I had expected for the door to slam open and armed guards to carry me off to start marching, saluting, and singing the praise of the Empire from sunup to sun down. Instead I stood in a startlingly nice room with a desk, chairs, and the comfiest bed I had ever experienced.

The journey here was as tame as the birdsong currently coming in through the window. Agent Eberly had knocked gently on Epswitch’s door and asked if I was ready. I didn’t respond at first and he asked again. I gave a simple nod and he held the door open for me. He then led me at a slow, but unceasing pace. I had to keep slowing myself down to make sure I didn’t walk into his robed back.

We passed guards and I assumed guests. They would look at the agent and look nervous, but then they’d catch sight of me and seem to suddenly remember they needed something down another hallway. I didn’t recognize any of the people I spooked.

Arriving at the room, Agent Eberly had opened the door and offered to let me go in first. I had held my breath as I crossed the threshold. I had expected the worst. I had expected military brutalism, but windows with a view and a full private bath were luxurious. I felt there had to be a mistake, “I thought you were going to march me straight to my new military life?”

Eberly shuffled in the doorway for a moment. His weariness from the trip and the day was obvious even through the mask. For a brief moment, I remembered the very real flesh and blood beneath that haunting cloak and Eternal Affairs horror stories. “The empire doesn’t move at your pace. The next training group doesn’t begin until next week. So you get to wait.”

“I assumed Governor Briggs would’ve preferred a dungeon cell to a bedroom.”

“There’s still time for that to be arranged,” Eberly said. It was almost a threat, but there was no real interest behind it, “Minister Epswitch assumed you’d be more amenable to house arrest and didn’t see any reason to discuss it in detail with the Governor. Obviously do not leave the room. If you are needed elsewhere in the building, you will be attended by at least two guards.”

Before I could ask any follow up questions, the door closed unceremoniously. It wasn’t on my inhale, but my exhale that I realized I was alone for the first time in weeks. My shoulders lowered and I tilted my neck hearing it crack. Closing my eyes, I breathed in the knowledge of privacy. There was so much I had to process, but having my voice be the only one in proximity almost made me giddy.

The corner of my lips twitched up to a smile. I had dedicated so much of my hedonistic past couple years to being alone as little as possible. Now I could almost cry not having another person watching me. I touched a finger to my cheek. It wasn’t that I could cry, I was currently crying.

My legs shook and I didn’t have the time to make it to the bed or the chairs. I simply sat down and my back slammed into the closest flat surface. This happened to be the door and I gave a loud ‘bang’ as I connected. I froze. The last thing I wanted was someone to come and shatter the illusion of my solitude. Holding my breath I waited a moment. Hearing no response, I cried as quietly as possible.

Every sniffle set me on edge, the noise making me paranoid I would attract unwanted attention. A small puddle of phlegm and tears was on the floor and smeared on my shoulder. The clothes were disgusting from the journey, but I was actively making them gruesome.

It took a while, but my breathing started to return to normal. I was beginning to regain my ability to take a deep breath without my chest shuddering. The numbness that had kept me sane during the weeks in the wagon was gone now. My tears were just the first of the massive emotions I had bottled up.

My acceptance of the filth of my body and garments had melted away. The revulsion would’ve made me retch had I any food inside me. I pulled off my shirt as quickly and carefully as possible. The slime I had added wasn’t even the worst part. I felt pieces of the cloth stick to my skin. Finally removed from it I rested it on the floor near the window to air out. I didn’t think it would help, but I had no idea what I was going to do. I couldn’t put it back on and I imagined Agent Eberly wouldn’t be amused to walk me to the barracks completely nude.

I coughed as the smell hit me. Freed from the clothing, my body somehow was more offensive than the fabric that had absorbed weeks of abuse. I finished undressing and decided to tackle one problem at a time. I sat in the bath as I turned on the water. The water was cold, but seeing it turn brackish as it just touched my skin was both reassuring and horrifying.

I didn’t close the stopper as I took the gradually warming water into my cupped hands and threw it over various parts of my body. I wanted to remove some of the worst offenders before I decided to stew in the gore and grime.

Satisfied a chunk of something wouldn’t be floating with me. I allowed the bath to start filling. The water sent a shudder through my body and goosebumps formed on the back of my arms. It wasn’t until the tub started getting hot and full did I feel my body loosen.

My muscles relaxed. It started in my arms. their tightness unwound and like a spool unraveling it traveled up to my shoulders, down my chest, and into my stomach.

I quickly tensed again.

I got out of the bath and rushed to the toilet. My body somehow expressed gratitude and anger at the same time. A moment of true privacy and relaxation gave my bowels all the excuse they needed to release everything I didn’t know I was holding onto.

Wrapping my arms around my stomach, I shivered, still dripping wet. The cold air pricked my skin as I waited for the assault to stop. I cursed the order of events.

I cleaned up and as I closed the lid, I was pleasantly surprised that some decorated spices and herbs in the room hadn’t lost their potency.

I returned to the bath. After sitting for a moment, I drained the tub and started refilling it with fresh hot water. I was now determined to have a relaxing and peaceful soak. Damn my body’s attempts to get in the way.

As the water rose above my ribs, I inhaled and closed my eyes. My arms rested next to my sides, cuddling warmth into me as the water continued to fill. Once it was high enough I shut the water off and rested my arms on the cool edges.

Weeks of stress, days of violence, and hours of sheer panic started to evaporate in the steam from the water. I clutched the edges of the tub and took a deep breath as another wave of tears tried to overwhelm me. Mr. Thill had always recommended allowing myself to cry and he was often right. I normally felt better after crying, but I had cried once and for just a moment I wanted to be happy with hot water and being clean.

I was losing though and I could feel hot pin pricks at the corner of my eyes. I pushed my face underwater and screamed. Anger felt more cathartic than sorrow. Lifting my head, I let the water cascade off and drip from my hair down my forehead and cheeks. I am sure it mixed with some tears, but allowing it all to wash off and be hidden in the trickle of bathwater felt better for a reason I couldn’t place.

There was a small table next to the tub with a bar of soap on a small dish. I relished grinding it down against my skin. The act had a sliver of violence to it that my body responded to. I wanted to scrape every part of me away, shredding away every thought and every feeling. This was the closest I was going to get.

I didn’t drain the tub when I got out. I wrapped a towel that was hanging nearby around myself and went back into the main room. Gingerly picking up my soiled clothes, I carried them at arm’s length and tossed them into the water. They floated dejectedly for a moment before they started to sink.

I walked away. I would come back and take care of them, but I wanted to explore the room and I could pretend like the soak would do them good. In all honesty, I couldn’t imagine they’d ever be presentable again. My last glance told me they were more stain than linen.

The room was filled with decoration, but barren of personality. I walked the perimeter of the space without purpose. My fingers absentmindedly traced frames of pieces of art. The wood of the dresser and table were pleasant against my skin. Their sanded surfaces were rounded and soft.

BANG BANG

Two harsh knocks attacked my door. I stood dumbfounded with a towel around my waist. My clothes were soaked and it seemed even more absurd to put them back on than it was to simply open the door in just the towel.

I grabbed the knob and took a deep breath. I couldn’t imagine what was on the other side. My mind raced with thoughts of a towering werewolf come to exact revenge with a hand around my neck, the minister with a further addendum to the deal that I couldn’t refuse, maybe some guards to whisk me off to some dungeon.

I opened the door faster than I intended. A guard stood, not with chains, but a platter of turkey, pastries, vegetables, and some various other materials I couldn’t name, but looked and smelled wonderful.

“Thank you…?” I said, trying to balance the hastily secured towel and find a way to grab the platter.

The guard offered no comment and took my hesitation to take the platter as an invitation into the room. He placed the tray on the desk, “There is a celebration downstairs for the Sovereign’s son. The minister sent this up.”

The guard left with a blank look on his face. He seemed to be the very definition of just following orders and unconcerned with anything but the delivery of the food. I wondered if Epswitch had warned him that I was dangerous, or unpredictable, or simply “annoying.” I had no idea if much rumor had spread about me. The trip had made it obvious Governor Briggs wasn’t quiet, but I doubted he wanted to gloat or complain about the turn of events.

With his job done, he was gone. There was a haste, not of fear or dedication, but like the cooks had some interesting gossip and he was missing it by delivering food. Here I was standing in the nicest room I’d ever been in and was now furnished with the best food I could remember smelling. The fact I was still damp and rudely interrupted didn’t phase my growling stomach which was playing a much more prominent role in my decision making than I was used to.

That was untrue. I relied on gut whim as much as I did any logical construct. This was simply the first time my stomach had been denied for so long. Thinking of my travel worn clothes I made the decision that dinner in a cushy towel was a much cozier idea.

Every bite was better than the last from melt-in-my-mouth meat to bursts of sweetness from the baked goods. I thought of Epswitch, this was either a kind gesture or a simple bribe. As I shoveled gravy laden turkey into my mouth, I didn’t care which. I hated this dark empire and everything it had done to me, my family, and my people. That rage wouldn’t be dulled, no matter how well the asparagus was prepared.

Filled beyond contentment, I was still sad as I took the last bite. On this day I had spoken to one of the Empire’s high command, was forced to join its dark ranks, spent hours in a cage, and I knew without a shadow of a doubt that this meal would be what I remembered most vividly.

I hung up my towel and sat on the bed to decide my next move. My options were limited, but I was given a week. I closed my eyes sitting there trying to find a thought to cling to. I rested my head against the pillow scrunching my eyes tight harder. No matter the pressure nor prodding, my mind gave nothing concrete to grab onto.

Then it was morning. My dreamless sleep dissipated with sunlight hitting my eyes. I sat up blinded before squinting and covering my face. The sun appeared to be directly outside my window. I got out of bed and saw the beam of light from the window piercing through and resting exactly where I was moments before. I tried to figure out if Epswitch was this petty. The food had been a kindness, but maybe this was the cruelty.

My machinations stopped short when my eyes saw the curtains drawn to the side. This was a known problem, already solved. My blood, already simmering, began to dull. It was an accidentally self-inflicted problem with a ready made solution.

With eyes adjusting to the light, I stood in the window and surveyed the view. A couple towers shot even higher and I could see some sort of interior courtyard. Over a low wall, or low from this vantage point as it appeared still several stories tall, I saw the tops of house roofs. The number of lives indirectly visible to me was staggering. I wondered who they all were, what brought them here, and if I had seen any already. Were they guards and servants or were those nobleman houses? Temporarily used for visiting dignitaries and the monsters that called this court home.

Standing in the window, the sun was warm against my skin. Despite being under it for the entire trip, my cleaned skin felt like it was eating it up. A cool breeze blew in and reminded me both of my nudity and my clothes in a still full tub.

I poked my head in and found the water was now tinted. My clothes heavy with earth, grit, and miscellaneous were now obscured by tainted water. It appeared some of the stains were temporary and had moved into the surrounding area. I grimaced and decided to put off wearing those clothes again.

Instead I would investigate the room. I was trapped here for a week and I needed a diversion. Counting the number of splinters in the desk or watching people be free in the courtyard would only be so distracting. I started my search by opening the top half of an armoire.

I had struck gold. Literally. Inside were shiny baubles that caught the morning light. Majestic figures and creatures carved from luminous metal. More importantly between them were rows of books. The men and monsters were bookends for a humble, but varied collection.

Already a few of the titles caught my eye and I started to collect them as a pile on the desk. I returned to the fortuitous bureau and pulled open the lower drawers. My eyes widened as they fell on various articles of clothing that looked like a good fit. I started to wonder if it was the Minister, Eberly, or a guard with an eye for measurements.

This started a crusade. I almost ran around the room opening every drawer only to find more clothing in a different, but refined style. I settled on Epswitch. This thoroughness reeked of the way he’d choose to show off. Despite the number of options, I returned to the first ones I had found below the books. They were a simple pair of trousers and a blouse in a similar style that I had in a trunk back at the Cloven Kettle.

Well, the floor. I remembered throwing them all out as I had hunted for that fateful silver stake. I took a second pause, they probably made it back to the trunk. Mason would’ve returned them both because he was kind and he could grumble about it later to me.

I wondered if he had rented my room out yet. I had told him I would be gone for a week, two at most. I had paid through for the time, but I had long missed the window. Did he think I was dead? Did he wonder where I was?

My heart gave a pang as I thought of him and Mr. Thill. My departure was sudden, mysterious, and shrouded by dangerous forces. If the roles were reversed I’d have been in a panic. I thought of all the things I didn’t say to Mason, no real goodbye. I had suspected my father’s death would’ve been a simple handling of affairs. Well, I had handled it into a mob, a killing, and imprisonment.

I had so many stories I wanted to share with both of them. It felt like a lifetime had passed. A thought crossed my mind, it seemed far-fetched… I opened the desk to find paper and ink. I mean a desk was where paper and ink was generally stored, that didn’t mean anything.

I put my hand on the knob, but stopped short of opening the door. This was a careful maneuver with measured responses and tactfully chosen words. I practiced what I was going to say. A wrong word, a wrong tone and I could lose out on this chance. I knocked on my own door.

A guard opened the door. She did not look surprised, “You have to stay in your room.”

“Of course, I would not dare to think overwise,” I mentally berated myself. In my attempt at extreme sincerity I had looped back to sounding sarcastic. I hoped I hadn’t jeopardized my plans, “I was curious since I had the materials if I could pass along a letter to be sent. I would be forever grateful.”

The guard raised an eyebrow, “Yeah? It wouldn’t be difficult at all. The minister cleared you for mail. Just pass us the letter and we’ll make sure it goes out for delivery.”

That was entirely simple. My practiced speech almost felt like a waste. This good news almost didn’t break through my ruminations. I thanked the guard who gave an indifferent “mhmm.”

She closed the door without another word which I would’ve accused as presumptuous if I could think of any words truly. My head was spinning with what I would say, to whom, and the actual nature of my confinement.

I rushed excitedly to the desk to start the letters for Mason and Mr. Thill. Getting to write “Hey, I didn’t die” was a unique opener. Quill to paper I began:

“Dear Mason,

“

And then paralysis overtook me. There was too much to say. I truly didn’t know where to begin. Do I start talking about the werewolf, my conversation with the minister, my future ahead of me, or my newly learned family’s dark past? Mason was the closest to a confidant I’d ever had. I was never sure if it was just him being a good host rather than something more. I was always afraid of crossing that line with something truly deep and being rebuffed.

He knew vaguely that my father and I did not see eye to eye, but I had reserved a lot of the stories. I am sure I had ranted while drunk, but it always felt easy to just write that off as inebriation rather than accepted vulnerability.

I put the quill down and decided to procrastinate.

Looking over the books, almost all of them were titles I wouldn’t have touched a couple months ago. Each one had a title espousing its authority on the history and contemporaries of the Empire. The only book that would’ve found its way into my hands back in the Cloven Kettle was on the bottom of the pile. It was a story of star crossed lovers or as it would’ve been known in Mason’s library, bottom row material. It was the only time I had seen Ms. Uma Pop deflated, her boundless energy instantly wiped away hearing her romantic recommendations placed at ground level.

They were a treat for me. Indulgent escapism at its most base form. You know what will happen next, everything works out, the lover’s are united by the machinations of fate. Good wins and evil fails. It was a simple world of black and white. Vile viscount’s and their dastardly betrayals were always discovered and thwarted while valorous knights were always rewarded with passionate lovemaking.

Now I wasn’t looking for escape though, I needed to not go blind into the imperial war machine. I had spent a life avoiding them and now I was diving into the heart of it. I knew all the material on offer in the castle would be propaganda, but it was better than nothing and maybe better than the truth. They were going to be the ones grading the answers, why not use their cheat sheets.

There was also a dark part of me that wanted to see how the winners wrote the story I had gotten to see first hand. It would give a good grade of their bias since I had stood on the fields of their “victories.”

The Monster’s Manual and Imperial Policy penned by “The Writer’s of Myth” was my first attempt. It was required reading in the academy. I had managed to skim it and pass the course with minimal damage. It was demanded of me when I was in full rebellion of anything Imperial. My professors and I were at a détente on the subject. They would grade me poorly, but not press the matter, in turn I wouldn’t spend their entire class ranting until I was removed.

Mason had multiple copies, most were left behind from other guests. I knew it was considered the “official” history, but even out of school I had avoided it. Mason had never suggested it. Whether due to distaste or deference, I didn’t know.

Only a couple of pages in, I decided the former and had to put it down. While I had expected a favorable outlook of mythics and the empire, the book dripped with sycophantic affection. The author’s adoration was second only to its undying respect and loyalty. They didn’t just like the Empire, they loved every aspect of it at all times.

I did leaf through the section of werewolves though. Strong of claw and tooth, weak to silver, nothing that wasn’t common knowledge. My real interest was in their joining the Dark Sovereign. Their territory beforehand was more of a hunting ground than a functional society.

The Empire had aimed them at us like a heart seeking arrow. The attacks before had always been vicious, but they were small raids. They killed for food. With the imperial backing they invaded, they slaughtered, and they didn’t leave. It was a bitter conflict that I watched wither my father into nothing.

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The passage that made me put down the book spoke of the war’s last “great battle.” In Horsk, renamed to wolfwood in the book, the wolves led a valiant charge past the front lines into the command core of her father’s armies. Though it listed higher than average civilian casualties, it placed the blame on my father for “hiding troops among a civilian population.” It painted Governor Briggs, Warleader Briggs at the time, as a hero doing what needed to be done and personally leading the charge.

I had been there, a mere 24 hours after the slaughter. A morale mission to an impromptu medical station. My father had brought me along to perform our stalwart family routine. An official duty that I took seriously. The bodies hadn’t even been touched yet. They were left in the street to drain as the wounded were tended to. I had tried to help, no medical training, but wrist deep next to someone who had “once seen the procedure done” trying to close up wounds. It was the first time I had watched someone die.

He was eight years old. Ruddy cheeks and brown hair. Generic to the point that I swore I saw him, still eight years old, on the streets outside the “Bookland Emporium.” It wasn’t a surprise though, I saw him often when I dreamed.

The book was right on one thing though. It was the moment my father decided to tender our nation’s surrender. The book was disgusting though, the human cost of men, women, and children simply recorded as a job well done.

Standing up, I traveled half way across my functional world, moving myself from the desk to the window. I had a different book in my hand, but my mind wasn’t on it. I was going to be one of those soldiers who put towns to the blade. It didn’t feel like a choice when I was in the minister’s office, but looking out the window there was another choice…

To be fair, Epswitch had offered the same option, just with a trial beforehand. Life on the line though, I hadn’t had a second thought. But had I truly considered what I was signing up for? The atrocities I may have to commit. Maybe I’d be assigned to just be a guard to some forgotten gate, but I’d still be another body at the whim of people who sanctioned massacres.

A book nearly fell off my lap. I had carried it over and completely forgotten about it. I caught it before it could finish its descent. I turned it over, “The Land, The History, And Almost Everything.” It was a bold claim, but not the reason I had grabbed it from the shelf. In place of the author’s name it simply stated The Librarians. I had experience with the mysterious group.

It was roughly half way through the war. A mysterious stranger had showed up in the dead of the night. I remember sitting up on the landing looking down at the front door. The stranger’s cloak had been drenched through and she did not remove her hood when she spoke to Mr. Thill who had answered the door.

I heard Mr. Thill request the guest stay there as he fetched my father. I remembered the soaked figure had then removed her hood and looked up at me. Her brunette hair was cut short and was bone dry. Apparently the cloak was weather lined, but at the time my young mind had looked at it as magic.

This lone woman had appeared in the dead of the night, demanded my father’s attention, and was seemingly immune to nature. I had been scared, but she had given me a smile that instantly put me at ease. That was until I saw a fearsome sword at her side poking out from the cloak. Had my father not appeared then I would’ve scampered back to my room.

The Duke had greeted the stranger formally as if she was any noble guest of the state. I remember him asking for confirmation of her position. She procured a small talisman of bended steel, an impossible metal circle that appeared like a folder paper wreath.

All measure of sleep had evaporated from my father while he examined it. He had his most serious face, but there was a giddiness to his movements. He excused himself and came back with a leather bound volume.

As he strode back into the room, I saw her hand disappear into her cloak right above her sword. I wanted to call out, but just as quickly it reappeared with a sack of coins. Their telltale jingle muted with the fullness of the bag.

“I would like to remain until the weather permits,” I remember her statement and it was a statement not a request for she had already begun moving further into the house as she said it.

The duke had followed, graciously inviting her to take the action she already seemed settled on. She had passed him her cloak, still dripping over the floor. I had gone downstairs, enthralled by her and her cryptic mission.

As she seated herself in a high-backed armchair, my father offered to call for refreshments.

“Do not trouble yourself, you may return to bed, and I will see myself out when the rain ceases,” she said kindly, but with a force. It was an offer, but it was obvious what result she wanted.

My father had thanked her and retired for the night. He seemed so small standing next to her seated in that chair. A single torch in the room caused the shadows to flicker wildly. I stood paralyzed as I watched her pull out the book she had apparently purchased.

She crossed a leg at the knee and rested the tome on her dry pants. Removing her gloves, she began to read. The light was horrible, the torch’s flames were thrown wildly by a draft.

Still she sat, unperturbed, and I stood, head poking from the corner entranced. Moving didn’t cross my mind. I had to know what would happen next. I wanted to soak up everything she had to offer.

“Young one,” her voice was measured, enough to carry to me, but obviously avoiding traveling down the halls. I was startled, though I was obviously not hidden, “If you seek knowledge, it is best to just ask.”

I crept into the room as if I could uninterrupt her. I was speechless standing before her. She kept reading and would occasionally glance up at me. Moments before I had been brimming with questions, but now with the opportunity on the table, I was lost to the infinite possibility.

“I am a librarian,” She offered to start my questioning. It was a small token that gave me the confidence to begin my deluge.

“What’s a librarian?”

She had been patient with me. She answered every question in full and would even offer follow up information that my young mind wouldn’t think to ask. She gave me answers that confused me and some that scared me.

The librarian explained how her organization was founded and funded by the Empire. I remember my eyes being glued to her sword when she said that. She continued how the Library was neutral to everything, but knowledge. That their oath of office was not to the Sovereign nor any worldly power. They were tasked with making sure all information was protected, that data and wisdom were fragile precious things to be preserved.

She spoke at length of the Library, of the swamps she had come from and had traded a week’s rations with an amateur botanist for his notes, of her favorite books and the last romance novel she had read.

She talked and I listened barely able or needing to press for her to continue. As the morning sun arose and the last drip of water fell from the roof, she had taken her leave. I watched her ride off before crawling back into bed.

I had asked my father about the book she had purchased and he told me it was an old family journal that had long been copied into our collection.

Now I sat in the imperial capital overlooking the Empire’s gardens. The book was heavy in my lap both in weight and memory. That woman I had forgotten to ask the name of had been a defining person in my life. I’ll admit a small obsession with the library afterwards , but their movements were always a mystery. In the constant chase for written works, they seemed to be as fantastical as the rumors they pursued.

If the title was to be believed, their penultimate work was in my lap. I didn’t know where to start as it was obvious even if I forwent food and sleep, I wouldn’t finish this before the week was up. Opening up the cover I was greeted by a simple statement: “This is a summary edition of our 127 recorded volumes ‘The Land, The History, And The Everything.’”

I wasn’t ready to drop back into the evils I knew personally so decided to open up to vampires. They were one of the most well known of the mythic races, but I had yet to encounter one in passing. The book held some of the driest text covering everything from their pointed ears to being the first mythic to cut a deal with the Sovereign. It spoke of each with equal intensity. The most interesting fact was the book pointed the deal out as a risk rather than an inevitability.

Each fact was presented with full information and even little marks for follow up information in their complete collection. The Librarians’ spoke not only of imperial success, but of their failures and risks. For the vampires it talked of numerous diplomatic failures that the Librarians’ had attributed to the haughty arrogance found in many of the vampire’s leaders and nepotically-chosen diplomats.

The differences between the books were staggering. I hunted down werewolves in the table of contents. There was no mention of the wolves’ weakness to silver, but it had excruciating detail about how the wolves with longer snouts would suffer bouts of ‘reverse sneezing’ that sounded half way through a snort and a cough.

It was an interesting place for the author to begin on a race, but it made me smile to think of Governor Briggs trying to be menacing while trying to resist snort coughing. I couldn’t tell if this soft opening was intentional or just a byproduct of the Librarian's organization that was almost chaotic in its completeness.

The werewolves were listed as ex-nomads turned into a governing body by the Sovereign. They had held territory before, but only in the loosest sense of a hunting ground. The Empire had given them claim to some lands, some of which I recognized as my family’s. Their demand from them had been conquering and administering their new titles.

The Librarians did not have a high opinion of the werewolve’s governing and spoke of many supply line issues in all fields other than silver supply. They attributed this success to a rumor that had been spread that werewolves were weak to it.

My eyes widened at that fact. I don’t know where I had first heard it, but I had believed it true until this moment. My “brilliant” melting of a family heirloom had turned out to be a waste of time based on rumor. I continued, hungry to hear of the werewolves’ failings.

The Empire announced an infrastructure overhaul of its lands, but a majority of the work happened in the lands under the command of Governor Briggs. It looks like federal oversight was heavy on the Governor right now. The minister’s story of an embarrassing trial made even more sense.

Feeling giddy on my life-long enemy’s missteps, I risked opening to the war. There was in-depth analysis of logistics chains and formation decisions. Some I recognized from the receiving end, most were dry and meaningless to me.

Then I came across the massacre.

“The final engagement of the war was an attempt to break enemy morale through an overwhelming loss of life. The target was introduced by the Sovereign and formally decided by a council of imperial forces. Warleader Briggs was away on a mission. His Captain of the Guard, Rex Ruby, stood as a proxy for his vote. He both voted ‘yay’ for the attack and was chosen to lead the charge. Sources state the absence of the warleader was an intentional political move. The attack achieved operational goals and secured Duke Vidal’s surrender. Contemporaries currently debate whether the attack was necessary or not, but consensus was this ended the war months early and saved tens of thousands of lives.”

My finger trembled tracing the words. Wolves may have struck the blow, but my rage belonged higher up. Why blame the sword, when its director was the true monster. The Dark Sovereign was probably in the same castle I was. I was literally within striking distance.

I forced myself to reread the section. My first pass had my vision get hazy with rage. My lip curled in a snarl as I read over the captain of the guard. I had heard that title before. The wolf I had killed, that had gone mad with bloodlust. Part of me didn’t want to believe it, that I had accidentally taken my first step to revenge. That my hate had found its intended target without knowing it.

I wasn’t ready to take it as fact, but I relished the idea that it had been my weapon that had pierced the heart of the massacre’s chief instigator.

Placing the book on the window ledge, I took a step back. My world was spinning. Years of unguided obsession and frenzy were coalescing into a physical target. I couldn’t wrap my head around my exponential hate. To know the master of monsters, a person I knew with disgust already, was the lead architect in the single worst act of violence I had known caused my heart to hammer.

There was no drink to quench this fire, no distraction to lose myself in. I felt like I was going to burst and I had no outlet. I thought of my academy days, when I first felt trapped by my hate. It was so fresh and all consuming. A fellow student had recommended I go for a run since I was being “a little bit of a bitch.” She was a good friend and spoke from a place of kindness. The physical activity had cleared my head.

I rested my palms against the floor and started doing push ups. I couldn’t outrun my fury, but maybe doing something, anything, would stop me from pounding through the door and taking my chances at vengeance here and now.

Sweat started to form on my brow as I didn’t cease. I wasn’t counting, but my body was letting me know that I had gone long past my limit. I slowed down, but refused to stop, holding myself there as I struggled to lower myself again. My shoulders ached and whined, but I didn’t stop.

Mercifully, I collapsed. I could hear my heart in my ears as my cheek pressed against the wood of the floor. I didn’t feel better, but my body felt more tired. It was a lateral move from manic outrage at best. Thoughts other than ‘burn it all down’ began to find their way into my head. Some of them were more violent, but some of them focused on the soft knock on the door.

A guard opened the door with a tray of food, much less decadent than the night before. He took a glance at my crumpled form and left the meal at the desk. After the door closed, I was left embarrassed.

It felt silly. I didn’t know their name, I doubted I would ever see them again, and I doubted that in a castle of atrocities that I was truly noteworthy. Still, my pride lay stung. I dragged myself to the meal of bread, cheese, and fish. Picking at it, I marveled at my instability. From bellowing for vengeance to flustered from looking slightly silly. I ended up disappointed in myself. Was I going to be dragged by the whims of fate because I couldn’t keep a feeling straight for a couple minutes?

I know I didn’t truly decide to join the imperial army, but had I even meant to kill the werewolf or was that simple blind rage? Did I choose or was I in a constant state of reacting? I took a deep breath. Given the information I had at the time, not knowing the Empire was an extra day away nor of my future imprisonment, would I have hunted down that wolf?

It was the right thing to do.

I could quibble about the results, but I took satisfaction from the intent. Maybe revenge isn’t a pure motive, but I could still discern right from wrong. Maybe I could do the same in my military life. My selfish need to live could be tempered by the knowledge that I could resist when the line was crossed, when the moment was right.

The food was gone without me truly noticing any of it. Evidence pointed towards me consuming it, but I had no memory of a single bite. I thought of my next actions. I had letters to write and more to learn, but I couldn’t muster the will. Instead I pulled out The Lovers Untold, the romance novel I had grabbed.

It was a basic story of nobles writing long distance and having all the classic miscommunication that romance stories entail. It was often my least favorite part of the book, but after the dry facts of the Librarian’s books, I found myself hanging on every page. Wondering if Lord Furthing would realize his feelings for Lady Libby.

Dusk hit the room like a hammer. The sun apparently crept behind the wall while I was engrossed in a simpler world that I yearned for. The sweat from my impromptu workout had dried. My sudden awareness of the world and by extension myself made me crave being clean.

I stepped into the bathroom to find the tub empty of the dirty clothes I dreaded. I had the sudden realization I saw a maid walk past me as I read. It had been a while since I had a servant, but apparently I was as callous as any old noble.

I made a mental note to do better. When guests visited, the way they treated Mr. Thill was always my first judgment point. I had just failed my own first test. I started the bath and cleaned myself off.

The water was refreshing. I returned to the room revitalized and ready to truly start on my letter to Mason. Sitting down, I felt myself waver, but I knew it would hang over my head until I finished it.

It started short. An overview of what happened. I quickly kept finding myself having to backtrack, explain more, try to make it make sense to me as much to him. I crumpled up the letter. My second attempt was a bit more coherent. I listed the facts. I divorced myself from the emotion in the letter. My hand mechanically tracing out my life and where it was going. I would not be returning to the Cloven Kettle.

The words were hard to write. I hadn’t expected my body to rebel, but I was halfway through the V in Cloven when my trembling hand forced me to stop. I took a deep breath and watched my fingers shudder. I gave myself just enough time to still my hand and continued.

I thanked him for everything and wished him luck. The letter felt heartless reading over it, but even the thought of tapping into those feelings threatened to overwhelm me. Not sending anything to him would be more cruel than a poorly conveyed letter.

Mr. Thill’s letter was easier. I stole much of the synopsis I had written for Mason. Many of the wounds from the loss of Mr. Thill from my life had long scarred over. The dispassion of the letter was only tainted by the sourness of my family’s history that had been kept from me. I understood why I wasn’t told, but part of me wasn’t ready to forgive Mr. Thill. His reasoning was sound, professional, and vicious. He said he hurt watching me grow up in such a home, but he was the one that left me in the dark.

I signed the letter with enough force to snap the tip of the pen. An obvious sign that I still harbored a lot of feelings. I turned the letters over to the guards and tried to get some sleep.

By the third day, I felt incredibly sensitive to every noise outside my door. I paused what I was doing every time I heard footsteps.

It was an irregular occurrence. Enough to interrupt my focus constantly, but so infrequent that each one felt important. I swapped between working out, as much as one can in a single room, and reading. It was almost peaceful for the few moments I could forget what the next phase of my life would be.

My mind was constantly seeking distractions. I would only get a couple pages before a bird would pass by my window and I’d lose my place completely. Sometimes it didn’t take anything at all, I would suddenly notice my vision was fuzzy and I couldn’t remember anything I read for the last 5 minutes. It was a frustrating process that slowed with my annoyance.

On day four I had given up pretense completely. I didn’t open the massive book nor the smaller one on fictional romances. I was in a huff which was promptly ignored by the guards when they brought in food. This, of course, only soured my mood more.

Shortly after noon I was laying in bed on top of the covers just simmering in undefined anger. Being cooped up was tearing at the vestiges of my fraying mind. At some point I fell asleep and woke to darkness. My body was stiff from the unplanned sleep. The position I had settled in had left my arm awkwardly placed and tingled as I slipped uncomfortably back into consciousness.

Despite my internal discomfort, there was a peace in the night air that flowed through the open window. Sleep and absolute silence gave me a semblance of calm. I turned back to the large book. There was a section I was avoiding.

After reading the wolves and the massacre, I had chosen to avoid potentially infuriating parts. There was plenty of the Empire I didn’t know and wasn’t personally invested in. From the science of the inhumanities to satyr’s political standing to festivals that were common across the land.

I had dodged the connecting thread though, the Dark Sovereign. After hearing about her political move to kill innocents, I couldn’t imagine I’d find anything that would inspire joy. I knew the exact pages. I had skipped past them enough times they were burned into my consciousness.

“To our sanguineous end,” Mason had once said in a night of drinking. To a lucky or bloody end, he had described it. I had called him bookish in a friendly, but insulting way for it. I felt the phrase rattling in my head now. I was about to condemn myself with the facts of the person I was about to swear allegiance to.

“To our sanguineous end,” I whispered to myself and opened the fateful page. I looked upon the Dark Sovereign, her fierce visage stared back at me. The portrait captured the harsh angles of her face as well as black spiked armor at the bottom of the illustrated oval. In contrast, her sandy blond hair was in a braided ponytail that wrapped from the back of her head down the front of her armor off the page.

The date of the picture was thirty years ago, but her agelessness was well known. I didn’t need the Librarians’ to note that. The book made mention of rumors that the Empire’s necroists found a way to delay or stop the aging process. It was the first time that the book listed something as a rumor. Each other fact had little sources and mentions of other materials, but her immunity to time was unconfirmed despite looking like she was in her mid 40s while being listed at over 100 years old.

She looked well taken care of. The crinkles of time barely affected the person in the picture, whether that was from artist interpretation and bribery or fact, I couldn’t tell. Her eyes looked tired though. The browns were dark and muted as if she was far away.

Her history captivated me though. She was born Jacqueline Tumec, first earning the title of “Kinslayer” after she overthrew her father. I didn’t need the next words to tell me it was a violent coup. Kinslayer spoke for itself. She had united local vampire clans under her control and rose against him and then began to expand her holdings. She had never stopped.

The book went through numerous policy changes, tactical choices, and strategic maneuvers. Many of them were against people I had never heard of in places I’d never been. They had little impact. Her genocide against the Wendigos was listed as well. I thought of Epswitch, he seemed so ready to work for her. I wondered about his motivations. The offenses against me were minor compared to the violence Epswitch’s people had experienced. I couldn’t even say endured, to endure it would imply any survived.

The Librarians listed Minister Epswitch as the only known living Wendigo. Recorded as an isolated and xenophobic race. They only interacted to hunt, which apparently they had done to such excess that the Dark Sovereign had declared the entire race guilty. I wondered how the minister had avoided the purge.

The passage gave me purpose. I could follow orders and march in line, but if the moment arose. I would be ready. I wouldn’t sit next to the monster as Epswitch had. I would be ready, I would be hungry for opportunity. My soul steeled and ready, I found a more comfortable sleep.

I awoke to a meal already in the room. I could barely guess the hour and must have slept through the normal knock and guard with the food. There was coffee with the meal that contained the memory of warmth so it must’ve been dropped off between not quite too long and a while.

I slipped and leafed through The Lovers Untold. It was unrelenting drivel with each chapter having yet another reason the perfectly matched people would have to be apart forever, but being trapped in a room with only history textbooks, their star-crossed romance was my lifeline.

After I finished picking at the food, I began to work out. It felt more of a habit by now. Just something to keep my muscles from stiffening which seemed to cause my mood to worsen. It wasn’t an intense session. When my body said it was done, I was done. It also killed time. The mystery of my future and excitement of my past had congealed into a dull present. I still had days left until I was told I’d be picked up for military training.

A knock occurred, announcing another meal. Food being another distraction and way to keep track of the time made this a welcome sight.

I thanked the guard and received a low grunt that may have been a welcome. There didn’t seem to be a gag order against speaking to me, but there was a disinterest campaign. I couldn’t tell if the castle was filled with much more wondrous and interesting people than me or if like many careers the workday to them was a bland drag that they just couldn’t wait to finish.

I prolonged the meal by spearing little bits of fish. Trying to see if it tasted different holding it in different spots in my mouth. I tried taking a sip of water before one bite and then after two bites. It was at that point of testing the flavor pallet of unseasoned cod that I knew how bored I actually was.

Halfway through my bread and seeing how much I could store in my cheek, the door opened. It was the first time this had happened without a knock. I looked up startled, the bread chunk lazily swelling my cheek.

An ethereal figure floated a couple inches off the ground, next to him was a uniformed man with a unique blue trim. “Miss Vidal, come with me.”

I am ashamed to admit my first thought wasn’t thanking them for saving me from the boredom of the room, fearing what came next, or even regret at not getting to see Fresca, but that I wouldn’t get to read the ending to see how the lovers made it work in the end.