Shinwa Densetsu no Eiyuu no Isekaitan - Volume 8 - Chapter 2

Chapter 2: Plots and Schemes

The twenty-fourth day of the fifth month of Imperial Year 1026

The flames of war smoldered all across Soleil. Nobody was safe, and yet the common people were powerless to alter the course of events. They could only wait, tormented by fear, for the fire to erupt into an inferno that engulfed the continent. Until then, they lived their days in dread, uncertain about what the next day would bring.

Perhaps that uncertainty was why so many more pilgrims had begun to visit Baum in the past two years. Some came to Frieden to pray for the safety of their husbands or sons on the battlefield, some to lament the dark cloud hanging over the land, and some—mostly nobles and dignitaries from various nations—to trade large sums of coin for spirit seals in preparation for the harsh times ahead.

The nation only had one place to host so many visitors: Natua, a medium-sized city that lay in the gentle curve of a natural basin. Above streets heaving with pilgrims rose the dignified form of the temple of Frieden.

Hiro’s room lay within the temple itself, behind the solemn sheen of its white walls. A gentle breeze entered through the window, riffling playfully through the pages of abandoned books before carrying the stale air of the chamber back outside. The tomes filling the nearby shelves were yellow with age, but the shelves themselves had been cleaned with evident care. There was not a speck of dust to be seen.

This was the same room that Hiro had used during his brief stay in Baum shortly after returning to Aletia, and it had also served as his quarters one thousand years ago. It had not changed in the slightest. As before, two flags stood by the window: a pair of scales on a white field, and a dragon on a black field clutching a silver sword.

“Hmm...” A thoughtful voice issued from behind the pile of books on the aged writing desk.

If Claudia is to be believed, the second prince’s power has declined so much that the northern nobles are falling apart. Yet another consequence of the attack on the palace.

Two years prior, a group of intruders had infiltrated the grounds of Venezyne. Chancellor Graeci had been slain at their hands, and the second prince had been seriously injured. The chancellor had received a lavish funeral, Hiro had heard, although Selene had not attended. He had returned to his seat in the north, where he was still recovering.

The moment he loses his physical strength, his political power goes with it. How quickly somebody can fall from grace.

With the two political giants of the north either dead or in seclusion, the northern nobles’ steadfast union had begun to unravel.

Soon enough, they’ll start to think about biting the hand that feeds them. Convenient for me, but a problem the empire won’t be able to ignore.

Not that the ruling authorities could do much. The central and western nobles had been exhausted by recent conflicts, while the north had been quietly building its strength for years. If conflict broke out, they could reputedly field upward of two hundred thousand soldiers.

They might not be unified, but they’re still strong. Anyone who pokes that particular beehive will soon regret it.

Hiro stroked his chin in consternation. He stood up and walked over to the bookshelf.

“Let’s see here...”

It was important to read the tempo of events and act accordingly. In history, in war, in politics, and even in diplomacy, those who moved too slowly were easily read, but those who moved too quickly fell flat on their faces. Events in the north had been progressing slowly so far, but now the situation was picking up speed.

And then the tempo will slow down again, almost to silence...only to conclude with a sudden bang.

This flow of events was not natural. Something on such a scale had to be orchestrated by someone. And Hiro was almost certain that party was Orcus.

They’re aiming for rulership of the north...or perhaps it’s the collapse of the empire that interests them. Or something they’ll get from it...

He pulled a book from the shelf. It was an account of events at Friedhof, the great wall in the north.

A red-haired emperor...Orcus...and Liz’s mother...

As Hiro opened the book, something caught his eye, and he stopped, page in hand. His eyes turned from the book to his bed. A woman was lying on the covers, sleeping peacefully. Her dark skin glimmered with sweat in the sunlight flooding the room.

“Fallen asleep in her armor again... I don’t know how she does it.”

Huginn wore a set of light armor customized for mobility, which she found convenient in her line of work. The resulting design left a lot of skin showing, although thanks to her toned muscles, the effect was more artistic than seductive. She had entered Hiro’s service two years ago in the aftermath of the civil war in Lichtein. Both she and her brother now spent their days rushed off their feet working as liaisons with his spies across the continent, although occasionally, when she had the time, she sneaked into his chambers for a nap.

“More to the point, what are you doing?”

It was not Huginn whom Hiro addressed, but Luka, who was prodding obsessively at the other woman’s cheek.

“She truly is just like Igel. Just as defenseless, just as stubborn... Even her cheeks are just as squishy. Do you suppose she might be Igel reborn?”

“I’m not sure her age quite matches up.”

Luka didn’t even blink, continuing to poke Huginn’s cheek. “Heh heh... Heh heh heh... Igel, Igel, Igel, Igel, Igel...”

Nobody could get through to her once she was like this. That was a lesson Hiro had learned too many times over the past two years. Interrupting her would only cause her to lash out with lethal intent.

“Just don’t overdo it.”

Electing to leave her to it, he returned to his chair, book in hand. As if on cue, a heavy noise issued from the door.

“’Scuse me,” came a gruff voice.

Before Hiro could say a word, the door opened and Garda came in. Huginn’s commander, he had also come into Hiro’s service following the fighting in Lichtein. He thrust out his hand wordlessly, a letter clutched in his fingers.

“Who’s that from?” Hiro asked.

Garda shrugged and handed it over. He was a man of few words at the best of times, but it was unusual for him not to answer a question when asked. Frowning, Hiro scanned the letter. It had been sent by an agent undercover in Lichtein.

“So the duchy is massing its forces on the imperial border? Interesting.”

“Thirty thousand,” Garda said. “I might call them impressive numbers if slaves didn’t most likely make up the bulk. There’s no telling what they’ll do.”

The zlosta spoke the word “slaves” with particular distaste. Hiro’s brow furrowed. Garda had once sparked a revolt in Lichtein with the aim of liberating its enslaved population. No doubt he was unimpressed that the practice still persisted. Still, it seemed to be the army’s potential actions rather than their treatment that concerned him now. Asking him why was probably pointless, given his unwillingness to prioritize personal feelings; better to wait and let him broach the subject in his own time.

“Why do you think they’re mobilizing now?” Hiro asked, moving the conversation on.

“Drought, like as not. No rain’s fallen on Lichtein since the year’s turn. With no water of their own, they can buy or they can take.”

Water was life in a desert nation. Buying it from other nations would not nurture their own crops, and losing access to sources would lead to ruin. Hiro had heard rumors of Lichtein’s nobles turning on one another for the oases that dotted the nation.

“I see.”

That explained the concern on the zlosta’s face. If the duchy was intent on stealing water, the first place they would look would be the northern region they had ceded to the empire two years prior—and in that region was Mille, the young girl who had once been the figurehead of Garda’s Liberation Army. She lived in a village close to the imperial border, and if war broke out, she would be right on the front lines. No doubt that was what was weighing on his mind.

Truthfully, if the duchy and the empire are having a dispute, I don’t want to get involved.

The empire had not cast its gaze outward for two years, choosing instead to focus on internal affairs. Rosa’s first priority as chancellor had been punishing nobles guilty of wrongdoing. She had taken their assets, confiscated their lands, and stripped them of their titles. More than a few houses had collapsed under the weight of their punishments. Naturally, the measures had met with outcry, but the war-weary commonfolk had been delighted to see corrupt nobles get their comeuppance, and their support had empowered Rosa to push forward forcible reform. Still, that had its limits, and Hiro expected that they were now coming into view.

She’ll be looking for an opportunity to demonstrate the empire’s strength, for the benefit of both its people and the rest of the continent. If the Duchy of Lichtein is making itself a target, I should leave them to it.

Still, if war broke out between the empire and Lichtein, it would be hard to guarantee Mille’s safety—and if she was in danger, there was no telling what Garda might do.

And I do owe her father a debt...

He would have liked to help them if he could, but from a political standpoint, nonintervention was the best choice.

“’Scuse me, but is the boss around?”

A new arrival entered the room: a fierce-looking man with a scarred face. His muscular body projected no aura of discipline and certainly not a shred of elegance—if anything, he looked like a bandit or a brigand. He was Muninn, Garda’s right hand and onetime vice-commander in the Liberation Army. He was also Huginn’s brother.

Garda looked back over his shoulder with a scowl. “I hadn’t heard you were back.”

Muninn was supposed to be infiltrating Steissen. If he had returned to Baum without informing his commander, it could only mean there was a problem of some kind.

“Something’s come up. I could’ve sent a report, aye, but I figured it’d be quicker to ask what you made of it face-to-face. ’Sides,” he added, casting a glance at Hiro, “it involves the chief.”

He looked at Luka uncomfortably, clearly reluctant to state any specifics out loud, but Hiro gave a reassuring nod. There would be no problem if she overheard. She only cared about taking his head and had no interest in anything else.

“She can stay. What did you want to talk about?”

“Ah...right. Well, as I’m sure you know, Steissen’s split into two factions, and they’ve been at each other’s throats for a while.”

Steissen was ruled and administered by its senate, which was split into two factions: the Nidavellirites, consisting mainly of dwarves, and the Jötunheimites, composed primarily of beastfolk. The high consul had died shortly before Hiro’s arrival in Aletia, leaving the nation in turmoil over who would hold the position next.

“I remember. The Jötunheimites’ victory looked certain for a long time, but the Nidavellirites have been clawing back ground recently. I hear their neighbors are rushing to hedge their bets.”

Many parties hadn’t even deigned to engage with the Nidavellirites, certain that the Jötunheimites would come out on top, and as a result were not in good standing with the former. Now that the tide was turning, they were scrambling to curry favor.

“Aye, ’sright. Well, two-faced nobles aside, turns out there’s a story behind this comeback the Nidavellirites are making.”

“Aside from other nations sending them weapons and funding, you mean?”

“That’s one reason, but there’s more to it. See, the man who leads ’em, Utgard’s his name... They say he’s of the first emperor’s blood.”

Hiro was taken aback for a moment, but he quickly shook his head. “That’s impossible. If it was true, it would have been the talk of the continent long before now, and Steissen would already be his. That can’t be the reason. It’s just a baseless rumor.”

Muninn frowned. “Aye, I thought the same, so I took a look for myself. There’s a necklace this Utgard keeps around to prove it, see, one that’s s’posed to have been the first emperor’s. And, well...far as I can tell, it’s the real thing. A lion made of silver and gold, with his crest and all.”

Lying was not in Muninn’s nature. Hiro knew that well enough by now. If he vouched for this necklace, it was almost certainly the genuine article.

“Artifacts of the first emperor aren’t exactly easy to come by in foreign nations. If he does have one, that’s fairly convincing proof of lineage.”

Still, the situation struck Hiro as strange. If this Utgard had been sitting on such a powerful trump card, why had he waited until his back was to the wall to reveal it?

Most likely because it’s bait. And the person he’s trying to bait is probably Liz.

If Hiro had been his target, he would have claimed to be a descendant of the second emperor instead.

But what’s he trying to accomplish by luring Liz to Steissen?

That was the biggest question. Somebody was pulling the Nidavellirites’ strings, that much was clear, but what they wanted was a mystery. Still, there was no point in thinking about it now. By the time Hiro reached up to adjust his mask, he had made up his mind.

“Muninn, could you send more agents into Steissen? About thirty should do.”

Muninn blinked. “Thirty, chief?”

“That’s right. I’ll mostly need them for reconnaissance, but they might have to take on other duties if needed.”

“You got it.” The man bowed.

Hiro turned to Garda. “Ready three thousand cavalry. We’ll be passing through the Gurinda Mark, so we’ll need to notify the margrave.”

“What of the duchy? Or do you mean to ride straight through to Steissen?”

Hiro grinned. “If they stand in our way, I’ll show them no mercy. Either they’ll let us pass or I’ll scatter that force they’re gathering at the border.”

Garda smiled. “Very well. I’ll get the men ready to ride.”

As Garda left, Hiro moved to return to his book, but stopped as he saw Muninn approaching the bed.

“Hey, what’s my sister doing there— Oof!” The man reached out to shake Huginn awake, only to abruptly go flying across the room. He crashed into the wall and slid down to the floor, where he groaned in pain. “What in the... What happened?”

A woman stood before him, lips pulled back in a horrid smile. “No common bandit may interrupt my Igel’s sleep, on pain of death.”

“Eh? Who’s Igel? What’re you talking abo— Gyaah!”

Luka’s foot crashed down hard enough to split the floorboards. Muninn leaped away with tears in his eyes.

Luka’s smile turned ghastly. “Please don’t run. I don’t want to get your brains all over the corridors.”

As Muninn fled, Hiro returned his attention to his book.

No need for me to intervene. He won’t die. Probably.

Two years ago, Luka had cared for other people about as much as for roadside pebbles. Her displaying any interest at all in somebody else was a welcome development.

＊＊＊＊＊

Cladius, more commonly known simply as the imperial capital, was one of the oldest cities in Soleil. It had been founded over one thousand years ago by the first emperor, who had moved his nation’s capital shortly after resolving to walk the path of empire. As a result, the imperial palace of Venezyne overlooking the city was just as ancient.

Yet all things aged with time, no matter how carefully they were preserved, and the palace was no exception. Portions of its stonework had deteriorated over the centuries. Often it was repaired, but sometimes it was declared dangerous and demolished, freeing up new space for construction. The palace had changed little outwardly over the past thousand years, but its interior had grown more convoluted with every new emperor and the ensuing series of renovations. Its bowels were filled with chambers rigged with traps to snare intruders, enormous baths forbidden to all but the emperor, labyrinthine networks of corridors, great halls for entertaining prostitutes—all relics of the time of their creation.

One place in particular, however, had remained untouched throughout the years: a corridor with no doors, no adornment, and few lights. It seemed to lead nowhere. If an intruder did somehow manage to get that far, they would find themselves at a dead end and no doubt turn back, scratching their head at it still seeming to be under construction. Yet it was one of the most important places in the palace. It was the Passage of Emptiness, forbidden to all but a select few and a sacred site to all loyal to the royal family, and it concealed the path to the graveyard where the past emperors were buried.

“According to the chief gravewarden’s records, the last visitor to the imperial burial grounds was Hiro.”

Two women made their way along the corridor.

“But what could he have been doing down here?” Liz stopped and looked back at her sister over her shoulder.

“It seems somebody broke in during the chaos of Stovell’s rebellion. With father dead, the chief gravewarden turned to him for orders.” Rosa flipped through the book in her hand as she spoke. “It was the second emperor’s grave that was desecrated, it seems. No doubt that influenced the man’s decision.”

“What? The second emperor’s grave, desecrated?”

Rosa nodded. “It says here that the barrow was broken open and the body exhumed. Just that one tomb, mind you, and it was all they took. Nothing else was touched.”

How strange. Why would somebody want a body instead of the riches it was buried with? Liz couldn’t think of a reason.

“At least now we can make some progress,” she said.

“Quite. These records should give us some insight into what happened.”

After the imperial burial grounds had been broken into during Stovell’s rebellion, the chief gravewarden had put together a plan to strengthen security. However, he had been unable to put it into practice before a second group of infiltrators had broken in, killing him and the rest of his order. With the burial grounds forbidden to all but the gravewardens and the emperor, the palace had been unable to assess the extent of the damage. Only the discovery of the chief gravewarden’s private records several days earlier promised to shed new light on the situation.

“Let’s head down.” Rosa stowed the book away and lit the lantern hanging at her waist. She took the lead, pulling out a map.

The corridor ahead was dark. Lights on the walls provided some illumination, but not nearly enough to dispel the gloom carpeting the floor. Despite the danger of tripping, however, they could not follow the walls; the day after the attack, several soldiers had been injured by traps while attempting much the same thing.

“This place is made to keep intruders out of the imperial burial grounds. We couldn’t very well strip it of all its defenses. It took two months to document as much as we did, even with Scáthach’s help.”

After the soldiers had been injured, Liz had taken charge of the investigation, noting down all the traps she could find along the route to the burial ground entrance. The map Rosa now held contained the results of her findings. If Liz put a foot wrong, Lævateinn’s blessing would keep her safe, but the same could not be said for Rosa, so she had no choice but to follow in silence as her elder sister took the lead.

“Thanks to the chief gravewarden’s records, we now know where most of them are,” Rosa added. “I’d like to conduct a wider investigation with more soldiers, but considering the circumstances...”

“Better not, I agree,” Liz finished. The burial site of the Grantzian emperors was sacred ground. She wanted to avoid more people than necessary knowing where it was. Even among the nobility, it was nothing more than a rumor. She herself had not been certain of its existence until after the attack; the only other people who knew were Rosa, Aura, Scáthach, and certain members of the five great houses.

“Quite. We’ll have to do the hard work ourselves.”

Rosa stopped before a destroyed section of wall. She lifted the lantern high, illuminating a staircase that went down into darkness. Then she began to descend the stairs, lighting the torches lining the wall as she went.

“This will be my third visit, but it’s been more for you, I hear.”

Liz nodded. “I’ve been to the second emperor’s grave more times than I can count.”

She could sense Rosa’s reproachful look from the steps ahead, but no words of rebuke followed. It was only thanks to Liz’s frequent visits that they had made so much progress documenting the traps.

“You always did have a soft spot for Mars, didn’t you? Was it fruitful?”

“No. It was empty. Like there was never anything there at all.”

“If only they hadn’t stolen the body. No doubt you would have felt differently with the man himself present.”

Liz opened her mouth to say that wasn’t what she was getting at, but at that moment, they reached the bottom of the stairs. A long corridor extended before them. The floor was covered in old bloodstains, and the walls were scored with blade marks and black splatters—traces of the battle between the gravewardens and the intruders. The stench of blood still lingered in the air.

The corridor opened into a wide space, so high that the ceiling was shrouded in darkness. The feeble light of the lantern only just sufficed to drive the creeping gloom back from their feet.

“Well? What is it that you wanted me to see?” Rosa turned around, the light from her lantern dispelling the shadows from Liz’s face.

“Something has been bothering me.”

“Oh?” Rosa cocked her head.

Liz took the lantern and stepped in front. “There have been a few things that caught my attention in the times I’ve been here, but there was one in particular that I could never make sense of.”

Around them, several gently sloping mounds rose from the darkness. Each was a barrow housing one of the deceased emperors. They traced out a large circle in the underground space, ringing a colossal boulder.

“Why did they leave such a big rock lying here when they took such good care of the rest?” Liz rapped the face of the rock with her knuckles and looked back at Rosa. “That’s strange, don’t you think?”

“Is that why you needed me? Or rather, the chief gravewarden’s records?”

Liz nodded, walking around the rock to the other side. “You can go in. The inside is hollow. I don’t know why, exactly, but I think it was made to hold something.”

“And you think it’s a tomb?”

“I think it’s the first emperor’s tomb.”

Somewhere behind her, Rosa gasped.

“But why—why here, why inside a rock—I don’t know. That’s what I’m trying to figure out.”

She had visited the imperial burial grounds many times after the entrance was uncovered, but although she had been able to locate every other emperor’s tomb, the first emperor’s barrow had always eluded her. Eventually, she had grown suspicious enough of the rock in the center to take a closer look and discovered what seemed to be an entryway.

“But the inside was ransacked. Completely destroyed. Perhaps that was what the grave robbers came for.”

Liz stepped through the rock wall. A field of flowers stretched away before her, withered and dead. Fish bones carpeted the bottom of a small, dried-up spring. In the center lay a stone pedestal, smashed to rubble, where perhaps a casket had once lain.

As Rosa made her way through the brown field, dried foliage rustling vainly with every step, she noticed something glinting in the lantern’s light. She squatted down and picked it up.

“What is this? A ring? Ruby and topaz... And over here...”

Liz brought the lantern closer so that she could see.

“Paper, or what’s left of it. It’s been burned. A book, perhaps?” Rosa stood back up, pursing her lips. “If it was an offering for the dead, I’d expect there to be a coffin.”

“But there isn’t one. No coffin, not even a body. That’s why I wanted you to check if the records had anything to say.”

“Now I see it. You want to know if this truly is the first emperor’s tomb, and if so, whether it was always like this or if somebody made off with his body.”

Liz nodded, but Rosa only frowned.

“I’m afraid I might not be much help. I read through the records when they were found, and they made no mention of this rock. As for the first emperor’s tomb, they said only one thing.”

“What?”

“Nobody but the next emperor may enter. That was all.”

“So you don’t think this is the right place?”

“I think it’s too soon to jump to any conclusions. How are we to tell what it was?” Rosa looked around for a moment, then back at Liz, giving a pointed shrug. “For now, this is a dead end. Perhaps there is some manner of secret passage or chamber hidden somewhere, but we won’t know until we conduct a thorough investigation.”

“Then let’s start looking.” Liz raised the lantern.

Rosa grabbed her shoulder. “Not today. It’s late.”

“But we’ve already come all the way down here. Surely we can afford to look around a little.”

“I can take care of this myself. This is no time for you to be shouldering new burdens. You make for Sunspear tomorrow.”

The following morning, Liz would leave the capital and travel south, meeting up with the Fourth Legion’s Knights of the Rose along the way. Afterward, she would meet Beto von Muzuk at House Muzuk’s seat of power in Sunspear before making her way to Steissen.

“But—”

“You are desperate to know more. I understand, believe me. But with so little to work with, you will only confuse yourself. We must be calm and thorough, and address our problems one by one.”

Many ills still plagued the empire: House Muzuk’s designs on the chancellorship, the various hostile groups working in the shadows, the embers that still smoldered in Faerzen, the instability of the central territories, and the precarious state of the war-torn west. The invasion of the burial grounds was too important to ignore, but it was low on the current list of priorities. Liz had more pressing matters to attend to in her capacity as imperial regent.

“All right. I trust you to take care of it.”

Two years ago, she would have been too stubborn to concede, but experience had mellowed her. After the passing of the previous emperor and the deaths of many of his heirs, the onus had been placed on her to lead the nation, and she had been flung headlong into war. The gauntlet of trials that she had faced at the time had forced her to mature tremendously.

“I won’t let you down.” Rosa put on a reassuring tone. “I’ll start the investigation tomorrow. If I find anything, you’ll be the first to know.”

Liz smiled wryly. “Take some time if you need to. I know you have your own problems to manage.”

“The duchy, indeed. As if I didn’t have enough on my plate...”

A messenger had arrived from the Gurinda Mark the previous day, reporting that the armies of Lichtein were massing along the border of the land they had ceded to the empire. Most likely, the duchy had resorted to extreme measures in the face of starvation. Given free rein, Rosa would have organized the military immediately, but the south was the purview of House Muzuk; she could not act until they submitted a formal request for reinforcements. If she and Liz took matters into their own hands, they would hand the great house an excuse to take umbrage and undermine Liz’s rule, perhaps critically.

“I’ll convince Beto to mobilize his forces once I get to Sunspear. But on the slight chance that I don’t make it in time...it’ll probably be the eastern nobles who will have to march.”

“Easily dealt with. I’ll instruct them to begin assembling their forces. Leave me to take care of things in the capital and try to pounce on any opening Beto gives you. Rest assured that I’ll be ready to follow up if you need me.”

“Don’t worry. I don’t intend to give him an inch.” Liz brushed a lock of hair back behind her ear, revealing eyes bright with determination.

＊＊＊＊＊

The thirtieth day of the fifth month of Imperial Year 1026

In the empire’s southern territories, just to the south of the Gurinda Mark, was a region known as Caktos. It was plagued by scorching winds all year round, and shimmering heat hazes rose over the sunbaked earth. Formerly part of Lichtein, its irrigation systems had vastly improved under imperial rule, and while its parched lands were still far from revitalized, the drought-ridden duchy would have given almost anything to have them back.

The sun was as fierce as a midsummer day as it glared down at an army encampment. In the center was a tent bigger than the rest—the command tent.

“Word has come that Lord Karl will soon return, sir.”

The aide addressed the figure at the head of the table: General Rankeel Caligula Gilbrist. Thirty-seven years of age, he was a war hero known and feared in the surrounding nations under the name of the Rising Hawk. Despite his military prowess, his inflexible personality ensured that the nobles of the land tended to keep him at arm’s length.

“Good,” Rankeel said distractedly. “Inform me when he arrives.” He folded his arms and sank back into thought. He had an important decision to make: whether or not to launch an attack on the empire.

“Are you still considering, sir?” the aide asked.

Rankeel huffed through his nose as he stared at the map. “Of course.”

“With respect, the duchy is almost on its knees. The nobles and the commonfolk are the least of our concerns. There is no telling what the slaves may do in their desperation.”

“I am well aware. A fine time for the faults of slavery to come back to bite us.”

No water meant crops failed. Crops failing meant people went hungry. When the people in question were poorly fed at the best of times, they would not sit by and wait to starve to death. They would turn all of their pent-up anger and resentment against their masters.

“There are more slaves in Lichtein than peasants,” Rankeel continued. “If they all rose up, it would be anarchy.”

“Then what choice is there? If we cannot feed our people, we can but take from other nations. The duchy will not last longer than a year, perhaps no more than six months.”

The duchy had no water and little grain. It was making the slaves angry, the commonfolk restless, and the nobles more despotic. Civil war was not the only thing that could bring a country low. If the people were starving, so were the soldiers, and that rendered them vulnerable to invasion.

“Lichtein truly must be cursed,” Rankeel grunted. “At last, Lord Karl was beginning to take charge, and now we’re met with this.”

If they didn’t want to meet an ignoble end, their only choice was to steal from other nations. That was the question before Rankeel now: whether to invade the empire in the name of reclaiming their former lands. If they lost, not only would they fail to reclaim the north, the reparations would empty their treasury. However, if they did nothing, either the drought would start a civil war or Steissen would invade across the western border. It felt as though the duchy were trapped in a labyrinth with no exit in sight.

“Have you considered invading Steissen instead, sir? If we could unblock the River Saale, we would have our water. They were the ones who dammed the river. We would have good cause.”

“That I’ve considered, but the empire is the better target. The republic would cost us too dearly in time and lives.”

Attacking Steissen in retaliation for damming the river had been Rankeel’s first instinct. It was Nidavellirite soldiers who kept watch over the border. However, with the faction regaining strength in recent months, the border had become more fortified. By contrast, the empire had only just begun developing Caktos. Many forts were still under construction, and there were plenty of vulnerabilities for an attacking force to exploit. It would be far quicker to take it back than to breach the wall on Lichtein’s western border. As such, Rankeel had marched north with thirty thousand soldiers, but now he was questioning whether it was worth betting his nation’s fate on their success.

“Then we ought to wait for Lord Karl,” the aide said. “He may well bring good news.”

“Indeed.” Rankeel nodded, but he could not hide his doubts. He was not so optimistic about the future. It was hard to be, given what he knew. “Things never go as planned, it seems.”

He looked down at the letter on the desk. It was from Karl, announcing that the negotiations had failed. Rankeel had never expected much, but a part of him had held out hope.

“If they will not return their land voluntarily, we must await our chance to take it by force.”

He had not not told his aides about the letter for fear that they might jump the gun. He intended to overlook a certain level of pillaging, but he did not want settlements razed to the ground. The duchy would lose its moral high ground if its soldiers ran rampant. On a more practical level, he did not want to lose labor that might be useful in the days ahead, and besides, an uncoordinated army was little better than a mindless mob. Restoring order and holding on to the territory would be just as challenging as taking it in the first place.

“At least Lord Karl will benefit from the attempt.”

The negotiations would have failed no matter who was at the helm. In that sense, sending him to gain experience had been a good choice. If anything, his hesitant disposition meant that even if he had spoken out of turn, he would have given little offense.

“Sir, a letter of protest has arrived from Margrave von Gurinda.”

“Again? I suppose I can hardly blame the man, with thirty thousand men on his border.” Rankeel put a fist to his chin. “We shall tell him that we are here to escort Lord Karl. With our internal situation so unstable, we had no other choice but to come in force.”

“Very good, sir. But should we not strike soon, before he can gather his forces?”

“I understand your concern, but remember, the empire’s south is unstable too.”

“Unstable, sir?”

The aide looked puzzled, as anybody focused solely on the empire’s exterior would. Any time spent researching its internal affairs, however, revealed that it was even more of a powder keg than Lichtein. The new chancellor had been trying to force through reform, and her heavy-handed measures had met with protest from the establishment.

“The margrave owes his loyalty to the chancellor. He will not be able to gather men so easily; at least not from the southern nobles. On his own, he will be able to field five thousand at best—little challenge for us.”

The empire’s internal struggles were not to be underestimated. House Kelheit—and hence the chancellor—were the ones to keep an eye on, but they were locked in a contest of power with the southern nobles and could not easily send their forces south. Doing so would risk sparks flying and starting fires they didn’t intend.

“While the eastern and southern nobles are staring each other down, we will claim the north,” Rankeel concluded.

“Very good, sir. I will ensure the men are ready to march at a moment’s notice.”

“If you would. But don’t put the men on edge. Loosen our hold on the slaves’ collars and our defeat will be certain.”

“Understood, sir.”

As the aide left, a messenger came in, out of breath. “General!” he announced. “A force is heading this way! They number three thousand men!”

One of Rankeel’s eyebrows rose as he looked over the map. “Margrave von Gurinda?”

“No, sir. Their banners show a set of scales and a black dragon.”

“They are soldiers of Baum?!” Rankeel stood up from the chair in surprise, leaning over the table as he stared at the messenger. The other aides in the tent also stopped what they were doing and turned their attention to the conversation.

“So it seems, sir. They are riding directly for us.”

“Where are they now?” Rankeel directed the man’s attention to the map with a thrust of his chin.

The messenger hurriedly approached the table and looked over the map. “They are two sel from here and closing.”

“Why did we allow them to get so close?”

“I can only apologize, sir. We were so focused on watching Margrave von Gurinda’s movements, we had not thought to send anybody to keep an eye on Baum.”

“Normally I would call this unacceptable, but nobody could have predicted this. Still, an embarrassment.”

Baum had maintained a neutral position for centuries. History did not list a single instance of it taking up arms since its founding. Nobody would have expected it to mobilize a military force. Even so, Rankeel struck the desk in anger, cursing his own naivety.

“How many times have I warned myself of the dangers of such assumptions? I have only myself to blame.”

“Nobody is at fault, sir,” one of the aides in the tent said. “Nobody could have expected Baum to take action.”

“We will assemble the men at once,” said another.

Rankeel nodded and turned to the rest of the officers gathered around the table. “It may still be possible to settle this without drawing steel. We shall dispatch an envoy and stall for time. If battle does erupt, send three thousand slave infantry to the vanguard while the rest of the army mobilizes.”

“At once, sir.” The aides scattered to see to their various tasks.

Rankeel looked down at the map once more. “Why now, of all times?” he mused. He knew too little about Baum. They had just welcomed a new king—that much he was aware of—but none of the spies he’d dispatched had returned with any information that would benefit Lichtein. More precisely, none had returned at all.

“No doubt the rest of the continent is in the same position. None of us know anything. It’s impressive that they’ve allowed so little to slip out. Impressive and worrisome.”

Despite their brief dispute, Baum’s alliance with the empire still stood strong. That was only to be expected given the spirit stones and spirit seals that it produced, not to mention the fact that it housed the Spirit King.

“Small in breadth but large in stature, indeed. Truer words were never spoken.” Rankeel allowed himself a self-effacing grin at the gulf between Lichtein’s influence and Baum’s. “But the real question is what they’re after.”

If Baum was mobilizing after centuries of inaction, there had to be a reason, but it was hard to imagine it could have anything to do with Lichtein. It might have been small, but its lands were fertile. It had no use for Lichtein’s desert terrain, and it could procure any resources it needed from the empire with one letter. Lichtein offered nothing that it could want.

“A mystery indeed.” Rankeel snorted at the seemingly impossible conundrum. “Well, no use giving it any more thought. If I want an answer, I’ll have to get it from the horse’s mouth.”

For the first time in years, war was in the air. Rankeel’s smile deepened as he felt his body tense. He stowed away the map on the table and brought out another that showed the surrounding terrain in greater detail.

“Enough wrestling with useless questions. Time to address the task at hand.” Toying with a pawn in his palm, he narrowed his eyes at the map like a predator that had caught sight of its prey.

As Rankeel grew excited at the prospect of the upcoming battle, one of his aides approached. “Baum has sent an envoy,” the man said.

Rankeel stopped what he was doing and turned around, glaring more fiercely than he had intended. The man shrank back. Seeing his trepidation, Rankeel pinched the bridge of his nose and cast his eyes up, holding back his anger.

“I don’t like this one bit. Everything they do feels like they’re testing us. It’s as if they’re the ones spoiling for a fight.”

He had thirty thousand, and the enemy had three. It was clear who was at an advantage. Yet they seemed to be trying to throw him off-balance with audacious moves, and he could distinctly sense them laughing at his consternation.

“Show them through,” he commanded. “Let’s hear what they have to say for themselves.”

Soon enough, the Baum envoy was shown into the tent. Rankeel thought her beautiful at first, before he caught a glimpse of her unsettling, clouded eyes. The left side of her body was so horrifically burned that he hesitated to approach her. She was like a vengeful ghost; her spirit had died, yet her body lived on with no hope for the future. Her empty left sleeve fluttered in the breeze coming in through the tent flap.

“I come on behalf of the Gurinda Mark,” she said. “I request an explanation for why you are massing your forces on the border, a blatant act of provocation.”

She offered no pleasantries but cut straight to the point, claiming the moral high ground while inciting her counterpart to anger. It was more than discourteous; it was blatantly insolent.

Rankeel had his qualms about a female envoy being sent in the first place. In principle, it was a protected position, but in practice their lives were cheap and subject to the whims of whomever they were visiting. Sending a woman into the middle of a hostile encampment did not seem like the act of a sane mind. Still, the envoy herself seemed unruffled. She had steel in her spine, Rankeel thought, her manners notwithstanding.

“I am Rankeel Caligula Gilbrist. Know that we mean Baum and the empire no ill will. As much as it pains me to admit it, our nation is in a precarious state, leaving no choice but to wait for our lord duke here until we can escort him home. I pray for your understanding in this matter.”

“Indeed. Then you ought to explain that to Lord Surtr in person.”

The woman’s response raised a great many questions, but she allowed no time to answer them. She turned around and left, leaving a perplexed atmosphere in her wake.

“What do you make of that, sir?” one of the aides asked. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen such an ill-mannered envoy. Ought we take her head?”

Rankeel turned to the man, faintly appalled. “And give them a justification to make war? I think not. They may just be looking for an excuse.”

“An excuse, sir? They are only three thousand. Righteous or not, they are no threat to us.”

“They are not, no. But are you blind to the empire behind them?”

The aide’s eyes widened. At last, he had realized what Rankeel already knew. The southern nobles would not assist Margrave von Gurinda because of his alliance with the chancellor, but if Baum called for aid, they would have no choice but to intervene.

“Do not forget that Baum’s influence far outstrips its size. If they called for aid and the empire did not answer, its citizens might revolt. They crown a new king and the rest of Soleil has no choice but to allow it, despite its protest. The Spirit King’s name is weighty indeed.” Feeling uncomfortable standing up, Rankeel resettled himself into his chair, folded his arms, and ground his teeth.

One of the aides approached him hesitantly. “Then what shall we do, sir?”

“We wait. We have no other choice. Make ready to receive this Surtr.”

The man had been the talk of Soleil since his coronation, but Rankeel had never seen his face. Some claimed he hid it out of shame of his ugliness, others so that different nations would not be jealous of his beauty. He was an empyrean being as ageless as the álfar, a light that shone in the blackest night, a veritable midnight sun. Each rumor was more outlandish than the last, and none rang true.

“This will be a fine chance for me to see the truth for myself.”

Rankeel stood up and walked outside. The sky was aggravatingly blue, and the sunlight seared his skin as it sought to bake the earth.

“Too much rain and the ground drowns. Too little and it dries. Either way, the harvest fails. Sunbaked ground seems to thirst for the blood of men.” He shaded his eyes with his hand as he stared up at the sun.

An aide approached. “Baum has sent its riders, sir.”

Rankeel nodded, turning to gaze at the approaching dust cloud. A group of horsemen was approaching, kicking up the distinctive red dirt of the desert in their wake. An ornately decorated carriage led the party. It had no walls, only a ceiling supported by four pillars, the better to cool its occupants. The riders behind were clad entirely in black—the Crow Legion, Rankeel supposed. Word on the wind claimed they had left the empire for Baum after the fourth prince’s death. It seemed the rumors were true.

Rankeel nodded to himself at the sight. Dressed in uniform black and advancing in unison, they were every bit as imposing as he had expected. Some of the slaves were starting to look nervously at their own poor weapons and armor. They might have had the superior numbers, but if steel was drawn, they would clearly not be in for an easy fight. There was no force so formidable in Lichtein.

“Not a group to be trifled with lightly. Not least given our nation’s history with black banners.”

The sight inevitably recalled Rankeel’s loss years prior. A shadow fell over his features at the shameful memory. To him and the rest of the nation, the color black was the stain of defeat.

In time, the carriage came to a stop before Rankeel and a man stepped out. His youth was almost as surprising as the strange mask he wore. The lower, visible half of his face was soft-featured, like he was not yet fully grown, and he was shorter than the men around him. He could not have been more than sixteen years of age.

And yet, hair as black as jet. Fortune deserts me today, it seems.

The fourth prince’s youthful features flashed through Rankeel’s mind. For a moment, he wondered if it could be the same man, but he quickly dismissed the notion. All human beings aged, to a greater or lesser extent. Two years ago, they could have been the same person, but this masked man was too young. What was more, it was impossible to ignore that one of his eyes glinted gold behind his mask. The other was black, but the fourth prince had possessed two black irises.

A one-armed woman emerged from the carriage to stand behind him. Rankeel’s eyes widened.

That envoy again...

Her stagnant eyes pierced him with a glare that could kill.

“No need to intimidate the man, Luka.”

“Hmph. He was staring at me so, I felt the musclebound fool needed reminding there are more fearful things than brawn.” She retreated behind the masked man’s back, biting her thumbnail.

For a moment, Rankeel felt uncertain about what to make of the pair, but he quickly reminded himself of his duty. “I am Rankeel Caligula Gilbrist, marquis of the Duchy of Lichtein and commander of this army,” he said, adopting a courteous manner. “Forgive me for not being able to offer you a more fitting reception.”

The masked man nodded. “I am Surtr, the Black-Winged Lord and second king of Baum.”

His words were brief, but his name carried weight. Rankeel felt an indefinable pressure settle on his shoulders.

So he’s taking the name of a lord of old.

In the beginning, God had created Aletia. Lamenting that his efforts had ended in failure, he had disappeared, but not before creating five alter egos to rule the world in his stead. That was the birth of the Five Lords of Heaven and the beginning of the Age of Gods.

Still, to call himself the Black-Winged Lord in the Spirit King’s own home...

In the context of the complex history of Soleil, Rankeel understood this was no cause for outrage—better than calling himself the Spirit King, at any rate. Still, the name of the Black-Winged Lord was far too heavy for a human to bear.

Either he has extraordinary confidence in himself or he wants us to think he does.

The coming discussion would reveal which. The man was unlikely to spill his innermost secrets on the negotiation table, but some sense of who he was would bleed through in his words. It always did. The slightest gesture spoke volumes.

“The sun is strong today. If you would, I have arranged for us to speak in the shade.”

Rankeel showed the party to the simple tent he had ordered his subordinates to erect. A cool breeze tickled their cheeks as they entered. In the corners lay precious ice, while slaves maintained the temperature by wafting giant fans.

Rankeel took a seat in one of the chairs. The masked man sat opposite. Luka took up a close position behind him.

“May I offer you some wine? Or I could have my men outside bring water, if you would prefer.”

Rankeel clapped his hands and slaves entered, carrying wine and water, but the masked king made no move to reach for either. He only stared at Rankeel with his unsettling golden eye. At last, he spoke.

“Withdraw your men from the border at once.”

Rankeel regarded the man through the stream of burgundy liquid slowly filling his goblet. A unilateral demand to retreat was not how he had predicted negotiations would begin. He almost wondered what this king expected, but he avoided letting his dissatisfaction show as he raised his goblet to his lips and smiled.

“We will withdraw as soon as Duke Lichtein returns.”

“And what happens when you don’t keep your word?”

“We have not put pen to parchment. We simply have an understanding. There is no telling what the future might hold. Perhaps some small conflict may be unavoidable.” Rankeel’s eyes flashed; he was well aware of the threat in his words.

“Then why don’t we hasten that future?”

“What do you mean by that?”

“I mean that I will dye this ground red with the blood of your soldiers.”

The masked king’s knuckles rapped against the desk. His presence swelled. A shiver ran through Rankeel. He had felt the same before, two years ago, when he’d sat across the table from the fourth prince of the empire. That made no sense. The boy was dead. Had he not reasoned that much just a few minutes before? But then, what was this chill creeping up his spine?

At that moment, a soldier pulled back the tent flap. “Lord Karl has returned, sir.”

Scowling internally, Rankeel made to reply, but the masked king’s solemn voice interrupted.

“Perfect timing. Why don’t we let your master decide what to do?”

Rankeel could only nod in assent, trying his best to maintain his composure. “Very well. Escort Lord Karl here at once.”

In short order, Karl appeared at the entrance, looking a little bewildered. He withdrew a little and averted his eyes, sensing the tension in the tent.

That’s a poor habit. One he’ll have to fix if he’s ever to grow, and the biggest reason he hasn’t won the confidence of the nobles.

Karl was far too quick to shrink away when confronted with the unexpected. If he only had a little of his father’s spine, the nobility would place more trust in him, and the coming drought would be less of a threat to the nation’s integrity.

“Your Highness,” Rankeel said, “I present to you the king of Baum.”

Karl’s eyes widened. “What is he doing here?”

This was going nowhere. Starting to grow irritated, Rankeel opened his mouth to launch into a brief explanation, but the masked king got there first.

“It appears your negotiations with the empire have failed.”

Karl froze, put abruptly on the spot. Rankeel glared at the masked king with fury in his eyes.

“You are trapped in a dark labyrinth with no way out. If you want to escape, you will have to use force. Will Lichtein choose change, or will it choose destruction?” A smile spread across the man’s face as he looked them over. “Starving beasts choose to pillage. They cite reasons to disguise their hunger, claiming they are only taking back what is theirs, but they hunger all the same. The empire’s resettlement plan is progressing quickly, after all. The north is rich in ore, lumber, water, and food. Enough to sustain the whole pack of you.”

“Assuming for a second these assertions are correct,” Rankeel said, “they would still be no business of Baum’s.”

“Not so.” With an impatient sigh, Surtr rested his elbows on the arms of his chair, clasped his hands, and laid his chin atop them. “A great many imperial citizens have migrated to Caktos under the imperial resettlement program. They are under Frieden’s protection. As faithful believers in the Spirit King, Baum cannot allow them to come to harm.”

“So tell me, what do you intend to do about it? Do you intend to stop thirty thousand starving beasts with three thousand sickly sheep?”

“I will weigh your survival instincts by the oldest measure there is—in combat. On this very ground, if you would like.”

Surtr regarded them with his golden eye, his voice inflectionless. Rankeel broke into a cold sweat as a nameless dread crawled up his spine. Karl shrank even further, his eyes fixed firmly on the ground.

All at once, the masked king broke into a grin and the tension was dispelled. “But naturally, we cannot ignore the plight of Lichtein either. You too are faithful believers in the Spirit King.”

“I fail to see the point of all of this,” Rankeel said. “What is it that you are doing here?”

Surtr rose to his feet so that he looked down at them. “I offer you mercy. Freedom from the ills that plague you. Lichtein needs water to escape this drought, but you cannot slake the entire duchy’s thirst with your oases. Your only choices are to take from other nations or to undam the River Saale.”

Rankeel had considered as much, but with the Nidavellirite faction regaining strength, it would be too difficult to breach the wall on the Steissen border. That was why he had resorted to attacking the empire in the first place.

“If you are aware of that,” he said, “surely you know why my men and I are here.”

“Of course. What I am promising you is that I will free the river.”

“A difficult boast to credit. And even if you do make good on your word, we are in no position to offer you a reward.”

“I’m not asking for much. A mine or two will do.”

Rankeel paused for a moment. “That we can give you.”

The empire would have taken the mines anyway if negotiations had succeeded. They were no great loss. Still, it was a small price to demand from a starving nation. There was some hidden scheme at work here; Rankeel could feel it.

Surtr gave him no chance to think about it. “Then the deal is struck. I will have an official contract drafted in short order.”

“Hold a moment. The wall between Lichtein and Steissen is sturdy as a fortress and long besides. We have crossed blades with them many times, but never once have we managed to breach it. As best I can tell, you have only three thousand men. I fear you overestimate yourself.”

“Then I will gladly take ten thousand from you. Career soldiers, mind you, not slaves.”

“Thirteen thousand will not be enough. If it were, we would be there and not here.”

Surtr raised his hand to his mask and smiled. “Marquis Rankeel, there are other ways to attack a wall than from the front.”

＊＊＊＊＊

The fourth day of the sixth month of Imperial Year 1026

When asked what the greatest city in the southern territories was, the first name on any imperial’s lips would be Sunspear. If the imperial capital was magnificent, Sunspear was shining. But its freedom and open-mindedness were not gifts of the ruling House Muzuk. They were the product of its status as a nexus of trade from all across the continent, a veritable inland port through which all manner of exotic goods flowed. It was connected to the imperial capital to the north, Lichtein and Steissen to the south, the third imperial city to the west, and House Kelheit’s seat of Baldickgarten to the east, and its reserves of gold ensured a constant stream of prospectors hoping to strike it rich. Most of all, it was where the empire’s upper class collected. That, more than anything else, was why it shone.

“This’ll make my fifth time to Sunspear,” the white-haired old soldier said, stroking his chin. “Never gets any less lively.”

“It’s almost as cheerful as the capital. Maybe all the foreign trade has something to do with it.”

Liz rode by his side, gazing at the merriment on the people’s faces from atop her horse. Behind them followed the two thousand soldiers who made up the Knights of the Rose, the elite troops of the Fourth Legion that defended the south. They took up the road as they passed. Crowds waved from either side of the street, and dancing girls twirled and spun to the tune of stringed instruments, drawing roars from the people as they rained flower petals on the parade. Every pair of lips praised Liz’s name.

“It’s an impressive welcome, right enough,” Tris said, “but House Muzuk must have deep pockets indeed to fund all this.”

Liz nodded. Politics typically came down to money in the end. Still, there were limitations. No amount of coin could buy rain, the absence of which could bring a nation like Lichtein to its knees regardless of its finances. It was tempting to believe that wealth could solve all problems, but humans were helpless before the power of nature.

“They must. I won’t blame them for putting stock in coin, but it’s a precarious kind of power.”

A single mistake in managing one’s finances could make any amount of wealth vanish like a puff of smoke.

“Fritter it away and it’s gone forever,” Liz continued, “but even if you invest it, there’s no guarantee you’ll make it back.”

Rosa had leveraged House Kelheit’s financial might to win the support of the western and central nobles and secure the chancellorship, but Liz had heard that doing so had cost her half of all the assets she had accumulated, and the western and central territories were still far from secure. It would take time to recoup the coin she had invested, and in the meantime, House Kelheit’s coffers continued to dwindle.

“House Muzuk uses its coin wisely, though,” she added. “Sometimes, it’s worth putting on a lavish display to show off your strength.”

Bringing the entire city out in force for this welcoming procession served three purposes. First, to boast that House Muzuk’s pockets were deep. Second, to demonstrate that their control of the south was unshakable. And third, through the people’s guileless cheers, to overwhelm Liz and her train with the extent of their power.

“And there they await, at the end of this parade, in that shining golden palace of theirs. A pretty den for a pack of wolves, right enough.”

Liz couldn’t have put it better herself. She turned her attention back to the fore, toward the procession’s ultimate destination: the gaudy palace called Glitnir, which House Muzuk had constructed entirely out of gold. Beto waited by the entrance, smiling broadly. Beside him was a handsome young man whom she did not know. As she dismounted before them, he and his entourage bowed their heads in unison.

“Once again, I bid you welcome, Lady Celia Estrella. We have been awaiting your arrival with great anticipation.”

“Thank you for the welcome. You may raise your heads.”

Beto looked up and, with a genial smile, laid a hand on the shoulder of the man beside him. “First, allow me to introduce my esteemed friend. He has been away from these lands for some time, and he has but recently returned.”

“I am Lodurr Freyr von Ingunar, Your Highness,” the man said. “Lord von Muzuk’s faithful servant since my early youth.”

He cut a dainty figure and at a glance seemed unsuited to battle, but he carried himself with a warrior’s training and moved with a grace to rival any of the palace’s ladies-in-waiting. Unlike the dusky-skinned merchants of the south, his skin was sallow white—indeed, it had an almost sickly tint of blue. Perhaps that was why he stood out more than Beto, although more likely, the cause was his palpable aura of strength.

“I have heard great things about you, Your Highness. It seems the land speaks of nothing but you and the late fourth prince.” Lodurr cast a mournful gaze at the sky. “Before his passing, the streets were awash with talk of the second coming of the Kerukeion and the prosperity it would bring the empire. I cannot fathom your loss.”

“Thank you for your words. I have no doubt they will put his soul at ease.”

Liz felt a little strange receiving his condolences, knowing as she did that the other half of the new Kerukeion was still alive and well, but she could not let that show. She replied in suitably sober tones before turning back to Beto.

“Let’s eat first. Then you can tell me more about the situation in Steissen.”

“Of course, Your Highness.” Beto nodded. “My wife was overjoyed to hear that you would be coming. She has lent her own hand to some of the dinner preparations. I would be honored if you would try them.”

“I look forward to it. I had the chance to try Lady von Muzuk’s handiwork several times while I was in the capital, and it was always delectable.”

“Oh? In the capital?”

Liz nodded. “That’s right. With my sister.” She turned around to the carriage behind her, signaling for it to draw closer.

While her back was turned, Beto cupped his chin in his hand and narrowed his eyes. “Did you, now? How very interesting.”

There was an unusual edge to his words, but he concealed it well enough that Liz didn’t notice. By the time she turned back around, he had donned a diplomatic smile.

“Will somebody else be coming?” he asked.

“Only the one. She doesn’t like the heat, so I let her ride in the shade.”

As she spoke, a white streak leaped from the carriage doors and bounded up to stand by her side. Beto found himself looking at the proud figure of a white-furred wolf—Liz’s pet, Cerberus.

Liz leaned down to scratch the beast’s head as she brushed against her legs. “Do you suppose she could join us?”

Beto looked a little taken aback, but he did his best not to let it show. “But of course. I will arrange for dinner to be served forthwith.”

He turned, still looking a little shocked, and returned inside the palace. Liz followed.

Almost as soon as they were indoors, Beto’s wife—Selvia Sephone von Muzuk—met them in the hallway. “It’s an honor to welcome you to Glitnir a second time, Your Highness,” she said, head bowed. “Dinner is ready to be served. This way, if you please.”

She turned around and led the way without so much as a word to her husband. Beto watched her go in stunned silence, and Ludurr looked unimpressed with both of them.

The group followed Selvia and were soon shown to a dining hall. Liz took her place at the head of the table, with Cerberus sitting politely by her side. Before them lay a vast array of sumptuous dishes—and a great deal of fruit, she noticed.

“Fruit seemed fitting for a lady,” Selvia explained, laying her hand on her cheek with a wide smile. “I must insist you try these dates. They’re all the rage in Sunspear.”

It would be impolite to refuse. Liz nodded in agreement.

Selvia clapped her hands in delight. “Excellent. Now, enough of these stuffy greetings. We must eat before our food gets cold.”

With that, the servants sprang into motion, pouring mead into the party’s silver goblets as the diners set about digging in.

Beto was the first to break the silence. “I notice that Lady Aura is not with you this time, Your Highness.”

“No. She’s in the west right now.”

The empire had begun plotting to retake Faerzen in recent months, and Aura had headed to the western territories to begin making preparations. Scáthach had joined her to ensure her safety.

“Oh? Then she is serving under Lord von Bunadala—her father, I mean?”

“That’s right. In preparation for the day we take back Faerzen.”

In recognition of Aura’s father’s efforts in battle against Six Kingdoms two years prior, House Bunadala had been elevated to the status of a great house. It had replaced House Münster, which had been in steady decline ever since the death of Third Prince Brutahl. With a more competent leader in charge of the western nobles, plans for the recapture were proceeding apace.

“I hear that there have been more and more clashes on the border of late,” Beto mused. “Her presence will surely lift a great deal of weight from her father’s shoulders.”

“If I may, Your Highness,” Ludurr ventured, “what do you mean to do after Faerzen has been retaken?”

“Reinstate its monarchy, of course.”

Six Kingdoms had been steadily tightening its control of Faerzen. The previous year, the empire had responded by announcing that Scáthach, the last of the royal line, was under its protection. Six Kingdoms had countered by accusing the empire of using her for its own ends. The conversation had degenerated into mud-slinging, leaving Faerzen’s people ignored. According to Rache, who continued to work toward his nation’s liberation, the commonfolk wanted Scáthach restored to office but had no desire for the empire’s return. However, after two years of Six Kingdoms squabbling among themselves over ownership of Faerzen and with their fortunes showing no signs of improving, a growing minority had begun to call for the empire to chase out their oppressors.

“That will be a hard road indeed, Your Highness,” Ludurr said. “To breathe life back into a fallen nation is no easy thing. Its towns are razed, and its people are weary and resentful. Three years is far too short a time for that to be undone.” He shook his head in pointed melancholy. “Retaking Faerzen would mean subjecting its people once more to the fires of war. Their bitterness would only grow. Even if you reinstalled the monarchy, Lady Scáthach may return to her homeland to find it in ashes.”

“We’re taking steps to make sure that doesn’t happen.”

He chuckled. “Indeed. Well, I will be honored to help in what meager way I can.”

Why was he suddenly trying to ingratiate himself? Liz stopped eating and laid her cutlery down, making her displeasure plain. Ludurr only gave a cold smile that made no attempt to disguise his mercenary intentions.

I don’t like this man one bit.

His eyes were not smiling. Ice crawled up her spine as their burning gaze held her fast. Something about him seemed uncomfortably predatory, like a snake waiting coldly for its struggling prey to weaken.

“I hope I have not offended, Your Highness,” he said. “I only thought to offer my assistance.”

At a glance, he looked like he wouldn’t hurt a fly, but Liz sensed something calculating hovering on the edges of his delicate features. In an instant, her guard went up. Her heart hammered in her chest, warning her that she could not give this man an inch.

“Perhaps the day will come when I will take you up on that offer,” she replied, “but not today. I have far too many things to attend to. We can discuss this some other time.” She smiled back gracefully, trying to avoid giving the game away, and turned her attention to Beto. “More importantly, Lord von Muzuk, why have you not moved to defend the Gurinda Mark from Lichtein?”

Beto laid his cutlery down and turned to her coolly. “I had forty thousand men ready to ride at a moment’s notice, Your Highness, but marching them to the border might itself have provoked the duchy to war. I found myself with no choice but to wait. However, the situation has now changed.” He made a show of shaking his head. “Word came only a few days ago that they have retreated.”

“Are you sure?”

“Very much so. As to why, I can only speculate, but there can be no mistake. A rather anticlimactic end to the whole affair.”

He sounded disappointed, and for good reason: he had no doubt hoped that Lichtein would get rid of Margrave von Gurinda for him. A great deal of plotting had probably just gone to waste.

“Word should already have reached Chancellor Rosa in the capital. No doubt a messenger will come soon enough.”

“So the duchy has fallen back...” Liz murmured to herself. Her overwhelming response was relief, but she couldn’t deny some uncertainty at the unexpected turn of events. It was possible that Beto was lying; she would have to look into the matter herself to be certain. But if he was telling the truth, it meant that she could set her other concerns aside and focus on Steissen.

Rosa will be able to handle the rest. As for me...

It was time to move on to the main topic. “Then the next matter to discuss is Steissen.”

“Allow me to explain the situation,” Lodurr said. He turned to Beto. “With your leave?”

Beto raised a hand, indicating for him to go ahead.

He turned to Liz with a probing gaze. “How familiar are you with the current state of the republic, Your Highness?”

Liz took care not to let her guard slip as she answered. “I know it’s broadly split into two factions: the beastfolk of Jötunheim and the dwarves of Nidavellir.”

“Correct. For a long time, the Jötunheimites appeared dominant, but recently, the Nidavellirites have begun to rally...which is troublesome for us.”

Lodurr’s lighthearted tone made it hard to get a sense of the urgency of the situation. His breezy manner was difficult to read, as though designed to tie his listeners in knots. Liz frowned, unable to divine what he was thinking.

“Why do you say that?”

“The empire lent its support to the Jötunheimites with the expectation that they would emerge victorious, but our prediction missed the mark. Now, to put it plainly, everything we have invested is at risk of coming to ruin.”

“But what’s the cause of this miraculous comeback?”

“Well, that’s the curious part. Beginning around the turn of the year, word began to spread that Utgard—the leader of the Nidavellirites—was born of the first emperor’s bloodline.”

“Do you mean to say he has the blood of von Grantz? That’s the first I’ve ever heard of that.”

“It’s a hard story to credit, but he claims to have proof. And from what I’ve been able to gather, he does at least have an artifact of the first emperor in his possession.”

“Then it sounds like we should be looking to ally with the Nidavellirites.”

Lodurr pursed his lips. “I fear that Utgard is not fit to be high consul of the senate. The people revile him. If he were to defeat the Jötunheimites, Steissen would once again fragment into its constituent nations and descend into civil war.”

That would likely have repercussions for all of the southern territories, if not the entire empire. It was a peculiar time for the nation—it was relatively insulated from foreign interference, but far from stable. Only Rosa’s skillful management under Liz’s leadership held it together. If Steissen descended into war again, the nobles she had humiliated would rise up and demand her ousting.

And if the southern nobles join in, she’ll be forced out of office.

It was only a hunch, but Liz suspected that if Steissen truly broke apart, the southern nobles would have nothing left to hold them back. They could march on the central territories in force. Without Rosa, she would have no power to defy Beto and his lackeys. She would be forced to marry their choice of husband and live out the rest of her days as an empress in name alone.

And that’s the last thing I can allow to happen.

Even as Liz was thinking, Ludurr continued. “Skadi of the Jötunheimites can be temperamental in her own right, but she is beloved by the people and held in high regard by the senate. His Majesty believed that she would be best placed as high consul...and in his absence, we must turn to you for aid.”

“I think I understand the situation now, but why are you asking me to go in person?”

Beto or Ludurr would have made just as good a representative of the empire. If anything, that would have been in their interests too; it would put them in a position where they could influence the war in Steissen as they saw fit.

Ludurr, however, only shook his head. “True, Your Highness, you need not. But the greater Steissen’s debt to us, the greater the returns we shall see.”

In short, he wanted to ensure that the empire was in the best standing with the Jötunheimites when they eventually won. Liz felt like she had more of an inkling of his plans.

They’re hedging their bets. They want to make sure they stand to gain, no matter who wins.

If the Jötunheimites prevailed, Beto and Ludurr would profit handsomely from supporting them. If the Nidavellirites came out on top, they would be able to take control of the empire.

Well, not if I have anything to say about it.

The first step would be to secure victory for the Jötunheimites. If they lost after she offered them support, it would only weaken her standing.

Resolving the conflict comes first. Then I can think about undermining House Muzuk’s position.

Liz returned her attention to the discussion with renewed determination.

“All right. I understand. But what do you intend to do about this Utgard? I can’t speak to his character, but if he really is descended from the first emperor, I want to avoid taking his head.”

“That particular piece of news has yet to spread through the empire, Your Highness,” Ludurr said. “As yet, it remains a rumor at best. His fate may be left to your discretion. If you chose to take him under your protection, I don’t doubt he could be furnished with some piece of land on the border.”

As likely as not, that was another reason they had chosen Liz for this task. As heir apparent to the throne, she could execute Utgard with impunity.

“I see. Leave this to me, then. I’ll take care of it.”

“Of course, Your Highness. We will await news of your success.”

Sparks crackled between Liz and Lodurr as the conversation came to a close. Beto looked on with amusement.

“If you wish to spend the night here, Your Highness,” he said, “we would gladly furnish you with a room.”

“Thank you for the offer, but I have to decline. I plan to head for Steissen as soon as I can. I’ll spend tonight at camp.”

“Very good. But I must insist that you take three thousand of our cavalry. They may not be the Knights of the Rose, but I have gathered the best we have to offer. What’s more...” Beto passed a white envelope to a servant for them to convey to Liz. She cocked her head, not following. “That contains the names of our agents among the Jötunheimites. They may be of use to you. Please, do not hesitate to call on them if you find yourself in trouble.”

“Thank you for your help.”

“Not at all. It is I who requested your presence, after all. If there is anything you require, you need only ask.”

A loud clap sounded. All eyes turned to its source, Selvia.

“Now all that dreary talk is done with, shall we get back to dinner? It would be a crying shame not to let Her Highness enjoy this spread we prepared before it gets cold.”

“With pleasure,” Liz said. “What would you recommend?”

“As I mentioned before, you must try the dates, but between you and me, the stew is quite divine.”

The tension dissolved as Liz and Selvia fell to idle chatter. Only one figure sat apart, watching them with icy eyes: Ludurr. As subtle as a snake watching its prey, his hostility flared for only a moment before he suppressed its presence. The edge in his gaze was invisible to all at the table.

Or rather, invisible to all but one.

“That’s trouble and no mistake,” Tris murmured to himself.