I wrote my letters, and received one in return. Humming a ditty under my breath, I skimmed Greta’s orders and burned the papers, smiling alone in my room. It’s a good day, I thought, as I opened the curtains to leftover blood and carnage. Yes, it’s a very good day.
What had I said? Yes, now I remembered — when I’d arrived, Diamandis had been all dust and story—but the city had grown on me like a particularly illusive wart. There were no assassins when I woke up in the morning, I hadn’t needed to murder or torture anyone in the last hour, and I hadn’t received a single nightmare since I’d been in Petra’s manor.
Of course, I still kept A List of Nobles in the Empire Eoina by my bedside, out of habit; but I was—not happy, just content.
And then I stopped what I was doing immediately and tried to figure out what the fuck was wrong with me.
My Ability...was alive. It was quiet, as if upset that I hadn’t used it in days — how could I use it, when I was paranoid it could potentially be feeding me false information — but it was alive, like before. Nothing was wrong with it.
Had I...gotten soft?
I mean, I would still kill and kidnap in the blink of an eye, but this feeling...was strange.
Strange, that was the word for it. But I didn’t have the energy to doubt the genuinity of my mood, so I shrugged on my robes and headed to my morning meal. Naxy was there, chomping on a bread rusk; and Petra was brutally slaughtering the fruit. Mercy was there, as well—I didn’t offer her a seat, since I knew she was the type to eat breakfast the second she woke up.
I popped a grape into my mouth, picking up a piece of bread and slathering fruit jam on it. After I finished the piece off, I informed them, “I have new orders. I’m leaving for Zephyr tomorrow.”
Naxy looked up. “You’re plucked away from us so soon,” he said, sniffling dramatically. “Our child’s all grown up, now.”
“Shut up,” grunted Petra. They were, evidently, not a morning person. The Ducal Lord blinked at me still. “Are you going to take your boy with you?” they asked, stuffing a fruit in their mouth.
“Marianus? Not sure.” I applied jam to my bread. “He’s fitting in nicely here. If he betrays you while I’m gone, though, I’m sure you can handle it; so it’d be best if he stayed, even if it’d be nice to have another helping hand.” Xandros had already spread the song around like I’d asked; and he was probably staying in an inn somewhere. Mercy frequented a room adjoined to my bedroom when she wasn’t carrying out orders; but both of them weren’t particularly sociable.
Sociable.
I snorted, internally.
Anaxeres tilted his head. “You’re setting off tomorrow? From here, it’ll take, how long? At least three days, I’m betting on a regular horse—and that’s not including if you cut through the Epi Range.”
Then Petra spoke. “Two days, with the best horses we have—the one we used to ride from the capital to Notus—and the fastest route we have on our hands. We did send our compiled information to Gr—the Empress,” they corrected themselves, “but, really, the more important question is, what the fuck is she thinking.”
“Language,” corrected Naxy, absently.
Petra scowled. “It’s opsec, I know—” they sighed. “You know what? Let’s just stop talking about this. It’s fucking three—”
“Six,” corrected Naxy.
Petra’s scowl deepened. “Six,” they amended, resentfully glaring at the other, “in the morning. I just want to eat my damn bread in peace.”
I shrugged. “Fine by me,” I said.
We ate the rest of our meal in surprisingly companionable silence.
Of course, while thinking about our respective war crimes.
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What would nautical trade entail, exactly?
Frankly speaking, the Imperial Navy sucked ass. The only thing it was good for—at least on the surface level—was enforcing cargo ships that made up the trade route from the Empire, to the people across the Oceanus: the Easterners and the Middle-Easterners, the Empire’s primary source of ‘exotic’ goods.
From silks and spices, to tea and ivory, to sometimes even groundbreaking ideas and systems; it had formed after decades of diplomatic negotiations.
That was what the Navy was good for. Enforcing nautical relations on that specific route. And then trade stops that occupied it, my Ability added.
Harbormasters and the Navy were different. The East Quarter of the Imperial City enforced their own sets of regulations — of course, both the Navy’s and the Quarter’s rules both stemmed from official Imperial law, but the Docks dealt closely with Merchants that had their cargo ships coming in and out of the Isles.
The Navy, on the other hand, had arguably more influence on what came in and out of the Empire itself; but was an entity— further from the people, my Ability provided.
Nautical trade.
That was a strange field—one I had little-to-no practical experience in.
Was Greta aiming to blockade the Republic’s nautical endeavors?
“We’re going to Zephyr,” I informed my minions.
Xandros blinked. “Why?” he asked.
“We’re there to scope out the nautical landscape there,” I informed them. “But first—” I handed out several handwritten copies of Marianus’ information “—our current information. Strictly opsec—if anyone leaks it, they’ll be charged with grand treason, then executed immediately and very painfully.”
I’d skimmed the papers, of course — Marianus had been very thorough. Of course, he’d skirted some details in the case he’d run back to the Republic under the guise of a double agent attempt, but—
Xandros blinked at the paper he’d been handed. “This is…” he frowned.
“The movements of troops made so far—well, at least, in theory,” I explained. “Since the Romulus Army mainly occupies Gloria and Bellum—some call them Forts, others Strongholds, but they’re essentially military bases in the form of cities within cities. Even though Marianus is the primus pilus, he’s also under the command of a praetor under the command of a Consul.”
“So there are no specifics, just numbers,” guessed Xandros.
I inclined my head. Greta’s assumption (perhaps she had solid intel, I didn’t know) that Marcellus had stationed troops near Notus as a contingency had been correct—before they’d set out, Marcellus had moved the First Cohort.
“But they still have the monsters to deal with, as well,” Mercy said, running a hand through her dark hair (I’d told her about them, of course).
“That’s right,” I agreed. “But that’s what the Romus family’s for, after all.” I drummed my fingers on the table—we were inside my bedroom, and I’d made sure to Read for any eavesdroppers before I’d started the debrief (the Reading bit was working; it was just the Weaving that was giving me a headache).
I propped up two fingers. “Romanus, for Romulus; and Romus, for, well, Romus. The families of the current Consuls—the families of most Republica Consuls in history, really—hold the command of both Armies in the Legion.”
“Two praetors,” Alexandros said, slowly.
“Julian Marius Romanus; and Cecilia Valeria Romus,” I provided. I tilted my head, placing a finger on the table’s surface. “Since Greta’s aiming for nautical trade, she’s probably trying to hit Romus where it hurts while they’re occupied with the Union—civil administration’s what they’re in charge of, after all. If she deploys Zephyr’s ‘navy’ and manages, somehow, to find a way for boats through the Epivolous Range…” I traced a mock curve from my imaginary starting point to the other.
Mercy saw what I saw. “Blockade on Azareth,” she said.
I gave a small nod. “But that won’t be enough to dent the granaries or their funds—it would just cut off Republica-Imperial trade. If Sister’s going to go the way I think she’s going to go, she could potentially use Azareth as an entry point, and work her way inside from there.” I moved my fingertip east, tapping it on the imaginary continent.
“But if she really wants to put pressure on the ‘Pubs,” I continued, fixing my eyes on the grain of the table, “what we could do—what she might be planning to do, since she deployed Cyrus to Eurus—is pair with the Galani to get through the Snakelands and assault Bellum simultaneously, preventing movement of troops from one Army’s Fort; if we do succeed in taking Azareth, we’ll prevent movement of funds from the other, as well.”
Two attacks at the same time.
A flanking maneuver, from both sides.
Xandros frowned from the corner of my eye. “But that would need a lot of people,” he replied, slowly. “Unless—”
“We take advantage of this moment where morale is at its highest, and start conscription,” Mercy finished. A strange smile crept up on her face, before Xanthe tilted her head. “If we do seize Azareth, the Merchants won’t be satisfied…”
I matched her grin, the amusement not even needing a prompt. “You weren’t there, of course,” I said, simply, “but Duchess Hyacinth does have a plan for that.”
A small silence, before Xandros broke it.
“Why stop there, Boss?” His eyes gleamed.
I raised an eyebrow. “That is one of my favorite questions,” I admitted. “Continue.”
Xandros continued, his tone getting more heated. “If conscription rates do exceed at yielding a shit ton of people—and maybe it will, ya never know what people do to pay the bills—couldn’t ya take a shot at the capital after ya do your assaults, Boss?” His accent back again, he persisted: “Three digs at the ‘Pubs at the same time, Boss—wouldn’t that cripple ‘em?”
I had, of course, thought of that.
“It’s risky,” I answered. “A fully-fledged effort, this early on? Sure, if everything goes better than expected, it would be in consideration; but it depends on whether the Empire’s willing to take the risk— no, Greta,” I corrected myself. “Whether Sister, a fresh Empress on the throne, is willing to take the risk—after all, if she fails, a coup wouldn’t be that far in the future.”
Xandros’ face didn’t fall as the former Guard initiate considered the information. “Yeah,” he said, finally. “You’re right.” But there was passion in his eyes that made my lips quirk.
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“Write a proposal,” I ordered, smiling. “To the Empress. I’ll help you submit it.”
Disbelief, before a flicker of something I hadn’t seen in a long time, that flare that came with ‘loyalty’— gratefulness.
Xandros bowed his head. “Thank you, Boss.” Surprising genuinity.
I inclined my head. “Say goodbye to your Notian friends,” I told him. “Make sure, if everything goes to shit, that some of them owe you favors. Big favors—as in, write-a-letter-and-they’ll-send-you-information favors.” I smiled, before shoo-ing him away.
And then I turned to Mercy.
“It’s been delivered,” she responded, meeting my eyes.
Go on, she seemed to say— at least, that was what I’d Read.
It was so— amusing.
I threw my head back and cackled. “Do you trust me, Xan?” I asked wryly, grinning. No more my Mercy.
Something unreadable flashed behind my assassin’s eyes. My Blade of Mercy—there was little I could call mine in this world, I realized. My fiance— he’d accepted out of political necessity. My duchy— I’d been basically expelled from it after I’d returned home. My family— full of madmen; insane killers that I trusted just about as far as I could throw them. My Empire? The roots of it were barely growing—a tiny, tiny sapling in the ground.
“Xan,” I said again, mirth—perhaps a tad too bitter for my taste—flooding into my tone. I looked up at her. “Will you abandon me like them all, my dearest Blade of Mercy?” I could feel my grin turn on its purpose—turning too sharp, too brittle, too pointed at its corners to be anything but threatening.
I was curious.
Xanthe regarded me with— un-Readable, I decided. An un-Readable emotion.
Strange.
“Maybe,” she responded, simply.
I let my smile flicker, as I closed my eyes and stretched in my chair—it was a terrific opportunity to assassinate me, I thought; but then she’d had so many opportunities to. I’d slept in front of her, turned my back on her, nearly had spirals in front of her.
I could feel her drawing closer—I could feel her warmth as she leaned down and reached for my hand and brushed her lips against my knuckles. My Ability sparked in warning, and I immediately was struck with the temptation to snap my eyes open—I ignored it, of course.
“No Oaths,” I said lazily, leaning back. “No promises, no deals, no false hopes.” My eyes were still shut. “Do you trust me, my mercy?”
A long silence.
“Maybe,” she responded, standing up again.
I smiled in the darkness. “Alright, then.”
That was enough—
Enough for a Paladin, this far in the Game.
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In the afternoon, I spoke with the Duke. We were sitting on a cliff overlooking the plain — the Duke precariously dangling his legs over the edge with a cup of wine in hand; my person situated slightly behind him, legs crossed, seated at the perfect angle and distance for me to push him over within a few seconds.
My lips quirked as I looked at the sky instead — a vast expanse of that impossibly blue tint that came with a good day, the orb that occupied it shining down on a slaughter of hundreds. If not for the sheer amount of bombs transported, I doubted we would’ve secured a victory against the Republic’s forces, much less take the leader of them and convince him to turn.
Anaxeres spoke.
“You seemingly have two Abilities,” he said casually, sipping his wine.
Reading and Weaving.
How he’d picked up on that, I didn’t know, but I voiced my answer. “I have one Ability—just two functions. Two Abilities is unheard of.”
Naxy shrugged. “Who knows?” he asked nonchalantly, turning to me. “Maybe it only happens every 500 years, every 100th Cage.”
It was a possibility, but if there were two separate Abilities that lurked within me, I would’ve known. No, it was a network that had two functions—two strange functions, but still a singular network.
“It is a possibility, but I don’t think it’s true,” I said, smiling. I studied the view instead of Naxy’s face, tapping my fingers rhythmically against the ground while lifting my head towards the sun. “My Reading is alright. It’s never been wrong before—the only Drawback is that it relies on cues.” Sensory cues, but Anaxeres didn’t need to know that. “My Weaving...has not been in the best shape, lately.”
The Duke raised an eyebrow. “Really? I’d have thought—” my Ability sparked and I moved to the left just as Naxy darted forward and reached for my throat (he would’ve seized it, if I hadn’t moved)—his fingers curling around empty air—I jumped to my feet, pulling a dagger out from under my robes; and Anaxeres grinned. His eyes were wild as he ran a hand—the very one he’d used to try and strangle me—through his hair.
“They’re reflexes,” he noted, smiling. “Your Ability’s predictive. I’m right. A network, like I said before—truly, something worth betting on.”
I returned his grin as I lashed out with my knife and let me, the gambler wheezing as I constricted his throat. The amiable Naxy was gone, and now I realized why he and Arathis were such good friends—the Duke of Tyche’s expression didn’t even falter.
“You said you wanted to see the finish line,” I said, conversationally, forcing the Duke backwards by his neck. “What if it ends here?”
“Chance, my spider,” responded Anaxeres, coughing. “It all depends on chance.” His hands twitched, as if shoving forward invisible poker chips—or firing an invisible gun. That roulette, with the six chambers—I threw my head back and laughed, before I leaned forward and examined him.
“You also said that Greta wanted you to train me into a spymaster,” I commented. “You were lying—there’s something else.”
The gambler’s smile widened as he felt my grip loosen, just a bit. “Evlogia,” he said. “Ara is pushing Evlogia to support you to the throne after Greta—after the war, you’re a political candidate. Ara’s planning to use this entire thing—this war—to pit you against Greta—the spider, the dark horse.”
My fingers twitched.
What?
“Why?” I demanded, shaking the Duke.
Anaxeres coughed. “Because it’s fun, obviously,” said the gambler, giving a wink. “But that was happening even before the war—sure, Ara fired that gun because he wanted to, but there were obviously strings behind it. Strings behind strings, behind strings. Josephine’s just found out what Ara already knew Greta was going to do—you blindly followed your sister to get out of the situation you were in, but—”
He shrugged—or at least tried to. “Out of the frying pan, into the fire, I guess.” He continued, “If Greta wanted to kill all of you and take the throne, she would’ve done it a long time ago. You know that, my spider. She just wanted your Oath, she wanted your bet. She probably didn’t expect her brother to die, but there are strings behind strings behind strings. You—we—are on the stage of this entire war.” Naxy laughed, choking as I tightened my grip.
“You are not behind the stage, my dear spider,” Anaxeres Evimeria informed me. “You are a puppet on it.”
This is a Game.
Naxy’s words hammered away at the realization that lay at my Ability’s core—I was being used. This was an entirely different game than Queen’s Crown, than the Cage, and I was a small Crownpiece. He wasn’t lying, that I’d known at the back of my head that something had been off.
A sardonic smile crept its way on my face.
I couldn’t throw a childish tantrum and flip the Board over, this time.
I couldn’t win this Game.
“I will win this game, before I start the Game,” I told him, releasing the Duke’s throat as he collapsed to the floor, coughing. My fingers had left bruises, but Anaxeres just winked again.
What had I said to him?
I do not enter races I cannot win.
This— Game? I wasn’t sure if I could win—if it could be won. It wasn’t just becoming Empress, gaining power, it was—
“Be careful, spider,” my mentor of a few days responded. “This Game—you might not win. Once you retire from the stage, you cannot step on it again.” What might’ve passed for genuine concern flashed in his eyes, before I reached my hand out.
I merely smiled in response, offering to help him up.
Anaxeres of Tyche took my outstretched hand.
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I told Xandros on the carriage that I was considering making him a baron.
He took half of the ride to process it.
“A baron, baron?” he had asked, scratching his head.
I had snickered. “What else? A duke, duke?” I had nodded towards Mercy. “She’s almost set to become a baroness, soon,” I had elaborated. “I could, potentially, get her boosted up to viscountess—if I contribute enough, towards the war—and let her ‘family’ take the spot of the Bloodthorn viscounty, if I manage to boost them up to county.”
Alexandros had merely nodded, confusedly, and hadn’t probed further.
I’d, of course, pondered on Anaxeres’ words.
If Greta wanted to kill all of you and take the throne, she would’ve done it a long time ago. You know that, my spider. She just wanted your Oath, she wanted your bet. She probably didn’t expect her brother to die, but there are strings behind strings behind strings. You—we—are on the stage of this entire war.
And:
Ara fired that gun because he wanted to, but there were obviously strings behind it. Strings behind strings, behind strings. Josephine’s just found out what Ara already knew Greta was going to do—you blindly followed your sister to get out of the situation you were in.
Along with my personal favorite, of course:
Ara is pushing Evlogia to support you to the throne after Greta—after the war, you’re a political candidate. Ara’s planning to use this entire thing—this war—to pit you against Greta—the spider, the dark horse.
That meant, one: Ara had wanted to start the war; two: he was planning to use Greta to clean up the Empire and let me take credit for it, because three: he was planning to make me the next Empress.
That revelation was particularly unsettling—because, well, Arathis wasn’t the most stable person. It wasn’t that I was the most stable person, either, but there needed to be something about me being Empress that he wanted—and what did want? He wanted something fun, something interesting, but with strategic benefits, which led to my next point—
Josephine had found out something that Ara had known before he’d started the war, something about Greta.
Which meant there was something about my sister that had prompted two Chosen of the Gods to move against her.
That aside, there was also the fact that Anaxeres had said that the entire poisoning incident—with me alerting Julian, Nikephoros’ assassination, the entire thing—had been orchestrated by Greta to sway me to her side. Now that was less—not believable, because it was within my sister’s capabilities, but...less reasonable? Less cohesive? Uncharacteristic, I decided.
Likely, Naxy hadn’t know why, either—that was why he’d tested my Ability, to see if there was anything special about me.
To add to all the political fuckery, there was a war going on.
A war.
I would've said unbelievable, but, considering the Empire, it was just another Dayhept.
Calm down and think this through, I told myself multiple times. Don’t punch the poor carriage driver—he has nothing to do with your bad mood.
Of course, both Xandros and Mercy had noticed my foul mood as it progressively worsened in the two days it took to get to Zephyr, and both of them had feebly attempted to remedy it with badly carried-out jokes (Xandros) and very well-cooked and well-hunted rabbits (Mercy).
The rabbits helped—kind of.
But I couldn’t help the smile that crawled on my face as I saw the Stronghold of Zephyr come into my view.
It was, thankfully, not on fire.
My smile grew wider.
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Zephyr was beautiful in the way that your best friend’s daughter was, I thought—at least, if I had a best friend, and that best friend lived long enough to have a daughter. You were affectionately fond of it, just because it existed.
Golden towers stretched high into the sky, the admirable construction of its intricate spires drawing my attention. The gate was made of Imperial gold, hyacinths—the Hyacinth Duchy’s trademark flower—etched into the arch along with the words: We go with the wind. The duchess surprisingly met us at the entrance, smiling brightly while waving her daffodil-yellow fan in greeting.
We conversed before she led us to her manor, where we were greeted yet again, this time with a feast worth far more than empty platitudes.
My stomach full, I excused myself—at least, I tried to, before Delphine stopped my exit with the information that I had two new letters.
I opened them later that day, and there was only one thing I could say:
What the fuck?
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