Nania POV

No one had chased me down or caught me. By the time I returned to the temple, no Priestess, guard, or maidservant gave me a look any stranger than usual. Either Forya had not spotted me—or she did not want it known a Priestess had gone rogue. Again. My limbs still trembled with frenetic energy from the not-quite-chase. I felt I could run a lap around the temple, or collapse to the floor in a sweaty heap.

Sarya was starry-eyed upon my return, begging to hear of my ‘exploits’. I hated to disappoint her with how little I had really overheard and learned, but she hardly seemed disappointed at all. “Remember, a good rumor doesn’t need to be true,” she said, tapping at her nose. “It needs to be just scandalous enough, and just believable enough. ‘Course, a kernel of truth always helps!’

“But I have no idea who it was in her chambers,” I moaned. “Ara…daine? Arene? Ara-something.”

Sarya’s eyes rolled up towards the ceiling as she pondered. Then she answered with a gasp, “Oh, gosh—Aradenene?”

“It could’ve been,” I agreed cautiously. “Er—remind me who he is?”

“The half-brother of Lordrin’s father. While Lordrin’s father was the previous King, Aradenene used to be the Head of the Army before Menone.”

“So his relationship with the old king should have been like Lordrin’s with Menone,” I said.

Sarya nodded. “They both worked closely with Forya. She’s the last of the old Heads to step down. He was pretty well-liked.”

“It’s going to be hard to slander someone like him.”

“Will it?” asked Sarya. “Well, gosh. I I think I mentioned Forya and Aradenene were close when working together…very close…”

“Wait—you mean—?” My cheeks burned scarlet. “But wait—that was years ago! Any rumors about that would be ancient! And—and Forya is Forya. You know how stringent she is with the rules.”

“Which’ll make the story catch like wildfire!” laughed Sarya.

“But isn’t it too…silly?”

She shook her head. “True, a rumor can’t be too ridiculous, or else people will just treat it like a good joke. Laughingstock. And such things can be useful too, but not for someone like Forya. But as for whether or not this is ‘believable’…well, people do some very strange things for love, don’t they?”

“Were they in love?” I asked.

“They’d have to be, for their son to be born,” said Sarya.

My head tilted, now almost parallel to the floor. “Their—they had a son?”

“Why else would Crown Naruune reject Lordrin, when he had otherwise seemed the perfect king, at the same time a new Crown and Crown-son appears?”

My brows knit together, creating a deepening furrow. “But…you don’t know that. Not for sure.”

“I know that Lordrin was rejected by the gods. Everyone does. And it must be for a reason—and everyone has been debating what that reason is. Some even believe the gods are upset with the Rite of Sunset. That King Elian was ordered to abolish it.”

“Wait—but that means—”

Sarya shook her head, grabbing at my wrist. “Come on, come on—there’s so much to do. Longer your friend remains king, the harder it’ll be to remove him—and the more dramatic that’ll be. But rumors’re faster than truth, anyways.”

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Elian POV

Convincing six starved and wary Angran ex-prisoners to share a meal with the newly-crowned King of Gresha City should have been about as difficult as convincing the Nine Draconic Sons to pull a farmer’s chariot. But when I met Talon, I had convinced him to share a meal with me, too. And that had been more like convincing the Mother of Monsters to water my crops. This was almost relaxing. Though perhaps their hungry and disheveled state could be blamed for the task’s ease.

Soon, stew was placed within a large pot, bowls and flatbread handed out to all. When the now-freed Angrans watched me scoop stew out into my bowl and eat it with the flatbread, tensions eased greatly, and they began to eat. The first to do so—and the only one among them to completely relax—was Shrike’s younger brother, Sparrow. He seemed the type to live within a waking dream. Shrike watched him carefully as he bobbed a finger, silently counting the runes on the walls, empty bowl sat beside him. I’d failed to convince the Angrans to move to the Royal Mess Hall to eat, and but transporting over half a dozen Angrans through the halls without being accosted by the guards may have been more trouble than it was worth, anyways.

Once the meal was finished, I carefully broached conversation again. “I’m sure you’d all like to return home, as quickly as possible. And I would like to see you home safely. Are you all from Angra-Fyr?” My eyes traced across the room. Only Shrike met my gaze in return, with defiance. All the others stared into their bowls, or at the ground, or scrutinized the ceiling as if it held the secrets of the universe. “I could send a message. Arrange for proper Angran escorts.”

“I am not from Angra-Fyr,” said Shrike. “My brother and I are from Angra-Lefa. And if you don’t know where that is, I see no reason to tell you. We’ll find our own way back.”

“The girl does not speak for all of us,” said another Angran. I raised an eyebrow, but he continued before I could say anything. “I don’t want to stay in this city a moment longer. Can’t we leave now?”

Aside from Shrike, none of these Angrans seemed very like Talon at all. But perhaps that was an unfair comparison. Even if they weren’t hungry, dirty, and scared, I was quite unlike my people own too.

“I understand why you wouldn’t want to stay, but—” I hesitated, wondering if they’d take offense, then pressed on “—I worry if you’re strong enough to return alone after this ordeal. What if you’re beset by bandits?” And though I was apparently King, I was leery of trusting Greshan guards to escort them back. My attempts to broker peace between the two races was still wet from the egg. If I chose the wrong escort, it may yet die in the nest. Perhaps if I escorted them personally, but what Forya might do while I was gone, and then there was Lordrin, and I wasn’t certain how recovered I was…

“I’m still strong. I shall be my own escort,” Shrike spoke up, striking his(?) chest. “Strong enough to fend off rabid animals, anyways. Though, if you were to lend us horses…”

“We have few horses in Gresha. We do have mules,” I offered. “Perhaps if you rode back to your village, and returned with guards from your own people, those you know to be trustworthy?”

Shrike looked thoughtful for a moment, brown eyes quickly darting to Sparrow. His thoughts seemed clear to me. But before he could give a proper answer, the rhythmic slap of bare feet on brick floor interrupted us. Already prepared to lecture another rash guard about how I knew how to defend myself, I rose to my feet, only to be battered by a wave of dizziness. My feet staggered, body leaning against a wall just as a new head emerged from the darkness of the stairwell and into the torchlight. This person did not wear the armor of a guard, but rather the sash of a messenger. And they appeared rather anxious. Dread washed away the creeping tide of dizziness and I straightened before they saw.

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“Is it something that can wait?” I asked, hiding the strain with impatience. Knowing he might displease me seemed to stress the messenger, but he appeared too stubborn—or scared—to let that stop him for long. That did not bode well.

“It’s quite urgent, Crown-son,” he said in a clipped voice.

I returned his distress with a fragile smile of my own. “And this situation is rather delicate, so—”

“Crown-son! Quit playing with the prisoners, it’s about the other Crown-son!”

The smile fell from my face entirely. “They aren’t prisoners.” Then I blinked. “What do you mean, the other Crown-son?”

“Lordrin, clearly, it’s—it’s difficult to explain,” he said, in a way that reminded me of the last messenger to come to me with some emergency. I took another step forward, only to realize someone else had appeared at my side. Now I turned my delicate smile on Shrike.

“It would be safer for you to stay and wait here. We can continue negotiations once—”

“No,” he said, bluntly. “If it affects us, then I go too. Especially if it involves that awful man. The one who was going to sacrifice my brother.” He gave me a pointed, judging look. Though it did not sound like a question, I nodded.

Well. If this child was anything like Talon, then there was little point arguing with him. And he did seem quite a lot like Talon, if a younger, happier one. One who hadn’t been hurt quite so bad. “Fine, but try to restrict yourself to observing,” I said. “If I tell you to do something, obey. This is my domain, and my problem to handle.”

He nodded assent and we took off, following the messenger. All along the way, endlessly my mind wondered what had happened. Had Forya or Lordrin done something truly drastic? Was Menone leading a sudden coup? What could be done to stop it, would diplomacy be enough? Had Nania left the city already? She must have, it was close to evening now.

She likely wouldn’t reach Talon until tomorrow. Perhaps it would have been better had she left tomorrow. We’d always braved the forests together before, and never so late in the day.

Which was why I stumbled when I saw distinctive, bright red hair, causing Shrike to walk into me. Despite blinking and rubbing at my eyes, it remained.

Nania had not left the city, she had not even left the temple. She was here, now. And accompanying her were a priestess around her age I did not recognize, and fucking Lordrin. Something in the chest began to beat rapidly, warmth flooding the body, but it I struggled to stay present and focus. Hazel eyes dar My eyes darted across the scene again shakil with renewed focus.

Lordrin was stumbling backwards; Nania had seemingly shoved him into a decorative vase. Likely he deserved it. Though he staggered and righted himself, the vase was not so lucky, shattering across the ground. Clutching at Nania’s arm and keeping her back was the dark-haired and chubby Priestess I did not recognize. Loosely encircling the three were a smattering of guards—some looked like they were about to intervene, but on whose side, one could not say. Others, noticing their king’s arrival, looked appropriately alarmed.

What a mess. But it would be a greater mess to kill them.

I took a deep breath, and bellowed, “Stop this,” hoping volume would make up for any lacking confidence. Then I gave Shrike a sidelong glance. There was no acknowledging nod from him, but still the boy did as asked without adding further to the chaos. The boy went to hold the ex-Crown-son down, as I approached the guards. All of them had noticed their king now. Nome looked suspiciously anxious—guilty—for guards merely doing their duty, but all snapped to attention quickly.

The dark-haired Priestess seemed to check Nania over for injuries. From the corner of my eye I watched them, even as I attended to the guards. Even I couldn’t say if I was worried for my friend’s safety, or ensuring she wouldn’t flee from this mess.

The messenger quickly made himself scarce—hopefully seeking out some maids to clean up the painted clay shards.

Lordrin was the picture of fury, and being pinned by a boy almost half his size didn’t seem to help. The ex-king’s cheeks were red, eyes bulging, tongue flopping like a dead thing about as he stuttered. “You—Y-you!!” he growled, before jerking viciously. Reinvigorated by the meal, Shrike held him fast, before twisting his arm. The disgraced man grunted in pain.

“Don’t be too rough with him,” I said, suddenly aware of how bad this might look to onlookers. Certainly it would not end well for the other Angrans.

Still, with the most volatile element in the situation restrained, my shoulder sagged with relief. For now I could ignore Lordrin’s raging and attend to the guards. Then would come Nania. “What happened? Why was there fighting?” I asked.

One of the less anxious guards, who had spotted me earliest, stepped forwards and saluted. A large scar twisted across his arm, and his earthen-brown eyes met mine confidently. “Crown-son,” he said. “In truth, it was this one’s fault.” He glared down at a younger guard, beardless, unscarred. Lacking in proper combat experience, from the way he quivered under his king’s attention.

My eyes flickered from the young guard, to the priestesses, and back. Nania’s attention was split between myself and Lordrin, and I couldn’t tell who her bitter expression was meant for. I had seen her mad, of course, and morose, and spiteful. But I wasn’t sure I’d ever seen a look like that on her face. Beside her, the other Priestess seemed almost unreadable, her mask a too-familiar smile. It was almost like looking in a mirror, as I shuddered.

They both watched as Lordrin spat acid, as stoic as either could manage. Which, for Nania, wasn’t much.

I turned back to the younger guard. “What happened,” I repeated, more seriously.

The beardless guard did not gulp, but it seemed a near thing. “Well, I was patrolling with some of the other men,” he began, “and we…heard…some gossip. That the old Crown-son lost the throne because he was, that is to say, illegitimate.”

“That’s slander,” cried Lordrin. He thrashed audibly. “Those girls were spreading slander, I know it was them! You’re all in league together, the savages and the warlock and the Fien—” Shrike must have clapped a hand over his mouth, finally shutting him up. I frowned as I thought I heard Nania giggle, but said nothing. Instead I only waited for the guard to continue, struggling to look only at him.

Seeming a little bolder now, the younger guard did so. “We knew the men guarding the little king’s chamber, and so we thought…we may as well go ask him ourselves, eh?”

“He was recovering from a head injury. Did the healers allow visitors?” I asked.

The man winced. “We, ah. Told the healers to get lost.” He flinched under my glare, and even his scarred companion seemed to deflate with shame. Secretly I wondered why the healers weren’t the ones to send a messenger. “Well. We were joking around, asking the old king about it, when he rushed past us and—”

The man’s eyes flickered over to the priestesses now. Now I turned to them, expectantly.

Immediately the dark-haired girl crooned, “It was just so frightenin’,” as if she had been waiting for a cue. “We were just doing our chairs when he came out, ranting and raging. I’ve always respected the old Crown-son—just because one was more favored didn’t mean the old one never was, right? But this…”

“Thank you,” I said, as kindly but firmly as I could manage. Then I took a deep breath. “Priestess-Candidate Nania?”

Her expression remained bitter, furrows engraved upon her forehead and eyes frowning. She almost looked like a younger Head Priestess Forya. “Yes?”

“Anything you’d like to add?”

Behind me Lordrin made a muffled noise. The redheaded Priestess bit her lip, making a face like she’d just sucked on a lemon as she stared at him. “You know Lordrin has a history of this sort of thing.”

“Does he?” They had a history together. I wasn’t stupid. But would he do something like this, without any soldiers assisting, without the backing of his mother? Perhaps it was the brewing headache, but it just wasn’t making sense. The poisoning had been subtle, assuming he or Forya were behind it. Why would his methods change now? Was he just growing desperate, having seen me alive, or…

I winced, quickly glancing back to my fallen rival. He was just as intense, as enraged, though he was no longer struggling against Shrike to break free.

The head injury, Fiendspawn, the head injury—

Again I winced, slapping at my face slightly as I turned back to the others.

“You,” I singled out the younger guard, “I need you and those on patrol with you to walk yourself down to Head Menone, and explain to him what exactly occurred. Punishment is his to determine.”

That guard bowed his head, he and three others quietly leaving as two maidservants bustled in, before freezing. At a nod from me they resumed cleaning the shattered vase, and I stepped aside to clear space for them.

“Shrike, please get off of Lordrin. You,” I gestured at the scarred guard, “please escort the former Crown-son back to his chambers, we’ll attend to him later. Nania.” I gestured with my head to a nearby bend in the hall that should afford us some privacy. Though I worried about leaving Shrike, Lordrin, and Greshan guards alone, they would remain well within earshot if anything loud happened. And there were things I could only ask Nania in private.