Blood pounded in Rown’s ears, the thrill of oncoming conflict putting an extra spring in her step. It’s not that she enjoyed killing. No, she despised it, in fact. But when it was putting down those who stood in His way, halting their growth and the growth of humankind, she’d no hesitation.

A dozen Sons shadowed her footsteps down the ramp leading toward the main square. Stares, both fearful and angry, marked each hurried breath they took. But Rown paid it no mind—they’d understand when Nereden revealed himself to them. And for now, they had a mission.

The scraps of Ogien’s Court had taken up at a nearby inn, The Sneering Goat, and had refused to meet with Nereden’s various messengers. So, He’d sent her and other Sworn to ensure his voice was heard before the violence escalated. She knew there was no stopping it, and no doubt He knew it too. But when taking a city, it was best to put on every pretense of trying to preserve life whenever possible.

Rown was unsurprised to find a crowd gathered outside the inn, desperately awaiting an opportunity to meet with their saviors. She could feel the tension rise with their appearance, all faces turning toward them at their approach.

“Filthy dogs!” A gruff voice cried.

“Shouldn’t be here!” Someone else yelled. A cacophony of anger and displeasure echoed them, the crowd forming a wall that stood between Rown and The Sneering Goat. Beyond the mass of bodies, she spotted the Court’s guards forming up, one of them banging on the door of the inn.

She suppressed a smile. Nereden had hoped she’d get a private audience with the Court, but had conceded that a public parlay may be better for testing the waters. Still, Rown had no intention of letting a group of soft men stand in her way.

The column of Sworn stopping behind her, Rown halted inches from the bristling crowd, practically nose to nose with a sweaty man with beady eyes. The crowd quieted, some of them turning to watch the approach of the Court’s guards, but Rown did not wait. “Move.”

“What you say, girl?” The greasy man growled to a chorus of agreement. “No power here. Best watch what you say.”

“We’ve come to speak to the Court. For them, I’ve a message from the Emperor. For you, I have no patience. Do not test us. Move.”

The man’s eyes swept over the Sons, his eyebrow twitching. Rown could almost taste the fear rolling off of him, but he’d drawn the attention of the whole crowd with his big mouth. Too late for him to back down now. Pride was a silly thing.

“We ain’t afraid of you lot.” He said, his jaw set.

Rown took a step forward, towering over him. “I doubt that.”

A murmur spread through the crowd, and sweat-man took a half-step back, pink tongue darting out to wet dried lips. Nereden would no doubt be furious with Rown—she’d come to give the impression that the Sons wanted peace. Threatening an overly talkative ant would do little to help their image.

But Rown was anything but weak. No point letting some faithless pig run his mouth. She opened her mouth to retort, but before the words could escape, a voice cut through the crowd. “Stop! Calm yourselves!” The crowd turned and opened up as the Court’s guards pushed their way through. Behind them charged the two men Rown had spoken to earlier—the last members of Ogien’s Court. “Enough of this foolishness!” He blustered.

The wall of people stepped back allowing the guards to pass, the Court members stopping before Rown. “No need for violence! Let us talk,” the man who’d been introduced earlier as Jalid said, voice grating like a stone rolling down the mountainside.

“Finally, some wisdom.” Rown dipped her head in a reluctant sign of respect. “May we have a word in private? I bring word from the Emperor.”

Jalid’s eyes scanned the Sons, his lips twitching down into a frown. “A bit odd, isn’t it. For a messenger to come with so many guards.” He met Rown’s eyes with a steely gaze. “A touch unnecessary.”

Rown quirked an eyebrow in confusion. “Guards?” She peered over her shoulder and shook her head. “Guards? I do not need guards. I have escorted these faithful here so they may be of service to you.”

“Of service? How?” The other man spoke. Fandal, the Court member for Jenzen, per the reports she’d heard from the Sons’ spies.

“It is as I said,” Rown said with a sigh. “They are here at your disposal. It seems in our absence, the lower levels have become somewhat unruly. Our Lord has sent them here to aid you in restoring order until your audience above.”

Fandal laughed, but Jalid did not seem to be taking it as well. Jaw clenched, he dropped a hand to the sword at his waist. “Your Emperor does not seemed well versed in etiquette.” He began, eyes hard. “It is unwise to seek an audience and insult someone in the same breath.”

“It is no insult,” Rown replied. “It is the truth. Those who have yet to accept His presence are wild, unrefined. It is to be expected. Until all in Wiernock have been welcomed into the Sons, some policing is only to be expected.”

A discontented murmur spread through the crowd, the Court’s guards shifting and slipping into ready stances. “I suggest you leave.” Jalid spoke, his rough voice cold. “We will meet with your Emperor when we are ready. Until then, take your ‘faithful’ back to your burrow and pray to your God that our coming is merciful.”

Falan’s brow furrowed at that and Rown’s lips quirked up in a small smile. A division between the two. That explained the delay that Nereden had been so curious about. Days in the city and not a peep from them. Just holed up in their inn, no questions, no attacks, no attempt at diplomacy. No doubt something He would be able to exploit. It didn’t seem Rown would manage to get an audience alone with the two, but she’d achieved her goal either way. She’d learned enough to know they would be no problem for the Sons of Inan. Just another bump along the road to more.

“You speak of insults and then threaten us,” Rown said after a long pause. “Your etiquette is certainly interesting.” Her eyes swept over the guards and civilians and she shook her head. “Very well. We will leave, and bring your message to the Emperor. But when you do come, do not bring mercy. Because for heathens, we have none.”

Her words had an immediate effect. The people crowding the hall shifted, eyes darting and jaws clenched. For all their hard words and their anger, they were just peasants riled up at a change that would not affect them. Whether it was Him who sat above them in Wiernock or some member of the Court, they would toil away to make enough coin to keep food in their bellies. Perhaps the very real threat of violence and blood had helped them realize that.

Jalid’s eyes narrowed, his fingers wrapped around the hilt of his sword. Rown grinned at him, raising her arm to the Sworn behind her. The Court’s guards shifted into ready stance, spears leveled, but there was no need. With one more small bow, a simple dip of her chin, Rown turned and made her way back to the ramp, the Sworn following behind.

She’d gathered what information she could, and though her attempt at feigning diplomacy had failed spectacularly, Rown felt the weight of unavoidable death would have enough of an effect on the populous to dissuade any immediate violence. And that was all He needed. A bit of time to replace their lost Emperor, a bit of time to remove the pesky mask, and some space to squash this rebellion and secure the rest of Ogien.

And what He wanted, Rown would deliver.

* * *

A knot in his gut, Aleks leaned back against the wall. Rown and the squad of soldiers she’d brought with her stalked their way down the hall leaving a pregnant silence in their wake. He watched the Court members, eyes narrowed and his heart pounding in his chest. This is what he’d come for—a test of their mettle. To see what kind of men would lead Ogien once Nereden was gone, and maybe even see if they could take the city without his help.

Jalid stared after Rown, defiance written across his features. That, Aleks thought, was a man that could lead Ogien. He seemed resolute in his beliefs, whole in his love for this country. With him at the helm, Ogien could make it through this civil war in one piece. They may even stand a chance at pushing the Sons out of the city, with Aleks only having to kill Nereden to help them on their way.

But Fandal—he was another story. He was a weakness, a cancer. It was clear in his posture and his voice. The sheer doubt and fear weighed on him, and it needn’t be said aloud that he was the reason the Court had yet to address the public despite days in the city. He did not have the mental fortitude to survive what was coming, and Aleks had no doubt he’d cave under the pressure. Perhaps even stab Jalid in the back to ensure his own survival.

Aleks’ lips formed a thin line. The chances of being able to rely on the Court seemed slim. And that just meant more lives for him to take, more souls resting on his crowded shoulders. More darkness that he feared would seep into his daughter and poison the life of his family.

Just as Aleks felt himself slipping into bleak thoughts, Fandal cleared his throat. “We are grateful for your patience and for your support,” he began. “I understand our appearance is long overdue—both in front of you, and here in Wiernock. But rest assured, we are taking steps to remove the Sons from your city. What they have done to our brethren—to your elected Court—has not been forgotten.”

Jalid placed a hand on the man’s shoulder. “We’ll drive these rats from the mountain. Just be patient a little longer. It will be done.”

There was a quiet smattering of applause from the few civilians still in the street as the two made their way back toward the inn. Once the door clicked shut, the chatter began. Whatever Aleks thought, they seemed impressed with Jalid’s attitude. As far as they were concerned, he’d stood up for their city—he’d shown the Sons that Wiernock would not be won so easily.

But Aleks knew something none of them did. Something that gave Fandal’s hesitance greater meaning. It was no simple emperor heading the Sons of Inan. They’d likely all heard the tales of a god, returned from the sea and seeping with power, but none had believed it. But it was the truth. A god led the Sons of Inan. And as strong as Jalid’s resolve seemed, Aleks knew Falan would crumble. And if he did, many would die.

Jaw tensed, eyes clenched shut, Aleks steeled himself. The Court would be a good distraction, but little else. It was on him, now. He’d come to do a job, and whatever misgivings he had, he would see it through. Tugging on the bracelet that marked his fidelity, Aleks wondered how many lives he’d taken already in his many years in the King’s service.

And, with more than a touch of pessimism, he wondered how many of those his wife and daughter could forgive.