----------------------------------------

The battle of ends and beginnings,

Where the Gods collect their winnings,

And we mourn, for prosper and long live

The Empire Eternal, for we do not live

For this land, we live

For our pride, we live for the tide

That inevitably turns for us; we live to declare that, ‘From thus

We shall make it so fortune has no choice but to adjust

Her favor, so she has no choice but

To favor us—’ From now we see fit to declare

That we demand favor, and we shall not share

The title of the last ones standing,

For fortune and favor is what we are demanding.

The battle of ends and new beginnings,

Where we are the ones to gather our winnings

And we celebrate, for prosper and long live

Our Eternal Empire, for it everything we give.

- THE BATTLE OF BEGINNINGS, A BALLAD SPREAD SOON AFTER THE START OF THE QUEEN'S WAR (AROUND 100 P.Q.C.)

----------------------------------------

"A BETTING GAME USING HUMANS."

  Vivianna feels the practiced words slip out of her lips. “We each bet on who kills the most monsters the most, at the end of this game— the loser, and the ones who bet on the loser, are killed.” She interlocks her fingers and leans forward.

  “It’s a team effort, really.” Jonas smiles. “If multiple people bet on the same person, and the person turns out to be the loser, then they’ll have to die by sword. But if you participate in the game, you’ll have to swear an Oath that you’ll play by its rules — like Vivianna said, in addition, there’s also the question of the ‘winner.’”

  “The winner dictates the cause, the loser and their supporters die,” Caspian sums up. “A very indirectly direct way of deciding things.” He was the one to accept for Seraphina, Vivianna remembers.

  He introduced himself as Athena’s Chosen, but...there’s something strange about the two. And not the regular, Chosen-by-the-Gods strange. Something that runs deep— a bitter resentment, an acrid hatred, layers and layers upon careful masks and deception. It reminds Vivianna of her mother’s vases, almost, but the Lady Bloodthorn doesn’t let her smile thin, but the others glance at each other.

  “This...is something to be considered,” says Rayan, slowly. “Although Cas and Sera have agreed, this ‘cause’ and ‘game’ that you speak of leaves much to be pondered upon.”

  Jonas’ lips curl. “We have all the time in the world,” he promises. “Please, consider it as thoroughly as you’d like.”

  What he doesn’t mention, Vivianna thinks, is that the fact that the explosion he tinkered with before wasn’t nearly that big. It’s probably because, she speculates, we were all there at the same time. But that’s besides the point now that they all have a proper plan in place.

  A game. Rules.

  A game. Rules. That...is dangerously familiar.

  Hera had come to the Bloodthorn in her dreams, like Vivianna was sure it had come to the rest of the Chosen. This is a Game, she had said. And it must be played. When Vivianna was younger, she liked games. Chance games, strategy games, card games — but of course, what you read in books and what you put into action is ever-so-different, the Viscountess’ daughter muses.

  It must be played.

  The Cage must end. Why are the Cagekeepers not coming out to stop us, then? They’re supposed to be the enforcers — from what Vivianna’s heard about them, they Watch the Cage and make sure nothing goes awry. This, in the noble’s books, was definitely under the category of ‘awry’ — unless, of course, this entire thing had been rigged from the go-to.

  Rigged.

  Vivianna doesn’t like that word.

  It’s usually only uttered in times of desperation, but of course, this is a time of desperation. The possibility remains that this ‘Game’ that Hera mentioned was referring to the Cage, and if so, means that the Gods hold sway over it. It. The dominion of Fate (of course, that’s another subject that Vivianna has no interest in exploring at the moment).

  It must be played.

  If this Game has rules, the Gods know about it. And the fact that nobody’s gotten smote means that they haven’t breached the rules just yet. Yet. It must be played. The words ring in Vivianna’s head, and she frowns, internally.

  “We’ll start the game when you’re ready,” she says, breaking the silence.

  Seraphina smiles. “Of course.” There’s something unreadable in her eyes, devoid of even false warmth, as she turns to her partner. “We’ll be back tomorrow morning then, Cas?”

  Some sort of realization dawns on Caspian’s face — is it the problem that he accepted for Seraphina? Vivianna muses — but his tone remains steady. “We will,” Athena’s Chosen says, simply. He inclines his head in a curtly respectful farewell, any whispers of his formerly light grin gone. “We’re going.”

  The two are uncharacteristically serious, a reaction that should’ve sparked triumph inside Vivianna, but it just unsettles her.

  Arden and Rayan are grim, too, but the expression belongs on their faces and that doesn’t make Hera’s Chosen uneasy. Vivianna looks at Caspian and Seraphina, letting her eyes flicker, and she can see the boy casually reach his hand towards the girl’s, as if they’ve done it a hundred times before, as if they’re in some type of romance story.

  It isn’t jealousy, really — that would be idiotic, an unnecessary emotion in this slaughterhouse of an island — but it makes the viscountess’ daughter feel uneasy.

  Seraphina does, in fact, lace her fingers in his; but the motion feels hollow and full all at once, strange warmth-that’s-not-really-warmth in a place where it’s not supposed to have any kind of strong temperature.

  Vivianna feels Jonas follows her eyes.

  “Have you all heard about Athens?” the Forgetouched asks the remaining group, smiling as always (Vivianna hates smiles, these days; everyone keeps smiling and it irritates her).

  “The ancient, pre-Cage city?” Rayan raises an eyebrow. “Supposedly the name of Anthinon, before the First Emperor’s reforms? Yeah, I’ve heard of it.”

  Arden’s brown-but-not-really-brown eyes flash. “I do know where you’re going with this,” Aphrodite’s Chosen says to Jonas, “and I’m not quite sure it’s all that smart at the moment.”

  Vivianna doesn’t even know where Jonas is going with this— oh wait, she does. Damn. Her eyebrows twitch.

  “So, basically, Cas’ Goddess and Sera’s God—” their nicknames roll smoothly on Jonas’ tongue, and for a second Vivianna notices that the Forgetouched isn’t using the Gods’ names “—were arguing over who was going to be the patron of the city, ‘Athens.’ Long story short, they competed, Sera’s God lost, and they’ve held a grudge against each other ever since.”

  Jonas continues. “My God, however, was thrown off Olympus by her Goddess.” He points to Vivianna, who can’t resist arching an eyebrow. “Again, grudge. Rivalry. Bad relationship.” The Forgetouches gestures to both Arden and Rayan. “Rayan’s God, apparently, resented Arden’s Goddess for making him have so many affairs — it’s implied, in the Myths. Also not the best relationship—”

  “The point?” Rayan cuts in. “You’re not the only one who’s noticed.”

  (Vivianna forgets that Jonas has the tendency to monologue. It’s been a rough Dayhept, really.)

  “The Hundredth Queen’s Cage,” says Jonas, slowly. “Something’s special. Something’s off. We should take that opportunity to escape. That’s all there is to it, I suppose.”

  “No.” Arden shakes her head, the grimness occupying her smile. “Nothing here can be described with ‘that’s all there is to it.’” She looks at Rayan. “Let’s go — I’m hungry.” Aphrodite’s Chosen turns to Vivianna and Jonas. “I would appreciate it if you didn’t move, by the way — would a pain to hunt you down to ask questions.”

  “Of course.”

  They went.

  Vivianna looks at Jonas. “You do know that we’ll have to find a better way out.” She gestures to the hole in the Cage. “We — we’re an us. And we’re going to get out, just—” Exhaustion pulls at her face. “Damn it, Jonas. Just—”

  “Let’s talk about politics,” he interrupts, mildly.

  “Excuse me?” The noble daughter blinks.

  “Let’s talk about politics,” Jonas repeats. Knowing him, he probably has a reason — he has a reason for everything, Vivianna thinks.

  The Bloodthorn raises her eyebrows. “Politics,” she says, slowly. “Right.” She blinks. “Right,” Vivianna repeats. “Let me...go to the bathroom, first. I might hurl if I talk about that on a half-full stomach.”

----------------------------------------

  We’re an ‘us.’ What a perfect way to put it, Jonas thinks. Such a supremely flawed, perfect way of putting things — just like Vivianna herself. Perfectly flawed. Like a cracked vase, only the crack was beautiful and purposely meant to be there.

  He’s getting sidetracked, probably.

  She clears her throat. “The duchies—”

  Jonas shakes his head. No, that isn’t what he needs to hear. “Tell me about the baronies — no, more the relationships with the upper nobility and the lower nobility. Your mother’s a viscountess, correct?” He needs momentum to Build.

  “Correct,” says the other, inclining her head. “There’s not much to say, really. Most of the viscounties and baronies are either pledged to a specific marquessate or county, who in turn usually have connections to either a Cardinal, or a Stronghold duchy. It’s complicated. Organizing it would take time, and I’m not exactly sure where you’re leading this.”

  So deceptively honest. Jonas’ lips quirk. “How much of the system sounds like it’s a game?” he asks. “When My Liege visited me, he mentioned something of the sort. Machinery. Fate. The inevitability of victory and loss — vague concepts. I want to get off the island, but we might not. Allowance. Rules. Lines, but not— paths, not lines. Fate, again. How much of this is prophecy and not? How much of this is expected? Allowed?”

If you come across this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.

  Vivianna tilts her head. “You’re thinking about divine forces. Spinning off— what? Imperial values?” There is no venom in her voice, just curiosity.

  “‘It’s too easy,’” Jonas recounts. “That’s what Caspian said. Balance is a recurring theme.” He gestures vaguely towards the direction. “Pairs. You and I, Arden and Rayan, Seraphina and Caspian, Halkyone and Maia, Cecilia and Euthalia, Kage and Iason. We have our — what do you call it? — parallels. The pairs are composed of two counterparts of a ‘balance,’ and I have no doubt it’s on purpose.”

  “Parallels,” the other muses. “Go on.”

  “Seraphina and Caspian live in the shadows of their pasts, but they’re both different shadows. The former moves forward, the latter moves backwards, in the end — at least, that’s what I can see. They both can’t keep still — always doing something; scheming, plotting, wearing masks, shrouds.” Jonas leans forward. “Arden and Rayan. Fire and water. They mix as well as oil and fire, except it’s a controlled fire — they both have control. They need to have control, it’s what they want, need, crave.”

  Vivianna nods, slowly. “Parallels.”

  She drums her fingers on her thigh.

  “Parallels,” she repeats, again. “How does this relate to here? I understand what you’re getting at, but trying to make sense of our divine circumstances to see if we’re ‘allowed’ to get out — we’re supposed to—” the noble cuts herself off, before she tries again. “We—” She shakes her head.

  Jonas waits.

  “I feel like it would be easier to have this conversation,” she finally begins again, slowly, “if we’re honest about how we want to step forward.”

  Surprising earnestness.

  “Honesty.” The word makes Jonas’ lips curl. “Yes, I suppose honesty is a tenement of partnership.”

  The Forgetouched lets the silence go on for a while, when Vivianna interrupts it.

  “You see it, don’t you?” The viscountess’ daughter smiles, bitterly. “I mirror — well, try to mirror — my mother.”

  Jonas makes a noise. “I didn’t point it out, because, you know, basic courtesy — but yes. I’m sure everyone notices, too. If we’re being honest, nobody really minds it. Everyone has their problems, masks, ways to cope with this entire...Game is the word for it, now that I think about it.”

  Vivianna dips her head.

  “I have a problem,” the Forgetouched continues, “with futility.” Jonas smiles, toothily. “This sounds like the least disarming out of all of my personal tidbits, so please recognize that this is a strategic effort to further our partnership; not an emotional one.” Partnership.

  “Futility,” the other repeats.

  “Futility,” Jonas agrees. “There is always the possibility — it’s quite large, you know — of us failing. Futile efforts, futile endeavors — but the possibility of failure should not deter the effort. Do regardless of possibility, regardless of failure, regardless of predetermined prophecy.” He flexes his fingers. “Defeat monsters regardless of sacrifice and public praise — no matter if the cause is futile, no matter if you end up making a futile sacrifice, as long as the cause is worthy, then futility does not matter.”

  ‘“A ripple in a pond of poison means nothing,’” quotes Vivianna, “‘if you do not drain the pond.’ I do not believe that saying, but I believe it correlates to this situation, somewhat.”

  Jonas’ smile twists, but he does not care to decipher it himself. “I appreciate your attempt at sympathy,” he lies. “If we are done…”

  The Bloodthorn’s eyes gleam in genuine mirth, Vivianna’s unique brand. “I took a gamble on you, Jonas,” she says. “Let us hope we both place our bets on the right person.”

----------------------------------------

  “I think we need to talk,” I say, holding Cas’ hand.

  “It seems we do,” he replies. That grin is off his face — for whatever reason, he’s picked up on the fact that we have a lot to sort through — and my partner looks uncharacteristically placid. Even. Conversational. He’s tiptoeing on eggshells — well, we were technically always tiptoeing on eggshells around each other — but now I can see it in his physical features. I’m not sure why.

  He’s initiating something, says my Ability.

  Of course, I have some knowledge about what exactly it is, but—

  “So,” I prompt.

  He tilts his head. “So,” he agrees, “I’m left with the understanding that you didn’t like me making that decision for both of us. Why?” Cas is surprisingly direct, and I return the courtesy.

  “It’s not that I didn’t like it,” I say. “It would be hypocritical of me to not be happy with you making executive decisions when I make executive decisions. This...just called into question something you said, before.” I swing my free arm. “You said you don’t care if you die; and I’m not quite sure your attachment to me — if you can call it that, please, brief me on a more capable term if you’re able — is enough for you to continue living-"

  “And helping you,” Cas finishes. “Yeah, I can see your point. Don’t exactly like what you’re suggesting though, even though it’s understandable — I have no obligation to survive with you, and that creates a conflict of interest because you want to survive.”

  I nod. “That pretty much sums it up,” I say. “I don’t want to kill you, genuinely; I like you. Maybe even love you— value you’s the better phrase for it, I think. New motivations, new perspectives — revelations come easily, when you’re in situations where you’re forced to face those facets of yourself. I just feel like we should check in, see where both of us stand, and see if we might have to end this arrangement if both of us don’t find any benefit in it.”

  “That’s...a surprisingly freeing choice,” admits Cas. “I...want to do a lot of things. Things I can’t do when — not if — I die. Perhaps you can do them — but where we diverge, perhaps, is that you’re seeing this as a game. You buried Halkyone and Maia, because you think it’s this string of mini-games, and that’s why you buried them, because you feel that it’s being a good sport to the loser — it might not actually be that way, but…”

  “It’s an apt conclusion.” It’s strange to hear observations that your first impulse is to deny, only to realise that it fits your behavior. “Yeah,” I drawl, slowly. “It’s an...apt conclusion.”

  He looks at me. “There’s a bigger picture, Sera — you might see it, you might not. This is a stepping stone — it provides power, a first step floating on a lake of no return— there’ll be a first, and a second, and a third; a fourth, and a fifth, and a hundredth, and a thousandth, and a millionth, and maybe it’ll be an endless journey.” He shakes his head. “There’s more. It might be too easy, it might be too difficult, but there’s more for you like there isn’t for me.”

  “Point?” I raise my eyebrows, using my thumb mechanically to brush his rough knuckles to bring him back.

  “Point is,” he takes the reminder in stride, “I trust your capabilities. I trust that you have no reason to kill me. I trust that you’ll end up— you know what, fuck this shit.” Cas detaches his hand from mine. Somewhere along the spiel, he’s become slightly unhinged. Well, at least unhinged I can deal with.

  “I like you— not romantically, platonically, whatever. I value you, and admire your capabilities. But this show — these masks — need to be off, if we actually want to make headway.” He looks serious — angry, almost — and I stifle a laugh.

  “You think I’m putting on a show,” I guess.

  Poseidon’s Chosen raises his eyebrows. “Aren’t you?”

  I incline my head. “I am,” I answer (honestly), “but isn’t that the whole point, though?”

  He shakes his head, before nodding. “You were the one who brought up this problem,” he points out.

  Ha.

  Incredulity makes its way onto my face. “Are we fighting, right now?” I ask, smile just a bit too wide.

  “Arguing,” Cas corrects. “Debating. Thinking. Exchanging ideas. Conflicting on a way to step forward. However you put it. Fighting requires anger, or at least some sort of emotional or physical conflict — I’m not angry, and I don’t want to punch you.”

  “You’re at least mildly pissed off, though,” I note. “That’s nice.”

  His mask is off.

  “Jokes aside,” I say, “are we really going to do this right now? Progress our personal understanding of each other?” This is crossing the line between business — if you can really call it that (now that I think about it, I say that phrase quite a lot) — and something else.

  Cas is leaning on a tree now. “I’m kind of being a jerk about it,” he says, “but yeah. You’re pissed off at me; and I’m pissed off at you; and we can both admit that we’ve never been pissed off at each other before.”

  I frown. This whole thing — this dynamic, cadence, rhythm that we’ve established — isn’t working anymore. Something’s changed — he doesn’t want to play along anymore, my Ability whispers.

  “Alright,” I relent.

  He blinks. “You’re more pissed off at me.”

  My frown deepens.

  How the fuck did he know? A voice echoes.

  “Stop trying to make emotions make sense, first of all,” I say, raising a hand. “It pisses me off to no end.” Especially since I haven’t had to deal with them before. Damn it. Damn me. “Like I said, I’m not pissed off because you made the decision, I’m pissed off because we had to talk about this in the first place. I offered you a choice. What you said — that crap about me and thinking it’s all a Game — alright, I’ll admit, it’s very likely true.”

  I sigh.

  “We were alright, before. I’m pissed off because I have no idea why I have to question if and why you’re pissed off. There’s been no problem so far — well, I mean, technically the problem could’ve been festering from that day you didn’t help me bury those corpses, but the why isn’t important.” I take a moment to breathe. “What’s the fucking problem, Cas?”

  He shrugs, but a glimmer of — triumph — emotion glimmers in his eyes. “You’re angry,” he notes.

  “No shit I’m angry,” I reply. “You wanted us to be honest. I’m being honest — what’s the problem, damn you? Why are you baiting me into honesty?”

  “To prove my point,” replies Poseidon’s Chosen. “I’m a piece on your Crownboard, and I just walked away from your hand— see, you don’t even ask why the problem’s there; you just want to know what it is to fix it, to continue playing. That’s what pisses me off.”

  “You don’t need to prove a point.” I throw my hands up in the air. “I already said you’re right.”

  This is the real Caspian Nameless?

  This is the real Caspian Nameless.

  “You said it’s very likely true,” he corrects. “You need to realize that, someday, there will be people who get pissed off at you. There will be people who walk away from you. And it’s alright to deal with it as a human— see, we’re dealing with this conflict as humans, not business partners. We’re not trying to manipulate each other — this is a start.”

  He’s right, kind of, but—

  “You sound preachy,” I say. “Stop sounding preachy. It makes you insufferable — if you lecture me again, this might turn into a knife brawl instead of us trying to be open with each other.” I am pissed off, but the emotion feels beneficially liberating, and I know he’s doing this to try and make both of us feel better, and—

  Cas takes in a breath. “I don’t want to sound preachy, Sera. We’re sixteen. More importantly, we’re people. Spending — Dayhepts? Has it been a Daycycle? — with a stranger can’t just be fixed with a simple transactional relationship. Sometimes, we have to be honest with each other.”

  I sigh. “I know.”

  Gone is the traditional banter, gone is the flirting.

  “Damn you,” I mutter under my breath. He’s gotten my mask off, that son of a bitch.

  The son of a bitch in question just grins, and the tense atmosphere is glossed over, dispelled. “I’m going to go take a shit,” Caspian Nameless says, thumbing over to the river. “Wait here.”

  I sigh, again.

  This is the real Caspian Nameless. Damnit.

  They said that love was when you thought their good traits outweighed their bad ones. But this isn’t love, it can’t really be.

  “Damnit,” I say, but a smile quirks my lips.

  The funny thing is? I hadn't even considered the possibility of killing him.

  That's a start, isn't it?

----------------------------------------

  Caspian Nameless knows that pretending he knows things is a mistake.

  “This,” he grins, “is a damn nice plan.”

  “If it works,” the-love-of-his-life-but-not-really corrects.

  “If it works,” he amends. He smiles. “It’s going to work. You’re going to Win.”

  “You seem sure of that,” she says with a smile.

  Poseidon’s Chosen smiles. “I know you will,” he says.

  Because I won’t let you lose.

----------------------------------------

  Morning comes, and we immediately lure the people, as planned, towards the traps. The Minotaur is back, deep-set rust-colored eyes flashing amber under the sunlight (for a second, I’m reminded of Arden — Sonata — but the monster’s gaze is devoid of carefully calculated allure). We only had to roam for the better half of an hour, I think. Hopefully, my Ability’s guess is right and the Minotaur is attracted to either the smell or the blood of humans.

  Hopefully — when have you ever relied on hopes?

  The monster emerges from the underbrush, leaves brushing against its rugged skin, and I smile as non-threateningly as possible, gesturing for Cas to get ready. The Minotaur snorts, tilting its head as if considering its situation— and then Cas darts forward, flicking a blade across its skin according to our plan — it doesn’t draw blood.

  That’s bad, I think, belatedly.

  The Minotaur remains still.

  That’s also bad, I think again.

  Then it roars, whipping its horns through the air, and Poseidon’s Chosen starts running. I stay still, half in the bushes and half ready to run for my life, limbs tensed and twitching. The Minotaur goes after Cas, and it’s faster than I thought it would be, (which, now that I put the thought into words, seems like a problem).

  And then I move.

  I’m right behind the monster — it’s a planned position, Cas baiting it, and me trying not to get killed while not letting it veer off course — but there’s barely a few paces’ distance between the Minotaur and the Chosen, which calls into question if the plan will actually work.

  The monster itself barrels through the jungle, and Cas is surprisingly fast, delaying the Minotaur’s steps by bringing the water from the ground soil upwards to puddle around its feet and cause it to stagger.

  My shoes have long been run ragged, but still I run, letting my Ability loose while spinning the route we’ve planned. I bite back profanity as I nearly trip on a rock — damn inconveniently placed obstacles — and think. Think. We’d checked on Arden and Rayan’s position, which means that they should be around there—

  Cas leads the Minotaur to the clearing, before doing a planned fake-out.

  I hear Arden and Rayan’s voices as I sneak into the Minotaur’s eyeview and bait it into a planned direction, towards the traps from before.

  “Ar—”

  “Yeah, Ray, I see it—”

  They should be too focused on the monster itself. Hopefully. I signal to Cas, and then forcedly grin at the Minotaur, bringing my knives out pointedly half-hidden by the bushes behind the other two.

  It charges. Arden and Rayan run away, and while Cas engages it, I make sure they’re in the right direction, blanketing my Ability over the two figures.

  I’m sorry.

----------------------------------------