“The greatest means of control is not force, but the illusion of choice.” – Avila

“I don’t understand, why don’t we just conquer it all? Continent, Concordate, whatever they call themselves. All of it! I’ve discussed this with Omvar—we could just re-assign all their believers to Tetrarchy loyalists and roll over them. It would be a joke!”

Ravena was impetuous. She could be like that. Like a storm, leaving everything in her wake disoriented. There were some who liked her for exactly that quality. Lavelle was not one of them.

Instead, she fixed her gaze on Ravena, one leg draped over the other, her expression radiating confusion. “What makes you think we haven’t conquered them already?”

Ravena regarded Lavelle with a puzzled look. They sat—well, laid in Ravena’s case—on expansive couches, surrounded by a maze of statues arranged like a crowd. Cast from Decoran marble, if Lavelle’s eyes did not deceive her, each statue portraying a different pose. Their stony faces gave the decidedly weird impression of having an audience to their conversation.

“But they have their own armies,” Ravena protested, “They have princes, councils, policies, none of which are supervised or directed by us. What if they unite? What if they revolt?” Ravena’s face was etched with the same paranoid greed that Lavelle had seen, and loathed, on countless men and women in the Tetrarchy.

With more than a hint of displeasure, Lavelle also noted the absence of a mask on Ravena’s face. None of the young Elevated or Delegates were wearing them these days. Sometimes, she felt like fighting against a river, water rushing by as she struggled. Her own mask, a sleek silver wave adorned with undulating emerald lines, always rested on her face when she stayed in the city. A thought came to her mind, or rather a quote. ‘Revolutions birth nations, traditions raise them.’ Was that Avila? Or maybe Ilgast? She would need to read that up later.

“Let me answer you with a question.” Stifling her rising annoyance, Lavelle began to address Ravena’s concerns. “What would the Tetrarchy become, if we did set out to conquer the world? What would Kel become?” She paused briefly, sipping her Limrodian red. Giving the other woman a moment to think. Not that Ravena would do that. “We’d disappear, my dear Ravena. Like a drop of ink in the ocean, we’d be consumed by Demis, Ustil, Sariz, Loratha, Limrod, all of them. We are the few, Ravena. And for what? What would we gain that we don’t have already?”

Her delicate forehead creased in frowns, Ravena was about to protest when Lavelle raised her hand, ticking off points on her fingers. “We appoint their Elevated. We control trade through the straits. We are invulnerable to military and economic attacks. In fact, we gain economically from tariffs and fees for Elevated training. Quite exorbitant fees, I might add.”

There was more to it, of course. More layers, more intricacies, more misdirection. The whole matter of the south, forever a thorn in her side. But discussing it all would serve no purpose here. Ravena did not need to know everything.

Even lying down on a couch costing more than the average house in Kel, Ravena emanated an aura of never being satisfied with what she had. Here was a woman who did not care one bit about anything happening outside her lavish estate—if it did not directly concern her or her plans.

Briefly, Lavelle shifted her gaze toward the macabre statues around them. Their rigid, yet surprisingly expressive, faces seemed to mirror their conversation—some amused, some bored, a few appearing critical. Lavelle wondered whether the sculptors of these masterpieces ever imagined that their creations would bear witness to machinations of power-hungry gods. Quite likely though, given that they would have been bought by some rich person or another.

“But it’s not just about what we have now.” Not used to being schooled, Ravena shifted uncomfortably on the couch, fingers tapping incessantly on the armrest. “It’s about what we could have. Imagine the stability we could ensure, the lasting peace, if we had absolute control,” she insisted.

Lavelle sighed, her patience starting to wear thin at the obvious attempts at manipulation. Ravena sounded so petulant to her ears. Like a little girl, unable to understand why she could not have even more candy. This obsession with power was going to be the death of her. “And what exactly would we do with all that power?” Lavelle asked. “How would we maintain it? Acquiring power is easy. Keeping it, not so much.”

“I refuse to believe that.” Ravena’s stubbornness would not yield as her eyes narrowed in defiance. “There must be a way. We just need to be smarter, more strategic. Selvi controlled a whole continent, back in his day.”

“Which eventually led to his downfall, if I may remind you. No, it’s not about intelligence or strategy, Ravena,” Lavelle responded, shaking her head. “It’s about understanding that, sometimes, true power comes from giving up control.”

“That sounds like it came from a book, my dear,” Ravena replied, a half-smile playing on her lips. Her demeanor softened slightly. She seemed to be more at ease with wordplay and quotes, akin to the courtly exchanges she was familiar with.

“Perhaps it did, things worth saying are often written down,” Lavelle chuckled softly, a hint of conciliation in her expression. “But it’s also the truth. Power may be what we want, but it’s not what we need.”

At this, Ravena’s tapping fingers paused, and she started to pay careful attention to Lavelle. “So, what do we need?” Like a tiger prowling in the underbrush, Lavelle thought.

Drawing a deep breath, she steeled herself for the difficult conversation ahead. “We need stability,” she said. “Unity. We need to focus on strengthening the Tetrarchy from within, not on expanding our borders. We have bigger issues to deal with than the north.”

To her surprise, Ravena let her last sentence go uncommented. Not that she was authorized to know anything about quads or the like anyway. Just being a delegate did not give you all the privileges that only trust could earn. Not under her watch.

Instead, the other woman fell silent, considering Lavelle’s words, her forehead creased in confusion. “But if we don’t seize power, won’t our enemies consider weak? We’re supposed to be these godlike beings, regulating and administering them. Won’t they view our reluctance to act as fear?”

“Both our enemies and allies fear us already, Ravena.” Shaking her head, Lavelle’s emerald gaze held a touch of melancholy. “They know what we’re capable of. And demonstrating restraint often is the strongest display of power.”

Ravena seemed to ponder Lavelle’s words for a long moment, her eyes wandering across the statues around them, as if seeking an answer in their faces. Lavelle noticed, not without surprise, Ravena’s hand grip her wine glass with a force that betrayed her outward calm. This was it. The moment of truth, as trite as it may sound.

Ravena exhaled heavily, breaking the silence. “You’re probably right, Lavelle. It’s just... I feel we’re not truly exploiting the power at our disposal, you know? We could do so much more for this world. But I’m sure you know what’s best for the Tetrarchy.”

She had lost.

Lavelle could see it clearly in Ravena’s eyes. Whatever she would say now, none of it would penetrate the barriers that narcissism and greed had erected over the years. None of it would really reach Ravena. Yet her fellow Delegate was a sly woman and would expertly pretend to be persuaded by Lavelle’s arguments. There was no point in confrontation.

Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

Despite the lack of a clear hierarchy among the Elevated and Delegates, there usually was someone who was, informally, recognized as the leader of a corps. Another precaution against power concentration, as with so many things in her world. Despite the prominence of Leftos in official ceremonies and at Feldar’s side, despite the position of Thavos as Feldar’s de facto bodyguard, that person in Kel clearly—without a shred of doubt—was Lavelle. So, if there was any way to avoid it, Ravena would not openly confront Lavelle. Not yet, at least.

So it was at this exact moment that Lavelle Anara Valcorin—though nobody had called her that for a very, very long time—decided that the woman in front of her had to die.

The thought had been germinating in Lavelle’s mind for a while now, but she had always pushed it to the back of her mind, telling herself that it was not needed, that she could get through to Ravena, somehow.

This trip to Kel had many reasons but one—and not the least important by far—was to investigate some troubling rumors. Certain… machinations in her city. Whispers of war, attempts to persuade Feldar and his council that going into the offensive would be the wise choice. Other… allegations accompanying the war effort. Lavelle almost shuddered but managed to suppress it just in time.

Some people really did believe there was opportunity in war. She knew better. She had seen it, many times. War destroyed. That was all it did. The only opportunities lay in peace. She took another sip of her wine, trying to keep her expression neutral.

Ravena’s voice broke the tense silence, a trace of innocence lacing her words, “Is something wrong, Lavelle?”

“No, nothing,” Lavelle drew a deep breath and offered her a forced smile. “I was just lost in thought, that’s all.” Ravena seemed to accept this, but she could see the suspicion lingering in her eyes. That woman was not one to be easily fooled. Lavelle would have to be careful.

Being wary in Kelian high society was more than justified. Throughout their conversation, Lavelle herself was keenly aware of the many servants passing by the room, likely eavesdropping on their conversation. Information was as valuable as gold in the Tetrarchy. She could swear that even the Belt-cursed statues were listening in, their lifeless eyes fixated on the two women.

Clearing her throat to distract Ravena from her line of thought, Lavelle decided to change the subject. “So, tell me about Omvar’s return.”

Yet again feigning innocence, Ravena’s eyes narrowed. “What do you mean?”

Lavelle made a dismissive gesture, her eyes sparkling with faint amusement. “Ravena. Dear. Surely, you didn’t think for a moment your little affair with a high-ranking bureaucrat—a man whose job it is to decide how powerful you are, I might add—would be anything less than public knowledge, did you? I’m simply curious what’s going on with him now. I heard he took part in some expedition to the south?”

Looking slightly chagrined, Ravena sighed and sipped her wine before speaking. “He has returned, yes. But he’s not exactly in the best shape. The expedition was a disaster.”

Lavelle leaned forward, her curiosity piqued, now only partly an act. “What happened?” She had heard a few isolated fragments about the expedition on the docks but had come straight here from her ship. Did they find another one?

Ravena hesitated a moment before a conspiratorial mood overtook her. “They lost an Elevated, you know? Rashaad of Akhantar. Never really liked the man but he practically led the Akhantari corps! And Leftos. Leftos. The man still won’t say a single word about the actual damn purpose of the whole exercise, can you believe it? He treats me like a child!”

Lavelle did not bother to hide her smile. Ravena had taken the bait. “That’s very unfortunate about Rashaad,” she said, and meant it. “I knew him quite well, he was solid. And don’t get me started on Leftos, always a bit of a mystery, isn’t he? But what about Omvar? Is he okay?” Mentally, Lavelle calculated. At least one Elevated and one Delegate. The Ministry would not have bothered if it was not important. She would have to speak to Tarene.

“Physically, he’s fine. Mostly.” Ravena’s features softened. “But mentally... he’s not doing too well. Traumatized, they say.”

Curse the Belt. Beneath all her ambitions and lust for power, she actually cared for this man. Lavelle wondered whether Ravena herself realized this.

Her thoughts circled around the various factions within Kel, a complex web of alliances and betrayals, each vying for power and influence. How would Ravena’s power lust affect this fragile equilibrium? More pointedly, how would her downfall?

Outwardly, however, Lavelle’s eyes narrowed in concern. “What do you mean? Trauma from what?”

“I don’t know all the details,” Ravena shrugged, gesticulating vaguely with a ring-studded hand, “but from what I’ve heard, a lot happened on that expedition. Creatures, devices, slaughter, all that. Omvar’s not making a lot of sense when he talks about it. Oh, and he really doesn’t like to travel by ship. I got that out of him pretty easily.”

Lavelle reclined, the wine in her glass casting a ruby glow in the dim light as she mulled over Ravena’s words. The surrounding statues seemed to ponder with her. How I hate them, she thought. Voiceless and powerless witnesses to the great Ravena, Delegate of Kel.

It was no secret that Ravena had her fair share of enemies, both within the Tetrarchy and beyond. Her thirst for power and influence had drawn the ire of many powerful figures who considered her a threat to their own ambitions. Maybe something could be done there.

It was a dangerous game Ravena was playing, after all, and Lavelle knew the price of failure all too well. It was not just their fellow Elevated and Delegates they needed to worry about; even servants and low-ranking bureaucrats could pose a threat if they felt intimidated or slighted. Or betrayed, perhaps.

It almost sounded like she had a plan.

“Ravena, I think we’ve covered enough ground for today,” she said, her mind a whirlpool of thoughts. “Unfortunately, I have other matters to attend to.”

Ravena nodded, apparently oblivious to Lavelle’s inner turmoil. “Of course, Lavelle. Always a pleasure. Until next time.”

Seems like I’m not the only one whose mind is elsewhere today, Lavelle thought. She stood, wine glass in hand, offering Ravena a final nod before she turned away and headed toward the door.

The corridor of Ravena’s mansion was a winding pathway lined with even more statues, each one an impressive, but probably unorthodox, representation of some mythical creature or another. As she navigated toward the building’s entrance, Lavelle took in the silent, inanimate observers of this game of power she was entangled in.

Her thoughts continued their tumultuous meandering, revolving around her conversation with Ravena. She needed to act, and fast, before Ravena’s unpredictability would set off a maelstrom that Kel could not escape from. Reaching the entrance of the mansion, Lavelle stepped into the cool embrace of the night and descended the sweeping staircase onto the cobblestone path that led to the gate out to the Zelphar Quarter.

Kel. A temple to flesh, intrigue, and a pantheon worth of gods, as the poets liked to say. She took in a deep breath. She had missed it.

Lavelle had visited every major city in the north and the Belt, yet nothing even closely compared to Kel. She paused. Wait, she thought, I haven’t been to Limrod yet. Curious, that. Maybe if someone dies soon. Lavelle idly recollected what she had heard about that city. Amusingly, most stories involved wine. Or theater. Often both.

While people like Ravena preferred to remain in their carefully maintained and protected sphere, Lavelle had always been a ground agent. She could have easily presided over Kel out of some lofty office or palace in Ebonshade. Yet she felt more at ease amidst a crowd than confined to a mansion. Always had. It was a lot easier to blend in, in her experience, if the people that saw you changed all the time.

And so, with every step, Lavelle aged. Not much, perhaps a few months, possibly a year. But, over time, her smooth skin wrinkled, her silken hair turned coarse and lost color. Even her gait grew unsteady, back becoming slightly hunched. No one noticed, because nobody witnessed the full transformation. Yet after a brief walk, the metamorphosis was complete. Gone was Lavelle, the mighty Kelian Delegate. Instead, an old woman shuffled down the street, forcing passersby to walk around her.

She removed her emerald and silver mask, replacing it with a simple wooden pendant that she wore around her neck. With each step, the weight of her responsibilities seemed to lessen, her shoulders easing back, her stride more casual. The concerns of Lavelle, the Kelian Delegate, faded as she became just another face in the crowd.

Eventually, she turned into a narrow alley, the neat cobblestones of the busy main street giving way to uneven flagstones. The engulfing darkness was oppressive, closing in on her like a blanket. The walls seemed to absorb all light and life, leaving nothing but a layer of dust on the stones. Yet she kept going and, soon enough, reached a small door. Lavelle knocked three times, paused, then knocked twice more before pushing it open. She stepped inside, closing the door behind her.

Inside the room, the darkness persisted. Yet, in the corner, she could roughly make out a seated figure, obscured by the shadows, only barely visible in the gloom. Lavelle could just about recognize a tall silhouette with broad shoulders, wearing what appeared to be a suit and... a cape? Knowing that nobody could see it, Lavelle rolled her eyes in exasperation.

Standing there in the darkness of a run-down living room in the middle of Kel, Lavelle allowed a hint of amusement to touch her lips as she whispered, “Hello Leftos.”