The hour before lunch on my official schedule said simply, “Time for Reflection,” which was vague enough to mean anything. But after fifteen minutes I already had no idea what to do. I’d been sitting in my armchair, flipping through books absentmindedly and ruminating over the morning’s excruciating political disaster.

After perusing the titles on the small bookshelves in my room, I’d resigned myself to the fact that I would need to go to the archives later if I wanted anything useful. I tried to find an excuse for why I needed books containing information I already should have known. It felt impossible to learn what I needed without exposing myself as a fraud. Asmodeus would undoubtedly have raised an eyebrow, if he had one, if I tried to borrow books on elemental magic.

Mona could teach me, but she had her own schedule and needed to keep up appearances too. I was waiting for her to return from morning services, and I hadn’t wanted to hang out with only Ilmatar for an entire hour, so I’d sent him on a mission to oversee our lunch.

After Princess Nymphyra had stormed out, I’d brought the council meeting to a close and left in a hurry. While leaving, I’d seen Shatterbone and Phaedra off to one side, discussing something. I hadn’t heard them, but I’m sure it was nothing good considering what had transpired.

In any event, the amount of information I still needed to absorb and skills I needed to learn seemed vast. I could have asked Mona to borrow books on my behalf, but she had no reason to read half of what I was interested in, either.

I’d been hoping the bookshelf in my chambers would have some books on magic or history, as I thought those subjects would be the most useful to me, but sadly most of these musty tomes were about torture.

There was even one book from Dysthenna that seemed to be a combination of true crime travelogue, torture manual, and tourism guide. Though I hadn’t met any dark elves yet, it made me imagine them with a mixture of fascination and dread. I wondered what their culture must be like for a book like that to exist.

On the bottom shelf, there were a couple of volumes containing strategy and commentary for a board game called Test of Battle which seemed to be popular in Lycanta, as well as what appeared to be sad, handwritten poetry penned by an anonymous author—for all I knew, Greg-Theryx himself. After a few glances, finding the poetry too edgy for my liking, I placed it back on the shelf.

The other books grabbed my attention, however. Test of Battle seemed similar to chess at first, though with more complicated pieces and moves, and was played on a board in the shape of an hourglass as if to simulate a narrow valley between two larger areas. I realized the board must be symbolic of the Valley of the Dead.

By far, the most novel part of the game was that the board was enchanted to hide the position of your pieces from your opponent. You could only see their side of the board if you broke past the valley’s choke point and into their territory. The first few turns of every game were therefore blind for both players as pieces were moved into position and defenses were laid. Sometimes a single piece would be sent ahead, charging forward to collect intelligence before it was sacrificed. These issues of stealth and reconnaissance added an intriguing psychological layer to the game. Banter between opponents was allowed, even encouraged, and being able to read your enemy was an essential aspect of one’s strategy.

The books contained commentary on an annual Test of Battle tournament, the Cup of Honor. Apparently, this was the most popular competitive event in Lycanta, with a substantial monetary prize, and the tournament had been running for hundreds of years, with the only breaks happening during crusades. I flipped the book closed. While it was a diverting glimpse into the culture of Lycanta and had helped distract me from my diplomatic failure, it didn’t seem helpful.

As I continued to search the shelves, I found another book cataloging herbs and fungi species native to the Voidlands. I made a mental note to return and make a list of which species were edible in case I did manage to escape into the wilderness. Or, more likely, considering how things were going, if I was exiled there.

Upon finding none of “my” books terribly useful, I began to read the one I’d gotten from Asmodeus on the holy orders of Lycanta. There had been sixteen orders, the oldest being the Heavenly Order of the Wolf, all fifty-seven members of which had been slain by Greg-Theryx himself in the Battle of Dulgar’s Pass during the First Crusade.

After all, nothing was more hated by the Dark One than Void-touched who had turned to the Light, forsaking their wise and merciful god. Such heathens must be exterminated. That’s what the book said, at least. Unfortunately, it seemed what passed for history in the tower’s archives had an obvious bias, just like the Book of Grievances itself, but there was nothing I could do about that. It’s not like I could borrow books from a library in Lycanta. For now, I’d have to learn what I could, even if it was from Dreadthorn propaganda.

After a while, the text started to swim in my vision, so I leaned back and closed my eyes, trying to mull over what I’d read so far. It was hard to know which of the orders had been revived, or if an entirely new one had formed since the dog-kin in the dungeon hadn’t been wearing any identifying symbols.

As I skimmed the last sections of the book, I realized that most of the newer paladin orders were simply reformed versions of early orders which Greg-Theryx had previously crushed, and so the cycle continued.

At least, it would continue unless I ended it, but the idea that I would accomplish very much here seemed more delusional by the minute.

Our meeting with Gil Ravennest—not Ravencrest, I reminded myself—was in a couple hours, down at the smiths’ guild, out in the city beyond the temple walls. It would be my first time seeing how demons lived outside the palatial confines of the tower.

But all I could think about was that I’d offended a potential ally and lost two more in the process. Even if Ophidium kept buying the so-called produce from us, and was nominally our friend, they could hardly help us fight Sun-Domia while still engaged against the Arachnians. Part of me wondered if we should keep selling to them at all. Were we just pouring fuel on the fire?

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More than that, snake-people and spider-people would die because of what I’d done, or hadn’t. Because a foolish war would now continue.

I wondered if I should have said yes to the Princess and figured out the details later. Or perhaps, if I had done that, I’d simply be wallowing in an entirely different type of misery now, betrothed to a woman who I knew nothing about.

Part of me wondered if I’d have warmed up to her in time. It was hard for me to know if I’d given her fair consideration or if I’d let my initial fear of her warp my perceptions. In my defense, she had been the first spider-person I’d met, and those talons on her legs had clacked quite loudly against the floor, a constant reminder that she was basically carrying around a bunch of swords.

And I hadn’t rejected her, to be clear. I had only tried to delay my decision, which had become a decision in and of itself. Fuck.

I must have been lost in thought, for I didn’t even notice when a knock sounded at my door until a moment later when it opened and, to my disappointment, Ilmatar’s massive horns came into view.

“Ah, Ilmatar. You may enter,” I said, meeting his eye. “I didn’t expect you back yet.”

His eyes focused on me as if analyzing me carefully for signs of … what? Anger? “I thought I’d have a check-in. Having a good brood, Master?”

“Hardly,” I said. “Well, maybe, yes. But now that you’ve called me out, I’m over it. It’s time to move forward.” I didn’t want to show weakness to him. I really couldn’t afford to.

He nodded, then wheeled in the serving cart and began to set the dining table for two. “Very good, Master,” he said. “The kitchens have prepared a cold lunch today, so I thought I would return early. In truth, after what I witnessed this morning, I had an entire inspirational speech prepared. But I see it’s not needed now that you’re over your brooding.”

“Oh?” I asked, rising from the armchair and walking over. “Now I’d like to hear it anyway.”

“Ah, Dark Lord, I suppose it began like this: ‘Don’t worry about the Arachnians or the Ophidians too much. Even if we had secured their help, neither would ever be as reliable, or as capable, as our own legions.’”

I nodded. “Our troops are, of course, far superior.” I had no idea if that was true, but it seemed like the right thing to say.

“Plus, we have that gaseous terror business if it comes down to it. Despite my distaste for it, it is a bit of an ace up our sleeve, is it not, my Lord?”

“True,” I said, closing my book about paladins and setting it on the dining table. The table had been carved from black wood, and though it was spiky around the legs, no anguished demons or screaming imps were carved into it, which was a rarity in the room and so caused me to pause for a moment in appreciation of its understated style.

“And lastly, Master, if this may help you…” His voice trailed off as if he looked nervous. “I know your secret.”

I felt my heart skip a beat. I stared in shock, wondering if I could subdue Ilmatar if I needed to. After all, he was not a fighter or a sorcerer. I felt the words of the invocation of fire on the tip of my tongue, the feeling of the chain in my mind, though I had no idea if the spell would work for me again. The way I’d saved Mona the previous night might have been a feat of beginner’s luck, one I wouldn’t be able to repeat.

Adding to my confusion, he gave me a knowing look but said nothing further. I tried to keep my face from betraying any great emotion. “And, uh, what secret is that, Ilmatar?”

His voice dropped. “I don’t know who might be listening, my Lord. The walls of this tower remember everything they hear.”

If that was true, Mona and I were already screwed.

I walked around the table to get closer to him, half expecting him to try to escape. But instead he stood there calmly next to the lunch he had kindly served, as if nothing was wrong. Maybe I had misjudged this. Something about the way he’d said the word secret, I supposed, in that sly way of his, had set me off, causing me to panic. I imagined never seeing Mona again, if they moved against us while we were apart. That was how I would do it, if I were them.

I stopped before I reached him and leaned in slightly.

“Well? Tell me quietly, then.”

“Ah, Master, about your, uh, problem.”

My eyes narrowed, and I stood up straight again. Okay, I freaked out way too quickly. “Ah, yes, my problem. Which is what, exactly?”

“Oh, Dark Lord, I don’t want to say.” His voice had dropped to a faltering whisper and I struggled to hear him. “You should know that you shall have my absolute secrecy in this and all matters. And I shall help you however I can.”

“You’ll help me?”

“Of course, Dark Lord.” He leaned in towards me now. “Forgive me, Master, but I took the liberty of grating some murder root over your lunch today. It’s a known aphrodisiac, so it should help.”

“An aphrodisiac,” I echoed. “Because that’s what I need. For my problem.”

Ilmatar looked at the chamber door as if worried that somehow the guards were listening even though I, the person standing right next to him, could barely make out his words. He seemed more worried about this getting out than Mona was about my actual secret, which gave me pause for a moment before I tried not to think about it.

It was a relief, however, to know that Ilmatar didn’t think I was an impostor. He just thought I had bedroom troubles and wanted to help. I almost laughed, but I wasn’t sure how he’d take that, and in a weird way, it was honestly a kind thing for him to do. Some small part of me had wanted to deny it, initially, out of ego more than anything. But now it felt like a cover story worth leaning into.

“Ah,” I said, “I suppose it must be very obvious.”

“You have been rather out of sorts recently, Master, and we all know that frequent, you know, release, is necessary to…”

“Of course,” I said, nodding along.

“The murder root improves circulation,” he explained. “There are other more potent formulations if needed, but I did not wish to overdo it.”

“Thankfully, my problem is not severe. Only a minor annoyance.”

His eyebrows raised, and then he nodded in vigorous agreement. “Yes, of course, Dark Lord! I would never suggest otherwise.”

“Indeed you would not. Well, I appreciate your secrecy in this matter.”

He nodded again. “Naturally. I wanted to help, too, because I thought it might only be a matter of time before others may notice. After all, Master, there was that whole thing with the Princess, you have not been down to the Hall of Pleasures even once since your summoning, and I have not seen the High Priestess limping on her way out of your room each morning, so…” His voice trailed off as if satisfied he’d supplied enough evidence.

I realized I would have to ask Mona to fake a limp tomorrow morning for the sake of our cover. Though for all I knew, she’d prefer the real thing. My face almost broke into a smile before I collected myself. “Well, I appreciate you noticing and taking action, Ilmatar. Do you think anyone else suspects? Phaedra or Ignak?” Calling Shatterbone by his first name made him less imposing in my mind, a little more manageable.

“Not yet,” Ilmatar said, which relieved me to hear. Even if my true secret was different, I didn’t want anyone else to examine me too closely. Any suspicion was dangerous, no matter how misguided. “Actually, I think Shatterbone is happy with how this played out, Master, and he is not the type to be too inquisitive when things are going his way. The war will continue, which means we get to sell more shit to the Principality of Ophidium. Which means more coin for the General’s retirement fund.”

“Wait,” I said. “The General’s what?!”