Interlude - Prince I

Hector sat down on his chair with a low grunt, leaning on his side as he crossed his legs and intertwined his fingers. He wore no rings, or pants for that matter 一 it was still too early and he had a preference for sleeping as light as possible 一 so it was with only a too-large shirt and his undergarments on that he welcomed his usual first meeting of the day.

Cara. His maid.

“The breakfast of the day is,” She lifted the lid of a steaming plate with her short trimmed nails, answering Hector’s previous question while demonstrating what the kitchen had arranged for this morning. “A mix of nuts and fruits 一 without peanuts, of course 一 a cup of Indranian yogurt and boiled eggs, seasoned with salt and cumin. As requested.”

“Ah, lovely, Cara.” Hector smiled at the tray she set on his desk with all of his white teeth. The steam that wafted upwards as he cut the boiled eggs tickled his nose. “Any news about the persimmons?”

He had been dying to eat one of them ever since he met one of the envoys of the Principality in Asseris. According to the 一 quite dashing 一 elemian, it was a fruit that had been growing in production along the coastal areas of his territory. The princes were trying to broaden their market of exotic foods from the desert continent, lessening their production of dates to invest in other products.

The news about the dates had made Hector jump in joy. Every chance of that horrendous fruit getting closer to extinction was a win in his books. Never would he have thought he’d end up with such a distaste for the bloody things, but here he was.

Trying hard to forget the smell of dates and charcoal.

His eyes focused once again on Cara as she shook her head in denial. Sighing, he went back to his breakfast, spearing his eggs with a furrow in his brows now that he remembered. So distracted that he didn’t even realize something was missing from the meal until a moment later.

“No juice?” Hector asked Cara after swallowing, enjoying the way the spicy cumin made his tongue tingle. In response, the woman gave one of her rare smiles, the scar across her lips stretching.

She drifted closer with tiny silent steps, placing her thumb and index finger to hover over his cup of yogurt with a pinching motion and pulling an entire jar of orange juice from the inside. Hector picked up his cup of yogurt to find it as undisturbed as usual.

He raised an eyebrow at his maid, amused by the trick like always. “The cups?”

Her smile turned into a cheeky grin, reserved for these more intimate moments. “Among the fruits, Your Highness.”

Hector sighed at that and gestured for her to finish the early tricks. It became part of his morning ritual ever since he was a child to let her entertain him before the first preparations. Merciful crown, Cara’s tricks had helped him get out of bed more than once when the days were bad.

Especially when she conjured a gallon of cold water on top of his face. That was enough to jerk him awake with completely successful chances.

Hector began by asking about the most crucial of subjects now that he had settled enough to deal properly with the troubles of his life.

“How is Mother today? Is she feeling better?”

“Her Majesty is asleep, my prince. Nivea told me they hope to take her to the gardens this afternoon. The ipês are blooming.”

“Ah, that-that’s good. Good. Make sure they use the new brush I got her, the one with clear bristles. It’s enchanted with untangling. I think she’ll find it more comfortable.”

“Yes, Your Highness. I’ll tell the handmaidens.”

Hector nodded and took a deep, shaky breath. His mother was a wound he nitpicked early in the morning, ripping the bandages to try and keep his energy for the day without spending it concerned for her.

“So… what’s the order of the day?” Hector said finally, sipping his orange juice.

“You have a morning meeting with the envoy from the Hive and a following one with the ones responsible for the celebration. I’ve also added some time for you to look at the documents about the trade route with the Citadel before lunch. Which the King has asked you to attend at the royal family’s dining room.”

Hector had been following the announced schedule with nods of his head, focused mostly on stabbing an out-of-season strawberry when the last tidbit made him scratch his fork on the expensive porcelain.

“Father has asked for me? Did something happen?” Hector inquired immediately.

“I believe His Highness said he… misses you, Your Highness.”

Hector rolled his eyes in exasperation, knowing there would be no denying his father the company. He did not need him showing up spontaneously at one of his meetings with a tray of food. “Confirm my presence, then. No use on running from that.”

“Your sister has also been invited, Your Highness. Princess Iris has confirmed her presence already.”

“Already? Don’t tell me she stood up all night again.”

Cara bit her lower lip, chewing on the thicker scar tissue. A telling gesture that informed of Hector everything he needed to know. He sighed. “Merciful crown, she’s going to end up sick.”

The maid remained silent while Hector thought, eating his breakfast with a new drive born out of concern. Even the fruit turned stale as he imagined Iris wasting her sleeping hours in the search for answers, reading by candlelight like some drow addicted to their thesis.

“Anything else?” Hector tempted fate while picking a cashew nut. Toasted just the way he liked it.

“The Duchess has asked for a moment of your time. To discuss the war efforts, I believe.” Cara answered, noticing how the eyes of the prince turned calculating for a second. It spooked her sometimes the way he looked when judging a decision. And now, with his Gift, his glare seemed to hold even more power.

“Servant or letter?” Hector simply inquired, settling on the most likely possibility behind the meeting.

“A written request.”

“Good, then it’s not too urgent. Arrange a time for us to convene during the afternoon. Twilight, preferably.” He ordered, beginning to eat his yogurt. Products from the cattle of Indra should be properly tasted as the delicacies they were 一 especially considering the price the crown paid for them; Hector had seen the ledges 一 but he was in a hurry now. Too many things to do and too little time.

There had been less than a day since he had his Gift Dream, but Hector refused to stop working. Even if his father forbade him from it, he knew not how to stand still. There were deals to be made, battles to orchestrate… and his own family to attend to.

This morning was already building itself to be a busy one.

***

Properly bathed, dressed, and with his golden curls properly tended to, Hector sat in another room this time. Unlike the adjoined office to his chambers where he had breakfast, this was one of the many reception rooms around the palace; made for awe or terror, depending on the guest.

With crystal walls covered in dizzying blotches of colorful paint, furnished with rainbow furniture that left one’s mind retching at the contrast of the colors, Hector sat dressed entirely in white. The single clear spot in the maelstrom of information that was the room.

He stared longingly at the rest of the green couch he sat on. He could really use a more comfortable position than sitting rod-straight at the center, pillows surrounding him to ensure the other seats were occupied. His leg had been aching since he woke up for some reason, so even putting the perfectly balanced half-weight of his body sent spikes up his spine.

Something Gift related, maybe? He’d have to ask Zizos later on.

A knock on the door made him adjust his brooch once again, ensuring everything was perfect. “Come in,” Hector said, watching as the reason for his picking of the room arrived.

What announced her presence was the sound of fluttering wings, light and crisp against the air. By the time Iriekna had sat down on the backless sky-blue couch set for her, Hector had already been pouring some tea for them. Fruity, as he customarily preferred.

The trusted blue Beetle Inetkin that followed the diplomat everywhere entered after, silent as always 一 though, was that exasperation in his eyes? Hector had been getting better at reading the alien faces of the Inetkin ever since the dealings between Asden and the Hive were transferred to him.

The prince gave a quick look at what the guard was staring at and saw his compound eyes locked on his mistress, his brain quickly making the connection. Ah, she didn’t wait for precautions, did she?

Iriekna remains as unruly as usual then.

Resting back on the lover’s seat, teacup in hand, he took to the time to examine his guests, pretending to sip at the warm liquid. After an entire week of dealing closely with them, he still found them fascinating. No wonder even the White Queen herself took one of the Inetkin under her wing.

Fully armored in grayish-blue metal plates, with two out of four hands holding a massive halberd, the Beetle Inetkin stood alert and silent behind Iriekna, his tall frame made even taller by the horn on the top of his head. His extended mandibles were short and thick, open just slightly as he kept watch.

In front of him, sitting while staring at the room and its colors with her compound eyes, trying to focus on his presence while her brain worked hard to comprehend the multitude of colors and shapes, the Moth Inetkin that was Iriekna was dressed in a light yellow summer dress 一 adjusted for her four arms 一 and brown leather boots that reached the middle of her calves. The wide-brim hat she wore outside 一 a massive thing fit for the ladies of the court, cream-colored and with some odd blue lace around it 一 laid on her lap, revealing the ghastly white hair that fell from her head, straight as silk.

Everything they wore looked brand new. The armor polished until mirror, the halberd’s edge sharp and whole as if just smithed, Iriekna’s boots unmarred by the dirt and time. It all fit accordingly to the reports Cara had given Hector before the meeting.

The Inetkin 一 the only race living in the heart of the Arilan Jungle, one that had been close enough to dominate the known world, famed for their unrelenting stance during wars and as the central worshipers of The Flower of Change 一 had been on a shopping spree ever since they arrived in Asden.

Hector had actually guffawed when reading about it.

He put his cup down, a smile on his lips. “How have you been enjoying the Queendom, Emissary?”

“Oh, it’s been delightful, Prince Hector! All those colors and buildings and shops. Do you know how difficult it’s to find quality blades in the jungle? Gods, and don’t get me started on the cuisine. So much meat and seasoning. Poor dear Kirlin even cried when eating one of your spicier dishes.” Iriekna said in that clicking voice of her kind, looking up at her protector with a smile full of mirth, covertly using the broad blue carapace of him to steady her mind under the assault of so many colors. The Beetle Inetkin, Kirlin, remained as stoic as ever 一 not even looking down at her.

“I’m glad you have been enjoying your stay. The Crown considers it important that our visitors enjoy Asdenian culture. Have you tried the open baths?” Hector added the pleasantry, not truly committed to the conversation yet, as his mind churned at the important details in Iriekna’s statement. Could he offer weapons for what the Queendom needed?

Maybe.

“I haven’t had the opportunity. But I’ll try to remedy that before we return home.” Iriekna smiled amiably, her wings fanning a little. “Nevertheless, congratulations are in order! It truly is a blessing that such a talented young man has awakened his Gift. Spring willing, you’ll enter the hall of legends like the White Queen!”

“May she shine eternally.” He recited the old oath, paying homage to the founder of the Queendom. “Thank you, Emissary. It was a nice surprise to receive my own Gift so soon. But Creation tends to work in mysterious ways.”

“That it does, Your Highness, that it does. But it does reward the worthy, like you and Lady Grace.” She showed a little more teeth, and Hector wondered if it was supposed to be some kind of jab at him.

Ah, she omitted Iris. Poor fool.

“Of course, my older sisters are both incredibly talented. We couldn’t expect less of royals, after all.”

“Certainly. And yet, Princess Iris has not received her Gift. It makes one wonder how secure the future queen shall be without Creation on her side.”

Hector listened to the woman’s commentary intently, letting the silence extend itself for a little while. His entirely friendly smile fixed on his face like a painting as he looked at Iriekna until she began twitching. Without his voice to guide the conversation, and her manners stopping the woman from keeping commenting without losing her attempt at an attack, the room must have begun to feel… oppressive.

Silently, just out of a tiny bit of spite and partial curiosity, he used a bit of [Minor Haze] on the room. The Ability used so little mana that only the most attuned mages and Gifted could identify it.

As such, Iriekna saw certain blobs of color covering the crystal walls begin to move ever so slightly. A shifting that when she put more of her brain into focusing, vanished as suddenly as it had appeared.

He let it up for a few moments, watching her head twitch from side to side as Iriekna tried to properly see what was not there. Attempting to capture the details of a Dream brought to life.

Taking pity on the Inetkin, Hector slowly let go of his Ability and spoke. “Princess Iris is a great boon to our Queendom, and a prodigy when it comes to her magical abilities. I’m certain our allies will rejoice when she achieves her Path. Am I correct, Emissary?”

“Most definitely, Your Highness. But一”

“Let us talk business then,” Hector interrupted, deriving satisfaction from making the woman swallow her tongue about Iris. She was his sister, yes, but also his future queen. And he would serve her just as vigorously as he served his father. “Is the Hive now able to trade potions for our products?”

And what followed was a serene battle of wills and words, of give and take.

One that Hector won in all the ways that mattered.

***

Diplomacy was, to him, an interesting experiment between equilibrium and balance. Which Hector thought were not the same thing at all, despite what the scholars of the Free Tongue might agree on.

Equilibrium, to him, involved the idea of two diplomatic parties at work always seeking the best decision or outcome for both of them. That was one of the most important lessons the Duchess had taught him early on in his apprenticeship.

For example, take the Inetkin. Considering part of diplomacy was choosing where you would engage your opponent 一 much like a general picking the perfect terrain for his troops 一 they were already at a disadvantage here in the shining heart of Crystalia; more than that, him picking a room built for dealing with them was just another blow.

A very blunt one, but that worked to give them a message without creating too much animosity. The Hive had been withholding the sale of multiple alchemical concoctions and certain jungle products for weeks now.

Those were the first points in his favor. Beyond that, when it came to the initial pleasantries 一 a part of the interaction as important as the negotiations itself 一 Iriekna had tried to keep up with slight jabs against authority and queendom issues; nothing offensive, as that would make her lose the game, but enough to prickle.

His reaction had been correct for most of the part. And that use of silence, that incredible little trick his tutor had taught to unnerve his opponents, had worked splendidly. Yet, there was a mistake in his approach.

Now, while looking at the painted roof of the room he had invited Iriekna, Hector knew that entire debacle about having her admit to Iris’s usefulness could have cost him much of his high ground. All she had to do was agree wholeheartedly and quickly, and instead of having an off-put opponent, Hector would deal with an unbothered one.

He would have to rectify that later. Mistakes could be deadly in the intricate game of diplomacy.

Still, equilibrium. And that meant Hector did not do it despite having the high ground and settling himself for a sure victory. He did not engage in the checkmate, did not poison their queen, or invade their lands.

This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

And why? Because too much aggression in the game of diplomacy led to resentment, and only fools or villains would create a vendetta purposefully. Or so he was told.

As such, the deal he made with Iriekna had been to his advantage 一 he had won after all 一 but she didn’t leave the room empty-handed. Perhaps the Inetkin gave more than she desired, but such was life.

With this, he assured the equilibrium between the parties involved in the meeting 一 both the Queendom and the Hive. But what about balance?

If equilibrium is the art of making deals without creating enemies, than balance is knowing what you’re trading for in a deal 一 and making sure you are taking something of equal or greater value than you are giving back. And that has to happen to both parties as well.

Iriekna needed grains and food, mostly, due to the poor soil of the jungle; the high trees and constant rain all year long made it lack nutrients for systematic agriculture. As such, due to the weight the need for those products has on her kind and her decisions, the value food has is much greater for her than, for example, potions of healing, which the Hive has little need for.

On the opposite end, the Queendom has food in abundance; the enriched soil from the volcanic activity of the eastern mountains, the right amount of sunlight all year long, and the abundant rains made Asden a center of food production and all its derivatives. Well, remade would be the correct word.

There had been droughts in the long history of their queendom, of course, but they always ended. No matter how long or great.

What all of that meant to Hector, was that the feeling he was left with after the deal was similar to that of an old horse breeder trading an old mare for a perfect warhorse. A jackpot found and made by impressions and perspective.

And that was balance.

He looked back from the blotches of paint on the ceiling with a sigh. There would be time for philosophy later, when he didn’t have to juggle different plates upwards like a jester.

Getting up from the couch, Hector walked towards the door while getting mentally ready for his next meeting. The details of the celebration planned for him were exhausting to think about 一 too much time spent choosing colors and taste-testing different dishes when he could be making advancements in their preparations against Ferrovia 一 but he had to admit, they were necessary.

The population needed something to enjoy from time to time, keep the morale up and all of that. But still, that entire meeting regarding the Outer City had left a sour taste in his mouth. Knowing what some part of the nobles thought of their own citizens left him feeling disgusted for his peers.

Just thinking about the number of families having to be dislocated left him feeling nauseous and dirty all over. Grubby like the parasitic kings of the Asden of old.

As he pulled the door open and revealed the stone corridor of the castle, Hector stopped suddenly at the entrance, head darting from side to side. Cara was nowhere to be seen. He stayed put, looking at the white stone that made up most of the palace, the corridor looming with a curved ceiling, and a window on the side letting the natural sunlight in.

A marvel of architecture, many would say about the palace and its size 一 too large to remain standing with mundane engineering, too many rooms which appeared and vanished on a whim, and many more that were fixed and could be used for living 一 but Hector’s home tasted like magic and mana all day, every day. A scent that tingled his nose if he focused on it, but that was always there, present just out of his awareness.

Now that he had his Gift, however, his senses had sharpened a little. The scent of mana becoming more pungent. Easier to be noticed.

Still, the memories of his lessons weren’t enough to calm him down. No matter how many bricks he counted, how many etches on the wooden door he trailed, how much bloody art he examined on the walls. The silence, the loneliness, the stillness of the rooms. All of that fell on his shoulders like a curse, weighing him down, turning his breathing into a conscious thing, his fair skin clammy with cold sweat. He hated it. Loathed the way the fear gripped him so quickly.

Little Hector, always followed, never alone. Or he would fold and cry and beg for someone to latch onto. Scarred by childhood fears, marred by cowardice, unable to lift a blade without vomiting his guts out.

His head taunted him, his own shadow elongating all over the floor. A Dream, he tried to convince himself, his Truth preening at the attention and calling as if some spiritual cat. But it wasn’t that; he was wide awake.

Similar, but different. His brain attacking his body, responding to threats that were not there. Not a Dream. Not a nightmare. A delirium.

The distinctions felt slim to someone plagued by all three of them.

Using all his energy, he took a step forward, leaning on the wall for support while his feet dragged across the stone. His shoes made such a loud sound he kept jumping at them, looking over his shoulder for any kind of movement only to admonish himself for doing it. There was nothing there. Never was, but once.

Hector had turned around the corner now, contemplating using his Gift to admonish his fears 一 despite knowing the consequences of such Abilities 一 when he heard the footsteps. The sound reached his ears in a cadence he knew almost better than his own.

It took a moment for Cara’s figure to show up, the exact time for him to relax enough and swallow the bitter taste in his mouth: saliva clad in panic. The feeling of it drizzling down his dry throat made Hector feel disgusted.

“Your Highness! I’m so sorry. There’s been an emergency that requires your attention.” The maid explained, her walking speed constant despite the aggravation in her voice.

“Cara,” Hector said, pulling a little square of embroidered cloth from his pocket to clean the cold sweat on his forehead as best as possible. “What happened?”

“There’s been an attack at The Brimming Plaza. The Order is dealing with it, but you have to see this,” Cara grimaced as she delivered the final blow that turned Hector’s eyes into wide saucers. “The Eleventh Soul has begun to move.”

***

“What can you tell me, Grandmaster?” Hector eyed the sitting man, his plump form wobbling as he kept on munching on something. A piece of cake, he believed, although the amount of filling turned it more into a pudding than a cake.

Sir Tirion, Grandmaster of the Order of Amethyst, second son to the Duke of Elvendor, burped from his place on the chair. “Nothing much, Your Highness. There’s been an explosion at the Plaza’s main building. Some dead. Witnesses claim it was the work of extremists.”

The First Prince of Asden stared at that sorry, sorry visage with glaring eyes. Was that wine staining his shirt? It wasn’t even noon yet!

“Nothing much?” Hector managed to croak out in anger, though he had to take a deep breath before continuing. “Nothing much would be someone spilling my tea, Sir Tirion. This? This is an attack on our capital by enemies that you knew the existence of and. Didn’t. Prepare. Accordingly!”

He pushed his fingers through his blond hair, noticing how the rest of the participants were silent. The Minister of Coin 一 or the Eye of Trade, in the more archaic title 一 remained still with that mousy face of his, looking behind too small glasses at numbers unseen, eyelids flickering. The Lungs of Navigation, the duo responsible for exploration, tourism, and navigation in both land and sea, remained poised in their corner of the table. Even the Heart of War in one of his rare appearances far from the Front, with his burlier shape and crossed arms, kept to his silence.

The Hand of Glory wasn’t here yet. But she wouldn’t take long; that Hector knew for certainty. The Duchess of Rosemia, wasn’t known for skirting her duties 一 especially when they involved the ancestral gift of her bloodline.

The prince spoke once more.

“Now. Tell me, again. Why did you not know there were agents from the Eleventh Soul walking around Crystalia, when I’m certain there’s been an increase in budget and personnel of the Order this past year. Am I wrong, Lord Castor?”

The mousy man, with his receding brown hair and too-thin frame, jerked at the sudden calling; whatever Ability or Spell he had been using, fading. “Ah, that’s correct, Your Highness. A thirteen percent increase in the allocated budget for new knights, yes.” Lord Castor adjusted his glasses near the end.

The other Ministers laughed to some degree or another at the man’s tone and voice, his usually nervous demeanor serving as a well-known topic for jokes in the court. Hector simply smiled in thanks, unwilling to engage in jests at Castor’s expanse.

The prince returned his stare to the unfortunate Grandmaster the Order had and waited for a response. The man didn’t react beyond chewing on a chicken leg.

Hector’s eye visibly twitched.

“Cara, please take care of his food.” The prince gave the low order, and the maid made the plate in front of Sir Tirion and the chicken leg he carried vanished with a wave of her hand. The man huffed in offense and Hector considered asking Cara to make the chair under him disappear as well.

“Answer my question, Sir Tirion. Or I swear to all hells I will make it so not a drop of wine reaches your chambers.”

The knight sighed, and Hector couldn’t tell if the threat affected the man the way he hoped. “We haven’t yet counted the bodies, Your Highness. The knight in command of the forces are coordinating with the staff to rescue who they can. And we are still searching for the assailants.”

“Which were walking around undetected. In a place that almost neighbors the palace. How come the Order was unaware?”

Tirion had the decency of at least looking abashed by Hector’s commentary, though the following response came not from the man, but from the person suddenly appearing into the room with only the faint sound of whistling as an announcement.

“Incompetence, my dear Hector. That’s the answer you’re looking for.” Melissa Naralez, Hand of Glory and Duchess of Rosemia clarified as she sat down, the sound of the tune vanishing as her body became corporeal from song itself. “Though it’s unbecoming of you to search for answers you already know, my prince. Humiliation is pettiness. I’ve taught you better than that.”

Hector blushed a little, reverting his aggressive stance towards Sir Tirion back to the quiet one he used to have as a child unconsciously. He felt like a little boy following the Duchess’s footsteps every time she lectured him 一 and that could happen anywhere, anytime. Melissa Naralez paid little mind to embarrassment when she considered a lesson important.

“Your Grace. How fares the Brimming Plaza?” He asked, with more poise than necessary, and caught the risen eyebrow on the Duchess’s face 一 red like her hair.

“Madam Leticia has found some time to send me the news. Though I fear they are… confusing at best, and would dearly ask my colleagues to elucidate in what they can.”

The Hand of Glory produced a letter from thin air, her eyes shining pink like her fin-ears for a second before the paper materialized into existence. Hector glimpsed the cramped writing of someone wanting to put as much detail into a report as possible.

“She writes that the attack came from three, undisguised assailants. A male sopan, a male goblin, and a human female. All wearing the same combination of leather armor. She has amended some descriptions from witnesses 一 apparently, she was rendered unconscious and only managed to see the human.”

The Heart of War leaned closer to the table, unfolding his arms. The human man was a small giant reaching almost two meters in height, his black hair reaching his shoulders in oily strands, scars crisscrossing his brown skin. Fiarco Yandeia, or General Fiarco as he was commonly known in the army, spoke with the deep voice one would expect from someone his size.

“Did she speak of their powers? Gifts, sorcery, artifacts?”

Duchess Naralez didn’t read more of the paper 一 a glance was enough for her to absorb all the mundane information for someone as talented with her Gift as she 一 and answered with a little more detail.

“The Sopan was their leader, apparently. Strong enough to render the witnesses immobile. The goblin and he were responsible for the attack properly, while the woman kept watch outside; she was the one that fought with Leticia. Her Gift was wind-related according to her. She says it’s uncertain if the explosion was a spell or an Ability, but Leticia believes there was… a target.”

“Really? Did someone annoy them that much? I thought they would be a little more scared of us.” One of the Lungs 一 a Satyr man with light brown fur, green eyes and stubby horns 一 spoke.

“It’s bold, I’ll tell you that. Can’t the Tower use one of the arrays to find them? If they’re only Gifted, it shouldn’t be that hard to do it.” The other Lung, a human woman with an eyepatch over her left eye, completed the thought. The Hand of Glory nodded in agreement and stared pointedly at Sir Tirion.

“I expect they will find out who they are soon enough.” She said, and the Grandmaster swallowed thickly. He took her a lot more seriously than Hector, the prince realized. “And about their targets, there were two Faithful of the Tearful Woman at the Plaza. Their bodies were not found among the wreckage, so they probably took them.”

“Priests or Hounds?” The Heart of War asks, a furrow in his brow.

“Hounds. Which I find particularly curious, as they are not the main power inside the Church.”

Hector puts a hand to his chin, now sitting in one of the chairs as he listened to the conversation. Cara, bless her heart, produced a cup of cold water for him to sip on and laid it on the table.

“Perhaps it's a ruse? Or an experiment? It doesn’t sound like they got much out of it, only attention. And that’s—not something I think they’d want.”

“You’re right, Your Highness. Was there another attack at the same time, perhaps?” Lord Castor’s question made the others grimace. The possibility of more agents from the Eleventh Soul roaming around would make this an even larger problem than it already was.

“None that we are aware of. The Tower reports no invasions, and there was not a single attack at the churches or other expected targets of them.”

“So they just blew one of our central buildings apart for… almost nothing? That doesn’t make sense.” Hector commented, and the others agreed with a nod.

“Indeed,” The Duchess said, a small smile on her lips. And the First Prince of Asden, the Tongue of Diplomacy, knew his mentor had her own suspicions to deliver. “I believe this was a multi-purpose attack. The Twins have proved themselves particularly crafty with their plans, especially the Engineer.”

Melissa began to count on her fingers as she listed her hypothesis—an oddly mundane gesture for someone that needed no help when remembering things. Perfect nails long enough to be claws clicked together, painted a vibrant shade of pink; impractical to all but those who need not raise a hand to work.

“First, they took their bodies and armor, so it’s within reason we should expect some kind of infiltration to the Church’s ranks. Possibly an attack from within that aligns with the purpose of their… organization. The Fingers have reported the increase in hostile activity from the Church, so there should be a connection.”

“What are they doing?” General Fiarco asked as he had only recently returned from the Front. “The Faithful, I mean.”

“Kidnapping newly Gifted. A most clear infringement of the Accords, but we were waiting for more information on their plan before striking them down—after ensuring the young were not coming to undue harm, of course.”

Hector chewed on his lower lip. He had been mostly against the plan when the Hand of Glory introduced it in one of their meetings, as it was part of his new position to coordinate with their foreign agents and ensure the Church’s actions didn’t come from beyond their borders, but still… thinking about people his age or younger locked away by Priests made his skin crawl.

What hurt more than knowing that? The reactions from the Ministers. They knew the Churches were in the Outer City, they knew they’d only take children from there—and all they did was shrug their shoulders and get ready to sacrifice them if needs be, as long as they figured out the reason behind it all.

Merciful Crown, he watched the Lungs begin to rampage at the audacity of the Faithful for infringing the Accords and not giving a single word for the plight of the children. It was inevitable that he resented his noble colleagues so much at times.

Cara must have seen the look on his face souring, for she approached with a sudden slice of lemon to add to his water. It meant nothing, only a distraction tactic she engaged in at times, but the sound brought him out of his sudden distaste and back into the placid face of a worthy diplomat.

The Duchess watched him. Noticing it all.

“Please, focus.” Her voice rang with subtle power, and the unprepared found their heads turning towards her ever so slowly, complaints fading. “There’s still more. We will expedite our actions against the Church of Tears, rescue the Gifted and cease their operation for a while—before the Eleventh Soul moves on their own, least we allow them to become heroes. And we do not want that.”

“Agreed. The people shouldn’t view them as anything but what they truly are: warmongering brutes.” Lord Castor nodded.

“Indeed. In second place, I believe there’s still more to it. Them giving out such obvious clues assures me they will attempt to make a more covert move somewhere—”

The Duchess was interrupted by the swinging of the door. A loud slam as it opened inwards to reveal the King and Crown Princess—ready to participate in a meeting already ongoing.

And behind them? Servants carried a feast in closed silver trays, arranging themselves at the sides and turning the discussion into an impromptu lunch.

Hector couldn’t contain it. The groan that escaped his throat sounded like defeat.

***

The meeting derailed from there. And not for a lack of trying from the interested parties — which were Hector, Duchess Melissa, General Fiarco and, not as surprising as one might expect, his sister.

Iris, in fact, was the perfect picture of a future queen of Asden — sitting on the right side of our father in that perfect pose Lady Sbertha had ingrained in our very brains and bodies through hundreds of hours and lessons on proper etiquette. Melindrael style, of course.

Yet, many would still call his sister… lacking. A princess in title. A crown heir by blood. And still, lacking.

Fools. The whole lot of them.

He could see it in the way his sister moved sometimes. The over-twitching of her fingers, the way she craned her neck to stare at your eyes when you spoke, the way her own unfocused when presented with a problem — trying to come up with a solution that used only magic and wits. An old game turned into a habit.

A prodigious spellcaster. An avid scholar. A… sister.

That mattered. That might even be the main reason why he was so loyal. Iris was good. Entirely.

He refocused on the conversation.

“And yet, they have taken over Pirian. An entire city of our queendom lost to these… mad men.” Lord Virian Greentree was the one that spoke, his stubby horns adorning the mop of untamed brown curls that was his head. The other Lung, Catelina Triar, nodded along.

Duchess Melissa stopped the rising indignation with a shake of her head, denying the loss.

“Not lost, Lord Virian. Pirian was ceded—there’s a difference. We must not forget that there was a purpose to let them land here instead of Ferrovia. Or even further south.”

“And how fares your plan, Duchess? In fact, shouldn’t you be angrier considering you almost lost half of your heritage?” Catelina asked between forkfuls of chicken hearts. The woman could eat for three… and drink for a dozen, if the constant pouring of wine in her cup was any indication. Even Tirion looked impressed.

“The explosion was an unfortunate accident, dearest Cat, but it was far from a threat to my family’s assets.” She smiled sweetly and looked at each of them. “Let it be known that the Finger’s have already infiltrated deeply into their ranks. And although this… attack was most egregious, I still believe the Eleventh Soul is a resource to be controlled. In fact, this only proves that our intentions were correct—they are a substantial threat to the Faithful.”

The table nodded as one — Hector’s father doing it more of a will to participate than actual understanding. They had voted on Melissa’ plan. And even if Hector had been against it, he understood the value of the barrier the Eleventh Soul could be. And yet…

“Still, this plan depended on us doing this safely, Your Grace. Knowing where they were—where they’d attack—to avoid unnecessary loss of life. Today was a failure. And we should see it as such.”

Iris focused entirely on the Duchess as she spoke. Melissa’s smile stretched for a moment, her eyes crinkling.

“Yes, Your Highness, and we shall. The lost worker’s families will be fairly compensated—but a failure? Let’s try and see this as an opportunity instead. Their sacrifice must not go to waste, after all.”

Hector could feel Iris’ disagreement in the way she looked at Melissa, but the Crown Princess nodded—unwilling to engage in a discussion with the Hand of Glory. Perhaps even she felt curious about what Melissa had planned next.

“With that in mind, we must keep to our plans. This blow to the Church of Tears was… negligible—I’m saddened to say—so we must find other ways to keep them in check.”

The King stopped mid-bite, and with all the artificiality of a doll, fixed his slumped posture suddenly. Hector almost grimaced at the sight, and Sir Tirion of all people had the audacity to snicker.

“And what do you propose, Lady Melissa?”

“We will empower another of the Faithful. One in opposition to their movements and, most importantly, core values.”

Hector narrowed his eyes at the idea, looking for any hint of anything further on his teacher’s expression—but the woman fitted the role of a diplomat perfectly, and her face showed nothing but the same serene smile.

No wonder she had been the Tongue of Diplomacy for years before leaving the position. General Fiarco unfolded his arms.

“And which one should we go for? The Winter Lady? The Festering Rot?”

“No. Those are opposed—somewhat—yes, but The Eternal Frost has shown a tendency of working together with the Church of the Ceaseless Rain when push comes to shove… and I’d dare not to risk any dealings with the Plaguebringers this close to the Gloom’s rising. No, we will move another piece on the board.”

Hector listened attentively and was the first to connect the dots. The Goddess of Rain and Tears had a vast domain, and if those two weren’t her opponents, then the only one left…

“You wouldn’t… If the people found out they would riot. It would be the same as allying ourselves with the Blood Shamans!”

Melissa’s smile turned sharp, and even Iris looked surprised at his outburst—but he could deal with this later on. The amount of trouble to the queendom’s deals and accords the Hand was proposing left Hector’s head spinning just by thinking about it.

“Ah, my dearest student, but they do not need to know. And they will be beyond useful for many of our goals.”

Catelina couldn’t take it anymore. Her face contorted as the duo kept talking without giving a proper revelation to the table.

“Who, Melissa? Who are you calling upon?”

“The power of bliss and joy unending, my dear Cat. The Jar of Love, The Haze of Madness, It Which Feasts…”

The Hand of Glory left her voice wane, and all around the table paled. They were certain she wouldn’t dare use a true name here, but Hector knew better. After all, Hector knew that Melissa Naralez had the Gift of a singer—and there were no words she could not utter and protect them from the worse of it. Besides, she was making a point.

Showing them she truly believed in her newest scheme with the oldest play in the game. Ensuring the balance of the sudden trade by making them see her sacrifice.

The Duchess almost drowned in her own spit trying to say it, salivating beyond her body’s ability with the sheer thought of the name; and when she said it, it trickled down her chin in an overly sweet and pink and thick rivulet. Expanding in a bubble of syrupy liquid.

Blood and saliva and hunger.

“The Glutton.”

And those at the table felt the bubbling laughter of a defiled corpse a continent away.