Riccaro intercepted Aida before she made it ten steps down the hallway back to her room. By the huge bruise on his face and the gray dust coating his once-fine toga, he'd stood with the Dynasts in the courtyard. What she'd though of as his usual mode of condescension and distance now transformed to shock and not a little fear. The majordomo approached her as if she might hurl him down the hallway at the slightest provocation.

"Sorry about the mess." She reached to pluck a twig off his collar.

Riccaro fell away from her several steps before he caught a hold of himself and found some dignity. "Ahem. Dynast Aida, more guests come seeking audience with you."

"Tell them about my last audience. Might help thin my calendar out a bit."

Missing the irony in her tone completely, Riccaro frowned. "I am sure they will have heard. I can send most away if you would like, but I strongly recommend you speak with the High Parser."

"Okay, one more meeting." She sighed and looked down at her dress now coated with dust, leaves, and twigs. "I've probably run out of things to change into again. We'll need a new meeting place too. What do you think of hosting the next delegation in the bathhouse? More informal and I won't have any clothing to ruin."

She rolled her eyes at his open-mouthed stare. "I forget you don't joke, sorry. Where would you suggest?"

Regaining himself with some effort, he overcame a stammer and managed "The... the front gardens would normally suit-"

"Great, gardens it is." She turned towards the front doors.

"But, Dynast!" He rushed ahead, his expression embarrassed. "You couldn't possibly meet the High Parser there! It's full of... of..."

After a few failed attempts she put her hand on his shoulder. "Take a breath, Riccaro."

He deflated but didn't pull away. "Filthy Wretches! And an angry mob gathering at the gates."

"Wretches?" Aida blinked for a few seconds as she tracked back. So much going on. "Oh, right! Any sign of Ocyl's detachment?"

Riccaro raised his hands helplessly.

"Of course not. Will the mob hold off long enough to meet with this Parsimonious whoever? We can't do much until the cavalry get here."

"I certainly hope so."

Aida gestured down another hallway. "I saw a small side-garden with a fountain on the way in. Could we use that?"

"I suppose, but-"

"Great. Aliasara, lead on."

Aliasara complied.

"But that garden has-"

"A Dynast heading its way." Aida made a shooing motion. "Bring this Parser before the mob tears the gates off."

Entering the small garden, Aida immediately understood Riccaro's hesitation. While the shrubs and hedges fit the standard bill of fare, the fountain centerpiece featured Ocyl pouring an endlessly flowing cup into his mouth. An equally interminable stream flowed from his oversize phallus, pattering on a platter held on the head of a serving boy then sheening evenly off all sides.

"My, that's... certainly something." Aida took it in for a moment. "Definitely makes a statement."

Aliasara grinned, produced a bit of cloth, and proceeded to wet it in the stream issuing from Ocyl before blotting at the dust on Aida's dress front with one hand while picking off branches and leaf matter with the other.

"Hopefully this Parser person has a sense of humor." Aida laughed in spite of, or perhaps because of, her growing tension. Mobs, Wretches, a nascent epidemic, Dynasts she'd just violently rejected and probably made into lifelong enemies, the crowd audibly growing outside... And that was just today.

"Ink is known for anything but humor." Aliasara shook her head as she rinsed the cloth out. "The Faded People live only in the barest meaning of the word."

"Faded People? Why-"

The looming frame of one of those tank knights towered over the hedge.

Aida would have expected a generator thrum, gears grinding, hydraulics hissing, or servos whining, but the only sound came from the heavy thump of its footsteps. The man inside stopped opposite the fountain and regarded them with disinterest. A huge polearm half rusting steel pipe and half massive butcher blade hung casually over his shoulder. The sort of thing an industrial meat plant might use to hack cow carcasses apart.

Everything about the man lived in monochrome, ripped from the frames of a black-and-white movie.

"Greetings, High-" she began, but Aliasara elbowed her. "Ow."

Riccaro stepped into view around the tank knight, sniffing. Following close behind came a woman who looked vaguely familiar. She walked slowly, slumped down as if every step took more energy than she wanted to spend. Only her drab uniform's tight fit and the high, rigid length of her collar seemed to hold her upright. And pants, she wore pants!

Aida snapped her fingers. "Saw her in Ocyl's court!"

"High Parser Maxem of the Directory." Riccaro spoke with precise diction, standing ramrod tall before the fountain. Giant, naked Ocyl pissing on a boy behind him deflated the decorum of the scene somewhat, but Aida gave him credit for trying.

"Nice to meet you. I 'm-"

"Dynast Aida," the woman said tiredly, not even glancing down at Aida's extended hand. Maxem's accent steamrolled pronunciation to a flat monotone. "Ruler of One-Eighth Shithole, titled Mother of Exiles."

Aida wiped sweaty palms on her dress. "You did your homework."

"Pardon my directness in skirting further formalities, Dynast, but the Directory holds brevity and efficiency as virtues. May we jump to the point?"

Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author.

"I approve. Brevity on."

Maxem barely waited for Aida to finish. "By your labeling of it, you find your verse lacking, yes?"

Aida thought for a moment. "It has a bleak majesty about it but that's all it has, really."

"Then give it over to the Directory. You will be compensated in extravagant measure." By her casual delivery, the woman could be proposing they get lunch. Aida stood stunned for a moment, mind reeling as the offer landed.

"I can just give it up?" It took a second to realize she verbalized the thought.

"Not give it up." Maxem spoke with all the passion of a bored checkout clerk. "Sell it for ten lifetimes of wealth."

Aida countered automatically even as she struggled with the concept of selling a universe. "I'm a Dynast. What if I live eleven lifetimes?"

Would she be selling out or cashing in if she took it? Would she still be a Dynast without a verse to rule over? Could she do more with the wealth than the place?

"I used a figure of speech in an attempt to convey scale. I did not, however, exaggerate."

"How do I know I can trust you to follow through if I say yes?"

"The Directory honors its contracts. Everyone knows this." Maxem shifted and finally examined the fountain. Not as a curiosity or work of art, but as though seeking something to lean on. She leaned on it.

"Can I have a moment to talk with my friend?" Aida gestured towards Aliasara.

"The Directory persists," Maxem replied.

When Aida turned to Aliasara, the woman beamed at her so brightly, Aida lost her train of thought. "Um... what did I miss?"

"I'm your friend, Aida?"

Aida hugged her, savoring the human contact. When the hug ended, Aida held Aliasara's shoulders. "Friend, yes. Perhaps my only one in all the Book. If you'll have me, that is; I'm a bit of a train wreck."

Aliasara nodded and hugged her again. "I didn't know Dynasts had friends."

"Having met a few, I get why." Aida turned towards the High Parser and the tank knight. "What do you think I should do?"

Riccaro ceased pretending to not listen and burst in. "Dynast Aida, you simply cannot be asking advice for critical matters of state from a lowly-"

"Finish that sentence." Aida's voice went deadly flat and her eyes narrowed. The ring thrummed at her throat. "I dare you."

His teeth clacked together. Stuck up the majordomo might be, but stupid he was not.

Aida let the silence hang, marred only by the burble of Ocyl's statue and an angry chant from those gathering outside.

"I didn't think so." Aida turned to Aliasara. "You were saying?"

Aliasara seemed at a loss for a moment. When she found her words, she spoke softly as she glanced at Maxem. "I would feel bad for the verse if you gave it to them."

Aida blinked. "Bad for the verse?"

"Everyone knows ConMach drains the very life from the Directory's verses. Even if no people live there, the spirit of every living thing would suffer."

Aida shook her head. "You haven't seen the One-Eighth. The only living things we saw did this."

She raised her hand and wiggled the bandaged nubs, noticing the bandages grew tight yet again.

Aliasara shrunk back as if struck, head dropping. "I'm sorry, Dynast, I didn't mean to-"

The response broke Aida's heart. She lifted her friend's chin to look her in the eye. "Stop. I'm not 'Dynast' to you, not ever. I'm Aida. That's a direct order from a Dynast."

She delivered the last with as straight a face as she could, waiting until Aliasara laughed.

"Never be afraid to tell me exactly what you think. I'm new, remember? You lived your whole life here, I've been here under a week. Even if I disagree, I'm grateful for whatever you contribute."

"As you wish. If you-" A welter of violent shouts from the mob brewing outside the villa drowned her out.

"We've got to wrap this up." Aida turned to Maxem. The woman pushed off the statue.

"I appreciate your offer, but have to decline."

For all the response the rejection elicited, Aida could have told Maxem she was busy for the lunch.

"Then perhaps a Syphon erected somewhere useless to you in exchange a supply of ConMach machines or hired Keens-" Maxem gestured at the tank knight "-to help you develop and protect the interests of the One-Eighth?"

"What's a Syphon?" Aida glanced at Aliasara. Her friend shrugged and shook her head.

"A structure we would build somewhere remote to fuel the ConMach machinery we would lend."

Aliasara leaned close to whisper in Aida's ear. "She means drain the life and color out of everything around it."

"No life there that doesn't want another piece of me. Not much color either. She can have it."

More shouts from the front. Broadaxe sprinted around the corner, weapon and shield ready. The sight made up Aida's mind.

"Deal, as long as you throw a dozen pairs of pants in with it." Aida grabbed Maxem's hand and pumped. "Any paperwork or whatever, we can sort out later. Now if you'll excuse me, I have another little looming crisis to attend to."

"Very well, I'm sure we'll find much profit together. If you need us, we're at your service." Without further ado Maxem walked away. The tank knight left a heavy impression in the soft soil and faded ground around the huge footprint when it followed her away.

"Drains the life and color," Aida murmured, kneeling to touch the grayed-out patch before turning to Broadaxe. "Okay, we're coming."

Stiller burst through the villa door, panting. "Message for the Mother of Exiles!"

Aida took the braille, looked at it helplessly, and thrust it at Riccaro. He sniffed and ran his fingers across it. The fall of his face made Aida's belly seize into a knot. "What now?"

It took Riccaro a moment to speak, as though seeking a polite way to deliver the message.

"Just tell me, man! I'm wearing my big-girl panties. Actually I'm not wearing panties since they apparently don't exist here, but I can still take it."

He stared at her.

"Out with it!"

Riccaro took a breath. "Dynast Ocyl regrets to inform you his Versal troops shall not be arriving. He suggests, and I quote: 'Give the Wretches to the mob. Better they have a harmless outlet than they begin looting and burning.' He then expresses his utmost faith in your ability to handle the situation. He adds 'Given your propensities, I have had several new dresses delivered.'"

"Dresses? I ask for soldiers and he sends skirts? And harmless my ass!" Aida snatched the message from Riccaro's fingers, shredded it. "They're killing people out there! Just let them have the poor people I promised sanctuary to? He wants me to break my word, throw them to their doom, and be happy with some new clothing? Fucking Dynasts!"

Part of her realized the last statement included her too, but at the moment she didn't care. Still fuming, she stomped towards the front gates.

Riccaro hustled after her. "Dy- Aida, where are you going?"

"If they want to kill some Wretches, those bastards are going to have to go through a pissed off Dynast first. They can have them over my dead body."

"Let's hope that pimply prophet was right and it won't come to that," she muttered.

"What about the others awaiting an audience to-"

"Tell them all yes."

Riccaro stumbled. "What?"

"Tell them to meet me at the One-Eighth whenever, however they can get there."

"But, but their number includes all sorts of-"

They rounded the corner of the villa to find a scared huddle of Wretches cowering amid the flower beds and manicured lawns. Beyond, ropes thrummed taut. The mob outside roared, heaved, and ripped the villa gates from their anchors, the two statues of Ocyl wobbling then toppling. Screams, rock shards, dust clouds.

Aida ran through the gardens and hopped onto a bench between the Wretches and this momentarily stalled throng. Broadaxe stepped up beside her, Ghillie materializing on the other side. A moment later Goldilocks slunk in to watch their backs. More movement behind them drew her attention and surprise: the villa's few dozen servants followed wielding an array of improvised weapons to form a sparse ring around the close-pressed knot of Wretches.

Riccaro quickly gave up on ordering the servants back inside and stormed off. He stood in the doorway, glared at them, then slammed the front doors.

"Whatever Riccaro does, at least the rest of them think Wretches are people too."

Aliasara shook her head as she wrenched a wooden rail from the back of the bench. "They don't care about the Wretches, Aida, they do it for you."

"Whyever they're doing it, then." Aida glanced back at the villa to see if any more help might be forthcoming. Near the back gate, three royal striders bedecked with Ferals stood full height, immobile. She recognized Wake's by its festoon of gray and gold banners, Jaxe's by a thousand fluttering ribbons of deep purple, Reck's by the bronze armor plates bolted onto the carriage's sides.

One of the undercarriage windows hung open. Aida caught a glimpse of a pale face, a hand waving gaily.

"Screw you too, Jaxe," she muttered, turning back to the brick- and stick-armed mob surging over the fallen gate. "If you hung around just to watch me mess up, then too bad. I'll die before I let people down again."

Ghillie caught Aida's eye and gestured.

Plan?

"Yeah, um... punt."