"Nice to see you in good health," Adam calmly said.

"Ha!" Aspreay gave a hollow laugh, quick and cold, highlighting an annoyed smirk. "Good health!" He repeated, studying his own empty palm. "A good joke, that one. Mayhaps I should've made you a jester rather than a painter."

"Well, at least you're still alive."

"Not an uncontested claim, that one." Aspreay studied the back of his hand. "More would think of me as a monster."

Adam paused. "Do you see yourself that way?"

"I frankly care little for it either way," the Nobleman answered. "Given the option, I would become a monster a thousand times over to protect Vasco."

His laughter turned dark. "I would slay many more monsters, too, and set fire to this very city if need be."

Here Adam reminded himself – it wasn't that Aspreay had decided to side with him. Aspreay had sided with Vasco, and Vasco had followed him in large part because of Solara.

I should remember that distinction. "Sounds as though you're not upset about your...health, then."

Aspreay shrugged. "It is a great opportunity, if anything. For this – and not much else – I thank you, my dear villain of an usurper."

"Your gratitude is misplaced. Valeria deserves it, not me."

Aspreay shook his head. "Puppets are not meant to be thanked," he said, his voice dripping with forced venom. "One does not thank a sword for cutting down a man."

Ferrero would, most likely. Adam stepped forward. "I shall refrain from expressing my gratitude, then."

"Good. Worthless feeling, that one. Praise and awe are more becoming of me, Painter. I fought the Dark Captain twice and survived once – you would not have been able to do it." He spun his wine glass impatiently. "Go on! Tell me how positively amazing I am."

"Lord Aspreay, we have not the time to go over how positively magnificent your performance was," Adam said, sarcasm dripping from every word. "Such an assessment will have to wait for a different night."

Aspreay let out an exaggerated sigh of disappointment. "Ah, time is such a harsh mistress!" He shook his head. "In which case, let us address the unimportant bullshit first."

In response, Adam gestured around. A week ago this had been his room. A year before it had been Aspreay's room. Now, the former lord appeared to have dressed it as his own again.

"You are in possession of something of mine," the Painter dryly noted.

"What do you speak of?" Aspreay looked around in apparent confusion. "Oh, this room? I'm quite fond of it, you see, and took it as payment for my services."

"I speak of the Realm." Adam stated, his voice and his resolve both hardening. "The Walls surrounding the city are yours right now. Not mine."

Aspreay shrugged. "I suppose you want ownership of it transferred to you, then? Halt, pup!" He held up his hand. "Do you not realize how transparent your Canvas's staining is right now? Your soul stirs like ill-mixed ink, you miserable commoner – worse, you amateur!"

The former Lord frowned with disgust. "If you wish to kill me, do it better."

Adam hadn't even noticed his own body tensing. If it came down to a fight, he was prepared to use his painting again, not his Realm. Yet his Canvas unconsciously stirred when standing before the man who had once ruled Penumbria.

"I'd rather negotiate," the Painter said, after a pause. "What do you want in exchange for the Realm?" He sent him a sharp, piercing gaze. "Make it reasonable. I can take Penumbria back by force if you refuse."

Aspreay laughed. "And you should know from Ciro's astonishing, repeated fuckups not to recklessly anger your allies. You need me." He raised his chin. "I want this room back."

Adam frowned. "What else?"

"Orbs, I suppose." Aspreay shrugged. "Enough that I can feast occasionally and hire foreign troupes. Our local playwright is terribly incompetent, do you not know?"

"I haven't...had the pleasure. Running the city took much of my time." Adam shook his head to refocus himself. What is he getting at? He lifted an eyebrow. "What else do you want?"

This time, Aspreay's laugh sounded mocking. "Vasco named you a shrewd negotiator." He shook his head sadly. "As a master of war – and rather handsome – it's only fair that fate handicapped him in some manner. Why insist, boy? Do you want to give me more?"

"I want for you to not cause any trouble!" Adam shouted. "But wanting and hoping are different things. I know you'd like more than just a room and some Orbs."

"And again your famed cleverness fails you," Aspreay said, shifting his gaze back to his winecup. "Bluntly speaking, my wants are few – this room, Vasco, and lastly having few duties that would take my attention away from the first two. You could've gotten your Realm with just that...but as you're feeling generous, then by the Ancient Dragons I shall rob you blind."

Adam narrowed his eyes at the man and his list of demands. "Vasco I get, but why the room? There's others that are just as luxurious in this manor."

The Once-Lord peered around the room with a longing gaze. "Memories are priceless," he said, absently sipping at his tea. "The cloak of a lord always felt too tight around my neck to truly enjoy the rest of the manor. One day, you too will come to think of it as a noose at times. Here, though?"

He brandished his glass at the room. "Here, I was alone. Here, I was happy."

"Were you?" Adam asked. Memories of Aspreay's misery surfaced in his mind. "The reason you suffered so much is because Vasco left, isn't it?"

"This does not mean I was any happier with my courtiers. Loneliness is a cold fate, yet I'd much rather suffer the coolness of the night in solitude than wrap myself with a cloak of spikes."

Adam thought of his friendship with Eric...and how empty his life had felt before meeting him. "Some colds are freezing enough that the prickling would seem minor by comparison." He glanced at the poorly-painted drawing on his left hand. "Altogether, I...I do admit I'd much rather be warmed by something that doesn't draw my blood."

He paused. "In any case, if you'd be happy with just this room, then I'll happily take that trade. I actually preferred the old prison-room you had me in before. Tenver is the one who insisted on–"

To his surprise, Aspreay shook his head. "Again, how did you gain a fame for shrewdness, boy? That will not do. You shall take the Imperial Suite – it is functionally identical to this room, anyhow, and is where the Emperor's representatives would normally stay during a visit. We have scarce little need of it, considering your rebellion."

Adam forced his face to retain a mask of neutrality, but at his side, his fingers twitched ever so slightly. "What does my room have to do with our rebellion?"

"You have claimed the title of King of the Frontier – yet Penumbria and Gama do not a kingdom by themselves make. While Coimbargo and the others are disillusioned with the Empire after that disastrous battle, they will still need to be courted. Nobles usually do."

"The thought did occur to me," Adam confessed, bitterness creeping into his tone. "But I don't see why that would be affected by what room I have."

"Claim modesty as a virtue if you will, but think not that others will too." Aspreay sharpened his gaze. "Nobles are a vain sort. You think survival is why they'll join you? Nay, boy – 'tis their wounded pride that commands them so."

"Nobles are a prideful lot," Adam coldly stated.

Aspreay did not deflect the insult. Instead, he wore it proudly. "Indeed we are. Which is why you should listen to me, boy. Because I know what they fear and what they respect."

Adam felt a twinge of defiance surge within. "You were bested by this 'boy', Aspreay. Or have you forgotten?"

"And yet I disrespect you," he plainly replied. "Know why, brat? Because you don't act like a lord. You only show strength to those you think deserve it."

"What else would you suggest, Aspreay?" He used the name with the same disdain the former lord used for insults. "That I use it on those who don't deserve intimidation?"

Aspreay raised his eyebrow with the polite haughtiness of pointing out a mistake. "Everyone deserves intimidation. Intimidate those weaker than you, so they don't rebel. Intimidate those stronger than you, so they hesitate. A lord needs to command respect."

"Would you have Vasco fear you?" Adam asked, matching his voice to the other's haughtiness.

"Mayhaps then he wouldn't have tried to keep so many secrets from me," Aspreay muttered, his gaze and thoughts miles away. "That fool."

Adam saw an opening and took it. Cut me with your words if you want – I know you can bleed too. "If you think that would've helped, then mayhaps you're every bit the imbecile you accuse me of being, milord."

He made a show of his lowborn manner of speech, watching as the nobleman' eyebrow twitched slightly in disgust. "That very sharpness you preach may well have been why Vasco felt afraid to confide in you after the Butchery of Greenisle."

Aspreay's mask of calmness slipped. "I COMMAND YOU TO–"

His Order stopped abruptly as he cut it off, biting his upper lip. Neither man acknowledged the near-attack as he continued speaking.

"You would already have the Grandmaster's full support if you'd made him believe your threats more. If you were a frightening lord, he would've believed you might unleash your Realm, kill his people, and raze the hollow bastion of Puppets. He could have given you an army to use against Ciro, rather than merely allowing your Detective to assist from the shadows."

"I won that war," Adam protested. "Or have you forgotten?"

"And lost how many men?" Aspreay retorted. "Dozens of yours. Hundreds of Vasco's. You could have avoided this if you had a larger force to begin with."

Here it was Adam's mask of calmness that cracked. "REALM RECONS–"

The Painter stopped the inking of his Canvas just in time. Forcibly bringing his Realm to a halt was a tumultuous sensation; an echo of an invisible army marching inside his heart. Neither man acknowledged the near-attack as he continued speaking.

But when Adam did continue, it was in a muted whisper. "You think...you think I don't know that, Aspreay? That I don't wish I could have done things differently?"

He regretted the vulnerability as soon as the words left his mouth, instantly wishing he would take them back. Yet surprisingly, the shark did not leap at the smell of blood.

"You think me different, Painter?" Aspreay muttered. A humorless laugh bubbled up from the back of his throat. "Every man has things they wish they'd done differently. But wishing does not make it thus. One cannot bring onto reality that which they cannot conceive even in their mind. And so..."

He circled back to the original point, his words lacking the venom of before. "And so I ask you to listen to me."

There was a silence.

"If I listen to your noble ruthlessness," Adam said, slowly. "Will you listen to my requests to show more kindness to others?"

Another pause.

"I am capable of meeting your demand," Aspreay agreed, some reluctance in his voice. "But know that I will spare no suffering for any wretch that hurts Vasco. This includes you."

"I can agree to those terms."

They shared a nod, the two men sheathing their swords of diplomacy.

"The Frontier Lords," Aspreay began, "are furious that the Emperor used their troops, their Orbs, for a war that ended in shameful retreat. Furthermore, recompense was paid to Penumbria, but not to their own lands. They think – 'Oh, how dare this man use us in such a way, only to be disgraced in battle by the boy he named Pretender?'"

He shook his head. "Their purses hurt from the battle...but even more than that, they see the Emperor as weak. A ruler must appear strong, dignified, someone that those prideful pricks can respect enough to not feel humiliated when bending the knee."

"That's why you think I can't take residence in my former room?" Adam asked, reluctant acceptance shaping in his heart.

"Words take flight too quickly these days," Aspreay noted, with a sigh. If the Frontier Lords are to be of any help in the coming war, then before all else, they must respect and fear you."

Because the next time the Emperor attacks, just Penumbria and Gama won't be enough to hold him off. Ciro isn't going to be miserly with his resources; my head will be worth lightening the Empire's purses.

It would take Emperor Ciro time to conjure another excuse, but eventually, he would. And when his armies next marched, their advance would be planned far more carefully. He would have armies and alliances at the ready, seeking to crush the rebellion in one fell sweep.

There would be no repeats of his prior mistakes. If the Frontier Lords sided with Ciro then instead of Adam...

Fear and respect. He engraved the words upon his heart.

Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

As the first snow of the season started to touch Penumbria, Aspreay gestured at a half-open window. "We have until spring to prepare for Ciro's next incursion, at least. Most likely until the next winter."

"What are you basing that on?"

"On what I'd do if I were the Emperor," Aspreay answered. He laid his hand on his chin, sinking into thought. "Right now, the common folk hail you as their greatest hero. You're known as my forgotten son who took over my throne when I fell ill, defended Penumbria from the Empire's wrath, and brought about a peaceful winter. If the Empire attacked now, it wouldn't be just Penumbria – Gama, Coimbargo, and peasants from all Frontier cities would be swallowed up by your glorious tales and fight the Empire with morale that Ciro's troops could not match."

The Nobleman frowned. "But what of next winter? What happens when you can no longer sustain the influx of Orbs this brief war granted you?"

The Painter's response was a virtually imperceptible nod, his eyes distant as he let the thought settle and deepen.

Rather than shatter the silence, Aspreay gave him time to mull it over. The Nobleman calmly used Royal Orders to fly a map across their table, then to the right of the room, the parchment crackling as if it whispered secrets. He walked towards it almost lazily, gesturing for the Painter to follow.

Aspreay's gaze danced over the map markings, each stroke of ink a note in the melody of his strategy. "My prediction," he said, "is that next winter is when the War of the Five Rulers will take place."

Adam had nearly nodded before he caught the other man's meaning. "Five? How did you get five sides out of all this?"

"Don't play the fool," Aspreay told him, in a harsh voice. "The Empire is the first, of course. Then comes you: the Crownless King of the Frontier, whose rebellion is all but certain."

Aspreay's hand swept over the map. He paused at the Mines, his eyes sharp and his smile grim. "The Grandmaster of Puppets has been a poor ally at best. While I severely doubt he will side with the Empire, that doesn't mean he'll remain your ally, either. The Puppets have their own goals – and they won't always align with yours."

Truthfully, Adam had contemplated this matter as well. "The Grandmaster does have fair justification for not openly supporting me," he began. "He can't give the Empire any reason to attack the Mines."

The Painter paused. "But...it is awfully convenient that he's able to sit on the sidelines as Ciro and I continuously draw each other's blood. I imagine that's the only reason he's turned a blind eye to Valeria using his Talent to assist me. What choice shall the Grandmaster make, I wonder, after two opposing Kings have been sufficiently weakened?"

"Something to keep in mind," Aspreay assented. "And of course, for the fourth ruler, we have the First Painter to take into consideration."

Adam froze. What did he just say?

"Lawrence," the Nobleman scoffed. "What an abominable name. He made use of the Ancient Dragons – and then the Gryphon, many years later – to attempt the Second Painter's assassination. Blasphemous, ignorant buffoon..."

Aspreay shook his head. "Yet he did not, notably, directly help the Empire. I don't believe that Ciro would want to live in a world without life or death – there'd be nothing for his ego to rule over. I think that they will have their own goals, though we should consider that those goals may benefit the Empire in some ways."

Adam regarded him in careful silence. "How do you know about the First Painter?"

The Nobleman went on as if he hadn't heard him. "Finally, for the fifth Ruler, we have the Second Painter. The other self-proclaimed God of this world. The cretin made his distaste of the First clear – as well as his sincere belief that the Rot is a natural phenomenon that should not be removed. He will be against the First and Ciro, so we should note that his interests might align with ours at times. In the end, though, he too will oppose us."again

"Aspreay!" Adam's chair went flying, so fast he stood up. "How did you–"

"Have you already forgotten how Realms work, Painter?" Aspreay raised his chin and showed a faint smile. "The Third Pillar of Lordly Realms: Divine Knowledge. You are inside my Realm right now, or have you forgotten? I've been perusing the pages of your mind since you arrived at the manor."

"That's impossible!" Adam protested. "My Lord Rank is higher than yours – you shouldn't be able to read my mind!"

"Not with a regular-sized Realm," the Nobleman admitted. "Haven't you noticed any changes?"

Adam's fury cooled as he shut his eyes and began pacing in a circle. His hand reached for his Canvas, feeling out the delicate threads of the Realm's power that were wrapped around Penumbria like a shroud.

When he'd first returned yesterday, he felt the Walls enveloping the entire city. And now...

Now they enveloped only the manor.

It must've been recent, else monsters would already be swarming the city. But how recent? Has...has it really only been a few hours, if that?

The Painter whirled round to face the Noble. "Since when? The Walls were surrounding the city when I came in."

"Naturally," Aspreay answered, "else you'd have noticed what I was planning."

Before Adam could respond, Aspreay snapped his fingers, to no outward effect – yet his meaning was immediately clear to both Lords.

He was transferring control of his Realm over.

Mere moments before the action was concluded, Aspreay called out, with remarkable casualness, "Realm Reconstruction."

When the Walls returned to Adam, they encompassed the full breadth and width of the city once more. However, now they were infused with incredibly precise Laws that imposed restrictions on newcomers attempting to enter Penumbria.

Watching Aspreay paint his Canvas had felt like witnessing the work of a master at his easel. There's so many details here, Adam marveled, and he did it so quickly!

So many times, too.

"I only managed to use Reconstruction twice against Eric – with a lengthy break in-between," Adam said. "I still nearly died for it. Yet you've used it twice in much less time...and without so much as breaking a sweat."

"That I did," came Aspreay's reply, with a touch of pride and satisfaction in his tone. "And if needed, I could use it two or three times more."

"Impressive," Adam acknowledged, without irony. "Don't know if I could do that."

"You will," The Nobleman snorted. "Before the last drop of snow has touched our city, I shall drive these lessons into that thickened skull of yours. You must learn how to bend subjects to your will using words alone – with or without your Realm."

His intentions were clear. Aspreay truly did mean to side with Adam, and he would teach him more about Realms and the Talent of a Lord...but he couldn't simply say as much. The man had outlined his style quite clearly earlier. Even when he meant to help, he would act in an abrasive manner to command fear and summon respect.

"How kind of you," Adam said, with a faint smile.

Aspreay grunted. "The world knows you as heir to the House of Arcanjo. It would be my eternal shame for history books to write of my 'son' as being so woefully undereducated in the art of Realms and warfare."

Though Adam had heard himself referred by that title before, hearing it from Aspreay's mouth felt...different. Stranger. His son, huh...

The fact that a selfish, monstrous, egomaniacal nobleman inserted less disdain into the word than his real father once had just felt even more disconcerting.

"Still, far be it from me to think I hold all the cards," Aspreay dryly remarked. "I have perused your thoughts, true, but a skimming of such a complex book as the human mind leaves one lacking in details. I know much – your origins, your real Talent, your encounter with the Second Painter – but there is more to your plan, is there not? Speak."

A smirk spread across Adam's face. Despite his best attempt, the quiet satisfaction of someone acknowledging a well-laid plan shone through. He knew it was a bad habit, but he couldn't help savoring the moment. "Oh, have you not forgotten the magic word there, my lord?"

"Ah, right, right," Aspreay said, voice dripping in sarcasm. "There is more to your plan, is there not?"

Here both men couldn't suppress an amused – though still far from friendly – chuckle.

I'd rather not tell him, Adam thought, but he made his point clear. If he wants to know, he can use his Realm to eventually read my mind. Worst of all, Aspreay is probably the best teacher I could ask for...and he could hold that hostage as well.

He grimaced. Guess this is what he means about negotiating harshly.

Well, it wouldn't do any harm. The Second Painter wasn't omniscient – that much was clear. Adam could speak of this, at least here inside the safety of his Realm.

"When I painted Eric, I gained the Talent to protect us from Rot," Adam said, after a pause. "But that's not everything I gained from him. I received all the Talents he stole."

Aspreay could not keep the look of surprise from showing on his face. "You don't mean–"

"Do you remember Vasco's brother, Belmordo?"

Instantly, almost like a reflex, the Nobleman responded with, "Yes. I heard of your slaying of the whiny mongrel. For that, I sincerely thank you greatly."

The earnestness in his words was such that Adam nearly laughed before continuing. "Anyhow, Eric stole Belmordro's Talent of Contracts, you see. And when I stole Eric's Talents..."

"You are able to create Contracts now," Aspreay finished. His eyes widened as realizations dawned. "You brilliant whoreson! Painter, did you–"

Adam's smirk widened. "It's as you suspect."

"Swear to me," he had shouted, not long ago. "Swear to me that we will meet again, and that you will answer all my questions."

"Of course," was the Second Painter's response. "I swear that when you summon me next, I will tell you everything you wish to know about this world."

"The Second Painter agreed to a Contract before I left. I don't think he was aware of it. Aside from Lawrence, I'm the only one with the Talent of Painting – the Second likely had no idea I'd used it to inherit Eric' other Talents."

At the time, he didn't even notice that Adam's phrasing had been purposefully specific.

Oaths were Contracts. The Second Painter might not know yet – or perhaps he'd discovered it later. Wouldn't matter. Contracts weren't a form of physical violence, and as such, he couldn't easily ignore them.

Whenever Adam called for him, he would have to answer.

Very slowly, Aspreay puzzled out the meaning behind the Painter's words. "Considering that Talent...you'll interrogate him many times, I presume? Divest him of information until he resents the sound of your voice?"

"That's one option – one that we'll resort to if we fall too far behind during the war."

The Nobleman caught his implication. "And the option you favor?"

Adam leaned forward. He gradually turned his tablet to face the Nobleman, exhibiting another reason why he felt so confident at that moment. To Aspreay, the mechanical item would look like a regular painting.

Perhaps it was because of this that the man practically recoiled from the sight.

Though his fear vanished as he read further, his eyebrows shot upward, and his face twisted into a wicked grin. "Marvelous," Aspreay said, through a malevolent laugh. "Mayhaps I ought to apologize for misspeaking earlier. I did not realize you were willing to go this far. You didn't let an emotional duel with your rival get in the way of pragmatism – beautiful, Painter, most beautiful!"

Among the many Talents now listed in his tablet, one stood out. Nearly as important as the Contracts, almost as vital to the war effort as his Talent to combat Rot. It was one single word that foretold much of their future–

Hangman.

This power, alongside others, were what enabled Adam to choose this path.

"I'll find out everything there is to know about the Second Painter," he assured. "Then I'll summon him when he least expects it, show him his portrait, and steal his fucking soul. Then, with his Talent, I'll rid the world of its accursed Rot, its selfish Emperor, and its insane Gods. And then – and only then – will the inhabitants of this world know peace."

The Nobleman regarded him in silence for a moment. "You herald the future like a prophecy," he said, after a long pause. "Shall I take your speech as a promise?"

"A promise? No." Adam's mind raced through it all again. "It's a spoiler. One day someone will compose my biography, and this will be its ending: Adam Arcanjo slew the monsters that call themselves Gods, killed the tyrant that fancies himself Emperor, and cleaned the world of all its Rot."

Aspreay laughed softly. "I might yet be proud of you, son."

END OF BOOK 2