Words often lose their meaning when you repeat them too often. Take any word and say it to yourself thirty times and you’ll begin to hear it unravel before you. Something as simple as “spoon” can sound foreign and almost incomprehensible.

That was not the case with the word “killer” that I heard jeered and chanted at me over and over again as two not-so-gentle guards more carried than escorted me to the center of the mass of soldiers.

They spit it with such vitriol, it was almost enough to break past the post-adrenaline stupor I found myself in. But try as I might, I could not piece together the narrative that was fast being woven around me.

My sword had been taken as if I was demented enough to charge fifty men. I didn’t consider this a large loss since I felt completely disgusted with it anyways. I had just proven that years of training took a back seat to an opponent who slipped at the wrong time. I was doubtful that these dozens of warriors would be as obliging as my previous attacker.

Suddenly my world lurched forward as my hands painfully met earth. I shook my head and noted a disgusting amount of material flying off. I refused to ponder what each dribble and speck flinging itself free was.

“Attention!”

The voice commanded an instant reaction from everyone around me. Silence and stillness took over as if a spell had been uttered. I looked around and found myself across from a gray maned werewolf. He wasn’t the speaker though. A smaller bald soldier with a gold edge to his tabard had been the announcer. I slowly tried to stand and rough hands found my shoulders.

“Release!” the stones around me shook and the hands instantly backed off. I slowly finished rising until I was fully standing.

The sea of bodies around me felt similar to the imperial outpost a week ago, but their uniformity was off. Outside their walls and gates, the world had inflicted an organic element. Some had scruff, where others had found time to be clean shaven. There was mud and muck that could only be gained from a long march with people, packs and materials.

Though I was surrounded by an entire horde of matching statues with their arms pinned to their sides, It was reassuring to see them not immune from the effects of the existing. What was not reassuring was the wolf that looked me up and down. As I got my bearings, I recognized him. His portrait hung in many locations from taverns to city halls. Governor Briggs, owner of my lost lands plus more, last of the pact signers, and marauder turned bureaucrat by the Dark Sovereign’s rule.

A green cloak gilded his massive stature, with a dark brown tunic and pants covering his ash gray body. His piercing brown eyes, more bloodshot than the portraits, never left me. A brace of axes, short handled and appeared to be for throwing, hung off his belt. He appeared to be the defining image of a hunter prince. Just as likely to send men after a wild boar as he was to slay it himself.

There was only one creature he answered to, but she was hundreds of miles away. Governor Briggs was an authority unto himself. A physical embodiment of the frontier of civilization and monstrosity.

“And did my men find our vigilante murderer?" His voice seethed, but somehow maintained volume as to be heard by all his men.

I expected hooting, hollering, and cheers of affirmation from the men, but they continued to stand still. The gold trimmed announcer from before spoke as he continued to stare straight ahead, “Yes, sir.”

“And what say you, traitor?”

It took a moment for me to understand the question was directed at me. His gaze had not wavered from the previous question. Though I knew better, I hoped someone else would answer again.

I took a deep breath. This would require tact and cunning. I needed to pick each word carefully as every syllable had the power to end my life. I had to be eloquent and convincing, refined, but forceful. My mind started to place words together as my mouth moved of its own accord, “Says the man who betrayed my father and his duty.”

Not a single soldier moved.

Which is when an obviously not-soldier caught my eye. A few steps behind the Governor stood a short gaunt man with wickedly sharp claws taking notes on a piece of parchment. I could’ve sworn I saw him smile for a brief moment before his features returned to an impassive veil. Bulbs of filed down horns peeked out from under a cozy hat along with some strands of white hair.

“I think you have misread the situation if you believe you’re in a position to sling accusations,” the wolf growled.

With guile and tact gone, my hope for self-preservation had boiled away. With brain off and bitter rage taking reign, I continued with a confidence I did not feel, “If these are to be my last moments, I’ll savor telling off the wolf who failed his flock. You look at that field and you just see the remains of another wolf, but you ignore the corpses of the men and women who gave their lives to stop him, just as you ignored the bodies of those who begged you for help. To uphold your end of the agreement.”

Governor Briggs took a step forward. I wanted to look away, but I had to know what came next. The smell of raw meat was on him, becoming rank between us. I couldn’t tell if he was choosing his next words or planning on eating me.

Finally my boldness failed completely and my eyes fell to the earth. I couldn’t seem to feel stable. Did I normally have my toes pointing out or in? Were my last thoughts really going to be, I don’t remember what to do with my feet? The smell of sandalwood and jasmine caught me off guard. My gaze darted back up and I saw the small man had his hand resting on the werewolf’s shoulder. Their height difference almost put him on his tiptoes to achieve it.

His blue, but clouded eyes flowed like a river over me, “Governor, I believe you’ve successfully caught your fugitive and they don’t seem to be cooperative. Might I suggest we return the accused to the city? These theatrics don’t become any of us and your men have been standing at attention for quite some time in this morning heat.”

The request was spoken softly, like a friend reassuring after a tough day, but there was a hidden edge, like someone promising they could still make it much worse still.

“Captain, escort the prisoner to the holding cell,” Briggs barked, “Dismiss everyone else.”

The captain in the gold trim pointed to two soldiers who each grabbed an arm and a shoulder, “Dismissed!” he called out.

The two soldiers pushed me along. I wasn’t fighting, but they made sure to still be a bit forceful. As the sea of warriors parted around me, going off to gather and secure various things, I saw the holding cell. It was a wagon that housed an overly large cage. Inside were chains that would never fit me. The shackles made for a beast twice my size.

My escorts pushed me along until we made it to the door. One man climbed up and offered me a hand without comment. I looked at him and then back to the woman behind me. Her eyes narrowed as she nodded forward. I reached out and the man hoisted me into the cell. The woman climbed in behind. Even with three of us in there, there was plenty of room to move around.

“Your wrists,” the man grunted. I held out my hands, confused on what was going to happen next. My guard placed the shackles around them and tightened them to their fullest setting. Still I could easily slide my hand in and out of them. He looked at my other guard and she shrugged.

They both left without another word as I stood there perplexed, my hands slightly holding onto the shackles so they didn’t slip off. Was I expected to pretend to be chained? Had they decided, yeah, that was good enough?

I sat down, confused and annoyed at the sloppy work. The cage looked sturdy and the door was locked. Even if I did escape, I stood in the middle of people who knew my face and were not my biggest fans. Still, it was the principle of the matter. Why even pretend to put the shackles on?

As soon as I sat, the cage was already uncomfortable against my back. The floor was uneven and rough with a small bedroll in the corner still wrapped up. I slipped out of my chains and grabbed it before returning my wrists into the locked overly large rings. I felt compelled to play along with their farce.

Placing the bedroll between the cage and my head. I tried to get comfortable. After a couple failed attempts my body resigned and slumped into it. I closed my eyes, trying to focus on any plan, opportunity, or hope. The man who had stopped me from being dog food seemed a useful ally or at least not overtly hostile. I pondered if there was anything I missed as I was marched along. Something I could use to turn the tides, but had barely noticed.

When I next opened my eyes, the sun was on the other side of the cart and we were well on our way moving along. Planning had quickly turned into an exhaustive sleep and I was uncomfortably sprawled on the floor. One arm cuddled around the bedroll, the other still pretending to be in chains.

I cracked my neck as I looked around. We must have been miles from the town. While I doubted they would have given me any protection, to be this far away from a friendly face was a sobering thought.

Soldiers were tight against the cart. I suspected they had been assigned to guard me, but they seemed more wary of something outside my cage.

“Hey,” I said at a cluster of them.

One of them decided I was talking to him. He looked at me, looked around, and then melted away from the cart.

I shrugged and moved towards the other side of my cage. I replaced my hands fully in my shackles. They clanked as I shifted them around, “Hello.”

The whole side of the cart took a step back. Their eyes darted everywhere as if my voice would summon something. I looked back at the side I’d come from, as I had moved away they had all pressed in. Some were within arm’s distance of the cage. Their gaze would rest on me for as long as they’d dare and then quickly scan around them.

I started to understand. I was the object of curiosity and someone important had said to stay away. I decided to be completely uninteresting. The last thing I wanted to do was play into their little game.

Humming to myself, I tried to distract myself with planning. My last session ended with exhausted sleep so I started fresh. Fresher, because true fresh wouldn’t have my back aching from being flattened by a werewolf and then made to sleep in a cage-cart.

Eyes closed, I inhaled. Clearing my head, I fell into a lesson I had years ago. What assets did I have: The soldiers were interested in me, I had the ability to get under the Governor's skin, and no one had asked my name so there was a chance if I slipped away, as long as I didn’t come face to face with the governor again I could live a long and uneventful life. What deficiencies did I have to overcome: I was outnumbered at least fifty to one, I was in a cage under constant surveillance, and it would not take much of an investigation to figure out who had organized and marched out on a werewolf hunt.

It was hopeless. Even if I achieved the impossible twice by breaking out of the cage and evading a camp’s worth of men, I would be permanently marked for death, every asset seized, every friend an accomplice to be imprisoned. As much as Mason liked me, I assumed he liked not-jail more.

What started as a grumble turned into an aggravated shout as I opened my eyes. Soldiers almost touching the cage jumped back. They tried to nonchalantly look around as they kept giving my cart distance.

Someone in uniform who was older or who maybe just looked more annoyed walked up in the newly vacated ring around my travel accommodations. She didn’t say anything, but gave a look to the soldiers that I recognized from numerous disappointed teachers. It said, “I told you to do something. If I have to say I caught you doing it, I have to punish you and that’s more work than I’m interested in.”

Chastising complete, she disappeared back into the crowd. Probably to give plausible deniability when orders were ignored again. Which they were mere minutes later. Yet again the press of bodies grew closer.

I tried a more hushed hello, hoping that my understanding of the situation's politics would gain me a couple words back at least. Just as before, the ones closest to me would scatter and the other side would get closer.

Annoyed and defeated, I at least had a game to entertain myself. I would go from one side to the other, getting quiet until they got close. Then I would insult loudly. One time I offered to play matchmaker between their mother and a particularly well-endowed donkey promising for her once to be satisfied and to have a kid she was less embarrassed of. Another I advocated a lynching of their unit’s barber as he was obviously playing an elaborate group prank. I even asked which of them got aroused by licking the governor's feet. Then I took turns pointing out promising candidates.

Each time they took longer to return close to the cart and frequently someone older or more irritated would investigate and make stern eyes. Soon even I was included in their glares, though I wasn’t sure what threat they could offer. I was in a cage and personal enemies with a monster with power over life and death. It never moved beyond serious scowls though. No one seemed to want to escalate the matter, doing just enough to say they’d done something.

Even filled with spite and bitterness, insulting random passersby started to lose its interest. Though I got the cart’s driver to have to stifle a laugh at a couple choice remarks, the lack of true response quickly made me feel more lonely than empowered.

The next day I was sullen and quiet. I tried to keep track of those that got closer to the cart compared to others. Between their uniforms and matching styles, I only had height and physical oddities to keep track of them with. There was a cone of silence around the cart so I never got to hear any names. I decided to title them myself. Tall and freckles and almost short with thinning eyebrows were the bravest. I saw them more than anything other than the backs of the drivers.

The guards that brought me food, water, and took me out to relieve myself always seemed to change. They were always serious looking and even tall freckles and thin brows would make themselves scarce when they came by.

Day three and I tapped on the cage all day. It was soft, but persistent. Thin brows and tall freckles would make some humor at my expense when I wasn’t looking at them and then quickly flee when I’d look back. I had no energy to respond anyways. I picked at the food brought. As far as travel rations I appeared to be eating the same thing as the rest of the troops, but I had no appetite.

As the day started to end, I wanted to cry.

“You need to stop, you obnoxious girl!” A scream from in front of me startled me. My hands stopped, the clink of chains no longer tapping against the cage. I was in such a rhythm with it I had completely forgotten about it.

A couple serious people came over as the march halted. They pulled the driver to the side and said a lot with hushed voices. The other person in the front of the wagon stood stock straight, just staring ahead. He was a young man, a lack of stubble and the shine of his clothes marked him more of a new recruit more than any lack of decoration. Shifting around the cage to see the side of his face I couldn’t imagine him older than 18 at most. He left as the army set up camp for the night.

The next day the shouting driver was gone. In his place was an almost portly soldier with silver decoration on her tabard. She lazily commanded the horse forward. The young soldier from yesterday was still there.

I swayed the chains until they clicked together, glancing ahead. I saw a wince from the young soldier, but nothing from the new driver. I stopped playing with the chains. Resting my head against bare metal, it was uncomfortable, but the feeling was something to focus on. The bump of the cart was irritating in a distracting way.

“And here I was hoping I’d get to hear one of your famous insults,” My eyes shot open and saw the driver talking over her shoulder, at me, “The other guys were repeating them around the fire. I’ll have to keep a few on hand. The one about it not being a vow of chastity if it’s enforced by others is something I’ll have to keep in mind.”

I wanted to speak, but was afraid I’d break whatever precarious situation had led to someone actually speaking to me.

“I’m going to be slightly disappointed if you wasted all your best material just as I took this job,” she continued unperturbed, “We have a long trip ahead of us and I was already bored on the way out.”

I tried to talk, but found I had to cough my throat back to life. Wetting my lips, I responded, “I’ll do my best to be witty.”

“That’s the spirit, Duchess,” she said. Even from my vantage I could see the corners of a smile.

I winced. No one asked my name, because they already obviously knew it. The illusion of slipping away through some miracle became even smaller. Still, someone was talking to me. I didn’t know if it had any application in my escape, but it was extremely valuable for my sanity.

“Sergeant Fresca Rumus,” the driver said, removing one level of imbalance between us.

“And you, sir?” I asked humbly, trying to ply another voice into the conversation. He continued to stare straight ahead. A silence fell between all of them and he glanced back before his eyes jumped ahead again. Almost as a show of ignoring me.

“Don’t worry about the young buck,” Fresca grunted as the cart hit a bump. Her tightly bound hair bounced with her words and the road, “He doesn’t want to look bad in front of leadership.”

The brevity brought the first smile I’d had in days, “And you don’t hold such fears?”

“I’ve been in long enough to know the important people don’t remember our names well.”

I took a moment. I had questions, but was worried that turning discussion to interrogation would close off the only person with the confidence or indifference to speak.

I had to know though, “When they said city, they meant…?”

“Cardinal, it’s where half of us shipped off from with the minister,” The sergeant didn’t seem to pause and spoke casually as if I had asked about the weather. Apparently this much was common knowledge or at least common gossip.

A resource for information was joyous news, but my heart sank. Cardinal, the capital and home of the Dark Sovereign. I could not imagine my luck would fare better in the center of her power.

Fresca continued “It’s fortunate that someone planned to catch the werewolf otherwise there’d be no cage and you’d be walking all the way there. That’s if the governor didn’t decide that it was too much work and killed you.”

“You think I have better odds in the dark lady’s court?” I asked half joking, half hoping for an angle to latch onto.

Her bun tilted as I saw Fresca consider my words, “No, but maybe they’ll let you say another sassy thing before they kill you.”

Good to know my assessment was the prevailing belief, “A comforting thought, any suggestions on what I should say? I can take requests,” I rued.

“I didn’t get this cushy driver position by playing politics, duchess,” which only made me wonder more how she was chosen. I never saw her near the cart, but she seemed more than willing to risk talking to me. Maybe staying out of the way and only quietly bending the rules was her way. “Between telling off the Governor and your capacity for profanity though, I’m sure you’ll think of something.”

“I don’t think ‘fuck you’ has the elegance I was hoping for my last words.”

Fresca shrugged and chuckled, “I’ve definitely heard worse.” Her laugh stopped abruptly as another man on a horse passed closer. An off-white mask covered his face and appeared like bleached bone in the harsh sun. A dark cloak with a coil of feathers under the hood rested around him.

The hush that surrounded me for days reimposed itself. Though this new one extended twice as far or at least as much silence as there could be during midday in the middle of a march. Horse grunts and boots crunching intermingled with various panting and heavy breathing.

The masked rider seemed to look over everyone once. I could’ve sworn I saw his eyes narrow inside his mask over me. He suddenly looked down and I followed his gaze. Thin brows had gotten extremely close and must have been trying to listen to my previous conversation. A gloved hand came out from the cloak and gesticulated a ‘separate’ kind of movement. The man raised a thin eyebrow confused before squinting, then understanding hitting him, and he took a large step away from the cart.

The hooded rider turned the horse around and traveled to the back of the column. He vanished among the other travelers and carts, but I felt completely unsettled.

“He’s been a cheer to have around the camp,” Fresca said slowly even though the masked man was long gone.

“Who is he?” I asked, matching her hush. I saw a shiver from the young co-pilot as he forcibly looked harder ahead somehow.

“He came with the minister. He’s an agent of Eternal Affairs,” the three of us fell into silence as if simply saying the organization's name would bring down their full force and fury. In fairness, their power was limitless. I felt a chill even in the noon sun. I had heard many ghost stories about Eternal Affairs. They were the Sovereign’s chosen. They were untouchable and to defy them meant death. Like specters they would roll into town and cut down the Empire’s enemies, human and mythic alike. Monster hunters and bureaucratic auditors, there were tales of them slaying a tax collector that skimmed off the top as well as a vampire who ate other vampires.

Some of the stories were outrageous and their powers seemed to dip between legal sway to otherworldly senses. They could smell lies and break wills through just a word. They could read a book in a minute and recall every letter on a specific page backwards and forwards. That they always came in twos, one knew everything about your past, the other could tell your future. Mason had two books that made mention of the agents. One was a romance novel where the lovers were pursued by a pair. They would appear in a cloud of smoke and give monologs. The other was from the agent’s perspective. He would roll into town, destroy evil, bed locals, and disappear into the sunset.

Mason had one book he didn’t talk about though. One of the many gifts I had ferried from Ms. Uma Pop. I had leafed through it on the way back to the Inn. It was hand written and looked like the daily notes and half scrawled ideas of some traveling government official. The cover gave no indication of its owner. Mason had placed it first row, first position, until I questioned what made it so special. The book disappeared the day after.

While there were many privacies I could allow, I had handled this book and his behavior had me paranoid. I had continued pestering until he told me it was an Agent’s personal journal. He didn’t know how Ms. Uma had gotten it. There didn’t seem anything questionable in there, but it still felt wrong to have.

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In the following weeks I had asked multiple follow up questions, but Mason was tight lipped. Soon I had found another distraction in a new guest. I remember her being from a well off family and enjoying the roughness of the diversions I offered.

Now I sat in a cage wishing I had pressed harder on Mason instead of the guest’s headboard.

Days of journey dragged on and I found myself dreading and cherishing every moment. The monotony of the journey in direct competition with the fact that every second could be one of my last. I even grew comfortable with the rhythm of the cart’s horses and their plodding steps. I worried this was the first sign I was losing my mind.

Fresca tried her best to be a distraction. Seemingly more for her own entertainment than my own, but the hanging executioner’s axe left both of us struggling to find mirth in the journey or its destination.

I finally settled on questions to pass the time. I had long avoided the news of the land and felt much more knowledgeable on long dead history and mixed drinks than contemporary facts. Fresca was either a master of avoiding privileged information or completely apathetic to the concept. I was curious if she spoke as freely to those not condemned.

By her own account, she didn’t spend much time on books, but years of service had put her on the top of scuttlebutt and the machinations of anyone interesting who passed through. I quizzed her on everything I could think of. With weeks of travel to get through, I left no stone unturned.

Fresca spoke favorably of her time in the army and of the empire as a whole. It was the only note I found grating in her litany of rumor, fact, and exaggerations. She was the youngest of six and the military offered her a chance out of her siblings' shadow and to start her own life. Joining as soon as she was able, she discovered the highs and lows of regimented bureaucratic life. It’d given her a home, stable pay, and it’s where she met her wife so she couldn’t complain. At least that’s what she’d say right before ranting about some minutia she had to deal with.

Governor Briggs was the first werewolf she had to deal with personally. They were exceedingly rare in the capital having only joined the empire in the last decade. Overall she had a positive opinion of the beast. The fearsome battle bureaucrat as she referred to him. Every town and city they had stopped at, he had done some paperwork or clerical duty, then on the road he’d often join the scouting parties to “stretch his legs.”

He was loud, aggressive, and well regarded by the soldiers. His opinions were varied and strong. The whole camp knew of his annoyance with the empire’s choices in armament. He complained of the short sword’s curve, shape of the shield, and most importantly lack of skirmishing weapons. Even at my distance I had heard his complaints that there was nothing to throw on the charge. “The enemy should be bleeding before contact is made!” He would bellow as a punctuation.

He took his vows to the empire seriously though as if making up for his species's late inclusion. The vows didn’t stop him from having a docket of grievances though and he ran through it frequently with the gaunt, haired man that had stayed my execution.

This was the Minister of Finance, Vincent Epswitch. His claws and filed down horns gave him a vicious presence. He was obviously a mythic, but I couldn’t place his race. “Wendigo,” Fresca had said in a hushed voice after double and triple checking around her. Her caution made sense after she shared that information. The wendigos were an extinct mythic race. Originally part of the Empire’s founding, the Dark Sovereign had turned on them when they couldn’t be brought under control. They were more of bound spirits, permanently possessing human or beast. Stories of their violence, brutality, and endless hunger had spread like wildfire even into the dark corners of the taverns I had hidden away in.

Beyond the first day, I never heard him speak. He said nothing to me nor engaged in any conversation around me. Despite this, he was often around the cart. I often caught glances of him, sometimes near, sometimes far, and while verbally coy, he wasn’t subtle with his watching. I was never the first to see him, but by the time I did he’d already be staring at me. His blue eyes looked over and through me. Even as I stared back, his countenance never changed. He seemed to study me like a particularly difficult math problem. His brow furrowed slightly. I didn’t feel so much sized up as much as being placed in some grand equation.

He did have many conversations that I saw, and when the governor was involved I heard half of. If Briggs wasn’t ranting at the minister, then Epswitch would be in deep discussion with the Eternal Affairs agent. I couldn’t hear them over the din of the marching men, but I could see his lips moving and the bonelike mask nodding along. Fresca for all her ability to capture rumor and her vast net of fellow soldiers feeding her information did not know the agent’s name. There was a pool on who would discover it. Fresca was second, first place belonged to “no one.”

After the first interaction with the agent I would’ve bet on “no one” as well, but as days dragged on the agent seemed to be keeping a closer eye. He never interrupted the conversation nor seemed to have a problem with it. It honestly felt like he was looking for the perfect moment to speak to me. I had no idea what key phrase or time he was waiting for. But twelve days in and after an intense debate over the best hangover cure, he introduced himself.

“Agent Eberly.”

The voice was muffled behind his mask. It was the only information he gave. Every other word out of his mouth was attached to a question. Some questions I had been expecting since the first days of my capture such as a description of my hunt for the werewolf, but some seemed completely unrelated like my education, hobbies, and familial bonds.

I tried to question his questions, but each time I would only receive the same question repeated. At first I would respond with humorous stories and anecdotes, even reprising different mocking voices for teachers such as when I was awarded first place in sparring or punished for the very same skills, just outside the ring. In return, I would receive silence or an unflinching follow-up question. Quickly I learned to answer the queries with bluntness and speed to get back to Fresca and her tales, gossip, and jokes.

No matter how many questions I would answer or how thoroughly, the agent would return seemingly at random. Sometimes to ask new questions, often to reask previous questions, but from a slightly different angle. As more time passed, so too would the frequency of his toneless interrogations. Following suit, the conversation with Fresca started to dwindle as well. At first, I suspected it was Eberly’s sudden appearance and disappearances. She would still answer any question I posed, but kept getting distracted. As the large fields of trees and wildflowers started turning into dry and cracked dirt. I began to understand we were nearing the end of our journey. As massive walls appeared low on the horizon, I knew we were close to Cardinal and probably the last phase of my life.

I was given no hint of what would happen to me inside the walls. Fresca had nothing to offer, but stories of brutal ends for transgressors. Would it be a public execution with booing and jeers? Would I sit in a cage forever? Was this trip just the first taste of the rest of my life? Had the agent’s questions been the entirety of the investigation?

With the walls in sight, I assumed the trip was almost over. But even after a half day’s march, we didn’t seem to be getting any closer. I marveled at how high the walls must be. We were so far away I couldn’t even tell any features. It was like a gray blank mark. Behind us were swaths of green, splotches of color, and distinct shapes. Ahead was brown cracked dirt and a featureless wall.

The only signs of life we encountered were various groups of merchants and well dressed, but tired, looking nobles. I never saw any of them traveling. They were always off to the side letting us pass whether they were coming or going. I considered it might be the governor, the minister, or the horde of soldiers that caused this behavior, but after one group was spotted ahead of us I saw agent Eberly trot to the front of the column. I had my answer as instantly the gaudily dressed merchants stepped off to the side.

As we passed these groups, their eyes would be glued near the Eternal Affairs agent, but never on. They were both terrified of looking directly at him or allowing him to make a sudden move outside their sight. It was the first time in weeks that my cage wasn’t the centerpiece of gawking. Once they were sure that Eberly wasn’t interested in them, I was only worth a glance before they started repacking and preparing to move again.

There was only one group that seemed unperturbed by us. They stood and kneeled on either side of the path. They barely looked at us as they carried heavy things to and fro. Their bodies glistened in sweat and what few looked up at us seemed more annoyed than interested. I could see uniforms half worn and drenched. Some completely topless other than yellow trimmed tabards

I couldn’t figure out what they were doing until the path became a road. The earth ahead of us was completely divided by smartly maintained stone. My ride didn’t become smooth, but there was a noticeable improvement. Even the cage seemed to shake and clank less in agreement.

Slowly the stone path curved and we were parallel to the massive wall. Fresca and I were silent, but everyone else was in noticeably higher and louder spirits. I even saw the young co-driver smile. He had done an excellent job being displeased for the past couple weeks in his quiet way. Fresca had poked at him explaining if he kept it up he’d be in danger of a promotion.

“Gonna get to see the wife soon?” I asked, trying to break my own pity party. Spending the rest of however long I had thinking about dying sounded as horrible as the act itself.

“Yup,” she replied, unable to break out of where her thoughts were.

“Have a plan of what you want to do first?” I pressed further. The last thing I wanted was to go back to silence.

Fresca finally smiled, “Besides the obvious?”

“Naturally,”

She leaned back against the cart's seat. Her body visibly relaxed as she seemed to go through a list of her favorite things with her favorite person, “Get a new couch.” It was declarative and warm.

“Broke the last one?” reveling in her second hand joy. I tried to imagine being excited to go furniture shopping with someone. I had once to purchase a chair for the Cloven Kettle. One of those two times Mason had rightfully demanded extra payment for what he put up with. I didn’t remember much of what led up to it, but the results had spoken for themselves. One of the things it said very loud and clear was “you owe Mason a new chair.”

Fresca shook her head, “Always has been, a hand-me-down from her parents. I’m very grateful for it when they replaced their last couch, but it’s so old I’m worried she was conceived on it. The extra pay from this deployment should let us pick a nice one.”

“Got one in mind?” There was a pause as we both saw our road had merged with a massive street that aimed directly at the way. Numerous groups passed by us or we passed them by. The road was large enough that even the skittish travelers felt they had plenty of berth from the masked agent.

I found myself entranced by the wall growing and looming in the distance. Fresca freed me by continuing, “Nah, the upgrade is the wife’s idea. Now that I’m a Sergeant Functional, she wants to adult up our life. Upgrade the wardrobes and replace old furniture for the numerous house parties we don’t hold.”

I sighed with envy, surprising myself, “She sounds like a keeper.”

“As long as I don’t piss her off too often with deployments, I’m sure she’ll let me stick around.”

“Victoria Vidal.”

It was Agent Eberly. I didn’t need the mask-muffled voice or the monotone delivery to tell me who it was. He chose to say my entire name every time. As if there was another Victoria in the camp who would get confused. Even his interruption of a conversation with no regard was, by now, his trademark.

“Yes, Agent Eberly?” I said mockingly formal. I knew he wouldn’t notice or more likely care. The pretty parody for my own pleasure.

“Before we enter the city, is there anything else you wish to declare?”

“About what?” I asked genuinely confused.

“On any matter. Any volunteered information will be treated more favorably.”

“How remarkably vague and threatening? I don’t believe so,” despite how his query had wrongfooted me, I stood by my previous stance. Answer questions quickly and be done with the agent.

“If you think of anything before we enter the castle, please inform someone to contact me,” I couldn’t tell if he was looking for something specific or just hoping I’d offer up something juicy that I’d been sitting on the whole trip. He surprised me by continuing, “If you do, I will strive to be more specific and supportive.”

He had made a joke. Or had he? I couldn’t tell with his deadpan delivery if he took my comment seriously or was just riffing with a form of stoic comedy. Fresca shrugged at me.

The wall that had stubbornly spent all day refusing to get closer now loomed overhead. The sun behind us made our shadows giants as we approached. The gate had numerous armed guards in front of it. They all wore pointed caps. I wouldn’t have given it a second thought, but after staring at uniformed men for weeks, this detail shift seemed like a world of difference.

They were checking everyone, but there was a laxness about them. Even their questions for the travelers seemed to carry a lazy air to them. I could tell the exact moment they saw our column though. They instantly straightened up and their voices dropped an octave trying to sound extra serious.

I wanted to laugh, but being directly under the wall disquieted every piece of me. This threshold was the final crossing on our trip. I could feel the full weight of the wall crushing me. The spell was broken by Minister Epswitch trotting past on his horse. He didn’t dismount when he spoke to the guards.

They waved us on and gave a deep and fake “move along.” Fresca was smiling at their discomfort. The grin disappeared instantly as she looked back at my pale face. I tried to exhale and found I couldn’t. I had completely forgotten to breathe and hadn’t taken a full breath much longer than my body preferred. My mental freeze suddenly found itself in direct competition with my staggering physical needs.

My eyes watered as my lungs burned. My vision was dark, but not by my self-inflicted asphyxiation. The shadow of the wall had put us in an impromptu dusk. The sun that had been behind us was eclipsed by the monolith we had just crossed.

As my sight adjusted, I saw a garden appearing infinite in every direction. I should say gardens, they were not linked together and they had different designs and plants, but they had coordination to them. Despite the numerous people I saw currently working on the plants, it felt like there was a single gardener exerting his will over every plant.

There were people trimming bushes while others checked numerous flowers, replacing those that appeared to not reach whatever arbitrary standard had been set. I was surprised to see mythics working next to humans, equally sweaty despite the artificial shade.

The difference between the inside and outside of the walls had me reeling. It felt more like I had gone through a portal than passed through a large door. Even the air was different. Soft earth mixed with a myriad of floral scents and freshly cut grass. The humid air clung to the inside of my nose and despite the cage I momentarily felt more at peace in their paradise than I had felt anywhere else.

The rapture seemed to hit everyone in our band and there was a reverence in the march forward. Fresca, who had obviously seen this sight before, still glowed. Like a child whose parents were returning from a long planned trip, I could tell the sight held comfort for her in so many ways.

There was only one voice that could be heard all the way from the back of the column. Governor Briggs was raising protest at various perceived bureaucratic wastes and preferential treatment of vampires in the blood tithing process. Minister Epswitch nodded along, eyes transfixed on the werewolf, letting the beast rant himself out.

The gardens, which seemed limitless as we first passed through the gate, stopped suddenly with the city streets acting as a sharp guillotine blade. At one moment there was no sun and all garden then next all sun and not a piece of vegetation in sight. Houses, markets, and large imperious looking government buildings towered around us. Every inch economically used until the only direction left to expand was up.

We traveled for over an hour with unique structures popping up on either side. Some demanded attention such as a coffee house with a giant mural of some aquatic lizard destroying a clock, others were unassuming and impressive in their passivity such as a post office that was completely unadorned, but had tides of people sifting in and out of it.

To my left was a towering structure that took up more space than the last ten buildings we passed. The first floor had no windows and its brown brick was uniform. Wrought iron letters proclaimed BSC. I tried to imagine what weapons and secrets were stored in this vicious building when my eyes traveled below the acronym: Botanical Society of Cardinal.

I looked forward, happy to not have voiced any of my theories, but still feeling foolish. Ahead of us were marble towers with walls between them. A gate lay directly ahead of us. The guards in their special hats were already completely at attention the second I could make them out. There was nothing casual about their movements. Governor Briggs and Minister Epswitch were at the front with Agent Eberly, but the guards gave them no special regard. They calmly asked for papers, saluted, and continued to let everyone pass until my wagon was directly beside them.

They checked the cell door, saw my oversized shackles, and made notes on a piece of paper. A couple of the soldiers in our unit looked a little nervous. I felt the urge to explain the oversized shackles. I couldn’t tell if it was my urge to defer blame away from Fresca or to implicate the wolf that would’ve been here. I doubted my comments would’ve changed the situation in any discernible way. After writing down a few more things, the guards told me to approach the cell door.

I looked at Fresca, but she pointedly avoided my gaze. Walking over I saw a pair of manacles, actually sized for me. Both the guards matched in every way to the point I assumed it had to be intentional they were stationed together. Both had red hair pulled back, same insignia, and the same high cheekbones. One had a scar over the right side of her lips. I wondered if she was grateful for a permanent distinction from her assumed sibling.

Scar face stared me down as her unmarked sibling stood on the other side of the cart. She looked ready for trouble. Not asking for it, but prepared. Like she did not want to hurt anyone, but if anything were to occur her first instinct would be to snap a femur.

“I am going to open this gate,” Scar face started, “You are going to proceed to disembark and present your hands for me to restrain you.” She spoke in absolute, there was no implied threat because there was no alternative. Like someone describing the effects of a lightning strike, the tree will be hit and it will burn.

Swallowing hard, I nodded. I wanted to look back again at Fresca, but I didn’t want these two to write a note of that. Even if I did, I knew she would be smart enough to completely ignore me. I was dangerous to be associated with. The words screamed at me at the start of the trip rattled through my head: killer, traitor. I hope the long conversations with me weren’t going to get her into trouble. Would they demote her? Withhold her pay? Had I stopped that lovely daydream of a woman going to buy a new couch?

I raised my hands slowly, not wanting to tempt the unmarked guard into the tackle she looked more than prepared to deliver. She was wary and cautious, her eyes never leaving me. Despite the cavalcade of other soldiers, I could tell she had made it her sole responsibility to stop me from escaping. I had no doubt she would succeed.

Once chained, Agent Eberly motioned for me to follow him. The twin guards took this as a directive to help guide me forcibly by grabbing my arms. Their grip was more assertive than helpful and a couple times I stumbled only to be yanked out of a fall.

As we passed through the gate, two new guards in pointed hats had taken the twins' place. They looked identical in absolutely no ways. One blond, the other black haired, one pale, the other a darker hue. The only common trait was their stoic expression and obvious physical strength that the uniform failed to hide. Unlike the twins, the new guards didn’t even give me a second glance. They seemed supremely confident in themselves.

There was a small courtyard behind the gate and behind that stood a marble castle. I had no perspective on how large it truly was for it was so massive that the only thing my angle told me was there was much much more of it.

The smell of sandalwood and jasmine marked our path as Eberly guided us through the courtyard to the main doors. Inside every feature was polished marble, including benches for those who would have to wait to meet whichever important person they were looking for. I doubted there would be any delay for me.

I saw staircases to either side of me. Some went high and wandered out of sight while others ramped downward into darkness. I could already imagine the dungeons below, I waited for us to turn and begin our descent. We never strayed from the center of the corridor though. We were coming up to a large set of double doors that appeared to lead to a great hall of some sort.

I imagined them opening and seeing the entire court in session. Agent Eberly having me tossed to the ground and presented to the Dark Sovereign as a trophy or sacrifice. Maybe there’d not even be that, just walk in, slit my throat, and throw me to the ground. Brutal and efficient. It would have an effect and make quite the story for any visiting nobles. I had some notes on the casting, but that was purely selfish.

Agent Eberly abruptly turned right.

He opened a small door, holding it open for me and my mandatory travel companions before following inside. It was a well sized room, though it was hard to tell its true size. Bookcases and tables covered in papers and boxes took up a majority of it. Despite the vastness of the knowledge presented, every piece seemed ordered and specifically placed.

In the center of the room, Minister Epswitch sat behind a desk. He no longer wore his hat and I could see his white hair pulled back in a ponytail. The front formed a widow's peak that was split even further from his filed down horns. His jacket was hanging next to me and now a tight cotton top that buttoned to the middle of his neck was visible.

The cuffs of his shirt were all neatly closed. They looked too tight until closer inspection, they were perfectly fitted. Seeing his hands up close made his claws even more fearsome. I could tell he had normal hands except the bones of his knuckles had overgrown. Shooting straight out they covered the top of his fingers and merged with his calcified fingernails. It appeared to make the finger mostly immobile and the claw ended in a very rounded tip. Its polished surface was an attempt to be unthreatening, but only heightened the fact they were made for destruction. Only his thumb had a nub coming from the knuckle giving it free range of motion.

His thumb wasn’t natural though or maybe it was for Wendigo’s. It was long and spindly and could reach the pad of any of his permanently outstretched fingers or even resting on multiple ones. He was holding a set of papers this way.

He glanced up, “Unchain her, please,” he spoke and returned to the document in front of him. My hands experienced a rush of blood as the chains were removed. I hadn’t noticed how tight they were. The twins apparently had taken offense to the overly large restraints they saw in the cage and decided to help me experience the opposite end of the spectrum. I rubbed my wrists trying to help the blood flow. Both guards watched my movements intently.

“You are all dismissed,” Epswitch continued, not looking up from the page. There was no confirmation of the command. The agent watched the two guards leave and then followed himself. With the door closed and the room insulated with books and paper, the silence was deafening. After being outside for weeks, the room was almost claustrophobic in its lack of stimulus. Epswitch seemed to revel in this for a moment. He let the silence linger and I began to wonder if he was waiting for me to speak. I was in the initial stages of formulating an opening thought when he finally put down the page.

His coastal blue eyes went from the bottom of the page up to me, “Duchess Videl.”

It wasn’t a question, it didn’t even feel like the start of a conversation. It felt like someone stating their keys were in fact in their front right pocket as a future reminder to themselves.

Still, I responded, “Yes?”

“Nobleborn, werewolf slayer, and semi-public advocate against the empire,” he held up the paper on his desk, “I sent ahead for your papers from the academy. You make an interesting case against large scale domination and for the removal of the Dark Sovereign. I mean it’s a bit simplistic and ignores a couple major political factors, but it is an interesting read nevertheless.”

His dismissive tone caused my blood to simmer. I had shouted down Governor Briggs and here in front of me sat what appeared an even higher architect of the Imperial evils, “Are you expecting me to beg for forgiveness for the werewolf or for a sloppy class assignment?”

His face was unmoving, “Quite the tone to take with the author of your mercy.”

I couldn’t tell if it was a warning, threat, or olive branch. Epswitch was impassive or bored. This conversation decided my future, but I could tell how mundane he found it. This didn’t feel like small talk. It was almost like he was looking for something specific. My mind continued to analyze while my mouth refused any distraction from my building rage , “I have seen imperial mercy. I have stood in the fields of your massacres. The Empire’s transgressions demand more than a tone.”

“Every cruelty I have ever concocted was devised out of kindness. I can’t promise every one you’ve experienced has had such forethought, but you now have my direct attention. I can promise the next ones will have intent.”

The challenge sent tactical thought cascading out of my head, “Is that a threat?” I wanted to goad him, agitate him, cause him even a sliver of discomfort.

“I am terrible at threats, the salient details always escape me, but know if I were to engage in such frivolity it would end with screaming and it would end slowly.”

I wanted to continue my boisterous defiance, but his offhanded comments held no vitriol, only cold promise. This wasn’t a verbal sparring match. My chains may have been undone, but I was trapped by situation in a much worse way. He was right, he wasn’t threatening, he was reminding.

With blood chilled in my veins, my head tried to think of anything useful to add. Before I could settle on anything, Epswitch continued, “Apologies, I tend to avoid such pointless bravado, but apparently the trip put me in a foul disposition. Additionally, you’re kind of annoying.”

It was a petty parting shot, but there was more warmth in it than anything else he said so far. I clung onto it, “I’m pretty sure there is a note of that in my academic record as well.”

For the first time his lips curled into a smile. It was passionless, more of a copy of what was expected from a smile, “Multiple times.”

“So, why is an annoying, rabble rousing killer standing in your office?” I asked, hoping to take advantage of his implied goodwill.

“I have a vested interest in your continued success.”

“Cryptic and ominous.”

Epswitch stood to his full height, a little shorter than me, “Allow me to illuminate your position. The Governor’s position is obvious: to have you executed. Unfortunately for him an execution in the capital would require a trial.”

“And you don’t think I’m guilty?” I asked, trying to guess where he was going.

“I’m not inclined either way on the justice of the matter, but I think he’s allowing his temporary feelings to blind him to potential outcomes.”

“You see me as a potential cog in your machine?”

“If I called you a cog in the machine, it’d be a great compliment. My gears run flawlessly. I don’t know if you warrant such a statement yet. You have a novel resume and can get lucky, but my plans require more predictable outputs.”

“Am I in a job interview right now?”

“Oh, I decided what to do with you on that tiresome march back.”

“And hopefully you’re going to ‘illuminate’ me again,” I stated. I was a little grateful, a bit confused, and mildly annoyed. Mostly I was waiting for the other shoe to drop.

“Of course. Your situation is relatively simple. There are two choices before you: a trial or conscription into the imperial army. The army would allow your skills to speak for you. The trial would allow you to speak for yourself,” his facsimile smile grew a little bit, “I would not stake confidence in your ability to talk others away from bloodshed.”

I raised an eyebrow, “Let’s say I believe more in my speaking abilities than you do. Why is the choice mine?”

“Because the choice is mine and your preference colors my perception of you enough to change my answer. Governor Briggs would demand the trial and while the results would undoubtedly be deadly for you, it would be embarrassing for him. It would be easy to paint the facts towards your guilt, but impossible to do so without revealing your motives and the fact his previous captain of the guard was on a blood rampage for a year.”

“So, you’re saying you are giving me the choice of life directly subservient to the imperial war machine or dead and slightly annoying someone? Why give such insight?”

“Because either you will trust me and take the correct answer or you won’t and remove yourself from the equation and concern.”

It seemed too simple. I could be petty, but I wasn’t ready to throw myself on my sword to make someone I barely knew feel awkward, “And for all your machinations, what is the end-game reward for you if I join the military?”

“Governor Briggs owes me a favor for saving him from the embarrassment of a public trial while still ‘punishing’ you for your exploits. Which would make the whole endeavor valuable in and of itself, but if you are able to succeed in your new role and position. I can leverage it.”

His statement did not brook follow up. so I moved on, “If you knew what you wanted and what I would choose. Why all this song and dance?”

“Consider it a formality to double check Agent Eberly’s report. As always, it was flawless. In addition, I assumed you’d find it reassuring to hear your fate from me.”

“Because you’re so warm and inviting?”

Epswitch took his seat again, “Because when I say something,” his eyes stared into mine, “it will come to pass. There is a level of peace in firm knowledge.”

His self-assurance pissed me off almost as much as the fact that he was right.