KNITE:

The crack of dawn. Early risers—mostly servants attending their duties—shuffled about the streets, bleary-eyed and half-asleep. I hoped to be settled before daybreak brought out the larger masses.

I knew we were still in The Heartwood. The buildings here were three or four stories high, their clear-glass windows and dark brown stone lending them an air of gravitas much of The Bark lacked. We weren't far, however. Private gardens and walled estates had given way to terraced homes with modest balconies, and the shift in architecture was as apparent as it was gradual, such that a discerning eye could always tell the direction in which they were heading. Ask me, and The Heartwood was the best the city could offer. It was clean and spacious, lavish enough to provide comfort, unrefined enough to hinder decadence, and far enough from the glowing spires of the palace to be partially free of that damnable green light. I even preferred the stone-cobbled streets and brick walls to the smooth marble of The Branches, and that is to say nothing of how much I loathe the creation Grono had infested The Leaves with.

Helena walked beside me, sulking in the way she did—a stand-offish calm interspersed with sideways glances. I had isolated Farian’s memories of the night, and she knew I could not do so without leaving scars. It would take her a day or two to realize she ought to be happy I didn’t end him there and then. Much as he’d cleaned his soul since his appointment as The Bark’s Reeve, the man was still sullied enough to be within the reach of my swords.

“Where is the church?” I asked.

Helena’s answer came unhurried—a measured act of rebellion. “The main church is in what is now part of The Roots,” she said, her tone bored. She wanted a reaction. I was in no mood to give her one.

“Is Solor still in power?” I asked. Little effort had been given to keeping up with the political landscape during my time as Merkus.

“His grandson, Socram.”

“Really? Which of the churches managed to unseat the man?”

“A follower of Lorail. His son, Soralm, was taken by the very same.”

“Same church?”

“Same follower, same day.”

I laughed. “Is this follower still breathing? I should very much like to meet them.”

“Her name is Ilinai, if I remember correctly. Last I heard, she’s thirty-odd years into a hundred-year sentence at The Bridge.”

“Well, that’s not fair. Remind me to liberate her when we attend to our business at The Bridge.”

Helena snorted. “I doubt she’d fare much better under your service.”

Again, I did her the courtesy of overlooking her comment.

No gates or borders separated The Bark from The Heartwood. Both parts of the city lay on the third plateau, and technically, The Heartwood was a region of The Bark, but I knew we’d crossed the boundary. Lighter bricks began to appear, starting with a few mismatched patches of repair and ending in entire homes and buildings made of the tawny material. Of course, Heartwoods, given the astuteness of age and position, knew better than to embarrass themselves by attempting to imitate their supposed betters. Their homes still wore the venerable bricks of ages long past—another reason I preferred it there.

“I trust our accommodations are in order?” I asked.

“Yes.”

I released a slow breath. “Where?”

“In The Roots.”

“Near The King’s Church?” I knew the region near one of Merkusian’s churches, few as they were, was sure to be neutral and outside the influence of the Houses.

“Yes.”

I kept silent then, biting off my frustration before Helena lost her life and I lost my most trusted subordinate.

When last I visited, The Roots, the sole region on the first plateau and home to the commoners who’d escaped or avoided the misfortune of finding themselves stuck at the foot of the city as a Mud, was a community of relative equals. No longer was it so. Many of the homes near the gates leading to The Bark occupied large plots of land lavished with pompous gates, well-maintained gardens, and an abundance of staff standing guard or flittering about their menial duties. Those nearer The Muds—the outer region of the city furthest away from the tall cliffs of the coast and home to the lowliest of citizens—did little better than the Muds they called neighbors.

The building Helena acquired was only a half-turn walk from a gate to The Bark. She’d done well. Once a storefront for a prosperous dullsmith, the building had four floors, the bottom half made of stone, the upper of wood. And not the wet, rotting wood of The Muds, but an aged, smooth wood of dark oak. Nestled between an apothecary and a tanner, both of which stood half as tall, the location had decent traffic and offered a good vantage of the surrounding area. As I said, she’d done well.

I glanced around as Helena went about unlocking the door. Vendors who looked little more than beggars huddled before corners and between buildings, selling a few simple wears as wealthy passersby jeered their contempt with exaggerated disinterest. I wondered what Merkusian would say if he’d seen his city fall to such depths. Then I wondered what he would say when I punished his children for it.

Keys jangled, locks clicked, and after an endless rattling of latches, the door swung open, presenting an older man too cheerful and energetic for his supposed age.

“G’day, Lord,” he greeted, bowing low and deep.

“She left you to look after the place?” I asked, smiling despite myself.

“The betta’ part of me duties,” he said, righting himself.

“I hope your accent isn’t permanent.”

Old Roche laughed. Helena pushed past him, eager to display her mood. Roche quirked an eyebrow at me.

“She’s having trouble letting go of Addy,” I said. “I’m giving her a day to remember who she is. Who I am.”

“Farian?” Roche guessed.

I nodded. “He was less genial to the truth than we’d hoped.”

“I would think so. Spending so many years thinking you have a wife and son only to be told it was mere fantasy is a hard truth to swallow.”

A flicker of contrition on my part and Roche, as perceptive as ever, caught the expression. “I see she’s not the only one yet to brush away the recent past,” he said.

I narrowed my eyes. Roche did not need me to voice my displeasure. As I said, he was as perceptive as ever.

“Apologies, my Lord,” he said, bowing once more. “I guess I was more right than I presumed, being both victim and perpetrator of my accusation.”

“Lead the way,” I said.

Roche took my cloak and swords. I kept the two long daggers strapped to my thighs and the two throwing knives tied to the inside of my forearms; even among loyal servants, even in a place as innocuous to me as The Roots, it wouldn’t do to go unarmed.

This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

The place was vaguely reminiscent of the compact buildings the Kolokasi were known for, the rooms small, the hallways narrow, and every space used with reverence to efficiency and little care for adornment. After a quick tour, Roche led me to a room in the back with four chairs laid out in a loose circle. Stewing in quiet rage, Helena sat in the chair facing the window, arms crossed. A smiling Roche fell into the seat opposite her. They both knew I liked to keep any entrances or exits in view—a habit I’d nurtured amid treacherous kin.

“You’ve kept your name,” I said to Roche.

“For the most part. Not all the identities I wear share the name.”

Helena shook her head, an amused smile breaking past her sullen dissent. “A dangerous choice. People remember your exploits in The City of Betters. Tales are still told in alehouses and brothels the islands over, telling of your daring intrusion into their courts and lauding you for bedding dozens—nay, hundreds of their officials.”

Roche unhooked the conical wineskin hanging from his hip. “I’ve grown old, young Helena.”

“Besides age doing very little to hide the appearance of a Named as skilled as you are, they’ll expect you to have… matured a little,” she said. “And I haven’t been young for quite some time.”

“Excuse my lack of modesty, but I am the greatest Tunneler of commoner blood Evergreen has ever seen,” Roche said. “Who’d believe I’ve been reduced to a measly custodian?”

Helena snorted.

Roche threw back his head and pulled from his wineskin, rivulets of red running down his unkempt beard. “And yes, you are young,” He said, wiping at his mouth with a stained sleeve.

“Helena is right,” I said.

Roche pushed the stopper onto his wineskin and hung it back on his waist. “Age is relative, Lord. No doubt she is young to me. I’d bet a cask of the finest brew she’s little older than a child to you.”

I smiled. “An unnecessary risk is a risk too great.”

“Yes, Lord.” Roche’s hand covered his wineskin as if my advice pertained to his proposed wager.

“To business. How are the preparations?” I raised a hand before Roche could start. “Just the facts, Old Roche. Spare me the banality of your excuses.”

Roche deflated, muttering, “Reasons, not excuses.”

“On with it,” Helena said.

“Fine, fine.” Roche leaned back on his chair, the wine working on relaxing him. “I suspect our plans—or, more specifically, your plans—require some major adjustments, whatever they might’ve been. There are a few new powers at play. Criminals obscured behind a veneer of merchant houses have been left to riot in recent decades.”

“Yes, I’ve noticed things are not what they used to be,” I said.

“Right,” Roche said. “Several families of nefarious origins have brought with them the tribulations of crime. Largely ignored by the authorities, whose ranks have been whittled away by the endless wars, these families have infiltrated the sector offices and grown audacious enough to reach a hand or two into the churches.”

“Enough to nullify my plans,” I asked.

“Probably,” Roche said. I knew it to be true when he gave me one-word answers. Roche was a man of many words, and when he gave you but a few, they were always worth listening to.

“And the godlings?” I asked.

“Like children wielding sharp and cumbersome weapons.” Roche unhooked his flask again, taking another swig of wine. “With the main family busy with The Old Queen’s war, the godlings have taken front stage in the ruling of the great cities.”

“I assume we can’t just cut the heads of these snakes and be done with it.”

Roche shook his head. “A hundred years is a long time for criminals to breed new criminals. Cut off a few heads, and thrice as many will scramble to take their place.”

I stood. “Helena, what can you tell me about The Bark and The Branches?”

“As much as it pains me to admit it, I agree with the Lecher,” she said. Roche grinned, proud of the Name I’d bestowed on him during his first ascension into a Branch. “For decades, they’ve ruled with petulance, ineptitude, and greed—more so than you remember. Without oversight, The Branches have found ways to realize ambitions that had been kept in check in the presence of the ruling five. I’m not surprised the same has happened in the lower plateaus.”

Roche nodded drunkenly.

I frowned. How could The Old Queen let this happen? “And The Bark?”

“Thankfully, Heartwoods have been able to keep order there,” Roche said. “Though many of the more capable soldiers have been sent off to war, the numerous elders who’ve retired or chosen to decline their ascension into the Branches have kept the military sectors relatively calm. They hold the respect and ear of many, and the newly risen merchant houses are rightly cautious of compelling them into action.”

I began to pace the room. “Speak to me of my… family.”

“The Old Queen and Bainan are at the front lines,” Helena said. “They’ve been there since soon after your supposed death. The twins guard The Eastern Gate. Manar travels the continent as an ambassador, visiting gods and kingdoms and demanding their fealty with warnings of our army’s inevitable approach.”

Much had changed. I expected my adoptive mother to lead the war from the palace. Hateful and thirsty for conquest as she was, her talents were ill-suited for the front lines. And my dear Manar, my favorite sibling, the kindest of us, roamed the world, leaning into kings and gods with the oppressive weight of our father's kingdom. Yes, much had changed.

I stopped in front of Roche with my hand held out. “Golodanian?” I asked, nodding to the open wineskin he clutched to himself like a mother cuddled her firstborn.

“South Golodanian, to be precise. The best there is.” He tightened the lid and threw me the flask, then reached under the breast of his tunic and brought out its younger brother.

“You’ve never had Silas’ brew,” I said, bringing the flask to my lips. The earthy thickness of the wine was sour, sweet, and bitter all at once. It took a conscious effort to allow the intoxication to take place.

I turned to Helena. “And Lorail?”

Helena shrugged. “She hasn’t left her royal spire at the palace for almost thirty years—or so it’s been said. Only her royal guards have seen her since.”

“You’ve been an adjudicator of hers for over a dozen years,” I said.

Helena shrugged again. “I was offered the appointment without her presence. The head of her outer guard anointed me in her stead. Besides, adjudicators are merely the arbiters of matters regarding Branch commoners. Other than the few occasions Admin called upon me to judge a capital crime or face another House’s adjudicator in battle, I’ve had very little reason to leave The Bark or mingle with godlings, let alone present myself to Lorail herself.”

“Rowan,” I guessed.

Helena nodded. “Yes. She’s the head of her outer guard.”

“Was,” I said.

“Was?”

“She was the head of her outer guard.”

Helena’s smile was wicked. “Good riddance, though I’d have preferred to do the deed myself.”

I resumed my pacing, wine in hand. “How do the other cities fare?”

Roche took another deep pull. “Partum is doing well,” he said, slurring his words. “With the kingdom at war and spending so much on weapons and alchemical tonics, they see much of the generated taxes.”

“The Island of Betters is contending with internal conflicts,” Helena said. “There’s rumors of a resistance led by a man capable of removing the bonds used to keep the island’s men in line. Predictably, recruitment has been plentiful for this new uprising. The rulers of Halor are having difficulties handling the problem.”

Taking out a pipe, Roche tapped the end into his cupped hand, dislodging the burned content within. “Reports of famine in Durum have been circulating among merchant groups. They’ve made plans and concessions to keep grain exports to the island expensive, hoping to increase the profit margins. The war has not been kind to the city’s populace.”

“Bainan levied his own people?” I asked.

Roche answered me with silence. I had a feeling he thought it a dumb question. He took a pouch from inside his faded cloak, picking out clumps of thin, purple strips of hashla. I wondered if he might’ve fared better serving Silas. Then I saw how tightly he gripped his pipe and remembered why he served me.

“Celer is doing relatively well,” Helena said. “Manar’s absence and the constant stream of soldiers passing through have caused some problems, but her children rule in much the same way their matriarch had—with a fair and heavy hand.”

The following questions would be the hardest for them to answer, so I retook my seat and took another pull from the flask. “The Muds?”

Both Helena and Roche looked away.

“The free cities?”

Silence.

“The Wild Lands?”

More silence.

“Is it as bad as that?” I asked instead.

“Worse,” they said in unison.

Helena cleared her throat and looked out the window, deep in thought. There was pain, pity, and sadness swirling in Roche’s eyes. He lit his pipe and took a deep drag. Helena was born in a small free city north of Durum. Roche hailed from Halor. Both knew what the worst of Evergreen offered back when they’d struggled against the cruelties of fate and the tyranny of heritage. They still carried some of the scars. It was hard to imagine what Evergreen had become as it declined further into the depravity the gods’ neglect had allowed, into what these two reacted to with wordless distaste.

I took one last long swig of the wine, closed my eyes, and let the effects tickle my mind. After a long moment, I closed the wineskin and the influence of its content.

“That is enough for now,” I said. “You may retire for the night.”

Helena stood and bowed deeply. “Good night… Lord.” Being reminded of what we fought against twisted her anger at me inwards, turning it to guilt—or so I assumed. She knew I’d taken a risk in letting Farian live, that I’d done so for her more than anyone or anything else. I doubt she knew it was also for me; the idea of killing the man was more unpleasant than I’d expected.

Roche swayed, grabbing his chair’s cresting rail to steady himself. “I would bow, but I fear I might tilt too far to return, Lord.”

“Think nothing of it. Go and rest.”

He made to leave.

“Roche,” I called. He turned, glassy-eyed and leaning on the wall for balance. “No more wine or hashla. No more hiding or dulling your anger. Tomorrow, we begin to quell that torment. Tomorrow, we begin to bring about the Evergreen I promised.”

Roche nodded. “Yes, Lord,” he said, his back a little straighter, his eyes a little clearer.

He knew I always kept my promises.