[40th Year of Foresai, Upper Fire Month, Day 17]

The King is safe. The worst of it is through.

Lakyus swept her gaze across the floor, tallying the take of the evening. There were four bodies total in his Majesty’s room, another cluster in the foyer to the entrance. The robed men were easy to identify, but the rest blurred. The King, the Margrave, and the senior-most member of the Palace Guard were still huddled in the corner, unwilling to take any step away from what they perceived as safety.

Most every combatant was in full-plate armor. Hard to distinguish the assassins from the Royal Guard. They came in disguise, that's… Gods, how much money is that?

Lakyus was suddenly struck by the scale of this event, recalling the slack words of their prisoner. After his proclamation that an attempt to kill the King was in the works, he had described the actions taken inside their organization in preparation. That he had gotten confirmation from his superiors that there was action to take place in Re-Estize, that the most exalted force of Security was tied up and that he had been shuffled as a result, and that his Majesty was to be killed.

“Men were shifted to the capital two weeks prior.” This was months in coming, wasn’t it? That they would think to tie us up with payment to Unglaus’s force. They sought to control every variable, didn’t they? I need council with Renner, present her with everything we know, she’ll make sense of it.

“Gagaran, your count?”

“One on the stairs, the two in the hall, and then the three in here boss. Er, four if you count the prisoner.”

Evileye would have ripped into you for that.

“I’ve taken three. Mark seven then, though I’m less certain of the bodies in here. Lord Jelka?”

“Elias- Courier Brendle took two.”

Jelka eyed his would be rescuers coldly. It was one Lakyus and Gagaran wese used too, a suspect and discriminating gaze born from a common fear of the Adventering folk. The face of his liege, and of Urovana were similarly dark, though to a lesser degree. For his part, Ramposa seemed to be doing well considering the circumstances. His eyes were not fearful at the sight of death, only tired.

“So nine we know of. Many came into the palace.”

“How did you know to be here, Lady Aindra?”

Jelka’s tone was accusatory, and although Lakyus understood the sense in his suspicion, she none-the-less found it deeply insulting.

“We came into the information while interrogating a prisoner.”

“And you did not think to send a forewarning? Where even is your keep?”

“Near Re-Junda.”

“So then ten leagues-”

“Twelve.”

“Twelve then, and you still didn’t send us anything? You couldn’t have thought to close that distance in time. You have that Red Shadow of yours with you. Could it do nothing?”

“She attempted two twice, but her messages were intercepted by an abjurer, and she fought an long-range spell skirmish. Actually, it was classed as an ultralong engagement.”

“And she lost, I presume?”

“We have reason to believe it was an elder lich she fought. Undead like those can cast from the innate parts of their being.”

“Then surely one of you could have ridden ahead? After ‘her’ failure, could she not have flown here? You would have still shaved off time. Or was she out of mana?”

Lakyus smirked. She knew she had won the row.

“We teleported.”

Jelka’s next retort died in his mouth. His face stayed stock still, and he let himself rise from a defensive posture. Ramposa’s loosened and darkened, his shoulders falling in sequence.

“We have no time for this one-upmanship. Lady Aindra. Find my sons, find my daughters, and find the Head-Warrior.”

“Yes, your majesty. Tina is tracking the captain down now. And daughters, Sire?”

“My Vena is present, though after this, I wish she hadn’t.”

“I understand. Gagaran, can you still fight with what’s left of your hammer?”

“You need to ask?”

“Alright, we’re to seek out Princes Barbro and Zanac, then circle round and try for her.”

“After, you are to escort us all to the company of the Royal Guard and Marshall Theiern.”

That zealot is here tonight? Probably a fortunate thing. He and his men are a terrifying force.

“Yes, sire. Gagaran, grab him.”

Lakyus gestured to the man who had been knocked out, still pinned under his comrade. Gagaran kicked his dead fellow off of him, and foisted him up over her left shoulder. She did this with no fanfare, and Lakyus saw Jelka buck at her strength.

“Let’s go.”

Lakyus took point, exiting the room first. Her floating blades were splayed out in three pairs, four floating level infront of her, another two by each of her flanks. Gagaran, Ramposa, Urovana, and Jelka followed in tow. She stepped through the sitting space, rounded the corner into the foyer. The bodies were lying where they had been left, smoldering holes where the shards of Gagaran’s blown-apart war-hammer had embedded themselves in the walls.

Strange, that. Between her, and Evileye, we’ll need a fortnight to return to full fighting strength.

They moved swiftly over the bodies, Ramposa able to keep pace without forcing others to lag with him. Lakyus moved over the wreck of the door and entered into the corridor. She shot her gaze left and then right. Tia was bolting down at full speed. Lakyus's eyes widened and she stepped into the hall.

“Report.”

“I took three in plate, one in hidden leather. They were positioned at junctions, like they were preparing for a counter-assault.”

“One from us.”

“Yes, Fiendish Leader.”

Do you really need to call me that in front of the king?

“Anything else?”

“I checked the room of the crown prince, he wasn’t there. Zanac wasn’t in his either.”

Tia extended her middle and ring fingers on her right hand, Lakyus keeping her composure as she saw it. This was one of the few battle signs the twins had taught the rest of the group.

“Enemy Listening.” She has something to say that the King and Jelka can’t hear. I need to create distance. She would have run to Renner first, but she hasn’t made mention of it.

“Your Majesty, without a clear bearing on your sons, I propose we get you to safety. It will be safer to act from there.”

Ramposa, stepping past the ruined frame, maintained his solemn visage. It took him a moment to respond, the silence drawing into uncomfortable length.

“Acceptable.”

The rest forged ahead, entering the corridor fully and breaking left. Lakyus stayed in place, waiting for her comrade to reach her. Tia ran to her side and whispered into her ear.

“I checked Renner’s first. Barbro’s man was dead outside her room. She’s gone.”

—

Ah, I still cannot understand his response. It is beyond seeming. It was fear, I’m sure of that now, but why? Gazef experienced it when he thought he had failed his master, but that was a lesser thing. Keveleos fell along a similar path, but when I gave my answer to why, the character of his face changed entirely. Is hunger not a typical thing? Why then would admitting it earn such… such an escalated visage? It must have a greater emotion. Terror, or perhaps horror. The giving of a sign too, as if he saw something from the deep places of the world. No matter, there are other concerns of note.

Drums beat inside her head. A throbbing pain stretched near from her nape all the way to the flank of her orbital. The sharpest part of the mass went through her right eye, the sensation of what most termed a spike driven into their skull, but that Renner knew as an open wound. The wound sliced across her perception and concentration alike, rending both a little looser.

How I thirst for an anodyne. The agony of this is increasing several fold, my head feels ready to split. Shame that it would come at bespoke cost. No, that undersells it. At this moment, it would be a cost worth bereavement. Whatever we shed now cannot be used to enthrall the Ruler of Everything later. Strange to think that I now must barter so planely with it for further sands. In turn, I exchange that for life. I must maintain an inventory of what we possess in the way of mortal goods. Climb with his tonics, he grabbed five, or maybe six. Ahh I don’t know, I was still dazed at the time of seeing it. His blade and armor, though that was sundered. How? It’s… inducing, both of rages and baser things. I specifically gave unto Lakyus the impetus of protecting him. I do wish to see him cycled between this world and what lies beyond, though that ought to occur entirely on my terms. To think that man almost severed the two of us from the Earth.

Renner felt her chest tighten slightly. Images of Teloran’s body broke to the front of her mind. Vivid workings of the mechanics of his death, detached from any semblance of the realized versions of such happenings. Vivid workings of Climb’s victory. Vivid workings of Climb’s death, and of hers. She pushed the thought out of her mind, deciding to grip on some new puzzle to distract herself from the fear in her soul.

Execution… frustrating how that is only a fingerlength’s measure from being workable. The crime of slaying my brother’s adjutant is too great to not invoke a ruinous death. Not as if I can pin upon him a lesser crime. Chardelon dearest what are you saying? Am I actually falling to loonery? I thought that was perhaps only a flit of my earlier inward hatred. If by ‘measure’ to workable, I meant a spindle’s distance, then yes - that is on technicality - a measure. I’m churning slowly, wakefulness still crushed under the weight of the celebration. Drink ought to be avoided like one does miasma. Temperance in total seems excessive. Any idea of a capital sentence for Climb is stillborn. There is no possible crime I could pin to him that would allow me a revival, for which I could then keep him. His death must be one born from the pages of his books, if I do not find to abandon this cause altogether. I’ve slipped into uselessness.

Images of steel plunging into her chest. The feeling of it as it passed into her. As it tore her form. As it rent her to pieces. Renner shuddered, the phantoms of her chest overwhelming her. She brought her hands to her chest, same as before. She could not drown the feeling. She again tried to escape the image, though she could only tread the water above the abyss, not pull herself from it entirely.

I marked that breach as an impossible thing. it must have been some mischief of ephemeral make; a fanciful implementation of a warrior’s art. Teloran was skilled at those manipulations, doubly so for the blade. Climb defeated him despite that, and from the state of the hall, it was a spectacular melee. Though, I cannot stop myself from thinking of the reverse. I wonder what it feels like to die.

Renner fell under entirely, unable to hold herself together any longer. Water she had bayed broke from her cheeks. She cried, genuine tears which she had not found cause to embrace for a long time. A detached part of herself noted that she could only barely distinguish them from their false counterparts. She felt her mask wash away in their wake, though even her inner face did not look distant from the image she wished to project.

Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.

I’m going to remain absent my hand mirror forever, aren't I?

In a strange way, this was more affecting than any loss of comfort prior. A growing sense that she would never get it back. She managed to vanquish it with more material concern. She knew without spying herself that her eyes had lost an element of their luster, to say nothing of her mouth. A measure of protection was in order. She closed her eyes, and with more struggle than she had hoped for, managed to cover her mouth with her right hand. The basic elements of her appearance squared for anyone who dared enter the room, she let herself lament in full.

Geistdom feels close at hand. I cannot drag my thoughts back to this world. The way he looked, splayed on the ground. The violence of his end. I repeat myself again, but the thing beggars further enumeration. There is a cruel beauty to it. The depths of panic he was subject to in his finality. The anger of it. I can only imagine how Climb feels. Anguish, perhaps, but was this not a kill? No, that is reductive of him. I’ll sick him on lesser things another time; what he experienced tonight weighs the heart. Perhaps I now understand the trade of clerics and priests. Warnings of ends numerous and too many.

A yelp and a moan from her, eweling gulps of air escaping her mouth. She tightened her fingers, tensioning the flesh of her face as she dragged in the direction of her mouth. Renner was hurting, and she felt completely detached from any previous pretense of using this deadtime to strategize.

The operative word there is “end”. Why have we called it so? Is there not a next life? I have so often felt ready to spurn the powers afield the firmament. Ends beggar beginnings, but even that feels odd. The study of such a thing so often falls into laps of power. A too perfect union of divine knowledge and authority. It feels overfrail.

Renner had meshed well with the cold rigor of mathematical constructs. It was not a subject she had ever imagined herself delving into in such detail, but it now consumed her thoughts more so than she had anticipated at the outset of her delving. Prior, it had simply been a means to an end, one she had intended to leverage an understanding of arcane things. However, that was no longer the case, and for her, her need for it broached unto itself. She now felt that dreaded twinge. The one that told her she had made a mistake, an error in calculation. That it was explicitly the part of her that rent math apart was something she did not wholly understand.

There is an ouroboros laced in their words, one I’m not sure they intend. That the sixfold were to come into being, that they were to forge the heavenly and earthen places in a stroke and simply leave it to be. Why did the Gods step from this world? Why did they leave us with only prophecies of the beyond? Do they exist? Lakyus has her object of worship, The Spring Water. He Who Fonts. The nomenclature is irrelevant. Those blessings of his, were they to come from another font, would any know? Point, a war in heaven. He too be slewn, then cut to bits for all the vital pieces to his Godhead, and then replaces wholesale with another. If that other, draped in all the finery and seaspray halos of the perihelion, were to continue in duty as Clarifier. In plainer terms, were Lakyus to receive those blessings all the same, would we know they to be dead? If they depart from their realm as we do from ours, and things were to continue on ever more, what can be said of their permanence? Of their involatity? In rote terms, nothing. To wit, to say if they never existed in the first place?

She stopped, her tears dying on her face. She had found a subject that burned so hot and so bright that it seemed to snuff out any other emotion of hers. A sudden expansion and rush that turned in on itself, leaving nothing standing in its wake. A sudden awareness of the void. It was a terrifying thing to gaze upon. Oblivion in its totality.

What would that mean? No Gods, simply the raw forces drawn forth akin to evocation of the elements. They’re named as such, the four of our people, the six of Slane. An empty divinity. That has too many effects. Scriptures simply non-existent. Beings that exist only in what, their historicity? Worse conclusions. No guarantee of life once the earth swallows you. No rewards, no punishments. Would it simply be a lack of all? Eternal, dreamless sleep? Annihilation, Obliteration, name it as desired. How… empty.

This snapped her back to the present, the cold and unnerving realization that this may simply be the extent of her existence. That the ephemeral, while it thickened the air and the water, was created ex materia. That it at some fundamental level was absent of meaning.

Keveleos will bid us to fly. We’ll dash across the countryside, slip betwixt patrols and ruinous men, alight above bridges and roads. We’ll run and we’ll run and we’ll run. First to the company of Lakyus, then past these lands to the arms of Calca or Jircniv. Either would surely give us safety, no? To throw myself at their feet and beg for a life beyond the dogs of my brother. No, neither would provide us with any semblance of sanctuary. As to being true guaranteers, Calca can’t, and Jircniv won’t. Swords dangle over her head akin to how they dangle over my father’s, or how they are soon to dangle over my brother’s. This nation is to fall to war against itself - what an odd thing to say.

How am I to sell myself to Jircniv? He has clearly taken to me. His coy attempts at me have grown interesting beyond ends. I’m sure that’s exactly the sort of erraticism he wishes to provoke in the Kingdom. Ah, how well does my understanding of that language pass? “Serva me quaeso a fratre meo! Regnum minatur?” That ought to sound frustratingly primitive, and I know not how well I could maintain a face as a forlorn and outcast princess. He could wrench any terms from me; a pact to earn the envy of any of the baleful eight. I wonder if they are an equal invention? I would be utterly powerless. Advisor cum slave. I wonder if he views me as an anathema to Baharuth? He may fundamentally misunderstand my aims. I will need to find a way to earn my Climb under him; perhaps as a bureaucrat, or in true irony, a cryptographer. His scheme was perfect. In any case, rendering the third princess of your opposed power to whatever humiliations he could devise is a near complete victory. Legitimacy or brutal insult would both be in reach. He’s to have everything he wants in a year. This is to be the last summer of Re-Estize. Even a miracle tonight will bear vile consequences.

Every material question has been answered, external actions are mapped entirely. Then, to an inward evaluation. How did I not catch this night? There is an implication there that this was my failing, but who else could it have been? One cannot levy blame on a rat for stealing food from a store, nor the cat that failed to snatch it, only its owner. What have I failed in doing? This night could have only been prevented by me if I had caught the conspiracy before it snapped into being, perhaps at dinner.

The evidence was not bare to inspection, but all the component men of its coming were. For all his love of courtly pageant, my brother is no actor. He would have been visibly anxious, at least to me. If only I had turned my head to spy him in detail. Spotting that, I could have constructed the rest. I had the time to, and even though it was not enough to assemble the event entirely, I could have guessed at its magnitude. From there, a simple conversation with say, Keveleos, or one of Bolloupe's many puppets would have sufficed. I could then have robbed them of their surprise entirely with a short message to Gazef, undoubtedly something they believed themselves given to have. I do not know the mechanics of it, how they would eliminate both he and my father in tandem, but my hypothetical self would.

The error came in the second cup. The first does not pine for addition, but if it is given, it is guaranteed to receive yet another. I let my fears of the future doom me to a worse one. Ironic. More than that, it seems to be a cruel and vindictive punishment. Am I sure my scratching-out of the heavens was not premature? Which is a better fate, the Gods wishing to torment me, or never existing to do so in the first place? Boundless hilarity. Onto reforms then. Temperance in total. I will drink no more than what passes the minimum threshold of being socially permissible. Any others to make? Watching those around me closer seems a necessity. Failing to see my brother in his little quakes is one, discerning Keveleos is two. I was completely unpracticed with him, I had never thought to prepare for such a conversation. Neglectful of me to not flesh myself out. That ought to be it. May I not only be marked as golden on the outside, but on the inside of my shell as well.

Ah, perhaps this hallucination is useful. Three and seven, numbers afield of those sacred by one, and both equidistant from my count as fifth. What a grand insanity I’ve achieved. The very world itself seems to sing my place in the pit. Maybe the Gods themselves are telling me I’m not a being crowned with the right to an existence beyond. Risky thoughts; Surshana is lurking just ‘round the corner to grab me.

Renner laughed for the first time since she had woken, breaking her streak of foul emotions. Her entire life had seemed to upend before her eyes, yet she still was able to land on the inverted ground. The problems of escape and action were solved, the only thing left was their actual doing. She felt free.

Though he suggested it, there is no purpose in lurking here any longer. I ought to leave my solitude and snatch what last snippets of conversation I can before Valencia and Re-Estize fall under the horizon behind me. Along with my hand mirror and other articles, the ledger is lost too. There's an honest chance no one will discover its actual nature. That membrane she wove may very well outlast the Kingdom itself. I may render a few more articles from Keveleos’s hand; food and drink maybe? I’ve never had rations before.

Renner sighed and stood, bringing herself up from the chair slow enough to acclimate to motion again. This was not helped by her headache, though she knew the nausea would pass. She weakly dabbed her eyes, wanting to preserve some of its moisture for a more sympathetic performance. She stretched herself, limbering her legs and arms in preparation for things to come. She still cringed at the feeling of cold tile on her feet, dispossessed of any sort of footwear. She marked it as another thing to seek from Keveleos before departing.

“All things well to be.”

Renner set off, reaching the door in a moment's time. Her sudden dynamism had set the air roiling, and she found her eyes tracing the shadows cast by the dancing flame as they warbled. In a way she couldn’t quite pin, it was comforting to her. Opening the handle, she spied the outer room, finding it just as expected. Little had changed, and as she entered, she could see the Count brooding center-space.

“Your Highness, is there something you need?”

Renner shot her gaze left, to see that a guard had been placed outside her door. She recognized him as one of the Count’s men that he had named in front of her, Hilman.

I wonder if you are even a Knight at all. Perhaps just an Assassination man playing the part of one. Irrespective, your placement flanking my door means your liege - or perhaps master - is trying to get in my good graces, or those of others. Interesting.

“Nothing, I just… felt ready to return.”

Upon hearing her voice, Keveleos pirouetted to look at her. His face did not change, but his body went rigid. His only motion was his left hand, rapping against the pommel of his blade.

He’s acting as if I’m a physical danger. Strange. Do I represent such a fundamental threat?

“Of course, Your Highness.”

Renner moved slowly into the room, trying to match her counts with the ones she took earlier. They were the same, no one had left, no one had joined them. Rochefort was still away, off claiming some glory she couldn’t care to ponder. Keveleos’s anxiety did not abate, and he broke from the table to come over to her. This was beginning to tarnish his image in Renner’s mind, and she could not understand any cause for his fear.

Is he a fool? How in any way could I be a threat to him. Everything has been cast in the black-white, no? My brother making a grab for the throne that seems to have been executed at least half competently, me finding myself in the company of an Eight Fingers man, too many to mark at the moment.

“Your Highness, is there something-”

“Just what I said to your man, Count. I simply thought to spend some spare time engaging in conversation. Say, we spoke of the laurel’s your eldest received, but did your-”

The door to the room was flung open, bouncing off the wall at its fullest extent in a loud bang. Rochefort, a proud and wide grin on his face, stepped in blade in hand.

“Presenting to you, His Highness the Crown Prince Barbro.”

Renner froze.

He’s here.

Her mind tore alight, shattering any fetters that had been left on its course. As he stepped into the room, she drank everything she could of him.

His face is fouled, as is his right hand. Has he been subject to assault? The stems on his dexter font from his wrist. Ah, what has dried and cracked on his face is the blood from his wrist, not a new cut on his forehead. One slice to the wrist, yet the rest of him bears no mark of combat. He has no blade, nor harness. Could a foe have closed distance enough to attack at his blade arm, yet not slay him? By no means did he engage in a melee. Did he attempt to end himself, or perhaps, to make it look like he did conquer in battle? I have no way to soothsay.

Renner’s heart pounded so hard it threatened to drown the noise of the room. Further inspection of his form yielded nothing, and so she grabbed desperately to the topic of flight.

Do I scream for Climb? Do I run to his side and ask him to bear a blade? He would run Barbro through, he would undoubtedly do it. If my brother is already king, then we would earn our place as traitors. Would we be able to escape? Through a cluster of the five that departed? Five, or was it six? Do I tally my brother? Only the Gods know Keveleos’s course in this. We couldn’t do it. We couldn’t do it!

Am I about to die? No- no, he can’t slay me here. He does, no one will understand. They may not kill him, but they would mark him insane. He cannot start his rule as Mad King Andrean. He would shatter his base of power entirely. Men and women from all factions, both those open and opaque, from every stretch of lands marked Vaiself are in this room. He could not do it… right?

He wanted his man to plunge steel into me in my sleep. There’s no telling what he’ll do, how he’ll react to my presence. To the fact that I am very much out of the ground. Does he know Teloran is dead? Too many things to count. I do not have the time to put an act or a lie together. I am going to die aren’t I? Even if I ‘scape him now, he’s to run me down and through.

I will need to fight for every twip of ground. To slip past him and run. If you shy away from him, you show yourself as being aware of his treason. Chardelon, if there is any time for you to live up to your dullness, it is now. For this, let me be marked as a valorant woman.

“Brother!”

—

A wicked and foul voice touched his ears, and Barbro’s whipped his face to fix on its source. It was his youngest sister. Despite what he had ordered Teloran, she was very much alive. His face seemed to seize.

She’s alive? How is that possible?

“Brother! Thank the Gods, you’re safe.”

Renner broke from her place, running towards him, her bare feet pattering against the ground. Her hair heaved as she ran, her eyes wide and sparkling.

“I was so worried. Oh my Gods, I was so worried.”

She’s alive. Teloran… did he betray me? There’s no chance she could have gotten away if he was hunting her down. Where is that bastard?

“When I saw the ruin in the palace, I couldn’t help but fear that you and the rest of our family had been caught in its proceedings.”

Renner slowed herself, but not enough to prevent him bracing a light collision as she cleaved herself to him. Her eyes brimmed with tears, and she wetted his breast as she sobbed into it.

“Tell me brother, have you seen our other siblings. I fear for them too. Zanac or Vena? Please tell me you have.”

No. She’s bloodied, so she has seen violence. Combat, or the battlefield after. Is my man dead? Who could have killed him?

Barbro spied down at his sister, her voice hiccupping as she lamented. She gripped him in a tight hug, more force than he had known her capable of. Her face slipped upward, streaks of tears sliding down her face as she struggled to get out words.

Was it that no-blood sludgeborn of hers? Did he kill Teloran? No, that’s not possible. He can’t fight like that.

“Brother? Are you wounded?”

Here I wanted you dead, and yet you continue to pester me. The assassins were supposed to return to me once the deed was done, and bear me the crown. Why did that not happen? Did they fail? Gods, would you shut up?! I can’t hear myself think!

“What’s wrong, brother?”

Barbro could bear his half-sister’s indignities no longer. He raised his right hand and struck her across the face.