Shinwa Densetsu no Eiyuu no Isekaitan - Volume 10 - Chapter 4.2

The nobles were almost as astonished as Nemea. A throne room full of shocked gazes converged on Claudia.

“Excuse me?” the primozlosta whispered.

“I said that I decline your offer.”

She had finally pinned down the source of her unease. She now knew why Nemea’s words rang hollow. He was a man of blind faith, trapped in the past without a care for the future. Revenge gave him a cause, but the absence of conviction had stripped away his identity, turning him into a pitiful puppet of the Demiurgos. There were certainly times when obedience was a virtue, but a man whose aspirations were merely a cloak for his own lack of purpose had no right to speak of ambition.

How utterly disappointing this conversation had proven. To think that a former ruler of the zlosta had allowed himself to become so diminished, all for the sake of such petty ideals... Claudia felt anger welling within her breast.

“None of your prattle interests me. It has become dreadfully clear that you have nothing of worth to say.”

“And that is your reply?”

She giggled. “Several years ago, a gentleman named Baal sat at this court. I recall he once said the notion of humans mingling with zlosta made him sick to his stomach.”

Baal von Bittenia had plotted with Claudia’s brother, Flaus, to usurp the throne of Lebering. Though he had fallen at Hiro’s hands, in life he had borne very similar disfigurements to Nemea.

“If missing eyes and manastones mark a primozlosta, then he must have been another of your number.”

But even Baal had possessed personal ambitions. He had been both more calculating than Nemea and more prideful, following his own goals with no need for the air or guidance of others. For all that he had schemed rebellion, Claudia still found him more appealing than the man before her now.

“Why would I throw in my lot with the likes of him?” she asked coldly.

“Then you would take up arms against our Lord?”

“You may interpret my answer as you wish.”

There was no longer anything to be gained from this conversation. Giving Nemea more leave to speak would not kindle her sympathy or help them broker some new understanding. She was grateful for the tidbit about the Spirit King, but aside from that, her smile was wholly cruel.

“And besides,” she said, rising from her throne, “if Lox turned his back on you, why should I take pity on you?”

She raised her hand. Concealed soldiers stepped forward from the crowd of nobles. They advanced on Nemea, drawing their swords. The metal cast countless dull lights across the floor as it caught the glow of the chandelier.

As they closed in, the throne room doors crashed open. More soldiers poured through like an avalanche. In an instant, Nemea’s escape was cut off. They waited with blades in hand for Claudia’s orders.

Nemea looked around. He did not seem surprised. As he returned his attention to Claudia, his shoulders relaxed and his stance widened.

“Mongrel cur. You would defy your ancestors?”

Claudia tittered. “I believe that relics of the past ought to stay dead.”

Her hand dropped and the soldiers lunged forward. Blood arced high, pained cries filled the air, and a series of heavy thuds shook the room. Soon, Nemea was surrounded by bodies, evading strikes with the smallest possible movements as he cut down the soldiers of Lebering.

He fought with two daggers. They seemed to be nothing more than common metal; one of the blades chipped against a soldier’s armor, and seeing that the weapon was damaged, Nemea flung it away without hesitation. It thudded into a soldier’s forehead, killing the man instantly. The primozlosta didn’t even watch his prey fall. He had already produced another knife and pounced on his next target.

Every blur of motion sent blood spraying, adding to the pool that had begun to form on the floor. As perhaps ought to have been expected of a primozlosta, he fought with terrifying skill, and even Claudia’s trained soldiers could not land a blow on him.

“Stand back, if you would.”

Claudia stepped forward, Hauteclaire in hand. Her voice carried clear and true to her soldiers’ ears through the din of battle, and even if it had not, the magnitude of her mana would have commanded their attention. They fell back like a receding tide, revealing the bloodstained Nemea. The primozlosta looked slowly from side to side.

Claudia approached him, calmly but steadily. “Dear me, Lord Nemea. You seem awfully out of breath.”

“You...will be next... Ngh!”

No sooner had the words left his mouth than Claudia was upon him. He dodged Hauteclaire by the skin of his teeth, but he could not evade the kick that followed. It struck him in the cheek, knocking him off-balance. Before he could recover, Claudia thrust her sword through his flank, then angled the blade sideways and wrenched it back out.

“Gah! Curse you!”

Claudia giggled again. “Keep on talking and I fear there will be nothing left of you.”

Face filled with rapturous intensity, she dealt him a wild barrage of blows, shearing off more flesh with every strike. Her blade hemmed him in from all sides, more like a whip than a sword, striking seemingly with a mind of its own. It was all he could do to fend it off. Oddly, however, he did not seem concerned. A smile formed on his cracked lips.

“What foolishness. I cannot allow a hand such as yours to wield Asura.”

His mana abruptly swelled. Evidently, he had not been committing his full strength. He bore down on Claudia with a series of razor-sharp slashes. A mix of feints and nimble movements turned his twin daggers into an onslaught from all angles.

“I see the primozlosta can impress after all,” Claudia murmured. “Even without their manastones.”

She parried, deflected, dodged, bided her time, and kept her distance. Calmly, dispassionately, she analyzed his attacks and matched his speed. The daggers sprayed sparks as they skittered along Hauteclaire’s blade, scorching her hair.

Both the soldiers and nobles watched in awe from a safe distance. Even if they had thought to lend their aid, they would not have known how. All they could do was await the duel’s conclusion and pray for their queen’s victory.

It was Claudia who broke the deadlock. Having grown accustomed to Nemea’s speed, she had taken to leaning past his attacks rather than deflecting them with Hauteclaire. Then, all at once, she leaped back, gaining distance. As Nemea pitched forward, his rhythm disrupted, she thrust her blade squarely at his head. Yet what should have been a killing blow cut only empty air. Her eyes flicked down. Nemea had leaned beneath the strike, sliding on the blood-slicked floor, and as she watched, he brought his dagger around with all his might in a spinning strike.

“Ngh!”

Claudia twisted out of the way, but she was too slow. Shrieks and dismayed cries rose from the onlookers. But the blade that should have taken her head stopped short of lethal injury. As relief spread through the crowd, Nemea’s face filled with confusion.

“What?”

The primozlosta had not yet registered what was happening to him. He strained his arm, trying to drive the blade into her flesh, but to no avail. He could twitch the limb at best. It was like he was wading through mud.

Claudia raised a hand to her burning cheek. Her fingers came away red.

“It’s been rather a while since I last saw my own blood,” she said. Crimson trickled from a nick in her cheek. She had not quite managed to evade Nemea’s dagger.

“What have you done?”

“At last you notice. It took you long enough.”

Claudia flicked the blood from her fingers and turned her attention back to him. The entire right side of the primozlosta’s body was encased in ice.

“That is Hauteclaire’s power. The power of Devouring.”

“You lie. Asura has no such...” He trailed off, suddenly uncertain. “Surely not... Did Lox...?”

“Oh, Lord Nemea. Did you not say it yourself?” Claudia tapped her foot against his frozen flesh. “After Lox betrayed his kin to serve the War God, he reforged his Fellblade. Do you not recall?”

Nemea said nothing. He only bit his lip.

Claudia smiled pleasantly. She picked up the primozlosta’s fallen dagger, admiring its marbling. “And when he reforged Asura, he took inspiration from the Spiritblade Sovereigns.”

“You cannot mean—”

In the blink of an eye, she thrust the dagger between his lips, telling him in no uncertain terms to be silent. Her violet eyes flashed as they watched him struggle helplessly.

“Fear not. I have no intention of cutting your throat. Where would be the fun in that?” She withdrew the dagger, slicing open the corner of the primozlosta’s mouth. “But I ought to at least make us even.”

As Nemea’s face twisted in pain, she laid open his cheek. Satisfied that the blade was bloodied, she tossed the dagger aside. It skittered to the corner of the room with a clatter.

“Then what do you intend?”

“I was hoping you might answer a question of mine. If I were to kill you here, would the Demiurgos feel anger? Or would he feel nothing at all?”

“You... You would regret your choice. I am one of his twelve blessed primozlosta. If you were to cut me down, his wrath would be—”

Nemea never finished his sentence. His head soared clear from his body before he had the chance. It struck the ground with a dull thump, and Claudia planted her foot atop it.

“Did you take me for a woman given to regrets? You truly must have been blind. I shall look forward to your Faceless King’s reply when he receives your head.” Her face showed no emotion whatsoever as she gazed down at the corpse. A hard light glinted in her eyes, frigid to look upon. “In any case, it seems you were not as deathless as you claimed. Had you truly been immortal, you might have enjoyed a new life as my plaything.”

The head gave no answer. She kicked it away and wiped the blood from her cheek with her thumb. The skin beneath was fresh and pink, with no wound to be seen.

A man stepped forth from the crowd—one of the soldiers who had been watching their duel. He fell to one knee before Claudia. “Are you hurt, Your Majesty?”

“Not at all. More to the point, how fare our armies?”

“We are ready to march at a moment’s notice, Your Majesty.”

“Wonderful.” She smiled appreciatively. “Well, then. I daresay it is time to pay the empire another visit.”

As she strode from the chamber, one of the nobles called out from the crowd. “Do you mean to put them in your debt again, Your Majesty?”

She looked back and smiled, putting a finger to her shapely chin. “Why, no. I don’t mean to do anything at all.”

“Pardon?” The noble’s eyes went wide. He did not seem to have expected that.

His face was so amusing, Claudia had to hold back her laughter. “Did Lord Nemea not say himself that the north’s downfall is nigh? Soon, the lion of Soleil shall face the lord of the primozlosta. Such a conflict will not stay confined to this frigid corner of the world.” Her voice took on an edge of amusement. “A clash between two such titans will exhaust both, and it would not do to waste such an opportunity. We shall be the victors of their war.”

Claudia turned and made for the door, leaving the noble to his astonishment. For the briefest instant, she cast a glance outside the window, but the moment quickly passed. She returned her gaze to the fore, lowering her eyes.

“This is what you want, is it not?” A heated sigh escaped her lips as her thoughts turned to the future. “All will be one. Is that not so, Lord Surtr?”

＊＊＊＊＊

Once upon a time, Esel had been among the most prosperous of Six Kingdoms’ constituent nations. Now, it was one of the least populated. As the bridge between Six Kingdoms and Faerzen, it had once served as something of a satellite city and flourished as a result, but that was a time now spoken of only in memory.

The reason was simple: it had no notable exports. It was devoid of strengths to call its own. Esel was often called the gateway to Six Kingdoms, but merchants did not sell their wares at the town gate. Traders from Faerzen preferred to go east to the Grantzian Empire or south to Draal, and the ones who went to Draal traveled to Six Kingdoms by boat. They might travel the various kingdoms while they were there, but many chose to return by sea rather than trek to a drab crossroads nation with nothing they could sell. In short, advances in shipbuilding had rendered Esel’s geographical position moot.

The conquest of Faerzen had promised a change in Esel’s fortunes. The relocation of the royal capital to San Dinalle had revitalized overland trade. Yet that had not lasted long either. San Dinalle had fallen back into the hands of the empire, whose armies had now crossed the border and were making for Licht. So many young lives had been lost to the war that only the elderly were now left, and the once-bustling Fareh High Road was now under control of the empire, which was using it to tighten the noose around the kingdom’s neck.

A black-clad force marched along the High Road beside the imperial forces. Among them trundled a decorated carriage, flying not the banners of the empire but those of its ally: the scales of Baum and the black dragon of the War God. Beneath the fluttering cloth, Hiro gazed disinterestedly out of the window.

“Skadi will be furious,” he murmured.

None of the towns or villages had made any effort to resist the imperial advance. One particularly strategically located fort had tried to fight back, but low morale meant it had fallen immediately. With over eighty thousand soldiers to spare, the empire had an overwhelming numerical advantage, and it had taken the chance to deploy it—an all-out assault had taken the fort before the night was through, aptly demonstrating the strength of the empire to the rest of the nation. The governors of nearby regions had promptly accepted the imperial terms of surrender. In short, the empire was more than capable of taking care of its own affairs. It needed no assistance from the Crow Legion or the forces of Steissen, which had been relegated to watching the fort fall from the back lines.

“I would have appreciated something to do, at least,” Luka said. She, too, was watching the landscape pass by outside the window, although her vacant eyes didn’t seem to register any of it. “We have not fought any battles worthy of the name.”

The invasion was no doubt a matter of life and death to Esel, but as far as Hiro was concerned, it had been one long, dull carriage ride. Stifling a yawn, he clasped his hands behind his head and sat back in his seat. “If we’re lucky, it’ll stay that way. But my gut tells me this is just the calm before the storm.”

Esel would not sit quietly and allow itself to be invaded. It was bound to be plotting something. In that sense, it was concerning that the empire was making such easy progress. Would it be able to react in time if the situation suddenly changed? It might have had the numbers, but any history book could cite endless examples of overwhelming odds being overturned—and it always began with small mistakes brought on by overconfidence.

Luka looked at him suspiciously. “Surely you of all people do not need to guess.”

“Even I don’t know how this one will play out. Nobody can see the future.”

“See it? No. But predict it? That’s another matter.”

“Well, anyone can speculate, it’s true.”

The conversation didn’t quite connect. They looked at one another, but both of their faces were, as ever, unreadable. A long silence fell.

All of a sudden, there was a loud knock on the window.

“Chief! Erm, I mean, Lord Surtr! Is now a good time?” The voice was pleasantly familiar, all the more relieving to hear for its long absence.

Hiro opened the window to see a grizzled man with a scarred face—Muninn, back from his reconnaissance mission in Friedhof. “Welcome back. How was the Spirit Wall?”

“Worse’n I expected, if I’m honest. Here, for you.” Muninn held out a letter. “From one High General Hermes.”

Hiro opened the letter, skimmed the contents, and nodded to himself. It read more or less as he had expected. His predictions seemed to have been on the mark.

“You’ll join us for a little while, Muninn,” he said.

“Got it, chief.”

“Huginn shouldn’t be too far away. Go and pay her a visit. She’s been worried about you.”

“Hah! Huginn worried about me? That’ll be the day!”

“But of course,” Luka chimed in. “Why should she care a whit about you?”

It was rare to hear Luka agree with Muninn on anything, but she veritably pounced on this. Muninn withdrew from the window with a scowl.

It was true that Huginn had not outwardly expressed any concern for him. She was still his sister, however, and no doubt cared for him more than she showed. It would only be fair to let her know that he was safe. All too often, people’s last words to their loved ones were something inconsequential, and by the time they realized they should have said more, they no longer had the chance. What was broken could never be truly restored. Time could not be rewound. And after losing something precious, all people could do was try to make sense of what remained.

Hiro had just been an ordinary boy when he had been summoned to Aletia from Earth. He could never have imagined that he would come to be revered as the War God or that now, a thousand years later, he would live the life of a king. He gazed at his hands—hands that dripped red with the blood of countless dead. A rueful smile spread across his face.

Where did I go wrong? Or was I mistaken from the very start?

The dreams he had inherited, the promises he had made, the golden memories he had forged with his comrades—all were now stained black as ink.

He turned back to Muninn, his voice gently chiding. “One can triumph over countless, and countless can triumph over one. One word in the right place can be worth countless others. Don’t leave things too late. Huginn’s your sister. Take the chance while you have it.”

The air grew distinctly heavier as he spoke, and Muninn nodded gravely. “Got it, chief. Guess I’ll go give her a pat on the head, then.”

Hiro smiled at the parting quip. “Go and do that. And good work.”

“Nothin’ to it, chief. I had a grand old time up there. If you need me to scout again, just say the word.” With that, Muninn pulled away from the window.

Hiro stowed the letter away in his pocket. “We’ve made it this far,” he murmured. “Somehow.”

He shut the window and leaned back in his seat, deflating a little as he sighed in relief. All was proceeding as planned. Some revisions had been required, but they had been within the bounds of his predictions.

But I can’t afford to let my guard down. And I won’t be able to for a while, by the look of things.

As his mind turned to the future, Luka looked at him askance. “What do you mean to do now?”

“We can discuss that tonight. Too many eyes on us here.”

He could not afford a moment’s carelessness. Rushing was madness when one mistake could prove fatal. He had to advance step by step, slowly but surely, taking care every moment along the way.

Rey...Artheus...soon, your dream will become reality.

He looked out of the window once more. Farther down the column, the lion and the lily danced on the breeze.

＊＊＊＊＊

The founding of Six Kingdoms dated back to the reign of the third emperor, when the emperor’s younger brother fled west after a failed revolt. Soundly defeated by his sibling, he had taken the existing rulers of the region as his subjects and established the nation of Greif. There he intended to bide his time and gather his strength.

The emperor’s brother gave the surviving descendants of the Black Hand lands of their own, along with the right to rule them as independent nations. Yet those nations insisted he was the only rightful monarch. As such, the six formed an alliance over which he ruled as the first High King. In the end, he died of illness before he could fulfill his vow to retake his homeland—in the same year that the third emperor perished by his own hand, by curious coincidence—but with Six Kingdoms insulated from imperial influence by Faerzen, his ambitions were passed down undiluted to future generations.

The capital of Greif, oldest of the six kingdoms, was the city of Fierte. On account of the circumstances of its founding, it was a welcoming city that opened its gates to people of all stripes. Due to its booming waterborne trade, a full half of its population was foreign-born. Word of the imperial attack on Esel had reached the city, but as yet, the fighting was too far away to be a concern. The people carried on with their lives as usual.

On a hill overlooking the port stood the magnificent Fierte Palace, the residence of the High King. Its master was bedridden with sickness and had not been seen in some time. Fortunately, the High King possessed excellent retainers, so matters of state continued without disruption. They were currently gathered in the throne room.

“What is the meaning of this, Chancellor?” one man asked. “The empire marches deeper into Esel as we speak.”

The speaker was General Ramses du Maspero, commander of Greif’s armies. He looked every bit his rank, and he carried himself with a dignified bearing despite his muscular build. He was popular with the people too, known far and wide as a warrior without peer.

His attention was directed at a spot next to the throne where Nameless stood, clad as ever in a brown hood. Nobody had ever seen the álf’s face. As far as all present were concerned, their age and gender were a mystery.

Nameless had originally been an advisory commander to Vulpes but had subsequently managed to claim the throne. Now they were the chancellor of Greif. It was almost unprecedented for someone of such uncertain origin to advance to such a position of authority. While they undeniably had a talent for statecraft, it was only by earning the High King’s special favor that they had gained their rank.

“Whatever do you mean?”

“Do you intend to stand by and watch as Esel is razed to the ground?” It was widely known that the High King was ill, but Ramses still found it frustrating to have to negotiate with Nameless in a time of need. His voice grew stern with ire. “What does His Majesty command? Do you expect us to believe he would let Esel burn?”

Nameless’s lips curled into a taunting smile. “His Majesty commands that we secure our own borders.”

“And leave Esel to perish? Forsake our thousand-year alliance?!” Ramses could not contain his outrage. He considered himself a soldier not just of Greif, but of Six Kingdoms as a whole.

“That is the only way Six Kingdoms might survive.” Nameless dismissed him with an irritable wave. “Besides, you speak of our history in such lofty terms, but is the reality quite so romantic?”

“What are you insinuating?”

“Have the royal lines of Vulpes, Scorpius, and Tigris not all been extinguished? They are but shadows of their former selves, thinking only of their own self-interest. Tell me, have any of them sent aid to Esel?”

“They have not, but...” Ramses scowled. “Be that as it may, His Majesty has the power to unite the kingdoms once more. All kings serve the High King. Such is our unspoken oath!” He shook his head, his voice growing more forceful. “And as foremost among the kingdoms, Greif has a duty to safeguard the rest! Has Esel not written to us for aid?! Is that not why we have gathered our forces?!”

“It is not.” Nameless’s voice was curt. “Our soldiers are here to defend our own lands, not to aid others.”

“Wha—” Ramses could only gasp.

“Ideals are fine things, but they have no place in the real world.” Nameless’s voice dripped with disappointment. “I fear you have spent a little too much time in your books.”

Ramses placed great value on history. As such, he had an unfortunate habit of thinking of Six Kingdoms as a collective. Given the circumstances of its founding, that was understandable, but Ramses had a particularly stubborn streak, and once he had arrived at an understanding, he would not change his mind. It ought to have been self-evident that each kingdom’s own affairs came first, but he refused to see it that way.

“Please return to your post, General. Your men will grow anxious if their commander is away for too long.”

Nameless made to stride away, making it clear the conversation was over, but Ramses seized the álf by the shoulder as they passed.

“We are not done here! Has the proud Greif become so weak that it cowers in fear of aggressors?!”

“What a curious thing to say. Have you forgotten the sacrifice the High King once made for his own people?”

“I...” Ramses trailed off, lowering his eyes. Nameless’s words had struck home. His shoulders slumped, his arguments thoroughly defanged.

Nameless continued past, making for the door. “It would be foolish to claim strength we no longer possess. Six Kingdoms no longer exists, General Ramses. It dissolved on the day His Majesty made his choice.”

“I refuse to believe...” Ramses began, but his voice had grown frail.

Nameless’s footsteps echoed in the throne room like mocking laughter. “We will speak no more of this. I ask you once more, General Ramses. Return to your post.”

The álf cast open the doors and passed through, making for the High King’s chambers. The corridors were bare—no sentries on watch, no conversing nobles. The weather outside was pleasantly warm, but the palace interior was chill and the air musty. There was no sign of life to be seen. Silence lay thick in the halls like the ocean floor, heightening the impression of stagnation.

Nameless passed by an ornate door and laid a hand against a bare section of wall. With a small click, a secret door revealed itself. The álf produced a key and, with a familiar hand, entered the room.

Inside was a bed, splendidly adorned, upon which lay a man. He was dreadfully emaciated, barely more than skin and bones. Anybody would have mistaken him for a corpse, but his appearance seemed to come as no shock to Nameless.

“How are you faring, Your Majesty?”

The man’s eyelids opened slowly, as if struggling against a great weight. The eyes beneath were clouded gold. His breathing was so light it might have ceased at any moment, but somehow, he found the strength to speak.

“Are...you...satisfied?”

The voice came out in a rasp. His gaze remained fixed on the ceiling as he spoke. Perhaps he had lost his sight, or perhaps he could no longer spare even the strength to move his eyes. Not that it mattered. With only the two of them in the room, they did not need to look at each other to converse.

“Quite. I have done all that needed to be done in this kingdom.”

Nameless produced a dagger from a sleeve. Its blade glinted in the candlelight.

At that, the High King finally turned his gaze to the álf, but there was no surprise in his face. He smiled softly. “Good... Good.”

“Do you have any last words?” Nameless raised the knife.

“Forgive...me...”

As the last syllable left his mouth, the álf brought the dagger down. The High King gasped sharply as the blade pierced his flesh, but he had no strength left to avoid it. There was no resistance. Indeed, he took hold of the álf’s shoulder with surprising strength and pulled closer, as if spurring on his own demise. His teeth gritted against the cry rising in his throat, and his eyes opened wide and piercing. Even as blood trickled from the corner of his mouth, he stared intently up at Nameless’s face. Gradually, the strength left his body. His hand slipped from Nameless’s shoulder, falling to the bed as softly as a leaf.

Seeing that he was dead, the álf withdrew the dagger and stepped away from the body.

“I have grown tired of your apologies.”

Nameless reached out to brush the High King’s sunken cheek with a gentle fingertip. For a while, the álf regarded the corpse. At last, the mouth beneath the hood formed a self-effacing smile.

“And so we part for the final time.” There was no hint of regret in the álf’s voice. “Farewell, father.”

With that, Nameless vanished.

For a moment, there was nothing but silence, and then darkness swelled in the corner of the room. The candle guttered out. A wind blew, though the chamber was windowless. Blighted air gathered beside the bed, finally condensing into humanoid shapes. At last, two men stepped forth into the gloom.

“Humans can hate just as intensely as zlosta, it seems,” one remarked. “As much as it pains me to equate the two.”

“Keep your observations to yourself, Hydra. We have work to do.”

The pair wore hoods, rendering their faces invisible, but the mouth of the one named Hydra twisted into a distasteful scowl. “How much longer must this go on, Ladon?”

Once the terror of the continent, the primozlosta had been broken by the man named Mars. Yet their hatred had persevered, and a thousand years had done nothing to dull its edge. They continued to work in the shadows under the name of Orcus, guided by the revelations of the Demiurgos.

“Until the War God’s soul—the Usurper’s soul—is destroyed. Does that answer not satisfy you?”

“I am well aware.” Hydra relented, but he did not seem appeased.

“Then abandon whatever doubts you may have and commit yourself to serving our Lord.” Ladon shook his head with an exasperated sigh. “Or we shall never regain our former glory.”

“I know,” Hydra said. There was no point bickering in a place such as this. He snorted but argued no further. Instead, he reached out toward the High King, still open-eyed in death. “Slain by his own child. A pitiful end. Not that I have any sympathy for the likes of him. I am glad to see the world rid of one of his blood.”

He trailed his fingers up the corpse’s face and pressed them into its eye socket.

“How you and your kin hindered us. Sowing hatred, anger, and resentment... Oh, the confusion you caused us. Mere livestock such as you ought to have known your place.” Hydra withdrew his fingers. A golden eyeball lay in his grasp. “Let us hope this is genuine. At least then you will have had some value to offer us.”

He handed the eyeball to Ladon, taking care not to damage it.

“We cannot be the judges of that,” Ladon said, stowing the eyeball away carefully in a container. “We can only hope it will yield better than a defective article like Selene.”

“What now, Ladon?” Hydra said. “Will you take the eye back to our Lord?”

“I have been instructed to aid you a while longer.” A faint warmth entered the chilly air.

“Indeed. In that case, I have a request.”

“What would you have me procure?”

Hydra chuckled, low and guttural. “A dose of spirit elixir.”

＊＊＊＊＊

The twentieth day of the tenth month of Imperial Year 1026

Near Licht, the capital of Esel

The sun sank below the horizon, and the moon bathed the land in its soft glow. The hour was late, and the howls of wild dogs echoed in the distance. Still, there was one place brighter than the rest—brighter than a village, although it was no town. Bonfires burned in great numbers, and burly men clad in heavy armor patrolled the perimeter. The air was far more tense than any settlement, and nobody was dressed in peasant fabrics. They bore the arms and armor of the imperial army.

After the battles they had fought on the road, the soldiers’ cheerful manner of earlier was nowhere to be seen. They were tense and alert. The guard was heavier now too. Not a mouse would have gotten past the sentries’ watchful eyes.

The Crow Legion’s encampment lay next to the main camp. In the tent in the middle, Hiro had gathered his inner circle for a discussion.

“I want you to listen carefully to what I’m about to say.”

Huginn and Muninn nodded, immediately alert. They both sensed that something important was afoot. A short distance away, Luka sat cross-legged, muttering to herself as she gazed up at the ceiling. Hiro ignored her and turned to the siblings.

“I intend to leave the camp under cover of darkness.”

“And go where?” Of all people, it was Luka who spoke first. She had emerged from her reverie and materialized at his side. “You truly are hopeless. You have hardly even given me time to pack.”

She set about deciding what to bring. Apparently, she had already decided she was joining him.

Hiro hated to disappoint her, but he could not take her with him. Aside from anything else, he was going to be working with her sworn enemy, Lucia. He could not tell her that, however. It would only make her insist more forcefully.

“I want you to stay here,” he said.

Her eyes flashed with anger. “You have chosen an early death, I see.”

Hiro stared back, not so much as blinking. He had expected the objection, and while it wasn’t certain how well it would work, he had prepared a countermeasure to convince her.

“If you’re gone,” he said, “who will protect Huginn?”

“Are you suggesting she will be in danger?” Luka took the bait, as he had known she would. She cared little for Garda or Muninn, but so long as she believed Huginn was her brother reborn, she would do anything to keep her safe. Knowing that, Hiro had arranged for Huginn to remain with the Crow Legion.

“Anything’s possible, especially in wartime. I just don’t want you to regret coming with me, that’s all. If anything happens, you wouldn’t be there to help.”

The imperial army had been making steady progress, taking most of the forts in its path. Almost all of the local governors had accepted its offer of surrender. That said, the fighting would only get fiercer, and it was likely that the Crow Legion would be called to the field. If Huginn were to die while Luka was away at Hiro’s side, she would not be able to bear the guilt.

Hiro glanced at her face. Her conflict was written in her eyes. She only needed one more push.

“Please. You’re the only one I can trust to keep her safe.”

He had known Luka for long enough to realize she was unexpectedly susceptible to pressure—residual scars from her childhood, perhaps. In any case, if given a firm shove in one direction while she was wavering over a decision, she would rarely refuse. Still, he had to observe her closely and choose his words with care. If he pushed her too far, she would grow hysterical and lash out.

“Once I’ve taken care of business, I’ll be right back with you.”

Luka heaved a sigh but finally nodded her assent.

Hiro turned to Muninn. “As for you, I need you to take my place while I’m away. Nobody can suspect my absence.”

Muninn looked nonplussed at first, but he steadily paled as understanding dawned. “That’ll never work, chief. I’m a head taller than you at least. I’ll be spotted before tomorrow’s out.”

That was a reasonable concern. Not only that—neither his eyes nor hair were the right color to pass as Hiro.

“You won’t have to keep the act up all the time. I haven’t attended any strategy meetings since we crossed into Faerzen. I’ve barely even left my tent, in fact. Nobody will suspect anything if I disappear for a few days at a time. You just need to be seen enough to reassure everyone I’m still around.”

“That’s all well and good, but what if your officers need to talk to you? I don’t sound a bit like you.”

“That won’t be a problem. Huginn has been the one in direct command of the Crow Legion. If anyone needs anything, they’ll go to her first.”

“Huh.” Muninn scratched his chin. “In that case...it might just work.”

“I don’t like it one bit, Your Lordship. This oaf couldn’t act to save his life!” Huginn protested.

“That’s enough outta you!”

Smiling at the siblings’ squabbling, Hiro produced three letters. After a moment’s hesitation, he handed two to Muninn and returned the third to his pocket. “If word comes from Garda, reply with these.”

Muninn blinked as he took the letters. “Uh...got it, chief. Send ’em to the boss. Understood.”

Hiro couldn’t blame him for being confused. It was odd for someone to write a reply in advance. “Exactly. Make sure they get to him.”

“Will do, chief.”

“And I want to take a few soldiers with me.” Hiro did not mean as guards. He needed messengers in case he found himself needing to communicate with the Crow Legion.

“Got it.” Muninn nodded. “I’ll send you my most trusted men.”

Hiro turned to Huginn. After hearing her brother assigned important duties, she looked equal parts uneasy and expectant.

“I’m leaving you in charge of the Crow Legion while I’m gone. Luka will be your aide. They’re yours to do with as you see fit.”

The soldiers of the Crow Legion had originally served in the Liberation Army of Lichtein. None would take issue with Huginn as their commander. She would have Muninn beside her, even if he was in disguise, and two thousand men was a small number. Hiro felt confident that the task was well within her capabilities, and if any problems arose, Luka would be there to help solve them.

“Luka, you are to support her however you can. Is that understood?”

“I do not need to be told. Worry not for her. I am more than capable of taking care of her in your stead.”

She sounded like she couldn’t wait to see the back of him. He could only give a rueful smile. Still, she would support Huginn to the best of her ability. He had numerous concerns about the future, but the Crow Legion was not one of them. He could concentrate on fighting alongside Lucia knowing they were in safe hands.

“All right, then. I should be going.” He reached the entrance, paused, and turned. “Oh, one more thing. Huginn, could you take care of my swiftdrake?”

“Ain’t you taking her, Your Lordship?”

“She’d stand out, I’m afraid. Not to worry. My allies are planning to meet me on the road.”

“Got it, Your Lordship. Take care.”

The siblings bowed their heads. Luka had her back to him and did not seem inclined to turn around.

“I will. I’ll be back before you know it.”

With a parting wave, he left the tent. A chilly gust blew past as he stepped outside. The nearby bonfire flickered wildly, driving back the encroaching darkness and casting his mask into sharp relief. As the flames settled again, his golden eye glowed in the dark, and the light of the moon cast his shadow across the ground.

“Who’s there?!” A Crow Legion soldier approached warily, sensing his presence. “Ah, Your Majesty! Forgive me. May I ask where you’re going?”

Hiro could have told the soldier he was going on a walk, but the man would be duty bound to escort him, even if assured that no accompaniment was necessary. No, Hiro would have to get rid of him some other way. After a moment’s thought, he brought a finger to his lips. The man leaned in, cocking his head. His gaze lifted, and their eyes met.

Hiro spoke first. “I’m just taking a walk. Don’t worry about me. Return to your rounds.”

“At once! Take care, Your Majesty. It’s too cold a night to stay out for long.”

The soldier turned away and went back to patrolling, suspecting nothing. Once he was out of sight, Hiro set off again, raising his hand to cover his right eye.

“I had my concerns, but it seems like it’s working better now.”

He lowered his hand to pat his breast pocket as he strode through the camp.

“Almost time to awaken, Black Camellia. This time, we should be able to start at full strength.”

He looked up at the night sky, a thin smile forming on his lips.

“All will be one,” he murmured, reaching out as if to pluck the moon from its velvet curtain. “And now, chaos shall descend.”

＊＊＊＊＊

Nearby, in the imperial camp, there were more soldiers than ever on watch. As the battlefront approached Licht, the odds that Esel would attempt a night raid grew higher. The imperial army was well prepared, but there was no way to know when the enemy might strike. Constant vigilance was essential. Every last one of the sentries was tense and alert as they scanned their surroundings.

The command tent in the center of the camp was under particularly heavy guard. The sixth princess was the most important person in the empire, and her life had to be protected at all costs. Not so long ago, the tent had been alive with aides, but now that the strategy meeting had concluded, they had returned to their tents to prepare for the next day’s march, leaving Liz and Aura alone in the quiet. The pair sat across the table from one another, sipping tea.

“How are the northern and southern territories faring?” Liz asked.

Aura shook her head. “No word from our agents. Which means we know nothing. Has Rosa said anything?”

“Nothing from her either. I just hope our fears are unfounded.”

“I think our chances are good.”

With the bulk of the imperial forces away from home, this was a moment of unprecedented vulnerability. Anyone with a grudge against the empire would see it as a golden opportunity. That said, deciding when and how to exploit it was easier said than done. The other nations of Soleil were likely locked in a stalemate, each paralyzed while they tried to outmaneuver the others. Who would be the first to reach into the lion’s jaws? Would the beast prove toothless, or would they lose a hand? No doubt they were looking for an appropriate sacrificial lamb at this very moment.

If those predictions were accurate, the empire would be in an advantageous position, having gained a great deal more time with which to conquer Esel. That said, optimism was dangerous. Anything was possible in war. They would have to keep one eye on their surroundings as the fighting in Esel continued, ready to respond to a change of situation at a moment’s notice, or they might find themselves suddenly and unceremoniously shunted off a cliff.

“Well, we can’t spend all day worrying about what the rest of Soleil is doing.” Liz banished those particular concerns to the corner of her mind and turned her attention to the problem at hand. “Has there been any word from Esel?”

“We’ve sent messengers, but we haven’t gotten anything back.”

The empire had invited Esel’s leadership to negotiate but, as Aura said, there had so far been no reply. Now the imperial forces were all but knocking on the gate of Licht, poised to encircle the city in the coming days.

Liz placed a finger on her chin and cocked her head as she looked at the map. “Do you think they’re expecting reinforcements from the other kingdoms?”

“Our scouts haven’t seen anything unusual on the border.” Aura traced the line between Vulpes and Esel with a finger. She laid two pawns on the map, one on Greif, the other on Anguis. “And our spies say Greif and Anguis are strengthening their own defenses.”

“It’s really starting to look like they don’t have any intention of helping.”

“They mustn’t, if Esel is panicking this early.”

Esel had been sending messengers to all manner of nations and nobles, desperate for any soldiers they could find. They had even been recruiting commonfolk of fighting age from towns and villages, with some success until an imperial task force discovered their efforts and rooted out the new recruits. It was hard to see any path left for the kingdom now but surrender.

“I plan to ask the queen to negotiate one last time after we have Licht surrounded,” Aura said. “If that doesn’t work, we’ll have to take the city.”

“I’d prefer that to be a last resort, but if you think it’s necessary, you’re in charge.”

It would not be in the empire’s interests to raze Esel. The kingdom would be far more useful alive and compliant. Ideally, it would form a buffer zone between Faerzen and Six Kingdoms, keeping the latter at bay while the former was rebuilt. Aside from anything else, the empire could not afford to have its forces tied down in the west for long. The other nations of Soleil were circling. Liz wanted to broker a deal as soon as possible so her armies could return home.

“Aside from that, all that’s left is to wait for Scáthach to wake up.”

Aura nodded. “Retaking Faerzen doesn’t mean anything without her.”

By most measures, the plan to recapture Faerzen had been a success. The imperial offensive had fallen into dire straits for a time after the loss of the first army, but they had rallied to claim a string of victories and now occupied San Dinalle. Remnants of Six Kingdoms’ forces still needed to be mopped up, but with Esel blocking the way into Faerzen, they would grow demoralized and fall apart of their own accord. All that was left was for Scáthach to pronounce the campaign a success—and therein lay the problem. She had been unconscious ever since her hard-won battle with Stovell. The Faerzen Resistance was not yet aware of her condition, and there was no guarantee they would not be furious when they learned of it.

For lack of anything else to do, Liz and Aura had brought Scáthach to Esel. Ideally, she would have stayed in San Dinalle for treatment, but that would have meant leaving her in the hands of Beto von Muzuk’s lackey, Ludurr. Besides, there were many who wished her harm, and she was not capable of defending herself. She needed to be somewhere her safety was assured.

“Not that this is exactly a safe place,” Liz sighed.

There were few people she trusted, and just as few who were skilled enough to be called reliable. Endless years of warfare under Emperor Greiheit had claimed the lives of many of the empire’s best commanders, and deep-rooted corruption among the nobility had dried up the well. The empire had once been a veritable treasure trove of talent, but now it was a military in decline.

“Well, there’s no point complaining about it. We’ll just have to do the best we can with what we have.” Liz finished the last of her tea, which had grown quite cold, and forced herself to think positively. As she did, she recalled what she had previously discussed with Aura. “Oh, that’s right. You were looking into something. Did you learn anything?”

“Was I?”

“Well, that’s what you said. Something about Tigris, Vulpes, and Scorpius.”

At that, Aura nodded and stood up. Her oversized sleeves flopped about as she fished a report from her desk and trotted back. “Read this. I’m confident it’s right.”

Liz scanned the report. Her brow furrowed deeper and deeper as she read. “That...would make sense, wouldn’t it? It would certainly explain why they’ve stayed out of this war.”

She couldn’t help but feel impressed anew by Aura’s tactical mind. Anybody else would have dismissed such a hunch, especially when the campaign was proceeding so smoothly. Then again, Aura had insisted from the start that the empire needed to win this war with minimal casualties, so no doubt she had checked her results time and time again. This parchment was the fruit of days of deliberation. To read it, there could be no doubting the intensity of her ambition: she sought to surpass Hiro just as earnestly as Liz did.

“I’m going to keep investigating. But I want you to bear the plan in mind.” For a moment, Aura positively radiated confidence, but she quickly patted her cheeks and shook her head as if to cool herself off. “Don’t worry. I won’t insist on it. I’m always ready to abandon my ideas. There’s nothing as dangerous as a plan you’re certain will work.”

“All right. We’ll try it. I’ll call a strategy meeting tomorrow morning, and we can all work out the details.”

“I’ll let you know what I learn.”

Aura nodded, visibly pleased. Liz had to restrain the urge to pat her on the head. Aura hated being treated like a child. It would only make her sulk. That could be charming in and of itself, of course, but Aura preferred being treated like a responsible older sister. Unfortunately, she had not been born with the physique to make that dream a reality.

In any case, Liz found herself with her arm extended awkwardly. To hide the motion, she laid her hand on the table and stood up. “I’d better go and check on Scáthach,” she said. “I don’t want to keep her waiting.”

“Good idea.” Aura held up her book as if showing off a prize. “Luckily, I have this.”

“I’m sure Scáthach will be, um, very pleased.”

With a slightly strained smile, Liz opened the tent flap. The sentries bowed as the pair stepped outside. The camp was bright with bonfires, but the night had grown late and a chill had settled in. Nonetheless, the air was tense. The constant fighting had many of the soldiers hot-blooded. That, Liz mused, could develop into an issue if they grew fixated on taking Licht. Too much eagerness in the ranks could weaken the chain of command as surely as too little. The troops would lose sight of all but what was in front of them, ignoring their superior’s orders. There was nothing for it but to change some units around. She would have to convene with her aides the next morning and decide how best to go about the reorganization without disrupting their offensive.

She mulled over the dilemma as she walked, but it was not long before she arrived at Scáthach’s tent. It lay right next to the command center. Liz’s own tent was just on the other side.

“Hm?” Liz cocked her head, noticing something amiss. Aura glanced up at her; she had clearly noticed the same thing. A group of women stood by the entrance to the tent, blowing hot breath into their hands—the ladies-in-waiting whom Liz had brought along on the march. They had been instructed to watch over Scáthach at her bedside while Liz was in the strategy meeting.

“What are you doing out here?” she asked.

The ladies-in-waiting saw who had addressed them and immediately bowed their heads. “Ah! Good evening, Your Highness.”

Liz approached one of them and laid a hand on her shoulder. “No need for formalities. I thought I’d told you that you were to take care of Scáthach?”

“We were, Your Highness, but Lord Surtr came to visit her. He requested they be left alone—”

Before the woman could finish, Liz pushed past her and burst into the tent. Inside lay a bed, and next to it, a desk littered with a variety of pharmaceuticals. A pungent aroma hung in the air. Nonetheless, the tent was kept spotlessly clean.

There was nobody inside. For a moment, Liz feared Scáthach had been stolen away, but as she dashed to the bed, she found the woman lying under the covers, breathing peacefully as she slept.

“Oh, Scáthach!” she cried. “Thank goodness you’re all right...”

She breathed a sigh of relief, but a moment later, her breath caught in her throat as a shocking realization struck her. It was then that Aura and the ladies-in-waiting caught up.

“Liz?” Aura called her name, but there was no reply. She stepped closer and looked down into the bed, furrowing her brow. “What’s the ma—” She too broke off. Just like Liz, her eyes widened in shock.

As Aura froze, Liz returned to her senses, turning on her heel to face the ladies-in-waiting. She advanced on them until they were only inches apart. One tried to pull away, but Liz grasped her by the shoulder and held her in place.

“Tell me what happened here.”

“Forgive me, Your Highness. Have I done something wrong?” The lady-in-waiting struggled to meet her gaze. She looked dreadfully confused.

“Why was I not informed that Surtr had visited?” Liz asked as gently as possible. She did not want to intimidate the woman.

“I meant to... I didn’t... Wait, did I not turn him away? That’s not right... Why didn’t I...?” The lady-in-waiting didn’t seem to understand what had happened herself. She clutched anxiously at her hair, pressing her hands to her forehead in clear distress. Sweat began to bead on her brow as it dawned on her that she did not have an answer.

Liz was just as perplexed. For all that Surtr might be Hiro in disguise, he did not have leave to access the imperial camp as he liked. If he had shown up this late at night, the guards should have been called. Even if he had been lucky enough to avoid the patrols, he should have been spotted by the ladies-in-waiting attending to Scáthach. Indeed, they had confessed to having seen him, which ought to have given them cause for alarm. Yet not only had they let him in, they had allowed him to be alone with Scáthach—a serious error of judgment. He could very well have been an assassin in disguise. It was the rule that they should seek Liz’s permission before making any such decisions. All of them were veteran servants of the imperial court. They should have known not to take matters into their own hands.

“A-Are we going to be punished, Your Highness?” The lady-in-waiting had gone pale, realizing the severity of what she and her colleagues had done.

Judging by their reactions, it was hard to believe they had invited Hiro inside the tent of their own free will. Liz felt oddly certain that he had done something to them. She stepped away from the quivering women and took a deep breath to calm herself. They had done nothing wrong. Her new eyes told her so.

“No,” she said. “Scáthach wasn’t hurt, so I’ll turn a blind eye.”

One question still nagged at her. Why hadn’t she felt Hiro’s presence? She had always vaguely been able to sense him, no matter where he was—she could feel him now, in fact. Why had that ability failed her here? She didn’t know, and that was disconcerting.

In any case, the lady-in-waiting still looked terrified. Liz laid a hand on her shoulder and smiled. “But next time, I would like to be informed.”

“Of course, Your Highness!” The woman’s eyes widened as she looked back. Her cheeks flushed, and a heated breath escaped her throat.

Liz looked all the ladies-in-waiting over. “You should rest. All of you. I’ll call for you if I need you.”

“Thank you, Your Highness. Our humblest apologies.”

They filed out of the tent, looking forlorn. Once they had left, Liz walked back to Scáthach’s bed. Aura still looked a little shocked, and she raised a hand to her mouth to hide her trembling lips.

“Liz... I don’t... What happened here?” Her speech was unusually halting. She seemed to be struggling to gather her thoughts. Her mouth opened and closed several times as she tried and failed to find the right words.

“I’d like to know that myself. But for now...”

Liz looked down at Scáthach’s sleeping form. She didn’t know whether to feel delighted or uneasy. Perhaps both, but even then, she didn’t know what Hiro wanted from Scáthach, and that was most unsettling of all.

“For now, I think we should just be glad that she’s recovered.”

Not hours ago, Scáthach had been on the brink of death, but now there was not a scratch on her. Where her face had been painfully swollen, it now positively glowed with health. Even her broken arms seemed to have been mended. Her ragged breathing was now peaceful and serene.

“I’ll call the physician,” Aura said, moving for the exit.

Liz’s gaze remained fixed on Scáthach, but her expression took on a determined set. “Aura,” she said, raising her voice a little, “I need you to do something for me...”

＊＊＊＊＊

With the imperial army fast approaching, the mood in Licht was grim. The streets were lifeless, and the townsfolk trembled in their homes. Esel had never had a large population, but with so many of its citizens fleeing to other kingdoms, it had grown noticeably emptier. Perhaps worst of all, there was little enthusiasm to be found among the soldiers lining the castle walls. Only a handful seemed inspired to defend their families, their queen, and their country. The rest looked to have given up, and the number of deserters grew by the day. The chain of command had utterly collapsed.

The court dignitaries those soldiers were assigned to defend were in the throne room of the castle, arguing.

“The empire approaches as we speak. They are taking fort after fort.”

“What of the other kingdoms?! Where are their reinforcements?!”

“We are sending all the messengers we can, but we hear no replies.”

“What of Her Majesty? Where is she while her nation is in crisis?”

“She is in her chambers, as is her wont.”

Disappointment spread among the nobles as an aged minister pronounced that last remark. The royal house of Esel tended toward retiring personalities that were ill-suited to war. Previous kings had often looked to their advisors to lead. It was because they were such pushovers that Scáthach had been foisted on them when tensions rose between Faerzen and the empire, and when Faerzen fell, they had tried to take her into captivity to appease the latter. Fortunately, by then she had sensed the peril she was in and made herself scarce.

In any case, the royal house of Esel seemed cursed with weakness. They wielded little influence with the other five kingdoms and often had to take on the burdens the others did not want. Still, its present queen was worse even by the standards of her predecessors.

“There is still time,” the minister insisted. “Let us petition the other kingdoms again for aid.”

“That we will do, but I expect to see Her Majesty in the throne room by the time we are done.”

The rest of the nobles watched in dismay as the exchange unfolded. The uncertainty of the future had them anxious. Only a strong and decisive leader could reassure them. Unfortunately, Queen Jilbe Ogra du Esel did not have those qualities. She had been locked in her chambers for days, refusing to attend any of the running councils of war. She had not emerged since word had arrived of the imperial invasion.

“What news from the other kingdoms?” Jilbe asked, her face submerged in her pillow. “Has Miss Lucia said nothing?”

Her questions were directed to the hooded figure waiting at her bedside.

“We have sent many messengers to Queen Lucia, Your Majesty,” the figure replied, “but we have yet to receive a reply.”

The man had served the royal line of Esel since the reign of Jilbe’s father. Appointed on the recommendation of Chancellor Nameless of Greif, he had impressed the previous king with his talent for statecraft and quickly been appointed as the young princess’s tutor. He had been by her side through every trial, for which Jilbe was more than grateful. It was only because of him that she had successfully managed the kingdom’s affairs thus far.

“Th-Then what do we...? I know! Why don’t we surrender? They told us they would treat us well, wouldn’t they?”

“I fear that would be unwise, Your Majesty. Esel would be surrounded by enemies on all sides, and the other kingdoms would quickly tear it to shreds.”

Esel was dreadfully weak on a continental scale. It had only lasted as long as it had because it was a member of Six Kingdoms. It could not survive striking out on its own. The prospect of imperial protection might seem enticing, but that would be a perilous road to take. The empire only truly cared for Faerzen—it would not spare a second glance for a barren land like Esel. Jilbe and her subjects would be squeezed for reparations and cast out. The empire might offer reinforcements if they came under attack from the other kingdoms, but only enough to ensure Esel survived to serve as a buffer zone for Faerzen. Beyond that, they would not care if order collapsed or its people starved.

“But... But if we do nothing, the empire will kill us all!” Jilbe protested.

If she did not surrender, Esel would burn. If she did, its destruction at the empire’s hands would be more prolonged but just as certain. Both choices would be equally disastrous.

“Let us wait, Your Majesty,” the hooded figure said, “until the final moment it is certain reinforcements will not come. Then you may decide whether to surrender to the empire.”

“But we’ve ignored their requests so many times already! They must be furious with us. If we hold out any longer, they might not accept our surrender.”

“That will not be a concern, Your Highness. They will be glad of the chance to spare us.”

“Are you certain?”

“Of course. They mean to make Esel their wall to defend Faerzen. They would not let it fall before it was ever raised.”

“You’re right, of course.” Jilbe nodded, but then she cocked her head. She did not seem to understand as well as she professed.

Her advisor laid a hand on her head, smiling beneath his hood. “In any case, I cannot advise showing yourself before your nobles before the time is right.”

“Then what should I do?”

“Let us pretend you are ill. Nobody will complain about you staying in your chambers then. As for your matters of state, you may simply leave me in charge.”

The man held out a hand. A small, round object like a boiled sweet lay in his palm. Jilbe looked up at him, tilting her head, but she could not make out his expression. His hood left all but his mouth covered in deep darkness.

“What is this?”

“You have complained of difficulty sleeping, Your Majesty. I have procured this specially.”

“Oh...it’s medicine? It looked so tasty...”

“It works very well, or so I hear. It comes from a land far to the east, where I hear wars were once fought over it.”

“It’s that valuable? Are you certain I should have it?”

“Quite certain, Your Majesty. Here, some water ought to help it go down easier.”

As Jilbe regarded the bead with innocent curiosity, the man turned and poured a goblet of water. His smile broadened beneath his hood. Jilbe took the goblet gratefully before popping the medicine into her mouth and washing it down.

“Wonderful, Your Majesty. I daresay you will sleep very well tonight.”

“Thank you so much. I think it’s working already!”

Jilbe lay down on her bed. The hooded man stood beside her, stroking her hair until she drifted off.

“When next you wake, you will have no more cares.”

She would fall far beyond sleep. Farther than she could ever return from.

“I hope so. Good night, Lord Hydra.” With warmth swelling in her breast, she descended into slumber.

“Good night, my dear,” Hydra murmured.