“Ow,” Grant grunted, holding his hand over the massive disc-shaped bruise on his stomach.

He might be slightly better at reading the future than his aunt. But his view was too myopic, and she’d managed to bluff her way out of his setup after shooting dead center in the disc of steel he’d place in his clothes.

Why?

Because he’d been in so much pain that he hadn’t been able to give his triumphant follow-up speech, while Marida palmed the disc in his clothes engraved with text proclaiming himself the winner.

At least I saved Lily’s daughter, Grant thought, carefully sitting up.

The way he saw it, the future was supported by three pillars: Raze, Tom, and Ella.

All three of them had their reasons to kill the great houses, and killing any one of them merely caused one of the other two to become an unstoppable killing machine.

Killing all three of them was impossible, because seriously, Raze? Nobody could kill that guy.

I wish I could be sure of this.

The biggest problem was that the En’hol, so used to operating with total confidence, couldn’t scry on the future to verify these hypothesis, as Tom and Ella caused…ripples. It was like trying to read a letter at the bottom of a babbling brook, the water constantly shifting and rendering the words illegible.

Any future involving them was muddied and nigh impossible to read.

Even Tom warning Raze of Marida’s ambush had been enough for Marida to not see it coming.

Grant listened to his future conversation with Merida with one ear as he got dressed.

When the door to his cell swung open, Grant was dressed in his finest and standing at attention.

“How nice of you-“

“Can it,” Marida said, crooking a finger. “We’re going to go visit the emperor, and I want my best eyes with me.”

“The emperor? She hasn’t taken visitors in twenty years, what makes you think-“

“She’ll see us.” Marida said, her voice icy.

“I’m honored,” Grant said, with a mocking bow that nearly made him cry as it agitated the bruise in his stomach.

“You’re gonna be the Omniscient someday, Grant.” Marida said with a scowl as she marched out of the prison. “But you’re still much too naïve.”

“You’ve got to learn that people are wild animals.” Both of them said at the same time.

“Don’t scry the conversation,” Marida said. “It’s rude.”

“My apologies, Omniscient,” Grant said. “But you lost any chance at me taking you at your word when you declared my powers beyond control and locked me in a gilded cage.”

Marida snorted.

“Not as naïve as I thought, then. Do you think it would have been the best thing for the family if twelve-year old you had replaced me as the Omniscient?”

“Honestly?” Grant asked. “Yes. A twelve year old hasn’t quite acquired your taste for power.”

“Well put,” Marida muttered as they climbed into the carriage. The driver tutted and the beasts of burden began tugging the armored transport along the cobbled streets of the capital.

“Unfortunately we can’t go back into the past and see what would’ve happened if we’d put you in the office. Time waits for no man.”

Grant glanced off to the side, but Marida didn’t catch it.

Her mood seemed to sour halfway through the ride.

“Morkels caught the slippery little blind spot, but they want to parade him around and rub our faces in it. If they learn that we lose accuracy around him, they’re going to use that to ambush and mind-slave our entire family. One problem blending seamlessly into another.”

She glanced up at Grant

“You were right about this being a death spiral,” Her word came grudgingly, pulled from her mouth with the same reticence as teeth. “The Morkel’s have no reason to doubt us yet, though, let’s simply deal with them as we always have. Total avoidance. We can hire a solution to them this evening. Poison comes to mind.”

The Alakesh worked for them, which meant they had money to spare.

Grant nodded as he scried the Morkels arriving this evening. He didn’t bother getting too close to them for obvious reasons, but he could make out Tom’s faint, wavy figure wrapped in chains and dragged along behind a horse. The entire army was a little hazy, caught up in the young man’s influence.

If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.

Poor Tom. They probably allowed him to believe he was still in control of his body so he could feel terror and humiliation.

Still, even as a living tool, he acted as the cat’s paw that locked them into the death spiral. Except now it was at the hands of the Morkels rather than Tom himself.

No matter what shifted in the future, the ending seemed to be set in stone. That was why they were visiting the emperor. The most powerful En’hol ever born would certainly have the answers they sought.

When they arrived at the palace, Marida gave word to a page that the Morkels were going to be arriving en masse, and preparations were to be made for them: including a large amount of warded space in the left wing of the palace, placing all the competent personnel far away from them, and directing all of the most incompetent, disposable servants to attend them.

Then they thought no more of it.

Marida and Grant marched up the steps of the palace, submitting to multiple security screenings as they made their way to the seat of power for the entire Deraan Empire.

Grant’s eyes had never beheld more grand accommodations in his entire life. The ceiling was lost in the dark, seemingly climbing up forever. Everything was expensive and fine. Rich hardwoods, gold inlays, smokeless lamps.

After anything that could conceivably be considered a weapon was stripped away from them, along with a layer of clothing, leaving the two of them just in pants and shirt, they finally arrived at the emperor:

Hanameh En’hol.

The Emperor was skeletally thin, setting on the throne with a listless tilt to her head. Her hair was thin, greasy, and in need of a wash. There was a faint body odor that drifted through the magnificent hall, emanating from the golden throne.

Grant’s eyes widened as he spotted the thick scar across her temple, a telltale sign of a lobotomy. Ice ran down his spine.

The emperor is an invalid! Who’s been in charge of the empire these last twenty years!?

Marida caught Grant’s gaze and rolled her eyes.

“Begone,” Marida said, motioning to the elite guards that stood vigil by the breathing corpse.

And they left!

“I suppose you think you’re pretty clever,” Marida said, hefting a golden bowl, tossing out the slightly rotten fruit that splattered on the floor. “Paying off a Honnuken to lie about the lobotomy. Well, you forgot that no matter how clever you think you are, I, have the power here!”

She slammed the golden bowl into the skeletal woman’s face, knocking her head to the side in a spray of blood. There was no reaction from the listless woman.

“Aunt Marida!” Grant exclaimed.

“Call off your dogs, sister, or I will beat your skull in, and you will die with the rest of us! I know you’ve got a way out! You always do, you cowardly. Little. Bitch!”

Marida punctuated each word with a swing of the bowl, battering the emaciated emperor’s face, until Grant hauled his aunt away from his other aunt.

Marida struggled in Grant’s grip for several minutes until she exhausted herself, panting as the emperor continued to sit in her throne, face dripping blood from her nose and split eyebrows.

Thankfully Marida wasn’t particularly strong. The damage wasn’t mortal.

“Omniscient?” a tentative voice spoke, their voice echoing through the empty hall.

“WHAT!?” Marida demanded, spinning on the page, who paled, a letter trembling in her hand.

“A letter from the emperor, Omniscient.”

Marida took one look at the letter, scried it, then spun on her heel and marched out of the audience hall, her every move radiating fury.

Grant took pity on the poor young man and took the letter out of his hand.

The boy took one look at the bleeding emperor and realized there were better places to be, scurrying away

The letter was old, the paper cracking, but the date and time was now.

En’hol letters, Grant thought, cracking the letter open and reading it.

Dearest nephew, I regret not being able to be present for your youth. Your father would be proud of you, though. You’ve become a fine young man, despite our sister’s machinations.

The lobotomy is not fake.

My sister’s lust for power must be punished, and it is only fitting that it be punished by giving her everything she wanted.

She has the power now, and that means the responsibility for averting the destruction of the Great Houses rests squarely on her shoulders.

The next few days are going to get…bloody.

When the killing starts, you may wish to take a page from Hal the Hairy’s playbook.

I wish you the best, and when you get the chance…send my son home..

Grant read and re-read the letter before burning it, sending up a gout of flame and smoke above the expensive lantern.

The letter implied that Grant would live, and Marida would not, but nothing was set in stone.

And her son? Hanameh En’hol didn’t have a son…

Grant’s gaze followed in the tracks of his aunt as the sheer scope of the corruption of the Deraan Empire began unfolding in his mind. His skin erupted in goosebumps.

He turned back to the bloodied emperor, and gave a deep bow to the emaciated, lobotomized woman on her golden throne. The pain in his stomach was nothing before the monolithic sacrifice in front of him. The sight oriented his priorities.

“The emperor’s will is my own.” He intoned, the etiquette he’d never had the opportunity to use before flowing from him smooth as honey.

Grant turned away and sought out one of the attendants, hiding in fear of Marida.

“The emperor demands a bath and the attention of a healer,” Grant tossed out a command as he strode past the woman.

“Ah, yes,” the attendant nodded, ducking respectfully until Grant was gone.

A moment later, a shriek of terror filled the hall behind him as the servant spotted the emperor’s ruined face.

***Tom Graves***

Tom held his breath as they approached the front gate of the capitol, his eyes locked on the front gate.

Clunk! Rattle!

With a tremendous groan, the massive gates began rattling open, one after another, allowing the trojan horse inside the city.

The contingent of ‘Morkel’ was met by no-one but a dull-witted page with barely the ability to read words on paper. The boy had been written off as an acceptable loss dealing with the most insidious family in Deraan.

“You’ll be hosted in the north, I mean east, wing of the palace, umm…you are to surrender all your weapons and accept housing in the warded sek-ti-ons?”

“Sections, you fool,” the Wratz’got posing as the lead Morkel said with a sneer.

“Warded sections?” Tom whispered to Carol, who was walking beside him, her tattoos covered by the Mind-slave’s armor and cloth wrappings.

“Similar to the warded rooms in the Tower of Pennance.” Carol whispered back. “They want to keep the Morkels from launching a coup while inside the palace.”

“Would they?”

“Oh hell, yeah.”

“So…I guess what we’re about to do will come as no surprise, and yet catch everyone off guard.”

Carol snickered. “Isn’t it great?”