Throughout the many studies I’ve conducted on Farthan life, I’ve realised one major thing: Farthans are people too. They may govern over the lives of others, but we as humans do so as well. In the end, what is the difference between us and them?

— Study IV of Tarkas, First Verse

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“How is it? Does it fit?” Einwald asked.

It was the next day, and Kallas decided it was necessary for Varna to get a more respectable outfit. Before, she had been wearing only a rugged brown cloak, with simple clothes she’d gotten from Drystan. She’d only have the apron on when serving customers, but otherwise her cloak sufficed just enough. The Scarf too, was also a part of her attire; at first she had been wearing her Fated Scarf, not her mothers. It was custom, partially, for Stringers, Weavers, and Fatebearers alike, to wear their Fated Scarf—it let them keep watch on it at all times.

Varna checked herself in the fitting room mirror. It wasn’t too long, so she had to adjust it herself to see whether the rest of her body suited the new dress. The new dress was tailored quite nicely. It fit all sides of her body perfectly, and the blue colour along the chest and down the legs was a pleasant sight. Before, the cloak had only covered as much as her knees, but as Varna expected of fancy clothing, the dress fell down as far as her ankles. If she weren’t the least bit careful, she would trip and fall on her own clothes, making a fool of herself.

Varna never did like noble clothing. She always preferred wearing the Rayan Institute uniform, and even that bugged her sometimes—but it was better than wearing the gaudy, uncomfortable tailor-made noble dresses. Part of it stemmed from her childhood. She loathed the Rayan Order, and with it she loathed the rest of the nobility. Though there were some houses in her hometown that were passable, and perhaps even respectable, but the rest of the lot were vultures. They sought each and every opportunity for power, and flaunted it whenever they had the chance.

Ironically, the worst of the bunch were the ones who’d been like her: orphaned, some imprisoned, and some abandoned, but had they risen to power from the dirt, they would clean it off onto others. She’d expect those who built themselves from nothing to have some sense of humility, but the common trend of grasping for power overshadowed everything. Back there, nobody mattered—only yourself.

Peeking out from behind the curtains, Varna looked at Einwald before stepping out confidently. She pinched the hems of her dress, and commented.

“Fits good.”

“Hm.” Einwald noted, eyeing her up and down. “The length isn’t an issue?”

“No.”

“That’s good enough, then.” He affirmed, untying a pouch of coins from his waist. “Come, let’s make the purchase, then we can head to the Tribune’s residence.”

Varna nodded, following behind Einwald. The walk was short, but Varna tried to recall what she had learned back in the Egreiss household.

“Back straight, chin up.” She recalled Duke Egreiss saying. “You’re too stiff with your arms. Be more relaxed, and keep your breath steady.”

Contrary to her opinions on noble attire, Varna had remembered the training to be quite enjoyable. She enjoyed conducting herself in a graceful, delicate manner, though she knew her current scruff self suited her better. She quite liked having a ladylike side. It made her seem innocent and untouchable, like a flower atop a solitary peak. She was a girl too.

Einwald noticed her demeanour change with the new clothes. While her noble behaviour was certainly not as refined, the untrained eye couldn’t tell a difference, even if they tried. The reserved hands, the steady, graceful walk and relaxed breaths. She looked the part better than most.

“You’re quite good at this.” He noted. “Where’d you learn to walk like that?”

Varna’s posture slipped slightly. She recovered herself and responded.

“Um.” She hesitated. “My uncle.”

Einwald raised an eyebrow. “Your uncle? Is he a noble?”

She stammered. “Yes.”

“I certainly wasn’t expecting that. When I first saw you, you were dressed crudely and suspiciously. I’d assumed you were a middle-class citizen, or even a peasant.”

Varna shook her head. She felt awkward telling him this. Was it alright from him to know? She knew no human who’d heard of Farthos, but it didn’t hurt to be cautious.

“What kind of man was he?” Einwald asked.

Varna found the answer rolling off the tip of her tongue. “Strong. Brave. Understanding. Knew many things.”

He nodded, then asked. “I don’t mean to be rude, but do you always speak like that?”

Varna tilted her head slightly, confused.

“Your Marlyn, it’s…broken, to say the least.”

“Ah.” She nodded. “Can’t speak well. Foreign.”

Einwald rubbed his chin. There weren’t many who came to Marlyn, much less moved here in the last decade. As far as he knew, those who did were wishing for a harder, harsher life. The country wasn’t on its final rope, but it certainly wasn’t at its brightest right now. The capital is facing a major issue, after all.

“Foreign…well no wonder with that face you’ve got. Haven’t seen anyone with naturally white hair. Shame really, you look better without the hood.” Einwald commented. “Where are you from?”

Varna stammered. This was something she definitely didn’t want to answer. She couldn’t let a human know where she came from, much less who she was. She wasn’t even human, technically. She was alien to them, and exposing herself would put her at greater risk.

Struggling to find an answer, Einwald waited patiently before his eyebrows began to furrow. It was only when an attendant came by the counter—they had just arrived there—did she find herself pointing frantically at her to distract Einwald’s attention. She let out a sigh of relief.

The attendant eyed Varna’s clothes. “Just one item?”

“Just one.”

“One-twenty Mares, please.”

Einwald dropped the pouch of coins on the counter, before turning to leave. “I’ve brought two hundred Mares there. I don’t need the rest; you can think of it as a gift for your generosity.”

Two hundred Mares!

The attendant appeared shocked, grabbing the pouch of Mares. She jiggled the bag slightly, before frantically responding as both Einwald and Varna left. “Thank you for your patronage! Please come again!”

As the two exited the store, Varna immediately commented on Einwald’s spending habits. “That’s a lot.”

“Maybe so, but it’s necessary if you want to maintain your status.” Einwald said, walking down Central Road as he swept past the nearby citizens. “Other nobles won’t respect you if you’re not like them. It’s all about fitting in.”

“Tiring?” Varna asked.

“Is it tiring?” He reiterated, then chuckled slightly. “Sure. I’m normally not one to flash around coins like that, but you get used to it. The world is harsher on those who don’t belong. Remember that.”

Varna nodded. It was like that for Farthan nobility too. If ever you were found pitying the humans, then you were sent to the Village Outskirts. And it wasn’t just that—if you went against Farthan ideals, presented even an ounce of rebellion, satirical or not, against Her Excellency, then you would find yourself either in a cold jail cell or with the others in the outskirts. There was no winning—only becoming.

“It’ll be a bit before we get to the castle, so let’s go over a few things.” Einwald raised a single finger. “First, your background: you’re a noblewoman now under my tutelage. You’re here to accompany me on a deal to learn how to handle finances and trades. Second, you’re mute: in the past, you suffered a grave injury to the throat, barely surviving at the expense of your voice. If you can’t speak fluently, it’s best if you don’t speak at all. And third, your name is Vileena Ashworth. Lovely choice for a name, but also indicates you’re of foreign descent.”

The two of them were approaching the start of the castle bridge. Stopping before they met the castle guards, Einwald continued to go over the rest of his reminders.

“Even though I said all of this, remember you’re not here to make connections. You’re here to steal the blueprints and keys.”

“How?”

“Good question.” Einwald said, noticing a luxurious carriage exiting from the castle. He grabbed Varna and pushed themselves to the side to make room before continuing. “I’ll create a chance for you to escape the room, so you need to make use of it while you can. There’ll likely be other attendants in the room—the easiest excuse is to use the bathroom, but others are acceptable as well. How you escape without getting noticed…well, that’s up to you entirely.

“Don’t forget, Kallas will not be inside the castle at this time, but in the plaza with the other soldiers. Since we probably won’t be able to meet up, we’ll have to find each other in the plaza when we’re releasing the children.You can only exit through the entrance, so you should be careful when leaving through the halls. While there might be less guards, you should still take extra precaution. Here, use this.”

You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.

Einwald handed her a small, handheld map of the castle.

“I’ll probably be able to leave earlier than you do, so I’ll be at the plaza ahead of time. I won’t be able to release the children until you get there though, so be quick.”

Varna nodded. Her hands began shaking slightly. All of it began hitting her now, that she was in a deep situation and there was no backing out now. Einwald, noticing her nervousness, held her shoulders and stared in her eyes, resolute.

“Listen.” He said. “Don’t be nervous. Be strong. You’re a core part of this team, and if you’re nervous, everyone else is. I believe you. We believe you.”

Taking a deep breath, Varna responded. “Okay.”

—

An attendant kept watch on both Varna and Einwald in the waiting room. They were seated just right outside of the Tribune’s office, surrounded by several expensive pieces of furniture. Even along the way, all Varna ever saw were high-end items, buildings made from marble, and several other attendants and nobles who were involved in their own schemes. She’d even tried, partially, to find something within the castle that wasn’t particularly expensive. She failed.

Despite this, the waiting room felt cramped, and busy to boot. They were not the only ones seeking an audience with the Tribunes, it seemed; other nobles sat along with them, some hopeful about their chances, but most were worried. She hadn’t seen firsthand what exactly instilled fear among even the nobles, but she’d certainly heard of stories from Kallas and Einwald.

The most recent one, she'd heard, was particularly gruesome and involved a plotting noble being sent to the gallows, pierced and gutted before ultimately hanged for display. It was said that a Tribune was the one handling all the affairs, and they’d torture the noble with such care that it was only until the hanging were they presumed dead. The mere thought of it sent shivers down her spine. Not even Farthan nobility were that primal.

A few minutes later, the wooden doors to the office opened, and an older individual, dressed almost alike Einwald entered and left the room. With the office now opened, Varna looked within the doors and saw a tall, composed young man wearing the common dark emerald uniform. Though, this time, it appeared there were platinum linings along his clothes, and wore a special badge on his chest. A closer look at the badge had an image of a crown atop two-crossed spears, the very same emblem she saw on the soldiers when she first came to the capital.

“Sir Einwald Hilm, Mistress Vileena.” The nearby attendant spoke, gesturing to enter the room. “Lord Hymdall is waiting for you.”

“Okay. Thank you.” Einwald nodded. “Come, let’s go.”

He raised Varna by the hand, stepping into the ornate office. It was splendidly designed, almost like a less-refined version of Farthan architecture. The king of this nation had a good eye, certainly, but it seemed almost over the top. The wooden door closed shut behind them, an attendant overseeing the discussion, or perhaps a head of the house based on their clothing.

Tribune Hymdall looked up from his papers. He appeared to be finalising agreements of the sort, but scrutinised his visitors when they entered the room. Thereupon, he grabbed another folder and observed the two. Varna felt partially uncomfortable. She hadn’t been subject to such intense scrutiny. Perhaps he was evaluating them starting now, looking to see what sort of people he would be discussing with. Varna thought he would be focused on Einwald, but he oddly kept glancing at her—looking down at his papers at times. Perhaps he was curious about her newly forged background.

“Sir Einwald and Mistress Vileena, I take it?” Tribune Hymdall asked. “Pleasure to meet you today. Would you like a cup of tea?”

“Likewise, Tribune Hymdall.” Einwald responded, with which Varna nodded in tandem. “And yes, that would be a pleasure.”

Tribune Hymdall affirmed his response, then spoke quickly to his attendant. “Please serve them a cup of tea. Trythe leaves will do.”

His attendant swiftly prepared them a cup. Varna stared at the drink for a few moments. According to what she’d been told, Trythe leaves were a rather expensive blend of tea, foraged from the far lands of Timal, and exported through a high-priority company for nobles alone.

Noticing Varna had not yet said her greetings, Tribune Hymdall furrowed his eyebrows in displeasure. Noticing this, Einwald stepped in.

“My apologies, Tribune Hymdall.”

“Sir Hymdall is fine.”

“Well then, Sir Hymdall.” He said. “It is a manner I’d rather not discuss, but Mistress Vileena here is unable to speak.”

Hymdall raised his eyebrow, looking down at his papers again. “You mean?”

“She suffered a grave injury to the throat in the past, it seems. Since then she has been unable to speak with others.”

“I see. That is true.” Hymdall nodded, flipping his papers. “Specifics are not needed. Let’s talk business. I take it you’re here to discuss financial matters, yes?”

Einwald gripped the clothing on his legs lightly. “That is correct, Sir Hymdall. I’ve come to propose a solution to the financial deficit in the military.”

Tribune Hymdall raised an eyebrow. His previously bored expression now sparked a sense of curiosity, and as if to reflect this he quickly grabbed a nearby notebook and pen, swiftly writing down notes in a practised manner. Through his writing alone, it was clear that he’d done his fair share of work.

“Go on.”

“Well, Sir Hymdall. I’ve recently gotten to deal with Earl Saroth’s territory, and have gotten so far as to participate in one of his lovely balls.”

“Earl Saroth?” Tribune Hymdall inquired. “From Marrow?”

“That is correct, sir.”

Tribune Hymdall grinned, before breaking out into a slight chuckle. He quickly wrote down what seemed to be good news. On the side, however, was Varna who appeared flabbergasted, inwardly.

He forged a background this fast? She hadn’t heard of Earl Saroth in the slightest, yet from the title alone she could determine they were someone of high standing. An Earl was only third to the noble standings, and they were by far the most influential of those unrelated to the throne. Even in her hometown—which eerily held the same if not similar noble structure—there were little, if none at all, Earls. The most she could think of were her uncle, and four other independent houses.

Marrow too, was no land to scoff at. Though she’d heard only hearsay from the tavern she worked at, Marrow was very geographically intense. As a result of being surrounded by high mountains, colliding winds would constantly sweep over the land to create a dense, thick cold fog, and those unprepared would fall prey to the creatures inhabiting it. Yet, despite all this, the land was brimming with life and gifted with minerals; so much so that a city had been erected within its mountains to create a hospitable landscape. ‘Mist City’, they called it. Varna could only imagine what kind of noble lived in that territory.

“Isn’t that the most splendid news?” Tribune Hymdall said. “So? What of the man?”

Einwald smiled slightly, though perhaps out of nervousness now. Time was running thin.

“Earl Saroth expressed interest in aiding the military.” He spoke. “When I asked him of his methods he claimed he was willing to send a cavalry of his troops, as well as provide us with a sum of five thousand Timols.”

“Five-thousand Timols… that would account for three thousand Mares. And that’s more than satisfactory for the state of our military.” Tribune Hymdall muttered, then questioned Einwald. “It’s almost too much. What does Earl Saroth want in return?”

“A fifth of the Verran territory.”

“A fifth?” Tribune Hymdall asked. “Isn’t that too little?”

“Not according to him.” Einwald sipped his now somewhat cooled Trythe tea, which left a slightly bitter taste in his mouth. His expression soured ever so slightly. Perhaps he had a sweet tooth.

“He believes that should we get the military situation under control, the Verran territory will be completely if not totally overtaken by Marlyn. As we know, the territory amasses nearly one-fourth of Marlyn, and if Earl Seroth gains even a fifth of that land, he’ll be swimming in coins.”

“A plausible deduction.” Tribune Hymdall commented. “However, that leaves us at a standstill. Let’s say Earl Saroth does claim a fifth of the land: now we’ll have an unaffiliated kingdom, with whom we have no relation to at all, at the heart of Marlyn. If he harbours any ill will—and may god hope otherwise—then our defences will be severely breached and vulnerable for attack.”

“That much has been accounted for, Sir Hymdall.”

“Oh?”

Einwald sipped yet again from his cup. “Earl Saroth has agreed to write a formal alliance between himself and us. The contents of which have yet to be written, but he is willing to comply with any terms, so long as it’s not too demanding.”

Silence dawned upon the room for a few moments while Einwald waited for a response. Tribune Hymdall appeared deep in thought, paying no mind to the two visitors. Taking advantage of this, Varna nudged Einwald with her elbow, tapping her wrist as if to indicate the time. Quickly, Einwald hushed her, and mouthed a response.

“I know.”

“If you know, then hurry up damn it.” She muttered to herself in Farthan. And then, the silence was broken.

“It’s a great deal for us.” Tribune Hymdall said. “However, I must inform the rest of the Tribunal body about this, not to mention King Donovan himself.”

“I understand—”

“But this doesn’t mean I dislike the idea. In fact, I think you’ve done yourself a great trade; the least I can say is your efforts will not be unrewarded.” Tribune Hymdall interrupted.

Einwald chuckled. “Thank you for your words. I’m too undeserving of them.”

“Don’t be. You’ve done great work.” Tribune Hymdall now turned to Varna, who tensed up slightly at his gaze, though it appeared less frightening than when she first met him. “You have a good teacher, Miss Vileena. Stay under his tutelage.”

Varna opened her mouth as if to speak, only to silence herself at the last second. She swiftly resorted to nodding somewhat vigorously at the Tribune’s words.

“Though, it appears you have yet to drink the tea. Perhaps it’s not to your liking?”

Varna quickly shook her head, trying to articulate her thoughts to the best of her ability. Einwald stepped in a few moments later when it appeared Tribune Hymdall understood less than half of what she communicated.

“It’s not that, Sir Hymdall. The shamans stated that any hot beverages would ruin her health further.”

Tribune Hymdall grimaced slightly. “Oh, my apologies. I hadn’t known that.”

Using this opportunity, Varna then tapped Einwald on the shoulder, gesturing for the bathroom. Nodding, Einwald began the next step of the plan.

“I hate to interrupt the conversation, but Miss Vileena wishes to use the bathroom at this time. Would it be alright if someone were to escort her?”

“Of course, let me handle that for you. Tribune Hymdall laughed, causing Varna’s face to turn slightly red from shame. “Albrethe!”

Without a moment’s hesitation, the wooden doors separating them from the outside world opened. “Yes, my Lord?”

“Miss Vileena here wishes to use the bathroom. Could you be ever so kind as to escort her that way?” He explained.

“Of course, my Lord.” The maid, whose name seemed to be Albrethe, turned to Varna and bowed toward her. She then stepped aside, leaving the door open for her before she led the way to the bathroom. “The bathroom will be this way.”

“Please be sure to close the door on the way out, Albrethe.”

“Of course, my Lord.”

Then, as the door shut, Varna could hear the slight conversation between Einwald and Tribune Hymdall. It seemed that Einwald began making strides on his side of the plan.

“Miss Vileena, the bathroom will be quite a ways away. Lord Hymdall would greatly appreciate it if you were to exercise utmost caution toward the decor.”

Varna could only nod, walking with the very same practised steps her uncle taught her. Now, she was separated from Einwald, acting on her own as an independent member of the team. Einwald would be busy handling the Tribune, and Kallas would be busy handling the children. Nobody was there to guide her hand, and nobody will guide her hand from hereon.

Starting now, she would act for herself and herself alone.