“A coup? Good Gods, of course not. I prefer the term ‘administrative readjustment.”

―Dread Empress Sinistra II “the Coy”

----------------------------------------

There was once a girl without a name.

The third day of the Siege of Summerholm started with me singing along with the voice in my head. At least, I assumed it was the third day. There wasn’t any way for me to measure the passing of hours, save for when the Stalwart Guardian brought me meals. The slate grey walls of my prison in the Comital Palace shimmered an insufferable shade of gold. It was like a constant reminder from the heavens that I was trapped. Delightful. I couldn’t think of anything I’d prefer to this. It was so nice being trapped in a drab room with a stone table, two slabs for chairs, no windows and a bed beneath my rear. I’d tried asking for a cell that was less dingy only an hour past, and earned nothing more than a glare for it.

There wasn’t much for me to do.

Nothing to do but think.

The heroes will turn against you. Green eyes and pallid lips surfaced in my memory. They had turned away from me. It tasted like ash in my mouth. The Reluctant Strategist had come to my defence, but the Stalwart Guardian and Loyal Aegis had both remained staunchly against me. It was on Mabli’s words alone that I still lived, otherwise they’d have killed me while I was unconscious. I was expecting all kinds of fun once they’d run out of larger worries. It was so nice to know that the only reason I lived was because there was a bigger Evil. How long — I wondered — before it was easier to kill me than keep me under watch?

My fingers clenched around the edge of the woollen blanket. The candle on the table flickered. Dark shadows danced on the ceiling. I pushed them aside. I’d tried using them to escape the Stalwart Guardian’s Aspect already and failed. My progress had been pitiful. I’d have laughed at myself if I wasn’t the butt of the joke. I hadn’t tried breaking out at meal times yet. Mostly because of the imposing figure of the Stalwart Guardian on the other side of the door. I didn’t fancy my chances against her blade.

It was all so unfair. They should be allowing me to do something. They should be allowing me to help. Now wasn’t the time for us to be fighting amongst ourselves when we had a shared enemy. Instead, two of us were out of commission because nobody wanted me to help. I was trapped away under the Safeguard of the Stalwart Guardian. I scowled again at the thought of the Aspect. It sounded noble — like some form of shield against Evil — but it was nothing more than a fancy prison.

The betrayal stung.

A Novice has many teachers but no master. She isn't even the master of herself.

I trembled, leaned back against the wall, and closed my eyes at the memory. That wasn’t true. I refused to let it be true. I’d master the shadows no matter what. They were not in control of me. I wouldn’t let them rule me.

“Going to take the words of that old pile of cogs at face value?” a voice that was both familiar and unfamiliar mocked.

I opened my eyes. There was a girl that looked around seventeen summers with green eyes and platinum hair sitting on the stone table across from me. She was wearing long blue pants, a black shirt and an open jacket, with a battered metal flask in one hand and a lute resting by her side. Most of her clothing — save for the flask — were all made from fabrics that I didn’t recognize, and the stitching was far, far too neat. It was the kind of clothing one of my marks would wear before I took them for a ride. The shirt had the words ‘I distance myself from other people for a reason’ written on it in white lettering.

I snorted.

“If you’re looking for the other heroes,” I commented, “then you’ve entered the wrong cell. You can find them in the other collapsing house of cards.”

I could only guess who the girl was. I’d heard her voice before in a conversation with the Reluctant Strategist, although it was now a distant memory. There was only one hero who I hadn’t met in person. I wondered what she wanted with me. Certainly something. It wasn’t like people broke into prisons guarded my someone with a Name off nothing more than a whim. Well, some might. I doubted she had. I remembered her talk with Mabli about something once, although the details were long lost.

“Oh no,” she gasped theatrically, “little miss murder here has fallen on hard times.”

She’d found her way into my prison without being seen by anyone. That told me something. It told me that she didn’t want to be overheard. Perhaps I should scream? My lips twitched. That’d send her running. No, better to hear her out. I’d still be cautious. Mabli had been suspicious of her. I’d eaten enough dirt in recent days to not want to eat more. Not thinking things through had already done me enough harm.

“It’s a tragedy,” I agreed.

“Whatever shall she do?” the Wandering Bard took a pull from the flask then proffered it towards me, “want some?”

I thought about her offer for a few heartbeats before walking over. I took the battered flask from her, raised it to my lips, then let out a hacking cough. The back of my throat burned.

“You only needed to wait if you wanted me dead,” I wheezed. “There’s no need to poison me.”

“Wouldn’t work,” she dismissed as I passed the flask back, “there’s a trick to it.”

“My stomach disagrees,” I challenged.

It was still the kind of advice that I’d have killed a couple of heroes for if I thought it would do me any good. Not that it would. None of the new heroes seemed to know much about Names. It was as clear as a Praesi scrying mirror that I was woefully unprepared for fighting the Calamities after having my face shoved into the mud.

The bed creaked as I sat again.

“You know how in tragic performances, there’s often a plucky little hero who keeps getting kicked?” The Bard took a swig from her flask, then continued. “It hurts to watch because they’re nice. It’s like watching somebody kicking a puppy.”

Was she comparing me to a tragic hero? Abigail was closer to a hero than I was, and she didn’t even have a Name. I hoped that she hadn’t landed in trouble because of me. I didn’t feel all that heroic at the moment. Not that I felt heroic at other moments, but I wasn’t losing much sleep over that. Especially not now. The heroes weren’t doing much for the rebellion. Never mind how much they were inconveniencing me.

“You’re right,” I folded my arms and replied, “this is awful. Clearly I’m all misunder-”

“Pffft,” she waved a hand and scoffed at me, “no you aren’t.”

“Ouch,” I gave her a wounded expression, “I’ll have you know that I’m almost a saint. At least, by-”

“Proceran definitions,” she finished.

I glowered at her for stealing the satisfaction of finishing the joke.

“You were saying something?” I urged her to continue.

“You know, when the second wave of Baalite settlers came to Ashur they brought animals from home with them,” she expounded. “One of them was this stocky, muscular, four legged animal with black and grey fur called a honey badger. Tenacious little beasts. Liked to attack creatures much bigger than them. Not a feeling I can empathize with.”

I had a sense of where this story was going.

It wasn’t a flattering comparison.

“Let me guess,” I said, “they broke out into the wilds and were killed by whatever monsters call Ashur their home.”

“Right on the money,” she agreed.

“This is the part,” I said, “where you say something pithy about me being a honey badger and I punch you in the face for it.”

“You said it, not me!” the bard winked as she replied. “You see, the difference between a puppy and a honey badger is that-”

“People cheer if you kick the honey badger,” I finished. “What’s your name?”

The Bard scowled at me as I stole her punchline. But well, a turnaround was only fair now, wasn’t it?

“Call me Lisa,” she replied. “From Brockton Bay,” she raised a hand to forestall my question, “don’t ask me where that is. I’m not telling you.”

I narrowed my eyes, then blinked. Was she only here to trade barbs with me? I still had no idea. My mind returned to the first words she’d said when she appeared. I didn’t know who old cogs was. It wasn’t like it was important. But… it sounded almost like she was responding to the thoughts in my head.

I stiffened.

“You’re a bard,” I began, “Tell me what you think a Novice is?”

“Haven’t the foggiest,” she answered with a forced grin, “but what makes you think that he does either?”

That settled it. This menace was definitely responding to my thoughts. But how? Did her Name give her that degree of insight? Was she actually reading my mi-

“Your face is just that obvious,” she interrupted, tossing the flask at me.

I caught it and took another pull, before throwing it back to her. She gave me a mocking grin. I didn’t think it was possible to read that much from someone’s expression alone. I considered laying her out for that if I didn’t have the impression that she’d let out a cry. That, or disappear. The smug girl would undoubtedly vanish at just the right moment to make my situation worse. There was a chance that she'd keep quiet ― she'd sneaked in after all ― but she had enough confidence that I wasn't prepared to bet on it.

“You’re a bard,” I pressed. “Tell me what a Novice is.”

There was no way a Name about telling stories knew less about stories than the Black Knight. She’d be able to answer my question. I was sure of it. Perhaps she could even give me a way out. A way to avoid losing myself to the shadows.

“What do you think a hero is?” she asked.

I hadn’t spent much time talking to Lisa. One look at her insufferable face was enough to convince me that she liked showing off how much she knew. This was the most blatant attempt at evasion I’d ever seen. She was avoiding answering my question by asking one of her own. I’d play along for now regardless. It wasn’t like I had anything else to do from inside the cell. Unfortunately, I didn’t have a good answer. Only one hero I’d ever talked to had shared her thoughts about heroism. It wasn’t a hero that I held in high regard, either.

“Somebody once told me that a hero made messy, complicated choices that you won’t regret later,” I paraphrased. “That you don’t need to be the person who solves every problem, so long as the problem is solved.”

How Taylor’s answer still rankled. The lessons I’d received from both the heroes and other administrators had taught me to swallow the first part of that advice. That there wasn’t just an easy answer to Callow’s problems. A blade had been crammed down Mazus’s throat, and our troubles hadn’t gone away. We’d starved even more once he was gone. Now two rebellions had failed, and the third was in trouble.

“Good answer,” the bard nodded, “smart puppy must’ve said that.”

It was the second part of the advice that sounded a mite useless to me.

“She was the reason Liesse got burned down,” I challenged.

She wasn’t a hero. Not in my mind. Being right about some things didn’t make her right here. Although perhaps she’d been right to run away. The walls of Summerholm burned with us trapped inside, and seven of ten heroes were already dead without the Calamities even lifting a finger. The thought that she might not have been as strong as I thought she was back then was difficult to swallow. How could anyone who could survive that kind of fight not be strong enough to challenge the Calamities?

“Puppies pee on the floor sometimes,” Lisa replied, “at least, until they’ve been properly trained.”

The green-eyed girl threw the flask at me again. I fumbled, almost dropping it. The bard glared as the whiskey sloshed all over the bedding.

“Is that really what makes someone a hero?” I asked before the drink sizzled down my throat.

“Why don’t you tell me?” she returned the question.

I wasn’t about to cry at the altar for answers. As far as I was concerned, the Gods could come down and solve put everything right themselves if they cared. The trouble was that there wasn’t anyone who mattered that was willing to fight on the same side as me.

“I want to know more about Novices,” I raised an eyebrow at her and tossed the flask.

“Funny thing that,” Lisa said in a way that sounded deeply satisfied. “I want to know more about Novices as well.”

“Thanks,” I replied, “that answer shed so much light on the mystery that it almost blinded me.”

“I’d have pegged you more as an Heiress than a Novice given what I know,” she caught the flask and quaffed it down, “What do you think a Novice does?”

An Heiress? Wasn’t that a Praesi Name? Did I look like I waded neck deep in gore and participated in blood sacrifices? Why did she think I was an Heiress? I matched her emerald eyes with my own, but she remained unperturbed.

“I was told that-”

“Not what you were told,” she interrupted. “What is it that you want?”

I wanted to claim whatever it was that I needed to drag my home out of the mud.

I wanted my choices to matter more than pissing in the wind.

I wanted to put my boot to the Tower’s throat.

Perhaps there was a story that existed where those three things made a Novice, but it wasn’t a tale that I knew.

“That tells me nothing,” I dismissed. “The Black Knight is probably right.”

“He’s a deft hand with stories,” she agreed, “but not that deft.” Her eyes narrowed at me. I felt like a mouse being looked at by a hawk. “What makes you think that he knows more about your Name than you do?”

“He knew things he shouldn’t,” I explained, “things that not even-”

I stopped talking. My eyes widened. He knew things about me that not even the heroes knew. He’d need the run of the rebellion to know that much. It had to be infiltrated from top to bottom. And if that was true, then it meant that all our efforts banging on the granary door were wasted. He’d sneaked inside and stolen the crop already. The Reluctant Strategist had drilled into me the importance of keeping your secrets from the enemy, and we had none of them at our disposal.

“You're making a lot of stupid choices,” the bard said, “for somebody who avoided orphanages.”

I shivered as her words drowned me beneath a frozen lake. They echoed those of the Black Knight. Apparently being a bard came with the ability to flap her lips and make me feel uncomfortable. I stabbed that little knot of unease in the cradle and considered what she said. What did he want with me? He’d known enough about me that I was certain he could’ve killed me if he wanted to. I searched his words for a hint. Any sign of what he could possibly want.

“What story is the Black Knight trying to tell?” I asked the green-eyed girl, “What pattern is he trying to set?”

“Now you’re asking the right questions,” she cheered as she replied.

I waited for a few more moments. Waited with far more patience than she deserved. Wasn’t she going to elaborate? She didn’t. That smug smile was insufferable. I was starting to get the sense that she wanted me to dig up my own answers. Well, what did I know for sure? The walls of Summerholm were burning a lovely shade of green. The Black Knight knew everything about the rebellion, and thus it was doomed to a tragic death. The kind that people would commiserate in taverns about in years to come and not actually do anything about.

“I need to tell Mabli,” I spoke through gritted teeth, “Perhaps she can-”

My voice trailed off and my fingers clenched around the blanket. There was no way that Mabli wouldn’t already know. I’d been around the meticulous old woman too much to believe otherwise. She had the caution stick too far up her rear to have missed any spies. She must have taken leave of her wits for a week and decided to leave them there. Why? What was her game? It didn’t make any sense. Why was she allowing him to win? My shoulders settled.

“So, what are you going to do?” the bard asked.

First I needed to shake some answers out of the Reluctant Strategist. Then, I needed to figure out what was my next step. I wasn’t sticking around for the dying whimpers of the rebellion if she didn’t have a way to turn it around. I couldn’t go to the heroes because — ignoring the Reluctant Strategist and the Wandering Bard — they would sooner lock me in a room. Not that I was willing to ally with Procer anyhow. They were as useless as tits on a bull.

I could flee to the free cities, but it seemed like a spectacularly bad idea. The Free Cities were embroiled in civil war and weren’t likely to help. I didn’t have the people to replace the Praesi administrators, even if I did drive the Calamities out of Callow. The rebellion had shown that much. There would be no reforming the Kingdom of Callow. The Black Knight had made us reliant on licking the Empire boot for governance.

Unfortunately, I was short a pocket full of learned scribes. Well, I was short more or less everything else as well. I needed an answer to that. One that didn’t make us the slave of another nation. No, I needed to solve the minor complication of me going mad first.

That meant I needed to learn about stories.

“I was told,” I examined the girl across from me as I talked, “that it’s a stupid idea to try to fix Callow from inside the Empire.”

“It is a stupid idea,” she agreed, “for a hero.”

There was almost a… suggestion to her words. The hint of darkened alleys and demons I could choose to deal with.

There was a tower no one could claim.

The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

I hummed for a few moments and thought about what she said. I narrowed my eyes when she picked up her lute and strummed a lilting tune. The bard chuckled. What was so funny?

“I’m not a hero,” I stated.

“But are you enough of a villain?” she said as she took another pull.

Was I? Could I lick the boot of the man I hated? Would he let me, even if I liked the taste of the leather? I couldn’t think of a good reason that he would allow me to put my own sticky fingers in the system he was establishing. I’d sooner stick a blade in me if I was the Black Knight.

“I’d be really stupid to try that,” I told her.

“What does the Black Knight want?” she asked.

The wonderful war contributions of the Principate had beaten it into me that Praes wanted food. A small part of my heart bled for starving Praesi citizens, but it wasn’t a part that I cared to examine all that much. A proper neighbour would just buy food from us, but maybe allowances needed to be made for them to be properly Evil. Trade with the Sahelians had shown me that Praes wasn’t just filled with snarling savages armed with pointier sticks. Some of them could even negotiate.

No, if food was all that he wanted, then there was no reason for the conquest at all. It was clear that his goals were broader than that. Praes always tried to conquer Callow. It was the reforms that made this Black Knight different.

“He wants for Callow to be a part of Praes,” I concluded.

Ice crawled up my spine.

Perhaps he could be reasoned with. At least, in the way that one could reason with a hungry lion. He would be happy so long as Callow was a part of Praes. I doubted he would care what changes I made, so long as those changes didn’t throw dirt all over his nice clean carpet. No, there was more to it than that. He wanted Callow to stop being Good. Well, that was fine by me. I’d never been one for hymns. If praying was enough to win the war, then Callow wouldn’t be stuck in the same hole seventeen years later.

“There’s your answer,” she replied.

Praes had villains that weren’t under his command. I was proof that not all villains were cackling madmen falling to their doom off cliffs. So, there was a chance. The slimmest chance that I could try to gain power in Praes. A chance was better than the empty promises made by the rebellion. No, I wouldn’t throw away the rebellion. Not until I’d talked to the only other hero I knew who had a lick of sense.

“Can you get me out of here?” I inquired, “I need to talk to Mabli.”

“You know what the funny thing about sealing Evil away is?” the Bard winked at me.

“Somebody always frees it?” I guessed.

“Somebody always frees it,” she agreed.

I blinked. The blonde was gone when I opened my eyes. Did the breath she wasted on me even serve any purpose? Did she really ask all of those questions only to bug out? She hadn’t even opened the door for me!

I think you should flee to the Principate.

Wait, what? It was vanishingly rare that the voice chose to address me directly, and it opened with something idiotic.

I was about to reply when I heard a loud rattle from my right. Was it time for slop again? I looked at the heavyset door. There was a click and the door opened. Watery blue eyes and a sunburned face appeared on the other side. Flecks of blood spotted her armour. The golden barrier vanished.

“Abigail!” I exclaimed and ran over to her.

“Quiet!” she hissed and trembled, “Sullivan distracted her and I stole the key, but any minute now she might-”

“You know,” Glytha’s voice resonated down the corridor, “I step away for one moment and trouble arrives.”

Abigail yelped, then threw herself past my cell door. I stumbled backwards and let her in.

“If you lay one hand on her,” I threatened, “then you only have yourself to blame.”

The loud clanking of the insufferable hag’s steel boots on stone echoed down the halls. Abigail and I retreated from the threshold.

“If Abigail wanted to survive,” Glytha’s voice resonated down the corridor, “she should’ve stayed away from your cell.”

I tried to pull at the shadows. They whispered sweet promises to me even as they escaped from my grasp. Slithered and slunk away, like they always did. My eyes widened and I tried again. There was a glint in the candlelight, then a ringing. The hulking form of Glytha stepped into the doorway.

Remember what the Wandering Bard said about prisons and Evil.

“The cage has already been opened,” I licked my lips, “I’m owed my freedom.”

The gloom became more responsive as I spoke. Not that it did much to help me. It took too much effort to make anything more than an inky gravy without bleeding like a dying pig. Then, they answered. I threw a darkened lance at the Stalwart Guardian. There was a flash of light as it fell apart on the edge of her sword. And yet — despite her fluidity — she moved like molasses.

See, look!

“You’re owed nothing more than an early grave,” Glytha spat. “Just like all your victims.”

Abigail stepped in front of me with a blade trembling before her. I seized her shoulder and pulled her behind me again. I wasn’t letting her pull a heroic sacrifice. That was when I noticed it, the glimmer behind Glytha.

A knife screamed towards her throat.

Perhaps this would be it? It would be nice for it to be over in just the span of a heartbeat. Her eyes caught something in my own. The Stalwart Guardian spun. A heavy gauntlet grabbed the knife. Her head moved forward and slammed into the figure. There was a brilliant flash. The sword came up and struck against something.

“I’m already out,” I snarled, “and I’m not going back in.”

Another ringing of steel against steel. Then, a sickening crunch. Glytha took a step back into the room. The veiled figure of Sullivan stepped in with her. I placed my hand on top of Abigail’s hand and clawed the blade from her fingers. Sullivan cut high again — aiming for Glytha’s throat — only for a mailed fist to strike at the blurred shape of his face. He staggered. I pulled on the shadows and formed a blackened disc. Sickly sweetness rushed through me. Unfortunately, it achieved less than nothing when Glytha spun again and intercepted it with an incandescent sword. The grouchy old hag was proving a mite tough to kill.

“The breach is only temporary,” she dismissed, “much like the staying of your death.”

Glytha slowed once again.

Sullivan ducked a vicious cut, then reached to a pouch and threw a yellow powder at the Stalwart Guardian’s face. I almost winced in second hand sympathy before I recalled that I wanted her dead. That was nasty stuff. She spun around again. There was a flash. Sullivan stumbled back for a moment. Glytha’s blade arced through the air, then his head tumbled to the ground. Glytha let out a hacking cough. Red clouded my vision. My blade came up and struck against the bloody edge of her own. She pushed against me. I refused to give ground.

“Was that a heroic sacrifice,” I pointed with the blade, “I think that counts as a heroic sacrifice.”

She pulled back her blade and thrust again. It was like watching someone wade through treacle.

“I do not glory in any of this,” she spat, “all that matters is survival.”

I stepped to the side of the mountain of metal. A palm shrouded in a darkened weave met the flat of her sword and forced it to the side. Glytha’s eyes widened. I stepped into her guard.

No one remembers why she has climbed.

“Survival is like an empty dream,” I hummed. “Only nightmares will set us free.”

Her armour parted like paper before my blade as I rammed it through her heart.

I took in a deep breath as I stepped away from the falling corpse and looked towards Sullivan. A complicated feeling bubbled up inside me. I felt the faintest twinge of loss. I hadn’t known him, and he’d still thrown his life away for me. He’d actually had a sense of humour. That set him apart from most of the rebels. Those tin heads didn’t laugh even when the joke hit them on the head.

I swallowed, then blinked away the salt around my eyes.

Abigail was shaking my arm.

“-we’re dead, we’re dead, we’re so dead,” she muttered to herself, “what are we going to-”

“Abigail,” I interrupted, “we can’t stay here.”

“Right,” she panted. “We need to go somewhere. Where are we going to go?”

“Mabli,” I answered. “Do you know where she is?”

No, there was no point to me asking. She’d be in her office. I ignored the muffled squawks of protest as I walked away. Abigail picked up Glytha’s blade and held it before her much like one would hold a venomous snake, before trailing behind me skittishly.

Servants took one look our way, then decided it would be the better part of valour to be anywhere else. We passed through almost empty corridors. The Comital Palace was deserted. I spared a glance out one of the balconies at the streets down below and stopped. I wasn’t surprised by the green tongues licking the eastern skyline. No, I’d made my peace with that particular omen. It was the crowds of people were gathered near the base of the inner city wall under the light of the moon that surprised me.

“I take it that we didn’t win while I was imprisoned?” I asked. “That isn’t a parade, right?”

Abigail didn’t reply. I turned to her. Her eyes bored holes into the ground and her fingers twitched like a rabbit’s ears. She was muttering under her breath.

“You don’t need to worry, Abby,” I pressed. “Even if it’s only the people of Summerholm throwing the rebellion out.”

“Oh, good,” she gulped. “Because it is.”

“Is what?” I sighed.

“A protest,” she avoided my eyes.

Of course, it was. It wasn’t enough that the eastern walls were on fire. No, the people who actually lived in Summerholm had to make their displeasure known as well. It didn’t actually surprise me all that much. Summerholm only had room to garrison four thousand soldiers within the walls. Mabli was not only garrisoning thrice that number, but she was also insisting that people offer housing to refugees as well.

We picked up our pace, and it wasn’t long before the door to Mabli’s office slammed open. I walked past the Praesi mirror set opposite to her desk and turned towards her.

My breath caught in my throat.

Remain calm until you have an explanation.

She’d turned into even more of a prune in the time since I’d last seen her. With the deep wrinkles on her cheeks and splotches on her face, I’d place her at no less than eighty. Then the other details registered. My nose twitched. What was she doing?

“Tell me I’m dreaming,” my voice shook, “tell me that I’m not seeing this.”

“I’m toasting to my plan’s success,” she explained. “Good evening, Catherine.”

There was a screech as the grip of my blade warped.

The walls were burning, there were riots on the streets, and she was doing this? The piles of papers that once fought for territorial dominance on Mabli’s desk had been displaced by the frail shape of her legs. Her steel grey eyes met my own as she raised a wineglass and took a sip, then smiled.

“What are you doing?” I growled.

“When I first received my Name I thought it was a curse,” she explained.

I took a step around her desk and slammed the blade through the desk beside one of her legs.

The door slammed shut. Abigail remained outside the room.

Mabli raised a palm.

She didn’t even flinch.

The sheer gall of all of this… this… something, was enough to drive away the crimson flecks dancing at the edge of my eyes with open whips and jeers.

“I’m sure there’s an absolutely riveting explanation for all this,” I gestured. “If I were you, I’d be worrying yourself about if it’s enough to stop me from driving steel through your throat.”

The Reluctant Strategist gave me a hard smile with red stained lips.

“What is a Reluctant Strategist?” she asked.

“Down a tongue if she doesn’t start talking soon,” I threatened.

“I excelled at one skill. I can predict the worst outcome of a war that could reasonably happen.” she paused and took another sip. “Imagine how happy I was when I received an Aspect that did the same thing. Forecast,” she let out an ugly laugh, “allows me to live through a future year of my life in which a plan I make plays out, in the timeline where the worst comes to pass.”

My grip slackened as my thoughts raced. She’d lied about what her Aspect did. No, wait. I examined every conversation I’d ever had with her. I examined every word I’d stolen while hiding in the shadows. My eyes widened. I could never remember a time when she’d told anyone what Forecast did. She’d only told us that she could sacrifice a month of her life for answers. I’d marvel at the sheer insolence of it if I wasn’t one of the tens of thousands whose life was on the line because of it.

“That Aspect doesn’t allow you to do anything near what you pretended it does,” I licked my lips.

She gave a firm nod.

“There were some differences. Complications I didn’t account for,” she acknowledged. “I burned over half my life to determine how to stop that golden, glowing imbecile from making everything worse.”

Oh, she did not just say what I think she did.

“Wait,” I said, “you decided in your infinite wisdom to push away the one hero who went toe to toe with the Warlock?”

“My first major success was when I started planning for other people,” she ignored me and continued her monologue. “The Black Knight is a talented strategist with a superior armed force. I’d Forecast his grand strategy. Then I’d Strategize to make that outcome worse. There were problems with that,” she sighed. “The future is volatile. Intricate plans never work, so I’d needed to aim for broader goals.”

“Why this,” I pressed steel against her throat. “I might not be the sharpest tool in the shed, but even I can find better ways to make them bleed.”

“Assassin’s been a part of the rebellion for a long time. Between him, the Scribe, the Eyes of the Empire and other infiltrators,” Mabli paused, “it was a delicate balance just to remain alive. I soon realized that we’d never win this fight,” she reached around the blade and took another gulp of wine, then spat. “It was rigged against us from the start.”

“So you did nothing,” I concluded, “you threw the fight for what? Shits and giggles?”

“Come now, Catherine,” she chided. “You’ve been learning economics.”

“That,” blood welled as I pressed in my blade, “has nothing to do with this.”

“But it has everything to do with this,” she smiled at me. “Don’t think of the examples you were taught with,” Mabli dismissed, “think of all the Mercantis coin that’s being poured into Callow.”

My mind spun as I closed my eyes. Callow hadn’t been able to mint its own coin ever since the conquest. Our nation’s economy was reliant on the Empire to regulate our coinage. Mabli had been spending Mercantis coin like water. The price of goods had risen as a consequence and… My eyes widened. It would take decades — if not centuries — to mend this.

This is horrifying. All those people, dead. Why would she even do this?

“Considering a scheme like this,” I whispered, “you would think that I’m the hero in the room.”

My will teetered on the precipice. I trembled. Not from fear, but because of my crumbling restraint. Shadows whispered beneath my lips. Why shouldn’t I end her life? It was obvious in hindsight, and I shouldn’t have missed it. I was prepared to give myself a pass on account of the fact that I’d assumed my closest allies weren’t trying to kill their own people through elaborate schemes. Was this what the Black Knight and the Bard had meant when they’d told me I had blinders over my eyes?

“The Black Knight would have waited another year before attacking,” Mabli said. “The people of Callow would be happy by then to return to the Empire’s fold. They would ask Praes to get rid of the heroes.”

“So you forced them to attack early by ruining us,” I surmised. “Isn’t it convenient when other people starve to support your war against the empire?”

“Coin from the Ravel Bank is Fae currency,” Mabli explained. “What happens when it disappears?”

“And I thought the Faithful Warrior was the real monster,” my blade pressed harder against her skin.

“The Faithful Warrior's plan would fail,” Mabli shrugged. “Otherwise, I would’ve used it.”

“The people of Callow will thank me for this one day,” I whispered.

A moment’s fury and my hand slipped. My blade carved its way across her throat.

“You will make a marvell-” Mabli’s last gargled words faded away.

I’m sorry, Catherine.

The light in her eyes dimmed.

My arm trembled, and my breath caught in my throat. Why this? Why all this waste? I’d trusted her. We’d all trusted her. She was the hero who was cautious. The one who was supposed to know better. The one who was one step ahead of the Calamities, and then she’d thrown the fight on purpose. Thrown it in the worst way possible on the vague hope that the harm she did to her own people would seed even more conflict in the future.

Clapping.

Somebody was clapping.

Disgust welled in my stomach as I turned towards the mirror.

“You know,” I mused as I looked up and met the speaker’s golden eyes, “somehow it didn’t occur to me that this thing might be active.”

It wasn’t the first time that I’d seen the strikingly beautiful Soninke girl who lounged on an extravagent green velvet chair in the reflection. That didn’t make her any less stunning to look at. She was perhaps a year or two older than me, but her skin was smooth and flawless. She had high aristocratic cheekbones, elegantly styled eyebrows and wore a red and gold skirt perfectly tailored to fit an hourglass figure that I could only envy.

Think with your head, Catherine.

“Catherine Foundling,” the dark-skinned girl spoke amiably, “it was past time that we met properly.”

I already had a hint of how dangerous she was. I needed to keep my cool.

“Akua Sahelian,” I replied, “I’m a little busy at the moment.”

Considering who I always saw her seated beside, it wasn’t hard for me to guess who she was.

“It was hard not to notice that, my dear,” she chuckled, “I assure you that it’s worth your while to lend me one of your ears.”

“Speak,” I demanded.

There was a brief flicker of emotion across her pretty mask.

“Summerholm will fall soon,” she consoled, “and your rebellion ends with it. The Black Knight,” she spoke the words with distaste, “has little use for a villain like you. He would much rather tie up loose ends.”

So, this was the part where she tried to sell me on joining her rising band of murderers. The idea was almost laughable. Sure, I was willing to cross a few lines to save my own people, but that didn’t make me anything like her. I didn’t summon devils or demons, nor did I approve of slavery, and I certainly didn’t bathe in the blood of virgins. That said, I’d leave telling her of my opinion on blood sacrifice for after I’d heard her offer.

“This is naturally where you make your offer,” I commented.

“Naturally,” Akua’s lips twitched. “You want to rule Callow,” she explained, “that does not concern me in the slightest so long as you do so from beneath me.”

From beneath her? How much land was she planning to conquer? It sounded like she’d been touched by just a smidgeon of the famed Praesi megalomania. All things considered, it was sad that I was saner. She shouldn’t be madder than the girl who heard voices in her head.

“It doesn’t?” I raised an eyebrow.

“All I care for is that you oppose the Black Knight,” she confirmed, “everything else is dust.”

“If you’re expecting me to walk all the way to the wasteland…” I trailed off.

“One of the proxy ships is only a day’s journey upstream,” she smiled. “I trust that when the time comes you will make the intelligent decision.”

The mirror shimmered.

The smiling face of Akua Sahelian disappeared.

Or all those she must have left behind.

I hummed and stalked from one end of the room to the other while I thought over what to do. What I needed was power. The ability to make change. I’d never really had it inside the rebellion. I’d always been kept on a tight leash like a rabid dog. Every hero I’d met so far had disappointed me. The villains were winning by such a wide margin that even the idea of choosing to switch sides was laughable.

Seek refuge in Procer.

I ignored the ill-considered advice. It wasn't like the Principate would have any tolerance for me.

The beginnings of a plan seeded itself in my mind.

The first step was to bind my own demons. To overcome that little problem of blood thirst that consumed me whenever I tried to use the shadows.

For that, I’d bet that I needed to know more about stories.

The Black Knight knew at least a little about stories. He would be dead if he didn’t. Unfortunately, talking to him seemed like a fast trip to the grave. The trouble was my other option seemed even more dangerous. There was no doubt in my mind that the Sahelians could help me overcome my darker impulses. The only trouble was, I’d bet they do that by convincing me it was a good idea to embrace them.

So you’re deciding between one small step off the Evil cliff or jumping all the way?

It wasn’t like there were better options available to me. Besides, I couldn’t afford to hesitate at the first step. Not if I wanted to salvage the mess that Mabli had made of Callow. She’d made us reliant on another nation to save our own economy. We couldn’t afford to get rid of the Ravel Bank’s coin on our own. It would take the influence of either Procer or Praes to save us. I wasn’t feeling particularly charitable towards the Principate, which left me with only one choice.

A choice that loomed on the horizon.

If Callow would never be rid of Praes, then it was time for us to have our say in how the Empire was run.

One day, in the distant future, I was going to climb the Tower.

I thought about my two paths for a few more moments.

I thought about the choice between the Akua Sahelian and the Black Knight.

The first I knew would betray me as soon as it was convenient. The other… I wasn’t sure would even allow me to live at all.

I gave the matter one last thought.

Then, I made a choice.