13
The sword slaves of Ginonhive had rebelled and were demanding to be freed from the island. All the spectators who had come to Ginonhive to celebrate the enthronement of the new emperor had been taken as hostages. That was the plan anyway, explained the pretty boy who appeared to be the leader of this armed rebellion. Priscilla Pendleton, posing as Serena Delacroix, narrowed her crimson eyes.
She was a girl of just twelve years old, but the glint in her stare, the hard edge of knowledge and cruelty, was enough to convince everyone that she was the esteemed high countess. No one in the room dared to doubt her claim.
Of course, if they ever figured out the truth, Priscilla’s life would be forfeit, along with that of her husband Jorah, who had accompanied her…
“Independence for the sword-slave island? Exactly the sort of myopic dream I would expect of people who live tiny lives on a cramped rock in a lake. Not surprising. Not interesting. A true waste of time.” Priscilla sniffed.
“Oh—,” Jorah interjected, pale. Naturally, none of the sword slaves standing around looked particularly pleased, either. Only the pretty boy standing directly in front of Priscilla reacted differently.
“Heh-heh!” He laughed as if the entire thing was very funny to him. “You do have a way with words. A ruthless way. I’m not upset… Although, I’m not sure I can speak for everyone here.”
“As if I care what mindless incompetents make of my words. Clearly, you gave them a pretty speech or two, and it was enough to have them eating out of your hand.”
“Well! Did I say something strange?”
“I should say so. You seem like one of the less stupid people here, which means you ought to appreciate that the chances of achieving independence for this island and freedom for the sword slaves are exactly zero.”
The boy shrugged, but he didn’t so much as flinch at Priscilla’s pronouncement. The ruffians with him certainly did, though.
“Hey, what’s this about?” one of them demanded. “You said that if we took the high countess here hostage, those bastards in the capital would—”
“Listen to you? You live in Volakia. Surely, you know that ridiculous saying: Citizens of the empire, be strong. Would a high countess who got back to the capital by fearing for her life be strong? And what about you, who have taken hostages in hopes of gaining an edge in negotiations? Are you strong?”
“ ”
“I can tell you what the capital’s response will be. When he hears that you’re demanding to speak with him about your freedom, the emperor will act quickly to destroy his enemies. I expect it will involve the Nine Divine Generals, who serve His Excellency directly.”
That name, the Nine Divine Generals, sent a shiver through all the ruffians and Jorah as well. They were Volakia’s nine strongest warriors who served directly under the emperor. The sword slaves on this island had some justifiable confidence in their abilities after surviving so many fights, but the Nine were on a different level.
In this world, some were blessed with specific talents, natural abilities; and some were not. The gulf in power between the two was despair-inducing—and the Nine Divine Generals demonstrated this. It was not a title one could gain by virtue of status or pedigree, but only through the glory of triumphant violence.
A lively confusion broke out among the sword slaves when they were told that the Nine might be coming for them. The man who had led Priscilla here laid into the pretty boy: “This is no laughing matter, Ubirk! Is that true, what she said?! We didn’t hear anything about this!”
“Please, please calm down, Gajeet. Just imagine how frightened I would be if the likes of them showed up! I hardly know how to hold a sword!”
“This is no time for games, you little…” The man called Gajeet, the one with the saber, grabbed the pretty boy—Ubirk—by the collar, but Ubirk continued trying to calm him down.
“It’s obvious what the high countess wants,” he said. “She’s hoping to rattle us, just like this, so that we’ll fold and surrender to her. But I… No, no, we won’t be taken in by her little plan. Persistence and even greed are our bread and butter. Am I wrong?”
At that, the other man clicked his tongue—“Pfah!”—and released his grip on Ubirk. The other sword slaves likewise looked pained but no longer angry.
Priscilla found the entire thing idiotic, to put it in a word, but she knew they could hardly stop now. They had already done the deed. They couldn’t surrender at this point, apologizing and saying that their assumptions had been wrong. It was impossible. They were already beyond the point of no return.
That was why they couldn’t back down.
“Pri—Serena, what is he planning?” Jorah whispered.
“Huh. So my husband has actually found use for his head besides quaking in fear. Color me surprised.”
“Pl-please don’t mock me, this is an important matter.” Jorah’s voice shook, but he took a breath and said, “I agree with you about the emperor’s judgment. We can’t expect him to recognize Ginonhive’s independence. We can’t expect help.”
As she listened to her husband quietly poke holes in the sword slaves’ plan, Priscilla narrowed her crimson eyes, encouraging him with her silence to continue.
“I am a count of this empire myself, even if not much of one. I know how this nation operates. Even if the new emperor is a person of deep compassion—”
“The traditional ways of our empire would never allow him to show anything even resembling weakness. The only end this armed rebellion can have is destruction,” Priscilla concluded.
“I can’t imagine he doesn’t know that,” Jorah said, his gaze turning slowly toward Ubirk, who was still trying to fire up his ruffians. Priscilla quite agreed with Jorah’s assessment. If Ubirk had eyes to see or a mind to think, he would have realized this rebellion was over before it had begun. And yet he had done it, and he had talked these sword slaves into it with a verbal smoke screen. This situation was of his making. Why?
“Independence for this island is just a cover. He has some other goal,” Priscilla said. She was loathe to see it succeed—and just as uninterested in continuing to roll along with the situation. Priscilla had never been one to simply do as others told her. No matter who she was dealing with, she would decide how she lived.
Thus, Priscilla looked around, quietly waiting for her moment. Her chance would come, and when it did, she would not miss it. For…
“The world bends itself to suit me.”
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