Prince Ewald the Brave

DYLAN MADELEY

Copyright © 2021 Dylan Madeley

All rights reserved.

Cover art by Jenn St-Onge.

Contents

Prologue

1. Ash, Fire and Wrath

2. Parade and Preparations

3. A Victory Feast (or The Worst Sort of Party)

4. Secrecy

5. A Different Kind of Party

6. The Warmonger and the Gate Keeper

7. Across Uncharted Waters

8. Ill Tidings

9. A Fresh Crisis

10. The Burning Valley

11. Dance Against Despair

12. Repercussions

13. Conrad's Last Stand

14. Of Order and Control

15. A New Life in the City

16. Ewald's Plan

17. The Next Part of the Plan

18. Further Testimony

19. A Reunion and an Arrival

20. A Duel

Afterword

Acknowledgments

About the Author

This book is dedicated to the woman I love. I will never forget the time we spent listening to music together across the internet. I am proud of everything you accomplish, and I am grateful to know you. I hope you enjoy this humble book.

Prologue

An Excursion to Bayrock

Bayrock was the capital of the empire and its world. It was the feeling of smoothly cobbled streets underfoot when one didn't feel a saddle under one's bottom. It was the colours of paint on shop signs framed by a perfect sky. It was the fragrance of seasonings, and the breeze off the sea. It was myriad sounds of people cobbling boots, hawking wares, and finding hope on the backs of their labours, the support of their community, the purses and mercy of others both strange and familiar who had come here from every known corner of the world and some places not on any available map.

It may once have been a village outside a portcullis, existing in the shadow of an ever-growing palace. It might still live in that shadow, given how massive the palace had become; however, Bayrock had found itself in the meantime. A proper city in a world barely large enough to support any, one which in subtle ways remembered every dweller and every visitor.

From out the gates to that giant palace emerged a carriage so opulent that no one needed to see where it came from to know the owners. As abundant as this city was, home to a growing class of merchants, a governing chamber of nobles, and all manner of prosperous tradespeople, only one family could afford such a gold and gem encrusted contraption without spending most of what they had. Only one House would dare travel by such means and understand full well that no one would dare touch them or their property, though they were prudent enough to ride with a couple of guards on horseback anyway.

They were House Kenderley.

A young prince sat in the carriage across from his mother, feeling the road through the wheels, hearing steady hoof-falls from powerful horses ahead of him, and taking in with every sense that he could this outside world.

His father rarely let him beyond the palace grounds. Ewald was not only a prince, but an heir, someone who was kept safe from the very domain he eventually expected to rule. This outside world was written about extensively in the palace library, but that was never the same as being there.

Young Ewald readily understood that his father never sanctioned this outing.

"I understand your worry, Ewald. Through no act of my own, nor of the coachman, nor the guards, will your father learn of this," explained his mother.

Ewald blinked; a moment of clarity brought him to ask: "And what about people on the street? Everyone must know this carriage we're riding in."

"What do they know of our permissions? Nothing," she waved dismissively. "They know better than to seek audience over a what might be a trivial matter. They don't know your father like we do, but they know enough to stay out of the way. But should you still feel this is too big a risk, we can turn around. We can say you just wanted a ride through town, to see the sights, and I accompanied you."

Ewald pulled his focus away from the window and what lay beyond. His mother's blue eyes met the look from his green ones.

"Or I can trust my mother, which ought to be easy enough, and the reward is…?" Ewald trailed off.

She adjusted her fine black gloves nervously. They didn't need it, being a perfect fit; nothing better than excellent craftsmanship for one's Queen. She needed to do something with her hands. It was an anxious thing to arrange such a public excursion for such secret purposes, only to have it hinge on the word of a nervous, loyal, thoughtful son.

Then she answered him.

"An important lesson to understand, one which your father might overlook. One which I believe is essential, yet to my mind better taught through observation than from a book, as great as books are. I'll not speak further of it unless you feel ready."

He clenched and unclenched his right fist and placed it back on his knee. His body spoke entirely of caution and fear, but his next words spoke agreement, and his words spoke of his intentions. That mattered most.

She leaned forward and patted his hand. "I'm proud of you. Thank you for trusting me. You'll not regret this, son."

* * *

Ewald and his mother donned street cloaks in the carriage's spacious interior after the coachman and guards stopped at the entrance to an alley. The cloaked figures emerged, and their escorts moved on to wait elsewhere as instructed by their Queen. Ewald's pulse quickened as she led him down the alley.

Now there was no stone wall, no guard, between them and anybody who might lurk in the shadows. His cloak felt heavy enough that he might imagine it was armour, yet he couldn't recall ever feeling so exposed. He had felt safer naked while servants bathed him.

He could discern nothing of his whereabouts in the city, other than being off the main route. The outer walls of the buildings around him lacked any crests or pictures representing their function. All the most important places along the main road of Bayrock had those, since sailors who spoke other languages or were illiterate needed to understand where things were.

She brought him to a plain wooden side door.

From the size of the building, one might guess it was a shop of curiosities and furniture, and one might also expect the back of it to be a workshop and a storage space. The upper level would be considered unremarkable when many shop owners lived above or behind their workplaces. The size might be explained by the need to house a family while storing so much furniture.

She hammered the door using the butt of her fist with a strength that her robust frame allowed, force which she rarely displayed in her everyday graceful and delicate motions.

"Lady Althaus sent us to ask after the commission," she declared in a more powerful voice than he ever remembered her employing around his father, then stepped back from the door.

He could hear hurried approaching footsteps on creaking wood before the door swung open. A nervous man leaned out to cast glances around the alley before inviting the cloaked guests inside. Ewald took one more breath of that outside air before letting himself be spirited into an unfamiliar building, albeit by a mother he trusted with his whole heart.

Lamps were plentiful to compensate for all windows being narrow slits high up on the walls, something to let air in without allowing an easy view from outside. There was furniture back here, but a gaping orifice in one wall, ropes, and pulleys suggested there was more to this place downstairs.

The nervous man took their offered cloaks, then knelt before them and said, "Queen Dulcibella. Prince Ewald. It's an honour; I'm at your service."

"Rise, and speak freely," Dulcibella said without pause, "I appreciate your greeting, but I was informed we have little time. Is he still with us?"

The door man stood and replied, "One never knows, but your arrival today is most convenient. I'm sorry I didn't tell him to expect visitors, but…"

"I understand. What it would have been to get his hopes up for naught; but much to our fortune, the young Prince has more impeccable timing than he might realize," Dulcibella looked to her son.

Ewald's eyes widened; his mind was quick to the implications. "It sounds like he could not have waited another day."

She smiled knowingly and replied: "I trusted you were ready to make the right choice, but I would have needed to explain and encourage things further; I was prepared to do just that. You made this easy. Let's not make him wait any longer."

Ewald looked to the pulley contraption, but before he could ask, the door man beckoned them both down a hall toward a stairwell that led up.

"Nothing down there for you, young Prince; we bring works up from the shop that way. If your royal highnesses would kindly follow me…"

They followed him to the upper level.

Dulcibella knew this place well and focused only on her son. "Do you know from your tutelage, or can you guess, where I've brought you?"

Ewald inhaled a balance of scents from dried flowers and herbs that were suspended along some walls, mindfully distant from any lamps. He thought someone might have burned frankincense or a resin at midday, leaving a trace by the time of his arrival. This was a refuge, a place of healing and care. There were modestly dressed people who bowed their heads as they passed but did not kneel.

"They are of the Priesthood," he said, leaving his question implicit.

"Now you understand just how important this is to keep secret, my son. This will not take long, but there is someone dwelling within these walls who has always wanted to meet you. Be brave a while longer," Dulcibella said.

Ewald knew why they did not kneel. House Kenderley, those of his family name, had persecuted and killed this order of people in an earlier time; had driven the survivors into hiding. He was surprised they did so much as nod to him and his mother. His education told him to fear these people, but his mother, and the feeling of love within these walls, told him something beyond his tutelage.

He gave his head a quick shake. Some of what he read in books had contributed to a morbid imagining, but his eyes were open to the truth in front of him.

They reached a room which could have been easily mistaken for any other, for everyone within those walls was given equal care.

The doorman knocked and notified the attending Sister before leaving his guests in privacy.

Ewald was frightened for a moment before he understood the meaning of what he saw. The man's face was mostly hidden behind a contraption, but Ewald quickly remembered his schooling. This device prevented the man's uncontrolled spasms from exacerbating his unusual pain, firstly preventing him from biting his tongue.

"It is next to impossible to safely mete out the strength of medicine he requires, anymore, but I can say from experience you have as much time as you would like to spend with him," the Sister explained, adding: "Prince Ewald, this man is your father's brother. Matron," she nodded to Dulcibella.

"Thank you, Sister," the Queen indicated that the Sister could leave them in privacy.

Every emotion of the day, every revelation, hit Ewald at once. He shed tears.

The bedridden man slowly reached for a tablet and a writing implement on a nearby bedside table. He had what was called the chammers. He had not been able to control painful spasms of his jaw or his mouth for a long time, but he had another way to speak. He wrote for Ewald.

It's an honour to finally meet you, nephew. May I embrace you?

"I thought he died. I thought people with the chammers never lived this long," Ewald spoke through his tears.

His father claimed this man had been bricked into an oubliette.

"It's difficult, perhaps miraculous, but your uncle receives the best care here. All of them who suffer receive the same care, the best that can be bought. I see to that," Dulcibella explained.

The chammers was inborn, not communicable. Many noble Houses experienced it. Ewald had once lived in fear of it, but now he knew that even if this had been his fate, there would have been a place for him to live the best life he could. His mother would have seen to that. These Sisters, this fugitive Priesthood, had the kindness within them to care for a descendant of their worst enemies.

He walked into his uncle's embrace with love and a new understanding.

* * *

Dulcibella watched her son compose himself as they rode back to the palace.

"I wasn't ready for that. I couldn't have been ready, could I?" Ewald asked with a shaky voice, mopping his tears with a finely embroidered cloth.

"I believe you were as ready as you needed to be, son. Readier than you might yet know," Dulcibella said.

"But there was so much to understand."

She removed her gloves and looked to a box that she kept in the carriage, in a compartment, to put her rings back on. Some of them were rather large to fit in such snug gloves yet did not fit well over the fingers of those gloves. She looked to his eyes, the green of which seemed accentuated by how he had wept.

She explained: "Some lessons are complicated. We have time before we arrive home to discuss it."

"I'm afraid I'll forget it, so much at once," he admitted.

She nodded slowly. "Perhaps by talking about it, you can remember it better until we get home. Then you can write about it, so long as you keep it somewhere your father would never look."

Ewald nodded, calming at the thought of the next steps. A plan, something to do so he could retain what he learned, to one day be the worthiest ruler he could be.

1

Ash, Fire and Wrath

King Jonnecht considered himself the Knight-Emperor of his people, and he never refrained from acting this out on any adversary whom he viewed as below him and easily beaten. The other kingdoms needed to see him utterly dominate all those who gave him an excuse. Their rulers needed to reconsider ever acting against him. And his people needed to see him triumph again and again on their behalf.

To his scant credit, there were no fair fights left in the world for such a large empire as his, and he felt it was in his best interest to avoid them. The greater struggle was to keep intact what his ancestors had brought together, and to silence anybody who wondered aloud how an empire of such breadth could keep united.

To maintain order, a complex military hierarchy was necessary. Jonnecht had Generals he trusted to oversee the two ends of Kensrik, and an Admiral who could watch the Trade Waters at every possible landing point. Conrad was one such General, whose area of command was the empire's west.

Jonnecht rode there after receiving such welcome news. Conrad claimed things had tipped decisively in the Kenderley Army's favour. Jonnecht expected to arrive just in time to see order restored, while being able to claim a personal victory and see insurgents driven before him.

It was the first time the south-west of the empire had experienced an uprising since the dimly remembered time of their conquering. Jonnecht only hoped there was any punishment left for him to witness by the time he arrived.

"The Great King approaches!" Officers yelled at soldiers, a prompt for them to bring themselves and their polearms to full attention.

Jonnecht rode a stubborn dapple-grey mare of royal stock, one who only answered to him, and inconsistently at that; fortunately, leading an army from its front had long since fallen out of tradition, so his mount never had to be a practical choice for battle. Jonnecht rode her for ceremony and image. Just as she only answered to him, Kensrik would only be guided by his hand.

"Tell me this is the path to General Conrad," Jonnecht growled impatiently, "for the stench of this air suits me ill, and I tolerate it on his word alone."

"Hail!" Conrad appeared, confirming the validity of the directions.

"General, has the land swallowed something disagreeable? One wonders who would fight for the splendor of such a wretched place, or perhaps one's nose loses all sensation," Jonnecht glanced about wearily at the grey landscape.

"The mountains here belch, and some of the yellow rock does burn blue. It is misfortune alone that one such eruption occurred a day prior to your arrival. I'm sorry you couldn't have taken my word and accepted victory from home, but I'm nevertheless glad to be graced by your presence," Conrad said.

Jonnecht nodded. "Well, I can think of one thing that would improve my mood. Or a couple. How goes the fighting? Let's begin with that."

"Our victory was delayed by those hot rivers from the mountains, but any doubling back of forces is prevented by those same death flows. Nothing about living here all the time has given the traitors any advantage in that regard, and now they are all but eradicated. It's been a matter of them running out of places to flee, and loyal folk informing us of the latest hiding spots."

Jonnecht forced a smile. "It was keen of you to listen to them, though the traitors may have been equally hapless given any amount of time to prepare. We are their superiors. That's why we've conquered them before."

"This should be a less costly victory..." Conrad trailed off; he gave Jonnecht time to cough and spit a tuft of ash that had nearly been inhaled.

"Do you have their leader?" Jonnecht, impatient with the landscape in general, fell back upon the prospect of dominance that would most please him.

Conrad nodded slowly. "We captured him. Would you like a scarf? Locals wear them around the mouth at times like this."

"I see you need no scarf and neither do I. We need to be heard. Neither are we old enough to have run short on spit if need be. Bring the prisoner here, so I can properly thank him for enticing my presence."

Conrad might not be ancient, but he sported many grey hairs in his beard. There would have been many more such hairs on his head, but he had long kept that shaved to compensate for a growing bald spot that had been present as early as adolescence. Conrad's eyes were a lighter blue than most people in Kensrik had ever seen. Most men called him a giant; most horses would say the same of his own if they could speak, resembling ponies in comparison.

Conrad nodded. "I will bring him before you; might I suggest this happen in the town square?"

"Yes, he can be an example to the others. Let's do that." Jonnecht agreed. "But however you manage to do it, give him nothing to say. Let's not bring him an audience for any last words; he dared rise against me, and for that, he deserves nothing but humiliation in public spectacle."

Conrad tempered his look of incredulity. Even if the prisoner's jaw were still intact after the beating laid on him during capture, his spirit should nevertheless be broken. He pondered drugging the prisoner for the experience, since the traitor had gone through quite enough, and had only been left alive for Jonnecht's final display. Yet drugging would be a poor use of supplies when wounded soldiers required the medicine.

"I'll arrange it, Great King," Conrad bowed his head, then began gesturing orders at nearby guardsmen to escort Jonnecht, and likewise to soldiers to collect the rebel leader from the gutted house they were using for a dungeon; they would be treated to an official execution that day. For Conrad's men, it might be a good final point to end a dull campaign of killing commoners who were armed most often with shovels and pitchforks.

Jonnecht batted a tuft of ash away from his nose as the guardsmen approached. The men with their polearms, wearing tunics over chain maille, would lead his horse. The maille would appropriately guard their shoulders against highly probable bites.

Jonnecht wore the attire of a capital dweller. In Bayrock, baggy cotton shirts with arm bands to keep the excess material under control were ceding prominence to a more streamlined look, better fitted shirts with big-shouldered jackets. And to stand out as regal, he had his clothiers use gold-dusted threads to accent jackets, and well polished gold buttons. The base fabric of the jacket was a darker blue, somewhere between the sea and the sky at dusk, a difficult and expensive pigment to source. His hair would normally be a well-kept glistening auburn, with the beginnings of grey still scant enough to highlight rather than replace the reddish brown; now ash streaked his hair, making him appear older than his years, and greyed his pale skin.

"This land is like death, is it not?" Jonnecht asked one guardsman directly.

The guardsman looked around. "Great King. When I observe death, it is red and far wetter. This place is like the never-born, the never-lived."

Jonnecht was amused with the man's imaginative contortions.

"But the living bleed. This is like a long disbelieved eternal punishment after death, everything devoid of colour, and streams of fire, I hear tell. They must have been here, the old Priesthood, and they must have been inspired," Jonnecht spoke freely of the banished religious order.

Anyone else in Kensrik could arouse suspicion with such talk. Jonnecht knew it, and he flaunted it.

The guardsmen only listened as they led the horse on, wondering to themselves if this was some test of loyalty.

"And people manage to live here," Jonnecht continued incredulously, "though I suppose there are fewer of them than before..."

The one who conquered this land had died long before Jonnecht was born, but if you were a Kenderley, you knew of the living and the dead. To be written of was to be committed to memory.

This was a land befitting that ancestor, though, the King of Fire. These horrible mountains spewed it: that which glowed like fire, flowed comparably to water, and hardened to stone; the skies were covered, but these clouds rained ash instead. Soldiers had forcibly deputized some of the locals to clear as much dust as possible from the town square, but eventually they gave up. It was no better than trying to mop up rain while the skies were still opened.

Jonnecht dismounted and with naught but a green-eyed glare commanded the guardsmen to bring his mare to a stable. Ignoring the struggle with which he had burdened them, the Great King then looked at his boot-prints in the ash like a child amused with snow and ran his fingers over the engraving on the hilt of his royal sword, while he waited for soldiers to drag the traitors' leader before him.

"We are an empire united," Jonnecht began with the declaration.

"Together, we are mightier, and you are protected. While some miscreants would seek to ruin that arrangement, I am a generous ruler. I will not let the few ruin things for the many, and that is why today I will only take the life of this one miserable man."

The people were quiet. The majority had capitulated long ago, fearing for their lives and those of their children. They were resigned to watching this butchery, appearing to endorse it by doing nothing to stop it, because that was how they were promised the violence would end.

"I know deep in your hearts you are a good and obedient people," Jonnecht resumed.

"Look how many there are of you, and how few of me, and nothing between us that you could not cross. I know that I will not need force to keep you in line, for you are not prisoners. You are, as always, my subjects, and I will continue to protect you as you rebuild from the consequences of the mistakes of the few."

Jonnecht turned his attention to the wretched looking remains of a man whose shoulder length white hair stood out from a grey cloak, the stains on which had long been covered with ash.

"And you? Have you anything to say for yourself?" Jonnecht asked.

He heard painful sounding clicks as the prisoner straightened. This beaten man might not have much spit, nor the strength of lungs to launch it anymore, but his eyes looked like murder.

"This is a privilege, you know. I would never risk getting blood on my jacket for a mundane sort of villain, but I think you've earned this," Jonnecht said.

Then he saw the prisoner's lips move. He grabbed a fistful of the man's cloak and pulled him closer.

The prisoner paused, smiling painfully. Then he spoke his vulgar peace.

Within half an instant of hearing it, Jonnecht shoved his sword into the prisoner's abdomen. He twisted the blade once but did not draw it free.

"It seems to me that my blade is stuck. I had better wrench it loose," Jonnecht said with a sly grin.

Then a bolt from a springbow pierced the prisoner's head, instantly killing him. Jonnecht easily withdrew his blade and his attention from the corpse that slumped to the ground. He turned his glare at the only soldier who was replacing the catch on his weapon as one did to secure it from accidental use.

Jonnecht stormed toward the soldier. "Explain yourself this instant!"

The soldier immediately dropped to his knees. "I thought he was reaching for a hidden blade, Great King, and you would have been within reach."

"Oh, and did you not see how broken he was? Did you doubt my ability to react appropriately even if this were not so?"

Conrad stepped forward before this could escalate. "Don't trouble yourself over this well-intentioned fool, Great King."

Jonnecht didn't take his eyes off of the soldier. "The traitor leader was to die by my hand. I rode all the way to this wretched place anticipating that kill. I feel owed."

Conrad spoke sternly yet reassuringly. "The fool has slain many for you. And such a cut from your blade would have been anyone's doom, especially one so beaten. Our records can ignore whether an errant bolt sped up the process."

Jonnecht paused, considered this, glared at every witnessing soldier as if to challenge them to disagree with their own senses, and nodded with bitter acceptance.

"Indeed," he said before gesturing to the corpse on the ground.

"Dispose of this traitor how you will."

* * *

Conrad sat on a stool and watched the traitor burn from a distance. He slammed back several different fermentations of fruit to dull the day's sordid edge. The traitor had been wrong to oppose the Kenderleys, wrong to drag all these people into massacre and tragedy in the name of some ephemeral political notions.

The traitor could, unfortunately, have been right during interrogation after his capture, when he warned Conrad about the future. What if there were no big, heroic wars to fight? What if the rest of Conrad's waning tenure involved riding into another corner of the empire's sprawl to crack a few dozen skulls?

But the East was ripe for battle, was it not? The tension had built up over such a long time that people as far away as this ashen and foul-smelling place had erroneously built it into their strategy. Someone in the traitor's order might have become impatient and told the others that such a war was nigh; Conrad would be more worried if they knew something. He saw no proof of coordination between them and the East, but it wasn't adequately disproved either. Perhaps the empire's other notable General was about to send word on that.

Jonnecht might not appreciate how much these traitors inadvertently helped him. Now he could focus on one foe at a time.

In the present, Conrad focused on the distant fire. He reflected on Jonnecht's cruel temper when deprived not of a kill but of the opportunity for torture; the ease by which the King withdrew his blade proved him a liar.

He considered with approval the judgement of one soldier whose near-fatal mistake was to favour a sense of fairness over the will of his regent. The traitor had already been broken in defeat and his execution should have been swift. The soldier likely lied as well, for there was no reason to believe the traitor would go for a blade. If so, he lied fearing for his life, a minor and understandable transgression.

Tomorrow, when Jonnecht was otherwise busy, Conrad planned to gather those soldiers and remind them that one should not lie to one's superiors. He would declare the incident settled and sternly order them never to speak of it. He would mete no punishment like what his regent might prefer.

Sadly, Jonnecht was no worse than his ancestors. The last time Kensrik expanded, it was the work of the King of Fire: he led an attack on his enemies at night, after their harvest festival, when he knew they would all be drunk. He blocked them into their barracks and set it aflame. That was the first act to earn him a special moniker. No, Conrad supposed, this brutality was no different than things had always been.

He would accompany Jonnecht to the capital. They would drink to victory.

Or what Jonnecht called victory. Conrad had coarser language to describe it.

2

Parade and Preparations

King Jonnecht rode at the centre of a procession comprised mostly of soldier wagons, with mounted guardsmen for bookends. There was no music for this parade, no planned ceremony; just a length of victorious people riding up the main road of Bayrock at a leisurely pace. The starting point was where the road became parallel with the River Machtige, where the most destitute citizens could view a welcome distraction and a sign that no further strife would head their way from the west.

As they made their way through the heart of the capital, the buildings became taller, better constructed, and better decorated. People threw handfuls of flower petals out of the highest windows.

King Jonnecht sometimes turned his head slightly to the left and nodded. Other times, he turned his head slightly to the right and nodded. He did not wave. He did not speak. He drank in the good cheer, the adoration of his citizens.

In the Kenderley Palace, his family awaited.

* * *

Prince Bonifaz, youngest of his siblings, watched the parade from a windowsill in the palace that faced the main street. The sight stirred strange emotions in him. He could not help but feel the happiness of the crowd, feeding off the positive energy in a natural way, but he felt so disillusioned.

A hero's parade, for the man he once saw as a hero. He wanted for once to embrace the lie and the happiness that came with it, but it felt like this required him to be delusional. Bonifaz could not bring himself to do that, yet there was no one in whom he felt he could safely confide.

Not his mother, whose duty it was to watch them and report anything amiss. He understood that she wanted the best for them, but she could not escape her obligations to that triumphant looking man outside, nor the repercussions for disobeying him.

Not his sister, whom he suspected got into trouble of her own. It would be dangerous to get caught up in that.

"Good view from there? You look rather satisfied," Ewald walked up the hall and stopped close behind him.

Here was the eldest. Ewald was secretive; even if he could be trusted, he was the most closely watched of the siblings and had the most to lose. That's how it went being the heir.

"Well," Bonifaz stumbled, "about as good a view as we get. See for yourself."

Ewald nodded, keeping his attention on his brother. "I'll take your word for it. But you don't look happy. You have that same look, like when you're ignoring a lecture."

"That, brother, runs in the family," Bonifaz replied.

"And would you rather he not come home? I mean, we all knew he would," Ewald said.

Bonifaz frowned, his gaze still out the window. "He is my father, and I cannot help but love him."

"That, brother, sounds like an excuse for something."

Ewald took him by the shoulders. "Hey, then don't watch that. Look at me. I don't think you believe in all that, do you? That pomp, out there."

The younger brother knew well enough that, sometimes, the safest thing to say was nothing at all.

Ewald relaxed his grip and gave his younger brother's shoulder a friendly pat.

"That's just the response we need, isn't it? And that is all you'll say about our little conversation here," Ewald quietly added with a grin before he turned and began to walk back up the hall.

Bonifaz watched him walk away, his bitterness replaced by confusion. What did Ewald know, or was it a trick? He thought he trusted his mother slightly more, for at least there was caring and noble purpose behind her acquiescence to father; Ewald was too difficult to read. Trustworthy or not, silence seemed like the best approach for them both.

Ewald spoke this last piece of advice louder, as there was no danger or deceit in it.

"Start getting ready. Mother will soon call for you."

Bonifaz sighed. Yes, that long line of pomp outside would get through the palace gates, and then there would be no escape from the celebrations. King Jonnecht had to rule all that he surveyed: his empire, from the capital to the smallest village, to his family. No matter what Bonifaz thought he knew, or what his feelings were, it was in his best interest to appear controlled and content.

Especially if enigmatic Ewald was watching, waiting for Bonifaz to slip.

* * *

Queen Dulcibella thought of the wonderful and strange work of architecture under construction, panel after panel of stained glass being designed for a massive atrium to host victory parties. What could be more daring than putting a giant glass house on the side of the palace before a war? It spoke of a confidence that no enemy would get close.

In Dulcibella's view, it was an opportunity to commission a beautiful thing, part of her legacy. If her husband needed to make a display of destroying anyone or anything in their name, she would quietly work toward the true greatest good: a kind and beautiful land inside and out, one piece at a time, sprawling from the palace through the city and beyond.

Now she was solely responsible for organizing victory celebrations in the existing palace feast hall. She had initially been reassured that she need only wait, that she could watch with satisfaction the building of the latest architectural commission, but she suspected this was not so. The unfolding of events proved her correct. Jonnecht would have declined to help even if his day's ride was not an excuse.

Her part in the feast was to be seen, not heard. She savoured this time prior to the feast, where she was going to make sure everyone heard her loudly and often.

"You crowd the seats too close together, you'll start a fight. Give more space between all chairs."

"Is that a withered petal on a light blue orchid? Of all the flowers to let rot in view, that one stands out the most; go over every bloom and cut off all the brown you see."

"How did dust get on this runner if you had rolled it up properly as you said? Pick out every bit with your hands, if need be; that has to be perfect until the first boot treads on it."

Indeed, no one was left untouched by Hurricane Dulcibella.

Once complete, the Atrium would become just the place for this sort of celebration; this other room of tradition was quite the opposite, lit only by lamp and taper and torch, dug slightly into the ground. The old dining hall might be bricked off in a week for all she was concerned, but today, it had to look perfect.

When she was finished with servants, that left her children. Having ensured that everyone downstairs was in the thick of a task, she mounted the stairs to see where the three of them were.

She lightly struck Ewald's door with one hand after trying its handle; she did not recall ever having a latch installed, but he must have arranged this recently. How inconvenient!

She put on a pleasant, motherly voice. "Ewald, I just want to know what you're wearing for the party; can you let me in for a moment to see?"

"No," he replied, "since I am in the midst of putting it on, and I am rather well along in age to feel all right with my mother seeing me undressed."

"Oh, but I should just peek at the available outfits. Surely there's some stretch of blanket you can—"

"Terribly sorry, but no. Perhaps Bonifaz needs your help," Ewald said, with what Dulcibella imagined was a smile.

She sighed. He was too old to believe that he needed to indulge her smallest wish and he knew it, but perhaps he was right. She needed to trust him to develop his own sense of style. However, Dulcibella had a systematic way of working, and she was going to check after the middle child next in the list.

She stood outside Isabel's room, this time having the courtesy not to slap the door when her voice would resonate through it. She could usually expect Isabel to answer through the door when called, unlike her eldest son, and to prepare as necessary without further prompting, but a loud reminder felt like due diligence.

"Isabel? What are you up to? You had better be getting ready, and most of the way finished at that."

"Yes, mother. I'm having Liviana lace up my corset if you'll excuse us..."

"Fair enough. But make sure she does it right because she's definitely not as well practiced at that as some of the ladies I would rather you have chosen," Dulcibella said.

Liviana suppressed a mischievous giggle as she heard the Queen walk away.

"Good thing she chose not to intrude, or you might have had to look like you know what you're doing," Isabel said, her corset having been done up by one such older and more experienced lady at a much earlier time.

The fib would also have become a problem if Dulcibella thought to ask any other such lady, but she would predictably be too absorbed in overseeing the many ongoing tasks of the castle to remember minor details. Isabel had proven capable of caring for her own affairs much of the time.

"I always know what I'm doing. It's why I never handle the lacing," Liviana smiled.

The young lady Liviana was, to Isabel's eyes, perfectly fitting. Liviana had deep brown skin which she knew how to powder impeccably; when prompted, she could make such art with any person's face as the canvas, or she could match and even the tone that was there. She chose cool hues of dress distinct from the brighter colours common in court. Her unusual fashion choices meant nothing compared to her poise; that which allowed Liviana to be a calming and soothing presence yet be so powerful and effective whenever she required it.

Isabel had petitioned for Liviana join the others for the friendship and personal care of the top women of the court. Liviana's mother came from the Beachwarren, a port further east that to Isabel's knowledge was second in size only to Bayrock.

Isabel gazed into the brown eyes of her friend. "They should let you up to the head table with me. Oh, they would think you the Princess, and me the lady in waiting, if only they did not know."

Liviana smiled and caressed Isabel's hair lightly, trying not to mess it nor get any hairs caught in a filigreed ring, a recent gift. "We both know our Queen would never let her daughter get upstaged."

"You could be a sight to behold. When you're the Princess, will you keep me around for company, and buy me nice things when you steal off to the city?" Isabel joked.

Liviana just kept smiling and didn't answer the question; she changed the subject.

"Don't let me keep you. Well, not further..."

Isabel stood up. "All looks well, though?" She gave herself a slow twirl.

"Impeccable. I cannot believe you escape to the city unnoticed in that," Liviana looked her up and down.

Isabel laughed. "That's because you imagine me just strolling past the front gates; giving the guards a wave and a smile... it's all in the route you take. No one would ever have built a confusing place like this without some hidden exits. When you're forced to stay in here long enough, you find them all in time."

Liviana stood and smoothed a light wrinkle out of her gown. "I'll keep with the front gates because it seems simpler. And because what you do not tell me, I cannot give away under duress. Off with you, now, and I'll set some things in order, so the servants see nothing to whisper about."

Isabel slowly opened the door and peeked out. As she hoped, Hurricane Dulcibella had rushed off like the wind. Isabel could not even hear her mother's voice coming from the direction of Bonifaz' room, the lucky boy.

The Princess was heading in the opposite direction, anyway.

"Oh Ewald, are you ready?" Isabel said through her older brother's door, in a tone that imitated their mother's in a fairly transparent manner.

She would have opened the door without invitation, because if a young woman of the court had managed to get ready before this man could, he was too slow for his own best interest. However, she found the door to be stuck shut; budging slightly, but latched, from the sounds of it. She wondered when that was installed.

Ewald quickly took care of that obstacle.

"Oh, hello, strange and obtrusive woman," he said playfully. "I don't suppose you've come to end me, and be next in line for the throne?"

"We are all strange in this family, are we not?" Isabel countered as she looked him over. "Well, that's rather understated. I'm sure mother has yet to see you, or I would have heard the argument from down the hall. This is a celebration, Ewald; can't you put a vest over that? Or make some other effort?"

"She could argue with me, but for what? I think she knows better these days," Ewald replied, before analyzing his sister's outfit in full.

He added: "Well, I might throw on a vest just for your sake, because now I feel bad."

"Aww, for me," Isabel smiled.

"Are you sure you would not rather dispose of me now, and take my place? Queen Isabel, we could all use that. Bonifaz cannot take care of himself, let alone a kingdom; I'm sure in light of that they would favour you," Ewald looked at his reflection with dissatisfaction, and lightly applied tonic in his hair to keep the frizz at bay.

"And get listened to about as well as our mother?" Isabel laughed bitterly. "Never step down, Ewald; I count on you to take all the responsibility. With the attention on you, I get to do so much."

Ewald looked at her with incredulity. "You wouldn't trade that, in an instant, for power? There's no real rival family left in the empire, Isabel. If it's your throne, it'll be you giving orders, wedded to your choice of consort. One or more, depending on your whim."

She slowly shook her head and sighed. "Ah, Ewald. You know less than you ever have. What exactly is power? We know it frees none of us in its thrall, and those who wield it can hardly be considered free, themselves; always under scrutiny, the weight of the empire upon their shoulders."

"What else were we born for, Isabel? For what else have we been prepared, all this time?"

"Fun, obviously. Power over others, the responsibility that should go with it, both are burdens; fun is something to live for. But you're the eldest, and entitled to love your burden, however foolish it is. Please don't ever get wise, regardless of what I say."

Ewald nodded. "Fair enough. If you think of power that way, you aren't fit for it, and you don't wish to be. I shall see you at the celebrations."

As they parted ways, he was left to doubt his stated convictions. Such thoughts left his mind as he prepared himself for the evening ahead, the ceremony, the social niceties.

He doubled back to his room and selected a nice vest. Isabel lived a life he never understood, nor had he tried, but she was no fool.

3

A Victory Feast (or The Worst Sort of Party)

The world within the palace walls was no less stratified than the one immediately outside.

There was a main, bottom-level hall for those of lower status; then there was an elevated level where guests of honour could oversee the party below, but more importantly, carry on with their own matters without interference. A drunken brawl could make a battleground of the lower hall, but the only problem for nobles would be talking above the added noise.

All the soldiers save Conrad sat on the lower tier, where they were welcome. For such a conflict as was celebrated, there were no merits of distinguishment, no special prizes to elevate any of these men to the upper level.

The upper tier itself knew a hierarchy. You could be at the head table which was reserved for the Kenderley family proper. Otherwise, you were on any of the secondary tables with nobles of governance, nobles of leisure, or ladies-in-waiting.

Queen Dulcibella was at her seat, decked in necklaces and rings; a headpiece of gold chains affixed to a golden circlet, studded with small jewels, lay over her dark brown hair. At the table with her was Isabel to her right, then Bonifaz on the rightmost end; there was an empty chair to Dulcibella's left, and on the leftmost side, Ewald, toward whom Dulcibella cast some doubtful glances; there had, in fact, been another empty place set to the left of Ewald which ruined the present visual balance of the table.

Jonnecht was absent for the first course, much to the Queen's frustration. Upon having entered the palace, he did what none of the soldiers on the lower tier had evidently done and insisted on an immediate hot bath. All his clothes were caked with a fine grey ash that made it seem like he spent time up a chimney. Beyond needing a complete change of clothes, he reeked of something unsavoury. Dulcibella supposed that it was better for him to be late; she would not for a moment have had him arrive filthy, even if it were within the bounds of his power to insist on such.

* * *

Liviana was at some neglected corner of the ladies-in-waiting table, away from Isabel's immediate view, and well within earshot of a lordly discussion about what the city dwellers were up to now.

"The things they talk about in the higher schools, alarming. Borders on treason. Would they have cows run the farm as well?" One man said before squeezing some fruit into his mouth and getting his fingers thoroughly awash in juice.

"Well, if it really borders on treason, why complain to us? Why not act on it? As if they expect us to give up anything willingly," observed another.

Before the first speaker could answer, his mouth still full of whatever fruit he chewed, someone else interrupted.

"Realize that from such schools we get engineers, and from them, the likes of the springbow. There will be idle chatter here and there, but this is a small price to pay for the necessary things they will do to further our security. I believe that's the idea, is it not? We indulge them to help ourselves."

The first speaker had been sucking juice off his fingers and stopped to issue a hurried reply.

"Oh yes, that's quite exactly what I planned to say."

Liviana smiled to herself. They were welcome to keep thinking that.

Over time, it became clear which nobles were well read, which were not, and which wanted to sound like they were. She was disturbed by how those with such power over so many people could refer to common folk as cows on a farm, prior to the meat course of the evening, without once considering the implications of their hasty analogy.

Servants roamed about the upper tier with lightly damp cloths. This feast was to be eaten in the old way, with hands, and some people were more fastidious than others about the cleanliness of their fleshy utensils.

Then there was an uncertain clamour near the upper-level entrance, which included the pounding of a deep drum, and Liviana wondered why everyone was standing, turning, not going anywhere; she had the presence of mind to join them before anyone could notice her hesitancy. They had all turned to face the noble tier entrance, where King Jonnecht entered with his arm around General Conrad's shoulders.

"Hail the Great King!" Someone announced, and the lower tier, who could not even see the upper tier doorway from that angle, hastily got themselves standing at attention and facing the general direction of the drums.

Jonnecht declared: "Now that all are present, let me catch up with you so we can enjoy the meat together before I say more."

Guests took their seats, but Jonnecht did indeed have to catch up with them. The meat course was delayed giving the King all the time he wanted to consume as much fruit as he pleased.

They stared at their plates as they listened to him chew fruit and suck the juice. Bonifaz stared with more anticipation than any to his knowledge. Being not yet fully grown, he was the only left of his siblings with strict orders to eat everything put on his plate at a feast or face a stern lecturing. Bonifaz surreptitiously cheated by skipping any prior meal on a celebration day. Thus far, the fruit course had only further stoked the boy's appetite.

Only on Jonnecht's loud declaration were servants allowed to bring meat to anybody. By the time the lower tier was served, the servants worked a well-rehearsed answer: cold, but thoroughly cooked.

After Jonnecht was finished having everyone listen to him eat fruit, he examined his eldest son.

"Ewald, I think you're catching on with that vest. I might add more gold accents, but that's quite fitting, what you wear; what do you think, Dulci? Does he not look smart?"

The Queen took a sip of mead and did not even cast a second look at Ewald.

"Oh, quite fine, yes," she agreed with feigned enthusiasm. The vest was great, but Jonnecht hadn't even much to drink and the pet name already came out. He would never approve of her calling him Jon in front of any group of people, least of all the noble tier…

"Thank you, I am glad you approve," Ewald knew well enough what was going on and he stayed clear of it.

Ewald turned his attention to his left and looked at the silent and imposing older gent. Conrad made his chair look like it was built for a child, and Ewald supposed that the man's legs might be crossed over one another, or anything but the standard feet flat on the floor, lest Conrad's knees bump uncomfortably against the underside of the table. Conrad offered Ewald a respectful nod, but the General otherwise seemed lost in thought and made for terrible conversation.

Through virtually endless food and carefully managed drink, Ewald felt a greater awareness of how little he enjoyed this experience despite how much his father did. Was this what Ewald could expect for the rest of his life? He thought back to Isabel's enshrining of fun, despite her never having given away what that mysterious fun was.

Isabel was expert at setting bait. Ewald refused for the sake of his pride to believe she was the smartest of the siblings, but he could admit that Isabel was smarter at anything she cared enough about to study. She was wise about things never introduced to him. He learned a long time ago that trying to out-prank her was a terrible idea, and any confrontation of words, not physical strength, often saw them equally matched.

And what table was set for her by their father? Possibly marrying an heir of another kingdom as part of some future peace agreement, and if that heir knew well enough, he would let her do the thinking. But that sounded like the exact opposite of what Isabel wanted from life.

He needed to talk with her again.

He refrained from casting her a glance, because that glance had to go through a couple of parents who might inquire about its meaning. There would come a time when people not immediately relevant to the conversation could begin excusing themselves, and Isabel was often the first to go. Bonifaz should follow, or perhaps their mother. That was a potential hazard, the Queen roaming the halls and capable of interrupting any secret meeting or getting wise to certain absences. With luck, Dulcibella would be too exhausted from organizing the day's celebrations, and assisted by a concerning amount of drink, collapse into her bed.

Ewald just had to be patient.

When Jonnecht had finished with his course of boiled swan with yellow pepper, the King stood up and the low drum commanded the silence of both tiers once again. The drumming stopped when silence, beyond the instrument itself, had been achieved.

"Today we have with us the victors of the south-western revolt, which knows no formal name, nor does it deserve one. In these moments, we must reflect on what it takes to keep this land united. Not every victory will feel so monumental, but the history books never present the whole story of what keeps empires intact, nor what would otherwise bring about their fall. We can read all about the victory of the King of Fire over the Wancyeks, or his grandfather standing fast against the last of the Etroukan incursions, but how many times has an empire spared itself from fracture in such a perfunctory manner, and not dignified the action with more than a single line of record, or an accounting of the expenses of war? What we secured may not be the most attractive part of Kensrik, but all of you in the lower tier, you prevented a large piece of this realm from falling away.

"I would like our present heroes to remember that such victories are no less useful for their manner of execution, and that your thanks should not be any lesser. Take heart, and prepare, for war will one day come to us from the East. And you have that much more experience to take with you.

"Let us raise our first toast, to General Conrad..."

Not a word held Ewald's attention. His father recycled a similar speech every time. Perhaps, when the Atrium was complete, the old man might feel prompted to come up with something new.

* * *

Later came the absolute dragging anchor of such an evening, the experience of being one of the least intoxicated persons in a room of utter decrepitude.

One of the lords sloppily clutched Ewald's shoulder in what was meant as a friendly gesture.

"You there, handsome young gent. You just enjoy it, you see? Let them down there get scarred for you, they all know you're worth it. Stay away from the steel," the man blinked and shed tears from some unexplored inner pain, "never take to fighting, never grow old—"

"You get your hand off my boy this instant!" Jonnecht roared loud enough that both tiers fell dead silent.

The lord backed away, shaking his head, and excusing himself for being drunk. He was lucky to escape his error with only the harsh glares of everyone nearby.

"You should be a man by now, Ewald," Jonnecht remarked with drunken sternness. "I'll always protect you, but you're more important than him. At some point, you need to use your voice. Maybe I'll always have to protect you, but I won't live forever…"

Ewald looked at his cup as if there was a fly in it. His father gave him no time to do any such thing, nor use a calm firmness to see the drunkard off before escalating to roaring terror; but experience taught Ewald that this wasn't a good time to disagree. Then again, it never seemed to be a good time to reason with his father. Perhaps that was by design.

Feeling a sudden need, Ewald finished the remainder of his drink in an impressive gulp. He then stood and asked his father if he could be excused.

"That's one way to see yourself off, then. More like a man; we'll have to work on how much you can hold, but it's already so late. Good show, and happy recovering," King Jonnecht said.

By that point, Isabel was gone, Bonifaz was out seemingly having made himself ill, and Dulcibella left to care for her youngest son.

* * *

Some of the soldiers on the lower tier were falling over in their chairs. They had been too downbeat the whole celebration for anybody to start a fight, so they all drowned their sorrows together. Those who could still stand were in the thick of helping their brothers out of the hall, because where they dined was not where they would lodge.

"I know this last adventure has taken the greatest toll on you, my friend. Do you feel in any hurry to return to your post?" Jonnecht drawled drunkenly to Conrad, who could have taken a vow of silence for what little he said all evening.

Conrad let out a thoughtful burp, and eventually replied: "What's out west for me to return to, after all?"

Jonnecht took some time with the question. He couldn't discern if it was melancholy or practical.

"Well, the least I can give you is a break. It's just as well that you stay here, friend, along with all your men, if war's brewing over in the East. Why not move the whole Army over where it's most likely needed? And you can enjoy the city, if you are a city person, or take a ride over to the noble summer estates to the east before they find themselves within the next big battlefield."

"Etrouk shall not slumber forever. And do you not think the Wancyeks will one day want to repay us for what happens when a border is left poorly guarded?" Conrad replied, not giving away the least sense of relief at the prospect of an extended change of scenery.

"I do not mind that thinking, though I must disagree. I have the Wancyeks well in hand, you know, I have a representative knight visiting in the region with the governing lord."

Conrad scoffed in lieu of a more eloquent reply. He knew who that representative was. There was nothing like a knight of mundane character, who never needed to fight in a war or any kind of proper heroic conflict, who had accomplished nothing unique to Conrad's recollection; someone whose honours came from being the King's friend. Even Generals never got knighted these days; what gave that fop any right?

"No, no, listen. Not like these western kingdoms ever trusted each other. We need to keep one wary of the other, then we never worry about an allied attack. The Wancyeks, they will do business with us. Their values shift our way. And Etrouk is not about to commit their army against us, only to leave their back gates unguarded for a foe they have fought many more times than us. Insurrection," Jonnecht practically spat the term, "was the worst thing we could expect in the West. It's crushed."

"I follow orders," Conrad replied. "It's what I'm good for. Should you say I stay here, I stay here."

Jonnecht took slight offense that his subject refused to be happy at any prospect, regardless of reasoning. Wasn't a celebration supposed to be cheerful? Conrad was like this, he supposed, and he knew why.

"You're also good for worrying about things that I'm too busy to worry about. I appreciate that, Conrad. People who think everything will always go well are never ready for ill fortune. You know, by tradition, we only ever let family sit at this head table, but we made an exception for you? I want you to know that. I never even let the knight sit up here. You're like family, Conrad."

The General suppressed a sigh.

"And I don't mean like you get to offer for my daughter's hand. You get just a thought of that and I'll smite you right here." Jonnecht added.

Conrad smiled at the thought of him trying.

Jonnecht finally looked satisfied. "There! You see, there's some happiness in you yet. Well, Conrad, I must excuse myself from this."

Jonnecht stood up slowly, his chair's armrests making useful hand holds. A servant came by looking to help him and he glared her away, because he refused to be treated like he was as old as the drink had managed to make him feel.

He continued: "You just take your time, Conrad. Let not the blood rush to your head. All the way up there..."

Jonnecht steadied himself and departed, leaving Conrad alone with his thoughts.

4

Secrecy

Ewald tapped quietly on his sister's door. His mother was preoccupied with helping his brother through sickness from excessive drink, his father would be out cold, and there was no better time for secrecy.

"Might I have a quick word, Isabel?" Ewald spoke carefully, knowing how voices carried in those halls.

"Stop tapping, just a moment," Isabel said.

She opened the door a crack when ready and greeted: "Glad to see you survived the feast, brother."

"I concur with your phrasing. I want to talk, but I don't know who else might be suitable to give the answers I seek," Ewald said.

She nodded and opened the door fully. Her countenance was framed by hair that was a lighter brown than her mother's, almost identical to Bonifaz', and it was hanging around loosely since she did not need to keep it up at night.

"I believe you. I hear it in your voice. And perhaps I'm right in guessing why you wouldn't discuss this with mother. Enter, but we make this quick."

He hesitated to enter this private space even when invited. A room was like one's own rulership within the palace walls, a space the sanctity of which Jonnecht himself was not supposed to violate. In this place, Isabel was Queen. Outside training, where he was becoming more peer than student at his age, Ewald was unused to answering to anyone but his parents.

She offered him a seat on a dressing stool while she sat on the edge of her bed. For a moment, she stared at him expectantly while he cast awkward glances about the room.

"Well, if you won't say it aloud, I'll have to speak it and leave it to you to contradict me," Isabel said with a mischievous smile.

Ewald responded swiftly, preferring to phrase his truth his way. "I want to know your kind of fun, Isabel. Before I'm trapped in such an atrocious lifestyle of dull ceremony, I must know what else there is to life. Just a taste."

Isabel leaned back slightly. "That's what I thought. You know, speaking beyond humour, you have it better than I ever want to admit."

Ewald frowned. "That's most confusing."

"In order to love my life, brother, I must love what I get to have. I speak critically of your heirdom, but since we're both being honest, I'm sometimes more jealous of you than I prefer to say. I hope you never take for granted what you look forward to. I see you feeling right now what I have to feel, what many will feel around you for the rest of your life. Do you appreciate that?" Isabel asked.

Ewald blinked at the revelation. "I do. Always. I try to be gentle about it, except in jest…"

"I know. You take after mother in some of the best ways."

Then she continued: "I said we would make this quick, so I propose a trade. I can show you the life that I call fun. I need your secrecy, but that's for your safety and mine, so that's not the trade."

"Name your terms," Ewald said as he fidgeted with his hands, another way he took after his mother.

"You don't have to be nervous, brother. All I want is a kind of power. For the duration of your experience, I set the rules. I will not hear any argument. You'll get exactly what you ask if you're not afraid to give up control," Isabel elaborated.

Ewald hesitated, but consented. "I've never known you to be a terrible person. I suppose I'll pay your price."

She could see how difficult it was for him to trust, but life under their father's iron fist would do that to anyone. They both stood up unprompted and briefly hugged, then disengaged. He looked into eyes that had a similar colour to his father's, but a caring and sincerity that his father never exhibited.

"Fear not, brother. Isabel is a benevolent Queen. You said you wanted fun, not to be hurt, and I'll see to that as best I can."

She pointed at the door and finished: "Now get out of here before you're caught, say nothing, and don't come tapping on my door again; trust me to let you know when it's time, in subtle ways."

5

A Different Kind of Party

On another day, and a quiet night at that, Ewald glanced about the hall. He thought he understood Isabel's clues and followed them to the best of his knowledge, but he wondered if he had tricked himself. He understood what it was like to be caught up in his interpretations.

Then he saw a tapestry move as if a draft had pushed it.

And then, Isabel's gentle voice: "Come around from the side and watch your step."

He cast a quick glance around; nobody in sight, nor the sound of anybody approaching. He interpreted the meaning of her suggestion and stepped to the right of the tapestry. He lifted the decoration to look at the wall behind, something he would not usually do unless he wanted to look for cobwebs and dust.

The space behind the tapestry was surprisingly clean, and there in the wall was an opening, a door that would require him to crouch a little.

"Well get in here before someone notices," Isabel whispered hoarsely.

Ewald sighed and crunched himself through the opening; if a princess was willing to enter a hole in the wall, he supposed it must be tidy enough in there. Fortunately, there was a little more head room on the other side, and a proper explanation for why some walls seemed thicker than others, if one paid enough attention to note such.

Isabel led him away from the entrance, then closed it. He could see that there was a hinged wooden panel with a façade that resembled stone. He supposed that when closed the façade was flush with the proper exposed stone around it. Anybody who cleaned behind tapestries, which ought to happen every spring by Dulcibella's reckoning, would never see the difference. Perhaps Isabel abandoned this passage enough in advance of spring to let dust and cobwebs accumulate once again, to cover her tracks.

"Now, follow me exactly. Watch your head for beams and protrusions, and crouch as much as the wall space will allow."

"Understood."

Isabel led him through the awkward passage, which likely came about as an accident of construction rather than being a convenient exit. Then again, would Jonnecht himself not know of the more convenient routes of escape?

The pitch-dark wall passage ended at a drafty hole. Ewald supposed this led outside.

"Feel carefully for the edge with your feet, then reach slowly for the ladder until you grasp it," Isabel instructed.

"Are we climbing up, or down?" He asked.

"Down. Try going up and you'll run out of room for your head," she replied.

* * *

For a while they walked along some grass that bordered the nearest beach. They said nothing and listened to the waves.

Eventually, they made a sharp left turn away from the beach and arrived at the shoreline road.

Ewald saw a horse drawn wheeled box sitting there, perhaps the least luxurious craft he was prepared to ride in. Isabel smiled knowingly as she approached the idle coachman.

"Hello, sir. Same place, but my cousin here is along for the ride. I hope that will be no trouble," she said flippantly, knowing and expecting the answer.

The man tipped his hat. "No trouble at all. Might be cozy with the three of you, but I've seen more fit before..."

Isabel wondered how more had ever fit and laughed to herself at the possibilities as she led Ewald into the riding box. There was some straw bundled with a fabric cover for posterior support, but it looked like the sort of public riding box whose usual passengers would not be worth a thief's effort.

Liviana was waiting for them inside with a sack on her lap. Ewald wasn't surprised, given how inseparable the two were. That didn't by itself earn his trust, but Isabel's word held sway here. He wondered about the sack, whether it was a purse of some kind.

Once they were settled and moving, Isabel began: "You're permitted to ask every question you can think of, Ewald. In my domain, honesty is what we do, provided it's necessary and harmless. We live in a world of formalities that tax us over time, the displays we put on for social status or to avoid trouble; well, I want people in my domain to be as much themselves as they can. Just be prepared to answer with the same honesty."

"Do you know that coachman?" Ewald asked.

"Well, of course. I have to trust him quite a lot, given who I am and where we're going," she said.

Ewald nodded. "Right. How did he know we were on our way?"

"I cannot give away all my secrets. Apologies for that. I suspect you can guess this one."

Ewald paused for a moment, then asked: "He was just sitting here for who knows how long, was he not? Waiting for us. Because if you had a way of sending any message or signal, it could be intercepted."

"And what a good guess that is," Liviana observed sardonically.

"How exactly do you get him to wait here, may I ask? It sounds like it would cost a lot, even for a public riding box."

Isabel shook her head.

"Think of it like a measure of power. He has all day to accept passengers, but on certain nights, he is under my command. He knows who I am, and it just makes his day as a simple public box coachman to serve a Kenderley in person. And the element of disguise, you know, adds that excitement he lacks in life. Give someone a bit of fun, change life's monotony, and you may get things in trade. I nevertheless pay what humble amount he asks," Isabel explained.

Ewald nodded again. "He's here on your whim and loving it. Brilliant. If father ever catches you, he should be jealous."

"Call him uncle on our excursion," Isabel instructed, "you may have noticed I told the coachman you were my cousin, and that's our story from now on. Your uncle is less concerned with what I do, or he would have me watched. You, cousin, are extremely important, and it's to your credit that you escape unnoticed."

"I wonder who's watching the purse you use to pay him," Ewald mused.

"So much wealth, so many things to do, so little time to keep track of it all," Isabel smiled.

Liviana had become bored with this banter. She also knew the look Ewald gave her when he entered the public box and it left her concerned. Was Isabel the only friendly person in the family?

"I should like a turn. I never get to talk with your cousin," Liviana looked to Isabel.

Isabel nodded and gestured to proceed.

Liviana then looked at the Prince.

"I know your aunt wanted her to choose another lady. I'm not sure your uncle knows I exist, or whether I matter to him, and I don't necessarily care. But what do you think of me?"

Ewald's first impulse would have been to concoct whatever Liviana wanted to hear to keep her happy and stay out of trouble, but he remembered who governed this outing. He played by the rules.

"Well, I perceive you as an altogether sublime and intimidating lady. I get the impression you could break a man with nothing more than your little finger, but you don't see the everyday need," Ewald said.

He couldn't guess how Liviana was about to respond to that, her expression as perfectly unreadable as would be useful in the halls of power. He finished his statement, deciding he might as well.

"I never once see Isabel behave threatened around you, nor do I have occasion to fear. She's rather more at ease in your presence than I remember her ever being."

Liviana leaned back a little, as much as the cramped public box would allow, and considered this.

She traded truth for truth. "You always seem soft, friendly, accommodating. But you're honest enough to tell a lady of the Kenderley court she's anything but gentle and pretty, and I know how many of them would take that for an insult. I think you keep a certain bravery to yourself."

Ewald blushed.

"You're correct about my power and wise to respect it, though," Liviana finished, then turned to Isabel and said, "I think he'll have no trouble making friends. Show him the mask I made him."

Ewald's blush gave way to concern. "Are we taking the stage?"

"Not the way you think," Isabel said.

Liviana held open the sack while Isabel reached in and retrieved masks for the three of them.

"Where we're going, we value anonymity. This one's for you." Isabel offered him one.

Ewald looked at the ornately decorated mask, then donned it; best to get used to it quickly. He found it left ample room to see, to speak unencumbered, and, he expected, to bring a cup to one's lips comfortably. Then he thought back to the feast with the nobles and soldiers; the most honoured guests on another level looking down upon all those who had performed the real sacrifice, the drunkards on the upper level no more embarrassing and the weeping soldiers' camaraderie no less noble. Yes, they might never escape hierarchy, but perhaps it would be fun to interact on the same level for a change.

What a curious thing it was to wear a mask to dispel pretense and be more oneself. Now he wanted to experience how exactly that worked.

"I'm just astounded by how perfectly it fits, both circlet and mask. I don't recall letting you measure my head. You've done uncanny work," Ewald observed.

Liviana nodded. "Thank you. Mask design is a family tradition. We did it for festivals in the homeland. I don't mind doing it for fashion, since that's what's called for in Bayrock. I learned long ago how to size someone up reliably from a distance. You would never have known I was doing it."

The riding box finished its bumpy course from dirt to cobblestones and arrived at its destination.

"Since you would eventually ask, here we are, where the Machtige meets the Bay," Isabel said.

The three of them got out of the box, and Ewald imagined the horse and coachman would obediently sit a few buildings away and around the corner for however long this took. He tried to understand what life must be like when your greatest and most exciting honour was to conduct secret rides for the Princess. He respected the coachman's sense of duty.

"Experience tells me there's more to such a place than this would imply," Ewald looked all around the blank wall and single door and failed to find a crest or any prominent identifying feature.

He vividly recalled a day from years past, the time he visited the illicit sanctuary with his mother; here was another hidden place. He wondered whether they kept furniture on the ground floor.

"And yet, this is where us most important persons enter," Liviana replied.

"Is there much you can tell me that I need to know before we go inside? Or am I to spend all this time in a state of bewilderment?" Ewald asked.

Isabel rolled her eyes. She looked at him through a light cream mask with gold trim and accents, which matched well the untanned complexion of an oft-housebound princess.

"I shall tell you all that you need to know. First, stop being obsessed with knowing and preparation, and give yourself over fully to the moment. I may rule here, but you always have power over yourself. No one is going to do anything with you or to you. Second, take my hand, cousin, and let me introduce you to everybody at the start," Isabel took Liviana's hand and squeezed it, "we can help you if you need anything, but don't cling to us. Let wonder and curiosity be your guide. Oh, so many people will want to meet you!" Isabel said, with the end of her statement breaking out of reserve and into a rarely seen excitement.

"When you look that overjoyed, cousin, something dubious usually follows," Ewald said.

Liviana allowed a hearty chuckle for that; she knew too well.

"Oh, you will just have to trust me, will you not? Let us go have fun; let me speak your entrance," Isabel led them to the door.

Isabel rapped some complicated rhythm on to the surface of the door with her free hand. A hole in the upper midst of the door opened and a face with sun-reddened cheeks promptly peered out. Ewald wondered if the door guard worked the docks at noon to have seen such sun; decent choice for a guard, given how strong Ewald understood dock workers to be.

"Who goes?" Asked the door guard.

"You know who it is and who escorts her. You do not know my cousin, who is our third this evening."

"Cousin," the face said thoughtfully.

"From out east," Isabel said.

"Your cousin," the face retreated; the face hole was slammed shut, and the door proper opened to let them inside.

Ewald let himself be led inside, feeling the farthest thing from control. He could not help but imagine what fits of rage his father might enter if he knew Ewald let himself get spirited away like this. But there was Isabel to squeeze his hand and insist that he needed to look at this situation differently. He understood it was not in Isabel's best interests to get him in trouble, because she would share any trouble he got into. He felt the need to make her happy, then, by appearing to do as she said. The easiest way to accomplish that was, in fact, to do as she said, but this was so foreign to him.

The heavy door shut behind them and was secured with a plank of wood through metal holders. They were in a corridor with some wooden beams and panels running part way up the wall, then light grey stone up to the ceiling.

Ewald distracted himself by trying to run through what he imagined a fun place would be. He could picture some cozy den of stupor, but no, this had to be a place that Isabel would frequent, and she seemed too sharp to fit the type. He thought Isabel would settle for nothing less than a ballroom with a high ceiling. Was it a run-down facsimile of the celebrations they just left, then, but much less awkward? Yes, he had to admit that subtracting older family members, nobles, a quiet General and separated tiers from such a banquet would make it immediately better. He felt the mask on his face; he strained to imagine a gathering of equals.

But how was that better enough to risk serious trouble? He gave up guessing and waited the few heartbeats or so it would take for Isabel and Liviana to lead him to the main room.

The room was spacious and level. The ceiling was slightly higher than most rooms of city design, hardly palatial; a massive room with a high ceiling might have been more difficult to keep secret. It was decorated with dark painted wood, not stone, and the Etroukan rugs everywhere gave it a cozy feel. There was a fireplace on one end with stone around it and tiles in front of it, but this was not the central feature, just a fixture no doubt appreciated on colder nights. There were seats around smaller round tables, so people could face those they talked with. There were a few musicians setting themselves up near a mostly empty dance floor. There were a couple of hookahs, but no certainty what was in them, nothing that presently dominated the aromas of the room.

"So, the Matron arrives, and not alone," someone said, noticing the new entrants. Others stood up the quickest by way of polite greeting; every attentive person followed the cue.

There was a cacophony, not particularly loud or threatening, but a sound of group curiosity based on many intermingling individual voices.

"This is my cousin, from out east. Be nice to him, he has never been to a place like this."

Then she turned to him and let go of his hand.

"Well, cousin. Soon there will be dancing, which you can join or watch. There are places to lounge and talk, things to drink, things to smoke. Whatever you feel is your pleasure."

Liviana added sympathetically: "If you're unsure of what to do, do nothing at all, enjoy the sights, and feel the night."

He blinked and wondered if he had to come up with a name for this cousin persona. At least this involved no further physical disguise. He was unsure, after all, if anyone here revealed their names.

Since he was not well versed in what to smoke, nor particularly interested in inhaling smoke, the easiest first step was to get a drink. There was, along the wall opposite the fireplace, the type of bar one would find in a public house, perhaps better kept.

He went there and cast a glance back at the dance floor, wondering what sort of music would be made; he pictured regimented pairs dancing, perhaps organized into the group as a line. Yes, that would be a form of fun the palace had not seen in a long time, given that his father had no interest in dancing nor its demonstration.

"Are you looking for a drink, sir?" Someone on the other side of the counter startled him.

Ewald observed this person with short and wavy hair. They looked built to work on the docks with the door guard, used to heavy lifting; yet they lacked any telltale sunburns. The Prince couldn't place them as particularly masculine or feminine, but it was no trouble to him. He just needed someone to pour a good drink.

"Oh, well yes. I am new here, what do you have? Something cherry?" Ewald asked.

"Yes, you were introduced, the cousin. Call me Blythe." They said while quickly wiping a glass. "We got no orchard in here nor on the grounds, but we got hoppy brew from the back. Good batch this time, too. Might be more bitter than what it sounds like you're accustomed; you still interested?"

"Absolutely, that sounds like something to try," Ewald said, before realizing how light his pockets felt.

He patted around himself despite already suspecting the truth. He had been too deep in thought while preparing to come here.

Blythe read Ewald's frantic motions perfectly.

"You don't have your purse. I'll put it on your cousin's account."

"Yes, please do," Ewald said.

He took another look around while they poured the brew, this time at his more immediate surroundings. Nearby were a couple of women wearing long black dresses that appeared to cover their arms down to the gloves, or it all fit together as to appear seamless; their masks were bright but worn over veils. The striking arrangement might not fit a wedding nor a funeral, but something in him felt like this was the place for it.

"'Ere you go," announced the barkeep as they offered the cloudy, reddish brown concoction.

"Thank you," Ewald took the glass and turned to find that the women had approached him.

"You are the cousin of the Matron," one stated.

"Look at his teeth," whispered the other to the one, "all there and rather clean, yes, must be a cousin in good standing, same obsessions..."

"Now, let's not talk about him when he stands right before us. Give him a chance to say something," the first one suggested.

"Hello," Ewald said with amused puzzlement, "I am the cousin, yes. Those are quite lovely outfits you have there."

The taller one seemed cheerful. "Oh, so glad you approve! Come sit with us while you have your brew. You can call me Majhul, and my sister, Sayida."

He remembered Isabel's suggestion that he let things happen, and after all, what else was he going to do? And Isabel must not be concerned about anybody because she thought he was safe enough left to his own devices.

At least the conversation had a balanced awkwardness so far. A friendly one, if uncertain.

"Yes, I believe I will," he held the brew glass with his right hand while Majhul led him to some seating by a pillar.

Ewald was not one for starting or leading a conversation, so he spent the first while settling into his seat, trying to get a taste for the brew, and looking about. There was only so much he could see from any given part of the room; lamps were in abundance but most of them were rather dim. Enough to see where one was immediately moving, but not to pry.

But he became aware that the two women were not starting much, themselves, and might be waiting for him to lead the conversation, so he would have to do his best.

"Those veils are interesting. Is that the thing to wear in the city these days?"

"I doubt it," said Sayida. "We would have little idea what the thing to wear in this city is, as we are from abroad. I'm surprised you did not discern this from the way we talk."

Ewald remembered his cover. "Well, I'm not from here either. You speak the language quite well. And all kinds of people live in Bayrock."

"Ah," she nodded, "but the tone, the cadence?"

"Is it a problem if he did not notice?" Majhul asked her sister in their mother tongue.

Ewald sipped the brew, letting the bitter flavour roll over his palate before he gulped it down. He recognized that language. He concentrated on how to phrase his next statement.

Then he asked, in their language: "Are you only visiting, or perhaps hoping to stay a while longer?"

They paused for a moment, eyeing each other through their veils and masks. To their ears, his phrasing was unpolished, but he spoke intelligibly.

"I like your choice of names," he added in passing.

"Our parents sail the route to the Islands, circle around them, and return here. They let us stay in Bayrock for something to do," said Majhul.

Ewald took another drink and returned to his own language. "Now I feel like I shouldn't have done that. I apologize; this is all a new and bewildering experience for me."

"It's no trouble," assured Sayida. "It's, uh, refreshing you make the effort. So, the Matron was serious, you are entirely new; we have never seen you here, but we can only rarely attend. It's not a problem to explain how it works. If there is a question we do not care to answer, you simply will not get a straightforward response. Do you understand?"

"Simple enough, yes." Ewald took a deeper drink. Neither seemed genuinely impressed with his display and he was unsure whether he had expected them to be. What did he mean to accomplish by that? He needed to calm his nerves. He focused on the unfamiliar taste of the brew.

He found that if he was too short in his sip, the liquid was uncomfortably bitter. For some reason, if he took in more of the liquid, more subtle flavours came out. He also noticed that the sisters refrained from acquiring one of their own. He still wanted to converse with them but had already failed at choosing a good topic. He waited nervously for them to lead.

They waited, too. He wondered how they read his actions. At the very least, he wasn't awkward enough for them to leave.

The band started up, and there was nothing formal or martial about the sound, so Ewald was once again left to guess: it must be something the common folk put together in their spare time.

"Do you happen to know what style of dance that is? It looks quite viscerally driven, and disorganized; are they all possessed by some force?" Asked Majhul.

Ewald smiled at the finally broken tension. He glanced at the bottom of his glass, which was not entirely uncovered but increasingly visible through the diminishing quantity of brew. Then he looked up and over, at the controlled chaos of the dance floor. People moved independently yet together, and not in any coordinated fashion he could tell, yet they all seemed to have the presence of mind not to collide with the others.

He loved how they moved. He understood little of it, but it was a beautiful mystery.

Somewhere on the fringe of it was Isabel, who departed the confusing mass of bodies for a moment to drink from her own hoppy brew, then disappeared back into the fray.

Ewald began: "I have no idea what that dance is. It looks interesting and provocative."

He finished the remaining contents of his glass and continued.

"It seems strange how I can travel, without leaving my homeland, and find all sorts of people and places and things completely unfamiliar to me. It is remarkable, rather..."

They stood and moved their chairs directly next to Ewald.

Majhul sat down and lightly patted his free hand. "We see such dissatisfaction on your face, such burdens. We are not adding to that, are we?"

Ewald sighed. "No, but I wonder what you're doing now..."

Sayida took his empty glass away and put it on a table. "We're just spending time with you, because you look very lost, as if you don't realize you're among friends. What could you imagine we are doing?"

"I can't imagine, and this is where I feel uneasy," he said.

They sat next to him in their newly repositioned chairs and came no closer.

"Just this: we sit together, and we watch the strange dancing. We talk when we have something to say. This is all right, yes? Unless you would prefer to be alone," Sayida said.

Ewald felt an inner resistance. At no point in his upbringing were strangers allowed to get so close to him so quickly, and he had to experience this in such unfamiliar surrounds. No rigid social structure, almost no one familiar to his eyes, and nothing around him that he quite understood. Now the admonition against clinging to Isabel and Liviana sounded more like a challenge.

Yet Isabel brought him here to have fun, and from the look of the door guard, untrustworthy people shouldn't make it into the room. If he was unwilling to trust her, then why did he agree?

He thought back to a childhood memory; Sisters caring for his uncle. A coincidence quickly moved past, and back to the present: it was nice to feel cared about and quite something to make friends.

He gave in to the experience.

"Yes, let's sit together," he said.

* * *

In their part of the room, Liviana spoke to Isabel: "It's uncanny how close he will let anyone get even when he's visibly uncomfortable with everything."

"I'm not sure he knows how deeply he feels the others around him, and how badly he wants to be a healing and soothing presence."

"It's a good way to be, healing, but I wonder what he does when he has to fight."

* * *

The three stayed together and talked for the length of another song from the band, then the women stood, and stepped a few paces in front of Ewald before turning to face him again.

"Well, it has been interesting, very interesting indeed. Thank you," Sayida nodded.

"We have not much longer to stay, for our visit here has been rather surreptitious," explained Majhul.

"Ah, let me not keep you, then. Sisters," Ewald bowed his head.

They laughed, then put their left hands on their chests and bowed slightly, and said, "Cousin."

They departed to some unseen corner of the room. Ewald resumed watching the people on the floor, who were gyrating, hopping about strangely, like a re-enactment of ancient religious rituals he had seen artists depict in history texts. He looked for Isabel on that dance floor, but even after a lot of movement of bodies that should have revealed every person in time, he did not find her.

She found him with ease.

"One more hoppy brew on my coin; do bring your own purse next time." Isabel handed him the freshly poured glass. "But I suppose it's presumptuous of me to assume there will be a next time?"

"Oh, I've not had long to consider that. The Sisters offered to keep me company. I let them. This is all really strange, cousin," Ewald replied.

"We get all kinds of people here, you know, and to them you are the stranger. But is it a bad sort of strange, after all?"

Ewald took a hefty swig of the brew.

"I don't know. All I know is that I don't know. This is a lot."

Isabel patted his free hand. "It has been a big day for you. Would you like to go back?"

"Oh, well, already? Let me at least finish this second brew, so your coin doesn't go to waste."

"You looked good and relaxed with the Sisters after a time. I think they had fun, thanks to you. I can't guarantee their future attendance," Isabel said.

"They seemed very understanding. It was interesting." He wasn't sure how else to describe the situation.

"It was nice of you to leave them with a pleasant memory. You may want to reconsider showing off linguistic prowess when almost no one in our land knows Etroukan; it drops strong hints about you, though I suppose any cousin of mine could be well studied."

Ewald nodded in quiet agreement before taking another drink. That wasn't the first reason he regretted his display, but it was an important one.

She continued: "But you have some experience, now, meeting new people on your own. Not being introduced through our parents. I think you're more than capable of making new friends if you return."

He gulped more of his brew, and paused to ask: "I don't yet feel up for that strange dancing, so what else am I supposed to do here? Smoke something?"

"On further consideration, I would advise against that. People at home would question the smell. And slow down with the brew, if you end up too gassy then I shall make you sit on top of the riding box all the way home."

"Well, that would be no good, uncomfortable enough as it is inside the box," he quipped.

After some thought, he said, "I'll come back here someday. Not regularly, but some other time; if the Matron will have me, of course. It feels like I have more to do, to have fun like I see others having."

Isabel nodded. "The Matron is happy to oblige. As for dancing, that's tricky when we have to hide what we're doing at home. Imagine a music in your mind, use your memory of tonight if you must. And try to make yourself dance, in a tight place of your room, without knocking into any of the furniture."

Ewald thought about this, and gradually finished his brew. So, fun was strangeness seasoned with charm, and knowing how to be lost without letting it bother you. He silently committed to returning here. But for safety's sake, not regularly, and not for a while yet.

* * *

Dulcibella walked up to Isabel's door and carefully opened it. She brought her lamp into the doorway.

There was a bunching of blankets on the bed, perhaps some things underneath it placed to give the illusion of a body, and a wig mounted on something round, turned away from the door no doubt to hide the falseness of the head. The length of the wig was a close match to Isabel's hair, to the untrained eye in the dark. The giveaway was, Isabel had always been a light sleeper, and would have risen in protest at the incursion.

"Out again," Dulcibella sighed.

She was quite aware that her daughter slipped out, though not how. It had been difficult to understand the first time, but if Ewald was an adult, Isabel was close enough in age, and Isabel always came home safely.

The truth was, she considered it foolish for Jonnecht to want to control Isabel's whereabouts at night. At the very least, he was a fool for thinking this boundary would never be transgressed. He did have a keen understanding on how dangerous people could be. But did he listen to the idea of a chaperone, or having her sojourn with some ladies in a group? No, not good enough in his mind. The only point he had going for him was his equal unfairness to everyone; Ewald certainly had no night life and Bonifaz wouldn't dare.

Dulcibella carefully withdrew the lamp and shut the door. She liked to feel vicariously the transgressions of her daughter, because Jonnecht demanded such stifling control. The Queen felt too worn down over the years and lacked the stamina to argue with him much anymore; and arguing with a man of such brutal temper could be dangerous. If Jonnecht could not let Isabel go out from the palace, then good on Isabel for finding some brilliant way to escape at times. Overreaching rules sanctioned crafty rule breaking.

The other thing Jonnecht had in his favour, though only by accident, was his utter boredom with any parenting duty. This allowed Dulcibella to look out for her children, in subtle and necessary ways, even at his expense.

She wasn't concerned about Bonifaz; he should be asleep, but he could be illustrating. That left Ewald's door.

Dulcibella softly tested the door. It would not give. Whatever mechanism Ewald had installed, it was securely locked, and she could see no way one might open it from the outside. She hoped the secureness of the lock was proof enough that he was resting comfortably inside.

At least he must not be drawn out on adventures with Isabel, she thought. Oh, the absolute danger there would be if Jonnecht caught both breaking rules!

Accepting what she had discovered, Dulcibella returned to her chambers.

6

The Warmonger and the Gate Keeper

The East was comprised of several kingdoms who convened on matters of their mutual defense, for the biggest threat to them was Kensrik. One day, they hoped to humble this shared foe and to fairly divide the spoils.

Two stood to gain the most. One of them, Osterik, was the largest in the East and would contribute the most by far to a war effort. The other, Suur-Linnus, directly neighboured Kensrik and was the reasonable choice to gain the immediately bordering land. The other Eastern allies needed permission to pass through Suur-Linnus toward Kensrik as if the neighbour were a bridge with a toll.

That was why King Dietfried of Osterik only saw fit to meet with the gate keeper of the East, the Crown Joakim.

Crown Joakim stood to lose the most if this went poorly. King Dietfried needed to make sure his gate keeper knew everything would be all right.

The two met at an older fortification near their border, which at that time served as a staging ground for the buildup of tented soldiers and tethered horses for support wagons and for cavalry. Neither ruler would be particularly far from home, and neither could boast having summoned the other to his capital.

Dietfried greeted his fellow ruler, who was slim and had always seemed somewhat feminine to him despite the well grown beard the Crown sported.

"Ah, my ally. Well met. I am grateful you agreed to meet me here today," Dietfried bowed his head as he clasped Joakim's right hand with both of his in greeting.

Joakim bowed his head and put his free hand on top of the others to complete the greeting on his side.

"My mighty and ambitious friend. How is your family? How is Queen Matilde?"

"Oh, all healthy, busy; the children are in their schooling, and Matilde looks after the kingdom while I indulge in this brief travel. Shall we walk the battlements?" Dietfried replied.

"A fine view. Yes, let us," Joakim assented.

They walked past guards at attention, through doorways and up stairs that spiraled from ground level to the battlements. Dietfried let his ally lead, and ultimately gave him plenty of clearance. The Crowns of Suur-Linnus were fond of lengthy capes, trains, additions to their attire that swept along the floor behind them; they sometimes had servants whose sole job it was to carry that train, but these had not been chosen for this brief excursion. Dietfried frequently glanced at the ornate thread-work patterns on Joakim's train, somewhat floral, provided those were white flowers surrounded by light blue, and not stylish snowballs instead. He didn't intend to ask.

Dietfried had a cape of burgundy, jet, and gold, but he felt more practical about its length given that it did not drag when he walked.

They reached the battlements, which ran the length of the fort. In addition to providing a bird's eye view of many tents, tethered horses, and idle wagons and carts, one could see the sunset.

The sun set in the direction of Kensrik. As such, Kensrikans guarding the distant border were wary of sunrise, when the East might take advantage; on the opposing side, they steeled themselves before dusk.

"Tell me about the Beachwarren. Did you reach an agreement?" Joakim said.

Dietfried found it refreshing to be the focus of the conversation. "It will not take much of your time. The Beachwarren has independence up to the beginning of the peninsula but remains in trade with us—no hard feelings, except if you were one of the landlords at the shore. Then you would be left with a sudden drop in income, a difficult renegotiation of your rents in the best case."

"And this in no way jeopardizes your plans?" Joakim asked.

"They have been great benefactors, the landlords," Dietfried said. "I believe that we still retain a surplus from the centuries that the Beachwarren was part of Osterik. It could be many years before my coffers know of any loss from this turn of events. In the meantime, my forces are compensated, and there is plenty in reserve to keep paying them. The best part is, the new Lord Mayor of Beachwarren agrees they are no longer entitled to be defended by my soldiers. So many trained men no longer have posts to watch."

Joakim nodded. "A surplus of everything. Perhaps this becomes a problem if we wait too long to attack. Is this the impression you intended, friend?"

They stopped at the north end of the battlements.

"There would only ever have been so long for us to wait, Crown Joakim, lest our grandchildren be waiting in our stead, many years hence. And the Kenderleys all the more prepared," Dietfried reasoned.

"It is uncertain whether they would be more or less prepared now. Or have you heard some news of them that I have not?" Joakim asked.

Dietfried shrugged. "There was word of unrest on their opposite side, some rabble easily crushed by the sounds of it. That might have ended in the time it took for the messenger to arrive. It's difficult to say what that would have cost them."

Joakim frowned. "A great opportunity wasted if their forces had been occupied in sufficient number. If only such news had arrived sooner when it would have mattered."

"I want to begin to move the allied forces through your land, Crown Joakim, while the weather is mild. Please let me move this camp onto your territory, so we can begin our attack at a moment's notice. If the Kenderleys strike first, after all, would you not prefer to have them there for your immediate defense?"

Joakim laughed bitterly. "That was part of the risk to me all along, was it not? Living in the middle ground. Attackers would have to cross my land to reach you, bottlenecked through narrow mountain passes where we would mount our defense. The moment you move all our allied forces to the other side of my territory, toward Kensrik, your only practical move is to attack; should retreat be necessary, no one can flee from Kensrik's border all the way across to Osterik quicker than anyone could catch up to them. If the Kenderleys have any good mind in charge of their forces, they should know that, and they will certainly observe your build-up of soldiers. Understand the commitment you're making."

"I know," Dietfried admitted. "I consider all of my decisions carefully, as you appear aware. I would never call you an ally if I treated your well-being so flippantly."

"Ah," Joakim nodded as he watched the sun cross below the threshold of the mountains. "How very generous of you, friend. Please allow us time to set up a trail on our mountain passes, markers for the soldiers to read. As you might know, we leave the way unmarked to confound invaders; my subjects know their land by heart. I would not have allies lost and freezing to death."

Dietfried felt like springing up to kick his heels together in the air, but he needed his ally to see the weight of this situation. Joakim could say what he wanted about his territory being used as a shield, but had that not always been the case? Rather, there were further considerations about how comfortable Joakim's people would feel with foreign armies crowding in there. And once they were there, then came the logistics of feeding them, housing them... such considerations put a hard and practical limit on how long they had to wait before they must attack.

Now they really would make war, not vicariously through their heirs, but with steel in their hands.

"You have my thanks for your permission, Crown Joakim. On behalf of the other allies, for whom I am sure I speak just as well as I do for all Osterik, your trust shall not be abused, and you shall be rewarded handsomely. We will win you some beach front—"

"No grandiose promises, friend Dietfried," Joakim said. "Just know that I have placed trust in you, from a land and a people formerly at odds with my own, and I do this with great seriousness. Plan your next moves with the utmost care, for we would stand to lose everything before you would lose anything."

"You will lose nothing. You will gain, I have pure confidence in that," Dietfried said.

"Very well, have your confidence," Joakim replied coldly. "Is our meeting concluded? I will send word when it is safe for the armies to cross."

"If you feel you must leave, by all means," Dietfried clasped his hands and bowed his head in farewell.

Joakim replied with a curt nod and descended the stairs. Dietfried did not follow, discerning that his ally was in ill humour and wanted to see himself out.

The King of Osterik instead looked to the mountains where he would soon send whole armies; from there, they hoped to charge down the western slopes, and like a new river not to be stopped, push the Kenderleys all the way back to Bayrock, and there, smash the glass house that Jonnecht was building to taunt his foes.

He sighed. Ah, dreams.

Having allowed Joakim ample time to depart, Dietfried descended the same steps and selected which guards would escort him home.

They rode away from one set of mountains and toward another, to the terraced mountain capital with its sloping streets. They rode past peasants who stepped aside and bowed at the waist, and carts of merchants and food sellers, tailors, shoe cobblers, houses and shops, and musicians who dreamed of gaining wealthy patrons.

All streets led to a light gray crown of walls and turrets that had never been breached, a castle that never strayed from martial practicality in its exterior design. The interior was a different matter.

They slowed as the portcullis dropped behind them and the gates of the castle were closed, and they left their tired horses in the King's own stable, and the guards took their leave.

King Dietfried mopped his brow and looked forward to shedding the formal garb, which was not intended for riding, but which was necessary given who he had met.

Dusk was upon the outside world by the time he got home. The children were nowhere in sight, and likely had retired for the day, not expecting their father to come home while they were still allowed to be awake. Fresh logs burned in fireplaces on this ground level, the separate chimneys conducting smoke up and out, while heat was brought to the whole castle.

"Matilde, are you still up and about?" He called, not particularly loud, for the stone walls tended to echo.

"I'm here." His Queen emerged from a side room of the main floor, shaking the hair that had just been released from its tie.

He smiled at her gesture of relaxation. He felt like he too had been released from something that bound him, now that plans were in motion...

"It looked like beautiful weather out there," she said. "I hope your ride was equally pleasant."

He suddenly embraced her, leaving her startled and scrambling to react appropriately.

"Oh! It must have been very pleasant. Is there something you need to share with me, husband?"

He disengaged the embrace and put his hands on her shoulders. "It is beginning, Matilde," he said.

"What is? If they attacked us, I should not think you so happy," she said.

He shook his head. "No, they have not budged, they are icicles clinging to trees one must knock hard with a staff—"

"Now you sound poetic. It's been a while since you were like this." She smiled.

"We are moving the armies into Suur-Linnus, Matilde. Do you know what this means?"

She blinked. "Well, they must not stay there terribly long, or they will eat empty every barrel and silo in that land. It must mean something for it to be worth all that packing and moving..."

"No, they cannot stay longer than a few weeks at the most. They—we must attack."

He let go of her and gesticulated with excitement. "Now… now our destiny is at hand. They build glass houses, fragile things, they tempt and dare us as they have done for years; they must never think this time would come. But we will strike them hard, Matilde. We will make them bleed and hurt."

"And what shall they do to us in return? One heavy blow deserves another," Matilde said.

"Oh, but how would they do that, my beautiful and cautiously conservative wife, how? With what will they have to hit back, when they are decisively defeated on their own land? No, they will be so panicked that they will come to terms quickly. They will not feel unstoppable anymore."

"You want them to pay you for the privilege of making them bleed and hurt?" Matilde asked.

His arms slumped to his sides at her doubt. "I expect them to pay us, our allies included, for the privilege of not hurting them many more times when the sword is still in our hand and their most vulnerable point within easy reach. The way you look at me, do you think I have lost my mind?"

She shook her head slowly.

"No. Husband, you look excited, happy, care-free. And you sound precisely like a ruler who has never gone to war. Do you think at all of who you provoke with this grand gesture? The Kenderleys will repay blood with fire. You're overeager to risk that."

His countenance moved from unbridled joy to concern. Poor Matilde was going to be another Joakim, supporting him so much more but openly doubting his plans.

"Oh, I have left you frightened. No, they cannot touch this land, my dear. In the worst of all possible disasters, they would make their way through that mountainous labyrinth to our west, left to contend with Nature herself. They would not invade by sea when the combined fleet of our alliance is roughly their equal. I may look like an animal of pure emotion, but you see, I have reasoned this out."

She thought about this. "So, your generous ally Joakim, he stands to lose the most, should this fail."

"Matilde," he said softly, "I would never make such a choice to put you or the children in danger. I would sooner, and with deep regret, see Joakim become just a Kenderley vassal at too great a cost to our foes, knowing you would still be safe in our castle, awaiting news."

"Well, it's great to hear you have your priorities. I feel sorry for your friends," she said, bitterly.

"I would never put their safety before yours. You know this."

She thought he must be unaware of the implications of her words, of her tone. It was great that he remained this tender with her despite listening to her doubts, but she had known of his plans for so long and he would not listen to any other possibility.

"Then this is the best I can expect," she said. "I hope, of course, that everything happens in the manner of your wishes. I would never want you to fail."

Dietfried sighed. "Matilde, I think through every decision I make. Thanks to you, I think it through twice, thrice, countless times."

"Then why does my counsel mean nothing to you?" She asked.

"It means quite a lot. But on matters of war, it is unqualified," he said.

She nodded and turned half-way. "Well, then, if you're more qualified, I defer to your judgement."

She completed the turn and walked away. Judging from her tone, he knew better than to follow.

He stood there for a moment, wondering if he could say anything to make her think differently. Did she understand that it would only have been a matter of time before the Kenderleys grew restless and saw fit to attack again? Would she rather her eldest son grow up to handle this problem, or their grandchildren? Then the fight would happen, first in Suur-Linnus, and no matter how bitter Mother Nature struck, in Osterik.

He had to believe that no matter the outcome of this next conflict, the allies of the East were as ready as they would ever be.

7

Across Uncharted Waters

Proud Kenderley sails billowed on the wind.

King Jonnecht's personal ship was far too large for any practical use of his own, but it boasted a galley of soldiers, and the ship had three cousins equally armed. They were the most impressive of their kind. Even the most ambitious pirate would have kept distant.

He would have admitted his excitement, had anyone been able to compel him to do so, for he sailed where none of his ancestors had ever been, and where no Kensrikan explorer had bothered to look for over a century. They were sailing north; not to the Islands, a typical trade route for Kensrikans and a functional half-way safety point, but to the North proper.

Fishing vessels frantically pushed themselves aside so as not to be caught in the wake of such massive craft. There was no dock in this port large enough for Jonnecht's ship, but people on the shore did all they could to improvise under the circumstances.

On the beach, under a tall wide tent, sat a man whose mouth watered at the sight of the power being displayed to him. This was the man who had solicited King Jonnecht's presence. Sure, this man lived in a fortress to rival his guest's palace, visible in the distance, with towers overlooking the terraced hillside city and the sea, and this was no small accomplishment. It took considerable power to get so many people to lay down their lives building such a thing. But he had no fleet, nothing on the order of the Kenderley Navy.

Despite the disadvantage of world power, he met Jonnecht as he would meet an equal: no customary war mask, no intimidation. He stood at the approach of his acquaintance, and the cadre of guards around him, but this was a formality for equals, not something like kneeling or bowing.

"I hope you are King Jonnecht, not an emissary. I am Elcimer. Please feel free to enter the shade," he said, gesturing with hands toward the shaded area around him that contained not one single guard.

Jonnecht smiled, satisfied with the stranger's command of the Southern world's most spoken language, that of business, but also amused by the quaint musicality of the man's cadence.

"And I hope you are the ruler of this place, Elcimer. This would be far to travel for a decoy," Jonnecht replied.

"This place is called Selumer. It is the heart of my kingdom, the solid foundation of order in the North. Please join me, without your guards, as I have left mine in the sun also. It is a matter of good faith."

Jonnecht quietly marvelled at the singsong rhyme he could make from this man's name and the capital of his baby empire by the sea. Perhaps it was a similarity of meaning somewhere in a language that Jonnecht need not ever learn.

"I accept those terms; I do invite your guards to join us, briefly, in order to bring me a seat."

Elcimer blinked. "But of course," he then called out something in his mother tongue.

Servants brought a chair with wide legs at its base, perhaps made to remain stable in the uneven terrain. Jonnecht saw the differences between Elcimer and his servants, no two of whom were alike: some were pale and freckled, some were brown skinned, and each had a different shaped nose, which was all Jonnecht cared to notice with a quick glance. This nascent empire had brought disparate peoples together, just as Kensrik had once done.

Now came the crucial part: maintaining dominion. Jonnecht's ancestors had forgotten or voluntarily ignored the North because of how unstable it was. They recognized none of its rulers and offered no trade. Would the next despot recognize the treaties of a hated predecessor?

Perhaps that longing for stability was why Elcimer reached out to Jonnecht. What could be more stable than an alliance with the most powerful man in the world?

What might Jonnecht gain from ignoring tradition?

Jonnecht motioned for his guards to stay where they were. He graciously accepted the shade and settled into the well-cushioned seat.

"This is all an impressive display of your command. You carry yourself as a ruler. Feel free to tell me everything you believe I should know about this land, and your situation, and if there is anything I do not understand, I will reserve my questions for later."

Elcimer resumed sitting only after Jonnecht looked like he had gotten comfortable.

"Thank you for making this journey of faith," Elcimer said. "My father worked his whole life to make this place a secure seat of power, which his father had founded and fought intensely to defend. Now the neighbouring peoples bring trade instead of war, and look to their alliance with me, that we should protect each other and bring about a lasting prosperity. The fortress you see in the distance is my home and seat of governance; it will only grow taller. I hope that we can secure trade at a favourable rate with Kensrik, and there will then be a vast new territory's worth of goods available to your people."

"I can see some benefit of that to us," Jonnecht said, pondering what Elcimer had left out. Impressive displays like this were meant to distract from something. Considering Kensrik's long-term commercial situation, he easily understood how his new friend's offer could turn the tide of the trade waters.

Etrouk provided luxury goods, but as a single supplier for some items it commanded steep prices. The Eastern Kingdoms rationed their trade among themselves, except what independent merchants might smuggle, at a trickle and often also a premium.

It would change so much if Jonnecht could eliminate any problem with the Eastern embargo; perhaps he could exclude them from trade with a rising Northern power. Etrouk may also see healthy competition for once if he could encourage demand in Bayrock for exciting new luxury goods from elsewhere.

But first, he must uncover the bitter truths hidden behind Elcimer's tale. No one wanted to negotiate from a weak position. There was power in the perception that all was well, that one was on the cusp of leading a golden age in one's homeland. That was why Jonnecht didn't mention the recently quelled uprising or the impending war with the East. If Elcimer wanted to learn the hardships facing his guest, let him do the work to send informers around the world.

Then Jonnecht found his angle.

"Tell me about these allies, friend. I see none of them here with us. Have they selected you to lead them?" Jonnecht asked.

Even if their coalition were unequal, the others would have insisted on sending representatives to witness this historic moment. Perhaps there was not yet any formal coalition.

If his new friend wanted to use an agreement with Kensrik to leverage a leading role, Jonnecht was not about to give him that for free. He could not fault the man for trying.

"They have not done so yet. The flow of wealth, over time, should secure my power," Elcimer studied his guest carefully and shifted slightly in his chair.

"Over time, it should," Jonnecht agreed. "Would it not be gratifying to bring about this change of circumstances sooner?"

Elcimer looked amused, but fortunately, not offended.

"This meeting is all about trade, as you have presented it," Jonnecht continued. "But it is a matter of what we offer first, perhaps, as a token of Kensrik's sincerity. Is it not?"

"You are not simply standing on the heights where your ancestors brought you, wise King Jonnecht; you have vision of your own."

Jonnecht nodded. "Thank you, noble Elcimer. They were great heights indeed, into which I was born, but as I hope you understand, empire is not just the attainment of power for oneself. Empire is something which must be maintained. Kensrik is always open to new trade, new goods for its people, but what I see here is a unique opportunity. Let me indulge in a story, and feel free to correct me where my assumptions are wrong."

Elcimer signaled for servants to bring them nuts and fruit; this display of authority contrasted with how Jonnecht now made him feel, and it gave him something to do other than look nervous. He glanced for a moment at the Kensrikan guards outside of the shade and thought he might smell them sizzling in the midday sun, their bright metal helmets so ill-suited to their orders. And yet, without a complaint to be heard among them.

"Feel free, indulge."

"You have a task ahead of you, with multiple allies in a coalition, bordering each other and you," Jonnecht said. "All to protect each other, you say, but perhaps this means they would protect themselves from you if it came to that; who do you fight first? You would have little time to conquer one without leaving yourself exposed to the others, and if you were able to spread your forces across them all and still defeat them, I think you would have already done that. You would like an exclusive ally against them."

"Trying to conquer and hold them all has been the downfall of many a predecessor."

Jonnecht hoped he did not look as smug as he felt for being right. Elcimer had not even feigned denial.

"I'm always glad to deal with a proper student of history. One best suited not to repeat mistakes."

Jonnecht paused to accept an unfamiliar fruit, and held it, not hungry, nor appetized by the look of it. Declining would have been impolite and so would tossing it away. He supposed he could give it to one of his guards later.

Then he continued: "None of your neighbours have a friend of my power, correct?"

"I'm certain they don't. I'm the most powerful in the North." Elcimer said.

"I have anticipated this situation, and to expedite our talks on this sweltering day, I have arrived here prepared to make an offer," Jonnecht said. "It can involve weapons, and it may even include soldiers to bear them. But please elucidate your terms and suggest what is most comfortable to you."

Elcimer's countenance darkened. "Terms. There are many facets to that word, in my culture if not your own. I rather like you, so I will make this clear immediately. I will not be ruled by your land. If that was your hope, to gain a vassal, I have enough respect to let you leave in peace and we will speak no further."

Jonnecht paused. "My friend, these are terms of agreement, not surrender. I will admit that even if I had designs on your land, I don't have the first idea what your peoples need or how to maintain control here. And the North being vast, my life is not long enough to learn what could be necessary to rule it; Kensrik is vast enough, and quick to gain at the expense of neighbours of whom you may not be aware."

They stared at each other for a moment. Jonnecht didn't appreciate being distrusted. Elcimer was too proud to retract his remarks, though he now questioned their usefulness; he sounded threatened.

Jonnecht broke the silence first. "I respect your feelings, Elcimer. There will be nothing complicated about my offer. I have brought with me longbows, inspected and battle ready, and some arrows which I believe you could easily reproduce. The accuracy at a distance depends only on the wind, and the ability of the archer. All other things being equal, your arrows could punch through a breastplate and all but the thickest of helms. Consider this my first offering, in exchange for which I only ask that we continue to do business. "

Elcimer nodded slowly and sank a little in his chair as if he could finally relax. He smiled lightly, as if a new game had begun. This man was unsuspecting enough that he thought Elcimer needed longbows explained to him. It was good to be underestimated if one knew how to exploit it…

"I have weapons, but if yours do as you claim then they should confer an advantage. They do not increase the size of my forces, which will eventually become necessary."

"My men are not mercenaries; I cannot sell them to you. It would be a greater show of faith to lend you their services, letting you command them when they should belong solely to me."

"If you want our trade, that is a concession you shall make," Elcimer said.

Jonnecht stared for a moment as if the demand had impressed him. It hadn't, but he earlier made this man feel threatened; now was the time to manipulate him toward better feelings. He needed Elcimer to believe that this was a priceless and hard-fought compromise. It was nothing expensive to Jonnecht, and it opened the door to what he would ask in return.

"But of course. Weapons alone would not make your armies larger. It is your great fortune that I have forces to spare, though not with me today. If I am willing to do this for you, however, I should like exclusive access, above and beyond all other traders. And if merchants with the home port of Bayrock complain about tariffs, we will need to meet again."

"Are these the entirety of your terms, my friend?"

Jonnecht made a matter-of-fact gesture. "As I said, I have no need to rule you, or any part of the North. I do have a use for trade. You have named your terms, and I accept them."

"Very well," Elcimer said. "I hesitate to ask when these soldiers can become available, when the fact that they are offered is itself most gracious. It is all in the planning of war, you see."

Jonnecht stood, his tone now wholly calm and friendly. "Please feel free to smite your enemies whenever you see fit. I can summon soldiers for you as quickly as I can sail home. My new friend, these have been fruitful discussions, and I thank you for the invitation."

Elcimer stood, bidding a farewell similar in physical form to his greeting.

"Thank you for making the journey. I hope your ship's map makers took note of the route."

"No new trade map will be without it."

8

Ill Tidings

It was not the day after the victory celebration, nor the week after it, but General Conrad remained in Bayrock; the western division of the Kenderley Army remained close to the eastern. At this point, he would not choose to move. There was good reason for his side of the Army to stay here in the capital, where it could easily be dispatched to reinforce its counterpart, and Conrad sometimes wondered if he ever would leave this place.

At least it made for better surrounds if one liked to get drunk. He preferred the salt of the Trade Waters, the reek of fresh caught fish in the markets, and everything the city offered compared with the smell of yellow rock and belching mountains.

Bayrock was the heart of the known world, and a healthy heart at that. There were signs of age, but constant renewal. There was no dread here, for no hostile army had reached this place in a terribly long time, beyond living memory. Thus, the energy of Bayrock was far different than the unease of the Valley of Garnecht, where old enemies slumbered next door, or the ashen South West where blood had recently been shed.

In this place, Conrad might be happy at times. He saw simple folk going about their jobs, worrying only about the tasks in front of them, about getting by and about profits, or how their neighbours were doing, not whether they would live or die or ever be free. They were, perhaps, freer than Conrad. On their faces he saw why he fought, why he killed. And in their words, he felt welcomed, for people were not uniform here; should he be regarded with any greater suspicion than sailors making a run from the Islands or from as far away as the scarcely charted North?

But his idyllic time at the public house was soon to be interrupted by ill tidings.

* * *

A hooded woman arrived by the river ferry. If one could not sail to port by Trade Waters for any conceivable reason, and one needed to make the journey by land, one made the most of the River Machtige and its ferries. The other choice was to ride slowly past the shacks and slums immediately west of Bayrock, with no reputable place to tether one's horse for the night. The river provided a quicker and more sensible manner for people and wealth to travel.

The woman had no horse by the time she reached the river. For her, then, the choice was clear. She claimed she had a message to deliver to Jonnecht himself, and having visible proof of that, she no longer needed to pay the toll. But her secret orders were to deliver the news to another man first.

Once she arrived at the final stop, where the river mouth widened and emptied into the bay, her journey became more difficult. Random passersby would not know where to find the General of the Kenderley Army, Western Division, yet ignoring this step of the journey and going straight to Jonnecht would have been impractical. She was not about to request royal audience and wait at length to deliver urgent news; for everyone in that line, their problem was an urgent problem, and she was not free to explain why to anyone except Conrad or Jonnecht.

She found a couple patrolling members of the city guard; they were most likely to understand the importance of her mission.

"A letter with the Kenderley seal, but it arrives here?" Asked a guard.

She quickly hid the letter once again.

"The seal is for a greater authority to break. I was instructed to deliver this under highly specific conditions. Who, in authority, is available to meet me?" She explained, then asked.

The guards looked to each other, then one spoke to her again.

"The Great King has recently returned to the capital, and I might not trouble him without knowing what it is. You say you cannot tell me?"

She sighed. "It need not necessarily be seen by the Great King himself, if one such as General Conrad is available."

The guards could agree to those terms. If the General himself had no knowledge of her, they could seize the letter and see what the fuss was about; they saw no risk to themselves, provided they watch her closely. She did look and sound like a Kensrikan, which was of great value to their trust.

"He's not far, actually. Should I flag us a public riding box, then?" One asked the other.

"For three people? No, look for something higher class," he replied.

"And pay so much extra for such a short ride?" The first balked.

"Nay, if this is truly the General's business, we're sure to be reimbursed. If this turns out to be a ruse, we know who will pay," he looked to the hooded woman.

She shrugged. "Fair terms. But if he's not far, as you say, we could walk."

"A short distance by carriage, not to our feet," explained the first.

She nodded. She had been on her feet for quite some time, anyway.

After some loud yet barely intelligible argument, a higher quality carriage brought them to a public drinking house along the main road with a bright crest high on its outer wall. To her eyes it looked like any other, but this one must be the choice of Conrad himself.

* * *

Conrad looked up from his brew, stroking his beard as he heard people at the entrance. He wouldn't expect many other customers at this early time; he had practically ordered the place open, not caring whether it was the proprietor or a deputy who poured him his steady liquid diet.

Then he saw the woman amid the capital guards. After she doffed the hood of her street cloak, he recognized her wavy red hair that went past her hood and her soulful eyes. He immediately set down his drinking vessel and very nearly tipped the table with his knees while he tried to stand.

"General Conrad," she said.

"Sir. You know this woman?" Asked one of the guards.

"Absolutely. Thank you for delivering her to me safely. Be on your way and leave us here, to discuss whatever matter is at hand," Conrad said.

One guard turned to leave, and the other said, "Private riding carriage, waiting outside for compensation. Apologies, sir."

"Bah. Well, if she told me you had crowded her into a public box with the two of you, I suppose I would have tracked you down later and had words," Conrad had a series of pouches, filled to different degrees with different coinage, and one of them was marked for travel compensation; he tossed a couple of gold coins at the guard who most recently spoke, who fumbled the coins at first but still caught them in the end. Then this guard followed the other out the door.

"Frederique. You needed a carriage? What happened to your horse?" He asked after they sat down together.

She pursed her lips in thought, then replied: "I was ambushed on the way. They will bother no one ever again."

Conrad knew her well enough to believe it. From her tone, she must hope he wanted no further elaboration, a wish easily granted.

"I am already sorry to hear the news you bring, but I am doubly glad to see you here safe," Conrad said before taking a big gulp of his drink.

"Need this letter be opened, then? It seems as if you already know what brought me here," she said.

"I require specifics, as would our regent. How ill are the tidings?"

"You know the province. Not a sophisticated weapon to be had among them, as you would never have allowed such. All guards hired from the populace by the governing lord, something about benevolently fostering their loyalty—and the ones he hired kicked him out. They state that now is the time to govern themselves. As for this letter, the governing lord, having been exiled from his own region, will be along within a few days to tell the King his story."

"He left at the same time, yet you deigned to deliver this letter, just to arrive a day or two faster?" He asked, trying to determine the timeline.

Frederique shook her head. "My source informed me before the uprising, but not long before it was supposed to happen. I left knowing what they planned to do. About as peaceful a revolt as I ever heard of. Given the peculiar notions of Lord den Holt, running everything with the locals, and all of them in on it? I saw no way it could be thwarted, yet very unlikely they would harm him. Did no one pay attention to the absurdity of the situation? Did the Great King never question it?"

Conrad put his glass down after a thoughtful swig. Den Holt had an uncharacteristically beautiful idea about what empires were meant to be. If one needed to control other parts of the world, why not use kindness and prosperity to sweeten the deal?

Conrad had always been surprised Jonnecht authorized such benevolent methods, and he doubted this would ever happen again.

He broke out of his musings to ask: "How unlikely is 'very unlikely they would harm him', in your estimation?"

She smiled. "Very unlikely is exactly as it sounds. His daughter is said to have orchestrated some of it, from inside their home. Conrad, I know you have met them. Do you see her agreeing to anything which would cost his life? I expect them to politely see him to the border, perhaps even give him a donkey and a cart for his belongings."

Conrad quietly evaluated the information, while Frederique looked at him expectantly.

When he first became commanding officer of the Western Division, Conrad had found a willing agent, someone who had sources. He had left her with this sealed letter to deliver, sparing even the time it would take to write a new message, for there would only be one reason she might deliver one. Her sole task, to keep informed of the goings-on in the Valley of Garnecht.

Lord den Holt's policies complicated this task. He insisted his region should not be garrisoned with Kensrikan guards, nor with Kensrikan overseers or watchers beyond himself; he wanted the populace to feel looked after, not conquered, as if gently guided to prosperous lives. Conrad could not even plant someone in commoner's attire directly among them when a Kensrikan would immediately stand out. There was nothing to gain moving from a place as great as Bayrock to settle in that province; it was unheard of.

Frederique lived near the great Woods and traded with the locals. She had established connections and a cover story that was excellent because it was true; it was her daily life. It just wasn't all that she did.

"Is there really no way whatsoever that you could have warned me sooner? Be honest." He spoke.

"I sincerely wish there was," she said. "You must realize that most of these people don't care to be informed. They keep their heads down and take care of their families. If I were any less subtle about finding people in the inner circle of the revolt, it would become too obvious what I was doing, or what my contacts were doing. For most of them, this is known to happen once in a lifetime, like past instances their parents or grandparents speak of. The region has changed hands so many times that most have no personal connection with whomever is entering power because they know it never lasts. The good news is, most of them see no purpose in violence if it's simply to change the face of their rulers."

He nodded and finished his drink. He gestured to the barkeep to pour him another one.

"Are you all right, General? It seems to me we should deliver this message without delay. I do hear the King recently returned from a journey by sea, but after all, there is no better time..."

"There is no good time for bad news," Conrad said. "Have no illusions about being rewarded by him, as the bearer of such, no matter how diligent and quick you are. Nay, give me the letter, and I will reward you of my own purse, which anyway is that of the Army. Take the gold and return to your quiet life and speak not of this business again."

She placed the sealed letter on the table, then placed her hand on his.

"You bear many burdens. I hate to make you shoulder another. Are you certain?"

"As your commanding officer I make this decision. I am well-qualified for the task, and safer than any other could be." Conrad removed a most hefty coin pouch outright and placed it in her hand, indicating she was released from duty.

She whispered: "Should he exile you from this wonderful place, you know where I can be found."

He smiled and whispered back: "Go now. Thank you for everything."

She took her gold and obeyed the final order.

The barkeep brought Conrad another brew. He grunted as he snatched the unopened letter from the table.

He nursed his drink. He considered the knowledge now in his possession, and what King Jonnecht could know. Frederique was a privately and surreptitiously hired agent, a hire made independent of the Kenderleys themselves. What he had in his pocket should not exist to the King's knowledge.

Furthermore, she had been certain that Lord den Holt was on his way to Bayrock with a message of his own. That man was likely doomed no matter who told the King first, so why not let den Holt be the one to deliver them?

When he finished the hoppy brew, Conrad thanked the barkeep with a generous gratuity and left the public house. The General then found the nearest publicly accessible wood stove, and Frederique's letter found its fate by fire.

He continued walking. He would eventually require a strategy, even if he would not formally be asked for one until a few days hence.

9

A Fresh Crisis

"I have been over this again in my mind all the journey here. I can think of nothing we left amiss; no need we overlooked. I don't understand how they could do this to us," Lord den Holt said, too distracted to realize he was nervously running a finger over the frayed edges of a hole in the breast of his dusty long jacket.

Jonnecht had arrived home to a fresh crisis. He no longer had time to play with empires in their infancy or establish the terms of the game in other realms. The man in front of him had his full attention.

How often did the one responsible for a failure see himself peacefully into the room and confess to everything?

"And Zinnia, my own daughter; I raised her, I taught her…" the ex-governor said, weeping.

Another revolt, this time north- instead of south-west. The Valley of Garnecht and the province around it declared independence. It had to happen now, when General Conrad was at leisure in the capital and his Western Division already moved across the empire to reinforce defense against the East. It was not an uprising in progress, but one that had already declared success a day after it began.

This, according to Lord den Holt who related it all in person.

"I've heard enough!" Jonnecht interjected. "I've given you that daughter's lifetime to prove your bizarre notions, and you almost had me convinced. 'Benevolence,' you said. 'Give generously and make them love you, or it breeds resentment.'"

Jonnecht slammed the unsealed message on to the desk and pointed his finger down upon it so hard that he nearly jammed the digit.

"This tells me how much they love House Kenderley. They thank me for everything I gave them and on the same piece of paper insist it is theirs to keep. All that wealth sunk into their city, into what once was your estate. I noticed they never mention my name. They thank you, you weeping pathetic fool."

Den Holt's expression betrayed no fright. He wore the same despair on his face since guards had shown him to the office doorway, and likely prior to that. Jonnecht expected those tears were for a rebellious daughter now estranged and a shattered dream.

Nothing offended Jonnecht more. He wanted to know that this man feared him.

The King continued: "I had profitable new ventures to investigate, but what does it mean when the least armed and most peaceful region can just walk away from my empire without a single life lost? If I didn't know as much as I do about the Wancyeks, I would expect them to move in. Even so, this makes Kensrik look feeble. This makes your Great King seem weak unless he retaliates. Who do you think pays first?"

Den Holt couldn't look him in the eyes. He had thus far been staring toward the letter, though perhaps not at it. He remained silent.

"I hereby revoke your title. I won't even have to bother with who gets your estate, since you already gave it away." Jonnecht said.

His eyes widened. "I don't have anything left but a penniless title, and you take that from me?"

Jonnecht barely let him finish before slamming the desk with both palms and yelling: "You're complaining? How about I take your life?"

Den Holt's chair nearly tipped over with his desire to back away, and then he remembered he must stand if he hoped to flee. Jonnecht stood immediately after and toppled the desk toward the object of his rage, dumping papers everywhere and spilling ink all over his master copy of a freshly marked shipping route. The man narrowly dodged the top-heavy furniture and slipped on the mess of papers that had scattered over the rug. He managed to regain his balance.

"Hand over that governor's medallion!" Jonnecht yelled.

Den Holt fumbled with the clasp in frightened haste. He would have broken the chain to surrender the medallion that was attached to it, but it was of durable craftsmanship.

Jonnecht looked to a large decorative vase which sat on a pillar next to the wall nearest him. He shattered it against that wall with one blow of a gloved fist, then grabbed a large remaining shard with a narrow enough portion to grip and a tapered point.

"I can slice off your head if it gets me that medallion quicker. It's worth more than your life."

Den Holt thought that would be impossible using only what Jonnecht held, but he didn't intend to find out. He pulled the chain up his chin and felt the uncomfortable bunching of his ears as the chain barely scraped past them, grateful that the fit was just loose enough. He held it far from himself toward Jonnecht, not daring to get any closer.

Jonnecht snatched the chain and medallion away.

His voice returned to a menacing calm and he let the shard fall to the floor with the rest of the vase.

"I've no further interest in your fate. Get out before I reconsider that."

Ex-Lord den Holt trembled. "Where do I go?"

"I don't care as long as I never have to look at you again. Ask those people at the west end if they have room in a shack somewhere. Get out and don't trouble me further."

After the fateful man obeyed, Jonnecht ran a gloved hand through his hair and observed what he had done to that office. All his plans for Elcimer were scattered on that floor with bits of pottery and splashes of ink. When servants hesitantly approached to clean up the mess, he instructed them to dispose of it all.

Elcimer would have to take care of his own problems. Jonnecht had urgent use for those promised soldiers.

* * *

Bonifaz finished riding lessons and headed toward his room to read whatever was there, perhaps to draw, and certainly to imagine better days.

As he turned alone into the hall, Ewald was there, smiling and waiting.

The older brother nodded toward his own room.

"Door's got a latch," Ewald said. "Does yours?"

Bonifaz frowned doubtfully at the suggestion of improved privacy. Keeping secrets from their parents was usually more trouble than it was worth, but not when father was that angry. They went to continue this conversation in Ewald's room.

Ewald shut and latched the door behind them and brought out the chair from his study desk. Bonifaz sat on the edge of the bed.

"Terribly sorry for interrupting your urgent studies," Ewald said, still grinning.

Bonifaz brought a neatly folded paper out of a pouch.

"I can hardly focus on lessons right now. How about I show you what I have really been drawing?" The younger brother asked.

"I see no harm in that. So, you've been drawing instead of writing. Tut tut."

Bonifaz unfolded the paper and revealed the image of a four-armed woman who looked rather generously busted.

"Ah, quite scandalous indeed. Is there any particular reason your dream woman has, well, four arms?"

"I couldn't decide between two gestures, so I drew her with both of them."

Ewald let out a soft chuckle.

"The execution is wonderful, it's just the concept I didn't understand," Ewald's tone quickly shifted to an earnest one, "I had in mind another discussion. One to be quickly forgotten and unnoticed by any other. As such, hushed tones are called for; the door latch does not muffle sound."

They sat there for a while, staring at each other.

"What is there to discuss?" Bonifaz asked. "One revolt put down, another springs up, like some sick game father plays. A war without end, fought in our own land."

"Is that satisfactory to you?" Ewald asked.

"As if that is any point beyond moot. It will just be us, our family, one day, in a lonely palace with all the rest of the empire 'put down'. Any other army in the world, upon sight of this cursed land, will refuse to set foot or hoof here lest they become cursed like us. It will never end, and we will never escape."

"Oh, you indulge in such fantasies, brother. A nightmare, indeed. The truth, no less aggravating."

"Fantasies are all I am left with."

"What if I said that you could have a most important role in changing things?" Ewald asked.

"I would wonder what you could possibly mean by that."

"You, the scholar. Copying and writing. And no one looks through all that paper you mark. It seems like a wonderful place to hide something."

"But why write about this if no one is ever to see it?" Bonifaz asked.

"Brother, it's about when they'll see it. Most of the honest history keeping we find today survived because it was written in secret. And whoever could stand to gain from revising it was often dead before it came to light. I need you to write. I also need you to keep my journal collection safe, because one day a door latch will not be enough to stop him."

"What, so future generations can know how terrible this is?"

Ewald shook his head. "Not just that. I need you to write about him. Exactly what sorts of things he says, and how he behaves. Simply write the history of us these days, our family story, and keep it secret, for you are the least watched of us. If you're not sure where to begin, look to the journals I'll give you for inspiration. Can you do that for me?"

Bonifaz just stared at his brother.

"Well," Ewald continued, "I shall have to trust you. Speak no assent, and do not ask how helpful this will be; what we do not know, we cannot let slip. And it is him you write about, things about him—but not beginning with this conversation."

"What conversation?" Bonifaz asked.

Ewald smiled. That was just the response he needed.

* * *

"Of all the times you would risk offending our father," Isabel said.

Ewald tracked her down in the hallway between their rooms when he knew neither had a lesson or responsibility, no absence from elsewhere which would raise concern. He was dressed in tan trousers that ended at the knee and a white shirt with rolled-up sleeves, part way to being prepared for training. She wore a light-yellow gown of snug fit around the shoulders but loose around the midsection, something that would feel comfortable while studying.

"There is never a good time, Isabel; never a safe time," Ewald said. "But after all, what will he find out about this in person? He's already sailing west, goodness knows why, something else for the nobility to whisper about."

Two columns of soldiers accompanied by siege weapons had already sailed to put down the latest uprising. After delay and consideration, Jonnecht himself set sail with reinforcements. He once again wanted to be present for victory after others had secured it for him.

The second uprising had everyone's attention. Some thinkers with the public ear wondered how stable Jonnecht's reign would look when he needed to brutally crush one uprising after another. Nobles of strategic mind quietly wondered whether the East would hear of this new uprising before it was finished—and while the regent was out gallivanting. There were pragmatic questions about West Kensrik's cost to the rest of the empire, but these were a recurring topic; some would always question whether the land had been worth taking to begin with.

Ewald continued: "But the remaining people at the palace are either below us in hierarchy and easily bribed, or mother, who would be upset with us, but wouldn't dare tell father for our sake when he's already this angry. No, Isabel, now is the very time that I need to get away."

Isabel nodded. "Have I made you realize and viscerally feel your doom? All I wanted to offer you was a taste of fun, for my own amusement. You are still the one who must someday claim our father's responsibilities."

"Two tastes is still far shy of the full meal. And perhaps power needs to learn lessons about fun. If we need me on the throne, we need me there understanding our people, not being aloof of them."

Isabel shifted uncomfortably. "Does it give you no pause, the house of hatred in which we now dwell? From the sounds of his rages, our father would build his next throne from the skulls of his enemies. What happens when he gets a compelling reason to be angry at us, who are always within his reach?"

"You have a bit of Bonifaz' imagination in you," Ewald said. "But with father about to set sail, or already on the waves, you realize this is one time when we are not within his reach."

Isabel shook her head, expecting her brother to persist insufferably. "Very well, future king. But not now. This can happen once it gets dark, and when certain others have retired for the evening."

Ewald said, "Not now, agreed; I have fencing to do."

"Not even today, in fact," Isabel said before turning to depart. "I'll find you tomorrow."

* * *

General Conrad had been surprised and frightened by Jonnecht's decision to depart for the Valley of Garnecht with more soldiers than planned, since Conrad desired for this atrocious retaliation to be limited but sending more soldiers would strengthen it. The strange impulse of the King did, however, bring one benefit: while Jonnecht was away, he could not order any more of Conrad's soldiers to be tied up in that foolishness. And in the King's absence, Conrad no longer had a reason to delay what he preferred to do, which was send every remaining soldier from his division to reinforce their brothers against the East.

After all, their waiting enemies would hear about this uprising, and they would likely act on the information.

Now, with the last of the soldiers deployed, Conrad himself rode east to meet Garulph, the General of the Eastern Division. He was a handsome and impeccably dressed man with a strong chin who rode a black horse with exquisite barding. Conrad knew him to be honest, dependable, and smart, and would have trusted no other to watch the East.

It was a difficult task for the mind, preparing every day for the likelihood that the Eastern Kingdoms would finally strike. Even more difficult than that: getting soldiers to believe, train, and live routinely as if they might have to grab their weapons at the sound of a horn.

The two men met on horseback.

"General Conrad. The one man I will never not look up to. I noticed your men beginning to infiltrate my ranks; what brings you all to the quiet East? Feeling blood lust from that western business?"

Conrad nodded in salute. "General Garulph. Our Great King, thus enraged, has occupied some of my groups in his vengeance quest, for which he requires none of my strategic thought; he certainly gives me this impression as he sails there now with forces above and beyond what I suggested were necessary."

Garulph sighed with exasperation. "What does he intend to do over there that you could not? Aside from put himself in needless danger. Do you, then, know something I have yet to discern? Or is it a matter of doing the sensible thing and reinforcing us against the true threat?"

"We think alike," Conrad confirmed. "It is much too bad he does not defer to us further."

Garulph turned his horse a bit but continued to address Conrad.

"When it becomes personal, what else will he do? The other fortunate thing, I suppose, is that his foolish errand brings him far from this place. What threat would he face there, compared to here? If he is to sail for fun and killing, let him do it there. I do agree it's a shame he should sail anywhere at all when the palace was built for his protection. For what were we appointed?"

"To talk with each other, to have better ideas, and to drink." Conrad suggested.

"I have no argument with that," Garulph agreed. "Let your well-groomed horse follow my own, and I will give you a tour of the defensive lines while they remain quiet."

* * *

The capital fortress of Crown Joakim did not directly overlook Kensrik's eastern border, but it was close enough for swift communications from a future battlefront.

In his fortress were servants whose duty it was to interpret the coded signals relayed to them with flickers of light reflected off polished metal with glass coating. There had been different kinds of signals in other eras of history, such as the lighting of some torches, or the raising of different flags, but these systems allowed Kensrikans to know that something was happening even if they didn't understand the code itself. Joakim needed a way to signal his allies, not only in code, but in a manner that was invisible unless one knew how to look for it.

That day, at noon, guards at the fortress lookouts began noticing sustained reflected light. It was too persistent to be an accident and at that distance it must be aimed directly at them by someone who knew how the system worked.

"Crown Joakim," said the code servant to his ruler, "I have received troubling news from the villagers."

"Speak."

The servant bowed his head and continued: "The Kenderley Army is definitely adding to their numbers, not a doubling of the force but perhaps an additional three quarters its usual size."

Joakim nodded slowly. "We might expect their attack. Or it may be a bluff, to get us to strike them. Alert the encampment and bring the resident strategist before me. And tell the villagers to bring themselves and the valuables they can carry back up to this fortress, as quickly as they can."

"Might the Kensrikans notice them fleeing?"

"The farm valleys are out of direct sight of the Kensrikans, are they not? Villagers can take side routes if they're concerned..."

The servant promptly summoned the resident strategist of the encampment around the fortress, where soldiers jostled with each other in the confined space and sometimes vented their frustrations on the servants around them. The strategist was an Osterikan General named Ottokar, whom the allies agreed would direct their combined forces. While by tradition and law he answered solely to Dietfried, that man was nowhere near, and Joakim had a commanding say on what would begin on his land. He would not have allowed this encampment of many kingdoms to crowd his fortress without gaining executive power over their movements.

"Wise Crown." Ottokar bowed.

"Up, and dispense with that," Joakim commanded, "we may not have much time. My servant has informed you, I hope?"

Ottokar now stood. The bulk of his attire hid, though ineffectively, how lean he was.

"The news is troubling. He informed me of the enemy forces nearly doubling in size, and this made me wonder why it had not completely doubled if the villagers' eyes and counting serve them properly. To my knowledge, the two Kenderley Army divisions are kept to near-identical size."

Joakim frowned. "Does it matter if the forces we face are not perfectly doubled? Is that less alarming somehow?"

Ottokar explained: "When Kensrik put down an uprising in her south west corner, it happened swiftly, and we found out too late to take the best advantage. What kind of feint is it to show your enemy the entirety of your army, minus a conspicuous fraction, unless that fraction is elsewhere, fighting some new revolt of which we have not yet heard?"

Joakim stopped frowning. "So, you think they are showing us a larger army because they do not want us to realize it could be even larger, and will be, if we do not act promptly?"

"I am not married to one possibility, but I consider this the most compelling likelihood. Perhaps they would like to see how we react," Ottokar supposed.

"Likelihoods are all that they are. What course of action do you propose? Is this the moment we must strike?" Joakim asked reluctantly.

Ottokar considered this.

"We have the men preparing; if we simply pour down the paths now, we have no ranks nor organization, and the sun will be in our eyes. However, we cannot wait for the Kensrikans to ascend the slopes. I suggest we spend this night setting up ranks at designated points between us and them. We can evaluate our situation again when the sun is in a more advantageous position for us."

Joakim leaned back in his chair and considered this proposal in turn.

"I have already ordered a messenger to tell the valley dwellers go into hiding. I suppose they are already making room for the forces even now. Keep the men sober, for we know from history what Kensrikans do to drunken foes in the dark. Keep the paths under watch. And have someone watch the fortress for a signal."

"My men remain sober until they have something to celebrate."

He then added: "Thank you, Wise Crown, for your orders. Would you like to relay a message to King Dietfried in case he has thoughts to add? We may have time for a night rider."

Joakim thought he understood. "If his authorization gives you greater confidence, then seek it promptly. I do feel strange single-handedly ordering the soldiers of our allies toward what may be some misunderstood trickery."

The soldiers moved quietly in the dark and took their new positions on the plateau between the fortress and the Kensrikan border.

Generals Conrad and Garulph awakened the next morning to the sight of armour gleaming on the foothills. The forces of two opposing sides were on display for each other from sunrise until sunset, each ready to snap from the tension.

10

The Burning Valley

Being occupied by different outsiders at intervals left the dwellers of this region with a unique attitude toward changes in power.

They couldn't help but notice over the centuries that invaders rarely wanted much of them. Occupiers wanted to put their flag on the land, usually next to a garrison and stables but not this time. They never trained the locals as soldiers because that would mean arming them. People noted who was in charge each transition of power and returned to lives largely unchanged. Lord den Holt's approach was different, bringing with him access to Kensrik's quarries and a mandate to start building a prosperous Kensrikan style city.

Den Holt never bothered to ask if people of the region agreed with Kensrikan ideas of prosperity or felt any need to veer from traditional living. Why would he? No matter what flag was planted, everything that followed was entirely the occupiers' idea.

Then a council of locals decided to assert control; a faction with which most were uninvolved, yet one run for and by people of the region. Most appreciated the principle of this revolution but expected little difference in their lives. At least no one had to die this time.

"That didn't last," this survivor thought as he weathered his predicament.

The new council assured them that Kenderleys always thought about costs versus benefits these days, and their homeland cost the empire far more than it earned; there were no gold mines, just land, much of it too swampy for Kensrikans to know what to do with. The Kenderleys would surely cut their losses and leave them alone.

The drifting smoke and partially collapsed buildings around him suggested otherwise.

Some of that council faction took to arms, and he didn't dare to know their fate. Most of the faction reached the same conclusion as others: take the children, take what you can carry, and go away until these soldiers finished razing a city that occupiers insisted locals build in the first place. They could all get a head start while soldiers with flames and springbows seemed more invested in wrecking every building, sparing people who fled yet murdering anyone who opposed them. Perhaps, in time, survivors would return and rebuild the traditional way.

He tried to follow the majority, but in his haste, he rolled his ankle. He didn't know whether he was relieved or disappointed that the nearest others were too busy sprinting away to notice. If they stayed, they might all be dead. A group was easier to discover and be concerned about than one injured person.

Now he hid in an alley between a barrel and a wall, hoping the occupiers would ignore him or realize he was not in the way. He occasionally peeked around the barrel because he couldn't always resist his morbid curiosity, but what he saw never improved.

He started, then winced, as a swordsman approached. Sure, this one was dressed different than other occupiers, but he didn't want to be killed by anybody from anywhere.

He put his hands up. "I'm just sitting here. I'm not stopping you. Have fun burning something."

The swordsman shook his head; he couldn't understand him, but he offered a hand. Anything resembling escape was welcome at that point, so the survivor accepted the offer and made sure his weight was shifted to his good foot upon standing. As they moved together, they stayed close to the buildings, or what was left of them, hoping for cover against springbows.

Moving slowly and gingerly with most of his weight supported by the burly soldier, the survivor took this chance to have a better look around. Occupiers were locked in struggle with newly arriving swordsmen. Yes, he recalled that manner of dress now: Wancyeks. They might be the next occupiers, but it was welcome that someone dealt with the Kensrikans.

* * *

The expeditionary leader felt the sweat trickle down his forehead as he prepared to give instructions; such drops landed on his uniform, mingling with the dust and blood from a day thus far spent burning and killing. He briefly looked over the springbow with which he was expert, making sure no part had jarred loose after a hasty sprint.

At the heart of the city, the remaining Kensrikan soldiers had fallen back with him toward the central building, a governor's house with a balcony. They dragged quick debris barricades across the main cobblestone road after learning they were not the only invaders in this city.

Those camped on rooftops couldn't fall back. They fell off. Whether they did this before or after dying depended on who threw them and what kind of fight they put up.

Had this elite marksman been told to expect interference, he would have called everyone in much sooner. Having soldiers roam about in pairs or threes setting fires or working trebuchets was deterrent enough against unarmed locals, most of whom wisely fled. These pairs and trios of soldiers were easily swarmed by arriving Wancyek swordsmen.

Judging by the sound approaching from the far end of the road, there were also cavalry. The Kensrikan leader would not have long to deliver instructions. He stood at the barricade before them, which was tall enough to duck behind but short enough to comfortably aim over when standing.

"No more warning volleys. No long shots: let them be close enough that you can't miss, you'll still have range on them until they're on top of us. Make every bolt count and know when to go to your swords."

They prepared their springbows as quickly as they could while listening to him. He told them nothing new since there was one way any of them expected this to go.

"The day threw this at us and we're still here. I'm proud of you all."

He had to cut off the speech when he noticed a lone rider charging up the road, well ahead of the other cavalry that followed. He turned and readied his springbow.

The rider held aloft his sword triumphantly as he charged, raising himself in the saddle a little, this gesture of intimidation only presenting a larger target.

The expert marksman took aim. He remembered his own instructions, but now he knew the temptation. That eye slot in the helm of the charging rider; he was sure he could hit that.

The need to yell at the others forced him to wait as he noticed they were trying to hit soldiers who had taken the nearest rooftops.

"Don't aim up there! Aim for the horsemen!"

A bolt clipped the lead rider's left arm but didn't deter him; how? The injury looked painful. Yet the horse was already hard into the charge and the rider seemed to keep his balance. Now the rider was almost upon the barricades.

By the time the marksman let fly, he had followed his own advice.

He hit his target right where he wanted.

Then the horse with the dead rider ploughed through the flimsy barricade and crushed him.

The other Wancyeks poured past the barricades in little time. They left no Kensrikan alive.

* * *

The soldiers were afraid to look at Jonnecht lest they enrage him further, yet he had their attention in every other way. Those lightly wounded and others quietly treating them had a better time pretending the most threatening thing left in their voyage wasn't seated in their midst.

Their landing was short and easily repelled. The beach closest to their destination belonged to Etrouk yet was far enough from the Holy City that Conrad had told Jonnecht it wouldn't matter. If the Etroukans were even paying attention to that beach, they would see soldiers moving back into Kensrikan territory, their motives clear. Judging by distant smoke Jonnecht's men could see from the beach, the first group made a successful landfall.

Apparently, it mattered a lot to the Etroukans, who must have been alerted by scouts when they saw the first group land and sent a party to block further landings. Their archers sprang up from the bushes and a princely leader told Jonnecht and his men to get out.

"We would have had them, wouldn't we?" Jonnecht said to the nearest officer, finally breaking silence.

The officer, chest sore from where a stone had struck it, didn't know how to respond. The obvious answer was not what his regent wanted to hear, but could he speak such a blatant lie with a straight face? He tried to imagine some qualifier that would work well enough.

"I think we had a good line on those archers. The crowd that followed…" The officer shrugged lightly.

Jonnecht nodded slowly, having heard enough. "That many people with archers for support could have overwhelmed us. I didn't want any of you lost to the likes of them."

In fact, the archers might have been enough by themselves to turn the Kensrikans around, but it got worse from there. That smug Etroukan prince had called in a mob of angry locals and promised to back them up if the Kensrikans let loose a single bolt. He claimed he wasn't about to tolerate such butchery on Etrouk's beach, but he sounded like he would let the locals slaughter Jonnecht unopposed.

"It would have been no way for a Great King to die. You made the right decision." Reassured the officer.

"How about we bring more of us back to the gates of their Holy City, men? Knock down that outer wall of theirs and piss on it. Make them sorry." Jonnecht said for everyone to hear.

Nervous laughter, some of it cut short by pain, rippled throughout the ship's cabin. They knew that would be as ill-advised as it was cruelly disrespectful. It would take the entire Kenderley Army to successfully lay siege to such a fortification. Nearly all that army ought to guard against the Eastern alliance.

But if they humoured his awful joke, he was less likely to take his frustration out on any of them.

The cabin door scraped open. Everyone's attention turned to the stairwell and the hurried creaking sound of boots on the stairs.

"Highness." The soldier bowed his head. "We were flagged by a merchant ship; urgent news."

Jonnecht glowered at the arrival. "I have a good mind not to hear it."

"He might not be so quick to bring you the news if it was bad," the officer said hesitantly, feeling the soreness in his chest as he did.

"Fine." Jonnecht said. "What's so urgent?"

"Wancyrik's capital is in disarray. The merchants didn't risk going close enough to understand why, but people can be seen fleeing and there are pillars of smoke."

Jonnecht stared at the messenger with a confused frown, then wondered aloud: "Are we sure the merchants didn't look toward the Valley of Garnecht and get confused? But the two would look nothing alike even from a distance…"

Why would Wancyrik be in turmoil?

"Tell them they have the King's thanks." He waved the messenger away.

"Congratulations, Great King," the officer said. "You won something today, no? An old foe in chaos."

Jonnecht considered this welcome distraction.

"I'm sorry such a fate befell them when it looked like they were becoming friends."

He wondered if his knight escaped unscathed.

His rage and frustration were not gone but simmering unattended. The new considerations would push it all down for the rest of the voyage home with these battered men.

11

Dance Against Despair

"I wonder who got the brilliant idea," asked Ewald, "to use a glorified corpse box for transport."

The public riding box with its slits for windows remained the lowest profile means of travel for the Prince and Princess.

"I think it keeps me well-conditioned and thoughtful, a bit of time in the dark before there are so many people around and things happening. I would normally meditate during a ride if Liviana can't join me," Isabel said.

"Apologies for interrupting your meditation, then."

He supposed that if their father did catch them, this quality time together might prepare them for an extended time in just such a box, without the air slits, while being carted to a ceremonial pyre.

"No apologies necessary. We have been living in a dreary and hateful place. Now you have this escape, why not take advantage?"

"A temporary escape, but welcome. Feel free to let me stay longer."

Isabel nodded. "We can extend the visit if you find something to do. At such tense times, nobody from abroad will attend, but we still have the local contingent for you to meet. If I catch you sitting around looking miserable, I am dragging you back home whether you like it or not. No point taking this risk just to sit around."

"I have something to try," Ewald reassured.

"Oh? Do tell."

"I think I understand now, having tried in my room with the latch on—the dance, I mean. I think I understand what's being freed from oneself. I only have the motions I could copy, nothing fancy, but the pressures of life build and build, like a kettle on the boil, and your city people find ways to move, to express this. Otherwise, maybe they would all end up like father."

Isabel smiled, bitterly bemused. "I think there are more things wrong with the man than can be cured by dancing."

"No, it cannot be the one cause. But you must admit to the possibility that this building pressure is one pillar of an unsound mind."

Isabel paused, then replied: "Granted. Do you think he is beyond saving?"

The public riding box went over a few bumps; the dirt road of the bay gave way to cobblestone, and if Ewald remembered correctly, their destination could not be far.

"Saving him is beyond what I can fathom right now. Better to consider what saves us from him." Ewald said.

Isabel had no answer to that, for if the next in line to the throne could not answer, no one else was eligible.

"Strange family that we have, no, cousin? We shouldn't speak further of them," she reminded him to resume their cover roles as they were about to arrive.

There was a similar entry ritual to the previous time; the smaller door opening in the larger one, the face examining those who knocked.

"My cousin returns with me," Isabel said.

"Welcome back, cousin," said the face in the door.

In a short time, there it all was again, the dimly lit room of uncertain dimensions, the scattered people with hookahs cocooning themselves in silky vapours, the counter-top with its one and only type of hoppy brew available. And there was the dance floor, and a trio of musicians preparing a drum, a lute, and a leading voice in a localized cacophony. Yes, here was the elusive escape, the welcome unfamiliarity to distract from those aspects of life which seemed out of one's control.

"So, what is your grand strategy, cousin?" Isabel asked. "Jump right on the floor and just let things happen, come what may?"

"I am cognizant of the mockery in your tone," Ewald smiled.

He continued: "I will bring an ale to a seat within reasonable view of the floor. I need to let the brew take hold, then try and find the rhythm of the music. Then, only then, do I enter the fray."

Isabel nodded. "I cannot laugh at that tried-and-true strategy. Yes, you need to drink more, you are making too much sense. I shall save my amusement for later..."

Ewald knew what his drinking goal was, now. He not only needed to defeat the self-consciousness of knowing he would be watched at a new activity, at which he might look terrible; he needed to forget the added mockery of knowing that one of the watchers was family and could bring this up at her leisure. Yes, this was Isabel's world that he stood in, and if he could forget that he was being allowed there largely for her entertainment, he might sooner enjoy himself.

He went to the drinking counter.

"Good evening, Matron's cousin. Starting your evening a bit early?" Asked Blythe.

"Oh, it is never too early in this family."

"Ah. Well," Blythe began to pour and continued speaking through the task: "You cannot all be mad, or the wrong kind of mad, because your cousin is just the fun kind of mad. Take heart."

"The fun kind of mad? I like you," Ewald smiled. "How much for the brew, again?"

"A pair of silvers, preferably. We pay what we can but given your family, you know," they said.

Ewald hesitated at this. What did the barkeep know? Perhaps it was only a comment on Isabel being the Matron of the facility, and Ewald being introduced as a cousin. He hoped so.

He placed one gold coin on the counter. He avoided looking at his father's face crudely stamped on the upward facing side.

"I'm afraid I only have the likes of these. Will one suffice? Given my family, I know."

Blythe took the coin as if they had never seen one before, nodded, and spoke no further; Ewald, brew in hand, turned away from the counter and began to look for a place to sit. He was interrupted when he saw a face all too familiar.

"Hello, cousin," Liviana said, looking vaguely amused.

Ewald nearly spilled his brew, then replied: "You weren't in the public box."

"What a crowded thing that was for three people, do you not recall? Besides, I live in the city, I could walk here any day I feel up for it."

Then she gestured toward seats near the dance floor and added: "I would like to discuss something."

She took his free hand almost as quickly as he agreed to the suggestion; if they were not already acquainted, this might have bothered him more. He reflected for a moment that so many things in this domain of Isabel's seemed to involve having one lady or another, or two of them, leading him wherever he needed to go. It made perfect sense to continue the theme. It reminded him of his mother having to lead him everywhere as a child. If he was going to lead them some day, they may as well have a turn.

After they sat, she began: "It's a dangerous time for you to venture out."

"And yet, here we both are, and not the only ones in the room," he observed.

She countered: "Without breaking the rules of this place, I'll only say there's a different danger for you than for any of us."

Ewald took a swig and suggested post-gulp: "Ironically, there might be no safer time, as the greatest danger just sailed off. One which was home the last time we safely ventured here."

Liviana nodded as she considered this. "That's a risk you're allowed to take for yourself, cousin. But what about the woman I love? She cares about you enough to trust you on the matter. I care about her enough to question you. There's courage and then there's recklessness, and it's not just going to be your problem if you fail to see the difference. Please look me in the eyes and tell me you'll take full responsibility if you aren't as safe as you think."

He stared off at nothing for a moment as he was forced to consider this more deeply.

Then he looked into her eyes and said: "I love that woman too. I can find a way out for her in the worst case, but should that time come, she needs to trust me as I have trusted her on these excursions."

Liviana didn't feel reassured. "I'll tell her. Promise me this doesn't involve foolishly martyring yourself, because she wouldn't want that for you. And I must admit, I wouldn't either; you're not so bad."

"Well, thank you. I'll be sure to survive. For now, I'm here to try dancing," Ewald said before taking a hefty swig; the thought of what might come to pass lingered.

"You're trying something new, so it makes sense, the glass of liquid courage. I think many of us began that way," she said.

"This isn't something I was taught, so I improvised," Ewald said.

"I hope for your sake it works. You might have noticed the brew works on everyone a little differently and I don't believe it got you dancing last time."

"Then I'm sure I didn't have enough. I have been waiting too long for this day, for it not to work. I shall make it work however necessary, but the less effort that requires, the better," Ewald said.

"I wouldn't take it so far in case you have to leave with haste. But I never have to overdo it to dance, and I'll say it's all about your thoughts. What do you want to escape by dancing? What would it help?"

"The same peril that drives one to drink. One war after another. Fast whispers of alarm about the East, the armies of combined kingdoms against our one, hoping to sweep their way to this very capital. The feeling that at any time the ceiling could fall on us and everything be consumed by fire, because our Great King preoccupies himself with easier fights," Ewald said.

He suspected she knew that was a misdirect; it was true, but not the whole truth nor the worst of it.

He could not imagine escaping House Kenderley alive, nor the destructive legacy into which he was born. He could never abandon his title and privileges for these were his most valuable tools. What else would empower him to save everyone from his father? In the meantime, he hoped dancing felt like a way out; if it only lasted for a handful of songs, that was better than nothing.

She played along with his misdirect. If she knew, and he knew that she knew, perhaps these deeper truths did not need to be spoken.

"That must be a new feeling for you. It would ruin my mood if I wasn't used to it. That's one kind of thing that gets me moving." Liviana said.

"Despair?"

Liviana asked, "How would you dance if everything could fall apart at any moment? How would you move if those fires closed in from all sides, and you knew you had such limited time to express all that you are before the end? Because there's a wall around that palace that does nothing for our homes. We have no gates or guards. We know how it feels to realize we would burn first and to live with this every day. We need to do something with that. You're just learning it. You're about to learn what you will do with it."

Ewald considered this. He quickly understood.

She continued: "And you would have fun, yes? You would want your last living act, the last you choose, to be of joy. I would guess that's your style. We all bring something different."

Ewald considered this further and took many long sips. The band began its set of songs, and Liviana gave his free hand a friendly pat before abandoning him to the nearby floor. He saw her begin to dance in a simple way, but he saw how she caught the rhythm in the music. It suggested where he could begin to catch it.

He drank more of the brew with each sip until he made visible the bottom of the glass and vanquished the hoppy brew altogether. Then, devoid of that clutter of further thoughts, he joined the dance floor fray which had not become too thick for new entrants.

Ewald was a visual and a tactile learner. Every move in his repertoire of spontaneity came from something he saw others do. He had practiced at home to understand which moves could belong to which simple beat he might imagine, and which moves felt best for his body versus the different frame and dexterity of another. He barely lifted his feet, and only then for the lightest step, because stepping and stomping would have made noise at home and given away what he was doing; at first his dance involved his knees, hips, shoulders, arms, whatever needed to sway dramatically and catch a beat.

Since he no longer needed much focus on the moves themselves, he could direct his attention to the music itself and what it offered. He could speed up or slow down a movement to fit what the music was doing.

There was no laughter when the cousin of the Matron expressed himself that evening. In due course, he knew who was nearby: Liviana and Isabel danced as well, on the periphery of Ewald's vision. Dancing here felt like a ritual display of one's sentiments to the vastness of nature, appreciated best by other creatures who engaged in it also. Ewald was a fit man, of great stamina, and he did not cease until the musicians were nearly out of song. It brought him no small joy to emulate other men he had appreciated watching on this very floor, in their various forms and well-fitting clothes and masks of fine craftsmanship; he felt a oneness with them, and he felt love for this place.

Eventually, he included footwork that he knew from training. He no longer had to hide any sound.

It was Liviana and Isabel who each took a hand and led him away when they saw him begin to slow, and he let them lead him as that continued to be the theme of his time in this place.

"We're sorry to remove you from your first proud conquest of the dance floor," Isabel explained, half joking, "but you look as if you're about to lose your balance. I have no wish to carry you home."

Ewald savoured the tired feeling in his chest. So much of the work he was destined for was in the mind, and as one got older, the focus often shifted away from the lungs, the limbs, the heart. He felt like a child who had gone running to exhaustion, chasing, and catching, now hiding.

He also felt like he should have eaten more before going to this place, though he hadn't desired to weigh himself down.

"I don't think both of you could, let alone just one," Ewald panted.

Isabel had seen such signs before and knew how to respond. "Lady friend, perhaps the barkeep has some boiled water which can be allowed to cool. In this weakened state, he might be more sensitive to the usual colour of the water. Would you please see if this is so?"

Liviana agreed to do that. "I wouldn't want an otherwise good evening to turn sour for him."

The secret siblings sat together for a while as Liviana went on this mundane quest.

"I certainly wouldn't recommend further hoppy brew. It feels interesting to protect you, for once. I feel almost motherly, without much of the same chores that I suppose I could delegate to a servant..." Isabel reflected on the way they were parented, which was largely at a distance; one felt closer to those servants whom one was physically closest to, provided they were sufficiently tender.

In fairness, their mother had done everything she could, given her other responsibilities.

"What do you think will happen to us, cousin?" Ewald asked, now no longer panting.

"Right this instant? Nothing, oh dramatic one. We both know who you sound like right now." Isabel referred to Bonifaz, but not by name, for obvious reasons.

"We three have a touch of someone at our source, I think, and it stands to reason who," Ewald said.

Ewald had a decent quick rest by the time clean water arrived. For the sake of his throat and mouth, he could have used the drink sooner, but better late than never.

"I feel somewhat better," he said. "Granted, I have yet to attempt standing."

"Oh, you shall only do that slowly, and you will have us two propping you up to start. From there, your legs had better carry you," Isabel said.

"Yes, that sounds like a plan," Ewald said.

"So little brew and all this trouble? Never gain a higher tolerance, cousin; you shall always find it less expensive." Isabel chuckled.

"Let's be fair," Liviana said, "one tall glass of brew, hastily gulped, and a near solid set of dancing. I'll wager a gold coin he didn't eat much before coming here."

A slim person approached, and Isabel recognized them. They said, "The King's sails were sighted at the mouth of the bay. He's back awful quick. Everyone outside is talking about it."

Isabel thanked them for the news before instructing Ewald.

"Did you hear that? Gulp down the water. Pay a visit to the drain hole because we're not stopping by the shore for that, and then we need to go." Isabel said.

* * *

Isabel practically pitched Ewald out of the public riding box. He gained his balance and tossed a gold coin to the coachman, because they might never see him again.

Shortly before they left, word was being shouted on the streets and the confusion had rapidly spread to where the river met the bay. Word did not have far to travel from there to the palace, nor was there hope of outpacing it. They hoped they only needed to be home before Jonnecht.

"Close your purse before you drop it all, we don't have time," Isabel said.

Isabel hurried Ewald along the beach and toward the entrance to the passageway, not sprinting ahead; if either of them were caught, they might as well both be. With luck, their father had gone on some sort of rage to his study, or perhaps he was outside of the palace entirely, shouting at his army officials. They could only hope.

"Isabel, did Liviana—"

"She told me enough. Save your breath," Isabel interrupted.

They arrived panting at the entrance to the passageway without problem, which suggested that nobody was combing the palace grounds for them. Then they squeezed into the walls and shuffled and climbed the ladder.

They finally rounded the hall corner and reached the corridor of their bedchambers, and there lurking in the shadows at the end of it was a nightmare in the guise of a man.

"So, this is the sort of thing the heir does in his spare time. He goes sneaking off with his sister and returns three sheets to the wind," Jonnecht said.

"I made—" Isabel began, but was interrupted by Ewald who stumbled in front of her.

"Isabel, run. Hide. Now." Ewald muttered to her.

Jonnecht slowly stood from where he was leaning, against the corner wall. He shook his head.

"You want to change the order in which the two of you are punished for this? Chivalry lives after all. Oh, how little that means to me."

Isabel hesitated, but what else was she to do? Ewald should never have to be her shield, but she had promised her lover she would follow her brother's plan, however extemporaneous it might be.

Jonnecht took a step forward and Isabel bolted in the opposite direction.

Ewald tottered uneasily; every aspect of the evening so far had taken a toll. He put a hand on the wall, his heart beating no less hard than it did on the dance floor for what he anticipated.

Jonnecht chuckled. "Oh, fall to your knees already. You look half-way there."

"How'd your voyage go, father?" Ewald jibed, adding: "Back so soon."

Jonnecht heard those words, and his memory took him back to a cheeky Etroukan prince, a taunt at the beach front; the animosity that coursed through him after he and his soldiers fled an enraged stone-throwing mob; the painfully unrequited desire to get back at those who mocked and denied him. These feelings burned afresh in the King's heart.

But no one protected this unarmed transgressor in front of him.

Jonnecht charged Ewald, who barely got his hands up to grab his attacker before Jonnecht threw Ewald against a wall. He kicked Ewald in one shin and then the other, knowing that there he could cause some of the worst pain without threatening the young man's life. How viscerally gratifying it was to strike something which felt pain, not pottery, not a desk…

Ewald groaned and fell to the floor on hands and knees, and then his belly as his legs were in altogether too much pain to support him. He rolled on his back to face his attacker. Then, in an instant, Jonnecht leapt upon him and punched him again and again, and Ewald could do nothing but put his forearms in front of his face as a last resort.

"Father, no..." Ewald croaked.

"Don't whine at me! You know you deserve it, now take it." Jonnecht brought his right fist up high and slammed it down on those shielding forearms one, two, three, four, five, six times.

Ewald went away in his mind to where the hurt was disconnected from him. In his mind he observed himself from the outside, as he did to a degree when he danced. This offered him no true escape, but he might last until his father grew tired or bored.

"You're a popular one with strangers, no? We can see where your good looks have gone when I'm done with you!" Jonnecht raged.

Then Dulcibella boxed Jonnecht on both ears and slapped at the sides of his head again and again.

"You get off of our son right now!" She screamed.

He shoved her away and into a wall with one hand as he stood, not as hard as he had just done to Ewald but forceful enough all the same.

"How dare you strike me! How dare you interfere when this is your fault too? I rely on you to watch everything while I'm away and you have no more of an idea where they ran off to than I," Jonnecht roared.

Ewald could barely move, only listen to this new exchange. He needed to return to himself quickly because his mother was in danger. He was not going to lay useless on the floor while others were beaten in his home. He could no longer let fear stop him.

Unfortunately, that meant he must return to feeling pain.

"Is that the new name you want?" Dulcibella asked. "Jonnecht the Murderer of Family? I heard what happened to you while you were away; what really happened, not the lie you told everyone. How much more shame must you bring upon yourself?"

"I didn't fail!" Jonnecht shouted. "They failed me! And the blasted Wancyeks, after all I offered them, I'm told they got involved when it was not their fight. And I come home to find, what? That my children spend time out with who knows who, probably some drunken orgy, because you failed as a mother."

Dulcibella shook her head. "You want to be in charge of everything, Jon? Then you get to be responsible for everything. Are you surprised your children want to run off when whole provinces want out of your dominion? I try to build a home, a family, and beautiful things despite you, and all you do is wreck everything you touch. Which of us fails?"

"Oh, maybe it's me. I married a screeching hag after all; and look at the worthless ugly children I thought would be fit to take my place some day. I should get rid of you all."

Bonifaz was peeking around the corner, eyes wide as he took in the scene. The commotion quickly brought him there some time ago. He felt frozen, appalled, unsure what to do. He watched and listened intently to his parents. Then he glanced at his brother who had finally noticed him.

Ewald shook his head and mouthed the words 'go back'. The younger brother would hide around the corner, daring to listen a while longer.

Jonnecht pointed at Dulcibella. "Round up your daughter. Your discipline failed. It's my turn."

"You'll not get to her through me. Do your worst," Dulcibella said.

"I'm still here, you coward," Ewald said, standing, but barely. "It's me you want, remember?"

Jonnecht turned to glare at the pathetic shaking thing in front of him. Then he struck Ewald in the chest hard enough to knock the barely standing young man back to the floor. Jonnecht noticed that none of this violence felt gratifying anymore, and an eerie calm began to set in his mind.

Dulcibella screamed and crouched over her son.

"You left me no choice, boy, using a man's words. I'm done playing with you." Jonnecht then looked to Dulcibella. "You care about them so much; you shall rectify this. That wild daughter is your failure to correct. This is all her fault, misleading and corrupting my son; good thing she left the youngest alone. I suppose he's all that is left to the credit of your loins, dear wife."

Ewald finally got some wind back in him. It was as if his breathing had been knocked dead while his eyes still saw and his mind remained awake, but life returned to his lungs; his heart had not stopped beating after all. This wasn't a new feeling, given some of his training, yet it was never a welcome one. Training partners practiced better restraint.

"She's your daughter too," Dulcibella said, her voice shaky. "She doesn't stop being that because you disapprove."

Jonnecht considered this, but not deeply. The decision meant so little to him.

"Yes, she does. The law of the land is mine. Never forget that. Keep her as your own, I don't care; I have no daughter."

Ewald stared at his father. All this violence and hate over an evening of drinking and dancing. Despite the Prince's oft-cynical humour, until that night he believed Jonnecht's own family was special to him. Never again.

The King stormed away, leaving behind a weeping queen and a battered prince.

"Oh, my brave boy," Dulcibella said. "Never, never put yourself in his path like that. How could you keep challenging him, angering him…" She wept and held him, relieved he was alive yet terrified all the same.

"You know him. He had to beat someone. Was not about to let him get you or Isabel. I can't have you get hurt for me anymore. I've let that happen for too long," Ewald wheezed as his breathing gradually returned to normal, or as normal as it would get for now.

She knew the sense in his words, but neither could a mother stand watching her children come to harm; a part of her would have taken every blow for him, would have gladly died to sate the anger of the monster whom she married.

"I can breathe, mother. My body aches but I should live. Isabel should be gone. We had a plan; I still have one; just keep yourself safe. Look after Bonifaz for me," Ewald advised.

"Can I not at least get you to your room? It's so close," she pleaded.

"Yes, close enough for me to get there myself. Leave me to that. I'll do what I must, but don't be shocked once I leave; no latch will keep me safe in there. Isabel is responsible for nothing, I was not bewitched, I did everything knowing this might happen. Oh, we were all fine before I chose to go with her. These bruises are earned by me, though not nearly the number."

She hugged him, but gently, in case any of his ribs had cracked.

"You're never at fault for what he did to you, son. No one earns this."

Dulcibella stood, her gown now stained with some of Ewald's tears as well as her own. He might not let her walk him to his room, but she watched at a distance every step he took to get there. He couldn't stop her from doing that.

Then the Queen wandered the halls, aching so badly to call out her daughter's name despite Ewald's assurance; but Jonnecht could just as easily hear such calls, and perhaps he had been bluffing when he said Isabel was free to go. The Queen sometimes paused and leaned on a wall as she made her slow way, unbalanced, her eyes full of tears and ready to faint from the horror she witnessed, the terror she felt.

Then she heard a whisper.

"Don't look toward my voice. Where is father?" Isabel asked, slightly muffled, as if she spoke through something; surely not a tapestry, or her form would have shown as a big wrinkle.

"Oh, Isabel. I know not. He left this hall," Dulcibella replied, barely containing her terror combined with satisfaction at the sound of Isabel's voice.

"We all have to leave, mother. I can tell you where to go," Isabel said.

"Not now. He would come looking for us, he would send soldiers after me. But please, depart in secret. Please don't return. He wants you gone."

"I heard. Am I supposed to leave you here? And Ewald? And Bonifaz?" Isabel asked.

Dulcibella looked to the nearest tapestry and put her hand against it as if she expected to feel her daughter's hand press back. She wasn't sure what else to do.

"I will have you taken care of; there is too much wealth for it all to be watched diligently, I will send whatever you need. I've always known how you filled your purse."

There was a pause, and Dulcibella hoped her daughter had already left, but it was followed by one more instruction.

"Ban Liviana. Let her not past the gates. He knows we are friends. If I don't find her first and explain—" Isabel said.

"Just run. While there's still time," Dulcibella wept.

She heard some tap and click, like a panel or a door, and she wanted to find it and solve the trick mechanism and hold her daughter but that went against everything she had just pleaded with her daughter to do. All she could do anymore was weep.

* * *

Bonifaz had waited so long.

He had waited for all the sounds of the palace, all the sounds of waking, to go silent. He waited until even the echo of his mother weeping was gone. He hoped she had locked herself in her chamber and cried herself to sleep but was otherwise safe. He wanted his parents to be far away from each other, given what he planned.

There were no sounds coming from Isabel's room, and the way Ewald looked when Bonifaz last set eyes on him, he hoped his older brother was safely in his room with the latch secured and a piece of heavy furniture in front of the door. Bonifaz might die on this sacred mission, and he was unsure of exactly how many people he had taken it upon himself to avenge.

He stalked out of his room with his weapon, making sure not to open the door wide enough to reach the creaking portion of the hinges. He thought the throb of his heart must be as audible to anybody else as it was to him, given the utter silence around him. He thought that even the sound of his feet on the floor was too loud, but perhaps a thoroughly drunken man would miss it. Would his father not drown his sorrows after having taken some rage out on his family? Was that not typical of him?

Especially when Jonnecht had just lost a province. Worse, Jonnecht had fled a conflict, and this embarrassing necessity must have enraged him worse than the fact that any uprising had even occurred.

No, the one sacrifice that Ewald might have been, that was never enough for their father. How many lives would satisfy him?

But it still pained Bonifaz what he intended to do, for the monster was his father, and he felt compelled to love him just as much as he hated him.

The youngest prince stalked the end of the corridor near his siblings' rooms, since this path led to his destination. As he rounded the corner past Isabel's room, its door ajar, a shadowy figure swept out of the dark faster than Bonifaz could react, stuffed some wadded cloth into his mouth, wrestled the weapon of choice out of his hand, and said, "No, brother, you shall not."

Bonifaz kicked and thrashed ineffectively as Ewald did his best to keep the noise to a minimum. Ewald dragged his brother into his own room and managed to shut the door behind him before bringing Bonifaz over to the chair and forcing him to sit down. Bonifaz glared at his brother after removing the cloth and wiping lint and a loose thread off his tongue with the back of his hand.

"Now, let's speak softly, because there has been a lot of violence already today and we need not call attention to ourselves. Where did you think you were sneaking off to?" Ewald asked.

Bonifaz had gone from angry to tearful.

"I saw what he did to you. He can't get away with it."

Ewald hugged his brother tightly, and when Bonifaz hugged back just a little too hard for the comfort of his sore chest, Ewald ignored it.

"I know," Ewald said. "But not like this, all right? You have to be good."

"But why? Someone must stop him. You will not. Mother cannot. And what right does he have to make Isabel go away?" Bonifaz argued between sobs.

Ewald took in a deeper breath as he extricated himself from the hug.

Then Ewald explained. "The trouble is, brother, he has all the rights. The law protects him, and in its present form gives us no way I'm aware of to remove him from the throne, not while he lives. But that law can change, and given what's happened, you must have faith that it will."

"But how?" Bonifaz asked.

"The less you know, the better, and you need not know. Your only task is what I told you before: write it down, make sure it's remembered. Have you written notes today?"

"I wrote notes. I even drew an illustration."

"That sounds perfect. Hide that illustration well, for it's easier to recognize with a passing glance; whereas we all know how bored he gets with reading. In the meantime, be quiet around him, and that will be easiest if you stay out of his way, just diligently study, take lessons, and never get into trouble. Now, let me see, you were expecting he would be passed out drunk, right?" Ewald changed the subject.

"Well of course. It's never enough for him, if he had beaten up every soldier on his boat and then you, he would still not be satisfied," Bonifaz said.

"Understandable, he would drink his frustrations away. But do you know where he is?"

"I was unsure. I thought I would find him. Where else would he be but in his bed? And mother hopefully somewhere else," Bonifaz explained.

"She would be far from him; clever. Are you sure you would want to find him? Brave Sir Bonifaz, going into the cave of the mighty beast, hoping to catch it hibernating... what noble blade did you bring? Every hero of legend seems to have one."

Bonifaz was ashamed to admit it, and anyway, Ewald already had it, having stripped it from his younger brother while capturing him. Ewald brought it up to examine it in the lamp light.

"Is this a paper knife?"

"I snuck it out of the study, I had been sharpening the tip quietly, or trying to."

Ewald did not bother to ask how he was sharpening it. He felt the tip. It would have required great force and no hesitation if one hoped to successfully stab anyone with it. A pen knife would have been better, though considerably shorter.

"Well, you had no way to take a proper knife without anyone noticing, and a sword is a heavy thing to sneak around. You had nothing else, but you may as well have tried a quill pen, brother. I'm not sure this would have made it through the fabric of his bedclothes. Do you have any idea where you would have needed to stab him, or with how much force? Imagine it for me." Ewald said.

"I know not," Bonifaz refused to admit it, though his shudder gave away the grisly possibilities he pictured, "but someone must stop him."

"Oh, brother. We will. But, again, not like this. You need not say it; if I find it so difficult to strike him, you would have hesitated. And what terrible thing would he do to you if he woke up and saw you so armed? No, he likes you because he thinks you're innocent, and in a way, I agree with him: you're the good brother. This is not something you do. We do not murder our father while he sleeps, no matter who he is. Because this is rage, and rage is what makes him a monster, and we feel rage because we feel such passion within ourselves that must be inborn from him; but it is not too late for us to control that passion and use it for good. You can never let yourself be like him," Ewald said.

"But how? How is just writing about it going to do anything? How long will this take, this plan you refuse to explain?" Bonifaz asked at the peak of frustration.

"I have to ask you to do the most difficult thing of all, brother. Once again, will you trust me?"

"Trust you to do what?"

Ewald rested a hand on his brother's shoulder.

"Tell me you will trust me."

"I will trust you. I promise."

"Good. If you can trust," Ewald smiled, "in this family, trusting is the most difficult thing of all."

12

Repercussions

Within a day of his return, Jonnecht set sail once again. This time it was to a small island between Bayrock and points north and west. This island was set aside as a meeting ground to discuss inter-kingdom matters.

Leaders and representatives of every mapped kingdom swiftly convened there to discuss the matter of West Kensrik, and events which seemed unbelievable at first. An expedition sent by the Kenderley Army had fallen, and there was a fresh dispute about what should happen to the land that had recently rejected their rule. Etrouk made two claims against Kensrik violating their sovereign territory, while Kensrik accused Wancyrik of aggressively interfering in the enforcement of local governance.

Etroukans pulled off diplomatic brilliance and laid claim to the now ruined region that they and Wancyrik bordered. In exchange, they would consider the matter settled with no further penalty.

The Kingdom of Wancyrik fell apart before any of the sanctions levied against it could apply. Other leaders agreed the fallen kingdom had no right to interfere, not even with the intent of protecting lives. Kensrik could do as it would with its own subjects until it subsequently lost control over that land, and now Etroukans set that law. The fall of Wancyrik was spurred by prior strife within the land, but this is a complicated matter which deserves its own volume.

And Jonnecht faced the pressure of responsibility, from other kingdoms and from within his own. Inwardly seething but not foolish enough to have the world rallied against him, he cut his losses and gave Etrouk what they wanted; now was a convenient time to agree that the region cost too much to keep.

He viewed Wancyrik's implosion as a surprising but worthy punishment for their interference.

At home, he turned his attention to a list of reforms suggested to him long ago, and until then left neglected. He began by allowing the first parliament of representatives of commoners to form and discuss and draft laws, which anyway the House of Lords could reject outright or send back with suggestions for amendments. More soothing distractions were sure to follow.

But he paid no attention to what the representatives of the Eastern Kingdoms did, sitting there and glaring at this ancient foe. They had already set their plans in motion.

Shortly before leaving for home, King Dietfried sent a messenger back to the East, and to the armies waiting in the foothills of Suur-Linnus. Dietfried saw no better time to strike.

13

Conrad's Last Stand

A few days before the kingdoms reached their agreement, Generals Conrad and Garulph sat in the command tent, field map unfurled on the table in front of them.

They had already gone over the locations of traps, possible attack and defense plans, contingencies, and responses; they did that days ago. When they first saw armour gleaming from the plateau above, where the combined forces of the East had assembled, the Generals reviewed everything as if the attack would come at any moment.

Instead, the East camped where they were.

"Do you think they hesitate at your presence?" Garulph asked.

Conrad shook his head. "Do they know who I am, or that I'm here?"

The Eastern forces occupied the traditional battlefield. The only thing between them and the Kensrikans, now, was an empty field ending in a wide ridge the Kensrikans would use to access that battlefield. The ridge was a bottleneck littered with traps, which were shown to Conrad in detail on this map. If Kensrik struck first, they gave up the advantage of those carefully engineered devices.

Conrad took a long drink and continued: "Why do you think I matter to them that much?"

Garulph paused for a drink of his own as he considered the question, then replied: "True, I don't know if your reputation extends across borders. My soldiers believed we were about to fight the moment yours began to arrive. My career has been about sitting here staring at the East; you take action."

Conrad shook his head doubtfully and put his cup down. He reached for the bottle, for a refill.

"I was just at leisure in Bayrock, and my aging ears can still eavesdrop well enough—one of them, anyway. Are you curious how they see us?"

He poured some for himself and topped up Garulph's vessel for good measure.

"That would be interesting." Garulph took another drink. "I suppose it used to be Jonnecht's opinion of me that mattered most, but now I must know."

"You have the cleanest reputation in this tent." Conrad said as he put the bottle down. "This 'sitting here staring at the East', protecting Bayrock from siege; no one has a problem with that. When I 'take action' as you call it, I only ever take it against insurrectionist commoners. It's simple and brutal."

Garulph looked at his cup but hesitated. They didn't want to feel the same tension as the soldiers ready outside, but they didn't aim to be drunk. He needed to pace himself. The older gent was more experienced at drinking, too.

"They see the purpose of that, do they not? Someone must do it. You save the empire, too."

"I save it from itself." Conrad said.

Conrad looked into the liquid his own cup held. Yes, someone had to follow orders and deal with those who would not.

A messenger at the tent entrance called to them. "News from the west: The Valley of Garnecht is no more."

Now Conrad put his cup down for fear of spilling precious liquor. Garulph took a huge gulp.

"Let him in so he can tell us the whole thing!" Conrad ordered.

Conrad expected the city in the valley to be destroyed; that was what those soldiers were sent for. The way the messenger phrased it, something beyond that had occurred.

The guards obeyed, and the messenger related the full news: the city in the valley was ruined, Wancyeks interfered and slaughtered the entire Kensrikan expeditionary force, Wancyrik was in chaos, and Jonnecht made it back to Bayrock safely. The territory was now disputed; leaders would meet to discuss the matter.

Conrad looked at Garulph. "Leaves one with more questions than answers, doesn't it?"

Garulph dismissed the messenger, then stared at Conrad.

"What did you order over there that got the Wancyeks angry, then somehow toppled them?"

"That was none of my doing, I'm equally baffled." Conrad replied before lifting his cup once again.

Garulph slowly put together one certainty. If all Conrad had done was organize the expeditionary force, then he completely failed. Jonnecht would be most displeased.

Conrad didn't look back at the younger General. Excellent soldiers died because Jonnecht needed to be petty; Conrad wished he could place all the blame on his regent. But Conrad couldn't escape his guilt. They died because their General didn't want to send more, to have them be able to do more. For once in his long tenure, he did not just follow orders. He chose to fail, and many loyal soldiers died for it while he still lived.

If he tried to drink the guilt away, he would be useless in what was to come.

* * *

Outside the command tent, the soldiers of the Kenderley Army began their day as if battle were imminent. It was their established routine, and what changed the most over the past few days was the tension they felt inside.

For years, they knew the East was a threat and Kensrikans should prepare. Now they could see that threat up the nearest ridge. They expected to attack or be attacked any moment.

They wore the best fitting tunics and riding jackets. They slicked their hair with oils both to keep it out of their eyes under their helmets and to protect their hair while it was helmeted. They applied special makeup around the eyes, both to cope with the glare of the sun and because it had become the traditional look of a proper officer or soldier. Where practical and necessary, they donned the best chain maille, finely engraved armour, and short swords with modestly sized jewels embedded in the hilts.

For two full days, their Generals kept to the command tent, staring at the map and drinking.

The map never changed. It always showed the Kensrikan garrisons and fortifications at the base of the slope, a lowermost field, a trap-laden ridge leading to the plateau battlefield, and another ridge that could take one from the primary battlefield up to where the East camped: a farming village placed out of view from a Kensrikan vantage.

There was passage further up the mountain from there, but Conrad knew if they got that far, they should already have won the day.

Conrad and Garulph sobered up as quickly as they could, though they regretted not staying under the influence any longer. Now the tension could eat at them the way it did the men.

For the battle commanders, it was not just about the imminent carnage.

"It's very brave of you to stay here," Garulph offered Conrad some water.

"A General with courage? As if you never heard of such," Conrad joked. "I am not merely depositing my men here and running away, particularly when I'm not needed anywhere else."

Garulph understood the joke. Generals of this era found a good vantage out of arrow's reach and relayed orders, being too precious to place in harm's way. Conrad himself was not old enough to have experienced the bygone times of leading from the front.

The remark did leave Garulph concerned. Did Conrad understand his situation? What would he do?

"We've gone over your strategy. I think we can manage it if you need to go elsewhere. You have to think you'll be summoned to him any time now, and I'm beginning to wonder if that happens before the East finally does anything."

"Yes, I can discuss with him how he threw away excellent men for nothing," Conrad replied before drinking some water.

"But you advised him—not to say that you are responsible for his peculiar demands, of course—you advised him to send that many men, that size of force, assuring him that nothing more was needed. You realize the first thing he will do is blame you for this?"

"He dragged another group with him, he clearly didn't listen to me. Does that not reveal how little value he placed in my suggestions?"

Garulph finished his cup of water. "I'm not debating right from wrong with you, Conrad. I think you know that. I'm discussing what our Great King will do."

"Tell me what other options I have, Garulph."

"Leave before they come looking for you. Leave before anybody knows you should be under arrest and travel faster than word can spread. It's not cowardice to resist unjust punishment; if you stay here, he gets to throw you in a dungeon for his poor judgement. Knowing him, you would be lucky if that's all."

Conrad smiled. He thought of Frederique; what he wouldn't give to be with her for the rest of his days, to take her earlier advice. Unfortunately, that meant he might be followed to her and they might both die. He loved her too much to risk her life.

"There is no safe place to flee, not from Jonnecht. Besides, I have done nothing wrong, and the King himself claims I am like family."

"And you think that stays his hand?" Garulph asked. "The idea that you are family when you are most certainly not? Men make such compliments, but how little they mean!"

"It may not. But we speculate on the future, Garulph, and today, I am a General. Look who is up there on the killing field, waiting. I'm here when my people need me. There is no threat in the world larger than the one we face now, and if I am to be executed after saving the empire one more time, then so be it."

Garulph could not fault Conrad for his courage and conviction. Still, he wanted his friend to live.

"Do there need to be two of us in this tent, arguing over plans? It's not too late. I will say you slipped away on an errand before I knew it was time to arrest you. After all, no such order has arrived; I only anticipate it. I will hesitate to spread the word when it does arrive."

Conrad stood and shook his head. "No, but I can think of someone who doesn't need to perish no matter how this goes. I'm doomed, but you're the last best hope for this land. The people might soon come for their unjust regent, but what happens then? I told you how common folk see us. If I'm not already dead before then, I'm next. With luck, whoever takes that throne will see the value of keeping you."

"Absolutely not. The people's noble defender wouldn't run away, nor would he abandon his friend and mentor."

Conrad put his hands up defensively. "Fine, then you will stay and deliver strategy, because this is your front to organize. And I, well, you say I may be a dead man anyway. So, I shall suit up, and we shall both hope that I die gloriously in battle."

"Oh yes, like the Generals and Kings of old!" Garulph said. "You're a legendary fool. You'll take my suggestions about as quickly as our regent, but at least you can tell me what you're about to do so I can plan around it."

"That cavalry maneuver I mentioned; I shall lead it. Tell me where the shell is most thin, and I'll crack the enemy's front line and begin to make chaos behind them. Beyond that, you'll have to watch and react. I think you know what to do."

Garulph thought that if their enemies knew a General took the field, they would rain arrows down to get him no matter how many of their own stood in peril.

But how would their enemies tell him apart from the other cavalry? Did they know Conrad by sight?

Garulph stood up slowly, pensively.

"That's foolish; completely absurd. And that's why they'll never expect it. This might work, Conrad."

"Then it's past time I discussed this with your best cavalry."

* * *

It was dead noon when the boulder casters on the Eastern side flung their projectiles at the Kensrikan fortifications visible distant and below. Shortly after that, Garulph and Conrad and everyone else witnessed some Eastern cavalry approaching the slopes well in advance of throngs of foot soldiers.

Conrad, armed and on horseback, licked his lips. Would those attacking riders stay far ahead of their own line? Likely, because there must be more riders lying in wait. He expected this was a test of some sort.

"Raise the cavalry guards!" Garulph shouted the order which was quickly relayed.

Kenderley Army engineers ducked boulders and dodged spiked logs from the trebuchets as they worked the defense mechanisms. From the ground rose barricades topped with grass and earth, but made of wood and iron, and the sides that faced the attackers were full of holes.

Conrad watched the enemy cavalry to get closer, which was a shorter wait than it felt to him.

Then Garulph signaled the next command.

The engineers pulled ropes activating release mechanisms on the barricades. Out sprang long thin metal shafts with tapered ends, studded with small blades.

The charging Eastern cavalry had to make the sharpest turns away to avoid these obstacles. Some of them charged too hard to stop in time. Others veered around the armed barricades but fell prey to hidden pits, where Kenderley polearms could easily slaughter them.

Conrad saw Garulph twitch at the violence before him, as if the younger General must always have known what those traps would do but never really pictured it.

The remaining Eastern cavalry circled wide and back at the base of the slope, convinced that they sprang most of the traps to be found and the foot soldiers behind them could descend with greater confidence.

Conrad was not going to give them the time.

"Stay on the path, follow me, and I will even your pace; be mindful of the barricades' pikes, don't be too careless with your turns." The giant turned his suitably enormous horse to lead the charge.

The Kensrikan cavalry charged after him, on his signal.

The enemy horsemen moved in a serpentine pattern to make difficult high-speed targets for springbows; they had not yet returned to the ridge. That left the path open for Conrad's charge.

* * *

"Move out! Follow that charge!" Garulph ordered the Kensrikan polearms and springbows.

From his vantage, he could only see Conrad's riders mounting the ridge and the Eastern riders beginning to chase them.

Did the old man just get himself trapped? The rest of the army rushed to his aid, but they were on foot and trying to catch up with horses.

* * *

Conrad's free hand wielded a stiff-necked mace with which he would do crushing or glancing damage; there was plenty of armour to be knocked off his foes, though some of it was useless against such hefty strikes. His General's Sword was sheathed, the scabbard affixed to the saddle, awaiting a moment of destiny.

He moved with the powerful creature beneath him so deftly that they may as well together be a centaur. His mace rose and fell on Eastern armour, helmets, and skulls, and the hoofs of the horse equally struck around when suitable.

Neither he nor the other riders let themselves be pinned in one spot. They veered around clusters of enemy soldiers, pausing to smash a cluster before moving along to the next; their pursuers were often blocked by a wall of friendlies which clamoured to get at their attackers. Over-eager Eastern soldiers, who had moved forward on instructions to follow their own cavalry down the ridge yet had not nearly caught up with their riders, abandoned their initial orders for the nearer target; after all, these Kensrikan riders were trapped and outnumbered, so it would look to anyone. The rest of the Kenderley Army was only just cresting the ridge.

* * *

From his vantage at the higher Eastern ridge, on horseback, Ottokar scowled at the lack of discipline.

He opted to stay the archers when he saw the unexpected Kensrikan cavalry charge because Eastern riders were too close behind. Now his foot soldiers were rushing ahead out of formation, and he wouldn't let the archers send a volley to kill some outnumbered and overeager Kensrikan riders.

He yelled orders for the nearest officers to relay.

"Tell the fools to draw back to formation! Then send the rest of the cavalry ahead, to contain those attacking riders!"

The Eastern soldiers who were closest to the approaching Kensrikan soldiers fell back soon enough to try and raise shields, to protect themselves from their newest problem: the sting of bolts from approaching springbows. The next wave of Eastern cavalry swept around, funneling themselves into the increasing gap between their own forces and the Kenderley Army foot soldiers, and all did well to stand back of the thumping river of horses.

He saw this become a mixed field of combatants despite his frantic orders. An archer could occasionally single out a target, but there would be no decisive volleys.

* * *

Conrad's left ear rang as it often would; the constant loud clang of metal might have spurred this on. The exhilaration of charging ahead like a decades-younger cavalryman had long burnt out. Some panels of his armour had been knocked off; others had been dented with glancing blows and they wouldn't stop any further hit. His mace hand, and the arm attached to it, and the shoulder connected with that were fatiguing, only slightly quicker than the rest of him.

Yet his plan was working. His cavalry could easily hear orders and follow along, and most of Garulph's soldiers still moved in their ranks, but the Eastern force was practically falling over itself with confusion.

That didn't dull the blade of a single attacker, nor spare him the constant effort of killing and evading. It explained why arrows were scarce.

He did notice bolts, but only Kensrikans sent those, and none toward their own General. Springbows worked excellently to pinpoint targets in close quarters, quicker to reload and far less cumbersome than longbows. Garulph's men must be catching up.

Conrad saw an opening and led his cavalry onward.

* * *

General Ottokar was livid. Before he could order his men to trap the attacking horses, the rest of the Kenderley Army had caught up on the field. He was unsure if a single order he gave reached those who needed one the most.

He asked the most elite archer he could find: "Do you see that giant on horseback among the Kensrikan riders?"

"I have watched him since he took the field, sir."

Ottokar nodded slowly. "Then you should also have concluded he's led those riders all along. And no one can single him out, then?"

"First, he was too far, and you stayed our bows from volleys in which he would be caught. Once closer, he's been constantly moving, always too close to our own or surrounded by others, and the wind—"

"I believe he is worth the risk. Can you make that mark?" Ottokar interrupted.

The archer looked at the carnage below and felt afraid to reply. He might as well try to long-shot one specific seabird out of a whirling flock in a windstorm.

"You cannot." Ottokar observed. "Soon he will be closer than I want him to be. That had better help your aim."

Then Ottokar left the archer and raised his voice for all the officers to hear.

"Pull back up the ridge! Regroup! They make chaos for us down there, but if we can rally up here, we can present a united counterattack." Ottokar found himself one step shy of ordering a full retreat.

* * *

Now there was a distinct wall of foot soldiers of all kinds, both Eastern and Kensrikan, keeping the Eastern cavalry bottled up at the back of the field where Conrad's group had been, and they fought an intense and pitched and frustrating battle. Soon there would be no Eastern cavalry.

But Conrad saw enemy foot soldiers fleeing up the nearest ridge. Many other foes who were disheartened by the chaotic drubbing fled south, hoping to find another escape route. The rest were trapped.

He gestured toward that closest ridge quite grandly.

"Now we have toured the field, let us bring the fight to them," he said.

"Sir? We charge up the hill, like they must want?" One loudmouth asked.

Conrad laughed madly. "Have you a better way to reach the top?"

And they slowly withdrew from the remaining Eastern cavalry to let the Kensrikan polearms and springbows finish that work. By the time they had a clear gallop to the upward ridge, they saw a gap between those Eastern soldiers who had remained closest to the back of the field and those who had run too far ahead.

They charged on. Garulph's men could deal with the stragglers.

Conrad reached the village where the East had been making camp.

The fighting up the slope was most intense at first, with the cavalry loosening their formation upon conquering the hill, and scattering to wreck this and that boulder caster, and to kill whoever they met.

Now the Eastern archers had time to turn and take aim. The chaos was on the field below, but the targets were clearer at the village level. They no longer had to worry about hitting their own. However, Ottokar having held most of them well to the back of the field, they only had long shots to make.

Just as Conrad saw Kensrikans crest the ridge after him, he saw the Eastern archers begin to withdraw toward exactly a territory he never planned to be concerned about that day. Those left resisting the Kensrikans fought bitterly and not for long.

Conrad broke from the group, looking around for any commanding officer; his foes had been the sloppiest and most disorganized attacking group he could imagine, but someone must have been within earshot to send messengers and relay orders. There was some method to the Eastern forces' movements, some intent.

He looked for a rider. The Eastern cavalry was stuck on the main field below, but a commanding officer would want to make a quick getaway.

Conrad galloped around abandoned houses and barns, seeing that this mere farming village could only have staged an attack. It was never built to withstand one.

Then he saw a flea-bitten roan horse galloping toward the ridge that led to the fortifications of Suur-Linnus, whose rider had successfully hidden the two of them until Conrad had rushed by. Conrad turned his horse around with some indignation and galloped after the other horse.

* * *

General Ottokar sighed as he heard the thundering gallops approach him from behind.

"It must be that giant and his six-hooved horse from the depths of hell."

Ottokar had ridden around alerting any person left in the Eastern camp to retreat, and that was how he got himself in this chase. It was too late to have been wisely selfish.

With no hope of outrunning that beast, he drew his sword, trusted his ears, let the gallops get as close as was exactly right, then executed a sudden stop and swung his sword hard at the figure who was nearly upon him.

The force of the swing combined with the force of Conrad's acceleration, such that though he did bring his mace up in time to defend himself, the weapon's grip shattered from a fault which had been taxed by jarring from hard blows all battle long. Conrad discarded the broken weapon that had just barely saved him. He drew his sword and forced his monstrously large horse to a stop despite its momentum.

Ottokar had by this time drawn a second, shorter blade with his left hand. He stood in his stirrups and dove at Conrad with the longer blade in front and the second pointed to stab. Conrad managed to lock blades with the larger sword while grabbing Ottokar's left hand, such that Conrad's arm was now crossed in an X with the flat of Conrad's sword, and the force of the smaller man jumping nevertheless toppled Conrad, and they were both on the ground, Ottokar on top of his foe.

Their horses whinnied and took off in fright.

Conrad brought a boot up to Ottokar's hip, kicked off the ground with his other boot for leverage and arched his back hard. Ottokar somersaulted in the air over Conrad's head and landed too disoriented to deliver an immediate reprisal.

Now they were both scrambling to regain their balance and footing as the remainder of the Kenderley Army cavalry circled to watch this duel and started heckling.

"This whelp is half your size! Destroy him!"

"He was killing when you were suckling, you've no chance!"

The ringing in Conrad's bad ear cut out most of the potential distraction.

Ottokar flung his smaller blade at his enemy; Conrad swatted the thing away with his General's Sword, but experience told him this was a feint, and he wasn't distracted from the swift thrust to follow. Conrad began this stage of the fight on the defensive, parrying this and that while trying to find some opening for a strike.

The younger man had not just fought a battle himself, not the way Conrad did. Ottokar had energy to burn and the haste and fury of a trapped man. Conrad's size and reach kept his opponent at bay, but he knew he needed an opening to strike before he fell over with exhaustion.

Ottokar finally overcommitted an uppercut swing at his foe's head in exasperation, easily dodged. Conrad swung his sword down and lopped off Ottokar's sword hand at the elbow.

The elder General left no time for his opponent to suffer. He swiftly decapitated him.

Conrad turned away from the headless body and its final sprays of blood; panting, surrounded by cheering riders, he saw that General Garulph had finally accompanied his men up the ridge to this dimple in the foothills.

The other Kensrikan riders turned their attention to Garulph who made a hasty trot toward Conrad.

"Sir, our enemies are on the run, we chase them up to their fortress."

"Get all of our men to pull back," ordered Garulph. "We make our new camp here, outside the reach of their arrows. We have sufficient numbers, but now they have stone to hide behind, and their archers will have the courage they lacked on the field. Let's not offer them any more easy kills."

The horsemen rode off to deliver these orders to all ridges, to all corners of this valley, so that none would make the mistake of continuing to ascend any further.

Conrad's massive horse was seen chewing grass somewhere, and no one dared approach the reins to lead the horse back. Yet the elder General knelt on the ground, exhausted.

"We won, Garulph. I hope my maneuver wasn't too frustrating to plan around," Conrad said.

"You took risks that I wouldn't, but that's why we won so handily. We have cost them far more than we lost. We'll camp here until we're certain there are no secondary attack plans."

"Hopefully not. They are a coalition, but we only border one kingdom. When the time is right, send a messenger unarmed, with terms, addressed to... the Crown Joakim..." Conrad was dizzy.

"General?!" Garulph dismounted and rushed to his colleague's side.

Conrad was awake, but the trodden grass under him seemed like a nice bed for the time being.

Garulph quickly examined his friend. "Did he get you anywhere? I can't tell how much of this blood is yours."

Conrad forced out a laugh and made himself sit up. "Battle scratches. Little nicks. No worse than a sloppy shave."

"General, I didn't just come to issue orders. I received word, a rushed message. I regret to say you're under arrest. I need you to come with me," Garulph explained with a tone that alternated between distaste for the order and dread for this outcome.

"I won't make you carry me to the chains," Conrad let out a weak laugh as he slowly stood.

The other soldiers wanted to help but refrained. They read this as a confidential moment between two friends. They waited at a distance for the next order but their attention to the two Generals never wavered.

Conrad continued as they slowly walked together. "Now, that was quite the first outing for you. I want you to think about what you saw today."

"What do you mean? I thought about it intensely as it unfolded."

"I thought I waited my whole life for that battle to happen, but—"

An arrow suddenly arced deep between Conrad's shoulder blades.

* * *

With the attention firmly on the Generals, no one noticed a lone archer. He heard Ottokar's warning call too late and knew he would never outrun horsemen. He concealed himself in hay, spying on the duel as best he could, yet unable to see through the circle of riders who enveloped it. He hoped his General would avenge their loss.

Once the Kensrikans cheered, he knew Ottokar had fallen. He waited for the riders to disperse. He waited for his target to stand up, and for the other man to be out of the way, believing he had time to let fly but once. He waited for favourable wind.

* * *

"Conrad!" Garulph couldn't hold the giant up from this final collapse.

Now alerted, the soldiers rushed toward the killer, springbows at the ready. He was slaughtered before he could prepare another arrow.

But he had made his perfect mark. Conrad died instantly.

* * *

King Dietfried of Osterik thought the message might be ill tidings, the way the messenger kneeled so deeply that he must hope the display of respect would be to his credit.

"Thank you, messenger. You may rise," Dietfried said as he accepted the piece of parchment.

He saw that the seal resembled that of General Ottokar, but with a score through it. He immediately understood the implications.

Queen Matilde looked around a doorway and spied her husband with the letter. She knew such messages were addressed specifically to him, but she also knew the circumstances in which they lived, and she could no longer bear the suspense.

"What word?" She asked hurriedly, tired of so many anxious days.

By the time she reached him, he had already read the brief message and folded it up. He sent away the messenger with a single furious expression.

"It's over, Matilde," Dietfried said, his voice surprisingly calm.

"What's over?"

"General Ottokar perished on the field. The enemy chased our soldiers and allies back up to the fortress of the Crown Joakim, who accepted terms independently of us, and promptly evicted all remaining soldiers who were not his own. The Army of Osterik returns with haste to fortify us from all directions."

She looked into his eyes. "What does that mean for us, having lost? You have not surrendered."

"No, of course not. Our neighbours, they may all blame me for this. But even after such a terrible battle, we outnumber the others, and our wealth is greater."

"So, the Kensrikans are not coming here. We are safe," she guessed desperately.

Did he not see what his bold martial schemes had been doing to her all along? Did he not understand the simple thing she needed to know?

"As safe as we can be, Matilde. I will send Kensrik a notice that we cease hostilities, for what that is worth, and that will be all," he said.

She held him tightly, then, as if she could crush him. Part of her embraced him for the good news, but another part wanted to deprive him of breath.

"This is the end. No more of this," she said.

"No more," he confirmed.

14

Of Order and Control

After the myriad events of the past week, Jonnecht no longer felt angry. He felt annoyed with constantly guessing what might happen next. He met with his Arms Master and Admiral in the library, which for the time being, had become a strategic office lined with maps and scribbled calculations.

"I would say this is unbelievable, but what is? What's unbelievable anymore, gentlemen?" Jonnecht stared at the flame of a candle, for this room in the heart of a middle level of the palace lacked windows, and always needed logs burning in the fireplace in addition to various lamps.

"It's best to believe it," said his Arms Master. "The Eastern Kingdoms, they have unwittingly served you, handing you this victory. Now they will blame each other, become divided."

"General Garulph tells me he has received an offer of standing peace from Suur-Linnus. He wants to accept, provided they expel the other kingdoms' forces from their land," the Admiral repeated his copy of a message that probably went to Jonnecht himself, of which the King must no doubt have been aware.

"Yes, yes, but where is the gain for us?" Jonnecht asked. "Aside from some farming villages, some valleys, what? Is Suur-Linnus not right there for the taking, especially if they may break from agreement with their erstwhile allies anyway? We should send them a false decree of acceptance, let them believe it's over, then strike."

The Arms Master saw the greed in the King's eyes.

"We may have performed far better against the East than we expected, but even in victory we suffered losses, Great King. We should reconsider dashing the remainder of our Army against the stone of their fortress; even if we took it, how many do we have left to defend us afterward? And they would take too long to return from that hostile terrain if we needed them anywhere else. Let's not forget who else is watching..."

"The blasted Etroukans," Jonnecht spat.

He looked from one man to the other, but neither was a target for his renewed rage at the mention of those schemers, who had recently tripled the size of their realm without drawing a single drop of blood.

Who, within his reach, would pay the price for this freshly remembered failure? It seemed obvious.

"Where again is General Conrad? The treachery of him. I made a promise in my address to the people, and I feel up to it, of my own hands. He should have been brought before me by now."

The Arms Master and the Admiral cast careful glances at each other. The fate of Conrad was known, but wilfully forgotten in the fray of details. No one wanted to bring it up. Now someone had to.

"Conrad assisted Garulph at the defense against the East, Great King, and it seems he fell right at its end. The body has been quietly and swiftly carted here," the Admiral said.

Jonnecht scoffed. "Well then behead the body. Do it within the palace grounds, let the crowds get a distant but not a good look at him, and pass his apparent lethargy for being uncooperative or perhaps a self-drugging. Then we burn the remains, before they can curse my home with illness."

The Arms Master came up with a bold question, but an obvious one.

"Surely the late General had redeemed himself, at least somewhat, with his dying efforts."

"No," Jonnecht said, "he did no such thing. Let me tell you, my far more reliable friend, what truly transpired. General Garulph is the commanding officer of the Kenderley Army, Eastern Division, is he not? He led us to victory, successfully defending this empire, and he will get all the credit he deserves for this act of heroism. Conrad didn't belong on that front. His actions were reckless, endangering the defense, and preventing us from conquering Suur-Linnus."

The Arms Master looked to the Admiral, once again. This was absurd, beheading a dead man as punishment and lying about his actions. Jonnecht also sounded like he would accept this in return for doing nothing further to compromise the empire's defense. Now was the time to rebuild. Any excuse to delay the next war would do.

"Yes, Great King, I believe I also speak for the Admiral when I say we can make this version of events abundantly clear to all under your command," the Arms Master replied.

"He does, at that," the Admiral confirmed.

Jonnecht heard footsteps and turned to see his youngest son, who had some books bundled together under one arm, and some writing implements.

* * *

"Bonifaz. How go your studies?" Jonnecht asked.

Bonifaz nearly jumped at the suddenness of his father's voice, but he showed no dread, just a meekness that his father must find endearing.

"They go quite well. My tutor says my calligraphy is coming along nicely," he replied.

"Excellent." Jonnecht said, then flippantly waved the other men away.

"I'm sorry to interrupt, but I wanted to return some books to their shelf," Bonifaz said.

Jonnecht laughed, a surprisingly light-hearted sound.

"You seem frightened! You need not worry, you're my son, after all."

Bonifaz pretended that this inspired any confidence. Was Ewald not the King's son? He felt relieved that those ghoulish old men had departed the library, and he let that feeling help him pretend.

Ewald had ordered this visit's true purpose. Bonifaz knew a meeting was at hand and was eavesdropping from just outside the library door. His tutor session had ended earlier than he was letting on. He knew in advance he would need a reason to be there, in case any of the men left through that same door and saw him.

Jonnecht continued: "Put the books away, then, and sit with me a while. I want to talk with you."

Bonifaz obeyed. Now he had to survive this conversation without letting anything slip. He let his father begin the conversation, because Jonnecht was most comfortable feeling in control of every exchange.

"I hope that at this point in your tutelage, you would have learned about the Sky Priesthood. Give me your quickest summary about what happened to them."

The youngest son paused and blinked, having not expected this topic. He was, however, prepared.

"That was an old lesson. They were a powerful religious order in this land; our House flag uses their symbols, and our people still use their curse words. They performed strange rituals and they killed people. Our ancestor outlawed them long ago."

Jonnecht found that a good place to interrupt. "That's very good. But do you think the Sky Priests were wrong?"

That question sounded loaded and Bonifaz hoped to clarify it. "Wrong in their beliefs? Wrong to kill people?"

Jonnecht smiled, feeling like a wise mentor. "Their beliefs are everything one can argue about yet nothing one can prove; they believed in a kind of order and they killed to maintain it. Have you understood yet that House Kenderley does a similar thing?"

Now Bonifaz felt like moths danced in his gut. The Sky Priests were considered more ghoulish than the old men who had recently departed that library, a terror that parents might use to threaten undisciplined children. It would be an insult to think of his own family the same way.

Yet, from what Bonifaz had seen, it was a valid question if rephrased. Was House Kenderley any better than the Sky Priests?

Jonnecht noted the silent indecision and patted his son on the back. "I don't mean to punish you for a wrong answer. I want you to understand that such things are not always about a clear right or wrong. It's about order and control, and who the commoner must answer to if they fall out of line."

Bonifaz listened intently, knowing that if he gave his father this moment to teach a lesson, the focus would remain far from anything Bonifaz wanted to hide.

Or did his father merely want him to think so?

"To have our family dictating laws on one side, and the Priesthood dictating a separate set of morals… that's as if commoners have two gods in dispute. A terrible predicament! People going through their work and their daily lives with such a contradiction, dreading they will incur the wrath of one god by serving the other."

Bonifaz made an observation so he wouldn't appear uninterested. "It sounds as if the gods would have to settle their differences."

"Exactly." Jonnecht replied with a doting smile of approval. "It's no less a problem for the gods, whose dictates need to be followed, yet one constantly gets in the other's way. You can't convict the commoner for living in a paradox. There must be only one way to follow."

"Our way."

Jonnecht leaned back in his chair and steepled his fingers. "Correct. If there is a truest wrong to this empire, it's confusion. Disorder. There must be one voice of authority with absolute control."

Was that his father's excuse for nearly murdering his brother, hitting their mother, and disowning a daughter he never paid attention to until the slightest disobedience came to light?

Bonifaz swallowed all appearance of discontent. "It's a difficult truth, but I understand."

Jonnecht nodded slowly. "I hope so. Because I'm not sure when your brother will slouch back to the palace gates from wherever he thinks he can hide. I might still love him, and I might let him return, but I might never trust him. I need you to excel at your studies and one day become the embodiment of that highest authority, the one who will do what's needed even if it's ugly."

Bonifaz' eyes widened. "Are you saying I'm the heir?"

Jonnecht let out a chuckle. "This is an informal discussion. But surely you must see the logic that makes you the front-runner. All you must do is remain obedient and smart. Now, you surely have other lessons and responsibilities this day; I'll not keep you."

Jonnecht waved flippantly in a similar manner to how he earlier dismissed the two men.

Bonifaz stood up slowly and gave a respectful nod before departing. He gradually breathed with ease again. He had never been more relieved to get out of a conversation.

15

A New Life in the City

Dulcibella rushed to the corridor of children's bedrooms when she heard the racket. She arrived to find that Jonnecht had kicked open Ewald's door. He had not kicked in the door per se, but he had kicked it until he broke whatever ingenious latch Ewald had installed to keep it locked. When Jonnecht found the room devoid of persons, just featuring its usual desk, chair, mirror, and bed with old bloodstains on the sheets, he punched the mirror with a gloved fist and then hurled the chair against the wall.

When Dulcibella reached him, he exhibited an eerie calm, having apparently already taken the edge off his anger by breaking things.

"Jon?" She asked fearfully.

He shrugged as if this was nothing. "The boy didn't answer to my call, even after I gave him so many days to feel sorry for himself and think about what he did. I took it upon myself to investigate why. I'll assume for your sake that annoying door latch is what stopped you from checking on him sooner."

She thought he knew that wasn't the case, but he must want her to thank him for giving her a way out of responsibility. She would do nothing of the sort.

He scowled. "He's escaped you before and he did it again. Well, it's of no matter to me if he's gone. He can stay out until he properly apologizes for having angered me. See to it that he never returns except under these specific circumstances. If you're even capable of performing such a simple task."

She bowed her head and did not reply. She did not want to risk herself or the son she had left.

"I have a son here anyway," Jonnecht said. "One who studies and diligently takes his lessons and does not defy me. And his life and demeanor are to your credit, you who raised him," he said.

She quietly hoped Bonifaz was strong enough to keep being obedient, for both their sakes.

* * *

This building had no crest either of the times Ewald visited, but it soon enough would.

Considering how he remembered this place, it seemed completely transformed. Every oil lamp was turned up, revealing all the cleaning that must have occurred to make it look so vastly different. Swathes of light green fabric wrapped every pillar and ran pinned along the walls, though carefully at a distance around the oil lamps so that none of it would catch aflame.

All the hookahs had been removed and replaced with large vases bearing lilies and daffodils, courtesy of a member of this crowd who owned a floral farm. Those used to working the docks had rearranged the seating and tables, turning the dance floor into part of a wide aisle. Those adept at weaving had assembled a high arching canopy from which many woven blossoms did hang.

There, Ewald knew, they would gather. He thought the one thing more difficult than these preparations would be convincing them all that he could attend safely. But, Ewald argued, and Isabel concurred, Jonnecht would not yet be restless for his son to return. Nor would Jonnecht worry about what Ewald might do, having already bested Ewald in combat. A man who viewed himself as strong had an heir whom he presently viewed as dependent and ineffective, and he would relish the idea of his son crawling back home to beg forgiveness. They could have weeks to spare before Jonnecht accepted that this was not the case and took further action.

How many weeks was an excellent question, but it had merely been days.

"We had a message delivered." The door guard announced, getting Ewald's attention.

Ewald knew this part was his responsibility. "And the messenger wasn't suspicious, I hope?"

The door guard grinned, his face the only one in the room not covered by a mask; he placed the scroll in Ewald's upturned palm.

"We have trusted messengers, cousin. We wouldn't let a detail like that go unconsidered."

"Right." Ewald nodded with agreement, then lightly closed his fingers around the document.

The guard turned and walked the corridor to his post while Ewald made his way back to the others. He walked down the aisle past short rows of masked people. These were the true regulars; he had seen them dance, and they had seen him.

It was a strange formality to keep his mask when there must be little doubt who he was.

The last organized religion that was allowed to take root in Kensrik and to bless unions was the Sky Priesthood, and they would not come out of hiding with the price on their heads. Since people still needed to make formal vows, swear oaths, and recognize binding agreements, the law changed after Priests and Sisters were scattered; it was for House Kenderley to determine who could wield legal authority.

Ewald still had his name and title. He had such authority by birthright, age, and schooling. After Isabel was disowned, she trusted no city-dweller close to the law except him; she would invite no other for this occasion.

Many masked people had a good idea who their Matron was after this public disownment; a few had suspected it prior. It was not a big leap to guess Ewald's identity. If he were really from abroad, he would lack legal authority in Kensrik; he must be more than a cousin. Yet in this place, he would present himself as an equal.

At the end of the aisle, under the canopy's arch, was a table draped to the floor with bright white cloth that was embroidered with a vibrant floral pattern. Isabel sat on one end of this ceremonial table, her hair pulled into a bun that was held in place with jewelled pins; Liviana sat across from her, sporting lovely box braids tied into a bun. Behind that table was Ewald's seat. An inkwell and a vibrant owl's feather quill pen sat on the table next to a wide empty space meant for the scrolls he carried.

He took his seat and placed these documents on the table.

He looked to Isabel, then to Liviana. He saw them glance at the horrible bruise which crept beyond his cheek and past the edge of his mask; they didn't stare, but he knew their eyes were drawn to it.

"I understand you have chosen a new surname for yourselves. Is this correct?"

They nodded slowly as he spoke it and, for good measure, spelled it aloud to ensure the validity of what he would write down.

Then he spoke for the others to hear. His chest still lightly ached at the exertion.

"As a titled member of House Kenderley and therefore vested with legal authority, I recognize the validity of this document and these proceedings under law."

Most of the document's text was common and easily reproduced by any good writer. The scrolls were merely well-written until someone formalized them. Ewald wrote their names with his best calligraphy before signing his own.

A childhood under Jonnecht left him well versed in guarding his feelings, but he could barely restrain his joy for them much longer. He refused to let his feelings steal his concentration until his duties were flawlessly executed.

He knew that once he let this kind of joy out, it would consume all his attention.

He then stood, pulled back his chair, and left them room to meet and place their signatures where he indicated. Though decorations and ornate masks could easily steal his attention, he only watched the brides-to-be carefully sign their names.

Weddings in Kensrik were often about the union of illustrious houses, a show of what they could afford to spend in one day while remaining wealthy.

This, he knew, was not that kind of wedding. This was about love despite recent sorrow, and in defiance of a powerful enemy.

Liviana put down the quill pen, the last to sign. The two looked to him in case they had forgotten anything else he needed to declare or to have them sign. He just nodded back; the next part of the ceremony was solely theirs. They turned their backs to him, and each took a separate path around the table until they met on the other side.

The table no longer in the way, now an onlooker had a better view of Isabel's black-corseted green dress, with trumpet sleeves and demi-train. Liviana wore her favourite dress, a burgundy one-piece gown with a high gold-embroidered waist and a square neckline.

Ewald remained where he was. He wore light brown pants, a white long-sleeved cotton shirt, a cravat, and a hunter green vest with gold buttons. The finer parts of this were Isabel's suggestions, though he liked the ensemble enough that he wanted to keep it for other occasions.

Knowing this cue from rehearsal, masked Blythe approached bearing a wide and ornate hinged box; the silver trim had no doubt been polished recently given the visible wear on the wood that marked this as an heirloom box.

The brides-to-be held hands. Each woman's free hand was at her own mask.

Isabel removed her mask first, then spoke: "I, Isabel, feel that this woman knows me more deeply than any other. I accept her and I love her most."

Liviana then removed her mask and replied: "I, Liviana, feel that this woman knows me more deeply than any other. I accept her and I love her most."

They threw their masks to the floor with a clatter and let go of each other's hands.

Blythe presented them with the open box. Once each woman took a necklace from its place in the box, the barkeep closed the box and returned to sitting.

Each bride held a gold panel necklace with precious emeralds and rubies, centered by a pendant with a large purple sapphire. Each had a turn clasping the gift around her bride's neck. Liviana had chosen the design with panels, while Isabel had chosen precious stones that were not only luxurious and beautiful but reminiscent of her mother's jewels.

"I don't know what my future is, but Liviana, I will stand with you in what's to come. If I had to, I would lose everything and everyone else but you."

"I will never abandon you, Isabel. There's so much we have together; you'll see."

They kissed and embraced to the cheers and applause and tears of those witnesses present.

Ewald beamed sweetly, feeling proud of them both. He held out his arms as if to present this new couple, but he was not about to interrupt the moment with his voice.

Isabel once suggested to him that he had power and all she got to have was fun. Ewald realized since then that this was never true. He stood in her benevolent regency; these masked patrons were her subjects, including himself, for the length of his stay. She had always held power, and now she didn't have to wield it alone.

He looked to the legal scrolls.

Isabel was no longer a Kenderley, but her mother, a matron to different causes entirely, still was. Dulcibella was the first he had heard speak their new surname. He remembered how young he was when he first encountered it.

Until that day, he suspected, there had never really been a Lady Althaus.

Now there were two.

* * *

The Ladies Althaus held hands as they rode together in the open top carriage.

It was the perfect day for it: a warm sun, a nice breeze off the bay. Tradespeople went about their daily work, many going to and from renovation projects and commissions; they paused to observe these powerful women riding in style. The two wore elaborately woven silk shawls around the tops of their heads and necks as women of high station often did to protect from sun and wind; these also hid their faces to some degree.

Isabel squeezed Liviana's hand gently. "I could do this every day. I should buy us a carriage, and we can have it adorned our way; have it always available at our call."

"Are you buying a place to put it, and a stable?"

Liviana hated to douse the flames of her love's imagination, but she expected Isabel's remark to have been facetious. She hoped so, anyway.

The carriage came to a gradual halt to let a line of slow and chatty workers cross the road. There were many of those about the streets these days, coming, going, spending the day's earnings.

Isabel grinned and gently rested her head on Liviana's shoulder. They were in no hurry.

"I suppose. I just want to get you everything, you know. Seeing you happy never gets boring."

Liviana gently leaned her head against Isabel's. "You gave me you; you'll never outdo yourself now. And let's not draw attention to the accounts of 'Lady Althaus' after we just claimed the name."

Isabel sighed. Yes, their spending should only shift gradually over time, unless they wanted to force Dulcibella to do more to cover for them. Mother had to live with enough troubles.

Back in the palace days, Isabel discovered that her mother invented this minor House, just small enough to escape scrutiny, yet supposedly dignified and wealthy enough through inheritance to lend, to collect, and to petition House Kenderley for grants of gold. Dulcibella used it as a cover to funnel funds out of the royal purse, pretending to commission custom furniture and jewellery for private purposes.

Isabel found she could get away with exploiting that name, yet back then never stopped to wonder how.

She remembered the last conversation they had together. Her mother knew. She had been looking after Isabel all along. She still looked after her now.

"I wasn't being serious, of course. It's enough to move up from stuffy public boxes."

They straightened as the road was finally clear and the driver looked like he would get the horses moving again.

Liviana thought it was interesting that Isabel called being kicked out of the palace a move up.

She had hoped Isabel would quickly come around to this realization. What was having the pinnacle of luxury around you, yet strict rules preventing you from enjoying it? How great was it having your life revolve around the plans and interests of others who wanted to control you?

No more stuffy public boxes. An extravagant life together on their terms.

It seemed like Isabel was starting to understand what she had gained when her father disowned her.

16

Ewald's Plan

The flow of secret funds from Dulcibella opened into quite the torrent once it was clear that the several distractions faced by King Jonnecht would prevent him from noticing this dubiousness.

There was already a flood of wealth heading out to construct an official building for the Parliament of Common Representatives. Not ones to let themselves sit in an older place while commoners got something shiny and new, the House of Lords petitioned for several aesthetic upgrades to their existing meeting place that would bring its opulence above what was planned for the parliament building.

All that spending was a great cover for the Ladies Althaus, who dreamed of creating a proper River Bay Ballroom so that people outside the palace could enjoy life just as well as anyone inside it; and less publicly, so that people who for their safety felt the need to hide something in their daily lives could have a space to enjoy themselves and meet with equals.

Ewald spent much of the time studying and training. He rarely ventured out lest he be recognized, but parts of his plan inevitably required him to don a street cloak and hope that no one would give him trouble. He savoured the new and unfamiliar freedom to walk about.

It was a busy time to freely roam Bayrock, as the flood of wealth created a great demand for well-paid work at all social tiers. Well-to-do shopkeepers and homeowners in Bayrock wanted improvements to their buildings, at least to the exteriors, to keep up with what was happening closest to the palace; all the largest purses after the Kenderleys were gaping wide.

But all this put pressure on Ewald's cause. Such prosperity served the best interests of his father. Ewald had little time to wait for the happiness around him to wear thin; Jonnecht might not have sent people for him yet, but one day he would tire of waiting. Jonnecht had to be long past believing his son couldn't survive without palace comforts.

Fortunately, the regent was distracted with legal reforms. The laws of the land were shifting thanks to the negotiation of the people's new representatives, and thus the renegotiation of the powers of the House of Lords, all to do as Jonnecht sourly promised: to place greater value on their input and consensus, and to spare him from relying on potentially misleading advisers.

Ewald saw through this softening of image, but who else did? Better to ask who else with any legal authority would help him. It was unclear what Common Representatives could do if anything. He avoided them in favour of those with established power.

For the first time in his life, Ewald stood before the governing chamber of nobles who agreed to hear from him. They allotted him time for a statement to conclude the day's schedule.

"I put this to you, distinguished audience: now is the time to consider what we do when a regent is no longer of sound mind yet has heirs of suitable age," he said.

"You need to be careful how you phrase your statements, Prince Ewald, or you could be accused of treason, even given your upstanding lineage," reminded the Speaker of the House.

The Speaker was a lord who wore a black damask robe common to judges; what hair remained on his head was white, trimmed short, and smoothed impeccably with fragrant oils. He had been elected by consensus of the nobles to maintain orderly proceedings. He alone had the authority to throw anybody out of a session, a decision never made lightly. No one in the governing chamber normally looked up to any higher authority except the regent.

"May I remind the Speaker," countered Ewald, "that I agreed to this consultation behind closed doors, that it would not inflame the sentiments of the public? I am not asking for anything like a revolution. I am merely proposing that laws be drawn up for emergency situations. Let them be impossible to incur flippantly, somehow, perhaps requiring two-thirds majority or a unanimous vote; but let something be there. The Great King acts in apparent wisdom and calm at this time, I will not deny that; but remember that not so long ago, some whispered more radical proposals than mine, in secret."

"You understand, however, that it appears suspicious for one who benefits so directly to suggest these laws?" The Speaker asked.

A round of polite applause erupted from those who occupied an elevated gallery of seats.

Any noble folk could inherit a position on this council regardless of gender. One could also petition for a seat, but the others had to accept that unanimously and the present head of House Kenderley needed to approve. Many wealthy people preferred something else to do with their day, but all understood how important a duty it was to draft the kingdom's laws for royal assent. Some of them preferred powdered wigs, following an older fashion that was on its way out; everyone else had their hair slicked or otherwise preened impeccably for the occasion. The attention paid to aesthetic was an expectation of their class. The gallery was a wondrous cloud of petticoats, ruffles, lace, gold and pearl buttons, jewellery that caught the light from windows high up the wall, and people holding up spectacles to have a clearer look at the man who presented to them.

Ewald wondered how many of them he had met at palace feasts.

"I would not ask that you ignore such considerations. I would ask that you pay equally critical attention to what is occurring around you, and why it is so. And I thank you all, once again, for letting me address you today."

The nobles politely applauded the Prince and spoke quietly amongst themselves, but Ewald was not confident that any of them shared his concerns. They spent as freely as the Kenderleys did in this recent building boom, this blossoming of the capital, but they also stood to gain much more from it than the Kenderleys did; their manors were the new smaller palaces of an opulent city, a golden age.

"I for one do not doubt the sincerity of your concerns, Prince Ewald," The Speaker said. "But I feel that we need more substance to such arguments than your private suspicions, or the exhortations of a man who could stand to benefit directly from the passing of sundry laws. Does my statement contradict the sentiments of any noble in this House?"

Ewald looked around at the terraced seats, trying to wear a pleasant look, and hoping that there was at least one person who might voice a different angle to his concerns, something he could not have considered—a different way to sell this necessary legal reform.

He looked at a room full of silent people. Not one? Oh, he wanted to lecture them now, to describe in sordid detail what his father did, but what would be proven by his claims? Not one bruise remained from the vicious beating he sustained, and it would be the Great King's word against that of his son.

The first goal was to get them thinking, to resume conversations interrupted by the recent prosperity. Had he done that?

The Speaker concluded: "We thank you for taking the time to address us, Prince Ewald. I declare this session adjourned for today."

Ewald left the session not entirely disheartened. He had hoped that these people would listen to good lawmaking sense, but he planned for something more effective.

In the corridor, the Speaker took him aside and said: "I want to thank you for reminding them, Good Prince. In prosperity, so many of us would like to forget all concerns. Ignored problems fester."

Ewald nodded. "This golden age will soon enough dissipate like the vapour of a hookah."

"And we'll be left back where we were but with prettier buildings, I agree with that," the Speaker interrupted, "but I hope you didn't believe one afternoon's statement would save us all."

Ewald grinned slyly despite what felt like a defeat that day. "Oh, I can bring you more of substance, if the House of Lords would be so gracious as to invite it."

"I can talk with them. They need to ask themselves whether they really support the current regent's life and decrees above all else; if not, what would they hold as more important, without diminishing the importance of House Kenderley? A friend must get them thinking and that's who I'm willing to be. In the meantime, please stay safe."

"Thank you, mister Speaker. Staying safe is also part of the plan."

* * *

Downstairs of Ewald's next destination was the future River Bay Ballroom, and below that, an older space for more private gatherings. The home of the Ladies Althaus was at the top of this great building, a collection of well-furnished rooms. For Isabel, it had become the ideal home that she never got to have, decorated as she wished rather than by tradition. Liviana had her say in the decorations with no remarkable conflict, given how well they understood each other's needs.

For a few weeks, they had a third housemate. Ewald didn't intend to stay.

He was greeted jokingly as the Matron's cousin and announced through a sound pipe. The Matron wanted no surprises.

The walls of the staircase Ewald ascended were lined with simpler wood panelling like what one found in parts of the lowest level. This, perhaps, was kept for memory.

Upstairs, sunny yellow paint coated the walls, accented with touches of white and luxury blue. Sunlight streamed through a large window down the corridor, eliminating the need for lamps during the day. There were some paintings framed and hanging on the walls, yet not a tapestry in sight.

He entered the apartment itself. The first thing he saw was an area intended for entertaining guests, which had a central chandelier and sported heavily cushioned chairs. Some looked more like large bundles of cushion, which one might sink into and have difficulty getting back up again.

Behind the sitting room was a dining room; between the two there were pillars that one could see past, but not a wall to separate them.

"How went the speech, Ewald?" Isabel asked.

Liviana sat with Isabel in the dining room at an exquisitely crafted table that held their afternoon tea. Liviana's box braids were down, no need to tie them back; she wore a simpler gown of more relaxed fit than she would bring to formal occasions.

"Frankly, it went as expected. But no wise orchard keeper expects blooms the same day the seedlings are planted, let alone fruit," Ewald replied.

"Most of them only remember you as a young face from royal feasts," Liviana said. "Now they hear how you speak, but they still don't comfortably know you. It's good to hear you have a patient attitude."

"Thank you, Liviana; and how has your day been?"

"We had the loveliest time looking at some of the most ornate renovations you can imagine, and we even had time to browse through some trinkets. It was great to get away from all the worries. Everybody out there seems happy and polite right now, too; all very respectful."

Ewald nodded, glad that they could enjoy themselves, though faced once again with his first problem in spurring any kind of change. To the untrained eye, everything appeared right with the world. Granted, the newlyweds had the same right as everyone else to enjoy their lives, and at least they helped him.

Isabel said, "I hired us the most wonderful carriage, with an open top and an expert coachman with well-groomed horses. I'm surprised the whole ensemble isn't licensed exclusively for another noble's pleasure."

"I remember riding around in the open. Sounds wonderful." Ewald said before taking a sip.

Isabel attempted to reassure him, with uncertain effect. "Well, it could be worse. They could start putting up Wanted posters. When this all gets sorted out, I'm sure you can expect a lifetime of royal carriage rides."

Ewald grinned, aware and appreciative of the effort. "When we reach the other end of this, we need to get you a glorious and opulent wedding, with family. Where we can have everyone there who couldn't be the first time. Unless you prefer not to, of course," Ewald said.

Isabel raised her eyebrows as she lifted her teacup for a sip. "One big plan at a time, brother."

"Hopefully not all the family," Liviana said. "I know your tradition has the father giving the bride away."

Short and bitter laughter escaped Isabel before she said, "We needn't worry about that. Apparently, I'm not his daughter anymore."

Liviana flinched at the sarcastic tone. "I'm sorry, dear. I just felt it needed to be addressed, but maybe not like that…"

"Don't worry about it," Isabel said. "I don't care to be the daughter of one who doesn't want me. Let's talk about something else."

"All of Bayrock has a new life, it seems. These are interesting times," Ewald mused, then sipped.

"Such an intriguing choice of words, as if you cannot entirely approve," Isabel observed.

Ewald nodded. "That's what we need to discuss. I'm all for happier days, for everybody in the empire, and this is such a better direction for us to take in such a short period of time that under other circumstances I would be impressed."

"I should hate to think you are out to make us all miserable. I don't mind enjoying this while it lasts; you don't think he'll stumble into the next scandal soon enough?" Liviana joked as she placed her teacup back on its matching saucer.

Isabel sighed. Jonnecht, it seemed, was an unavoidable discussion topic.

"Any good will he has, he earned by taking credit for what mother has done out of the kindness of her heart," Isabel said. "Look around you, brother, and see what the Queen has bought. Just before I left, she swore to look after me, and though Liviana and myself have crafted a vision and guided its creation, this all begins with mother. He is jealous of the reputation she holds for her public generosity, which is barely half the size of what she secretly accomplishes."

"He can copy her if he likes, but it will never mean as much. There is something to be said for an act done out of the kindness of one's heart, to do as a parent should do, versus what a terrible person does to soothe all those wronged by his rashness," Ewald said.

"Not all those wronged, brother, or what does he do for you? Or for me?" Isabel asked.

Ewald had no response for that.

Isabel moved on: "Well, you know what we have at our disposal, and you know we'll help you any way within our reach. What's the next step in your plan?"

Ewald nodded. "About that. There are two important things you can assist with, but we can think of them as one project. Our sullen, obedient younger brother has hopefully gone undiscovered in his task. He does not stand to gain a throne from telling the truth, and we have never been seen as close; this should have shielded him."

"You would like him to testify for the House of Lords," Isabel guessed. "but you know the difficulty of getting him out of the palace, and that his absence will not go unnoticed, and the House of Lords will not convene at some dusky hour—"

"Yes, I know all of these things, please let me finish," Ewald interrupted.

"Sorry. Go on," Isabel said.

"It's time to rescue our mother and brother. We'll need somewhere to hide them."

Liviana offered: "Is there some easy pretext by which the Queen and her son could go on a holiday, without their father, perchance? They could sail to the Islands; he could claim it as part of his studies. The Queen would go to look after him; protective as she is, nobody would suspect a thing."

"Father disdained his older children visiting the city, even with our mother. At this point he would never let that happen," Ewald said.

"I hope they don't need to be hidden for long. Given enough time, there would not be any place in all the empire sufficient to escape that man, or the bounties he could offer. You yourself are only free to roam, and cautiously at that, because he's not yet looking." Isabel said.

"I agree. In my plan, father shouldn't have any time to search before I give him different priorities. Here is the order in which things must happen. I will bring Bonifaz out of there to testify, and you may hide mother at that time, I doubt she will join her son or let this happen if she knows what exactly I am asking him to do. But then you hide Bonifaz as well. And then, sister, I return to the palace alone. Because no matter what the governing chamber does or does not proclaim, we are left with the fact that father has the final say on laws. It's my task to gain his agreement," Ewald said.

"You might just have pre-empted my question, but only in part," Liviana interjected with a furrowed brow. "That's the most roundabout way I've ever heard someone say, 'I'm going to duel him'."

"I'm ready to make sure he never comes after my family, or anyone else again," Ewald said, fidgeting once more.

"How ready do you think you are?" Liviana asked. "When have you fought outside of a training match?"

Isabel opened her mouth, then closed it. She never liked confrontations, but Liviana made a good point.

Ewald blinked and offered: "I have formal training in fencing and methods of physical combat that are offered to men of my station—"

"He's had that same training and many more years at it," Liviana said. "I'm all for rescuing your mother and brother, but if it all hinges on a soft man being able to defeat a vicious father, I can't approve."

Ewald stood, but slowly, calmly, careful not to scrape the parquet flooring recently laid in that section of the room. He would not back down, not because he disrespected her opinion, but because he saw no other choice than to follow through with this plan.

"Fair enough, Liviana. What would allay your fears?" Ewald offered.

"Fears? Oh, I don't think I'm the one whose fears are the problem," Liviana grumbled aloud.

She stormed toward a shorter door, a supply closet of sorts; but this one was not for servants to keep brooms.

Liviana tossed the Prince a training sword; heavy, wooden, slightly curved at the tip, of a comparable length to thin bladed swords that Kensrikans tended to use. He caught it smoothly.

Isabel quickly got up and began to move lighter furniture out of the way.

Then Liviana took a training sword for herself.

"No helmets. No masks. Not even real swords. Nothing to fear but what's in your head. I'm not even him but I'll pretend to be. I'm coming for you."

She swung a backhanded strike toward his chin. He easily dodged it, but this jolted him into focus. That was the type of swing a sparring partner complained about if it landed.

This would not be a scored match. He silently understood it must end by submission.

His footwork was great at first, his balance only made better by all the dancing he had practised; her form was loosely correct but relaxed, fluid, not to be constrained by the strict guidelines of sport. When he attacked, she evaded, deflected, redirected his momentum, never bothered to bring his blade to a complete stop while effectively keeping away from it.

Her evasive motions looked effortless, as if she were perfectly sure of her balance no matter what stance she loosely took. He felt it in his arms, the cumulative exertion of every missed strike, but it was not yet enough to take his guard down.

Yet her strikes were anything but relaxed. His shoulders and arms felt the strain of deflecting her blade. When he tried a feint, she anticipated it as if she had read that book before; he couldn't entice her to overcommit an attack. She gave him no time to wonder where she studied.

He felt rising panic as he gradually gave ground. Any time she needed to evade, he never could back her into a corner, but with every hard block he made she forced him back a little. His upper body was tiring fast yet she looked ready to keep going.

Her attacks became more frequent and varied; forehand, backhand, low, high, rarely a thrust. It took him what he had left to keep reacting in time, leaving him baffled about when and how to strike.

Ewald parried a strike and tried to counterattack from that.

Liviana, expressionless and barely breaking a sweat, was one step ahead.

She swept her foot up in a crescent kick to the back of his sword hand, and he dropped his weapon with a yelp.

Then she sidestepped to his rear and swatted the backs of his knees, and the moment he was already most of the way to the floor, booted him in the rear. His face met the fresh parquet along with the rest of him.

"You have excellent looking but impractical form like all those courtly types," Liviana bellowed. "Stiff, unyielding, rigidly following quaint rules of sport. This is going to be life or death, Prince."

Ewald was shaking, if not visibly then inwardly. He had been confident that his father won their last exchange because his father had not been dancing all night and might not have had a drop of liquor. Now, he was uncertain.

Then he forced himself to focus on her compliment and her advice. Stiff, unyielding. Yet Liviana moved with such ease. Could he not do the same?

Ewald picked himself up off the floor.

"Can you teach me?"

Liviana exhaled sharply. "You're already close, you just have habits that are holding you back, making you tire too quickly, among other things. Once you unlearn those, you'll feel the difference."

The Prince nodded toward his sister, acknowledging her discomfort. "Sounds like an excellent suggestion. Perhaps we can choose a more convenient training space in the meantime."

"Are you sure of this, brother?" Isabel asked in a shaky voice.

Ewald understood her fear. "I survived him last time."

"Mother's words are why your life was spared," Isabel warned.

Ewald shook his head. "I disagree. What he wanted more than anything was to make me feel pain. If any of us dies, he cannot hurt us anymore. When he forgets love, all he has is that he can make us feel as miserable as he does every day, if he wishes. No, I will get him to agree to the terms of our freedom, even if he cleaves to his throne."

Liviana crossed her arms skeptically. "And if you lose? Do you realize that once you draw steel against him, there is no going back?"

He paused, forced to consider what he would rather not.

"Then you will never see me again. Bonifaz will one day grow up to reign. But I can't be afraid of that, because I will no longer live by father's rules. He needs to be stopped."

"You're a nobler and truer king than your father, putting others ahead of yourself," Liviana said.

"If the truth only needed itself to win, what a place Kensrik would be," the Prince mused. "Too often it's about who's best at using force."

Liviana replied, "I can help you with that. I'll make sure you're ready when you face your father."

The Prince never felt more reassured that his sister was safe with this lady.

Isabel interrupted. "Another training space sounds great. I'm glad neither of you managed to smash anything…"

17

The Next Part of the Plan

King Jonnecht marvelled at his newly renovated throne room.

The enormous chamber had gained a touch of the Atrium. This had become an era of vibrant colours, and this was more stunningly achieved with daylight passing through bright coloured glass than it was with layers of paint. While the throne room was not about to be knocked down and then reconstructed with sheer glass walls—impossible, given that some throne room walls were load-bearing, whereas the Atrium was a complete offshoot of the building—the windows were replaced with artistic commissions, mosaics of translucent coloured glass that illustrated historical instances of glory: the establishment of the domain of the Kens, the conquering and expansions east and west, valiant defenses against the Wancyeks that failed, which ended in Garnecht's rout of the Wancyeks and the capture of his valley.

So far, this retelling of history conveniently ended there. Jonnecht felt no need to immortalize his recent failure. Besides, there were only so many windows, and only one left that had yet to be replaced, awaiting the next commission, The Defense Against the East.

In this room he reclined on his throne, basking in the new brightness of everything, when a message arrived from the East. He read it aloud.

"Great King. Details of the peace finally hammered out. We keep the villages and valleys west of the fortress of 'Soor Lynn Us', with a promise of no dispute. We request to be graced with your presence to formally plant the flag of your most glorious family. Signed, General Garulph."

So, he finally got to plant a flag. His victory having already occurred, this was merely its seal: acknowledgement from the defeated foe.

It was, anyway, unlikely that either side could wisely mount any attack on the other with their currently recovering forces. However, this would make a nice treaty to wave in the face of Crown Joakim's descendants if they disputed the ownership of those villages and valleys gained by the Kenderleys.

"Well," Jonnecht said to himself, "I see no purpose in delaying this. I shall head there straight away."

* * *

Queen Dulcibella was shocked to see her son Ewald in the palace again, in the very corridor where the fight with Jonnecht had happened. Given that the terms of his return were complete surrender, part of her hoped he would never come back, but as a mother she adored the opportunity to embrace her son again.

"Oh, my brave boy," she said, "my lucky boy. Do you realize your father only just set out, riding away to some place without leaving me a note? But how did you get in here? He still has guards at the gates who know your face."

"The same way I left before."

She smiled anxiously as she let him go and observed: "It's nice of you to risk visiting me, under the circumstances. There are no guards up on this floor, but on the lower levels; we should speak softly, one never knows."

"Well, I had hoped this would be more than just a visit." He fidgeted with his hands.

She noticed his fidgeting and stepped back to examine him.

He took greater care with his clothes than she previously remembered him doing. She thought a jacket with epaulettes would go well with the ensemble he wore, perhaps in a colour that complemented the hunter green of his vest.

She felt encouraged seeing him take an interest in the aesthetic expectations of his title, but the grave concerns of the present commanded her attention once again. At least he didn't look like he had been sleeping in alleys.

"Whatever do you mean by that, Ewald?"

"I'll tell you what you need to know. I have corresponded with General Garulph, and I requested he send a summons, one which would draw father away to the East and which would sound irresistible to his pride. So, he is going to have a leisurely ride, enjoy this lovely weather, and if I understand correctly, plant the House flag into the ground that has now become part of the empire."

Dulcibella scoffed. "Oh, that does play Jon like a harp. There to declare some victory for which others made the deepest effort and sacrifice. But will Garulph be in any danger for cooperating with this ruse?"

Ewald shook his head. "It's no ruse on his part. All that Garulph informed me of was the timing, so that I could know exactly when father would be away. I would rather make haste, for I suspect we have little more than a day."

"Little more than a day for what? I understand how you've bought us time, and in an impressively safe manner, but...?"

"Mother, it's time to deliver you and Bonifaz to safety. The less I tell you at present, the better, but I'll be happy to share what you need to know," Ewald said.

It took a few moments for Dulcibella to navigate the context of that statement, because Jonnecht's rationale for keeping the family in that palace all the time was the very word safety. Safety had become Jonnecht's code word for control, and safety was to be held in contempt. Did Isabel care so much about safety when she snuck off in the night? No, the word had been poisoned for this family, and one might learn to value uncertainty as a direct result. And especially after Ewald's departure, safety meant father would be exactly who Ducibella and Bonifaz worried about the most, because they were locked in with him.

But Dulcibella knew that safety meant something different for other people; something Ewald wanted for her. The trouble was, she didn't see how this other safety was possible.

She placed her hands on his shoulders. "Son, you know that he leaves Isabel alone from his disownment of her. He doesn't pursue you yet because he wants the satisfaction of your surrender, but he will not wait forever. It is a much different matter for us, so he would waste no time. He would leave no stone unturned..."

"Thank you, mother, but I have considered that quite thoroughly. Everything that I will do, you must understand it as my plan. Should anything go wrong, you did this under my duress, and you could not stop me from kidnapping you. The same should go for Bonifaz, who must remain innocent in father's eyes. But I promise you, that contingency will not become necessary, and this will work. "

She paused briefly after letting go of his shoulders. "What are you going to do?"

He held her once again, because he needed her to feel calm, and safe in the proper sense of the word, secure, to understand what he was saying, and above all because she was his mother and he loved her.

"You know what you need to." He let go of her and continued: "For now, I need you to round up Bonifaz and bring him to his room. I will provide further instructions directly to him. He is going to leave the same way I leave, but I need to make sure he brings his notes with him. We cannot have him falling behind on his tutelage," he explained.

"Oh, this secret passage, is it like a door? Or a tunnel to crawl through? Look at me, son. I'm not so nimble or agile as in earlier days," she said.

Ewald nodded knowingly. "I considered this. Yes, the passages I have used are uncomfortably narrow and no fair place for your dignified self. You must leave by the front gates. And we will have a nice riding carriage waiting for you, which will reunite you with Bonifaz. You need not leave at the exact same time as he; you will arrive at the same place safely. I have arranged this with Isabel; would you not love to see her again?"

"Oh, I would, I miss her so dearly." Dulcibella said, trying not to lose her composure further.

She had long been a steadfast rock supporting the family, protecting her children, delegating against the demands of her husband, but what could one do?

It seemed like she did what was necessary. She raised a strong and confident young man who would take care of her, and hopefully, calm the strife in their House.

"But, the front gate, Ewald?" Her countenance shifted from joy back to concern.

"By law, you command this place while father is away. Consider leaving with your ladies in waiting, just to go for a walk in the heart of the city perhaps; what could be wrong with that? If they don't see Bonifaz leave with you, they would have no reason to question it."

Dulcibella thought she could do better than that. She instructed the guards most of the time, anyway, and they knew and liked her better than Jonnecht. She could even grease a few palms if she had to.

"Once out of earshot of the gates, you can let your ladies know to go stay with someone, because it's safer for them if they also leave the palace. There will be a big enough carriage waiting for you to leave as a group. You can help them get a good distance from the palace before they go on their merry way. In the meantime, I will have taken care of Bonifaz without raising any alarm," Ewald explained.

She nodded. "There will be a time right after he's finished with his tutor. Wait in Bonifaz' room and the tutor will depart the palace without seeing you. I will have all that arranged. But I must know, son, when are you to meet us?"

"I'm returning here, to meet with father privately. We will have much to discuss. After that…"

She grabbed his shoulders firmly this time, as if hoping to shake these silly notions out of him. "Oh, after what he did to you last time, you would risk that again? He'll listen to nothing but your unconditional surrender."

"He will get no such thing. I have many better arguments to make this time than last, and I know how to compel his attention."

She shook her head and sighed, relaxing her grip. She gave his shoulders a gentle pat. Now she would definitely plan to grease palms. It would take getting every guard out of the palace so that Jonnecht couldn't just call for their aid the moment he encountered Ewald. Perhaps the servants would like a paid holiday, too…

"You are too old, my boy, to take my advice. That's been true long enough I can finally accept it. I know you will not be discouraged. Go to Bonifaz' room, and I will do my best for this portion of the plan. Trust me as you ask me to trust you."

"Of course."

They exchanged a parting hug and went separate ways, Ewald toward his younger brother's room, and Dulcibella toward her other son.

* * *

King Jonnecht would not waste time summoning a carriage or getting guards to escort him. He felt up for a good long ride on a nice-looking day. He dressed in the most inconspicuous riding outfit his wardrobe had to offer. At the stables, he chose a dependable stallion with a nice chestnut coat.

This particular road began with a slight northward turn out the palace gates, then followed the curvature of the city bay. By that time, the sun was behind him, so everything around was brightly lit without the sun glaring directly into his eyes or his stallion's.

He amused himself by looking passersby in the eyes and watching them jump to attention or drop for a hasty kneel or bow; at a distance they could not have told him apart from any rider, but they saw the unmistakable crest on his exquisitely tooled saddle once he was close enough. Oh, how some of them scrambled!

He slowed as fortifications came into view. They seemed vacant, but it was clear enough why. It was the best time to build newer ones up on the next plateau, on the land they had freshly won. At least soldiers had done some diligent cleanup work. The way he understood it, some of the trap barricades he would pass had been full of corpses, and they would have been mighty ripe if they were left there. Fresh plots of dirt indicated where pitfall traps used to be.

There remained in the air a stench of ash and burning, and Jonnecht was briefly reminded of what seemed like ages ago but was merely an earlier time of the year: the cursed land of molten rivers where a traitor made his last stand, hurled his last insult... at least the sea breeze had done some work here. The land of belching mountains also had something else to its odour. Something akin to rotten eggs.

He trotted his stallion around the first curve, following the well-worn horse path; after making his careful way through the straightaway portion up the ridge, he rounded the last curve and saw unobstructed the primary battlefield.

His imagination soared at the view of this middle plateau, which was once claimed by neither side, being within arrow's reach and empty and barren besides. He slowed the horse over earth that had been trampled flat and firm by many hooves, and metallic glints here and there showed where pieces of armour flew off, where weapons were dropped by their dying wielders or where some weapons with faults had shattered. These would be left to rust and to sit in the earth, buried over time by gradually thickening vegetation until it would appear to be just another field.

He silently promised that the memory of those who fought for him would live long after this field forgot its battle. A special window in the throne room would portray it. Dulcibella could commission someone to write about it. He thought it was enough for him at present to be there and feel the grim meaning of this place in his heart.

Jonnecht did not venture further into the open, for his business lay up the next ridge following the gentlest and most suitable of slopes. There were, at least, soldiers on the lookout to break the eerie feeling of abandonment; the soldiers ran out of view to alert the others. Now he could survey the land these soldiers had won for him.

And when he ascended that ridge, he finally saw where the new fortifications would be. He entered the slightest of valleys past the prior peak, part way between the field below and where the path distantly sloped upward again toward a Suur-Linnus fortification. This area was obscured from lookers below. It must have been a clever place for the Eastern armies to move, if only they had the bright idea to fortify it in the first place. Perhaps they always expected to attack, not defend, because the gradient of the hill was in their favour.

At the end of the path was Garulph, as well as a couple of men to lead Jonnecht's horse away to a place for tying, after Jonnecht would dismount. Past them, ranks of soldiers lined up at attention.

"Great King, we all salute you. Do you approve of the new extension to your domain?" Garulph asked.

Jonnecht looked around. "It's not bad at all; I like the pureness of the air, certainly a place more worth killing for than some other provinces, between you and me. Maybe, given a tumultuous year, Kensrik could easily stand to lose the Valley of Garnecht, and got the better end of life's deal in gaining this."

"It's good farmer's soil, to a certain working depth. We will have an easy time keeping cavalry horses fed here, and the earth is just deep enough to place new fortifications and traps like what we had below. And we will have good stone for its foundation instead of low land clay," Garulph considered the area's benefits.

"Yes, all very interesting," Jonnecht replied, meaning the exact opposite.

Garulph knew that tone well. It was the voice of a person who couldn't appreciate all the complicated things that others did on his behalf, who would be lost on his own. Soldiers barely had time to recover from battle before labouring over walls and digging fresh pits. Would their regent thank them with a quick speech, at least? Garulph doubted it.

Jonnecht then asked: "So this is where we plant the flag?"

"You may do the honours, Great King. We will replace it with a taller flagpole when it becomes a priority; we would like to put up defenses first," Garulph explained.

Jonnecht nodded. "A worthy set of priorities. But is this point particularly central to the area? Is there a reason you went ahead and chose a place without my permission?"

Garulph shifted weight from one foot to another.

"The selection was unanimous. This is the spot where, after a daring charge up the slope, General Conrad chased down the opposing General, we were told his name was Ottokar. They fought their last duel right there, and shortly after beheading Ottokar—"

"General Conrad collapsed from injury after his reckless endeavour and was thereafter brought to his execution for sabotaging the effort to recapture West Kensrik. Conrad was beheaded for his crimes," Jonnecht glared at his surviving General. "That is how you finish the story. I never want to hear a different telling. Do you understand?"

The soldiers did not dare say anything. They knew what they were told to believe but they trusted their eyes. It was uncertain whether the battle would have gone so well for them if Conrad had not taken the initiative.

And that was just the beginning of it for those who were quite sure Conrad was not just collapsed, but dead, after that duel. Oh, how they held their tongues...

Garulph twitched, suppressing the face he would naturally have made. Beheaded? Now, for his own sake, he had to pretend he wasn't disgusted that his regent saw fit to desecrate the body of his mentor, his friend, a hero of the empire. Where was the honour?

He tensed and relaxed his hands, refusing to make telltale fists. He swallowed his rage.

"Yes, Great King, thank you for finishing my story."

Jonnecht nodded, satisfied. "You say the enemy General, who launched this attack on our fair empire, was slain at this spot. I say that's a most fitting reason to plant the flag here."

He added: "Bring it to me."

Conrad called upon soldiers who were assigned to this task. One of them held the staff to which the flag was affixed, and others held the flag open but above the soil. There it was, the Kenderley green, the jet-black curvilinear triangle in the middle, and in that shape's midst, three gold-threaded symbols dating back to Priesthood times which represented wind, rain, and sun, the three blessings from the Great Sky. The Western Division had kept this flag ready for all the years that they awaited the recent battle.

As they brought this out, there was a stir among the soldiers as a lookout loudly proclaimed having seen a small group from Suur-Linnus moving on foot down the mountain from the nearest fortress. Jonnecht guessed the group's purpose and ignored the lookout. He would not hesitate to plant this flag.

Jonnecht raised the staff high and with a peculiar battle cry rammed it into the earth as hard as he could. He pushed and pushed, and having made little depth to speak of, called out: "Somebody hammer this stubborn thing in!"

Nearby soldiers rushed there and almost fought with each other for the honour of helping their regent, but the command structure of the Army quickly sorted who got the honour and who was getting in the way. The winner took turns hammering the flat top of the flag staff while the runner-up held the staff securely, the two making more progress with less effort than their regent.

Once the flag staff looked securely planted, Jonnecht stepped back to let the soldiers continue their work. He brushed his hands together as if most of the effort had been his own, though just like his presence there, his contributions were token and symbolic. Anyway, those who had assisted him could consider it a great honour.

As the group proceeding down the slope from the fortress approached, it became clear that none of them were armed. A group of decorated personal servants accompanied an important party from Suur-Linnus. The soldiers awaited orders, given that they were no longer in a state of war, but this was indeed an unauthorized venture on to Kensrikan soil.

"Well, hello," Jonnecht said, unceremoniously, as the group of people arrived within earshot.

The important man gestured for his accompaniment to wait in place, and he continued forward one pace before stopping.

"Greetings," the strange man made an open gesture with his arms.

"You might not realize that I am the ruler of this land, and it is usually customary to kneel or bow, or for a soldier to salute. I am not sure which you are, but I thought you should know," Jonnecht called to the stranger with bewildered amusement; he would not take a step.

"I am the Crown Joakim of Suur-Linnus; as such, I do not bow to you," Joakim revealed his identity to those gathered.

Jonnecht blinked incredulously. This man had lost the very ground they stood on, yet he had the nerve to strut down the hill, with a handful of unarmed servants, and casually enter Kensrik.

Joakim's servants appeared stone-faced. People from their land were rather matter of fact, known for understated enthusiasm and subtle expressions.

The soldiers exchanged nervous looks. They had been quite satisfied with the end of that short war, yet the callous King might reignite it.

Jonnecht laughed. "It would take that, would it not, that kind of nerve, to attack me. Yes, I believe you are exactly who you claim to be. And I admit much admiration and respect for this casual visit."

"I did not attack you, sir. My kingdom was treated as but a gateway or door, through which I let Osterik lest they one day decide to attack me. And this spot where you plant your flag seems familiar."

"Oh, it does?" Jonnecht still had laughter in his voice.

Jonnecht continued: "Because this is the exact spot where your General got his head chopped off, that might be why it seems familiar to you."

"General Ottokar was the strategist of King Dietfried of Osterik," Joakim corrected, "and I would like you to know that my door, my gateway of a land, is going to remain shut to his army, and those of other kingdoms as well, for the remainder of my rule if not longer."

Jonnecht looked around at the land that was newly his, then back at Joakim.

"So, he persuaded you to let him through, only to have you pay the price for his failure. With friends like yours, you never needed me for an enemy. I feel some pity for your situation now, but good men died for this land, and I intend to keep it. I hope you understand," Jonnecht said.

Joakim sighed. "I have no argument against that. In hindsight, I regret listening to Dietfried. Provided you advance no further, as per our treaty, I am willing to accept this."

Jonnecht found this man too honest to dislike him, especially when the losses that Jonnecht described were not any that he felt. Jonnecht had won; he gained, and he supposed he had this strange man to thank for letting someone else give his land away.

He tried to take the amusement out of his voice, or else anything he might say next would lack effect.

"It sounds as if you learned an important lesson and are not particularly begrudging of paying its costs; we may meet some other time, some day, and discuss trade. Perhaps in time, I will become a real friend to you."

Joakim nodded. He also knew Jonnecht must love having a buffer land between Kensrik and its more dangerous enemies, one which Jonnecht did not have to fortify himself. That's how all the Crown's neighbours seemed to view him.

Joakim looked up at the clouds for a moment.

"One day. Today, I believe it will rain. Have a great evening, victorious Jonnecht."

Joakim turned and walked back to his waiting servants, who began to unfold a waxy looking canvas, and they stood either to the left or the right of Joakim in rows of three, holding the sides of the covering up with arms reached high, ensuring clearance for their leader to stand and walk comfortably.

Jonnecht quietly shook his head at the odd customs he witnessed, but in a moment, he heard a soft rumble in the distance, and looked to see clouds rapidly moving in from the water.

"Quickly, Great King, let us find shelter," Garulph suggested.

Jonnecht nodded and followed his remaining General back to a nearby cottage. This was the General's erstwhile quarters, the most comfortable place they would find anywhere in those formerly farming valleys. No sooner did they get inside than the sky opened up nearby, and they could already hear the hard pouring against the battlefield below before the torrents reached the cabin.

"That was quite the display, that weather prediction. I guess rain comes off the sea all the time, and perhaps he saw it on its way before he had descended the slope, from a higher vantage. What a strange turn of events," Jonnecht shook his head again.

"I suggest you stay the night, Great King. Once it finishes pouring, it will be dark. And who knows, the sky may just open up again not long after it shuts," Garulph said.

Jonnecht looked around the cabin. It was rather cozy for the two of them. Then he saw that Garulph was making for the door and had not removed his jacket.

"Well, yes. And I agree that this cabin is rather small for the two of us. It's quite threadbare in my view, but one emerges from the palace altogether pampered and this changes one's perspective. You may consider yourself dismissed; we have nothing else to discuss, correct?" Jonnecht asked.

Garulph smiled, having been given an escape without being required to form a proper excuse. Yes, the cabin was meant for one man, and the plan was to persuade Jonnecht to stay for the night. Dusk was not far, anyway, but the rain was most persuasive.

It was poor luck for Garulph in a different way, since he now had to ride back to Bayrock in the rain as well as in the dark. He could only hope the skies eased up quickly and remained shut for another half day after such a downpour.

"Thank you, Great King. Enjoy your rest. The bell rope is there if you need anything, there are always guards and soldiers within earshot, always somebody awake. Farewell."

"Farewell," Jonnecht nodded, before turning toward the bed with a scowl.

He wondered how many bug bites he would find on himself in the morning.

18

Further Testimony

The Speaker, once again in his judge's cloak, addressed the nobles who gathered to hear from Ewald for the second time. The afternoon sun lit the room through the upper windows of the chamber.

"Thank you, one and all, for once again joining Prince Ewald Kenderley in this dedicated session, which I am informed will be enriched with additional testimony. Prince Ewald, you have the floor."

Ewald nodded to the Speaker. "Thank you, mister Speaker."

The Prince stood on the platform, a podium which normally featured a movable stand. This had been removed for him since he knew his appeal by heart.

"And I graciously thank you all for the opportunity to plead this case once again," he said to those assembled.

He swept his gaze across the gallery and found that half of them were paying attention. For some, days like this were their entertainment, and having heard whispers about what was afoot, they were eager to hear further tell of scandal. Others understood the long-term threat to the empire, but they heard his words before.

He expected they would need something new. He came prepared.

Ewald continued: "You have all heard enough from me, and I will not repeat myself. Having testified with honesty, I neither recant nor modify any statement made. Instead, today I bring you familiar new witnesses and I am leaving everything to the care of the Speaker. The first, I trust not to need my company to speak his truths. His name is Prince Bonifaz Kenderley. He prepared the following testimony during my absence from the palace."

There was a stir, but one of quietly voiced satisfaction. Anyone else would have been a surprise; Isabel was disreputable with the nobles after the regent disowned her, and they did not expect to see the Queen.

"I understand from our previous meeting that you have concerns about my interests. If I were to stand behind him during his testimony, or looking at him as he spoke, some might believe he is acting under duress. I will, then, take my leave from this building. I know him to be responsible and trust him to continue making this case," Ewald added.

"Are you sure this is advisable? Being two births your junior, he may want someone to stand by him while he faces this distinguished House," the Speaker challenged.

"Then be your pleasant and gracious selves and give him nothing to fear," Ewald countered. "May you all keep in mind that Prince Bonifaz does not advocate any law today, nor policy, nor radical suggestion. He is a witness, here to relate facts to you. And now, being of higher authority than the Speaker, I do take my leave, whether it is advisable or not."

As Ewald departed, he heard light applause and a stir of soft voices. His parting exchange might seem odd, but now his brother would hold their undivided attention.

He paused before passing Bonifaz in the entry corridor and gave him a quick hug. Bonifaz didn't want the embrace to be so fleeting, but he understood why it had to be.

Ewald quietly spoke: "They'll be ready for you soon. We'll meet again. Don't worry."

Then Ewald broke out of the embrace and departed quickly.

Bonifaz struggled with how that made him feel, but the younger prince had promised to trust his brother and see this through.

The Speaker shrugged as the session resumed. "Ewald is correct. I cannot make him stay, though he was welcome to do so. Let us proceed."

He then loudly called toward the corridor.

"I summon Prince Bonifaz Kenderley as witness, to emerge now and take the floor."

After a moment, Bonifaz appeared carrying a lectern to the witness podium, which caused whispers of embarrassment among the nobles; what a shame to make a noble young man do physical labour, but after all, Bonifaz appeared fit for it.

And he quickly went back for his bundle of papers, returning and placing them on the lectern in front of him, pages of various shapes and sizes, like the beginnings of a future book. All the nobles stared in anticipation.

Bonifaz glanced around, then looked at the Speaker expectantly.

The Speaker blinked. "You can begin addressing us at any time."

There was a ripple of disarming chuckles in the gallery, and Bonifaz blushed before he proceeded.

"I have with me today a diary with illustrations," Bonifaz said, his voice ringing out through the room, strong and clear. "On a particular night, my father whom you know as King Jonnecht Kenderley, for no justification that has ever been spoken to me, did decide to strike my oldest sibling, Prince Ewald, to the ground, and to beat him viciously, and before my brother had recognized me quietly witnessing the scene, and himself quietly gesturing for me to go to my room, I saw that my brother had only his forearms to defend his face and head from blow after reckless blow delivered with no restraint that I could tell. Father shoved and threatened mother when she intervened. Father spoke of getting rid of us all."

The gallery stirred at these words. Prince Ewald had never mentioned such things. Ewald was aware that everyone in the gallery expected him to gain from any legal measure which took power from Jonnecht. And Prince Ewald, handsome, charismatic, not a scratch appearing on him by the time of his first appeal, not a tooth lost, would have shown no signs of the truth of his accusations.

But here was Prince Bonifaz, visibly untrained in speech-making, rattling off matters of fact, and these were disturbing matters indeed. Everybody in the gallery believed in discipline, but they expected it to be delivered with proper restraint.

Bonifaz continued: "I think it's good to get that most terrifying event out to you first, for it affects my feelings just to think about it. Father did not that evening nor since elaborate why his actions were necessary, but he loudly spoke of disciplining Isabel his way if he could."

He paused there, letting the gallery infer what 'his way' was from the treatment of Ewald.

The Speaker took that moment to add: "Your testimony is protected by the procedures of this house. Your father will hear nothing of this. Nor can your brother, since he opted to depart. On that understanding, Prince Bonifaz, did your brother merely instruct you to tell us what you have just said?"

Bonifaz frowned slightly. "I understand that the procedures bind me to tell the truth. Ewald gave me only these instructions before he left the palace: he asked me to write down everything I saw and heard father do, for I had not yet enraged father and he believed me an obedient son. Anything else but observing and writing might have aroused suspicion and would jeopardize mother's safety and mine."

Bonifaz faltered a bit at the word 'father'. He doubted some procedures would stop word of this testimony from reaching Jonnecht's ears. Unless something came of this hearing, no place in the empire would be safe after this moment.

And he recalled quite vividly the times he overheard his father say that the one thing to mother's credit was her youngest, obedient son. What would happen to her?

Tears filled his eyes at the thought.

The Speaker said: "You appear to have many papers, and I can see the direct reading of them is taking its toll on you. Would you, perhaps, care to share the most relevant selected papers around to the gallery, and speak further only what comes to your mind as most memorable and important?"

The Speaker had similar suspicions of what might happen to this young man, and far be it for those assembled to make him feel torment before his own father did the same.

Bonifaz wiped his eyes with his sleeves and nodded with gratitude.

"Yes, Mister Speaker."

The Speaker graciously accepted the papers, skimmed through them, extracted a drawing of some four-armed fantasy woman, folded it, and handed that page back to Bonifaz with an amused nod. The young man felt doubly grateful that the entire gallery wouldn't see it.

There was a light commotion at the door. Bonifaz' feelings of relief died quickly.

"Stand down!" A voice loudly declared, followed by the sound of footsteps from a single person.

This caused a brief stir in the gallery, but Bonifaz already knew that was not his father's voice. Whoever it was, he still had the authority to order guards aside. The gallery calmed slightly when they understood that it was not King Jonnecht himself, come to get them all for this outrageous session.

Bonifaz did not look to the corridor, maintaining focus, and the Speaker assured everyone that there was no disruption to the proceedings.

"The limitations of my diary, sadly, are that I only started recording parts relevant to this discussion very recently," Bonifaz continued. "The things that may have escaped my attention while I was not watching, or did not understand them and therefore ignored... Moreover, as the youngest sibling, I feel I have been protected from the worst of it; kept ignorant. I recall another incident that disturbs me.

"It was that turn of events, immediately after the empire's east was successfully defended, that I was returning from daily lessons with my tutor and happened to overhear a strange disagreement between father, his Arms Master and the Admiral. It was a brief one, for they acquiesced quickly, but there was a disagreement over whether General Conrad had died shortly after he won the battle against the Eastern Kingdoms."

"The young prince sounds confused," interjected haughty Lord Dunstan. "We saw that embarrassment Conrad beheaded; there was no mistaking his size. And let us realize before we would believe any further ridiculous allegations, that this is the same Conrad who orchestrated the disastrous attempted reclamation of West Kensrik. How can we believe that the same man responsible for such sloppiness and failure would win the battle against the Eastern Kingdoms? Our protector against the East is General Garulph."

The Speaker slammed his gavel down. "Will Lord Dunstan please be quiet, when the witness giving testimony has the floor?"

"Good Speaker, are we ever obligated to continue listening to a farce?" Asked Dunstan.

"I think we should let the young prince finish his description of events," Garulph said, stepping out of the corridor toward the podium. "I can vouch for some of it, having indeed planned and executed the defense against the Eastern Kingdoms."

There was yet another stir in the gallery as the very man Lord Dunstan invoked against the witness emerged from the shadows.

The Speaker sighed. "General, you have not been given the floor either. Rules are rules. I must ask you to keep quiet during the young prince's testimony."

The General nodded quickly, and looked to Bonifaz, whose floor it still was. Dunstan was speechless.

"May I continue?" Bonifaz asked.

"Yes, Prince Bonifaz, you may complete your testimony," the Speaker affirmed.

"The conversation treated as fact that Conrad had died after his victory, and that his corpse was delivered to the palace. In the ensuing rage for not having been able to punish Conrad while the man could still feel, father insisted that he had a promise to keep to his people, to show an execution one way or the other. And so, he ordered a dead man's beheading..."

A clamour began to arise, a crescendo of disgusted sounds, before Bonifaz could deliver the final audible part of his testimony.

"...and insisted the body be far enough away from onlookers to deceive them."

Retching and gagging could be heard from the back of the gallery; the rising clamour made it unclear to Bonifaz whether something worse came of the audible nausea. Elsewhere, a fainting lord was caught by one of his peers before he could fall.

"What disgusting fantasy is this, that we indulge a young man's morbid imagination?" Lord Dunstan loudly spat.

The Speaker slammed his gavel many times until people finally made some effort to be quiet.

"These are disturbing allegations indeed," the Speaker said. "And impossible to prove directly. I can only think of one man who might have a decisive say about that last revelation, without having any close personal relationship with an older brother whose instructions were to be followed, as genuine as I personally believe Prince Bonifaz Kenderley's testimony to be. All those who would call General Garulph to testify before us, regarding this matter of the deceased Conrad, speak yea or speak nay."

There was a great roar of yea, such that Lord Dunstan despaired of getting his way and half-heartedly joined this chorus last.

Garulph approached a much-relieved Bonifaz.

"I believe you have done all that was asked of you, brave Prince, and eloquently for your years. There is a carriage waiting for you outside," Garulph said quietly to Bonifaz.

The Prince smiled at Garulph, then fled the chamber. Ewald's task for Bonifaz had been more difficult in the end than Ewald had initially made it sound.

* * *

There had been a brief but necessary recess for the gallery to receive an urgent cleaning and for everybody to recover from the previous testimony.

"Our session resumes. General Garulph, you now have the floor; please soften any descriptions of a violent nature in fair consideration of our gallery." The Speaker said.

The General nodded in understanding. Then he turned to address the gallery.

Garulph spoke: "Let me tell you about General Conrad, for I knew him in the final days of his life. Let me tell you about a man trapped between his sworn duty and what he felt was right, and who served this empire to his dying breath knowing he would be arrested and doomed. We can agree he failed to hold West Kensrik, but I say he made the correct decision."

He paused so that gasps and murmurs of confusion from the gallery could run their course.

Then he continued: "Conrad, being Defender of the West, made that fateful decision without me. He is responsible for the lives lost because of his choice, but this choice was driven by foolish orders which the regent compelled him to follow. Yet this city, this empire, may have been saved because he chose his notorious failure. I shall now testify to my reasoning, and to how exactly he accomplished his final success, because our King had different and erroneous accounts related to you. Every soldier of the Kenderley Army present that day witnessed what I shall relate, for I bring you the truth that we survived to tell."

The House of Lords held deep respect for the surprise witness before them, an undisputed hero. Now the empire's most reputable defender praised what everyone thought was the worst strategic decision in living memory—and contradicted the regent. No one would have agreed to adjourn again before hearing his story.

Garulph related every conversation he could recall, especially the frustration with advising a regent who often ignored their counsel. Then he recounted the battle as an expert strategist would observe it. He described Conrad's final duel, and how it felt when one of the last things he could tell this victorious hero was that Garulph needed to arrest him.

No one raised objection. It was not a matter of daring to do so; even Lord Dunstan could accept it all.

Garulph concluded: "I say this with absolute confidence. Not only did Kensrik enjoy such a lopsided victory because of Conrad's maneuver; that maneuver worked, and victory against the East was assured, because Conrad sent too few soldiers west to recapture the Valley of Garnecht. He used the size of our combined forces to safeguard and support what his cavalry were doing and soundly convinced our opponent to retreat. His fateful choice enabled such a thorough victory that our enemies did not dare attack again; they swiftly accepted terms. Conrad deliberately failed in his given task to ensure that I succeeded at mine, to save this land. I agree that people in a distant region who only want to govern themselves in peace are no threat. Especially not compared to people who would raze our capital unless we give in to their demands.

"When you consider the exhortations of Prince Ewald, and the testimony of Prince Bonifaz, consider not only how our King treats his family, which is the same as how he treats his empire. Consider whether a man who saved this land from ruin was really a traitor as our regent declared him. Do we not deserve a legal manner of removing from power such a man who would so accuse the greatest hero of our times, and further, who would desecrate that hero's corpse in full public display instead of allowing Conrad a dignified pyre and a day of mourning? What happens when everyone like Conrad is called a traitor and doomed, and our King gets to surround himself with people who unquestioningly agree to his demands at our peril?

"Either our regent has lost his mind, or he knows full well what he is doing and will lead us all to doom on reckless and malicious whim. If you, the assembled, cannot make such a self-evidently good reform for the betterment of Kensrik, and for the safety of the Kenderleys as our most noble family, then who has that power? Certainly not the Common Representatives, whose laws you would keep in check. I would consider enacting your preferred course of action before they can draft a different one.

"Thank you, mister Speaker, for inviting my testimony today."

The House of Lords adjourned again to process everything they heard and saw. It not only shook their minds free of the recent prosperity's distractions, it demanded response; but what legal recourse did they have against one who had the final word on laws?

19

A Reunion and an Arrival

The smiling coachman did not ask for any of Bonifaz' money. The young man used the code word from Isabel and the stranger responded appropriately, so that this should be the correct ride to safety and no ruse. In any case, Bonifaz entered the mostly-darkness of the box and securely latched the door shut from the inside.

From there, he had no idea where the public riding box went. It was easy to get paranoid, now; did the rude man in the House of Lords secretly report to Jonnecht himself? What about Garulph's testimony? Was the Prince being delivered to his death? Where was Ewald?

Eventually, the public riding box came to a stop. Bonifaz unlatched the door and squinted in the daylight as he stepped outside. Everything around him was nondescript; this was an easy place to get lost in unless one knew exactly what they were looking for. This building had no crest or picture indicating what went on there, nor did any building around it. Bonifaz hoped the coachman did not deliver his charge to the wrong location.

"Quick, get covered," said a different stranger who offered him a plain brown cloak.

Bonifaz donned the cloak and was led into a building where Isabel, her familiar lady-in-waiting, and Dulcibella were all sitting around a table wearing anxious looks. He noticed the matching necklaces of Isabel and her lady; quite exquisite…

Dulcibella quickly got up and went to her son, who had no time to remove his briefly necessary cloak before his mother could squeeze him.

"Oh, here we all are. For better or worse," she said.

Then she disengaged the hug and looked around frantically as he pulled off the cloak.

"Where are your tutoring notes? Did you forget those in the riding box? Sometimes I'm so glad we're the best equipped family to keep buying paper for you to scribble on, you know..."

Bonifaz looked pleadingly at Isabel, because he was not sure how to explain and did not have the heart to disappoint his mother. She nodded indicating she would explain.

"Brother just met with the House of Lords," Isabel said. "Ewald introduced him. The papers he promised to bring were not of his tutelage, they were more like a diary."

Dulcibella slowly looked from Isabel to Bonifaz.

"Really? A diary of what?" The Queen asked.

"A diary of life with father," Isabel said.

"But then you left that behind?" Dulcibella asked, her voice shifting from confusion to horror. "So, any stranger going for a ride can pick up all these scandalous papers, and start some kind of riot?"

Isabel sighed at the missed logical connection.

"No, mother. He went with Ewald to the meeting to testify about father. Commoners have nothing to do with it, not yet anyway."

"Ewald put you up to it," Dulcibella shook her head and took a seat by the table. "Now there's not one of us left who has refrained from inciting Jon's rage. Not one he would spare. There's no going back. Though I suppose there was no going back after we all left?"

"We are in this together, with the same risk to each of us," Isabel observed.

No one could immediately think of what to add.

During the uncomfortable silence, Bonifaz found a seat at the table. Isabel, Liviana, Dulcibella, Bonifaz, all wondering what came next.

Dulcibella finally pointed out: "Well that's far from how Ewald made it sound. 'Make sure you frame it as my idea,' he said, 'if all should go wrong. Save yourselves.' Now I think I know what he meant by 'making better arguments,' but why would the House of Lords even matter? Jon wouldn't listen to the words of people below him in station. Not if they were against him."

Isabel looked doubtful for a moment. 'Making better arguments'? Is that how Ewald described the next part of his plan? Did mother not understand or refuse to accept what that meant?

"He follows his own vision of what to do. I agreed to help him bring you two here, for our erstwhile safety, but I never agreed to do exactly as he instructed," Isabel said.

Liviana and Dulcibella exchanged glances, wondering what she meant by that.

"I have not seen brother since the meeting," Bonifaz said. "Typical of him, leaving me behind like that. When will he be joining us?"

"Much later if that. It's not for certain he is joining us at all. Did he not explain this to you?" Isabel asked her younger brother.

"Oh, far from it. Keep little Bonifaz innocent, that was his plan. He told me one thing only, and that was to keep notes. Then he gave me the time and place to use them. What's he doing, then? Going with General Garulph? Setting up a bloody overthrow?" Bonifaz mused.

"Garulph? Is he not commanding the Army over in the east?" Liviana asked.

Bonifaz looked carefully at her. They had never conversed before, but he supposed only trustworthy people had been permitted in this room. Also, this was not much of a secret.

"That would be difficult to do from the House of Lords. He was there. They called him to testify as I left."

"But Ewald told me Garulph was hardly an active participant. Oh, how keen he is on this plan, that he misleads his own mother. And the good General is caught up in this?" Dulcibella put her palms to her face.

It was better that Ewald could call upon such allies, but she still feared an ugly end to this.

"Would you like to tell them, Isabel, or do I need to?" Liviana asked with concern.

"No, I appreciate all you've done, love; I'll handle this," Isabel said before meeting the concerned expression of her mother.

"He said this was between him and father alone."

Dulcibella blinked slowly. "Well, yes, he told me this also."

Bonifaz gestured that this might not be direct enough.

Isabel finally admitted: "He's going to duel him."

They sat there once more in silence. In Ewald's grand scheme he had not really given them anything to do after this point but wait.

"Well, I completely disapprove of this plan," Dulcibella said after a moment.

"All he wants to do is save us. And who of us could face father without legal repercussions?" Isabel countered in query.

"All of us together," Bonifaz offered.

The others stared at him, not because it took a wild imagination to interpret his statement, but because he said what they wouldn't dare.

Isabel winced as the chair legs scraped the newly installed parquet floor yet again; Bonifaz stood with haste and continued his thought.

"And why not? Let's make our own plan. Let's save him."

* * *

King Jonnecht had difficulty sleeping until his body was well and truly exhausted from having stayed awake too long. Then he slept for some stretch of time not specifically known to him. Then he awoke, groggy at first. He was quickly startled awake by the unexpectedness of his surrounds. He had slept in one bed so often in life that even when in a strange place, he would dream of briefly waking and changing the sleeping position in his usual bed. What was this lumpy straw below him? What was this room, this rustic collection of logs and boards?

Then he forced himself upright and remembered his surrounds. This was General Garulph's interim quarters, a cabin near to the border with the Eastern Kingdoms. But why had no one knocked to awaken him in the morning, given that for all they knew he might have urgent business to attend back in the capital?

His anger moved him further awake. He went around collecting parts of his outfit from yesterday that were placed here and there about the room for lack of proper storage; he would be forced to wear the same outfit for riding as yesterday, having lacked the foresight to bring anything else with him.

Jonnecht threw the door open so hard that he broke its fragile hinges and startled some nearby guards; this farming village was clearly not sturdy enough to survive his wanton anger.

"You and you, see that sun?" He pointed. "See how high it is up in the sky, and neither of you cared to knock? Not one of you so much as blared a horn at sunrise?"

The guards looked nervously at each other. "Well, but we did, we sounded the morning horn as usual Great King—"

"Forget the horn, it was a difficult night. But Garulph, where is he? The good General must have left you orders. I have matters of the utmost importance to attend at home, I never scheduled for a holiday out on your front lines!"

The same guard who spoke before dared answer again.

"General Garulph is away, Great King. He left last night."

The other guard added: "Must have been urgent, him riding in the rain like that."

Jonnecht took one step back and blinked, thoroughly confused. Why would Garulph do that? Did he not say he was going to find another cabin as a replacement for the night, having offered his own to his ruler as the best place to sleep in the immediate surroundings?

"One of you, or both, I care not; find me the fastest horse you have. I shall make it mine," he said.

"Great King, your stallion—"

"It could be him unless you've got a faster one. I hope you do." Jonnecht said irritably, dismissing a priceless horse.

The soldiers cast each other a knowing glance as they went to carry out the order.

These men saw what Conrad accomplished. Then they watched him die. Now the man who refused to honour Conrad trapped himself with his words: he would cope with whichever horse they gave him.

* * *

The sky had become a thick sheet of clouds that would not decide whether it should empty itself. The angry King thundered down the road at the quickest pace this beast would allow, not giving any soldier or subject much time to salute or to bow, nor giving himself any time to enjoy people's expressions as they scrambled out of his way. Let the Priesthood in hiding die with their Sky Worship; Jonnecht was the god of rage, hatred, inhumanity. He believed he had a perfect impression of who now crossed him.

He could form patterns in his mind, with interchangeable pieces to represent the conspirators. It was bitter Isabel with her older brother bewitched, some sorcery taught to her by that mysterious young lady she let into the palace; then Ewald must have found an ally in General Garulph, who may have been perfectly factual about the heroics of the late General Conrad. But facts were never supposed to be as important as the word of the regent, and where it was inconvenient, logic itself was supposed to step aside and bow. Or it could dive out of the way, just like these small and inconvenient people blocking Jonnecht's path.

Or was it all Dulcibella, who was more loyal to her spawn than to her husband? Yes, she probably knew more than she was letting on. This was all a conspiracy to turn his children against him. How long would it be before they corrupted his youngest son, convinced him to sneak around in the dead of night, to kill his father in bed?

Whoever was at the head of this structure, this hierarchy of plotting, that mattered less than the knowledge of every face of every conspirator. Maybe more people needed to die. Yes, that would give him the satisfaction that Conrad robbed him of by dying too soon; let the apparently treacherous Garulph "retire" from being alive. The greatest threat to the empire from without was defeated. Now Jonnecht should carve out all the corruption from within.

The horse began to pant fervently and refuse his commands to gallop, and around the same time, Jonnecht's rage began to cool. He felt a bit riding-sore besides, so he dismounted to loosen up his legs, and this was the perfect opportunity to let the horse eat some grass by the side of the road.

"So, you are the fastest horse. Yes, the horse that gallops fastest would be a sprinter but not one to carry speed across longer distances. I may as well have stuck with my stallion, who is your opposite; slow to the gallop, but able to maintain it longer."

The horse snorted a bit and defecated on the road, not in direct reply to Jonnecht but as a matter of course. The act did function well as a response.

"You would do that. Your pokey arse is the best thing I have to work with, now. I wonder why I never thought to bring Conrad's old horse, that thing was like the god of all horses. But we must work with the means in our hands, do we not? Pokey?" He mocked the uncomprehending creature.

Off in the distance, shafts of light broke through the clouds. Jonnecht's destination looked like a bright, happy, and welcoming place. He marvelled at the look of the sunlit Atrium from this distance, its glittering glass walls and roof. He envisioned himself flowing home like a stream from the mountains; this return trip, this time alone, seemed to calm him inside if he let it.

He once again mounted, this time not pushing the horse so hard, seeing whether he could push the horse farther instead, and in the hopes of managing his soreness. He quietly hoped that his future should be so bright and happy as the scene in front of him.

Farmers sometimes leaned on their staves for a moment to watch him go by. They just quietly observed him, now, not waving or exclaiming. He thought that their lack of reaction was because he might not look altogether regal. He could not imagine a need for farmers in the far-reaching conspiracy that he kept playing with in his mind.

So be it. They had work to do, and so did he. At least shepherds acted their quickest to get sheep across the road so that he did not need to stop.

He tried to coax a little more speed out of this horse, whom he now called Pokey regardless of any proper name. It began to aggravate him how visible his palace was from such a distance, that he could approach it for so long without being there.

Then Pokey insisted on slowing again. Jonnecht dismounted and let the horse have one more rest to eat.

"Did you hurt yourself in battle inside, somewhere, that you keep slowing me down?" He complained.

The horse responded much like the last time Jonnecht tried to start a conversation.

Jonnecht sighed. "Yeah, this is what I expected of you. Just chewing your grass, doing what horses do. Well, enjoy it. For I can tell, by the vision in my mind, that one way or another my destiny awaits me in that yonder palace, my home. I would sooner race you to death than have you delay my destiny further."

The horse whinnied uncomprehendingly.

Jonnecht continued in a soothing tone, entirely contrary to his words.

"I shall walk the remainder of the way if I must, but I will only accept your failure in the form of death; you serve me to the end. So be prepared for anything. Understand?"

He heaved himself back up on Pokey with a heavy grunt, and he got the trot started, then forced a gallop as quickly and as hard as he could. He imagined the remainder of his voyage to be one more sprint, then this ill-chosen horse could be free to recover in the stables of House Kenderley, provided said horse survived this roughness.

And once again Jonnecht elevated himself to god of anger, of wrath, the malicious expression on his face matching the thoughts in his mind. The pace he forced out of his horse rivalled the pace of his thoughts.

They were awfully close to the palace. It would not be long.

20

A Duel

Jonnecht circled the wall around this estate and reached the main gates to the immediate salutes of the guards there.

"You," King Jonnecht began, "lead Pokey over here to the stable. The next General we send out to survey the East, we give him this. Sprints like the wind, until thoroughly winded."

He detached the scabbard from the saddle, and shortly thereafter wore his sword at his side.

Then he turned to the others who looked very expectant but feared to talk out of turn.

"And you few, you look like you shall die if you hold it in much longer, so speak already."

There followed an outburst where three of them began at once but were unintelligible over each other.

"That's not what I meant!" He yelled, and that halted them.

Seniority prevailed, giving one of them the right to relate this story. By privilege of having signed up two weeks earlier to the Army, one guard could tell Jonnecht something that he probably had no right to be excited relating.

"It is so good to have someone back at the palace, Great King. We have been waiting shifts out at the gate and waiting for further orders, but we have had none since our Queen departed with her group of ladies, yet to return," related the guard.

"What?! And you say such things with a beaming look, you fool!" Jonnecht snapped. "Do you have any word whatsoever on where they went? She must have given you some explanation."

Then he remembered one young man who had gone unmentioned.

"She did not leave with Bonifaz, correct?" Jonnecht asked frantically.

The guard blinked, realizing after all that this privilege granted to him by seniority was not the most exciting, comforting, or in any way fulfilling. He had a cover story to stick with, and he felt better able to do so than the others.

"No one has seen Bonifaz anywhere, Great King. But the young man has never caused any trouble as far as we know, and we have not seen him leave the palace gates. Truly, our Queen said she was going for an excursion with her friends and perhaps to purchase something nice," he said.

"Oh, you fool, did it not raise any alarm to you whatsoever when she failed to return? With any of them?! How long ago was this?" Jonnecht resisted the urge to hit the man.

"Apologies, Great King, most sincerely; we first raise alarm to you, and you were not here, and we rather expected you to return late last night. Then we would have told you, instead of now. Who else were we to alert, and were we really to send all the guards into the vastness of the capital—"

"Just shut your mouth," interrupted Jonnecht, "I have heard enough, and your tone is beginning to border on insubordination. Do not address me as if I were the one who let everyone vanish. You must have seen last night's storm; did you think I would ride home in that, without so much as a carriage over my head?"

"Apologies, Great King," the senior-most guard bowed his head.

"And I take it you never searched inside the palace, to make sure Bonifaz was safe? You just assumed he was all right, did not even send anybody else for the task. If I cannot trust the palace guard to have some intelligence, I ought to conduct this search myself."

"Of course, Great King. Apologies once again, Great King..."

Jonnecht just shoved them aside with his shoulders when they did not get out of his way quickly enough and began his search.

He immediately went upstairs to where guards were never allowed unless called upon.

It was silent, scarcely a wind through the windows. It was cold. The library was dark, no lamp lit, not even an ember in the fireplace. Not a sound in the gloom.

"Bonifaz?" He voiced his query down the hall, but the tapestries muffled the echoes that should have replied.

He walked past his chambers, the door left ajar, the bed unmade; not even servants had evidently been in the place to tidy up rooms that awaited their occupants' return. There was Dulcibella's open and untidy chamber, with not so much as a note left behind.

Then he checked the corridor where his children once lived, but silence and emptiness met him here as well. There was Ewald's door, cracked open, showing permanent damage where that latch Ewald once installed used to be, but mere indentations in the front of the door itself; inside, the mirror smashed with the blow of a gloved fist, the filthy bedsheets, just as Jonnecht remembered leaving it. Next to it, Isabel's room, abandoned with no plan, left alone since he ordered her away.

"Bonifaz?" He voiced another query, but he already knew what little response he could expect.

The young man's door was open, and he was nowhere to be found. His desk seemed quite tidy; since Jonnecht had not often gone in there, he did not recognize that there should have been stacks of papers on that working desk, along with scattered writing implements.

There was a peace in this quiet, and he wondered if it was better that they had all gone. But he did love them, even when he was angered by them, even when he hated what they did, because he was their father; he was someone's husband. If only they would cooperate.

He then lit a lamp and brought it with him to the main floor, and down further as the side stairs spiralled, to the depths where there was never supposed to be a party again now that the Atrium was finished. He once had an idle thought, whether they had all been hiding down there, where no one would look, using various servant passages in and out, but the lamp light merely revealed the emptiness of the upper tier where they once ate as a family; Jonnecht went to the depths below, where soldiers once drank, and now there appeared to be a void above him where the ceiling should be, for the lamp was only so strong.

In that void he imagined a listening, as if the kings of old were evaluating this man on whom their legacy was pinned, on whom their dead hopes rode.

"When we scattered the Sky Priesthood, we promised to rule this land, not by some unseen god's grace, but by our unmatched wisdom and suitability to lead the empire. I have not forgotten. I shall not fail you now," he said as if praying to his ancestors.

With a new resolve, he mounted the stairs back to the ground level, and he realized he was searching for the wrong person. He was looking for those who had left, but not the one who probably arranged this for them. Why would Dulcibella and Bonifaz hide somewhere in the palace? And why, indeed, would he not send guards into the city to find them? No, this exploration of the palace was not really for them, it was for Ewald.

And if he were Ewald, and if Ewald were in this palace knowing his father was bound to return, where would he wait? Only in the most suitable room.

Jonnecht sighed and growled softly. "I know where you are, my challenger. I despise that it has come to this, but from you I will get answers."

He dimmed and put aside the lamp, for he knew it was unnecessary at his destination. He removed his dueling gloves from one pocket and slowly donned them as he walked the corridor.

There was the Throne Room, a compromise between the old stone and fabric decorations of old, the tapestries and lamps, and the new ways of coloured glass and the sun in the sky. And there was no better time of day to be in this place, for the sun caught each window but did not glare one directly in the eyes through any of the pieces of glass; the angle perfect, the floor was decorated with colour and the walls shone with the glare. Yet, he noticed, all the seats had been moved to the sides…

And there, sitting on the throne and concealed partly in shadow, was Prince Ewald Kenderley.

"It is you, after all," Jonnecht observed calmly.

"Indeed. And there you are," Ewald began.

"Are you getting comfortable?" Jonnecht asked with casual amusement.

Ewald stood and slowly descended the couple of steps separating the elevated platform of the thrones from the main floor. As Ewald stepped into the light, Jonnecht marvelled at his son's attire for a moment. If only the boy gained such style before becoming treacherous…

The Prince wore what had become his favourite outfit, with a gold buttoned and embroidered hunter green vest over a cotton shirt with sleeves rolled up to the elbow; simple high-waisted pants; a tidy cravat adorned with a gold pin. His hair, parted down the middle, reached the back of his neck and touched the side of his chin in length.

"I wanted to know what it felt like. I must say, I am not looking forward to adopting it."

Jonnecht noted another crucial thing his oldest son wore: a sword, sheathed in a decorative scabbard. It confirmed his most obvious suspicions, but their blades were not yet drawn.

"It's a fine day outside, son. It looked magnificent riding home, as the clouds withdrew. Have you seen it, or did you spend the morning waiting here for me?" Jonnecht asked, approaching slowly.

"The day often looks beautiful right after it has been miserable. And last night, did it ever pour," Ewald said as he put a hand on the hilt of his sword.

Jonnecht observed the motion.

"Neither of us seems particularly angry," Jonnecht said. "And it would be a shame for calm men to draw steel, and possibly to die, on such a beautiful day."

"It would," Ewald agreed, not looking any less alert for it.

"You know, I did a lot of thinking while away, and on my ride home. In fact, I met with the Crown Joakim, quite unexpectedly, while I marked the entrance to our new eastern borders. He took a casual walk down the ridge, left his servants behind, and we had a brief, frank conversation, as grown men sometimes do. You would hardly think we had just been on opposing sides of such a fierce battle, so easy it was to have a conversation."

"But what did you think on your way home, as intriguing a misdirect as that is?" Ewald asked, nudging the sword just enough out of its sheath that it would take no effort to draw it the rest of the way.

"I was thinking that this is all so terribly wrong, son; my children, my dear wife, hiding from me, in fear? As if I am some monster. I have overstepped in my rage; I do have three children."

Jonnecht stopped walking toward Ewald. There was still too great a distance between them for either man to strike.

"I have a daughter, and I became so upset with her, I decreed an excessive punishment. She is, indeed, mine, and a princess, and she belongs here, just as much as you do. Please, son, summon everyone home for me, and we can begin anew. Are those not agreeable terms?"

"I don't believe for an instant that you had any such thoughts. Not until this very moment, when they became convenient to you to speak," Ewald shook his head.

Jonnecht laughed, looked back at the throne room door, and then toward Ewald.

"Well, foolishness has never been your problem, son. You look more like a man now than you ever have; do you know that? These fleeting hardships in life, they are preparing you for that throne and all its discomforts. I am proud to have helped you."

"I suspect your father gave you no help of such dubious nature. Yet, if he did, that explains much," Ewald quipped.

"I think you always had this boldness within. I remember when I could no longer frighten you by threatening to brick you into an oubliette like my brother; I knew, at the very least, that I had to be smarter than that," Jonnecht mused.

Ewald expected this conversation was a long feint, but it set up something of his own perfectly.

"That stopped working the day I met your brother," Ewald began.

Now Jonnecht was taken aback.

Ewald continued: "Until his peaceful death, my uncle received love and care at the hands of those terrible Priests and Sisters you once said would kidnap and sacrifice me if I wandered without approval. And that's what I want for you, father; I still love you, and I want you to receive care for the rest of your days, somewhere quiet. It's not too late for that."

The false calm melted away and Jonnecht's rage began to boil.

"She took you to him, somehow. Didn't she?"

Jonnecht smiled malevolently as he pieced it together. "And then you told Isabel and Bonifaz in turn, and that's when that trick stopped working on them. You just gave her away for consulting with enemies of House Kenderley."

Ewald's expression betrayed nothing. "I did no such thing, you paranoid fool."

Jonnecht nodded slowly. "You must have broken a law to learn what you just told me, or someone broke the law to show you."

The King drew his sword.

"I'll get that confession any way I must."

Ewald drew his sword before his father could finish that sentence. It was of a type uniquely designed for House Kenderley, making up in length for what it lacked in heft compared to a Wancyek blade or a General's Sword. It was decorated with jewels, some visible, some now covered by Ewald's hands. The polished metal caught the light from the coloured glass of the windows; it shone like a weapon of legend, something which might still glow from the fires of the south west, where the mountains belched fire and where it was forged.

"No, father. You have gotten your way for too long. This ends here."

Jonnecht began to circle and said: "You draw that glorified brooch pin of yours, you had better be serious. Didn't I say I was done playing?"

Ewald circled as well and countered: "You answer for that day and many more."

Hoping to catch his son bantering, Jonnecht mounted a lunging attack for which Ewald was well prepared; neither drew first blood, steel merely striking steel. They both backed away and resumed circling.

"You're a monster who only takes the form of a man, to gain fresh trust for abuse, and your family no longer lets their love for you blind them. They left, fearing more than death that they might become as corrupt as you," Ewald taunted, seeing his father already breathing heavy, perhaps from the ride here, perhaps not yet warmed up for this fight.

Jonnecht retorted: "This land is mine, and you only mean anything because of me. You get treated like a prince, you get to be a prince, because of my word and nothing else. Is it so much to demand absolute obedience—"

Ewald lunged, trying to catch him unawares. Steel clattered against steel, feints, footwork, a withdrawal; Jonnecht's rage only grew at his son copying what Jonnecht had done moments prior.

They withdrew and circled once more.

"And how many lives do you have to throw away, to keep ours meaningful? Everything you do is a disgrace. When anyone does anything useful, you take credit," Ewald said.

"That's what you intend to do, isn't it, boy? To take that throne at the height of prosperity and claim my golden age as your own, after how I protected you?" Jonnecht spat.

"Oh, my chest and arms savoured your protection," Ewald retorted. "And what of mother, behind closed doors?"

Jonnecht scowled. "You're correct, then. This ends here. One of us dies."

"If I can't stop you today, father, I'll die trying."

Jonnecht scarcely let his son's sentence finish before charging forth to attack. The banter-heavy sparring match between two nobles became life or death.

Ewald parried the thrust and knew that the way to move was to his own right, for there was little more than steps and thrones behind him. This was a dance of a different kind, in close quarters. Ewald had memorized the floor of this room overnight, stepped his way around it, that his feet might recall where to tread so his mind could focus on the swordplay.

Jonnecht sustained his attack and chopped with such ferocity that Ewald's defending sword was in no easy position to counterattack; nor did Jonnecht give up any ground. He was the angry bear in his cave, heavier in build than his son, and he would not let himself be pushed back.

Ewald was lighter, more agile, but this task before him was no less difficult. It was simpler when he could just imagine what he might do to his father if not otherwise impaired, when circumstances stacked the previous fight against him; now he knew that the dance they did was truly one of death, of skill against blind force and hatred.

He remembered what Liviana taught him. He stayed loose. To sidestep, to move with care knowing where to go, was not to surrender any relevant thing. Let the angry bear chase him.

When they had circled around three quarters of the way, Jonnecht feinted a thrust and saw his son draw back, and while he had the time, reached behind the gallery wall at his back, which was no higher than his waist. With one hand Jonnecht grabbed a servant's seat and hurled it at his son. Ewald was already disengaged and having stepped back from the feint, was ready to sidestep the flying furniture which was then dashed against the floor by the weight of the throw. Only the fabric that once covered the seat and back of the chair held its pieces together.

Before Jonnecht could recover from having made the throw, and while he remained committed to the fresh attack, Ewald got behind the remnants of the chair and booted them sharply. They slid along the floor, and under Jonnecht. One of Jonnecht's boots caught the back of the chair instead of the floor and Jonnecht flopped face down.

The King's chin struck against the floor, and his sword went clattering away.

"I came here to duel a king. You fight like a bandit on the road," Ewald taunted, pointing his sword toward Jonnecht who quickly regained his bearings and had risen to hands and knees.

Then Jonnecht swatted the flat of Ewald's blade with a gloved left hand and launched a tackle toward his son's knees. He secured the foremost leg and drove Ewald to the ground with size and pure force of anger.

As he went to mount Ewald and do further harm, Ewald, who managed to keep his sword in the fall, struck his father with its pommel, once at half force, then a second time significantly harder. As his father was stunned with the acute pain, Ewald aggressively kicked him off and scrambled to get back up.

Jonnecht fell back, but toward his sword. His near infinite anger dulling the pain, he quickly recovered his weapon and regained his footing just as Ewald returned to standing.

And Ewald then lunged a stab for his father's right shoulder, but Jonnecht swatted this strike aside. The angry King once again returned to the offensive, striking quickly and often and not allowing much time to parry or dodge let alone counterattack. He fuelled each blow with his rage, ignoring the fresh pain in his scowling face.

Jonnecht did not believe for a moment that his son had what it took to kill him. He pushed forth harder, trying to cut away avenues of escape, but he could only block one at a time.

And his son deftly parried the fruits of that rage, left with the hope that if he could just last long enough, this frenzy would consume Jonnecht from the inside.

But the King's renewed energy was slow to wane. And Jonnecht chopped and hacked and to attempt to bring these blows to a full stop would be to lose the grip on one's sword, such force was behind them.

Now Jonnecht backed his son toward the waist high gallery wall from behind which he had earlier taken a servant seat. Jonnecht swung a downward diagonal blow that could have cleaved a man from shoulder to opposing hip, but Ewald knew what was behind him and lunged low to one side, ducking as he moved. Jonnecht's mighty chop lodged his sword in the wooden gallery wall.

Ewald recovered and pointed his sword at his father's face.

"Surrender. I don't want to have to kill you."

Jonnecht panted. "That… that's what makes you weak."

He grasped the blade of Ewald's sword hoping to point it away and muscle past it, but Ewald put his boot against Jonnecht's chest and kicked hard. Ewald stumbled back as his blade slid free; Jonnecht loosened his grip by reflex, immediately understanding what would happen if he did not.

Jonnecht yelped in shock as if anticipating a wound, yet the thick glove took all the damage, neither his hand nor digits even scratched. He tore off the wrecked glove and grasped the hilt of his sword while Ewald regained footing. Jonnecht planted a boot on the gallery wall and forced his blade loose.

And the King attacked again, but this time sloppily. Ewald struggled for a moment, beginning to feel the length of this fight himself, but the battered and exhausted Jonnecht rapidly lost all form.

Jonnecht staggered forward to strike. Ewald performed a close sidestep and struck the back of his father's most weight bearing knee with the flat of the sword. Then he shoved Jonnecht to the floor using his free hand.

The older man lost his sword for the last time as he rolled into the already wrecked gallery wall.

Jonnecht tried to stand, made it part way up, then fell back on his rump. He sat there, panting, briefly coughing from the fight's exertions.

As this happened, Ewald saw his father's sword lying on the floor. Ewald quickly snatched it away and stood back lest Jonnecht charge at him again. But Jonnecht no longer had that kind of fight left in him.

The old man spoke with a wretched voice.

"Well, this is it. And it must end, son, like we promised. One of us dies. And in death, the end of suffering; at least for me."

Ewald said nothing. He stood ready; his own sword wielded with his right hand pointed toward his father; his father's sword carried with his left hand pointed at the floor. And Ewald recalled that it was only his father who insisted that one of them had to die. Ewald had made no such promise.

The old man refused to surrender. Was there any other way for Ewald to save everyone?

Jonnecht continued: "So end it, then. And that uncomfortable throne can be yours at last."

And then a familiar voice sounded from the doorway.

"But a wise man once told me, we cannot let ourselves be like him."

Ewald frowned, and refused to look away from his treacherous father when he replied.

"Brother, that must be you. Why are you here?"

Jonnecht turned his head slowly, on a sore neck, to give a crestfallen look toward the main entry to the throne room.

"You need witnesses, do you not?" Said Isabel.

Ewald trembled a little as he watched his father. He would not dare look away.

"And you, sister? Both of you, here, why?"

Soon enough, Isabel was at Ewald's left, and Bonifaz at his right, each bearing springbows which they aimed at their father.

Then emerged the voice of his mother.

"You can lower your sword, son. Your siblings have him well covered."

Jonnecht shed tears at the sight of those who faced him. "All of you, turned against me. Traitors. Oh, why? Is this how you repay me?"

Dulcibella pushed Ewald's right forearm down, coaxing him into lowering the sword; then she took his father's sword from his left hand, with no resistance, as he was glad to be free of it.

"You're not the ruler of us anymore," Isabel said. "And neither is our dear oldest brother on matters of family, even though we love him. It's not for Ewald alone to reject you on our behalf, but for all of us to reject you together."

"You can be reinstated as princess, my daughter. You can become the heir. You didn't bewitch him after all, right? No, he did this to you," Jonnecht began.

Isabel replied without blinking: "I can't just be your daughter one moment, and not the next, depending on your mood. But today and to the end, I no longer consider you my father."

Jonnecht's teary eyes narrowed, and he began to move as if to slowly get up.

He said: "Oh, he had not the heart to slay me, and neither do you. Any of you. Why, I shall wager you lack even the knowledge to release the spring catch on—"

He dropped back on his rear at the sound of a bolt springing, and the bolt pinned the shoulder padding of his jacket to the wall behind him; his heart nearly failed him from terror.

"Oh my, what was he saying about a spring catch?" Isabel asked Bonifaz.

Dulcibella peered at her with stern disapproval, but Isabel knew her father's dimensions and where the shoulder of his clothes had bunched. She knew she wouldn't pierce flesh. Isabel had never entirely relied on her wife for protection. She nodded deferentially to her mother.

"Are we not free, now, husband?" Dulcibella asked, though it sounded more like a statement.

"Shut up. I didn't get beaten by you," Jonnecht snarled.

Dulcibella frowned, then looked at Ewald.

"It sounds like he agrees that he answers to you. And since force is what he understands best, it looks like you brought your 'better arguments' to him quite effectively," she said.

Ewald said, "We are free, father. I do not ask you; I command you. We shall never answer to you again, and you shall not seek us out nor seek our harm. On your feeble remainder of life, do you agree to these first terms, which are not the last?"

Jonnecht sighed painfully and closed his eyes. "Yes."

Ewald continued: "And I suppose you cede me that uncomfortable throne over there, do you not?"

Jonnecht glared back in defiance.

"You want my throne, boy; have the courage to come over here and kill me. Usurp the blasted thing properly. A Kenderley never abdicates."

"But it's just as well that you let him sit there," said a new arrival, the Speaker of the House of Lords, who was quietly accompanied by Garulph, and by Liviana who had brought them word.

"Oh, I still live!" Jonnecht declared before pointing at Ewald with his bare hand.

"Arrest him, the would-be usurper! He and his mother consult with Sky Priests! My subjects, are you not compelled to follow my command?" Jonnecht began forcefully.

The others cast about glances of disbelief. Dulcibella's expression of disdain went unchanged. Ewald lightly frowned. No one appeared interested in Jonnecht's wild-sounding accusations.

Jonnecht began to understand as much. "Will no one arrest all these treacherous people?" He whined.

The Speaker shook his head. "Not at all. You see, the nobles have reached a consensus. You're a threat to this empire, to your family—and to yourself. In every way possible, you threaten House Kenderley and the very future of our land, and that's why we can't let you continue to have any say in our laws. Ewald is of responsible age, Kenderley lineage, and impeccable tutelage. The nobles of the governing chamber recognize him as head of this House."

"Please, Bonifaz, Isabel, put the springbows away," Garulph said with a smile. "This broken old man is hardly worth the price of the bolts. And all the soldiers and guards in the city are now aware of the change in leadership. Soon, the entire Kenderley Army far and wide will know better than to follow a command from Jonnecht."

Isabel and Bonifaz carefully set the spring catch, lowered their aim, and removed the bolt from the chambers of their respective weapons, and they stepped back as Dulcibella gestured they should.

"But I promised to leave them alone. And you can make sure of that, right? Keep them out of my palace; but I do not give up my throne unless I go to my pyre. This is my birthright which cannot be rescinded; this is my home and that is my throne. What authority do any of you have to legislate against me, to take away what I shall not give?" Jonnecht protested.

The Speaker sighed. "He misses the point, but he's grasped something. This is founding law, not to be amended, and the phrasing is clear: the palace, the grounds up to the gate, the throne within, and the crown are all his birthright, and he is never obligated to abandon these until death. Regent-designate Ewald, it appears as if your father gives you no choice. Are you prepared to execute him, for the good of Kensrik?"

Ewald looked at the battered patriarch with pity.

"No, because he's my father and I still love him. Even if all I love are memories from childhood, of the man who I once thought he was."

"I already denied you the throne and I'll do it to the end," Jonnecht said with the last feeble remnant of determination in him.

"Wear a crown if you like, father. Keep your throne. Keep this room, and the Atrium, and the labyrinthine corridors upstairs, the whole ground floor, the banquet room below depths. And keep your ceremonial title for all I care. This palace, that false safety within which you kept us, is now the whole of your domain. Servants may be sent to help keep it tidy, physicians may see to you, all under the supervision of guards who will intervene if you try anything. If we hear tell of an incident, you can take care of yourself. We will all live away from you in Bayrock, and I will work with the nobles and common representatives to enact laws as Regent-designate, but you dwell alone here. You are never to leave the palace."

"Alone, all alone, all the time? Just doctors and servants?" Jonnecht wept.

"I'm protecting you from causing further harm to others, father. This is the best offer you'll get," Ewald said firmly but caringly, even to such a man.

Jonnecht thought about how much better he felt at times when he rode alone, and earlier when he thought the palace was empty. Maybe he could find value in this offering, for there was peace in quiet.

"Yes," Jonnecht nodded, his tears returned.

"He agreed to the terms," the Speaker interjected. "I witness this and consider it final; we've all witnessed it. Let it be once and for all. I will depart, now, to inform both governing chambers."

"What instructions might I leave with the palace guards?" Garulph asked, in advance of his departure.

"That they must not let anyone into or out of the palace gates without my authorization. Protect him, but never let him leave. I authorize them to enforce this with due and suitable force," Ewald suggested.

Garulph nodded and left; he would amend the terms where necessary, to make sure there were no loopholes by which Jonnecht might talk his way out of his house arrest.

"Goodbye, husband," said Dulcibella.

She added before leaving: "I shall one day weep at your funeral. I shall grieve the man I thought you were."

Liviana escorted the Queen away, for they had much to discuss.

Ewald inspected his sword for a moment. This tool was not what ultimately defeated Jonnecht. They had stopped him together as a family. The consensus and legal interpretations of the other nobles certainly helped with practicalities.

Ewald returned the sword to its sheath. He looked at his younger sister and brother, who had returned the springbows to Garulph's men while Ewald was examining the sword.

"One more look-around before we go, perhaps?" The newly designated regent suggested.

"I'm already quite weaned off this place; it is no longer home," Isabel replied, easily speaking for Bonifaz, and frankly, for Ewald himself.

Isabel took Ewald's left hand, and Bonifaz took his right, and they walked out the wide doorway of the main entrance of the throne room like three children going on a happy excursion. Farther and farther behind them, Jonnecht gradually built up the strength to stand; his first order of business would be to nurse his own ailments until anyone arrived to help him. He thought a bone in one of his legs must have cracked, as standing was painful, and movement would take some time…

Ewald looked at Isabel.

"I like the changes you made to my plan. I think they went really well, no?"

"We'll never have to find out, but would you really have killed him?" Bonifaz asked.

"There would be no more justifiable death in the land, yet I would have hated myself for the rest of my life for having done it," Ewald admitted.

"After all you've done for us, we needed to save the true and noble King," Isabel replied.

She would need to talk with her mother. It would be shameful to keep exploiting the royal purse when Ewald had assumed control. A new and honest arrangement was called for.

Ewald smiled with relief, believing the worst of his day behind him. "Not King. Regent-designate for now, but I value the sentiment. And no matter what that man said, had I died, you would have been the true and rightful Queen. I've already witnessed it; you and Liviana, Ladies Althaus, the Queens of Bayrock. I would still like to help you host the most extravagant royal wedding anyone has ever seen."

"And what am I? Still a prince, I suppose, and that's no terrible thing," Bonifaz mused.

"You're an artist and a writer, and it's an honour to be related to you," Ewald replied.

There was a moment's quiet, and Ewald observed the mischievous grins on the faces of his siblings as they reached the end of the hall that went from the throne room to their intended exit.

"What are the both of you up to?"

They reached the front entrance, and guards on either side of the double doors stood in salute of their new ruler for a moment before pulling the heavy doors open by their ornate iron handles.

Outside were a few extravagant carriages, the last of which was open top.

The siblings let go of each other's hands.

"You've become too accustomed to my pranks over the years. But not all surprises are mischief, brother," Isabel remarked.

"Far be it for us to draw away any of your glory. The open top, that one is all yours. See you at the end!" Bonifaz added as the two younger siblings rushed away.

Ewald squinted at the daylight as he saw the guards and soldiers Garulph was able to round up on short notice waiting to parade, and the clamour of commoners at the palace gates. Then he felt jolted by the sound of the heavy doors shutting behind him, an unwelcome startle given the thankfully not fatal duel he had just been through.

"Incredible," he muttered to himself as he surveyed the people assembled outside, "lucky for them I won."

The parade went from the palace gates, past the work in progress of the River Bay Ballroom where the River Machtige emptied into the Bay, and far along the main road of the capital, to where the cobblestones became gravel and dirt, and it did not formally end so much as it eventually dispersed.

The party lasted until people begged to return to work again, lest the whole empire grind to a halt and no one be fed.

And deep inside the massive Kenderley Palace, the sounds of celebration from Bayrock penetrated the thick stone walls; the people cheered for their victorious new leader, whom they knew for a time would live among them and be much closer to their daily lives. A ruler who had the bravery to learn every lesson his father did not, and to remember it well even when it hurt, and to care about people the way every regent should.

And wretched Jonnecht sat alone within drafty and echoing halls where he would dwell for the rest of his days, on a throne which he would not concede, and wore a crown which he would not surrender, and he wept as bitterly as he deserved.

Afterword

A Note from the Master Librarian

The preceding work uses as primary reference the notes and diaries of Princes Ewald and Bonifaz and is consistent with every fact presented therein. The diaries of General Garulph, Queen Dulcibella and Matrons Isabel and Liviana were consulted for valuable supplemental material. Legislative and military records were also helpful. All these sources were referenced against extant popular histories of the events which transpired, but which seemed embellished or inconsistent with the texts used here. Where necessary, some inferences were drawn in accordance with the most reliable source texts. The result is presented in narrative form. I also extend my thanks to the Sisters of the Blessed Sky for their willingness to lend well-preserved texts to this project. They were instrumental in organizing and selecting the most accurate texts and their experience detecting forgeries was most crucial.

Sincerely,

Sir Wolfgang, Knight of House Kenderley and Master Librarian

* * *

A Note from the Sisters of the Blessed Sky

Prince Ewald Kenderley could not within one reign undo all the poison to the public discourse about our faith, for he was one man and not empowered to perform miracles. Nor could he alone restore our trust in his family after over a century of harm. However, the softening of the persecution began when it was no longer being enforced and encouraged from the throne. He followed his mother's example in that regard, who risked her life defying her husband to support our efforts of mercy. My predecessors in the Order were known to pray for them both. The saplings they planted grew toward the Sky in time.

Sincerely,

Mother Superior, Benedikta Kiracoeff

Acknowledgments

I would first like to thank Dianna for writerly and editorial advice important to completing this project. It may have existed otherwise, but now it's the best story it can be. I would also like to thank Candice for formatting assistance, and Jenn not only for an excellent cover but for helping me better visualize my characters over the years.

Remembering MF DOOM, and music that meant a lot to me as I was editing this book and when coping with depression along the way. I have never been the best at following advice, but I make time to think about whether I'm being real, because you wanted me to think about that. I poured one out for you.

Thank you Lady Gaga for providing the vibrant world of Chromatica, an album powerful enough to inspire me to embrace my bisexuality, feel renewed faith, pick up a 2015 manuscript and transform it into this book, and move me powerfully to change my life for the better.

I would like to recognize the subculture/alternative scenes of Toronto, Ottawa, Montreal, New York City, Melbourne, Sydney, and others for providing clubgoing experiences which helped inform how I wrote Ewald's first times going out to a club. Thank you for letting me dance in your darkness all these years.

Finally, I would like to thank my family for supporting me during my working life and ambitions.

Please leave a review for this book on all your preferred book websites. This greatly assists an independent author.

About the Author

Dylan Madeley has five self-published fantasy novels including The Gift-Knight's Quest (2015), The Crown Princess' Voyage (2017), The Masked Queen's Lament (2018), Alathea: Goddess and Empress (2020), and Prince Ewald the Brave (2021). He has worked as a copy editor of and frequent contributor to Auxiliary Magazine since late 2012.

Photo by Johanna Madeley.