Chapter 42

Only Gods judge

Ris, Cities State Alliance

Impressing Antilene was difficult.

How could one even manage to challenge the look of wonder that had graced her eyes when she had first entered the Sanctuary of the Gods? In a constantly changing world, a mundane life punctuated by a nauseating certainty could, and indeed it did, lose its appeal.

In her eyes of a mere child, wonder had that extraordinary power to infiltrate a deep, buried, and at the same time unconscious, part of her, which attached itself to and defined the contours of a still growing soul.

It was only when she had first set foot outside, when she had been able to sample what for mere mortals were the bars of a prison known as daily life, that the half-elf had begun to realize, at first almost by chance, a barely fleeting thought, then with increasing intensity, like an orchestra taking its time before gearing up, how painfully mediocre was the life that even the best had to live with.

How saddening.

The same mediocrity that had once been the object of her desires was now revealed in all its cruel ruthlessness.

Once awakened, after all, the dream was easily forgotten. A feeble string attached to a skein of indistinct memories, which were getting fainter and fainter with each passing day.

"Lady Fouche, please try not to anger the Queen of Ris. Maintaining good relations is beneficial for our purposes." An imploring voice. Kista bowed before that throne room so bare, so ordinary as to be almost an affront, while Antilene remained still, arms crossed, her stern gaze fixed on the one who had hosted them.

Bare and full of decorations of fine gold and splendid silver. Was this the best the others could aspire to? In the holy shrine of the Theocracy, precious metals were just another accessory, almost superfluous. There was no need for such trifles to express the immeasurable power and bottomless piety of the Gods.

Where there was ostentation of wealth and supremacy, Antilene scrutinized an ostentatiously dazzling light, capable of enchanting only an ephemeral whose sealed fate was to be incinerated by that falsehood.

"I am sure Queen Fouche does not intend to disrespect me." Was not the Queen of Ris disrespecting Antilene by showing her a mouth full of teeth rotten to the root and a skin that was a constant reminder of her blasphemy? "When interests align, the beliefs we had cultivated for so long begin to waver." The hag sat on that throne of empty boasts and finely crafted wood, engraved with magical symbols that were carefully analyzed by the half-elf. "And our interests align, do they not?"

Antilene could have killed her on the spot. She could have eliminated every single non-human from the Union. Then head for the Great Plains and repeat her actions with equal ease.

Yes, she could have done that.

But why?

Instead, she sighed, remembering the teachings of entire generations of Cardinals. A wisdom that, like the purest and clearest of springs, drew its brilliance from various places and mindsets.

A display of pure strength in broad daylight was just another way, perhaps the daftest, to attract unwanted attention and enemies.

"You are absolutely right. Even I alone could not get rid of all our enemies." Learning to exercise control over herself had been one of Rufus's earliest teachings, but only now could she truly understand what it meant. Practical application always won out over mere theory in the end. The desire to astonish with only seeming arrogance was strong, but that desire yielded when confronted with the new responsibilities that were disruptively advancing, unfortunately far more overwhelming. "I am therefore ready to ask for your help and that of all other non-humans who are ready to offer it. In return, I ask nothing but your... discretion. Entrust the credit for my deeds to someone more suitable."

And her gaze settled on Mirina, who flanked the Queen of Ris with impeccable pose. But Antilene's eyes did not miss the almost imperceptible tremor that ran through the knight's fully armored body. Whether it was caused by a natural spasm or unwarranted terror, the half-elf could not know.

"On this there should be no problem. Although I must still warn you that information control is never a perfect practice. Unintended errors are always to be taken into account." To expect a level of preparation like that of the Theocracy would have been foolish, but it was always disappointing to see what the level of the outside world was. Even the red of the roses was less red, and the blue of the sky was not quite so intense. "In any case, I'm really glad you decided to accept my help. Three other cities have given us their support and are ready to act immediately for the liberation of Karnasus."

"Really?" Kista's face beamed with happiness. Unexpected news always had that kind of effect. "And how many troops are we talking about? Bebard cannot provide more than five hundred soldiers at the moment. And that is already an immeasurable strain on our resources."

Antilene couldn't help but wonder how many troops the Kingdom of Evasha could have fielded if she had ordered it. The half-elf had never thought about it until that moment, but regarding armies deployment her knowledge was indeed lacking, to use a generous term. She glanced at Agravaine, always present at her side, though not always standing out, intent on mulling over those numbers.

"They will be enough. Indeed, putting yourselves on the line is indeed a precious gift," consoled the Queen of Ris, with a disgustingly maternal manner. "I don't think the other cities can provide a higher number. In fact, I believe that if we combined all our armies, the total amount would not even exceed a thousand." A thousand more than Antilene would have hoped for and a thousand more than she would have expected. "Besides, my dear Lady Fouche," the hag's eyes narrowed, so small but at the same time with the intensity of tiny black holes, as her tongue licked tiny drops of saliva from her dry, putrid lips. "I have arranged a couple of presents just for you, as a token of friendship. I can't wait to show them to you."

A servant, whose work outfit was decently kept in a figure covered in scales, passed by offering coloured sparkling wine. Antilene took a glass, the bubbles slowly bursting in the liquid produced a barely perceptible noise. "I'm really curious to see what you have prepared just for us." The half-elf sipped, slightly grossed out by the taste, but pretending that it had not bothered her at all. Even though almost natural was the reaction of contentment she showed. "And, I really need not say, immensely grateful for the great respect and esteem with which you greet me."

A smile followed by unnecessary words, if it was true that the face alone could convey what one was thinking, the Queen of Ris went further, articulating the muscles of her face in speech without uncertainty. "I share the same feelings that I feel are being expressed by you, Lady Fouche." Her hands filled with calluses, more than as many drops of water as a mountain spring contained, clutched with delicate strength the staff that could have been called an additional limb of her body. "I'm not in the habit of getting lost in unnecessary ceremonies, so how about we go straight to our plans? It does no good for a group of young maidens like us to be left weaving plots in the shadows."

"Too generous, Queen Kirke." Kista stood up, casting a sidelong glance at Mirina, who returned it with equal fervor. "Where do you intend to lead us, if I may ask?"

The old hag moved with extraordinary slowness, almost as if merely moving her muscles caused unspeakable pain in every fiber of her being. An act so perfect that it fooled everyone, except for Antilene, who raised an eyebrow almost as if to say 'really?' "Let's take a few steps. These old bones need to stretch once in a while."

Although a couple of servants tried to help her, the Queen readily turned away from them, as if she found the very idea of leaning on someone else inconceivable. It was difficult to determine whether it was part of the act or a certain dignity that had never been quenched. "This palace may not compare to the splendor of the Theocracy, but I have always found comfort in wandering its corridors. I hope the same applies to you, Lady Fouche."

"I am sure it will," Antilene replied, already setting off. Through the tinted windows, the first rays of sunset were peeking out, filtering through the colorful panes, reflecting like a rainbow of various reddish hues. "Have you been to the Theocracy? Forgive my curiosity, but I find it hard to imagine. I do not believe... that a possible stay of yours would have been pleasant in my old home."

"I was not always as I appear now…" And, for a moment, but only for a moment, Antilene glimpsed a... something in the old woman's face. Regret? It was an emotion that the half-elf was struggling to define but which, unexpectedly, seemed vaguely familiar. "Your homeland is a jewel of rare beauty, there is no doubt about that. A finely cut and wrought diamond, shining with so much light that our great palaces, our squares, our riches seem but worthless stones. And yet…" Self-loathing. That's what it was. If the Queen's mind was a labyrinth, that feeling was the treasure hidden within it. "This only makes your darkness stand out even more. Those who determine to be outside the cycle of the world will have to pay a higher price when the wheel of time ends its turn."

Antilene clutched her shoulders, not giving those insinuations more weight than they deserved. "I have already accepted the idea of living in darkness forever, it's no big deal. And as for the Theocracy, that's no longer my concern. I have already left behind everything I had cherished there." It was the first time the half-elf had said it out loud, and it was harder than she had ever imagined. It was not as... liberating as she would have expected, but not unpleasant either.

Perhaps it was also because it was the first time Antilene had stopped for a moment to reflect on what she was doing. Never before had been time for that, given the speed with which events had unfolded. "Don't get me wrong. I have loved and still love the Theocracy. But sometimes we have to get away from what we love too much to be truly happy." Or, more likely, she had preferred to avoid pondering excessively about it.

Did Antilene believe that by pretending nothing was happening, she would never have to find herself regretting her choices? Was changing oneself just an illusion dictated by vain arrogance?

A foolish thought.

The regrets of the past and the expectations of the future lost their meaning in the present.

"What we call home can sometimes be a prison," Agravaine interjected unexpectedly, clasping a hand on her sister's shoulders. At the touch, Antilene felt an unwelcome chill. "The important thing is to be able to gain your freedom, no matter how long you have to fight for it. I do not wish to sound conceited, but it seems to me that this is one of the ideals on which your nation was founded. Only by remaining free can you build a future with your own hands that you can be proud of."

'Free, eh?' For Antilene, who had assumed the role of loyal servant all her life, the lack of orders seemed almost suffocating, not liberating. The smell of the open air tasted poisonous. The boundless space of the world felt smaller than her room. 'But what to do with so much freedom, if there is no purpose to guide it?'

"It is indeed what we are fighting for," Kista added, receiving a nod of head in approval from Mirina. "To be able to forge one's own destiny. Nothing could be traded for this great gift. Of course, ideals like this give way when confronted with reasons of state. Nevertheless, if I were forced to serve those who wish to oppress us, or die fighting against them, I would not hesitate to choose the latter. One, two, five, ten, infinite times. Even if the result would never change."

"Right. Absolutely correct." The Queen hinted at a laugh, but did not have time to finish it, that she began to cough, so violently that Mirina had to move closer in order to support her. "It's all right, dear." A rather awkward attempt at reassurance.

"Are you sure?" Mirina's impassive face creaked, showing more than a hint of concern. Antilene noted that there were at least two people who could elicit that reaction from the knight covered entirely in black. And, funnily enough, they were in the same room now. "It would be no trouble to help you walk to the training room. Just a way to repay you for all you have done for me."

They were crossing a long corridor, and the banners of the city of Ris waved gently around them in harmonic movement. The Queen paused for a moment, feeling the fabric between her fingers, murmuring in a low voice, but with enough pitch that everyone could hear her. "You don't have to worry about me. I still have many things to accomplish before I leave this world… Yes… There are still many things…" On the banners, entirely covered in white, stood images of flowers whose shades of vivid blue wobbled in the air, in a motion of innate sadness.

"It is very beautiful," commented Kista, looking at the design. Antilene was also surprised to find that, although the overall pattern was far from remarkable, it was definitely pleasing to the eye. The simple style gave it an almost warm and familiar touch, reminiscent of a design first made by a carefree child and then faithfully reproduced by a more experienced hand, in accordance with the original artist's vision. "What is this all about? It is not a flower known to me."

"Some call it cornflower, others centaurea cyanus," the old woman explained, with a veiled smile. Her eyes narrowed in the same way that foretold tears, but no liquid came out of them. It was possible that it was not a matter of want, but of can. "It comes from a faraway place, whose exact origin has been lost. A trifle… Nothing important. It represents a promise. A promise that can never be fulfilled." A pause. "Doesn't a wish cultivated too long become a curse?"

"You like to speak in riddles," the half-elf replied, struggling to sustain her gaze. Not because of any particular awe it provoked, nor because of any terror it aroused. On the contrary, it would have been more correct to call it timid and tame, like that of a beast that had lost all will to fight. But what Antilene saw in it was an emotion she knew all too well and which, for that very reason, made it difficult for her to confront... "It is also the first time for me to hear of such a flower. I would like to know more about it."

"I don't want to waste your time with the ravings of an old fool, Lady Fouche. It is a story like many others, which began with a simple, carefree love, and ended in the least interesting way possible. So many books have been written following this plot, and many more narrations will follow this pattern." The Queen had resumed her impassive tone, and had once more donned that mask filled with feigned emotions. "But I don't think I need to explain it to you since, as far as I can see, you too are attached to a certain silly sentimentality like me."

And she pointed to the blue rose proudly placed on the chest of the half-elf, Nazaire's latest gift, which never left the proximity of her heart.

"Perhaps we are not as dissimilar as we think," she continued, outlining a sardonic expression. "An impossible dream, isn't that what that rose represents?"

"No," Antilene replied with conviction, stroking the fabric of the reproduction, letting a strange, but not entirely unpleasant, melancholy pervade her. "It is a wish already realized. And, unlike you, I have not given up on making it a reality."

Yes.

It was not a mere illusion. Even if the past was painful, facing it with conviction was more than a duty. It was a promise. And, as such, it was her obligation to honor it. Antilene considered it more precious than her own life.

"I understand." A satisfied grin. Queen Kirke was a more understanding woman than it was possible to imagine. "In the end, our past is what defines us. So little control do we have over it, but so great is the impact it exerts on us, that it remains almost impossible to understand ourselves without first confronting it." She resumed walking, the beaten stone floor echoing with soft muffled sounds at the clash of her cane with the ground.

"Don't put much stock in what the Queen said, Lady Fouche," Mirina murmured under her breath. More to keep up unnecessary appearances, since it was evident that the old hag could hear just fine. "I'm not very knowledgeable, but I think the story of the Ris's emblem has something to do with the tale of the Dark Knight."

"The famous dark hero of the thirteen?" Antilene asked, her curiosity piqued. "I didn't know his legend had come all the way here." Of all of them, that of the Dark Knight was by far the heroic figure most shrouded in mystery. Numerous were the legends told about him, many of them certainly exaggerated to the far-fetched, but their reliability was, in the half-elf's opinion, highly questionable.

As if some half-demon could really be a great hero acclaimed by all. Ridiculous.

"The Union boasts many connections to the Dark Knight," Kista interjected, unleashing her immense cultural background, honed over years of diplomacy. Nothing made someone satisfied like the knowledge flaunted by foreigners about their homeland. It was almost as if the exploits of the greats of the past were reflected on the descendants of the present, no matter how mediocre the latter were. "Indeed, many cities even proclaim the birthright of the Dark Knight. And Ris is one of them, if I remember correctly. But you Mirina, you should know far more than me. Is it not your family that boasts a direct connection to the famous hero?"

The female knight squinted her eyes, her long raven hair began to dance in the air, as if that unexpected comment might have disturbed her entire essence. "Nono... these are just silly rumors spread by some members of my family. Although I must admit that my father was firmly convinced it was true," Mirina scratched her cheek, which had turned as red as a tomato from embarrassment. Despite being imposing and exuding self-confidence, there was a certain gentleness and simplicity about her - was that the right way to put it? - that made it easy to arouse a desire for protection. "Ever since I was a child, I was raised as if it was my destiny to follow in the footsteps of our 'illustrious forefather'. Not that I ever minded, to be completely honest."

"Besides," Kista added, with a certain readiness. This wasn't the first time the two of them had had such a conversation, was it? "The sword you carry, Crocdabal, is one of the four legendary blades said to have belonged to the Dark Knight. The Blade of Rot, bearer of thousands of curses!"

"Are there really that many?" Agravaine focused on the great sword Mirina had attached to her side, stored in a dark, colorless scabbard. Although the tip could not be seen, the hilt was decorated with strange symbols, which Antilene traced back to some she had seen in the sacred texts of the Theocracy. "Isn't it dangerous to carry something so deadly all the time? Oops, forgive my impertinence." The elf withdrew, realizing she had come too close. "I am not a warrior, and I struggle to understand the attachment to weapons that many of you consider almost sacred."

In fact, if what Kista said was true, that sword should have emitted so much negative energy as to be nauseating. Although she had no special powers of perception regarding negative energy, Antilene's instincts should have been sufficient to at least get an idea of the danger of that blade. So either Mirina exercised such deft control as to suppress any malign intent, frankly unlikely, or the rumors were far exaggerated.

As proof of what the half-elf was thinking, the knight wrinkled her nose, perhaps out of embarrassment, hiding her weapon even further between the folds of the cerulean cloak that accompanied her armor. "Kista... Lady Cabelia exaggerates far too much. In truth, the curses with which Crocdabal is endowed are certainly not a vast number. Not even close."

"Really? A great pity." Exclaimed the elf, unexpectedly disappointed. Curiosity was a good thing, but sometimes it would have been better not to overdo it.

"Nevertheless, I am sure your skills with the sword are indeed exceptional, it is evident from Lady Cabelia's confidence in you. And if your family is the custodian of such a valuable heirloom, it is certainly not impossible that there is a kernel of truth in your proclamations!"

"I wouldn't put my finger on it," Mirina said, with an unexpected lack of disappointment. "I mean, the chances of the Dark Knight leaving heirs are slim." In fact, one could have said that that notion comforted her. Tracing a fabulous lineage with such historical figures could be both a blessing and a burden.

"What do you mean?" Antilene did not receive an answer from her, as it was Kista who spoke first.

"Sterile." At that word, the Queen of Ris, who had been almost devoid of any reaction up until that moment, grew gloomy. "Some say it was caused by his half-demon nature, others by a pact made with the Demon King, and many believe it was just an absurd coincidence, but the fact remains that many traditions agree in attributing this trait to him." Then Kista threw a smirk in the direction of her beloved. "Of course, there are also others who reject these beliefs."

Sterility. A eunuch's fate. Curing it was not impossible, as far as Antilene remembered, but it required fifth tier magic at least. Surely, the thirteen heroes could rely on a comparable spell. That was, of course, if it wasn't a more damaging curse than normal.

'Family.' Antilene thought, patting her belly. What would she have thought if such a fate had befallen her? Would it have been easy to accept it, or would it have brought more despair than she wanted to admit?

Once again, the half-elf found herself assessing her role before that as a woman, before that as a human being, as a descendant of the Gods. A role that had been rejected by her, indeed almost denied, but which, indifferent to what she wanted, crept into her every action and consideration.

Her reflections must have overflowed from her face as the Queen of Ris approached her, uttering, "I understand what is troubling you." The rotten teeth broke into a smile for once sincere, devoid of mockery. "Everything has a price. The Dark Knight paid his, for he, of all people, was unable to bear the pain that accompanies us all, sooner or later. That of loss. Whether he regretted his decision, no one knows." But, it was evident that, more than anyone else, it was the old hag who sought the answer to that question.

By now they had been walking for a few minutes, the light streaming in through the windows blindingly. It was fascinating how the structure of the building reflected the mood of its master. Filtered lighting, not at all genuine, and a vast assortment of corridors that might have given the idea of a complex labyrinth, but only revealed themselves as an overly simplistic jumble put together almost as best they could.

Eventually, they came to a wooden pavilion connected to the right wing of the structure, inside which was a small elliptical arena, but not without equipment, potions and, above all, soldiers intent on a training session, judging by the stench of sweat.

"Here we are," Mirina looked out from one of the bleachers on which the whole scene could be seen. "The commander is waiting for you, Lady Fouche."

Directing those soldiers was an imposing demi-human, whose taurine face and gigantic horns sprouting from the sides of his head left no doubt as to the race to which he belonged. After noticing his new guests, he huffed annoyedly, rattling the large metal ring he wore at his nostrils, and began to approach. His body was completely encased in heavy silver armor, and a sharp ax was struggling to stay hidden behind his back.

"That's the former champion!" Kista exclaimed, recognising him. "So this was where he was hiding after all this time? I thought the armies of the Equestrian King had long since disposed of him."

"Unfortunately for them, it is not so easy to get rid of me," replied the minotaur, lowering his torso ninety degrees in an unexpected sign of respect for the mayoress of Bebard. "Lady Cabelia, it is a great pleasure to meet you again, albeit under circumstances not entirely pleasant."

To the surprise of Antilene, who would have expected anything but such outspoken reverence for a human, let alone a non-combatant as Kista, the demi-human turned a curve of his lips that, if it could not be called a smile, was far from unfriendly.

"Sir Niles, it makes me immensely glad to see you looking so well." Not pupils, but small stars now decorated Kista's face. "I still remember your clash during the Connelier final, at the time you put on an unforgettable show of strength and skill." The woman had already left with her mind to a time long past. At the mere sight of the minotaur her expression had softened. "Knowing that you are on our side only makes me even more confident in our situation."

"Yours are words filled with confidence." He snorted again through his nose, in an almost mechanical gesture. "I just have to hope that I live up to your expectations. This land has been very generous to a foreigner like me, and the only thing I can do to repay you is to fight to the end in the name of my… our freedom." Then, turning towards the Queen, he continued. "Had it not been for Queen Kirke by now I would have ended up in one of the mass graves where the centaurs throw all those who are deemed inimical to them, conforming to your expectations."

Feeling called upon, the old woman hastened to speak. "I merely gave hospitality to a talent I deemed worthy of preservation. I did nothing that anyone else in my position would not have done." Old fox. She sure knew how to make herself loved. Antilene had to begrudgingly give her that win.

"And for that I am immensely grateful," the minotaur's eyes, so large they could have held small constellations, shone a dull yellow. "As are all my other companions whom you have saved from an inauspicious fate."

It was then that Antilene realized that of all those present, there was not a single repeating race. It had to be said that the Queen had assembled quite a motley crew. There was even a human among them, though he remained in the background alone, along with a couple of… elves?

But if for the half-elf those faces did not stand out among all those she had observed in her brief stay in the Union, the same could not be said for the mayoress of Bebard who gradually began to recognise all those present, in the grip of an almost childlike excitement.

"Fast Foot, champion of the running competition. The Sky Tip, gold medal in the javelin throw. The Hammer Anvil... Incredible! All the great champions of past competitions are gathered here." Antilene was aware that sports competitions in the Union were big things, and she also knew that Kista was passionate about this kind of -from her point of view- silly games. Yet the fervor gushing from the woman couldn't help but leave both her and her sister stunned.

Of course, unlike her, Agravaine showed much more curiosity and interest in the, at least as far as the mayoress of Bebard was concerned, extraordinary athletic abilities of that group, which at first glance gave the impression of a jumble of personalities that had little to do with each other, rather than a nest of superlative talents.

"Are they really that exceptional?" No matter how much she tried to mull it over, the half-elf was not at all amazed. Perhaps she should have lowered her expectations; pride was treacherous and always ready to tread on mistakes. And, after all, if the Queen of Ris trusted those demi-humans so much, there had to be some reason.

The old hag certainly had not won her trust, but Antilene had to grudgingly admit that she did not lack good discernment qualities.

Had she not realized how special the half-elf was, after all?

'Nothing to do, I feel like throwing up.'

"Who are you?" If the minotaur was offended by Antilene's all-too-innocent question, he was a master at not showing it. "I traveled a long way before arriving in these lands, and I can assure you that very few can boast the skills of my team. It is not vainglory of mine," was he puffing out his chest to intimidate her? Delightfully adorable. "Just the plain and simple truth." If he had gone on all fours maybe she would have accepted him as a pet.

Nevertheless, the half-elf unleashed her friendliest smile - which, strangely enough, almost seemed to have the opposite effect. Perhaps the demi-humans thought it rude? For there was no other explanation for the nauseated expressions with which they had welcomed it - before introducing herself. "Antilene Heran Fouche, Queen of Evasha." That title still sounded strange to her ears, and probably always would. Not much that could be done. "Pleased to make your acquaintance?" She considered whether she should bow. Impolite as it was, she decided to opt for a firm no.

The minotaur did not seem to take it amiss. Or, at least, that was probably not the cause of his irritation. "An elf for sure... peculiar. You are fortunate that I am a follower of the Sage through and through and, as such, I am always ready to accept differences of... shall we say politeness." And he offered his hand, so incredibly hairy. Perhaps full of other little animals walking on it, invisible to the eyes.

Antilene reciprocated, the difference in size between the two limbs was such that they could have mistaken that greeting as childish play between an adult and a child. With the half elf playing the part of the child, to her immense displeasure. True enough, if his new furry friend had intended to play, he could have chosen a less embarrassing way to do it. Embarrassing for him, that was obvious.

"Is everything alright?" Antilene asked, tilting her head slightly to the side, with what was the perfect definition of -pardon the vulgarity- a fuckface. As soon as they had brushed against each other, the minotaura had begun, perhaps to test her strength, perhaps to teach a lesson to the one whom he had considered an arrogant jerk, to squeeze with force, at first lightly, a small taste, then with ever-increasing impetus, a rather lacking main course.

The half-elf, who in spite of all her good will certainly did not intend to stay and be battered -her generosity did not even remotely reach those levels- hardened the bones of her fingers. Perhaps hardening was not the right term. She merely held her hand steady as demihuman's grip tightened around it and his muscles invigorated.

The genuine version of this novel can be found on another site. Support the author by reading it there.

The minotaur's face went from a determined expression to a frown in a blink, then the effort was such that maintaining an impassive expression was clearly impossible for him.

Antilene knew there was no need to continue with that charade, but the temptation was irresistible. Like when a small pimple popped up on the face, and Nazaire warned against touching it.

'Don't try to squeeze it was asking too much. I mean, how could you do otherwise?'

Eventually, however, she detached her hand indifferently, pretending that nothing had happened. Sir Niles, who also must not have found the experience particularly pleasurable, merely muttered defeatedly: "Only once before had I experienced something like that. But no, it was just an impression," he repeated to himself. "The sage's offspring? But she is only an elf…" He gave her a second look, this time with an intensity that could be deciphered all too easily.

In any case, the introductions had been made, all too well the half-elf would have added.

"Lady Fouche stands out in an almost unnatural way, don't you think, Sir Niles?" The Queen of Ris shrugged a lock of hair, white as a specter, with amusement. "Is it not comforting to know that she is on our side?"

"Definitely." That could not have been called a very truthful answer. "The humanoids of this region are definitely different from what I'm used to. If many of my childhood friends could have a chance to see this place, they would be horrified."

Antilene had no difficulty believing this. The Minotaur kingdom, as far as she remembered, had a certain way of handling relations between different races. Certain it was that she would not put a pair of chains on her arms just to make a non-human at ease.

"Is that not the pleasure of great journeys? Seeing our beliefs continually challenged, and gaining knowledge we previously didn't even imagine could exist. I think the Great Sage professed something akin like this." The Queen said softly, causing the half-elf to feel nauseous. "Speaking of which, did I not promise you a surprise, Lady Fouche? Let me introduce you."

And with unexpected swiftness, the hag called out to the human whom Antilene had earlier noticed was standing aside. The latter approached, with a confident and determined gait, followed by three female elves who moved in a completely opposite manner, staggering and keeping their heads down. The women's clothes were tattered, leaving exposed parts of their bodies that left little to the imagination.

Agravaine watched them, her fury growing with every step. Mirina and Kista hinted disapproval, more than they probably could have expressed. Sir Niles and his demi-humans, on the other hand, were completely indifferent, most of them already about to resume their training.

Antilene would have normally fallen in the latter group. In reality, her attention was focused for all intents and purposes on the young man, who was advancing with the ostentation that only an outsized arrogance could give, displaying the long silver sword he was carrying, the blade of which had the same sheen as a full moon. Long combed blond hair swayed to the rhythm of his gait. Small, piercing, night-coloured eyes were entirely focused on the half-elf, while a cocky smile appeared with such naturalness that it would not be absurd to venture that it was the natural expression he was born with.

Yet none of this mattered to Antilene. In fact, it was completely irrelevant. Instead, what had caught her attention were the swordsman's clothes, whose play of hues and shades, black as bright as night and pure white as snow, was familiar to her.

How could it have been otherwise? The half-elf needed do no more than look in the mirror to rediscover that same taste in dress, symbol of the Theocracy included.

Only this time the mirror was not quite normal, but reflected a distorted and exaggerated image, caricatured even. And the perpetrator of this devilish joke was now laughing out loud, greeting the newcomer with the same affection a grandmother might feel on seeing her beloved grandson again.

"Erya, my dear, how is the training going?"

The swordsman remained impassive, merely replying with an atonal 'fine'. An awkward silence fell for a handful of seconds, before the conversation resumed, again due to the old hag.

"How's that sword I gave you?"

"Absolutely magnificent." This time there was more emphasis in the response, although the lack of respect was still perceptible. "I am immensely grateful to you, Queen Kirke."

"I am really glad. Soon you will be able to put it to the test. Are you ready?"

"That is all I ask. The trust placed in me will be highly rewarded."

"I expect no less."

"How many enemies do I have to kill?"

"As much as you want!"

"And my reward?"

"Immeasurable!"

"... Good."

One of the elves in his retinue stumbled, causing him to turn around in annoyance. The terror that fell over the girl's subdued face foretold a terrible answer, which, however, never came. Erya, on the other hand, unconcernedly returned his focus to Antilene.

"So you are the elf of the Theocracy? To think that my home country held such a... trivial secret." If doubts had been minimal before, they were now supplanted by certainties. "I suppose it is appropriate to introduce oneself on occasions like this. Erya Uzruth, swordmaster and leader of team of workers Tenmu. Currently in the service of Her Majesty Queen Zea Kirke, who was magnanimous enough to offer me support after I had to... leave the area where I used to operate. Pleased to meet you."

Antilene remained impassive. Judging by Agravaine's reaction, which certainly did not shine for discretion, fire could have been spat out of her eyes, there was no need for two elves to lose control at the same time.

"Isn't something missing?"

He looked at her with a doubtful expression, as if he wanted to ask her 'what on earth are you talking about?' In truth, the same reaction was shared by all those who had remained to act as witnesses, not all of them willingly, to be truly honest.

"Your baptismal name. Slaine's protocol requires that you present yourself with your first name, your baptismal name and your last name."

The first was a gift bestowed by the parents. As such, it represented the body, as it was only imparted at the moment of birth.

The last was the surname of one's family of origin. Since it was predetermined at the moment one came into the world, it represented the soul.

The baptismal name, on the other hand, was different.

"I have long since given up that name," the tone of his voice hardened, while retaining a certain veiled inflection of scorn.. "Such nonsense does not suit a character like mine." The Theocracy emblem he sported on his breastplate appeared even more obscene than before.

"It is a link. A link between ourselves and our origins, between body and soul, given to us by the priests as a symbol of the will of the Gods."

How could someone born and bred in the Theocracy abandon it? Everyone, from the humblest of shepherds to the most illustrious of Cardinals, retained and boasted that special and unique connection with higher beings. It was not just a sign of devotion. It was something more. An immeasurable proof of one's existence and, more importantly, an act of love.

"I have no need to believe in the gods," he brushed the sword he carried, as if he wanted to unsheathe it at any moment. "Even if such beings existed, I have long since outgrown them. And now that I have the Sword of Law with me, I doubt there is anyone who can even come close to my level."

"...I see."

It had always been all too easy for Antilene. Believing in the Gods was not difficult, when you yourself were proof enough of their existence. In a way, she could understand where Erya's skepticism came from.

Nevertheless...

"Who are those elves that are with you?" The three had replicated a scene that was familiar to Antilene, perhaps all too much so. Remaining behind the man accompanying them the entire time, they were breathing hard as copious blood flowed from some of the wounds, avoiding uttering even a moan of pain. "Your teammates? You said you were part of a team, am I right?"

Erya laughed, or seemed about to do so. His mouth opened, but only a distorted sound came out. "Yes, we can say that. We have to work with what we have, don't we? Even if things haven't gone too well lately for enlightened individuals like me." The insinuation slithered with the nefariousness of a venomous snake towards the half-elf. "Or should I say like us? Is the new Queen of Evasha an elf or a human?"

"They are your slaves, are they not?" Agravaine approached one of the three, starting to bandage one of the wounds with some bandages. It was commendable how calmly she was dealing with this. "I thought the slave trade had been outlawed in all human nations by now."

That was what Antilene thought too.

"Not in the Union." Replied Kista, who had begun to look doubtfully at their host. "Or, at least, not in all cities. Like Ris, right?"

The old Queen merely shrugged her shoulders. "We do not have a slave trade, but it is not our policy to meddle in the personal affairs of our citizens. Especially when they are as incredibly useful as Erya. It's ever since he arrived here a few months ago that he's been very useful in accomplishing... certain chores." The hag's tongue, yellowish in color, moistened her lips. "Of those present, only Sir. Niles can compete with him. Though it would please me to find out who would come out on top, now that our treasure has been entrusted into such capable hands."

An all too suspicious trust. Erya suspected nothing, or at least he didn't give it away, but Antilene would eat a hair if there wasn't something else underneath the Queen's intentions.

The minotaur encircled his arms, throwing thunderbolts with his gaze towards the compatriot of Antilene. Even a child could see that there was not even a shadow of camaraderie between the two.

Professionalism, in any case, was demonstrated by passing over mere personal matters. Sir Niles, however, could not help but let slip a not too veiled comment. "For me, an encounter can be arranged whenever you want. Of course, I wonder if with the opponents Sir Uzruth is usually used to, his legendary sword hasn't lost sharpness." And he hunted a grin that had little in the way of friendship.

Erya remained calm, somewhat unusually so. He massaged his temples and then, with a decidedly nimble leg-step, stepped to the side of the Queen, halfway between Antilene and Mirina. "Delfine is a treasure that is only fit to be used in the presence of an appropriate audience," the young man drew his sword, whose honed metal reflected a particularly brilliant indigo. "I promised my benefactress that I would only use it at the moment of reckoning," he drew a couple of slashes through the air, with an exceedingly ostentatious manner that was as arrogant as it was unwarranted, "fortunately for me and for you, that moment will come soon, will it not?" The metal of the sword flexed and undulated serpentine like a gigantic, deadly python.

The elves, who were now beginning to catch their breath, thanks in part to Agravaine's prompt assistance, whitened again at the mere sight of the sword. Evidently, the young Theocracy swordsman's definitions of a suitable audience and worthy opponent differed considerably from those of Antilene.

"I look forward to fighting together, then." Said Antilene, pretending to be impressed as she continued to observe Erya. Watching him was... odd. His every word, his every action was quickly scrutinized by the half-elf, who, driven by a need that even she could not fully explain, cataloged that estrangement she was feeling in a hidden corner of her mind, of which she was not even aware. "Enemies are many, and every sword will count... I suppose."

"Undoubtedly. I must be honest, and admit that fighting alongside a countryman again, after all this time, might be more enjoyable than I expected." The friendliness he showed, the kindness he demanded were so feigned as to make the rounds and almost prove blunt. It was not ineptitude his, it was instead such a small lack of consideration as to be shocking. In some sick definition, Erya Uzruth was one of the most honest men Antilene had ever met. "Should you need protection, do not hesitate to avail yourself of me. You or…" he paused to admire her sister, who compared to her rags-clad counterparts, stood out even more in her stunning light green dress. "Your lady-in-waiting?" Erya demanded, clearly unconcerned about a possible answer. The only thing he was interested in was too vulgar even to be considered worthy of consideration.

"Her sister," Agravaine replied, wiping away the tears of one of the slaves, who had failed to stop them from falling profusely. "Do you not think you have gone too far in the way you have treated these women?"

"Training can be hard. Don't think I took joy in reducing them to that state, but as they will also confirm, it is essential for their survival. It is a harsh world," the young swordsman paused for a moment, testing the elf's furious reaction, entertained, "and, frankly, how I use my property is certainly not something that would be of interest to you."

"Damn you. I…"

"Agravaine, that's enough."

If Antilene had not stopped her, her sister would have been capable of an overreaction. And no one wanted that. Or not?

"Sir Uzruth, forgive my sister," the half-elf lowered her head in apology. "You are perfectly right. How you treat what is yours is none of our business."

"The strong prevail over the weak," Erya's expression sprouted smugness from every pore. "It is the fundamental law of all existence. If you don't have the strength to defend what's important... well, you don't even have the right to complain."

The elves looked at everyone present, begging for mercy, starting with Agravaine, passing by the indifferent looks of the demi-humans, the lowered heads in shame of Kista and Mirina, crossing the smirk of the Queen of Ris, and finally reaching the impassive face of Antilene.

As Queen of Evasha, what would her duties have been in that situation? As an additional seat of the Black Scriptures, how was she to behave towards a man of the Theocracy who had abjured all but their most unprincipled beliefs?

It was as if two halves were fighting for control of Antilene. The elven side, which she had always rejected, and the human side, which she had not always understood. The coexistence of the two was, in itself, a contradiction. To suppress one to let the other live, that was what she had always believed was the only way.

"The strong always prevail over the weak." Would it not have been hypocritical to claim now to care about subjects she had never considered as such, to make up for the suffering she had caused in the first place? "It is not a philosophy I accept." But neither was it something one could fight.

It was naive to think that through brute force alone a clash of ideals could be won. If Antilene had killed Erya on the spot, would that not have proved that he was on the side of reason?

"So you intend to do something?" He asked.

"...No."

For years Antilene had protected men like Erya Uzruth. For so long, that a whole library would not have been enough to hold all the books of that long time. As bad as it made her feel, Erya was no mere anomaly, but a product of the peace she had defended for so long. Having it in front of her was as if someone had eliminated every trace of love felt for the Theocracy, ripped everything special about it, and had accentuated its flaws to the hilt, making the complexities and facets of her beloved country a dirty lie and reducing it to a buffoonish caricature.

In a way, absurd as it was, the young swordsman was a product of what she too had helped to create.

How, then, could she now judge him?

There was only one suitable reaction to everything she was going through.

"Regina Kirke, thank you for giving me the opportunity to meet a fellow countryman."

Establishing what the old hag's plan was behind that meeting was difficult. Whether it was a not too veiled mockery of her beliefs, or a discretionary assessment of her intentions, Antilene could not know for sure. What was certain, however, was that what the half-elf had accomplished went beyond any of her expectations. Or was that what the hag expected in the first place?

"I am glad you appreciated it, Lady Fouche." Covered in sugar, a lie still retained its bitter taste. "Now that we have made the proper introductions, why don't we retire to our rooms?"

"That sounds like a splendid idea," agreed Kista. Whether her opinion had been motivated by actual fatigue or a simple desire to spend more time with Mirina was by no means too difficult to tell. "We can meet again tomorrow, to prepare a more thorough war council. If everyone agrees, of course."

"No problem on my part," Antilene confirmed in reply. They hadn't done much, all things considered. But the journey had begun to take its toll, and a little time for reflection would certainly not be unwelcome.

"I will see to it that my team is ready whenever you wish, Your Majesty." Sir Niles most of all was ready to return to toil. If it had been possible, he would probably have gone to war at that very moment. "May you all have a welcome rest." He expelled more air from his nostrils, but this time with a friendly expression devoid of defiance, before returning to his duties.

Erya remained with that calm and serene expression on his face, before taking his leave with a few words, followed by the three elves, who retained the same dejected expression they had sported from the start.

Agravaine watched them walk away, with such frostiness that it could freeze the room.

"Is that alright with you?" It was only when she and Antilene found themselves alone that she finally blurted out. "That piece of shit treats some of us like dirt, and you not only let him go, but show gratitude towards him?"

They had returned to the flats that Ris's servants had prepared especially for them. Melody and Etienne were busy preparing dinner, leaving them completely alone. Nothing was said to them about what just happened.

"Would you have preferred I cut off their heads and set those three free on the spot, perhaps even killing the Queen while we were at it?" The half-elf thought back to the reaction of Kista, Merina and everyone else present. A spectrum of emotions that all concluded to the same result. "Their 'relationship' is perfectly legal in these lands. I will not be the one to change that."

Agravaine bit her lip. "You are their Queen!"

"I did not ask to be," Antilene replied coldly. "You should have no illusions. I am sure I had already told you that. I am not a savior. I didn't save anyone at all. If those elves ended up in that situation, it is precisely because of me. Always remember that. If I saved them, as you ask, I would only be rejecting what I have been up to this moment, including the decisions I have made. The same decisions that freed your people and brought us here today."

Her sister lowered her head, causing an unexpected reaction in Antilene, almost as if her heart skipped a beat. "I know... but... it's so unfair."

When had she started caring so much about other people's emotions? Of an elf, no less. If Rufus could see her now, what would he have thought?

If Faine had seen her now, how would she have reacted?

"Do you trust me?"

In one simple question, the whole core of a relationship could be encapsulated. There was no need for Agravaine to tell what was passing in her mind, in time even a lie could become if not the truth, at least something very close.

"I would like to… I would so much… but right now it's difficult." Eyes of different colors mirrored each other. So luminous were her sister's, so dark were hers.

"Then do it! That is an order!" The first legit one Antilene had ever given. Perhaps the last. There had by far been monarchs with a worse record. "Am I or not your Queen? All the way to hell and back."

"...Do you have a plan?"

"I think I have one. But, until then, you don't have to do anything. If everything goes as it should, those three will be free, without us having to shed a drop of blood."

"...I trust you."

Silence fell.

There was nothing more left to say.

Birisia, Draconic Kingdom

Gazef Stronoff breathed in the morning air at the top of his lungs, letting the scent of freshness wake him completely from a placid and peaceful night, whose sleep had been lulled by pleasant dreams now already about to be lost in the folds of memory, with no regrets.

A servant knocked at the door of his room, quickly leaving a tray on which various foodstuffs were arranged. Following Gazef's instructions, simple aliments had been prepared, toasted bread, a varied assortment of fruits and just a cup of water. Some nobles had praised his choice as an illustrious example to follow, one way of being closer to the soldiers, breaking down differences.

For Slaine's captain, there was no need to resort to such subterfuges to reach a result that, in his opinion, was very easy to achieve. Honesty and directness were sufficient to achieve a sense of camaraderie, there was no need to resort to double-dealing methods. He simply preferred that kind of breakfast to the one usually reserved for officers, which abounded with far too much sugar for his taste.

"It's almost time. I'd better get ready." He whispered aloud, no one in particular to hear him, with the possible exception of a couple of birds humming a pleasant rhythm outside his window.

A soft sigh anticipated his preparation. The clothing the court provided was far from being his favorite, with all those lapels and frills he felt more like a jester than a warrior, the only consolation being that court soldiers like himself could carry their swords with them, even in front of the Queen. Without unsheathing it, of course, except on exceptional and extraordinary occasions.

Had it not been for his constant training, an indispensable part of his routine, he would have almost begun to believe that he had lost his edge.

Yet it did not displease him as he might have believed in the past, in another life.

In order to make his way from his flats to the royal palace, there was not a long way to go, at least in theory. Gazef had made a habit, now indispensable, of stretching his route to chat with anyone he met and with whom he had some familiarity.

"Sir Stronoff, it is a pleasure to meet you!"

"Captain, we expect you tonight for the card game. This time try not to have everything taken away."

"Oh, Sir Stronoff, what a blessing it is that you dropped by. Could you give me a hand with these crates?"

Usually, apart from members of his crew, Gazef used to exchange greetings with what some might have called the last of the last. Scullions, petty tradesmen, shop apprentices, housewives intent on looking after their offspring, and the more the merrier.

Their problems, which were small and rather insignificant, especially when compared to the issues he usually had to deal with and which had a very different character, gave his life a little of the color he had so much sought. Knowing that a word of comfort or a simple play of muscle was enough to lift what were soon no longer mere strangers was... comforting. In a way he had rarely experienced.

His morning walk was, ever since they had returned from Baharuth, one of the most pleasant moments of the day. The mission currently entrusted to him by the Cardinals, to keep Queen Draudillon Oriculus safe and perhaps even cast an eye over the affairs of the inner court, was by far the best he had ever received.

Unfortunately, all good things were destined to come to an end. It was the natural course, however painful it might be.

"Oh Sir Stronoff, you have already arrived. How nice to see you here." The vast halls of the Dragon's palace were spacious and welcoming, giving anyone who entered the impression of being embraced by a loving and peaceful creature. Queen Draudillon used to say proudly: 'If this Kingdom is a dragon, its people are the treasure guarded by it'.

The mid-day light came in with lively warmth, bringing the good cheer typical of spring days. A woman, whom Gazef hardly knew, greeted him as soon as the entrance was crossed, with a sweet smile barely visible behind the calm and elegant waving of a red fan. At her side, a young but stern-looking man scrutinized Gazef with a long, inquisitive look.

"Baroness Ayin, you are splendid as usual." The captain promptly kissed the pink hand offered to him, with a readiness and decision that amazed even himself. "Had your grace an appointment with the Queen?"

The woman looked at him with her piercing cerulean eyes, continuing to fan herself. It was hot, of course, but not so hot as to justify that continuous waving. "All the nobility and heads of ministries have been summoned in great haste." She approached him, letting her pungent lilac perfume wash over him with overwhelming force, before whispering in a tone somewhat uncharacteristic for a personality such as hers. "My friend, Sir Ami, was giving me some juicy information before the official meeting. He's one of the new rabbims, but he's already proving a fine investment, you know? For our great Queen, of course."

The young man, feeling called upon, adjusted the buttons of his gray jacket, in truth already worn with such order and composure as to border on perfection, before offering his hand to Gazef, who reciprocated with equal vigor.

"I have heard much about you, Sir Stronoff." Firm grip, giving off unusual energy. For a civil servant, it was for sure unusual. "I would be pleased to work together for the future of the Draconic Kingdom. Your exploits at Gelone's Fortress were a great source of inspiration."

"I am always uncomfortable when what are, in my humble opinion, entirely common deeds are extolled." A bad habit that was difficult to get out of, mused Gazef despite himself. "Nevertheless, it has recently come to my attention that this attitude might not always be taken in the right way. Following my good intentions, let me therefore thank you for such kind words."

He smiled, letting himself be carried away by the enthusiasm. Being an object of devotion was... difficult. But trying was the least he could do to reciprocate the affection shown. He owed it to all those who had put him on a pedestal, and most of all he owed it to himself.

"A splendid example of chivalry, Sir Stronoff." The baroness pulled out a delicate handkerchief to wipe away what looked like a tear, but was probably just a drop of sweat that had marred her make-up. "If everyone were as valiant and honest as you, this Kingdom would shine like the brightest of stars in the firmament. Unfortunately..." She lowered her voice again, this time seriously intending not to be heard by anyone. "Sir Ami was just filling me in on one of the topics that will be the focus of debate today. Did you know that there was an attempted coup in Zama? And by the brother of Count Fasil himself! Fortunately, the attempt was foiled before it could materialize into anything concrete."

The young official scratched his forehead, puzzled. "It's only conjecture, we don't know if it really happened that way. As one might expect, Count Fasil was reluctant to open up too much about the matter, attributing his brother's sudden death to a simple accident during what was a simple exercise. A very curious exercise, in my opinion, since the unfortunate man lost his head in it. Literally. Anyway, the fact is that things are starting to mobilize again at the front, and not everyone can take it optimistically, you understand."

The problem with peace was that it had to be hard won, and that conquest did not always last forever. No, sometimes it was so transitory that it could almost be considered a mirage in the desert.

"Life on the frontier is not easy, I am fortunate that my territories are in the easternmost part of the kingdom," the baroness replied, taking on an almost contemplative expression. "Fortunately, there are valiant soldiers like you to protect us, Sir Stronoff."

Gazef accepted the compliment, smiling at her with some embarrassment. Old habits were hard to die.

"I can only promise that I will do my best," he replied, flaunting a confidence unusual for him, but not entirely misplaced. "My men and I will put our lives on the line to protect the safety of you and every other citizen of the Draconic Kingdom."

"A real stand-up guy." The baroness sighed. "If only my son were like you. Unfortunately, the more time passes, the more he resembles that amoeba of a father, peace be upon his soul. He's just a little boy, but I won't be there forever to guide him."

A mother's concern could shine through even in the harshest moments of criticism. Gazef, who was not accustomed to such interactions, found himself feeling a certain envy towards the precocious baron. On one level, however, losing a parent at such a young age must have been an unimaginable pain. Something an orphan like him could not even imagine… Perhaps his condition had its good sides.

"With you to be his teacher, I'm sure the young man will become a wonderful servant of the Kingdom," a slope in Ami's apparent perfection. Rather than from distrust of the baroness, whom he clearly esteemed, it was more from a lack of confidence in her offspring. "Certainly it is that by the time he reaches the age of majority fit to rule, there may be nothing left."

The woman frowned, her brows closing in a worried frown. "Is the situation so hopeless? I had heard that refugees were increasing, but it is something cyclical. The east prepares soldiers while the population is replenished by peasants seeking refuge from the west. Ruspina itself is ready to receive a large influx of immigrants. Then these soldiers hone their skills and become border safeguards until the situation becomes untenable again." She dropped her fan, showing for the first time a serious face full of doubt. "It is far from being an optimal situation, but so far things have held up, to a certain extent. I should…" a characteristically uncertain inflection of voice, no less sincere. "Should we start worrying?"

"I am only an ambassador, and as such I bear no grievances. The fact of the matter is that Queen Oriculus certainly has her work cut out for her. Old methods need to change, and soon."

As if she did not already have plenty, Gazef would have liked to interject, but he remained silent.

Duties and honors were a mechanism based on counterbalance. The more riches and titles of nobility the birthright conferred, the more burdens and responsibilities were placed on the chosen one, at least in theory.

...Even if in that case the balance was not fully respected. What was more, the scales clearly had a preferred plate.

"Dark times lie ahead. Luckily I have learned to walk around with the lantern well lit," said the baroness, not without a certain irony. Some women, at least judging from Gazef's experience, had the extraordinary gift of being able to take everything in stride. Regarding this, he was several steps behind the Queen and the baroness. "I do not envy our sovereign. In her place I would have pulled my hair out in despair by now. Managing a fief is already a heavy task on my poor, stiff shoulders. Although I wonder if I could hide my intentions through... the convenient methods she uses, would I say the same? Nope, just nonsense. Forgive my foolish ventures."

"I don't think you will be out of place. I'm just an outsider, so the rumors I've heard might be misplaced, but it's been since your husband's death that you've been working hard to make your lands prosper, if I'm not mistaken. On this, you and the Queen are cut from the same cloth."

This was not meant to be a pandering attempt to get into her good graces. Gazef was only expressing what he really thought, and his opinion was high for both of them.

"How gallant, you will make me blush in this case," but her cheeks retained their natural glow. "Especially when you avoid sharing with me the most despicable hearsay that has been put about me. No, don't look at me like that Sir Ami. Many tongues here have been tantalized by calling me a poisoner, and were it not for the prosperous future that awaits my son, I am almost certain that unpleasant whispers could have become unfounded accusations all too easily. My late husband was indeed many things, fortunately poor was not one of them."

"I was thinking nothing of the sort," the official defended himself, maintaining the same indecipherable expression. How he could manage to keep even the smallest of eyelash hairs in perfect place was admirable. "I just wanted to make sure we hadn't wasted too much of Sir Stronoff's time."

"Is that so Sir Stronoff? My deepest apologies in that case."

"No need to apologize. In truth, I was waiting for my second in command," which was taking longer than expected. Iovino had never been the punctual type, but this time he was really making him wait. "In fact, I think it's about time now. With your permission, I would take my leave." He lowered the knock at an angle to show proper reverence, but still kept his gaze fixed on the two.

"Oh, then hurry up. Don't keep our Queen waiting too long." The baroness reciprocated with a delicate, and rather youthful despite her age, flinching of her skirt.

Sir Ami instead brought his right hand to his chest. "Should we meet again, please do not hesitate to count on my services. Before our beloved monarch, I live to serve the kingdom." For a second that lasted as long as a heartbeat, barely perceptible in the flow of things, Gazef had the impression of catching a glimpse of a piece of a six-pronged necklace. "We all want the citizens of this kingdom to prosper, don't we?"

"...Definitely."

After taking his leave, the Slaine captain headed towards the main hall of the palace with a feeling of estrangement. Nothing had happened to justify his apprehension, yet a woodworm in his ear kept whispering unpleasant worries.

When he reached the entrance, he did not even need to introduce himself. The guard manning the door recognised him instantly, inviting him in with a pleasant mixture of politeness and admiration. Fame also had its good sides.

"So, can I count on you?" Small and graceful, the figure in the center of the room sat at the side of a large desk, on which documents were piled with the same intensity as a sea counts its drops. A serious-looking man with thick glasses kept handing her new papers, occasionally alternating with large glasses of red wine, which clashed with that puny frame.

"Of course. Don't worry, Queen Oriculus, I'll take care of the captain." The interlocutor was a man Gazef knew well, whose surprise at seeing him almost made the warrior regret the doubts he had harbored towards him until moments before. "Oh, Captain. You've arrived!"

When Iovino saw him enter, he greeted him with that typical good mood that Gazef had come to appreciate. Although, at that time it seemed that something more lurked in the tone of his second's voice, however strange it might sound. A certain... embarrassment? But for what?

"Sir Stronoff. It gives me immense pleasure to see you." The Queen momentarily lifted her gaze from her work, to turn it towards him. Gazef bowed -by now he had become all too good at it- in anticipation. Draudillon ordered him to get up quickly, with a simple wave of her hand, the one not busy writing. "I was just informing Sir Iovino of the assignments I intended to give your team," she resumed, the seriousness of her face not a common view on such childish features. "And excuse me for receiving you like this. But I have my reasons for doing so. Let's call it bad habits."

However much she tried to convince himself otherwise, getting used to Queen Draudillon's 'youthful' form was not as easy as one might have thought.

The contrast between the apparent adorableness that this transformation conferred and the pressure the dragon descendant could exert was all too marked.

"I understand perfectly." Humans were used to following predefined patterns, the moment one strayed from what the mind perceived as normal, even unconsciously a small short circuit was produced within one's thought systems. "You don't need to justify yourself to me. I am a sword, and as such my task is only to direct myself towards the target you point at me."

The Queen's face relaxed, only to quickly return to focus on that pile of papers which, by some strange and perverse logic, was increasing instead of decreasing.

Thinking back to what he had understood from the baroness, Gazef wondered whether returning to that childlike state not only had a propagandistic function, but also a more concrete -and ruthless- purpose. For an adult, considering a child a danger was absolutely difficult; rank did not matter. And if court life was comparable to a nest of vipers, it was not the one who proved to be bigger who would win, but the one who would strike at the most unexpected moments.

"It makes me happy to know that you understand," the woman, small only in stature, gave him a tired smile. Cyclical, such was the life of Queen Draudillon Oriculus. "Appearing like this is far from being a pleasant experience. However, there are some positives. Like when I am forced to raise the required war contributions and watch the stunned faces of the cream of the nobility being asked such an affront by what could very well be one of their daughters or granddaughters."

The bitter laugh that came out almost instinctively might have led one to believe otherwise. Was it the wine that gave it that taste?

Gazef, in any case, preferred not to inquire further.

"I would like to give you news, I dare not say more optimistic, but at least original. Unfortunately, I think we are both aware of what I am... commanding you? May I command you, Sir Stronoff?"

A continual holding of breath, until the worst of it passed, savoring those rare moments of calm, and then resuming once more that task which became more onerous each time... more difficult.

"At the moment me and my unit answer to you so, yes, we will gladly comply with your orders."

Woe to those who thought that a leader was one who could make every decision without first thinking it through. In this respect, Gazef and the little sovereign were equals.

"May I ask you to defend the Draconic Kingdom once more? My demand rhymes with impertinence, and my apologies will never be too many for the onerous task I entrust to you but…"

Nothing more needed to be added.

"I have taken an oath." Gazef said, before she could finish "I thought it was to the Gods, or to you, or the people. Every time I drew my sword, I considered why I was doing it. A reason for fighting is what makes us stronger, isn't it? I don't know if it's true, but I like to think so. My reason is that... I fight for myself. To defend my happiness that I feel I have finally grasped." Selfishness, perhaps. But by far better to be selfish than to allow oneself to become despondent. Being free required making compromises. "So, no. You have nothing to thank me, or praise me for. When I will be at the front, it will be because it was my choice. Because I felt this was the best thing for me. Nothing else."

The Prime Minister stopped his now steady flow, while the Queen also took a moment to reflect on what she had heard.

"Then, let me give you one last order." Sometimes, the blood of Draudillon Oriculus was as if awakening from a long slumber, and the ancestral royalty and power of her being were able to dispel the doubts of those who questioned her lineage. "It is not a favor I ask, nor a prayer. It is an obligation, of which we shall both be equal parts. I pledge to offer you the best equipment and means the Draconic Kingdom has to offer. In return, you will undertake to do one thing for me."

Gazef clenched his fist against his chest, the contact of the bare skin of his knuckles with the fabric producing a strangely rumbling sound.

"I am listening."

"Win!"

"Shall be done!"

"Good." Draudillon Oriculus returned to her work. "Within a week you will arrive at the Fortress of Biblo, where you will place yourself in the service of General Aderbaal. Your second Iovino will give you all the information required. Do you have any questions?"

"Only one," dared Gazef.

"Speak." Her gaze remained fixed on the papers.

No, she was looking at him.

"When do we leave?"

Beta readers: hackslashback, whostolemytea?