“Your Highness,” the servant said, their work momentarily forgotten as they settled into a bow. He was followed by another and then, as if they were dominoes, they fell under the weight of Prince Odysseus’ presence.

The foyer to Queen Eleanor’s quarters were built in a half circle, its ceiling dominated by a mural of King Linus the Earthbreaker – his war hammer in hand, a horde of enemies before him turned away as they attempted to flee; between the elevator doors and the interior doors were four tall statues, figures of former queens, carrying baskets of food as a sign of welcome to visitors.

Not that the space was ready to accept guests at the moment.

Servants were hard at work, standing precariously on ladders as they brushed the walls with long brooms or painted them over with white; others on the ground, tending exotic flowers or repainting the sections of the floor.

A woman stood at the centre of the thrum, carrying a paper fan she used to cool herself ever so lightly. She stood at average height for her sex, which put her a hair shorter than Odysseus; her build was rounder, with blocky features that could be intimidating. The woman dressed casually in a green and gold dress, with a lace frill at her neck, over which were pearls; dangling at her ears were gold earrings with emerald gems set within.

She was Lady Claire of the Chiming Valley, a vassal of Baron Michael of Gladstone, the senior most of Queen Eleanor’s ladies-in-waiting and perhaps her most trusted companion.

Lady Claire was so keenly focused on her work, she did not notice the prince’s arrival.

“Lady Claire,” Odysseus said in greeting.

The woman’s features softened as she saw him. “Odysseus. It is always a pleasure to see you.”

“You seem busy,” he said, and perhaps it was because of the time spent with Champion Jordan but he could not help but reflect on how Lady Claire had chosen to address him – her husband’s lands were not rich and the family was without renown, but she possessed enough influence that she could choose to refer to him by name alone.

It was true that she had known Odysseus since he was but a babe, but the impropriety chafed nonetheless.

“Yes,” she said. “There is to be an evening dinner.”

“Was there not a breakfast engagement?” Odysseus asked.

He had not attended, though he remembered the letter his mother, the queen, had sent. The prince had politely declined, knowing that he would be gently forced to court a lady of noble birth. The queen’s attempt had gotten fervent of late and Odysseus worried that he might have bow to the pressure.

As the third child he had long been overlooked when it came to the familial obligations, but after Matthaeus’ departure things had changed. The prince had been forced to consider for the first time in his life that he might have to marry, a thought that filled him with a dread he still did not entirely understand.

Even now he felt it, draining his strength and leaving him weaker, similar to how he often felt when he was forced to court a maiden.

“There was,” Lady Claire spoke, offering the prince a welcomed distraction from his worries. “And there was an afternoon engagement. You will not know this, but this is something of a return to form. Why, I remember before your birth when for a week we held engagements at breakfast, lunch and dinner, ending it all in a ball many still speak of to this day.”

“So I have heard.”

“Oh, but it is something else to have experienced it,” she said, emotion finding her voice. “The music, the food and the people dressed in all their fineries. There was an enrapturing performance by foreign elemental mages, men who could bend fire to their wills as puppets, and dancers who threw civility to the wayside. It is a pity we could not convince them for an encore.”

“Why was there never another?” I asked.

“You,” said Lady Claire. “Her Majesty has always wanted a son. Matthaeus was your father’s by right, to be taught the manner and duties of a good king. Allycea…your mother was never lacking for sisters, and much though your sister is loved, it was not with the same passion that would be directed at you. When you were born, she promised herself she would raise you in the way she could not raise Matthaeus. More doting, certainly, though that was perhaps for the best considering.”

Matthaeus, first son to the king and former heir to Althor’s throne before disappearing one night without word.

Rumours spoke of an assassination, but there could be no true to this, for shortly after Allycea had been named heir. A falling out had occurred, enough that the King Orpheus spoke nought of his son, enough that Matthaeus had gone without a goodbye to his siblings.

Thinking of his brother, found Odysseus both deeply sad and with an amount of anger.

Matthaeus was the best that a person could be. Where the Fates gifted men with one path, they had given everything to Matthaeus. He had been a scholar of some renown, with a keen intellect when in battles and their strategies; he had been a fierce warrior with expert skill over the Sonorous Hammer; and above all possessing the ability to leave all who talked to him with a great love in their hearts.

Odysseus had found comfort in his brother when he had found he could no longer bear to study within the halls of the temporal school. The prince had always had a love for history – even though this form of scholarship was not so well regarded – and it had been Matthaeus who had supported him. Odysseus had finally chosen to become a Historian, and all of it had been under the assumption that his brother would always be there – protecting him against their father’s disappointment.

But Matthaeus had left.

Odysseus missed his brother dearly, but the resentment at the betrayal soured all memory of the man.

“What are the colours?” he asked, forcing his mind away from Matthaeus.

“Brown and red,” said Lady Claire. “The patterning will be simple, the iconography abstract. I hope to invoke the deserts before the times of man, before the god Althor changed this world so it would bear life.”

“Deserts are known for their arid natures,” Odysseus noted. The subtle arts were womanly arts, but being his mother’s favoured had taught him by exposure alone. “Is this a warning for your guests? A portent of the future if they do not commit themselves to Father’s side?”

Lady Claire smiled and did not answer, instead she said, “You have twice met the Champion.”

Odysseus nodded. “Jordan, he is called.”

“Jordan?” she said. “His kind often have exotic, near nonsensical names, do they not?”

“There is precedence in historical texts—”

“Oh, dear boy, please do not accost me with your stories,” she said. “One of the pleasures of growing to my age was finally leaving them for the children they were meant for.”

Odysseus kept a frown from marring his expression.

Per the teachings of the Fates there were no paths of higher acclaim than those of warrior or scholar.

Supposedly, all scholarly practices were created equal — learning the agricultural arts was said to be no more important than the mathematical arts — in reality hierarchies existed and certain scholarly pursuits were lesser to others; to be a mage was to stand at the top, while the study of history was not looked upon with the same adoration.

History, it was said, was only useful in tandem with the work of great strategists and tacticians, skills which had not been destined for Odysseus. He was a lover of history in its purest form, of the great tales of past Champions, kings, great lords and heroes. These stories were close to those women were taught, and which mothers and grandmothers told to their children, and thus there was not the same grandeur attached to them.

Short sighted, he thought, trying and failing to keep his resentment at bay, when in history lies true understanding of the Fates.

For what could fate and destiny be if not stories of what was to come?

“What type of man is he?” Lady Claire asked.

“I cannot yet say,” Odysseus told her. “He is still unknowing of our customs, beguiled by them. Though he is something of a quick study.”

“Is that so?” she said.

Odysseus nodded but did not elaborate. He wanted the tale Lady Claire retold to be lavish and giving her only snippets would ensure this came into being.

“Mother awaits,” he said instead.

“Yes,” she said, “you should be off.”

A subtle powerplay. One would never seek to command those who were above them in station, but that Lady Claire could spoke volumes to the influence she had and the little she thought he possessed.

Odysseus left her side, deciding it would be fruitless to speak against her. He walked through a narrow archway to reach a mezzanine guarded by a stone balustrade that overlooked the garden two floors below. The queen’s quarters took up four floors, dominated by a garden at the centre of which was a willow tree; the ceiling was arched, lined with luminous gems whose glow had been tuned to provide light close to that of the sun, while fire and air gems had been added to ensure the correct temperatures for plant growth.

Not too far to his left was an elevator platform jutted out from the mezzanine, crafted of stone and wrapped with an intricate network of diagrams. There were numbers on the front most section and he touched a circle with a ‘1’ scrawled within. Light flared, a swirl of soft pinks and white clinging to the platform before the elevator descended.

In the garden servants stirred the earth and set their plants, after which temporal mages wrapped the plants in pale blue light that sped their growth — all under the watchful eye of the gardeners; not far away spatial technicians supervised servants as they dug lines that would become a diagram to make tables appear; and further off ribbons wreathed on the branches of the smaller trees.

Queen Eleanor stood with three ladies-in-waiting, conversing in low tones. One of the ladies noticed Odysseus approach and alerted the queen; the woman turned, lit up and approached her son, her ladies remaining where they were.

“My boy,” she said. Queen Eleanor wore white and pale blue, her jewellery of pearls, silver and diamonds; in her arms and around her back she carried a silk scarf that trailed down. As she neared her son, a hand went out and took him by the chin, raising it up and facing him to the side. “The story of your tussle with the Champion has already overrun the castle.”

“I would not phrase it as a tussle,” said Odysseus, wondering if it was Allycea who let the secret slip or one of her ladies-in-waiting.

Queen Eleanor tsked. “A savage without honour,” she said. Queen Eleanor took Odysseus’ arm and pulled him along in a walk. He acquiesced and they started on a lazy path through the garden. “Were it anyone else, he would be less one hand, or perhaps a neck.”

“Such action is unneeded,” said Odysseus, smiling lightly. “Champion Jordan has apologised and asked for aid in ensuring he offends no one else in the future.”

“Quite a surprise,” said Queen Eleanor. “I have only met his kind thrice and not once was it on good occasion.”

“The men you met were dire beast hunters, Mother. They are an uncivilised folk, mercenaries in all but name.”

She hummed. “Tell me of him. What skills does he possess? Grand Mage Cicero was not impressed when last we spoke. The boy had no vocation whatsoever, neither warrior nor scholar, and with a foul mouth, besides.”

“From the little I’ve seen the grand mage has the right of it,” he returned. “However I have managed to convince him that it would be in his best interest if he were to become a warrior. I impressed upon him that utility would serve him best, and that scholarly teaching take too long to show their fruits.”

“Good boy,” the woman said, squeezing Odysseus’ arm. “Your father will be proud to hear of it.”

Odysseus’ heart began to beat faster, proud even though he did not want to feel as such.

“I am glad to hear it,” he said, “for I have something of a request. Word that I would be pleased if you were to pass on to Father.”

“Oh,” she said, frowning. “Why do you fear your father so, Odysseus? Ask and he would do all in his power to give you that which you seek.”

The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

That is unlikely, Odysseus thought.

His mother’s love for his father often hid from her his fault, one being that the king did not have the same love for Odysseus he had held for Matthaeus, nor the love which he now showed Allycea; speaking nothing of the love and devotion he showed Eleus and Elea who were so close to the blessed born.

But that Matthaeus had been so quickly cast aside chilled Odysseus to his very core. How easy would it be for the same fate to befall him when he was nothing but a disappointment to his father?

“This might be an issue that might require your word,” he chose to say.

“Consider me interested,” said the queen. “What is your request?”

“I wish for Allycea and I to tutor the Champion,” he said. Queen Eleanor stopped and faced him. “We will invite others, certainly, however we shall lead the charge in civilising him.”

“That is quite the request,” she said. “The Champion is an important figure—”

“I understand his importance, Mother,” he interrupted, a touch irritated. He needed influence and power, but the easiest way to get this – marrying into a family of renown and subsuming them – was not something that enticed him; but in the Champion there lay another option. “It is possible I know it more than most. I have studied the histories and though there are aspects of their world I do not understand, I am best suited to befriend and to bend him to our will.”

“That is quite a responsibility you have taken on for yourself.”

“A responsibility I have had over the past two days. Which I think I have excelled at,” he returned, doing his best to not sound too eager. “He trusts me, Mother.”

“Did he trust you when he punched you?”

Odysseus blushed and pulled himself from his mother’s grasp.

“A miscalculation, minor in the greater scheme. Which is why it is important that Allycea is with me, to avoid further errors. Mother… Father has too many responsibilities at present and all trusted allies are needed as support since the betrayal of the Grand Mages.”

“I am well informed of the duties set before your father,” she said, tone tight.

“Then would it not be best to give him this peace of mind?” he said. I’m sorry, Mother, but I want this duty to be mine. It is the only way I can ensure my own survival. “Unless you think Father would not trust me to give him peace of mind?”

Queen Eleanor’s expression twisted. “Do not think for a second that you can outthink me, young man,” she said, though her words had an edge of hollowness. As Lady Claire had said, the queen held a great fondness for Odysseus. “Everything you know you were taught by me.”

Odysseus said nothing, turning instead to face the servants. There were new arrivals, carrying cages with shimmering peacocks, songbirds and a few snowy squirrels.

“Lady Claire tells me you have had three engagements today,” he said, to ease the tension. “Before she went on to tell me of your past achievements.”

Queen Eleanor’s expression softened. “Yes. I was well known then for the social gatherings I could craft,” she said. “Lords and ladies from the Sunward Empire would often visit, bringing with them news of home and perhaps possibilities of further allying of our two kingdoms.”

“Was it successful?”

“Not as much as my marriage to your father,” she said. “It is perhaps a futile hope, however it is one I hold that these balls might help fortify our relations with my former home.”

“The Champion was supposed to ensure that.”

“Yes,” she said, “however the Champion is not what we thought he would be. He will be tested and it will be found that he is not from our world, but is there faith that he will be of any worth? I highly doubt it.”

Because you do not know the past as I do, Odysseus thought.

“As of yet we cannot tell,” he said.

“If it is as you say,” she said with a wave of the hand.

“If I might make an observation,” he said. Worry crept onto her features but all the same she nodded. “The dukes are unlikely to have any faith in him, perhaps the high lords might but it would be in response to father and no true opinion of their own. In the grand scheme the Champion is not the most important resource Father has. But he would still need to be taught, to show our faith in the power he could bring to bear. His teachers would have to be of an elevated status, people who would be best suited elsewhere. Allycea and I have no part in the war. She cannot be spared as a fighter because she stands to inherit the throne were something to befall Father, and I am no tactician nor a warrior. If we are to play any part in Father’s victory, it will be here in the castle, and the only thing before us is Champion Jordan.”

The queen’s lips pressed together, taking in Odysseus before she sighed. “I will speak to your father,” she said. “Hoping he sees reason. I will admit, there are merits to your argument.”

It was non-committal, but he knew it was all his mother would promise.

“How have things gone with the Spatial Order?” he asked, voice lowering.

Some colour left her eyes. “These are times of war and, no matter how useful they might be, we cannot be seen to be weaker than the mages. There are a great many lords who foam at the mouth at the prospect of change, perhaps thinking they might increase their social standing. A message had to be sent: all action has its consequences. No matter how important the person nor the history of their line.”

“What were the consequences?”

“The Spatial Order is less half its grand mages,” she said. “The rest executed. Further, your father works to root out all who might be aligned to the fallen four, and who might take their accumulated knowledge elsewhere. Those four who remained are either people who come from noble families and have chosen to do away with their names, or those loyal to us.”

“Father now has the loyalties of the Spatial Order,” said Odysseus. “Is that not good?”

She shook her head. “The grand mages are at the topmost of their order, however they are not the only people whose opinions matter. Not many would admit it, but the Council of Technicians is perhaps of greater importance to the kingdom. A great many treaties hinge on their travel network, and were they to rebel…”

“The mines which yield their gems are ours,” he said, “we at least have that.”

Queen Eleanor hummed. “True, but what use are the gems when we cannot use them? We did what we had to do to protect ourselves, now the battlefield is diplomacy.”

“What of how they moved Father,” said Odysseus. “They did so with a gesture. All we know about their craft says that should be impossible.”

“For now many still think that to be rumour,” the queen whispered. “Make sure it remains so.”

Odysseus frowned but he nodded.

For a long moment there was silence, as he gathered the courage to speak, to return to the issue that the Champion would be better suited to him and Allycea without offending the queen. He opened his mouth and his mother held up a hand.

“I know what you are about to say, and as I have said, I will speak to your father. Now you have to speak to your sister to prepare for this possibility.”

Odysseus tensed. “Why do you think I have not told her?”

“Because you are both my children and I know you best,” she said. “Allycea and I spoke and she did not have the best impression of this Champion. She called him a coward.”

“Allycea expects us all to have her love for battle.”

Queen Eleanor tsked. “Your sister has a warrior’s heart,” she muttered darkly. “I had hoped she would be a lady and that she would marry, but the issue with her ladies-in-waiting has shown me otherwise.”

“Mother—”

“It would make binding ties between us and prominent families all the easier. The Mandarons of Belfry—”

“Mother,” he said again, all his resignation in the words.

“You would make a good suitor as well,” she continued. “Joanna Singer is a beautiful woman and her lord father has recently found a store of fire gems in his land. He has no sons and their lands threaten to be returned to Duke Owain at his death, they could be yours by right, giving you some of the wealth held by the Elemental Line.”

“I have no desire for marriage,” Odysseus, again noticing that there was no mention of a holding of his own, save scraping by on the lands of a far-removed cousin.

You knew that this would come to pass the moment you disappointed Father, he thought. That he has not forced marriage upon you is a sign that you are not worth a second thought.

“So you have said, but you will have to be wed and were I in your position I would have used the opportunity to find my own bride. However you have not. Time ticks on, Odysseus, and soon you will be left without a choice in the matter.”

Odysseus said nothing, feeling a deep discomfort come over him, oppressive as it coiled around him and squeezed tight.

“How about a wager,” she said. His stomach sunk. “I promised to speak to your father but I think I could turn him to your side if marriage were on the table – the Elemental Line has given Owain the Senior too much wealth and influence, and with part of his lands so close to the border, we cannot rest on our laurels where he is concerned. I will give you the Champion, he will be yours to train and teach as you so please, and we will hope he does well first with the healers and the onlookers who will come to verify his nature. If he makes a positive impression, well enough that our allies are convinced by him, I will never again ask you to marry. However, if you fail, you will be engaged to the Singer girl.”

“The price for this bargain is steep.”

“Consequences, my dear,” she said. “What say you? Do you agree?”

Odysseus thought on it, considering the future he knew was on its way. Historians, better even than the priests, were adept at interpreting the will of the Fates. There were patterns in how the greatest of gods acted, patterns clear to see were one to have the skill to look.

The first Champions had been great bringers of change, coming with them a great intellect from the world in the great beyond; over time their greatness had dulled, and instead there appeared a swathe of headstrong Champions who had been overcome by their responsibilities and died.

But now things felt close to a return to form.

First it had been Rowan of Washerton, a great spatial mage and rumoured to have crafted a device that could detect celestial rivers without the postulations of Healers; and now there was Champion Jordan.

The first Champions had not been the black skinned folk from which Champion Jordan descended, but all the same they had been foreigners. They too had been thought of as nothing, discarded quickly after they’d been called, but they had grown to eclipse their summoners.

The first Champions were genius, Odysseus thought, smart enough that they overthrew kingdoms and changed cultures in ways now beyond our ken. If Champion Jordan is one such genius, then he will be on the side of the Mandaron family – on my side – and I will use him to gain the power Father will not give.

But all reward came at a great risk, and though to most it would not seem so, there was no greater risk to Odysseus than the prospect of marriage.

“Yes,” he said. “I accept the wager.”

Queen Eleanor smiled. “Now go. Leave me so that I might complete preparations for today. Good fortunes upon you as you try to convince your sister of your scheme.”

Blessings, I will surely need, Odysseus thought as he left his mother’s side.

***

“No,” said Allycea, with the tone and bearing of one destined to be queen.

She stood taller than Odysseus and had been blessed with hefty muscles, her clothes left her arms, stomach and neckline bare, revealing skin dotted by pale scars. Allycea's eyes – one a pale brown and the other a swirl of colours – were set a scowl as she looked upon her brother.

“Sister,” Odysseus started only to become distracted by the fierce hisses that cut through the air, quickly followed by the sound of water slapping against stone.

Behind Allycea, two of her ladies-in-waiting were engaged in their regular sparring sessions. Ellora, tall and pale skin, wore gold-touched gauntlets with oval water gems at the back, before diagrams spiralled out; while Freda, short and petite, features best described as homely, held an ostentatiously long sword in one hand and a small rounded shield in the other.

Ellora preferred distance, firing lances of water from her gauntlets, while Freda darted to a fro, dodging with speed that must have been augmented by her armour. She wove between blasts, sometimes catching them with her shield though she could not stop herself from getting wet.

Odysseus took a deep breath, turning his mind away from the noise and onto his argument.

“This will be a great opportunity for us both,” he said.

“In what respect?” Allycea interrupted, her words low. “Training a man who seems a child in every way, a coward who could not fight for his own freedom. It would be folly tying myself to his failures.”

“And yet it would be action,” said Odysseus. “It would be a part in Father’s victories, something beyond playing at war like children.”

Allycea frowned while internally Odysseus smiled. As fierce a warrior as his sister was, she had her insecurities; before Matthaeus had disappeared it had proving herself a great warrior, but now it had turned towards becoming the true ruler of Althor.

“Many are fighting to protect borders against Rowan, but we cannot say the same,” Odysseus continued. “These are the people you will rule — the first woman ruler in sixty years — and they will wonder what you did when Althor was in great peril.”

“Father—”

“Father has forbidden our involvement, yes,” he interrupted. “Will the lords of the kingdom see it similarly? Duke Owain of Harrengrove, a man Father has called too ambitious for his liking. Do you think he will be as understanding when you are queen? That Father forbade you and you had no choice but to be safe in this castle while his heir protects our border? They will see you as a coward. Deserving of a king.”

Allycea’s expression became frustration.

“How will me training this man alleviate such matters?” she muttered. “It will still be a matter which is not of any worth. He is not a warrior—”

“I have gotten him to agree to a warrior’s path,” Odysseus cut in.

“He still does not have the stomach for it,” she said.

“He will have a pistol,” he said.

“A pistol?” said Allycea, her tone of affront. “The weapon of a thief? Which lord will back him if that is his weapon of choice? They will fear he will run at the first challenge, as he proved he would in the Servile Gardens. This is a battle lost, brother.”

“He is smart,” said Odysseus.

Allycea snorted. “You have always had a love for the exotic, brother. I see that even now that remains true.”

Heat touched Odysseus’ neck and his hands curled into fists.

Matthaeus had taught them of the unbreakable bond that should exist between family. As siblings they were supposed to stand with each other against the world, but barbs were fair game.

His eyes went to Cybill, one of the Allycea’s ladies-in-waiting. A heavily built woman with fair hair, rosy cheeks and muddy eyes. She cheered as Ellora and Freda fought, and did it quite loudly. The markings of her birth.

“Let us not speak of taste, sister,” he said, his eyes on the woman. “Because at least there is something of value in the exotic, and nothing to speak of in the mundanity you wrap yourself around.”

Allycea’s hands went to her side and her fingers played an invisible instrument. Odysseus responded in kind, using lessons he had learned in the Temporal School to move the celestial waters within his body into a shape; the artefact – attuned to such movement – finished the process. Time slowed, the ever-audible ticks at the core of his being slowed by half so that he could think and move faster — something Allycea was able to do purely through a refined set of instincts.

Behind them the sparring stopped.

“We should not fight before strangers,” Odysseus said, his voice low. “These are familial matters.”

Allycea grunted and tension left her body, the air which had begun to undulate at her hands calmed and evaporated. “This is not a proposition I am inclined to accept,” she said, calmer. “I can see no benefit for me.”

“Mother and I have come to an accord,” he said. “If I suitably teach Champion Jordan enough to impress our allies, Mother will no longer ask me to wed.”

Allycea stood straighter, her interest readily apparent. “Will she accept a similar deal from me, do you think?” she asked.

“I do not know,” said Odysseus. “You, unlike me, are more important, your hand in marriage is more of an asset. Who knows what alliance Father might have to secure? However if there were to be faith in our Champion, such might not be needed or might be stalled.”

“That is highly unlikely,” she said.

“The truth of that eventuality is highly dependent on you,” he returned. “I will teach him of etiquette and the inner workings of court, you will make him seem a warrior to better bolster his standing. The rest will be the legacy earned by all past Champions.”

“He will be seen as a thief,” she muttered, a hand at her chin. “But perhaps we might make him be seen as an assassin. He is fast, that I will grant him, but he is untrained. Assassin is not the pinnacle of warriorhood, but it is better than thievery. There is utility in assassinhood.”

“Do as you see fit,” said Odysseus. “So long as you do.”

“There is the matter of being a foreigner,” she said. “That will be the hardest to overcome.”

“If he is civilised, it will be enough,” he said. “I will ensure that.” Allycea nodded, her expression still marred by a frown. “But remember our last conversation. He is not a person who responds well to too much stress, we have both seen this. You should grant him victories where you can.”

“No,” said Allycea. “Teach him as you see fit, but training will be my domain and it will be mine alone. I will get no advice from you.”

Odysseus frowned but chose to stay his tongue. “Do you agree, then?” he asked instead. “To tutor him?”

“Yes,” she said. “I will start immediately. Tell him to prepare for me.”

And with that she turned away, returning to her sparring.

I hope I have not wrongly put my faith on you, Champion, Odysseus thought as he left his sisters quarters.