯ veins like a welcome guest as the Light in the Darkness grabbed Fos¡¯ body with the force of a Titan¡ªan Ancient God¡ªand looked at Margaret.


    Fos wasn¡¯t the one speaking anymore.


    Legacykiller, said their Lord from their mouth. Child of Olympus, bow.


    And Fos watched distantly, backed into some corner of their own body, as the current Empress did.


    ¡°Greetings, to skotadi sto fos,¡± the Chosen breathed. (How did they know¡ª)


    You aim to kill Olympus, said Hyperion. Topple thousands and thousands of the world, if you mean to end the Queen¡¯s Cage.


    The one who called herself Greta straightened. ¡°Yes, to skotadi sto fos.¡±


    Ambitious. But yet. The Titan was channeling his voice from the depths of Tartarus, where he was so now held captive. Held captive, but chained no longer. I held Ouranus, the Sky. Do you know that, puny child? I would not do that if I did not have ambition. I held my father down, for my brother to slay him¡ªwho would do that, if they did not have ambition?


    He shook Fos¡¯ head.


    The Sky bled in my arms, Hyperion said. And it bled gold. Tell me, child, would I have become the Light in the Darkness, without darkness? Would I have become a part of the Four Pillars of the World, without ambition? He used Fos¡¯ lips to smile. My brothers often said that I have no sense of shame. When my brother¡¯s son¡ªhe who calls himself the Lightning King¡ªcame to my door in Tartarus, he was young and foolish. His Queen, the young peacock, had thought of an idea to test the mettle of humankind. He was young, but tired of being a God. He wanted to enclose Olympus in the Sky.


    The Light remembered.


    I helped him, Hyperion said, so I was the only one who lived. Krios, Koeus, Iapetus¡ªthey had a Titan¡¯s pride. I was the God Above¡ªI ruled my domain even before the Lightning King was born. But now I am confused for Helios, my son, and the God named Apollo even then. I am the Watcher, the true one.


    Hyperion leaned close.


    Puny, ambitious child: I will Watch you from Above. When you destroy my servants, I will still exist. While you continue to live, you will remember me. I am both Above and Below, the Light in the Darkness.


    Margaret remained silent as the Titan put a hand on her head, as if petting an animal.


    Feel my Light, Child of Madness. Hyperion let his Light loose, shining, scorching, purifying. One boon, from your ambition.


    As He Who Walks on High faded and Fos took his place, the Titan¡¯s last thought was but a whisper.


    Remember this, Greta Queenscage, while you are still whole.


    <hr>


    All sounds ceased as the Empress arrived at the Eternal City square. There were three objects in her hands, and they glistened under the sunlight as Greta Queenscage began her first speech.


    <hr>


    Sometimes Arathis acknowledged the fact that maybe, just maybe, things would be a little easier if he had loyal Servants. It would certainly get rid of the whole, oh-no-you-have-me-at-knifepoint-what-ever-shall-I-do schtick when someone pulled a weapon on him. And it would almost certainly get rid of the beheading-and-burning-at-the-stake-this-is-what-happens-to-those-who-defy me act that had unfolded millions and millions of times before.


    But now, he relished it.


    The boy who¡¯d called him Lord was now hanging on a pike in front of the lovely Patrician¡¯s Manor¡ªor, at least, most of him.


    Arathis had made sure everyone would hear the poor boy screaming when the Prince had cut out his tongue and let it flop to the floor. And by everyone, Arathis meant the Galani leader who now shook her head disapprovingly at him.


    Arathis knew what Akila¡ªdaughter of Ur, son of Chione¡ªwas thinking, but the Prince applauded the leader for not voicing her disdain.


    ¡°You are¡­different, from your brother,¡± she said, blue eyes lined with Snakeland galena.


    ¡°I am,¡± Ara agreed amiably. ¡°Hope that it¡¯s not a problem. People do say there¡¯s a family resemblance.¡±


    Akila neutrally looked him up and down. ¡°Quite,¡± she observed¡ªto her credit, blankly¡ªbefore leaning back. ¡°At least you¡¯re not disagreeable like that ingrate at Eurus. It¡¯d be a slight to deal with her. Her people are already frustrating enough, if I have to deal with her again¡­¡±


    ¡°Elexis, correct?¡± Arathis offered Akila tea, but she declined.


    Akila visibly grimaced. ¡°That is her name,¡± said the woman, ¡°but the usual address would be ¡®Elexis, daughter of Orsenouphis, child of Mersis¡¯, as per Galani formality. She abandoned her lineage in favor of licking the boots of the Cadmi, which I understand somewhat. The ¡®full-blooded¡¯ Cadmi warriors and the Galani have been at odds for¡­a very long time. Having a Galani duchess who had completely Galani ties would have been¡­disastrous, at the time.¡±


    Arathis sipped his tea silently as Akila continued.


    ¡°As you might have experienced, people¡­react badly to different people, to the point where generalizations can be excused. Back when we were¡­close, Elexis admitted feeling a disconnect from our home. I tried to understand when she married someone ¡®completely¡¯ Eurusan, and even when Elexis married off her children, but¡­¡± Akila shrugged. ¡°She tried to push us out, taking away the very seats that she gave us in the first place. That is unforgivable.¡±


    Unforgivable.


    Arathis smiled.


    ¡°I can see why you got on with Cyrus,¡± the Prince said mildly. ¡°The whole revenge thing.¡±


    Akila¡¯s eyes immediately narrowed. ¡°It is not revenge, it is¡ª¡±


    ¡°Oh?¡± The Forsaken made himself look surprised. ¡°But isn¡¯t it?¡±


    ¡°What are you¡ª¡±


    Arathis cut her off with a laugh. ¡°It is a question of revenge,¡± the Prince said, covering up a giggle with a hand. ¡°Can¡¯t you see how this looks, daughter of Ur? Your people¡¯s land have been burnt, and they¡¯ve been shoved out as a byproduct of war - a war between between people that they don¡¯t even care to know, I''ll say, based on what shoddy work Imperials have done to Snakelands diplomacy.¡±


    He watched the anger crawl on her face, like a spider.


    ¡°Based on how talkative you are, too,¡± Hades¡¯ Chosen continued, ¡°I bet I¡¯m not the first one you¡¯ve told this story to. You¡¯ve already distinguished the ¡®Eurusans¡¯ as the enemy. You¡¯ve blinded your people with fear. They¡¯re living like they¡¯re in an enemy camp.¡±


    When Arathis had come in, the camps of soldiers in Bellum had been split into two distinct sides: Galani and Cadmi. They even had their own separate uniforms¡ªthere was a clear, bite-me-and-I¡¯ll-tear-you-to-shreds animosity that Cyrus had easily harnessed with his personality. But anger was a volatile thing.


    ¡°I¡¯m not saying that the fear isn¡¯t understandable, don¡¯t get me wrong,¡± offhandedly continued the Chosen. This was good tea. ¡°Your people have been decimated by the Eastern Fires. If you mingle too much in the East, you¡¯ll get swallowed, digested, and¡ªonce they get their fill of your dearest warriors¡ªthey¡¯ll spit you back out. You should worry.¡±


    Akila¡¯s anger hadn¡¯t faded, but she was listening. Probably to maul him after he finished, probably, Arathis thought affectionately. He knew the type.


    ¡°Worry later,¡± Ara said, ¡°and get rid of the rot now. Why not let them rip each other apart? Establish a fight ring, fight to the death. Keep the elite warriors away, of course, but let them kill each other. It¡¯ll all be organized, too. You know, like a more grotesque form of a duel.¡±


    Let them vent their anger.


    The Prince dropped his voice. ¡°And then, when it¡¯s over, I have a pretty surprise for them¡ªif some of them have morals, they¡¯ll fall in line after I¡¯m done. Fear not, daughter of Ur. You might think I¡¯m theatrically violent, but I am very, very efficient.¡± It was a promise.


    ¡°They¡¯ll obey or they¡¯ll die,¡± Akila said flatly. ¡°What an effective solution. What makes you think I¡¯ll volunteer my dying people as a sacrifice?¡±


    When the Forsaken laughed this time, he did so with uncharacteristic elegance: he remembered the Tutors teaching him, to lean and tilt his throat back¡ªlike so¡ªand fill it with the proper amount of mirth¡ªtoo little was too much¡ªand at the proper volume.


    ¡°Dearest Akila, daughter of Ur, son of Chione,¡± Arathis Delawar addressed her with a smile, exposing teeth like a cornered animal. ¡°Who said anything about volunteering?¡±


    <hr>

 69. Wings III

    <hr>


    If in the shape of crowns, man''s desires are wrought in,


    And in the shape of thrones, man''s wars are fought in,


    Then in the shape of the sun, all dreams must be lost in.


    - Epilogue, AN ALLEGORY OF THE BOY WHO FLEW INTO THE SUN, AUTHOR UNKNOWN


    <hr>


    EMPRESS REVEALS SHOCKING TRUTH BEHIND CAGE


    Greta the Great has revealed the enigmatic Records of the last three Queen''s Cages to the entire public - but at what cost?


    As we all know, the Empress Greta the Great rose to the Chryselephantine Throne around three Daycycles ago and has been shrouded in enigma since. But, really, who is she?


    After declaring the Empire''s presence in the Queen''s War, the first continental war in centuries, she has risen to notoriety for having ambition even as the First Princess: then, she was rumored to have been reaching for the Glory Prince title, to get declared Heir. Her supposed background as a Nameless, however, has appealed to much of the public, but has been countered by her exhibition of the Queenscage ruthlessness and cruelty. Yet, her politically radical views, as proven by the view today when she revealed that she would be promoting various nobilities and demoting various others, has caused much upheaval in the Eternal City.


    Today, at Daystart, Her Imperial Majesty started distributing a mysterious substance at the village square that she invited other people to ingest, claiming that it was the physical manifestation of the Records. She had called various Analysts, transported from the Athenaeum of Boreas and the Library of Alexandria, to the stage and they all verified her claims. She also challenged nobles and other commoners, after sipping it herself to prove that it wasn''t poisonous.


    People who ingested it said the following:


    "It shows you the memories of something," says one. "I don''t know if it''s a hallucinogen, or a drug, but it feels definitely like memories...and they all went by fast, like you were living inside a book, but it really shows the brutality of everything...I took Princess Josephine''s one, and it made me want to claw my own eyes out because of what she had to do. I remember blurry images and blurry people, but I felt her suffering as if it was mine...when she had to kill that man, I felt an inexplicable pain that nearly made me forget the other bad things she did, and that was probably the point...Tartarus, I would''ve done the bad things she did if I wanted to survive. These kids - these children - they...really had no choice.


    "I''m not saying they''re not cruel or ruthless, because they definitely are. I felt her disdain, her arrogance, and everything else - and not the point where I was her, but to the point where I gained a fundamental understanding of why our rulers always turn out messed up...but this is definitely a difference from when we just had to cheer for the winner, because we didn''t know anything else. There was a girl who had to lie to the world, and I''ll be damned if I don''t recognize why the Gods chose these children. I can say that I''ll never look at the Queenscages the same way again."


    This revolutionary decision caused tens of people (half a hundred, according to the rumors) to view the Queen''s Cage from the Victor''s perspective, and although there have been rumors that it was a hallucinogen, an engineered drug, "the memories are too vivid," says another. "I can swear on my life that this happened."


    Most people do recognize that this was done with an agenda: to humanize the royals, for people to pity them. But, really, is that pity justified? This warped system has been going on for decades, and Her Imperial Majesty has just revealed why the Empire is the way it is: centuries of history, all undone by one woman.


    But the Gods must have some punishment for this, reasons one.


    So, as all trades and bargains go - and this really is a trade, it seems - we have received our share.


    But, I ask of you: at what cost?


    <hr>


    Three Days Before the Battle at Bellum


    Five Days Before the End of the Queen''s War


    BELLUM | war


    When I arrived, Ara was busy hosting what seemed to me like a wrestling match.


    Except with the intent to kill.


    Delawar Arathis, stylized Arathis Delawar for Gods-know-what Imperial formality purposes, was standing gloriously on a ragamuffin of a throne¡ªsitting next to his side, in an equally horrendous abomination of a chair, was (assumedly) the Galani leader. His white hair glistened under the sun in various shades of enchanting, sweat-covered pale, beads of product of Bellum¡¯s sun glistening at his dark forehead. He was still grinning widely as the day I¡¯d first seen him, fingers digging into the sides of what looked like a golden damask curtain draped over a Republica ottoman (with a coat rack serving as a backrest).


    Again, a ragamuffin of a throne.


    I, in all my sun-tainted glory, stepped out of the carriage and was promptly met with a death match.


    Surprisingly, everyone surrounding the area was looking at the wrestle with shock. Unsurprisingly, it was the distant kind.


    A woman was smashing another one into the ground, beating the latter¡¯s body into the ground with everyone, their mother, and a lion¡¯s share of ruthlessness. There was no hesitation, no break in the twisted rhythm¡ªthe blood speckled on the former¡¯s fists and the fact that the latter was passed out (cold, didn¡¯t seem to look like she would be breathing anytime soon), meant that they¡¯d been at it for quite a while.


    And no one¡¯s stopping her, look at that, I remarked internally.


    The passed-out (I was being generous, ¡®dead¡¯ seemed more likely) victim was Galani, based on her attire; the Eurusan golden eyes of the puncher were a dead giveaway that she was likely Cadmi.


    ¡°Stop,¡± I called out, smiling as I neared. No one had noticed the carriage¡ªor, at least, Arathis was deliberately ignoring the murmurs¡ªand immediately they glanced to two places: one, the Imperial seal on the carriage; two, my blue eyes because of course.


    They didn¡¯t stop¡ªnot at least until I strode in the middle of the match and aimed a vicious kick at the punching woman¡¯s back, infusing it with as much force as I could. The woman threatened to lurch to the side of her victim, just enough to be distracted but unfortunately not enough to have a bone broken, and fixed me with anger as she whirled around.


    ¡°I said, stop,¡± I repeated pleasantly, fixing her with a stare, the victim¡¯s blood leaking second-hand onto my shoe. (They were both drenched in it, damn it.)


    I heard Ara step off his cobbled-together seat before I raised my head.


    ¡°Come on, sis,¡± he said, voice a low whine but still able to be heard amidst the silence. ¡°Don¡¯t ruin the fun.¡±


    I pretended to be affronted, but let my teeth pull into a smile. ¡°Ruin the fun? Is that really any way to greet your dearest, dearest sister who you haven¡¯t seen in two Daycycles?¡± I casually swept my gaze. ¡°Don¡¯t let me ¡®ruin¡¯ your festivities, then. But do stop. Let the woman breathe¡ªif she still can.¡±


    I said the last bit, amused, before gathering up my now-bloodied skirts.


    ¡°It would be rather spoiling if I had to ask someone for new clothes,¡± I remarked. ¡°But I did come all the way from Honos. And Azareth, before that; Zephyr and Notus, too. Let your sister have her privileges.¡±


    Ara made a face. ¡°Traveling. Such a bore.¡± But he did put his hands on my shoulders in a brief hug¡ªhe felt moist with the sweat gathering on his arms, but his skin was still dry and not¡ªbefore pulling away and giving me a peck on the cheek. ¡°Everyone,¡± he announced, turning me around, ¡°this is my sister, Imperial Princess Seraphina Inevita Queenscage, Third-in-line to the Empire, Athena¡¯s Chosen, and Grand Duchess of the Second Isle. If someone could get her a seat, that¡¯d be gladly appreciated.¡±


    A seat was given.


    Arathis beckoned the victor near after we both settled in.


    (What are you thinking, not stopping this, Sera, you could ask me, and the answer was 1) I simply couldn¡¯t care less which Cadmi or Galani died, except for the wasted potential, and 2) This was Arathis¡¯ little game. The second fact would serve enough to prove that nothing was as simple as it seemed, and if Ara was content to restrict himself to a small, controllable mindless slaughter, then I would give him his comforts. It wasn¡¯t as if I could control him, either. No one could control him, just the consequences of his actions.


    Also, 3) I had now at least some idea of what was going on as Ara spoke.)


    ¡°Penelope, is that correct?¡± the Prince asked lightly.


    ¡°Yes,¡± she said, and, after a quick cough from someone, ¡°sir.¡±


    ¡°Like I said, there are no limits on reasons why you want to kill someone, as long as you provide them,¡± the Forsaken said, pleasantly. ¡°But first, please, reiterate for the audience.¡±


    The ruthless puncher met his eyes. Her face was mean, pinched, and she definitely looked like she would stare daggers at royalty if I cared enough to meet her gaze. ¡°She looked at me funny.¡±


    A silence.


    ¡°Right,¡± Arathis conceded. ¡°No, ¡®she was hogging the supplies that my dying comrade needed desperately,¡¯ or ¡®she stabbed my friend in the back after General Leon dumped us here,¡¯ but just ¡®she looked at me funny¡¯.¡± He turned to me, eyes dancing with mirth, and started laughing breathlessly. ¡°Did you hear that, Sera? Akila? Absolutely hilarious, my Gods.¡±


    And then he continued laughing, something mangled but very, very genuine; and it was drawing the ire of the agitated crowd (something that would¡¯ve caused me to step in if not for the fact that I knew¡ªAbility and otherwise¡ªthat this was a deliberate provocation).


    Penelope cut in, angrily rising to the bait, ¡°She was a witch.¡±


    And then Arathis stopped laughing, almost like she¡¯d pulled a switch, but the smile still lingered on his face.


    ¡°Go on,¡± the Prince said with an amused wave, ignoring the murmurs coming from the Galani side of the crowd.


    (They never knew what would hit them.)


    ¡°Her kind,¡± Penelope continued to spit, ¡°don¡¯t deserve to be pitied, even when their home was burned. They do magic, you know, witchcraft. With their blue eyes and symbols and ink. They weren¡¯t even originally here¡ªthey¡¯re not even real Imperials because their ancestors were stowaways from the Principalities. Some of them have killed Cadmi. Now we¡¯re stuck here like rats in a cage, and you expect me to feel sorry for them? No can do, Prince.¡±


    The last bit was more of an accusation, and this time I was the one who started laughing (it was forced, of course, but the amusement was entirely genuine). Ara joined in with a cackle soon after, with Akila standing by warily eyeing us as if we¡¯d lost it.


    ¡°Soldier,¡± I managed to gasp out after a while, ¡°what¡¯s that Rhianite expression? ¡®You¡¯re preaching to the choir¡¯? Well, you¡¯re preaching at fucking¡ª¡± I gasped for breath ¡°¡ªnonbelievers. I¡¯m a quarter Galani, and this man over here, in case you¡¯ve forgotten, is a fucking Forsaken.¡±Love this novel? Read it on Royal Road to ensure the author gets credit.


    Penelope blinked, as if she¡¯d been splashed with cold water.


    But she was still angry.


    ¡°If,¡± Arathis said, drawing out the word, ¡°I were a greater man, I would¡¯ve executed you right then and there for having an absolute ass for a personality and disgracing foreigners alike.¡± Now there was that sharp edge to him, again. ¡°But,¡± the Prince acquiesced, ¡°fortunately for you, I am not, and currently am just mildly amused that you thought that your anti-Galani sentiments would reach a kindly ear.¡±


    ¡°Or maybe she just wasn''t thinking,¡± I drawled as a suggestion, meeting those pointy eyes. ¡°I¡¯m told people do that a lot.¡±


    A twitch.


    Ara was still smiling. ¡°I promised you at the beginning of this match, right? A little surprise after you finish, Penelope of Cadmus.¡± He turned to the crowd and addressed them. ¡°Who of you here knew the victim¡¯s name?¡±


    Murmurs, and murmurs again.


    ¡°He said,¡± I echoed my brother, standing up, ¡°who of you here knew the victim¡¯s name, assholes.¡±


    I swept my Ability forward as I grinned and drew a dagger, pointing at a member of the crowd.


    ¡°You,¡± I said to the man that Hints were scattered across (like flies to honey, moth to flame), and he flinched, ¡°step forward.¡±


    He stepped forward.


    A brave man. Foolish.


    I pointed my blade at his throat, just light enough for it to be nothing life-threatening, but its mere presence was a threat.


    ¡°What was,¡± I said, ¡°her name?¡±


    ¡°Giatra,¡± he managed, admirably. ¡°Daughter of Sosigenes, son of Aristippus.¡±


    ¡°Giatra, daughter of Sosigenes,¡± I echoed, wrapping my head around the name. ¡°A good name. What was she?¡±


    That was a rather loaded question, one could think. I deliberately asked, What was she, instead of What was she like, or What was she to you. It was a question I would¡¯ve asked Arathis, a Crownpiece instead of a person, a what and not a who. What was she? What piece was she? What game was my brother playing?


    I was a bit lethargic from traveling, but my mind was still sharp.


    I could see when the pieces fell into place.


    ¡°She was the one woman who defended the Cadmi,¡± he snarled, now angry¡ªhe would¡¯ve surged forward if it weren¡¯t for my blade, so I mentally commended myself for my impeccable foresight. ¡°She was half-Cadmi, you murderer¡ªyou killed one of your own. Giatra was the woman who said, after every fight you picked, that, ¡®Oh, I¡¯m sure she isn¡¯t that bad, she¡¯s just angry at the entire world,¡¯ and she defended all of you. She didn¡¯t even want to fight you. You saw her step into the ring and not raise her fists, and you pumelled her into the ground anyway, you sick, twisted, murderer!¡±


    He collapsed after that outburst, muttering to himself as if he was on fire and he was coaxing himself into death.


    ¡°You sick¡ªsick, twisted murderer, you sick, twisted murderer, you sick, twisted murderer,¡± like a chant juggling emphasis on different words.


    Silence.


    Penelope, again, looked like cold water had splashed on her.


    But her words were unrepentant.


    ¡°How was I supposed to know she was a halfling? I¡ª¡±


    ¡°Pick another,¡± Ara interrupted, raising a hand while leaning back. ¡°I wrote General Leon for a list of his best fighters. You were on the top of the list, and I promised you three people. Pick another.¡±


    By now, it was obvious what he was doing.


    And even though it wasn¡¯t the strategy I would¡¯ve picked, it was so characteristically Ara that I was glad I was here: no one would be able to even attempt at reining him in otherwise.


    The woman known as Akila turned to me. ¡°Hello. Do you know what in the Gods¡¯ name your brother is doing?¡±


    ¡°Hello,¡± I replied, pleasantly. ¡°In response to your question, yes, somewhat. But no, I can¡¯t stop him.¡±


    Akila seemed to understand. ¡°No one can?¡± she asked, bitterly. ¡°He¡¯s like your other brother?¡±


    ¡°Something did stop Second Brother, remember?¡± I murmured back conversationally. ¡°Death.¡±


    And then the conversation trailed off.


    I wasn¡¯t surprised when Arathis took out a thin piece of wire out of his pocket and stepped closer to Penelope, who was gloating.


    (The last victim was a Galani boy who¡¯d been about my age. Penny had looked queasy knocking him out, and the death had been quick, and yet.)


    I was less than surprised when my brother wrapped the garrote around Penelope¡¯s neck and pulled, blood beading against skin as golden eyes widened. It was messy and slow, choking sounds filling the air as the metal severed through tendon and flesh. The Cadmi¡¯s mouth frothed with white and scarlet, yellow and red and insides and outsides spilling out as Arathis drove the string back and Penelope¡¯s head flopped to the ground, crimson steadily spilling against the Mountain City¡¯s sands.


    People flinched. Some lurched.


    I watched steadily, my Ability remaining cool on my skin like a familiar embrace or a blanket, invisible water running off my shoulders.


    ¡°And there¡¯s the prize, everyone!¡± Arathis was covered in blood but he waved cheerily. ¡°Think of poor Penny as a cautionary tale. I do believe in lex talionis, as they say: an eye for an eye and a tooth for a tooth and all that good stuff. She killed three Galani, so I killed her slowly. An amazing deal, if I do say so myself.¡±


    He¡ªwaddled?¡ªto the throne and stained the gold curtain with a deep crimson after kicking the head towards the crowd and letting it roll to a halt.


    ¡°You know how Cadmus was founded, everyone? Cadmus the Snake-Slayer, the Hero?¡± Arathis Delawar asked no one in particular. ¡°He followed a cow. An Oracle¡ªa divine one, mind you¡ªtold him to follow this cow, and build a city where it decided to sit. He did, but there was one obstacle: in that place there was this dragon.¡±


    The Prince wrinkled his nose, as if this bit of the story was distasteful.


    ¡°He killed the dragon, of course,¡± the Forsaken amended, ¡°and with its teeth he sow a bunch of bone-men. But that¡¯s not the point, really. The interesting bit is that, after his daughter incurred the Queen of Olympus¡¯ wrath, he and his wife were cursed and they turned into snakes. Snakes, I tell you! A Hero! Of course, the Lightning King made sure they lived well afterwards, but snakes. Calling a snake a Snake-Slayer is rather cruel, don¡¯t you think? Like calling a human a murderer of humans?¡±


    Inaccurate, not cruel, my Ability whispered.


    ¡°Humans all bleed red in the end,¡± Ara said. ¡°We all have lives, and with those lives we have dragons to kill and bone-men to sow. But the reason why you all are here is because vengeances have mixed like oil and water, and this is a reminder that not all humans are dragons.¡±


    Once a monster, always a monster, I thought delightfully, barely restraining my smile.


    My brother, the pale devil, laughed.


    <hr>


    Scapegoating was a classical technique, one that usually passed through the hands of people who didn¡¯t want to get their hands dirty. Just as Titus Summanus had been originally set up as a scapegoat for Alberta Cassia, there was a certain effectiveness in setting up people everyone disliked¡ªpeople could point fingers and reminisce not-so-fondly and that was the end of the matter.


    The Galani and the Cadmi¡ªthe Eurusans, if you considered the Snakelands part of Eurus, even though some people apparently didn¡¯t¡ªhad been at odds for quite a while. There¡¯d been a lot of finger-pointing and discrimination, but mostly the Galani kept to themselves in their communities in the Snakelands.


    It turned out to be a misstep on their part (according to the historians): because Cadmus was the capital of Eurus and therefore a more established political entity, the rumors of the Galani being witches and sun-worshippers had spread to the rest of the Empire.


    ¡°You have blue eyes,¡± Akila noted. ¡°Galani eyes.¡±


    ¡°My mother¡¯s half,¡± I said with a shrug. ¡°She didn¡¯t end up getting them, so it passed onto me.¡±


    I used to blame my eyes for people accusing me of doing Galani witchcraft on them when I stared at them. Don¡¯t get close to the Duke¡¯s daughter, the people of the Second Isle said. She¡¯ll kill you. She¡¯s a murderer. Cold. Cruel, like her parents.


    It made me wonder why Theadora, being half-Galani and also my mother, didn¡¯t get those stares, but I knew that she looked traditionally Eurusan: tanner skin, golden eyes.


    ¡°What did your brother do?¡± Akila asked, leaning forward. ¡°Seraphina, daughter of¡ªwho was your mother?¡±


    ¡°She¡¯s dead,¡± I responded, a bit too evenly. I was irritated from standing out in the sun with blood drying on the ends of my robes¡ªcrimson had already darkened on my foot and ankles, sticky, and I desperately needed a shower. ¡°Seraphina Queenscage, daughter of Nikephoros the Nightbidden, sister of Greta the Great, nice to meet you.¡±


    Akila tilted her head. ¡°We don¡¯t traditionally use sisters, but this case is special, I assume.¡± The Galani leader looked at me. ¡°Your brother was a good man, daughter of Nikephoros.¡±


    I raised my eyebrows with a snort. ¡°Cyrus? Really?¡±


    You knew him for barely a Dayhept, I would¡¯ve said if I wanted to discredit her. The only thing he wanted in this world was to get revenge. He would¡¯ve killed you¡ªall of you¡ªif he could¡¯ve razed the Halgroves to the ground.


    But, I thought, it still didn¡¯t change the fact that he had his own sense of honor, if Akila thought that an honorable man was a good one, then that was that.


    ¡°How is Bellum?¡± I asked.


    Akila¡¯s eyes narrowed imperceptibly. ¡°Your maternal uncle¡ªGeneral Leon, son of Elexis¡ªmoved Cadmi troops to Bellum without a leader in order to support the Galani and Prince Cyrus¡¯ offensive on Bellum. We won, but at the cost of most of Bellum¡¯s built siege fortifications¡ªwe can¡¯t rebuild because labor needs people, and people need food: our troops have been surviving on rations for days. The situation is dire.¡±


    I moved my eyes towards the horizon. A thick stretch of land occupied Bellum¡¯s south, Honos in the far, far distance. ¡°I assume you didn¡¯t bring explosives with you, then.¡±


    ¡°None.¡±


    My Ability was ghostly, cool¡ªits fingers intertwined with mine, and I breathed in.


    ¡°How well do you know the terrain?¡± I ultimately asked, and the Galani leader shook her head.


    ¡°Not nearly well enough,¡± Akila said grimly. ¡°At least, the terrain that you¡¯re referring to.¡±


    ¡°Then we need to map it, first, and quickly,¡± I murmured. We can¡¯t afford to hold a siege here, from the Fort. ¡°I¡¯m assuming since Cyrus was probably in a kill-at-sight frenzy, we don¡¯t have any legionaries leftover.¡± That was¡­a problem.


    This is a problem.


    ¡°I¡¯ll take the Cadmi and first check the surroundings for any advantages we can use while making a rough map, around at least a quarter-day¡¯s run outwards,¡± I spoke after a while. ¡°You probably should be dividing your people into smaller units, more suitable for skirmishes than full onslaughters¡ªlet¡¯s say, twenty-or-so people, most of them talented enough to survive a small fight and be capable enough to retreat without too many casualties.¡±


    A head-on charge against Honos¡¯ legionaries, especially at the Fort, would be a damning choice. Greta probably picked Arathis because of his indirect ways of dealing with people¡ªeven though I wasn¡¯t sure that he had experience in war, I didn¡¯t either¡ªso he wouldn¡¯t want a full-scale offensive.


    A nod from Akila. (Technically, she was on equal standing with me, but I was sure she would speak up if I was doing anything reprehensible.)


    I paused before asking another question.


    ¡°How did Arathis¡¯ stunt go over with the rest of the people?¡± I murmured, not letting my expectancy show in my tone.


    By humanizing every Galani that was killed, he¡¯d appeal to at least some of the bleeding hearts. Aside from that, an asset to the Cadmi had just been killed: even though Penelope had been discriminative, she¡¯d still been a good soldier. But still, an asset that only fought for themselves and their beliefs, instead of the entire Empire was one to get rid of. Ara had likely snipped any future discord Penny would cause at the root.


    And now, Ara had united all of the people under the if-I-step-out-of-line-I¡¯ll-get-decapitated banner, which might have be effective in terms of making people recognize Ara as a commander, but also completely destroyed an semblance of trust in the process: people would think that Ara held no regard for people¡¯s lives and their best wishes (which was, admittedly, true, but also somewhat harmful).


    ¡°Surprisingly well,¡± Akila said, before tilting her head. ¡°So far,¡± she corrected herself.


    ¡°But I still need to step in and do damage control with the Cadmi,¡± I guessed with a languid sigh. It wasn¡¯t a guess: Ara¡¯s actions had made undoubted ripples. ¡°It¡¯s not like I can actually do anything in the amount of time we have except call for reinforcements.¡±


    And then the leader raised her eyebrows. ¡°Were those your orders? ¡®Take charge¡¯?¡±


    There was a question, an honest one.


    ¡°No, but you would know that,¡± I said evenly, my previous amiability taken back. I was irritated, and tired enough that I let my irritation show. ¡°I¡¯m not a war general, daughter of Ur. I¡¯m an Imperial Princess that can¡¯t decimate people like my brother can.¡±


    Which brother? she could¡¯ve asked. Instead, the leader just looked solemn.


    ¡°You are far, far too young,¡± she said, and for a second I was reminded of Damokles, who I hadn¡¯t seen in (how long?)¡ªbut then I remembered that she was challenging my authority, and that familiar anger rose.


    ¡°I¡¯ll write the letter to my sister,¡± I decided, ignoring Akila¡¯s statement. (There was no triumph on the Galani leader¡¯s face when she realized she¡¯d gotten to me, I realized, and I felt even more irritated.) ¡°And then I¡¯ll rest, and visit my brother again. You can join us if you¡¯d like. Goodbye, daughter of Ur.¡±


    I didn¡¯t feel any more vindicated by throwing a childish tantrum.


    The sun is getting to me.


    <hr>


    Dearest sister,


    How are you?


    Please send reinforcements and food (for, preferably, a battalion) to Bellum as soon as possible. We''d appreciate it.


    Love,


    Sera & Ara


    <hr>


    Dearest sister,


    I realize the reason for you sending me to the Second Isle and the Armistice. I refuse your offer. You of all people should realize the fate I wish to be condemned to.


    I also realize that you sent out all of our siblings to protect them from the reveal that I also realize you''re planning, and it won''t change anything: the Empire will change, by your hand or by the Gods'' own.


    I treasure you dearly, but remember the our brother''s lesson. You know which one.


    Love,


    Josie


    <hr>

 70. Fall I

    <hr>


    Struggle, my dear child,


    Was the fire given to


    Us; we shall continue to


    Struggle, my dear child,


    Until the end of days, and


    Then when they ask, ¡®Why


    Struggle, my dear child?¡¯


    Answer that it is because


    We know nothing but


    Struggle, my dear child.


    - WHY STRUGGLE, POEM WRITTEN BY UNKNOWN IMPERIAL POET


    <hr>


    THE LETTER WAS WRITTEN IN MY CHAMBERS¡ªthat was the only reason I stayed since I didn¡¯t get a wink of sleep: resting was an empty threat at this point¡ªand, as I made my way to the tents that the soldiers were camped in outside the Fort, I was greeted with a bloody head on a stick.


    Penelope¡¯s.


    I could see her gnarled features, a stump of a neck dripping with dried blood as the stick in question was pierced through bone¡ªheads on a pike were never in really ¡®in fashion¡¯, I thought; no one wanted to have a dead person staring at them from the moment they entered the gates of so-and-so¡¯s manor¡ªand I stopped and examined it for a while before I looked at the Cadmi and Galani.


    Cheap bronze plates were fastened around the chest and arms of Cadmi soldiers who were running through sword drills. I took stock of several archers who were aiming at distant targets across the expanse, but they weren¡¯t enough to man the Fort¡¯s walls the traditional way.


    Siege warfare was definitely a no-go.


    It was clear that there were two sides to the soldiers¡¯ ¡®residences¡¯, with a wide berth between the two: the Galani were whispering to each other¡ªsome were tense, with on-edge glances towards each other; while others were angry, jamming their spears into ragged straw dummies.


    As I silently watched both of the groups, I recognized similar elements in different styles: both had more close-combat warriors, which was in favor of the skirmishes, but the Galani were, simplistically, more defensive while the Cadmi were more offensive. (I was in no position to judge: I learned my ¡®swordsmanship¡¯ from a rogue Notian mercenary from Gailbraith, so really I was just blindly relying on my Ability here.)


    After a quick glance, I headed to my brother first.


    ¡°Ara!¡± I surprised my brother by throwing my arms briefly around him from behind, even though I was sure he already knew I was approaching.


    The Forsaken seemed amused, ruffling my hair wickedly before I let go.


    ¡°This city¡¯s absolutely scorching, you know, so make sure to rest properly,¡± he casually remarked with a yawn, ignoring the eyes on him. ¡°I was thinking of making some iced treats, like the ones back at home. They taste even better than harpy gizzards.¡±


    I hadn¡¯t stayed long enough to see the iced treats in summer, and I was sure we both knew that, but I wrinkled my nose.


    ¡°A Daycycle of eating Harpies was enough,¡± I decided, grimly. ¡°The last time I had any good treats was back in, what, Zephyr? It¡¯s all gruel¡ªpotatoes, and potatoes, and more potatoes. I¡¯ve nothing against a healthy amount of starch, brother, but seriously. I told Sister to send more supplies, but at this point we¡¯re really just scrambling just to feed everyone, so I probably should stop complaining.¡±


    With that, I stretched, echoing his yawn before cheerfully waving at Akila, who acknowledged the greeting with a nod.


    ¡°Supplies,¡± Ara responded with an exaggerated grimace, shaking his head. ¡°The bane of all armies. Even before you came, Sera, I¡¯ve been looking at the numbers. Unless we force the people inside the Fort to ration, which¡¯ll obviously lead to starvation casualties, we¡¯re not going to last more than a Dayhept.¡±


    Bellum was a military Fort, but still I frowned, thinking of the crops outside. I knew little practical knowledge about farming, but in theory¡­


    ¡°What about the fields outside? I get that because of the climate, there might not be large yields, but it¡¯s really that scarce?¡± I asked.


    Ara nodded. ¡°The Draconian Peaks do somewhat deter someone deciding to set up crops, but they¡¯re not completely useless, I¡¯m told. There¡¯re a variety of mountain goats and other things in the mountains, and the summers haven¡¯t completely wrecked the wheat yield.¡± He looked at me, eyes expectant. But.


    ¡°We¡¯d have to send out people to hunt these mountain goats, and since we¡¯re unfamiliar with the territory, we¡¯d have to hire locals,¡± I guessed. ¡°And these locals, assumedly, aren¡¯t very friendly towards us at the moment.¡± We can''t trust them.


    He snorted. ¡°Your assumption is, of course, correct,¡± he agreed. ¡°I was planning to set up a small hunting party today before the Republic attacks to stockpile everything. I was going to ask you to lend a hand, but we do have other pressing matters at the moment.¡±


    And those ¡®pressing matters¡¯ would, of course, be the threat of an impending attack.


    I studied my brother for a while¡ªhe was leaning against a tent pole, outside the main strategy tent without entering it, faint winds sweeping up his hair as his eyes glinted dangerously. It was strange to see him outside of the Palace, I thought, without all the tacky gold decor and shadowy guards (he¡¯d sent them away, I noticed).


    ¡°I was captured,¡± I said eventually. ¡°As you know. Naxy got me out, the ¡®Pubs retaliated and started sweeping the city, and I almost got exposed. I came to Bellum after hearing you were coming. Oldest Sister¡­didn¡¯t order me to. She doesn¡¯t know I¡¯m here.¡±


    When I voiced that, I didn¡¯t feel a shred of guilt, I thought. But there was regret that there hadn¡¯t been a better option.


    ¡°And why did you do that?¡± the Forsaken asked, with some form of earnestness that I wasn¡¯t sure was forced.


    But still, my guard was up and I didn¡¯t even have to force the wry smile that came.


    ¡°Are you asking whether I was tired of playing cat-and-mouse in a scenario where I had nothing but disadvantages? Or are you asking whether I wanted to witness the last battle of this war in a romantic sense of desperation to see the end?¡±


    Why did you do that, he asked me.


    ¡°But you like disadvantages, Youngest Sister,¡± Arathis responded amiably, and I refused to let surprise flicker in my expression as he continued. ¡°You do like pretending you don¡¯t have advantages, being born a noble and being a Chosen. But you do like a challenge most of all¡ªa test of knowledge, with the odds against you¡ªto prove your worth and turn the tide. Many like to measure themselves against others. It¡¯s nothing to be ashamed of.¡±


    I didn¡¯t refuse the truth.


    ¡°It¡¯s nothing to be ashamed of,¡± I agreed, ¡°except the fact that I hate losing.¡± And I did, I really did.


    My brother shook his head, tutting.


    ¡°You¡¯re setting yourself up for failure, dearest sister. And you know that, deep down: in your quest to have everything, there¡¯ll be no way out. Someone will kill you, and that person may be you yourself¡ªwhichever the case, you keep playing the Game. Not because you love to Win, but because you want to lose.


    ¡°You want redemption¡ªsalvation, absolution, retribution, whatever you call it. You want to die. It¡¯s an inherent desire in all of the Chosen. That¡¯s why they call us twisted.¡±


    And then he shrugged, giving an offhanded wave.


    ¡°It¡¯s nothing to be ashamed of, though. Like I said.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m not ashamed,¡± I corrected, trying to prevent my fingers from curling into my hands. ¡°I¡¯m scared. There¡¯s a difference.¡±


    ¡°Not a very big one, when either one would lead you to where you are now,¡± Arathis countered, smiling. ¡°You were scared that your sweetheart, that adorable praetor, would choose his country over you and actually force you to cripple him. You were scared to lose him forever. You were scared that it¡¯ll be you that¡¯ll cause the loss of this war. And you were scared, because you were ashamed¡ªguilty¡ªof your past actions to this point. That¡¯s why you¡¯re here. Because you¡¯re scared, not because you want to.¡±


    He made that remark lazily, drawing the last point out dramatically.


    ¡°¡®Fear opens your eyes,¡¯¡± I quoted in return. ¡°¡®Live to blind it.¡¯¡±


    That was a better answer than my usual, considering ¡®maybe¡¯, and so Arathis let me have my victory.


    ¡°I¡¯ll write to Naxy,¡± he said, simply. ¡°He¡¯ll succeed, but I need to know whether some of my assumptions are correct.¡±


    ¡°Do,¡± I replied absently. ¡°I¡­need to hunt down some mountain goats.¡±


    My brother¡¯s smile was wicked.


    ¡°Try not to stab someone along the way,¡± was all he said with a clap on the shoulder.


    For all the weight his words had on me, I couldn¡¯t resist the smile tugging at my lips as he walked confidently towards the Fort.


    ¡°Preaching to the choir there, Arathis Delawar,¡± I murmured.


    Me? Stabbing someone? Never.


    <hr>


    Julian wanted to stab someone, and he wanted to do it now.


    The Consul wanted to hold that sleazy, good-for-nothing patrician to the ground and eviscerate him slowly¡ªat this moment, the young Romanus scion wanted nothing more than to flay Titus Summanus alive by ripping his skin off his bones piece by piece and set Gloria¡¯s hounds on him to watch him be eaten alive.


    I should¡¯ve burned his Branch to the ground when I had the chance.


    But it was too late for things now, and so Julian Romanus looked his grandfather in the eye, ignored the scum traitors behind the latter, and spoke.


    ¡°I will not consent,¡± the boy said, and the other tilted his head.


    ¡°Who are you to refuse?¡± the man countered calmly.


    ¡°I am¡ª¡±


    Your general. The Minotaur-Slayer, the King of the Battlefield. The boy who took Gloria before he even came of age and grew into his boots. The Patrician of the South, defender of the border. A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.


    Your grandson. The son of Marcellus, son of Octavian, who you made a deal with. The son of Claudia, the daughter that you abandoned. Son of the House Roma, descendant of Romulus, heir to branch Romanus.


    Your king. The confession came in an ardent whisper, a secret held close and cradled and nurtured, an impossible wish.


    ¡°¡ªyour Consul,¡± Julian said, and immediately it felt wrong¡ªthe word twisted in his mouth and curled like a foreign snake on his tongue. Your Consul was his father, who laid on a bed with his legs twisted and bent. Your Consul wasn¡¯t him, and so it was the wrong answer.


    ¡°You won¡¯t stay Consul if you don¡¯t have the support of the Senate, boy,¡± Patrician Hadrianus replied, eyes just a bit too sharp for his age, a bit too cunning. ¡°I have a deal with your father. Not you.¡±


    Your father. Not you.


    How many times had he heard those words before, unspoken?


    Honor. Loyalty. Prestige.


    ¡°I have a duty to this country, Patrician Hadrianus,¡± the boy responded in turn. ¡°Not you. If you genuinely believe that an attack on Bellum will win us this war, you would be gambling the lives of Roma on yourself.¡±


    Julian¡¯s practiced deference was gone.


    The older man shifted¡ªnot out of nervousness, but out of interest, as if his suspicions had been confirmed.


    ¡°I have heard that you were quite¡­taken with the Sixth Princess, boy. It seems like her influence has truly clouded your judgment.¡± Patrician Hadrianus shook his head, as if there had been a test to his words and Julian had failed. ¡°It is a sore thing to admit, my grandson. Your strategic mind, the gift of generations¡­it has been lost to Venus. Such a waste.¡±


    A waste.


    Why did everyone keep mentioning her?


    ¡°Was it a merely ¡®a waste,¡¯¡± Julian felt the words come, ¡°that my mother was kidnapped, tortured, and in-consensually assaulted, and you chose to leave her? Was she a waste because you thought her defiled? Are your children and your grandchildren nothing but tools to you, Patrician Hadrianus?¡±


    The boy shook his head and laughed, letting scorn seep into his eyes just for a moment¡ªjust to let his anger show¡ªbefore letting himself find that familiar stoic mask.


    ¡°I would kill for this country,¡± Julian said. ¡°And I would kill Seraphina Queenscage a thousand times over if it meant that this country would live.¡±


    But she would survive every single time, he didn¡¯t say. Yet still, the sentence was the truth: it hardened like a pearl over a grain of sand, useless and almost for decoration. He would kill Seraphina, because he could. His people had sacrificed so much¡ªwhat was a feeble attempt at love, to them? To the years and years of bloody history?


    Nothing, his father would say. A grain of sand.


    ¡°Grandfather,¡± the boy dredged up the long-lost address in his throat, ¡°we kept her captive, and still the Imperials came. One of the Chosen came to Bellum¡ª¡±


    ¡°But another died there.¡±


    (Once, Valerius Evander had told him about Hadrianus. Or, more specifically about soldiers.


    They call it the soldier¡¯s madness, boy, Uncle Evander had said. Once you get on the battlefield, you never get off. It follows you like a ghost, they say. Some wake up screaming, others wake up fighting. And some¡­they stay that way.


    Evander had been looking at Julian¡¯s grandfather at the time, who¡¯d been entertaining several guests when Julian had come back after being stationed at Gloria.


    They fight for their country and they¡¯re proud of it, and because they think they¡¯ve won once, they think they can do it again. They refuse to acknowledge weakness, because that would crumble everything they¡¯ve built themselves on and everything they¡¯ve fought for. Everything they thought they fought for.


    Evander had shook his head.


    It¡¯s a choice, to respect people who willingly fight for our country, just as it¡¯s a choice not to. But really, Marius, it¡¯s easy to see who¡¯s been in battle and who hasn¡¯t¡­but it¡¯s harder to see who¡¯s still fighting that invisible war in their heads. Pity, respect, deference¡ªsoldiers are people, so I advise them to judge them like you would any other person.)


    ¡°But another died there,¡± Patrician Hadrianus repeated, and instead of a soldier¡¯s will or any honorable desperation Julian saw greed. ¡°The Imperials are complacent, Julian. I saw the calculations you made with the treasury staff¡ªeven if they are estimations, they cannot hold on. We must do this, and take back Bellum¡ªfor the people that you speak of. The Senate has agreed. It is only a matter of time before your partner does the same. They have the advantage. We must take it back.¡±


    Why?


    ¡°I refuse,¡± Julian responded, voice dry.


    And then his grandfather¡¯s greasy lips spread into a smile, and even Titus grinned, as if they were just getting to the good part.


    ¡°Did you know, Julian, how that Imperial Princess escaped?¡± Patrician Hadrianus asked, and a roiling fear rose in the boy¡¯s gut.


    The former soldier (stationed at Gloria, and Julian knew what the border could do to a man, mind you) leaned forward.


    ¡°We were in the middle of a discussion, you and your mother, when she saw a blue-eyed maid and her supposed cousin walking nearby. She called them over and spoke to them. I couldn¡¯t catch the words, but she might have just said something in Imperi¡ªshe even invited the girl to become her personal chambermaid later on.¡±


    He shook his head, before leaning closer and whispering.


    ¡°It really was a pity that no one noticed who the pair really were¡­except, if they were that close to each other, would dear Claudia be really absolved from blame, hm?¡±


    Julian felt his lips still.


    ¡°You are implying that a treasonous act has been committed,¡± the Consul felt himself saying.


    Julian could see his features in the old man¡¯s face, and he hated it.


    ¡°But treasonous acts are only treasonous acts once deemed so by the Senate, Marius,¡± chided his grandfather. ¡°And said Senate would need¡­evidence. Testimony. From reliable sources, of course, before an indictment. And that indictment would mean execution, my grandchild.¡±


    So that was their ploy.


    ¡°And if a certain figure of authority intervened?¡± Julian was tempted to sneer.


    The patrician¡¯s eyes glittered.


    ¡°If it was a dear family member on trial, or perhaps even a close friend, the authority figure in question would of course be¡­requested to abstain, in the spirit of the true justice of House Roma,¡± Hadrianus said, as if letting Julian in on a large secret. ¡°And if further interference is suspected¡­after a fair investigation, if said authority figure in question is found guilty, they would also be held trial. And maybe, quite possibly, even indicted.¡±


    And executed.


    (At the moment, Julian recalled a certain quote in one of those Imperial Plays, where an Emperor betrayed by his closest aides fell to madness and was subsequently shot to death by crossbow bolts.


    ¡°Dogs,¡± the actor had proclaimed grandly. ¡°I¡¯ve raised dogs.¡±


    And Julian hadn¡¯t just raised dogs: he¡¯d saved them, from the embers of the Curia explosion, rummaging through the rubble himself. And now they were biting the hand that had rescued them¡ªtraitorous, treacherous hounds.)


    His mother¡¯s father leaned forward, yet closer.


    ¡°I want you to be the one to lead the frontal charge on Bellum, and to see the finishing blow on this humiliation of a war. You are gifted, dear grandchild. We must succeed and reap the rewards in order to lick our wounds.¡±


    A hand was outstretched, across the table.


    ¡°So,¡± the soldier said to the general, ¡°what will it be, Minotaur-Slayer?¡±


    Duty? Or honor?


    Honor. Loyalty. Prestige.


    Which one would the boy be forced to choose?


    <hr>


    ¡°Two of hearts,¡± Josephine said. ¡°Call, fold, or raise?¡±


    The guilty card in question was face-up on a porcelain plate.


    There was silence, as the three people in the room considered the matter at hand as if it was a diplomatic transgression that involved the fate of nations.


    ¡°Call,¡± murmured the Duke at last, pushing chips forward.


    ¡°Fold,¡± the soldier said while shaking his head, revealing a decent-enough hand.


    But not decent enough.


    Josephine giggled. ¡°The answer was two of spades,¡± she confided in the two, and Lazarus winced as Ajax sat up straight proudly. The Princess swept the chips inwards in the game of her own invention and smiled triumphantly before the doors at the head of the parlor were opened and two people stormed in.


    ¡°Josephine,¡± said Eleanora, the beginning of a long spiel.


    ¡°Marchioness Williams,¡± acknowledged Josephine in return with a wide smile. ¡°Wonderful to see you again.¡±


    The last time they had seen each other was at lunch, which had been an hour ago, but stomaching the deeply unpleasant presence of her biological mother had been easy¡ªJosephine had tolerated much, much worse¡ªand the meal had passed with minimum deaths and maximum, ¡®What rebellion? We haven¡¯t heard anything about it, we swear, that¡¯s absolutely horrible,¡¯ from Eleanora Williams, n¨¦e Cadmus.


    ¡°Josephine,¡± Eleanora said again, this time scandalized. ¡°Are you still hung up on the family registar thing, my dear? Like I told you, I told your father not to do it, but you know how he is. I keep telling him, ¡®Apologize to her, sugar plum, you know how she is¡¯¡ªno offense to you, my dear¡ªand he keeps insisting that he did nothing wrong.¡±


    She patted the arm of her husband.


    ¡°Which is why I brought him here, dear Josephine. To apologize. Right, Vincent?¡±


    Josephine¡¯s father was elbowed, and the balding Marquis shot his wife a look before coughing.


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry, Josephine,¡± he said, with all the sincerity of a dying frog. ¡°It was an overreaction. But, mind you, running away was a rash decision.¡±


    ¡°Vincent,¡± Eleanora admonished, as if she hadn¡¯t been the one to tell him to say it.


    Lazarus looked mildly entertained. Ajax looked uncomfortable.


    Josephine just laughed.


    Really, they¡¯d just had a rehashed version of the lunch conversation.


    The Princess held up a hand. ¡°I think there¡¯s been a misunderstanding here, though, Marchioness.¡± A misunderstanding she hadn¡¯t bothered to correct. ¡°If I wanted to be put on the family registar and usurp Father¡¯s seat, dear Mother, I would¡¯ve asked in the ten years after the Cage where I was lazing about in the palace accumulating connections on my own. How many times have we passed each other on social occasions? How many chances have I not taken?¡±


    Eleanora¡¯s words were circumstances as the older woman let out a high trill of a laugh. ¡°Circumstances have changed, dear. And you of all people would know that it¡¯s not how many opportunities you¡¯ve had in the past, it¡¯s how many opportunities you have now. Your father apologized, my heart. It¡¯s time to let things go.¡±


    You of all people.


    It¡¯s time to let things go.


    They really hadn¡¯t changed.


    ¡°I haven¡¯t been able to ¡®let things go¡¯ from when you handed me that poisoned cup when I was twelve and told me to drink it,¡± said Josephine with a lazy snort. ¡°But that¡¯s not why I¡¯m here. I¡¯m here because the numbers aren¡¯t number-ing, and the traitors aren¡¯t confessing. Things aren¡¯t adding up, because someone¡¯s making the wrong calculations. In this case, we both know what the other knows¡ªstop with the ¡®rash decisions¡¯, Father. The wrong people are noticing.¡±


    Vincent sniffed. ¡°That means I¡¯m doing something right.¡±


    ¡°No, that means Her Imperial Majesty is planning to execute you and put me in your place,¡± corrected Aphrodite¡¯s Chosen. ¡°Or maybe even give the land to the new Grand Duchy that my little sister¡¯s taking over. It¡¯s not looking good for the both of you¡ªyou¡¯re either going to put me on the registrar and retire, or keep ignoring the problem and force me to visit the factories¡­personally.¡±


    ¡°Personally,¡± Vincent repeated, dryly.


    ¡°Personally,¡± Eleanora echoed, as if this was an affront to her existence, before huffing while shaking her head. ¡°You¡¯re still as hypocritical as ever, I see¡ªyou really haven¡¯t changed. We¡¯re done here, honey cake, let¡¯s go.¡±


    She whirled Vincent around and dramatically stormed out, and Josephine could do nothing but laugh.


    ¡°¡®Honey cake,¡¯¡± repeated Ajax, incredulously.


    Lazarus frowned at her. ¡°It¡¯s like you don¡¯t want a legitimate claim to the Marquessate.¡±


    The other solider looked amused, as if she hadn''t made it clear: "She doesn''t."


    All Josephine did was tuck the two of hearts under the pile and draw out another.


    Her oldest sister was playing a dangerous game here.


    ¡°Two of spades,¡± the golden-eyed Princess called out. ¡°Call, fold, or raise?¡±


    <hr>


    Greta Queenscage had made a very inconsequential decision.


    Or rather, that was what she told herself.


    Timaios had handled the brunt of it, and so had Deimos, with all the nobles in the Empire requesting for an Imperial visit, but she had promoted some and demoted others. The Bloodthorn viscounty was now a county, delivering on a promise Nikephoros had made with Alicia. The Cirillo barony¡¯s noble writ had been taken away, along with other tiny minor changes that hadn¡¯t caused too much of a stir. And now the threat to take away the Williams Marquessate and the Evlogia Duchy¡ªif Alina misstepped¡ªwas in her hands, and after that, if all went well, she would travel to Bellum to end it all.


    Honos would be conquered. Gloria would fall. And then Greta would handpick the Republic¡¯s new internal government and take their forces in the Dark Forest in hand.


    (It had been two Daycycles since Aceline¡¯s last letter. Was she alright?)


    Revealing why the Victors were Victors was necessary to explaining why she wanted to destroy the Cage¡ªan attempt at one was better than leaving all her citizens in the dark of what ¡®really¡¯ happened.


    Would they hate her for it? Somewhat, somewhere deep in their hearts that their sins were now bared to the rest of the world. Which was why she¡¯d sent them away.


    She would see this war to the end.


    No matter what it takes.


    Even if it required her to sacrifice herself in the process.


    <hr>

 71. Fall II

    <hr>


    I met a man, once, and his mother had died the day before. And he told me that he accepted his mother¡¯s death¡ªthat he didn¡¯t feel sad, or angry¡ªbecause he had done all that he could while she¡¯d lived.


    "Then," I asked him, "do you want to die yourself?"


    ¡°No,¡± he said, ¡°but I would like to live so that I will have done all that I want to do before I die.¡±


    ¡°Even if you suddenly collapse and die right now?¡± I asked, out of a morbid curiosity.


    (Luckily, the man was of the same sort as myself.)


    ¡°Especially if I suddenly collapse and die right now,¡± he replied. ¡°I would wish my last thought to be that my life had been worth living. That if I had retained my memories of my life after death, and had been given the opportunity to live it again, I would choose to. Live it again, I mean.¡±


    And then he tilted his head.


    ¡°Too many people,¡± he told me, ¡°want to accomplish something. Achieve something, gain something¡ªbecause then, they say, their life will be worth something¡­and perhaps it may be so, only in the eyes of the world. I am not saying they are wrong, but I am saying that there are too many people who believe so.


    ¡°But I believe that what you have done and how you have lived are two very different things. Perhaps, just perhaps, one is demonstrative of the other, but only in a very narrow scope. I would not want the total sum of my character to be measured by a yardstick of what I have achieved and what games I have won. I do not exist to just to ¡®do.¡¯¡±


    ¡°Then?¡± I asked him. ¡°Why do you continue to exist?¡±


    He laughed.


    ¡°Because I want to live. Is it not the same for you?¡±


    - THE PERSONAL DIARIES OF VALACIA AQUILA, WRITTEN BY THE RENOWNED PHILOSOPHER, ANALYST, AND HERO


    <hr>


    Three Days Before the Last Battle


    BELLUM, ROMA


    ¡°You know,¡± I confessed to my brother with my mouth full, ¡°I didn¡¯t think I¡¯d ever not welcome nepotism, but are we really supposed to be getting a whole goat?¡± I waved offhandedly towards the city. ¡°You know, given that there are starving citizens and all that?¡±


    Roasting mountain goats in the middle of a Republica city, I thought, hadn¡¯t been very high on my to-do list these past few Dayhepts¡ªyou know, given that there was a continental war going on and all¡ªbut the Fates seemed to delight in surprising me.


    On any other day, I¡¯d have thought that the decision had been made more for its dramatic flair than its utility, but we were out here in enemy territory, surrounded by somewhat-hostile soldiers and citizens, and given the fact that Arathis was now unconcernedly humming a Tychean folk song by the fire, today likely wasn¡¯t any other day.


    ¡°You guys hunted down thirty, didn¡¯t you?¡± Ara sunk his teeth in a piece of hind that had been speared through by a stick. ¡°There¡¯s a lot to go around. I only asked them to roast five.¡±


    True enough, I¡¯d counted five pits dug into the ground, with Galani and Cadmi soldiers forced to share and bicker over pieces of meat, and I¡ªalong with Xandros and Mercy¡ªwere eyeing the potential arguments in case they turned into physical brawls.


    I raised my eyebrows, pointedly glancing at the considering faces of the Bellumite citizens that were spectating our roasting party.


    ¡°You know what I mean, Ara,¡± I chided, contemplatively eyeing a piece of shoulder that looked copiously spiced. ¡°Are we trying to lure them or not?¡±


    ¡°It depends,¡± he replied with a grin, firelight making his eyes gleam like jewels, ¡°on whether they¡¯ll bite the bait or not.¡±


    As expected.


    I smiled, and then picked up the piece of shoulder. My teeth sunk into it, and I was right: the flavors were heavy, filling, more like Republica cuisine than Imperial, with the meat rough and sinewy and stringy. It was seasoned well, at least.


    Smoke clung to my clothes, the bonfires¡¯ warmth flickering, and I heard the tune of a ballad, high and light, start up from a few paces away. There was no alcohol, but the soldiers took to the meat as if it was, the tension broken by a person who¡¯d brought a revellazo, of all things, to the festivities.


    ¡°There was a lady named Glory,¡± a deep voice started to sing, as familiar chords rang out, ¡°who lurked in children¡¯s bedtime stories¡ª¡±


    And the Cadmi crowd chanted back, ¡°And lurked in the depths of soldiers¡¯ dreams¡ª¡±


    ¡°She promised generals the inheritance of kings,¡± I mouthed along.


    One Cadmi soldier stood up and continued, ¡°There was an Emperor who looked at the pale moon¡ª¡± And there was a collective breath, as all the heads of the audience turned to us, probably because it might¡¯ve been considered blasphemy.


    I grinned, elbowed Arathis, and cupped my hands around my mouth: ¡°And asked, ¡®Glory, have you forgotten me so soon?¡±


    Laughs, all laced with incredulity, but no one missed the refrain except the confused-looking Galani.


    ¡°I remember, when I was a child, I dreamed of you¡ª


    and when I got older, my pursuit of you ensued¡ª


    But once I returned from war, and there you were waiting,


    I smiled at the prize of your favor, illuminating¡ª¡±


    And there another soldier mimicked a high reedy voice:


    ¡°But Glory¡ª¡± he clutched his hands to his chest like a forsworn lover ¡°¡ªI long for you, I miss you, I love you¡ª¡±


    Good-natured laughs, as more goats were torn apart and invisible cups were clinked together.


    ¡°I have aged, but come back home, the girl I knew¡ª¡±


    On Can spurn me, hate me, avoid me, destroy me, I saw a Republica child slink into the corner of the square, eyeing the goat. Rather than make a scene and beckon for them to join us, I glanced meaningfully at Xandros¡ªMercy wasn¡¯t socially inept, per se, but Xandros was more smiling¡ªand he followed the words left unsaid.


    He gingerly cut a sizable piece of goat, found a piece of fabric and folded the meat into it, folding it in like a package for standing up.


    ¡°But I beg of you, my love to never leave me¡ª¡±


    Xandros walked discreetly to the corner, some sharp-eyed soldiers watching him¡ª


    ¡°Come home again, this time I¡¯ll uphold¡ªI swear to Zeus¡ª


    Uphold the promises made in my naive youth¡ª


    ¡ªYou know, Glory, youth is the only thing I lack¡ª


    Glory, my only love please come back¡ª¡±


    The meat was given to the child, who unhesitatingly dug in, sharing the meat with his friends before retreating to his anxious parents¡ª


    ¡°I miss you, I love you, I long for you¡ª¡±


    I tapped my brother¡¯s shoulder and winked.


    ¡°I will always remember you.¡±


    The bait was taken.


    ______________________________________________________________________________


    It was only a matter of time before the citizens had ¡°warmed¡± to us, I thought, but giving them food certainly sped matters along quite a bit.


    Mountain goats were distributed by neighborhood, and even though it probably wouldn¡¯t feed a city, it was an attempt . I¡¯d set up more hunting parties that would set out this morning and later in the afternoon that would be another (the initial hunting parties had been lead by one very suspicious, grouchy mountain guide); but, worries of hunting the limited population to extinction had arisen from the locals. In order to not risk further antagonizing them after taking over their city, I did not eloquently state, Fuck the goats¡ªI did, however, gently point out that we were expecting to be attacked in the next coming days and in order to minimize civilian casualties, there needed to be civilians in the first place.


    Diplomacy.


    I saw more of Anaxeres of Tyche¡¯s beautiful handwriting, a scrawl and a flourish and everything in between, on the paper that fluttered between my brother¡¯s fingers.


    ¡°They¡¯re coming,¡± was all Arathis of the Eternal City said, and then we both laughed.


    <hr>


    Two Days Before the Last Battle


    HONOS, ROMA


    Anaxeres of Tyche was almost offended at how easy it was to get the Senate to attack Bellum. The Duke had at least expected something after that entire read-aloud fiasco, where he¡¯d been forced to relocate to a safer location¡ªbribery, blackmail, something. Maybe he¡¯d have to orchestrate a kidnapping. Maybe he¡¯d have to burn another government building down. He didn¡¯t know what he¡¯d been prepared to do, but he knew it¡¯d have been fun.


    This¡­


    The Duke walked past the nearest fountain twirling a coin between his fingers, pretending to inspect the clear water when really he was checking his surroundings for tails, and then glanced at the denarius in his hand.


    Voi ch¡¯intrate, the face said. Ye who enter here.


    Anaxeres smiled and then launched it from his gloved fingertips into the water, where it darted to the bottom of the concrete flower like a fish in water, a shimmering scale among many.


    He knew more than he should¡¯ve about the affairs in the Senate¡ªthe poor, poor Consuls who were younger than they should¡¯ve been, and older than they wanted to be. The Patricians would rally with their pitchforks and bonfires, and the Roma scions would have no choice but to relent. Of their fathers, one was dead and the other useless¡ªthe situation with their mothers was similar, except one of them was alive, healthy, and perfectly able to be threatened.


    And then.


    The star of hope, the dashing general, the Minotaur Slayer¡ªthe Hero¡ªwould charge his people into a slaughter, and then what would the people say?


    The current Consuls are just figureheads.


    The patricians have the real power.


    The Consuls were the reason why we lost.


    And then in would come Greta, and (assuming Anaxeres¡¯ assumptions were correct) replace half of the hereditary Branch seats with elected ones, effectively allowing the common people a chance at governing the Republic. And if they drove it into the ground, Anaxeres thought, then the Empire would come and pick it back up. The two nations¡¯ fate would become one, because one would be codependent on the other.


    It was the perfect stage.


    The perfect game.


    How the Empress would handle the nitty-gritty details, like Anothen-Kato religious politics, or establishing trade routes so that ¡®tribute¡¯ (if collected) could be transferred without other things in the way, or even the Zephyrean fallout, the state of the Armistice and its Grand Duchy, and the recovery of the East¡­


    It would be interesting.


    From what Anaxeres had heard, the forces had already been mobilized and were planning to march to Bellum soon.


    The Imperial Family had until next dusk to decide the fate of the continent.


    And so the Duke hummed by the place where he¡¯d been disguised as a beggar, leaving a shimmering coin in his wake.The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.


    Lasciate ogne speranza, the surface grinned back at him.


    Abandon all hope.


    <hr>


    Cecilia watched her little brother¡ªthe label fit in more ways than it should¡ªput his armor on like a man about to die.


    He did it slowly, his nose straight like his father¡¯s and eyes devoid of the usual pride it glinted with. His tanned face was like stone, but instead of being set with statuesque determination it was grim and almost listless; his dark hair was matted and barely washed with residue grime from the past days gathering on his arms.


    (It wasn¡¯t that Cecilia judged him for it¡ªshe barely had enough time to bathe these days, too¡ªbut the way she had seen him to the elbows with soot and dirt in the trenches¡­there had never been a time he had stood as defeated as he did now.)


    No, Cecilia decided. Defeated was the wrong word.


    If you looked carefully, there was consideration in his eyes.


    Contemplation.


    ¡°Marius,¡± Cecilia called out.


    He was still lost in his reverie, and the Consul reached out to touch his arm.


    ¡°Mari,¡± she said, again.


    Julian¡¯s head rose slowly, and he blinked in question.


    ¡°They threatened your mother, didn¡¯t they,¡± said Cecilia.


    It was less of a guess than a confirmed statement, and Julian nodded.


    ¡°Listen, Marius¡ªfrater¡ªI¡¯ll do it.¡± Cecilia put her hands on his shoulders. ¡°They can¡¯t threaten me with anyone¡ªFather¡¯s dead, I don¡¯t have a mother, and I couldn¡¯t care less whether anyone around me died¡ªI¡¯ll go to Bellum. You can stay here and take care of the city, you bastard¡ªI¡¯ll go.¡±


    Julian shook his head. ¡°You can¡¯t. I have no choice¡ª¡±


    ¡°You always have a choice,¡± Cecilia felt herself say. ¡°Don¡¯t let them take it away from you¡ª¡±


    ¡°Then this is my choice,¡± the boy said evenly. ¡°I¡¯m making it, and I won¡¯t ask for permission.¡±


    I won¡¯t ask for permission. I refuse.


    How long had he been waiting to say those words?


    ¡°I need to go,¡± Julian continued, looking her in the eye. ¡°Even if I¡¯m not there, they¡¯ll still attack¡ªthey have enough troops to. If I can communicate with the Empire before then, minimize the casualties, negotiate¡ª¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s a betrayal,¡± Cecilia interrupted, trying to stamp down the feelings of anger as she peeled away. ¡°I¡¯m not telling you to win, but I¡¯m telling you to not lose. You¡¯re going to the battlefield, Marius, you¡¯re going home. They call you the King of the Battlefield, so prove it. Win. Last this country another day so we can fix it.¡±


    The boy was silent, before he spoke, hesitatingly.


    ¡°If I die¡ª¡±


    ¡°Then die with honor,¡± Cecilia Romus ordered. ¡°For our country.¡±


    "No," Julian Marius Romanus said. "I will die for our people."


    <hr>


    A Day Before the Last Battle


    HONOS, ROMA


    I was sparring when they came from the horizon.


    Daggers were strange against spears, I thought. Worse against guns, but still.


    I should learn how to fire a gun.


    The thrill of the thought made me giddy as I dodged a vicious swipe of Akila¡¯s spear.


    I would¡¯ve called out a taunt if it was a better day, but I silently moved towards her exposed stomach and jabbed, forcing her to shield as I slipped inside her guard. She drew her spear close and leaped away¡ªI followed her and sank low, aiming for a blow to her legs, but she didn¡¯t stumble, bringing the point down on my folded back in a killing blow. Then I brought my other knife upwards, smiling as the tip clanged¡ªmetal against metal¡ªas Akila, daughter of Ur, grinned at me.


    Arathis clapped and hooted. Soldiers shifted uneasily.


    The spar itself was for more showmanship than anything else, but it was fun. Exhilarating.


    Xandros seemed uneasy, but Mercy elbowed him and whispered probably a dry assurance that I wasn¡¯t getting myself killed.


    Cute.


    It was then that a messenger scrambled into the camp.


    ¡°They have arrived! Her Imperial Majesty, Dionysus¡¯ Chosen, Greta the Great has arrived in Bellum! Please¡ª¡± And then he was choking, probably because he¡¯d run quite a while, and I immediately turned.


    Sure enough, at the walls was a distant carriage that looked grandiose enough to be called a chariot that grew closer the more I squinted. My Ability pricked, and I knew enough to side-step without looking back as Akila used the opportunity to jab at me¡ªor rather, the air where I¡¯d once been¡ªlightly.


    The grand display wasn¡¯t met by oohs and ahhs, as most people were too busy getting ready for the Empress and¡ª


    I squinted at the dark mass behind the carriage as I side-stepped another blow (really, Akila, I chided mentally, hitting people when their back was turned is unsportsmanship-like).


    She¡¯d brought soldiers.


    Uncharacteristic relief bloomed in my chest, because even though fighting (even the remnants of) a nation¡¯s army with two cities¡¯ worth would be, to say the least, very very difficult, especially on unknown terrain.


    Even after we¡¯d sent out the goats, and asked some Bellumite guides and captured legionaries to help map the area out, there was only so much we could ¡°ask¡± them to do without threatening them (and there was always the chance that they were withholding/tampering with the information). And even if we did, dealing with a rebellion on top of holding the city and defending it would be also very, very difficult.


    Even thinking from a non-tactical standpoint, having my sister here would make things much, much easier.


    And when the carriage came near, the horses neighing as the driver¡ªnoticeably not Deimos, but I doubted Greta would¡¯ve brought him, even if it would¡¯ve been a lot of fun trying to see the grouchy aide suffer¡ªpulled the reins back to a halt. The golden veil-like curtains were swept aside, and a familiar face¡ªUncle Leon?¡ªgot off his horse and opened the door.


    She wasn¡¯t in traditional attire, instead in ivory robes that were thin and met her feet, with her flaxen hair pinned up as always and flat armor over her chest and arms. It was uncharacteristically bare of anything ornamental¡ªeven though she¡¯d worn military uniform practically everywhere back at home, the twinkling badges were still there¡ªbut Greta the Great stood, regal, and walked across the expanse slowly as everyone around her bowed.


    I dropped my daggers and immediately ran towards her.


    Of course, the Guards around her had their guards up, but I watched Greta put up an impassive hand as I threw my arms around my sister, smiling brilliantly as I returned to the half-Act. She smelled like dust, I thought. She¡¯d never seemed like the type to frequent the perfumes and incense that were provided to us in the Palace, but now I felt a thin layer of sweat through her robes. It made her feel less like a corpse, I amended, as the Empress wordlessly brought her hands up to my hair and swept it once, tidying the unruly strands.


    She wasn¡¯t smiling, I could tell, but I could feel a vague amusement¡ªI could never Read her, not really, so when I felt her lips twitch it was that she was letting me know.


    Ara came bounding over like an overeager fawn to its mother, cheerily pecking Greta on the cheek while murmuring thinly-veiled metaphorical observations.


    ¡°It is time to Win again,¡± I said aloud, and as Ara cackled, Greta deigned to respond.


    Not a smile, but a glance at the soldiers was all it took for them to stand up straight.


    ¡°When,¡± said the Empress of the Empire Eternal, ¡°ever is it not?¡±


    ______________________________________________________________________________


    Our war council consisted of seven: two Eurusan generals from my dear maternal grandmother¡ªLeon, my maternal uncle, and Elexis¡¯ second, Alax¡ªtwo from the Galani, Arathis and me, and our revered Empress. Of course, there were a handful of important-but-not-really seconds to the firsts, but we were all slumped over a map.


    ¡°Her Imperial Majesty has also brought some explosives, sent by the Fo¡ªSecond Imperial Princess from the Armistice,¡± began General Leon, reminding me that we really needed to start legitimizing titles, ¡°but some of them were damaged due to the climate. The ballistae would¡¯ve slowed the trip, but we still have some we can mount on the walls if it comes to a siege.¡±


    "The question is if it does,¡± Alax countered. He shot a glance sideways, towards us. ¡°Based on word from the troops, the Prince and Princess have been dividing the Cadmi and galanos into smaller groups¡ªwould it be presumptuous of me to assume we were planning for skirmishes?¡±


    Ara was playing with a knife, spinning it dangerously around his knuckles and between his fingers. My Ability pricked that we didn¡¯t know whether he could use it.


    ¡°Your assumption of our initial plan is correct,¡± the Forsaken said agreeably. ¡°We were unsure what time, if any¡ª¡± the wording made the generals frown, but it was deliberate, I was sure ¡°¡ªreinforcements would arrive, and how many, so we were planning to use guerilla warfare to draw some of the Republica army out. Skirmishes, like you said, General. It seems unlikely that they would do a full frontal charge as soon as they get here.¡±


    Hm.


    Leon shook his head. ¡°It¡¯s likely that they would, Your Highness. They don¡¯t know about our current numbers, so they would go for the estimate of a combination of Snakeland and Galani. The forces they have stationed at Honos are little compared to the full force of the Republica army, but still formidable.


    ¡°And if we combine the forces of the remaining patricians and their respective numbers, it might seem like they have the advantage here. An attempt at a siege wouldn¡¯t be improbable, especially since that would be characteristic of past Republica methods: ¡®fight fire with fire, summon brute force to counter brute force, and if all else fails, the only way out is through.¡¯¡±


    Most of us chose to diplomatically ignore the evident disdain.


    Had he even fought a battle with the Republic before?


    Had I? I chided myself, and tutted when the voice silenced itself. Hypocrite.


    Akila tilted her head. ¡°And would we be sure that the current Acting Consuls would be employing those past methods?¡± she said evenly, without phrasing it as a challenge. ¡°From what we hear, the current ones are said to be a pair of¡­mavericks in the public eye.¡±


    I refrained from snorting.


    It was then that Greta spoke.


    ¡°Princess Seraphina has been spending the last Dayhept in Honos as per my orders,¡± the Empress said, looking at me as if saying, Go on. Contribute to the conversation. ¡°She knows the two Consuls better than most.¡±


    I accepted the invitation¡ªreally, it was more of a command¡ªeasily.


    My Ability was cool around my face as I spoke.


    ¡°They are mavericks, yes,¡± I pleasantly stated, ¡°but only compared to the patricians of their House Roma. There is a sore divide in their standings after the Curia explosion: as you all may know, the Consul Marcellus was rendered immobile and the Consul Valerius is dead. Their progeny succeeded their seats, and appointed the rest of the Senate.


    ¡°But they do not have the same connections their fathers did. The newly appointed patricians likely follow their family allegiances to the other, older patrician families, and said families follow their old divisions. The Consuls rely on them not to revolt.¡±


    ¡°So the patricians are the one behind this assault and not the Consuls,¡± remarked Leon. His face looked like my mother¡¯s, I thought, Eurusan eyes and all. Uncanny. ¡°Makes sense.¡±


    ¡°And we are sure of this information,¡± Alax stated, looking me in the eye, before glancing at the Empress. A gruff old man.


    ¡°Given that I had been held hostage by the Consuls for several days and not been introduced to the Senate, yes,¡± I replied pleasantly. ¡°I can state that there are divisions. If the Consuls are involved in this fight, I can likely also state that there were some external pressures involved¡ªspeaking plainly, blackmail. They would not be rash enough to charge us without some Senate intervention.¡± Cecilia, at least, was more careful than that.


    ¡°So the patricians threatened the Consuls into reorganizing their troops,¡± Akila summarized. ¡°Would this be a way in?¡±


    I shook my head. ¡°No. The Consuls would be dedicated to the assault once they did so. There would be no negotiating with them.¡± Unless they contact us first.


    ¡°¡®Speaking plainly¡ª¡¯¡± Leon quoted me, looking me in the eye as if I was a stranger who had challenged his authority ¡°¡ªno. But, Your Highness, you mentioned being held hostage. Other than this¡­overview you¡¯ve given us, have you stumbled upon anything else, perhaps?¡±


    Anything useful, he was asking.


    I was too busy preoccupied with other concerns, I would¡¯ve said if I was in the Palace. Such as, for example, evading death.


    But really, my uncle was right.


    At least he didn¡¯t ask how I got caught in the first place.


    ¡°They are having trouble on the Union front,¡± I said. ¡°The Glorydark is expanding, and the Dark Forest, along with the border, is overrun with monsters. One of the Consuls tried to threaten me and they¡¯re currently switching out the troops in Gloria. There¡¯s a possibility, even though I haven¡¯t heard it being discussed, that they might recall some of the troops to Honos in their troop gathering.¡±


    Alax cut in, and I mentally thanked the old man. ¡°A factor to be considered,¡± he said, tilting his head, ¡°since, considering the time needed for travel, it would be a delay if they decided to make that decision. It is appreciated.¡±


    I took that dismissal for what it was, and sat back, ignoring Greta¡¯s eyes on me.


    The talk soon turned to the logistics of the thing: some of the ballistae would be installed on the walls of Bellum as defensive siege weapons, along with ranged archers. Several ground forces would be left at Bellum, and others would be taken to several spots that were distinguished to be likely routes to encounter the Republica troops. Fleet-footed messengers were placed within each group, suggestions thrown out among the Galani and Cadmi, with Greta cutting in every so now and then with orders that proved she was in control of the situation.


    Ara remained, surprisingly, silent. He casually tossed his knife at me while the grown-ups talked strategy, and I caught it, twirled it around my fingers, and sent it back. Soon enough, we were showing off grandiose knife tricks to each other to the disapproval of the spectators, but we didn¡¯t need to care about them. It was a show, anyway, but it was entertaining to see Ara pretend to drop the knife on his foot, and then¡ªta-da¡ªit would reappear in his left palm.


    Meanwhile, everyone in the tent distinguished themselves. Leon was bold and brash in a way unbefitting of his age, but he had experience and wasn¡¯t a blockhead, and was mainly in charge of the younger soldiers. I began to somewhat question his judgment because of the incident with Penny, but he didn¡¯t seem to care for excessive violence among¡ªor by¡ªhis soldiers as long as they followed orders, contrary to what he disdained. But, still, he was in charge of moving his troops.


    Alax, on the other hand, was older and grittier, gruff and rough around the edges but equally sly and surprisingly diplomatic: he was given the duty of surveying routes around Bellum, weak points, geographical locations, etcetera. I cut in again and gave him the Bellumite guides we used for the hunting party as repayment for his intervention, which he accepted with a brusque, perfunctory nod.


    Akila was in charge of her people and moving them. There was talk of combining Leon and Akila¡¯s duties, but Akila brought up¡ªfor a while, at least¡ªthe way Arathis had curbed the fights, and while Alax looked mildly surprised, there was (obvious) resistance from Leon for beheading his soldier.


    Ara hadn¡¯t budged an inch, or even threatened anything as Leon had gotten up in his face, and there was a mild anticipation in my chest because Ara could never stay still. All Greta had said was a throwaway, one-word ¡°Crude.¡±


    (I felt like a spectator again, like in Inevita. A Crownpiece, as Greta volunteered me to stay with the Galani as a ¡°capable fighter¡±. It was because, as I was now, I was weak. Unable to do anything.


    Accept it.)


    We agreed on plans, and then dispersed, and I walked with Akila as Arathis stayed behind.


    ¡°You were¡­surprisingly quiet,¡± she told me, examining me before shooting a look at Xandros and Mercy behind me.


    ¡°I wasn¡¯t built to be a military strategist,¡± I returned with a wink. ¡°Especially since I didn¡¯t glean anything useful from my time in the Romanus Estate, I¡¯m more of a hangers-on, don¡¯t you think?¡±


    Akila looked at me skeptically. "Somehow I doubt that," she told me, and I laughed, looking towards the horizon.


    "Are your people alright?" I broke the silence.


    "''Your people''?" Akila raised an eyebrow. "Are they not yours?"


    "I don''t own them," I chided. "So they aren''t mine."


    "That wasn''t the question," retorted the Galani leader with a raised eyebrow, and then she sighed. "This war will cause gigantic losses¡ªit has already caused gigantic losses¡ªbut you can''t say whether it''s worth it or not. No one can."


    "''The silent war screams,''" I quoted in response. "''The bloody war shrieks.''"


    "War is war," said Akila, almost in agreement.


    It took away lives: soldiers and innocents alike, parents and children and people who hadn''t lived yet, not truly. Even after the war ''ended'', there would be years and years of repentance and conflict afterwards, so why had this all started?


    "War is war," I repeated, looking out at the horizon.


    <hr>


    The Republic came at dusk.


    <hr>

 72. Fall III

    <hr>


    War is war, and that is the last lesson of those who seek to know it¡ªwhether you fear it or instigate it, at the heart of every war is conflict, and at the heart of every conflict is sin. No matter on what scale, it is sin to harm, and harm in the face of harm (as said in the Five Precepts: do not kill, do not steal, do not cheat, do not lie, do not[...])


    To those who hold war in contempt get called idealists, while those who say it is inevitable get called fatalists. I believe those of the world should be both: for while we think death inevitable, we fear it still due to a lingering attachment to this world. Should we not apply the same principle to war? Then is[...]


    [...] war not death? And is total liberation¡ªrather than peace as a solution to conflict¡ªacceptance, rather than denial?


    Is acceptance condonation? Is denial condemnation? Is participation sin?


    Answer these questions, and in the end, you will gain nothing but more questions[...]


    Yet the fundamental fact¡ªassumption, if you will¡ªthat you must operate on when thinking about war is that war is war, and in war there is no such thing as sin or virtue...for if you were to measure the worth of a person for the things they do in defense of their livelihoods, the world would be a very irredeemable place indeed.


    ¡ªON WAR IN REGARDS TO THE HOLY TEACHINGS, VENERABLE MAHAUHTETAR THE ELDER


    <hr>


    DUSK WAS...AN EXPERIENCE.


    That was the right word, I thought. An experience.


    Wisps of a warm blush-orange streaked the faraway mountains with light streaks of citrine above the tops of the Draconian Peaks; stars dusted themselves across the almost-night sky. A cleaved-half moon glinted like a scythe, high above our necks like an executioner¡¯s knife.


    Delightful.


    They¡¯d arrived when it had still been light outside, the troops less like animals and more like an organized swarm of soldier ants in their armor and leather uniforms¡ªinstead of approaching the wall, they were a good distance away, almost an hour from Bellum and just barely across the border, where the forest started thinning. It was due to the border scouts Leon had suggested we send that we even knew they were there, and even then their numbers were, admittedly, larger than we¡¯d expected.


    Do not engage, Greta had explicitly sent my uncle and me along with. Observe.


    ¡°I thought you were with the Galani skirmishers,¡± Leon had said when I¡¯d joined, in a what-the-fuck-are-you-doing-here tone.


    ¡°I thought the same,¡± I¡¯d replied while feigning ignorance in an I-don¡¯t-know-either mask that had led to him grudgingly leaving me alone.


    ¡°Don¡¯t get in the way,¡± he¡¯d warned, before leaving me to my own devices.


    I was polishing off a piece of candy while examining their makeshift camp¡ªJulian hadn¡¯t come out of his tent, but there¡¯d been important-looking patricians coming in and out¡ªwhen legionaries came out from their tarps with what looked like¡ª


    ¡°Are those¡­cages?¡± Leon asked incredulously, before squinting.


    I pulled out my spyglass and looked through it.


    ¡°Looks like it,¡± I agreed, being met with black tarp and small metal bars. I zoomed in as the legionaries aimlessly stood, as if waiting for orders, and then the long-awaited Consul came out of his tent and gave them a nod. Julian then cast a glance in our direction¡ªhe probably saw past our (not so) clever camouflage¡ªand then looked away as the legionaries set the cages down and dipped their hands in what looked like¡­


    Chicken feed.


    The birds themselves came scuttling out, pecking at the feed in the legionaries¡¯ hands as they winced. One authoritative-looking one bent down to the birds¡¯ levels and barked something, and immediately the chickens surged forward, waddling away from the camp a good five meters or so before stopping and turning around, as if expecting feed. The ¡®Pub soldiers followed up and fed them.


    It was after it happened once or twice that Leon swore.


    ¡°Trained chickens,¡± I said with the proper amount of grimness. ¡°They know we have bombs.¡±


    Rather than saying the sensible thing¡ªOf course they know we have bombs, we blew up their Senate building¡ªLeon just turned as if I was an aide.


    ¡°Are the explosives set up near here?¡± he asked. Would they be set off?


    I shot him a small glance. ¡°In the meeting, they were distributed in several areas within a half-mile radius of Bellum. At this rate, though, they¡¯ll reach it in¡­¡± I calculated the time in my head. ¡°Around three hours. It¡¯ll slow them down considerably¡ªoh, they¡¯re making the chickens go further out. Splendid.¡±


    The chickens were, in fact, going further out, and Leon noted the fact with another obscenity, grabbing a crossbow from his soldier and¡ªaiming. For fuck¡¯s sake. I immediately got up from my position and drove a knife towards the held weapon, causing the general¡¯s personal guard to draw their knives.


    ¡°What exactly are you doing? If you shoot the chickens, you¡¯ll let them know we¡¯re here,¡± I hissed. ¡°Did you not hear what Her Majesty said? Don¡¯t engage.¡±


    The general looked pissed at me for interrupting his decision.


    ¡°In war, timing is everything,¡± Leon hissed back. ¡°We need to get rid of those chickens now, otherwise they¡¯ll ruin everything. Let go of me, damnit. I¡¯m your superior, this is insubordination.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯ll reveal our location,¡± I said back, raising my volume but letting the tone remain even so it didn¡¯t seem like a catfight. ¡°Her Imperial Majesty specifically said, ¡®Observe, don¡¯t engage.¡¯ She didn¡¯t give you the authority to make executive decisions by yourself, General. Unless you want them to charge us right this instant and outnumber us, I suggest you heed caution. The people around us have their lives in your hands.¡±


    I couldn¡¯t care less about the people around me, but Leon¡¯s eyes flickered, surprisingly considering.


    He was still all bluster when he let me send a pigeon (and runner as a precaution) back, though. I held a conversation¡ªwell, more accurately, an argument¡ªwith him while I looked through my spyglass and continued watching.


    If they know we have bombs, even if we kill their chickens, they¡¯ll find some other way.


    The Republicas would likely be forced to start using soldiers instead¡ªas morally controversial as human shields were, the Consul wouldn¡¯t risk leading troops into a trap that could potentially explode. Sacrifice of the few over the many was a core tenet of Republica military strategy, aside from sheer will, brutal force, and surprisingly enough, ruthless efficiency.


    So why were they using such a terribly inefficient method?


    I mulled it over for a while.


    They¡¯re playing it safe from the start. Prioritizing numbers.


    I know that, I told myself. But why else?


    If I thought of a game of Crown, it was almost certainly a Soldier¡¯s Defense: straightaway from the game, you¡¯d offer up the pawn that was the Soldier in order to take early initiative¡ªplaying not for equal stakes, but higher ones.


    It wasn¡¯t exactly a trap, per se, but it was more of not falling for a skirmish early on that would only lead to a loss. If we shot the chickens, and met their Soldier with one of our own, we¡¯d be giving up our advantage of remaining unseen, as well as one of our troops. A Soldier near the heart of our game.


    No, the common way to meet Soldier¡¯s Defense was to¡ª


    My head snapped up as I heard the cooing of a pigeon¡ªthe bird settled on my shoulder, and I unrolled the parchment as Leon watched and smiled.


    Will send Akila. Stay where you are.


    ¡ª move another Soldier.


    <hr>


    I¡¯d liked to have said that I laid there under the sunshine eating candy and watching the chickens, but alas it was only so for the better quarter of an hour, when Leon shoved a map in my hands and demanded me to mark down where the bombs were. After I spent five minutes carefully warning him that my memory wasn¡¯t perfect (even though it was, I thought wryly), I complied.


    He then blinked, as if remembering something, and then cleared his throat rather awkwardly.


    ¡°Right, er¡ªI remember ¡®Dora passed away a few Dayhepts ago.¡± He coughed. ¡°My condolences.¡±


    ¡°Isn¡¯t she your sister?¡± I couldn¡¯t resist the urge to say. ¡°Shouldn¡¯t it be the other way around?¡±


    Leon looked like he hadn¡¯t expected that reply, but still responded in turn.


    ¡°She was your mother.¡±


    I appreciated the sentiment, but was rather too tired to be diplomatic.


    ¡°Well, then, I hope it doesn¡¯t offend you too much to say that when I heard, I thought nothing but ¡®good fucking riddance,¡¯¡± I said cheerily. ¡°My condolences to you as well.¡±


    A wisp of a grin¡ªshock, mingling with kinship¡ªtugged at his lips after the initial floored expression.


    ¡°I can¡¯t have imagined how she treated her own daughter,¡± he admitted. ¡°Dora and Nora are¡­Godsdamned nightmares, I swear. I didn¡¯t know I could be happy that I was invited to a funeral.¡± For a beat, kinship rather than animosity filled the air, and then my uncle who I¡¯d never known¡ªbut saw often, at family gatherings¡ª cleared his throat and turned. ¡°Well. Have things to do, anyway. Thanks for the map.¡±


    I gave an offhanded wave as a substitution for a No problem and leaned back, continuing to watch through the telescope.Unauthorized content usage: if you discover this narrative on Amazon, report the violation.


    The group of three soldiers with the chickens had doubled to two, sent west and north of the Republica camp. They had made it surprisingly far, but I was sure there would be more people soon. Either that, or they would do something else soon then sweep the nearby area of bombs.


    Our camp had been moved¡ªagain, the near-forest was cover, but shuffling troops and packs in broad daylight while the enemy was near didn¡¯t seem like a good idea. But at least it avoided conflict, I conceded. It wasn¡¯t even a camp, either¡ªmore like a cluster of Cadmi soldiers huddling together on the ground while they discussed strategy and Leon talked with them, surprisingly thoughtful.


    The chickens weren¡¯t in our direct path, but if one of the lovely birds decided to scamper where they weren¡¯t supposed to and stumble upon our ragtag coalition¡­


    Knifing chickens was a perfectly princely activity for a Chosen of the Gods, I thought before my Ability pricked and I immediately snapped my head up, swiveling my spyglass in the direction. I didn¡¯t drop it even when I saw the crowd of Galani skirmishers¡ªheaded by Akila, daughter of Ur¡ªcoming towards us.


    Was that¡ªfire?


    <hr>


    Seeing your home in flames was never a good start to a day, Akila had thought.


    The fire had come from the direction of Eurus.


    The Republicas had very obviously approached from the north, and¡ª


    It had been incomprehensible. The house that she had come home to every single day, the spears that she had painstakingly crafted and set on the walls by her bed, the handmade clay bowls that she had gotten as a gift¡ªeverything had gone up in flames. There was a pang of shame as Akila remembered how she had stood, hollow-faced and slack-jawed, as she¡¯d watched that flames roar in a twisted, symphonic crescendo over the walls of her home.


    All of the people she loved¡ªtalked with, embraced, protected¡ªhad been screaming, ashen-streaked faces clutching their children or themselves, running away from the flames. It had been their yells that had jolted Akila out of her second-long stupor, prompting her to order all of them to get to the river.


    The desperation and sheer shock as the Republica soldiers had set the Snakelands alight were still bright with fervency in Akila¡¯s chest.


    And now, Akila¡ªdaughter of Ur, son of Chione¡ªstood grimly with a torch in her hand.


    People liked to talk about how revenge was a vicious cycle. They said that you would kill someone, and their loved ones would get angry, and come and kill you, and you would either kill them and their loved ones would come to kill you, or you would get killed¡ªthen, Akila had always asked, did the blame fall on a singular person? Who¡¯s the ¡°better¡± person, she always argued inside her head, the person who¡¯s willing to kill to get revenge, or the person who killed in the first place? The person continuing the cycle, or the person who started it?


    For all people liked to use primal instincts as an excuse to justify murder¡ªhey, anyone would break if pushed to a certain point¡ªthe use of the ¡°advice¡± depended on whether the person even cared about being a good person in the first place, and whether they would listen to ¡°reason.¡± (Otherwise, there was no point.)


    And there was always no reasoning with a person well and truly consumed by revenge.


    So Akila dropped the torch while the skirmishes attacked the camp, letting the flames consume the tattered canvas of the tent like a drawn-out breath.


    And the only thing she felt was triumph.


    <hr>


    Julian would be lying if he hadn¡¯t said he¡¯d expected it. Imperials were absolute fucking batshit insane that way.


    Do you believe that what you¡¯re doing is good? he had asked Cyrus in the Golden Fortress.


    Worthy, not good, Cyrus had corrected. Because the cost of a cause shouldn¡¯t diminish its value.


    But now the cost was laid bare to Julian, in the faces of the broken and maimed victims of the Curia explosion, the dying legionaries of this fire¡ªthe cost was lives. And it wasn¡¯t just wasted potential these lives were costing the Republic, it was its heartblood¡ªif there were no people, there would be no nation.


    And the boy felt disgust, yes, he could say it now¡ªan irredeemable, hollow disgust for the patricians that had threatened his mother for him to fight for his people, for the greedy, empty shells of monsters in human skin that couldn¡¯t care less for the people¡ªhis people¡ªand once, that disgust had been enough to consider handing over his nation to the Empire.


    But, even though the Imperials weren¡¯t exactly monsters, they didn¡¯t know the cost of the cause¡ªmaybe they were right in saying it had value, but at its root, this war had started because of greed and a lust for power, and Julian would never forget that.


    ¡°Retreat!¡± Julian roared for the sake of the audience, before adding a, ¡°Protocol Six!¡±


    He had gone over all the protocols.


    Julian had never put it past the Imperials to not sink low¡ªthere were no lows in war¡ªand deliberately sabotaging the food supply had always been a possibility. So while the chickens had been sent out as a diversion¡ªa provocation¡ªhe had ordered some of his more discreet legionaries to begin digging small pits in the ground covered by tents. By slowly unloading the food supply into dark cellars, and covering it up with stone slabs, it would hide the food supply in plain sight and protect the latter from whatever the Imperials would pull.


    Such as, for example, a fire set by the galanos an hour after the troops had crossed the border.


    But if the Empress thought they would run around like headless chickens when part of the forest terrain was set on fire, she was sorely wrong.


    From a strategic standpoint, such an extreme action was made to force the Republica troops somewhere. If they retreated backwards, they would be going further into the fire (which served a double purpose to threaten the area around Honos, Julian was sure). If they continued forwards, the Imperial troops that Julian had felt surveilling the chickens would most likely be forced to engage. And that was discounting the galanos troops around them at the moment.


    A classic Weaver¡¯s Pass.


    Where ¡°the only way out is through¡± strategy is rendered useless.


    But there was Protocol Six.


    ¡°Protocol Six,¡± Julian continued, mentally pinpointing the vague area where the trap was as he stabbed an incoming warrior, ¡°eleven o¡¯clock, do not engage!¡±


    It¡¯s a monster horde.


    Pretend they¡¯re monsters.


    One by one went down as Julian¡¯s troops immediately pulled back, avoiding the general eleven o¡¯clock direction while going on the defensive against the galanos¡ªthey pressed against the forest as if falling back, feigning a slow retreat while they redirected the tide of battle so the Galani were against the fire.


    Pretend they¡¯re monsters.


    Julian cut down a man in front of him as easily as he would a Harpy, the sheer force that came easily to him flowing easily with his blows. He watched the battle as the fire grew warm around him, more than scorching, blazing his sides as he killed, repeatedly and desperately, the blood roaring in his ears as his heart hammered.


    ¡°Do not run!¡± he screamed in Republica. ¡°Do not roll over!¡±


    ¡°Do not burn!¡± Weak choruses of the chant came back, the legionaries pushing against the Galani of the same number.


    Pretend they¡¯re monsters.


    A shuddering gasp came out of the warrior that Julian pierced with his knife¡ªas the boy withdrew the blade, the other writhed and mouthed a desperate prayer as they fell to the ground, faint words lost to the blazing smoke that threatened to choke everyone¡¯s throats.


    ¡°Do not run!¡± Julian screamed again, to be heard over the screams. ¡°Do not roll over!¡±


    The people that he commanded he was unfamiliar with, but all shared the same blood in their veins, that same sheer will to live that he always heard no matter the battlefield. It was never do not lose or do not be afraid that was Julian¡¯s personal chant that was heard at Gloria, but¡ª


    ¡°Do not burn!¡±


    The boy fought fiercely as his soldiers moved, following his orders. The Galani warriors were forced to be pushed towards the direction the fire was spreading, and he could feel the moment they all realized the fact. Their leader, the one who had held the first torch, was now brandishing her spear against Julian, and the Hero was dodging vicious strikes as she hissed.


    ¡°You burned my home,¡± she snarled, and Julian had the hazy thought of shaking his head and saying, No, that wasn¡¯t me, that was Cecilia.


    He fought for the side that had burned her home¡ªhe was the side that had burned her home, and he represented everything she hated; thinking, or even wanting otherwise was shirking responsibility. There was no honor in killing, but it was because of his honor that he accepted he had to. All of the good, all of the bad¡ªhe would take on everything¡ª


    ¡°I did,¡± Julian said back, and they fought, fierce and desperate, because there was no winning or losing: there was just fighting, fiercely and desperately, and that was what they were doing.


    It was the moment that she jabbed her spear, eyes burning with fire and smoke, that the boy fell back and yelled,


    ¡°Protocol Six, end!¡±


    And that meant one thing.


    As the troops fell back from the fight, pushing forward but running all the same, they never looked back.


    ¡°Do not relent!¡± someone began. ¡°Do not roll over!¡±


    ¡°Do not burn!¡±


    <hr>


    I stood.


    It was impressive, how Julian managed to circumvent the scenario into his favor. He was, after all, an accoladed general, I conceded, but hearing about it and seeing it in action were two different things.


    And the move Greta was making now¡ªcompared to the move you¡¯d make in a regular Crown game¡ªwere also two very different things.


    It was rather like overturning a board, I thought, but while still playing on it.


    It was aggressive, forceful, and so Greta-like that I didn¡¯t dwell on if she came up with it, but why.


    The fire would spread near Honos, that much was obvious. I didn¡¯t think it would burn the city, per se, but it would at least threaten the Republic¡¯s hold on it. The no-two-praetors/Consuls-on-one-campaign rule had likely forced Celia to stay behind in Honos, and it would be hard to manage while conflicting with the patricians there.


    It was a classic Weaver¡¯s Embrace¡ªmade with the aim to corner the enemy and herd them towards a trap. A rock and a hard place.


    Leon hissed a breath. ¡°Fuck, they¡¯re avoiding us.¡±


    ¡°Yes, it seems so,¡± I murmured agreeably, to a glare from my uncle.


    ¡°We should go and meet them,¡± he replied, probably abstaining from insulting me. ¡°They¡ªthe Weaver¡¯s Embrace is built on them being cornered. If they avoid the trap, there¡¯s no sense in¡ª¡±


    Cold hands I felt on my shoulders, and it was that familiar weight of my Ability that came with an acrid realization. It was strange that my heart dropped, I thought. It shouldn¡¯t have.


    ¡°There is,¡± I cut in, my Ability surprisingly not the source of the observation. My features were schooled into an unusually mild expression, one I hadn¡¯t worn for quite some time. Weave had dug its fingers in my beating heart and squeezed, forcing it to stabilize, and there was nothing but a deathly calm amidst the smoke¡ªeverything had stilled, and I could feel nothing but the faint shaking of my hands.


    ¡°She¡­¡± My voice caught, but it sounded more like a considering pause than hesitation¡ªthe words I spoke felt foreign to me. ¡°There is a reason.¡±


    Fuck. So that was why the Galani had been late.


    (Greta, after all, had always liked to make sure that her plans went the way they needed to.


    That, I knew, was characteristic.)


    The general looked at me strangely, as if I had just maniacally burst out laughing after turning into a pig and sprouting wings.


    ¡°What the fuck are you on about?¡± he demanded, and I just shook my head in response.


    ¡°Watch,¡± I said evenly, pointing towards the direction the Republic was running in with a small smile that wasn¡¯t my own.


    My uncle, surprisingly, obeyed with a small flicker of what felt like¡ªfear.


    (I had underestimated what lengths Greta the Great would go to, I thought dimly as the fire continued to roar at greater heights.


    It was only a few minutes before the first legionary stepped on the pressure plate.)


    The explosion was deafening.


    <hr>

 73. Fall IV

    <hr>


    Prometheus gave us the human soul, but who gave us the human heart? Who fashioned our bleeding heart, our organs, our fear of what we know and what we do not? Who gave us the human hope, the margin for error that comes with every word and choice - the chance to fail, the chance to fall?


    We gave ourselves wings, and we will continue to fly like Icarus - into the sun, towards our hope.


    - PROMETHUS GAVE US THE HUMAN SOUL, IMPERIAL TEXT


    <hr>


    THERE HAD TO BE A LIMIT, Julian Romanus thought bitterly as he was pushed backwards, on how many explosions could be detonated during a war.


    (Alright, he was lying. Informally speaking, he was too busy screaming to think anything other than AHHHHHHHHHHHHH).


    Everything felt like it was on fire¡ªpain came in starbursts across the Consul¡¯s side and face, and scarlet had leaked into his left eye, dust rendering the other useless. The flash had leeched everything of color, the latter bleeding back slowly as he struggled to get up from the ground. A grunt, and his first flailing attempt was unsuccessful¡ªhe landed back on the ground with a thud, a wave of pain ricocheting off his spine.


    Several ribs broken. Left arm and left leg¡ªhe tried to wiggle the appendages, and failed¡ªout of commission. Major injuries to spine/back from impact. Severe burns to chest and face.


    He tried to breathe.


    It hurt, badly, and rather than end up gasping for air he stopped. A Hero could hold their breath for longer than others, and he couldn¡¯t fix his lungs yet.


    Injuries to internal organs, Julian noted. And he felt oddly detached from the scene, but it wasn¡¯t anything he hadn¡¯t experienced before¡ªhe was sure that it was a benefit: if he was fully conscious of his injuries, it would be a mental hindrance.


    He still needed to breathe.


    Breathing turned into choking, and choking turned into coughing, and coughing made his bones seem like he was being eaten alive from the inside out.


    Slow breaths. Through the mouth, since that moved his chest less.


    But vague splotches of color were enveloping the horizon. His eyes were recovering, even though it hurt to blink. That was a good sign.


    Everything else was not.


    Julian moved his right hand. Red had pebbled over his fingers and he was sure a layer of his skin had been fried off, but they could move. His arm could somewhat support his weight, and he tried to heave himself up¡ªhis elbow slipped, and he landed down on the ground again, causing a malevolent click from his spine.


    That¡¯s bad, he hazily realized.


    Still, one part of him urged. Try again.


    The Hero breathed from his mouth again, slowly.


    It was then when he heard steps.


    ¡°I should¡¯ve called out,¡± he heard a very, very faint whisper, tight but familiar. ¡°Fuck, I should¡¯ve called out. I thought¡ªmy Ability¡ªI wouldn¡¯t have reached you¡ª¡±


    And then the person speaking cut themself off, before lowering themselves to the ground.


    Blue rhododendrons.


    The word came unbidden to his lips, as the person¡¯s face inched closer to listen¡ªthey knew, unprompted, that he was trying to speak¡ªand it was a fanatical order, a murderous one.


    Die.


    Some indistinct voice was rattling in his skull, telling him to tell them¡ª


    Die.


    ¡°Die,¡± he croaked, fingers twitching. ¡°The enemy¡ªneeds to die.¡±


    You need to die.


    Julian lifted his right hand and shoved it forward in an attempt to feebly fumble for a weak spot¡ªthe throat was vulnerable¡ªbut it was clutched by cold fingers. They were wearing a metal band around their left ring finger, he thought dimly as colors blurred together. Are they married?


    ¡°I know,¡± said the person back, evenly but smoothly, as if the statement had been a ball and they had just expertly caught it. They sounded young¡ªhis age. ¡°Don¡¯t speak. It¡¯ll hurt.¡±


    ¡°As if¡ª¡± his chest was burning, and there was something itching at the back of his throat and he coughed, spewing scarlet, choking for a long while.


    His hand was held by those corpse-like fingers all the while, as if he were a man on his deathbed.


    ¡°As if you care,¡± he managed viciously in the end, as if he was a child on the playground and this was a spat with his playmate. But he couldn¡¯t properly control his words, just like he couldn¡¯t properly control his limbs.


    ¡°Sister wants you alive, thank the Gods,¡± the person responded while murmuring to themselves, ignoring his statement but acknowledging it all the while, and it was such a familiar habit, that he knew¡ª


    Recognition slipped through his grasp as he drew in a slow breath through his lips, and grasped wildly with the hand in that cold grip. She (how did he know that?) unlaced her fingers automatically, letting him flail around but heave himself upwards, and he knew in the back of his head that she had moved so that she would prevent his fall if he did.


    ¡°Who¡ª¡± everything unfocused, but he could see a full moon, pure white ¡°¡ªare you?¡±


    She had indistinct bronze features, with dark hair that was vague in shape, but a lithe figure that he knew.


    ¡°Who are you?¡± He was up now, and he fought a wince as his injuries flared.


    A small laugh, from the other¡ªbut at herself, not him.


    ¡°The enemy,¡± she replied, simply. ¡°And that¡¯s all that matters.¡±


    <hr>


    When I got back, riding in the carriage next to Marius¡¯ blood body, I felt sick.


    ¡°Bucket,¡± I said, and it was handed over to me as I heaved.


    It was in the privacy of my tent that my bloodied hands¡ªfrom when I¡¯d helped carry Julian to the Healers¡¯ tent¡ªcontinued to shake.


    ¡°The Healers are calling for you, My Lady,¡± Mercy said, and she sounded anxious, almost desperate.


    Xandros was holding my hair back as I lurched again, and something flickered at the edge of my vision, and I snarled at those blue eyes. ¡°Enough,¡± I said, and I jerked my head away from the ghost of Caspian Nameless as he reached for me, Xandros yelping as I launched myself backwards and slammed into his legs.


    I could see him reach for me, but in my state of semi-lucidity images overlapped and I saw the Tutors again, and Vivianna and Jonas and Caspian and even that stablehand at Azareth and I slapped it away¡ª


    ¡°Don¡¯t touch me¡ª¡±


    I drew a staggering breath in as I saw Xandros¡¯ eyes widen. I crumpled to the floor.


    Mercy knew what to do¡ªshe automatically hissed out something that made him step back, and the two backed away as I clutched my chest and gasped for breath. Clear vision slowly came back to me as I drew breaths in, shakily, and I reached out. Mercy automatically handed me what I was asking for. I palmed the blade¡¯s hilt and looked at the knife carefully, focusing on nothing else. My grip was firm but my hands were not, and rather than stab it through my thigh or do something equally foolhardy, I looked at it.


    A silence as I calmed myself down, grasping desperately for my Ability to feel that sharp coldness in my chest. It came¡ªslowly, but it came.


    My hands stilled, and I blinked the hallucinations away.


    ¡°Help me up,¡± I said tonelessly¡ªtrying for a smile would make it seem forced. ¡°The Healers¡¯ tent, right?¡±


    <hr>


    Arathis watched his sister cut out the burned skin.


    It was a methodical process: she put a small thin blade through the flame of a candle, and then sank it in alcohol, using it to cut away at the dead burned skin and revealing gaping red and bone. There were patches of pink that she bandaged carefully, the boy¡¯s left arm put in a sling as she worked on the burns on the leg. Moments were present¡ªbreaths where the process was paused, in favor of those blue eyes skimming up and down the body as if reaffirming its identity¡ªwhere there were breaks, but otherwise it was almost like seeing an artist at work.


    But, as close to life as everything was, everything was dull and wooden and dead.


    (The Forsaken confessed that he¡¯d always favored the arts over the sciences.


    But then again, he supposed reviving a person using one¡¯s own hard work and skill was more commonplace than using a Gods-given Ability.)


    Greta is close to error.


    People could be restrained and objectified and used, but Greta¡¯s main weakness¡ªaside from her greed¡ªhad always been underestimating the component of humanity. Yes, forcing Seraphina to swear an Oath and then making her work the war would forge her into a better heir, but it was easy to see that she was close to breaking. Pressure would force a diamond out of coal, but it could just as easily make a lesser gem snap. (And it wasn¡¯t that Arathis thought that Sera was a lesser gem: anything but. But diamonds were sharp and shiny and immaterial¡ªthey were like Margaret, the forty-year-old Empress, not a seventeen-year-old girl who sometimes pretended to be more than she was.)


    A country wasn¡¯t the same thing as a person, either. This move¡­


    She was going too far.


    As the pale devil watched his youngest sister at work, he let his fingers dance on the canvas of the tent.If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. Please report it.


    He would have to make a move.


    <hr>


    It was a bloody and arduous labor, and when the Empress entered the tent I knew it was going to be worse.


    There was a silence, before she spoke.


    ¡°Do you know what I see?¡± her sister said.


    "Not particularly," I said with a sigh. "So yes, do go on."


    A wrinkle caught at the Empress'' brow, as if a net had snagged on a fish, but she continued.


    ¡°A girl who wants to be loved above all else but has forced herself to only know fear, Seraphina.¡±


    Greta looked at me.


    ¡°You are a glass ornament on the precipice of falling and breaking. Rather than be a sword, as you have promised me, you seem content to stay on the sidelines and remain a decoration. Tell me, is that behavior worthy of a so-called vassal?¡±


    Her eyebrows were raised in a question, head tilted.


    I spoke only after a long silence.


    ¡°You showed me the place where you came from.¡± My voice was bland and even. ¡°Mine¡­was different. Everyone¡¯s is. But you can¡¯t really say that I forced myself to only know fear when I never had a choice in the first place, can you?¡± I lifted my head in a feat of uncharacteristic daring. ¡°My original drive came from a desire to not be forgotten, not a desire to be remembered. The nightmares¡ªI couldn¡¯t drink, I couldn¡¯t eat, and I couldn¡¯t sleep. The Duke and Duchess were more worried of needing to birth another heir than me dying, I¡ª¡±


    I pressed my lips together, chuckling. It was a morbid thing.


    ¡°I keep talking about them,¡± I said aloud. ¡°I couldn¡¯t care less about them, but I still keep talking about them. Why is that?¡±


    The last bit was more for myself than anyone else, but Greta still spoke.


    ¡°You were a child,¡± she responded, not as if she believed it, but as if she was reciting something someone else had told her. Nikephoros, probably.


    ¡°I am a child,¡± I amusedly corrected. ¡°It felt like Tartarus. The thing I hated most wasn¡¯t just the fear, though. It was the fact that my hands kept shaking. I couldn¡¯t throw knives, I couldn¡¯t hold plates¡ªI couldn¡¯t open the door to escape. And then I was Chosen right after that.¡±


    I shook my head.


    ¡°I always knew that I had power, and if I accumulated enough of it I could escape, but it¡ªlike on the Cage, we managed to break the bars in the end. And they were right, we could¡¯ve swam for it, but we didn¡¯t know how the Gods would retaliate, and in the end¡ªlike it always, always does¡ªit came down to what we knew and what we didn¡¯t. And which of the two we use as an excuse for our own actions.¡±


    And that was that.


    The ¡®knowledge is power¡¯ thing was an excuse.


    Saying that ¡®it wouldn¡¯t have mattered in the end¡¯ was also an excuse.


    Greta cleared her throat, uncharacteristically gently. ¡°You do realize, sister, that whatever care you harbor for us, it is one developed under¡­less-than-ideal circumstances?¡±


    I laughed.


    ¡°I hope you don¡¯t think that I''m a fool just because I¡¯m stereotypically sentimental,¡± I responded amusedly. ¡°I do know that anything I feel for you all, the root cause might be a yearning for human connection and understanding, not you as people.¡±


    And forgetting that would be somewhat fatal.


    ¡°But,¡± I conceded, ¡°I can guarantee that I don¡¯t want you all to die. Just because you can¡¯t prove that the fact¡¯s unrelated to my childhood experiences doesn¡¯t mean you can, either. And if I don¡¯t want you to die, then I¡¯ll make sure you won¡¯t.¡±


    It was then that I tilted my head and met those green eyes.


    ¡°But just because I don¡¯t want you to die, doesn¡¯t mean I don¡¯t think you deserve to. I¡¯m hypocritical that way.¡±


    Greta met my grin with a wry smile.


    ¡°I suppose I deserve that,¡± she admitted evenly. ¡°At least, in your eyes.¡±


    The air wasn¡¯t cleared, but it didn¡¯t deserve to be. It wasn¡¯t right that way.


    (Well, well, look what we have here, Seraphina, I thought mockingly, since when did you care about what¡¯s right and what¡¯s wrong?)


    My self-mocking was interrupted by my sister speaking.


    ¡°Yet everything I do, I do for the Empire,¡± Greta the Great filled the silence, looking me in the eyes carefully. Under the light, her own were buried emeralds. ¡°I ask you to remember that.¡±


    Everything? I wanted to ask. No human, or even machine, was infallible, not even Greta the Great.


    Yet the terrifyingly firm way she¡¯d stated the words, as if she believed it fully and would make it so¡ªas if her Wish was who she was, and she was nothing more than her desire to change the Empire¡ªwas absolutely petrifying.


    And the fact that it was petrifying¡ªthe fact that her determination scared me¡ªwas what made me stop.


    ¡°So, you¡¯re asking me whether I¡¯m fighting for myself or the Empire,¡± I guessed, before sighing. ¡°You really don¡¯t mince words, do you?¡±


    A pause.


    ¡°The short answer is, and always has been, myself.¡± The answer was prompt, and there was a thrill that shot through me at the fact that I was certain in what I said. ¡°Yet it is likely that our goals will align for a long while, and I will fight for them as long as they do. I will be by your side, Milord, through glory and ruin, until the end.¡±


    Sunlight was streaming through the gaps, and dappling the side of Greta¡¯s pale face like warm paint. Her gaze was searching, but as it left my eyes it apparently had been satisfied.


    ¡°That will be enough,¡± she decided, getting up from her seat.


    I stayed, smiling. ¡°For now?¡± I asked, and she responded, surprisingly, with a grin.


    ¡°For now,¡± the Empress agreed.


    I laughed.


    <hr>


    There was¡ªsomeone laughing.


    Julian opened his eyes to a throbbing headache and dulled pain. The world tilted on its axis and he winced, but then snapped back to blurs of colors that focused as he squinted.


    What¡ª


    Memories of the explosion caused him to wince again, and then his ribs clenched in pain as dry hands immediately stabilized him.


    ¡°Don¡¯t move,¡± said someone by his ear, mildly exasperated and equally amused. ¡°Gods, Mari, I¡¯ve seen go-getters and I¡¯ve seen go-getters. I just cut out some of your skin¡ªyour injuries aren¡¯t anything to scoff at, even for a Hero.¡±


    It was a couple minutes before he groggily processed the voice.


    ¡°Sera?¡±


    It was a few minutes before he could blink properly, and he came to a bloody tent. Bandages were wrapped around his chest and left leg, his arm in a deftly tied splint¡ªcrimson imprints of bodies on mats were next to bowls of muddied water and a table with glinting knives was beside him.


    Seraphina¡¯s face floated inches above him, and he grimaced as he leaned back, eyes flickering to the blob next to her that he was sure was a person. He squinted, and as the blonde hair¡ªCecilia?¡ªand green-grey eyes came into view, he instantly tried to rise.


    ¡°At ease,¡± the enemy Empress said evenly, with remnants of glittering amusement that was shoved down in favor of neutrality. ¡°Consul Julian Marius Romanus, son of Marcellus, son of Octavian. You are currently in the custody of the Empire Eoina as a captured enemy leader. Will you surrender?¡±


    It was at that moment that Seraphina looked at Greta with undisguised¡ªand surprisingly vulnerable¡ªpained-ness, and then it was shut down in the favor of raised eyebrows.


    ¡°You shouldn¡¯t be doing that to a newly recovering patient, Sister,¡± scolded the Princess. ¡°You¡¯ll tear his stitches.¡±


    He didn¡¯t feel any, Julian thought idly before he pulled himself back to the present. She was lying, because she isn¡¯t joking. Why?


    ¡°I will not,¡± he bit, ¡°surrender until I am able to consider the current situation properly. As of now, I am in no shape to do so, and of no use formally.¡± He met the Empress¡¯ eyes with as much of his trademark stoniness as he could muster, but all he met was staunch coldness in turn.


    ¡°All of your troops are dead,¡± Greta responded bluntly, as if stating an observation. ¡°Your Republic has almost fallen. The fire we have started will inevitably reach Honos¡¯ walls, and there will be more losses if this continues. It wasn¡¯t your choice to continue this fight.¡±


    ¡°It was,¡± he corrected, ¡°maybe not like this, but I will take accountability for my actions, as is honorable.¡± The dig implying that Imperials were not didn¡¯t affect Greta externally, but Greta was sure it hadn¡¯t gone past the sharp-eyed Empress. ¡°And so will Cecilia,¡± he added, ¡°for those future losses you mentioned. But Roma will not surrender.¡±


    ¡°Not yet,¡± Greta acquiesced, ¡°but soon. Will I have to drag every corpse on that battlefield before you to prove my point, boy?¡±


    ¡°And now we have been reduced to petty digs and statements of disdaining legitimacy,¡± responded Julian with a forced sigh. ¡°How predictable.¡±


    He ignored his injuries and leaned back, watching every minute reaction from the Empress¡¯ person. There were none.


    ¡°I¡¯d like to thank you, actually,¡± he continued, unfaltering like his father had been before him. ¡°If the patricians are dead, then half of the work cleaning up has been done for me. It¡¯s only a matter of time before Cecilia manages to supplant those in Honos and seize back power. We¡¯ll fend off your flock of magpies, as we¡¯ve done time and time again.¡±


    There was a small snort.


    ¡°All bark and no bite,¡± observed Greta, tilting her head. ¡°I have to say, I expected more from someone my younger sister praised to high heavens¡ªyou were much more tolerable in our Dayhepts together back in the Eternal City. Bluster and bluff don¡¯t suit you.¡±


    ¡°Spite and pretentiousness aren¡¯t a good look on you, either, Your Highness,¡± Julian agreed. ¡°But, as they say, ¡®how the mighty fall.¡¯ If we¡¯re both disappointed by each other, then we have nothing to blame but our own expectations.¡±


    There was a moment as the Empress snorted again.


    ¡°I can see why Cyrus likes him,¡± she said, before shaking his head.


    Likes. There was no pain in that expression, only distant stone and a spine of steel¡ªa monstrosity of a human shaped as a vase or a tool of some sort, bent on only one person. Julian would¡¯ve argued that the Empress knew nothing but conquering, but that statement would be inherently wrong: she knew nothing but moving forward, taking her Empire with her and dragging it in whatever direction she wanted to go. There would be no weight on her¡ªno loved one, no armor, nothing to burden her shoulders¡ªas she moved the Empire Eternal like a Crownpiece on a board.


    Julian moistened his lips.


    ¡°If you Imperials even manage to take over our country,¡± he rasped, attempting to sit up and ignore the pangs in his lungs, ¡°you¡¯ll destroy it. Consume our culture and way of life until there¡¯s nothing left¡ªno more Twin Wolves, no more Curia, no more Senate. There¡¯s a reason why we¡¯re the balancer of the continent, the country with both Anothen and Kato. If you destroy our laws and our people, you destroy the peace. The Balance.¡±


    A pale brow arched.


    ¡°It demonstrates much more of your nature than ours that the first thing you expect of us to destroy,¡± the Empress responded.


    The bloodied tent flap fluttered in the horizon, and Julian¡¯s gaze seared the muddied pails of water and soiled bandages. He could catch a sliver of night sky in the gap between translucent canvas, and the tangy flavor of smoke¡ªit was noxious, like a cross between a cough and a poison, and as he felt the flames (internally, almost like a sixth sense) spread further, he lifted his chin.


    ¡°You already have,¡± said the boy, and rather than a ripple of dissatisfaction or any reaction, the former First Princess and Major of the Imperial Army merely blinked.


    ¡°Yes, I do suppose so,¡± Dionysus¡¯ Chosen agreed, and in the background Seraphina with her ever-watchful eyes met her sister¡¯s gaze.


    There was a moment¡ªa silent exchange¡ªwhere a faint smile was on the Princess¡¯ face, residual and ghostly, and then Greta¡¯s lips quirked as if Seraphina had said something funny.


    ¡°Very well, we¡¯ll let you rest,¡± the Empress decided, as if acquiescing to an invisible request. ¡°Since you must be tired after taking care of His Consulship, Third Princess, I¡¯ll send the Second Prince to look after Consul Romanus. I¡¯m sure they¡¯ll get along perfectly.¡±


    Julian had two thoughts simultaneously¡ªhe fought back an internal grimace, for one, because no one could ever get along perfectly with Arathis Delawar; and watched as the Empress left the tent and thought faintly of what other plans the enemy would have.


    All of that was overpowered by a sense of shame.


    When he was younger, he¡¯d had a phase where he read those philosophical books that talked about everything and nothing, and those descriptions of empty cups and empty souls had always made him pause for longer than he needed to.


    If he wanted to, Julian vaguely thought, he could¡¯ve broken free from constraints like pride and honor and loyalty. He could¡¯ve thrown his purple cape to the wind and became like those flighty scions on the street, drinking wine from the amphora and paying courtesans to feed him grapes. He could follow the wind, chasing even a whisper of that thing everyone called ¡®true freedom,¡¯ but rather than fear, it felt like the boy named Julian Marius Romanus had been born with a grim sort of resignation in his heart.


    A resignation that, as the only child of Marcellus Romanus, he would be the praetor, and after that the Consul, and after that have a child who would be the next praetor and the next Consul. Anything else would be a fundamental betrayal¡ªdishonorable.


    And if he didn¡¯t have his honor and his country, what would he have?


    His thoughts were interrupted by the drip-drip of water, and he dimly registered Seraphina sinking her hands in a pail and drying them off before replacing one of the lit candles with another one.


    It was almost sunrise, and Julian wished his fiancee would put her hands around his neck and strangle him already, because the thought of failing his country was worse than death.


    <hr>


    War was war.


    Cecilia watched the fire come closer with her fists tightened, watching from the balcony as people swarmed with their bags and carriages. They were like ants climbing over a piece of dripping sugar¡ªbait¡ªas they rushed to move outside the city.


    And where?


    Gloria, likely, she thought. Julian¡¯s Stronghold, the home of the wave of monsters that the Union of the Forbidden had been struggling with at the Source¡ªit was trading in a rock for a hard place, out of the metaphorical pan and into the fire. But there was no other choice.


    It¡¯s a choice and they¡¯re making it, the first thought she summoned was.


    But then Cecilia saw a girl sitting in front of her.


    If you had the choices I did, she said, some sort of fire stirring behind her eyes, every choice you would make¡ªevery road you would take¡ªwould be bad ones to you.


    They had no other choice.


    She had no other choice.


    Cecilia¡¯s fingers tightened as she turned around and faced the two large doors of the makeshift Senate hall.


    And then she took a small breath in, adjusting the Consul regalia on her shoulder, and kicked the door open before the herald could begin the first syllable of her name.


    War is war, after all.


    <hr>