The Mythical Hero's Otherworld Chronicles: Volume 9 E-Book

Tatematsuri

• Herausgeber: J-Novel Club
• Kategorie: Gesellschafts- und Liebesromane
• Serie: The Mythical Hero’s Otherworld Chronicles
• Sprache: Englisch

Seitenzahl: 317

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2024

Beschreibung

Beaten and scarred by brutal conflict, the land of Faerzen has languished for two years under the yoke of Six Kingdoms. Now, the Grantzian Empire plots its liberation. Fresh from her victory in Steissen, Liz regroups with Aura and Scáthach to lead the march west, while Surtr joins the war effort to pursue goals of his own. Old scars will reopen and old scores will be settled as the curtain rises on the final battle for this war-torn nation. And as Scáthach stands on the brink of restoring her homeland, she must ask herself: what is she prepared to lose?

Leseprobe

Prologue

The sky was cloudless and the air humid, with no sign of rain. On an ordinary night, the stars would have shone. On an ordinary night, the world would have been silent. Yet this was no ordinary night. Plumes of smoke rose to smother the stars. Beneath a somber sky, the land burned red with pitiless flame.

Screams and cries pierced the night, calling out in rage and grief, begging for deliverance. The stench of blood rose skyward on a storm of clashing steel. An unstoppable tide of malice surged through the streets, cutting down innocent lives in its path. It was brutal. The work of fiends. But it was reality, and reality would not be denied.

“Hope comes only to those who know despair,” the masked boy murmured as he watched the town burn.

His voice was level, far too calm for the frightful spectacle before him. His words carried no inflection. No emotion lay within. An effect lent by the mask obscuring his expression, perhaps—or perhaps not.

“Hate me all you like. I won’t ask for your forgiveness.”

His right hand rose to touch his mask as he seared the sight into his memory. The night wind set his mantle billowing even as he dismissed the air he wore.

“It’s finally time for this stalemate to end.”

Cries for help reached his ears. He lifted a hand, thinking for a moment to answer them—and let it fall.

“No. I won’t pretend to be a savior.”

Casting aside every last shred of compassion, he turned and spread his arms wide.

“Let us go to war!”

Chapter 1: Before the Storm

The thirteenth day of the eighth month of Imperial Year 1026

Cladius, capital of the Grantzian Empire, was the beating heart of human prosperity and one of the oldest cities in Soleil. More commonly known simply as “the imperial capital,” it famously never slept. The most popular destination was the central boulevard, where merchant stalls boasted wares from the farthest corners of Aletia, delicious scents stoked the palate, and merry voices issued from all sides every hour of every day. Parents looked on contentedly as their children ran around the square, toys in hands.

Such was the city’s reputation, at least, but even places that would normally have been bustling did not match it now. Night had fallen. The clouds were one with the darkness, and stars shone through the gaps between. The moon’s gentle light emerged to succeed the sun’s fierce glare. Yet while the stalls’ popularity usually endured long into the evening, they were as silent as the grave. The night was so still that one could have heard a pin drop.

A somber silence hung over the boulevard. The air had a gravity that made the townsfolk feel unwelcome, as though they were trespassing on sacred ground. No one dared draw near. Only the twelve figures lining the sides of the road remained to keep vigil—the statues of the Twelve Divines.

Zertheus, the First God.

Mars, the War God.

The Valditte, the God of Beauty.

Corpal, the God of Smithing.

Belvard, the Guardian.

Carall, the Sage.

Orlaga, the God of the Harvest.

Banietta, the God of Commerce.

Vulcan, the God of Arms.

Parla, the God of Medicine.

Urall, the God of Music.

Seldra, the God of Water.

Ten were emperors who had brought glory and prosperity to the empire. The remaining two goddesses had never sat on the throne, but they had been deified nonetheless in recognition of their feats. All were rendered in minute detail. While the turning of the years had left them pockmarked with small imperfections, their majesty remained undimmed.

The moon shrank behind a cloud, and the statues receded into darkness. At the very same moment, the sound of footsteps broke the silence. The newcomer was the only individual in the empire permitted to enter this place. Her hair shimmered like flame in the gloom, endowing her with a presence that she could not have hidden if she’d tried.

With a clack of boot on stone, she came to a halt before the statue of the Valditte. This was Celia Estrella Elizabeth von Grantz, sixth princess of the empire and, now that she was first in the line of succession, empress regent.

“Sister to the first emperor and the first archpriestess to shepherd the people...”

In life, the Valditte had risen up alongside her younger brother, Artheus, to free humankind from the yoke of zlosta tyranny. In addition to being a courageous warrior, she had contributed to the forging of the Spiritblades. In short, she was one of the architects of the empire’s first victory, and the legends spoke of her in terms no less glowing than those they used for the War God.

“Celia Rey Sinmara von Grantz...”

Blessed by the Spirit King’s favor, she had brokered the alliance between the humans and the álfar and even treated with their mutual enemies, the zlosta. All five peoples of Aletia had loved her, and when she died young from illness, all five had mourned. Consensus among historians was that she had accomplished a great many other feats that had never been recorded, and Liz agreed. It would have taken no less for someone who had never sat the throne to earn a place in the pantheon.

“I don’t understand... Why did I see you in my dream?”

Two years prior, when Liz’s heart had been on the point of breaking from losing Hiro, the woman had come to her with words of comfort. Only on returning to the imperial capital had Liz’s nagging suspicions crystallized and she had realized she had spoken to the Valditte. She could have laughed then, as she gazed up at the statue. The real thing had been so much more beautiful than her likeness, she almost felt jealous.

“I had so many questions for you...”

Liz hoped the woman would visit again. They had a great deal to talk about. She wanted to ask about Hiro, about the feats he had accomplished a thousand years ago, about the sides of his story she did not know. What had he gained? What had he learned? What had he lost? And what had called him back to this world one thousand years later?

She had never found the courage to confront him about his true identity. The fear that she would lose him had been too great. It was only thanks to the fragmented memories of the first emperor, Lævateinn’s original wielder, that she had been able to piece her theory together at all.

“For the longest time, I didn’t believe it. Didn’t want to believe it. I was scared, I think. Too scared to face the truth.”

She pressed a fist against her chest and breathed a small sigh. As a figure of legend, his presence had been unmistakable, an uncanny aura that he could never fully conceal. But she had pretended not to notice, afraid of what accepting the truth would mean. The War God had been her idol, and yet she had run from him.

“But that’s not who I am anymore. I’ve sworn to get stronger.”

And now she wanted to know just what it was that drove him.

“Do you know the answer?”

She did not truly expect a reply from the statue. She waited even so, hoping against hope that the woman would appear again, but all that came was a warm summer wind. She smiled wryly to herself and shook her head.

“I thought something might happen if I came to see you, but I suppose that was just wishful thinking.”

Reluctantly, she turned away. At that moment, a presence nearby made itself known—a light footstep in the dark where the moon did not shine. She swept her gaze around, eyes narrowing, but sensing no animosity, she lowered her guard.

The newcomer stepped forward, the moonlight casting her tender features in silver. “It is dangerous to be out alone so late at night, Your Highness...” She trailed off, looked around, and nodded to herself. A faint smile spread across her face. “I see. Unseen, yet always within reach. Your subordinates are quite proficient.”

Liz’s eyes widened. She too looked around. Within the darkness lurked several figures, alert but not hostile. “I’m impressed you noticed them,” she said. “They’re the finest of my royal guard.”

“Hide as they might, my eyes are not so easily fooled.” From anyone else, the claim might have seemed arrogant, but if anything, the figure sounded humble.

Liz smiled, a little defeated and a little impressed. “I should have expected as much from the archpriestess and her Far Sight.”

She turned back to the figure—the archpriestess. The woman’s pointed ears marked her as an álf. She had the youthful figure of a girl in her late teens, but that proved little. Past a certain point, the álfar did not age, and it was not uncommon for humans to address them as peers only to be shocked when they displayed the wiles of somebody far older. Her eyes were a rich, sparkling blue, proof of her favor with the Spirit King. Their clear depths seemed to pierce through everything they looked upon.

“What brings you here?” Liz asked.

The archpriestess rarely left her home in Baum, but she was known to take up residence in the empire under extenuating circumstances. As empress regent, Liz was well aware of the factors that had brought the woman to the capital. That was not what she was asking, however—she wanted to know why the woman was here, now, on this street.

The archpriestess did not reply. She only stepped closer to gaze up at the Valditte, as Liz had been doing only minutes before.

“The same reasons as you, Your Highness. It is not often that I have the chance to visit my predecessor.”

That was believable enough. Liz looked around. Where the boulevard would typically have been lined with stalls and heaving with crowds, the two of them were now the only signs of life. The area had been cordoned off in preparation for Lord Surtr’s impending visit. That was also the reason for the archpriestess’s presence: she had come from Baum in anticipation of his arrival.

“It’s been a long time for me too. Since I’ve had the chance to look so closely, at least. I never thought my next visit would be alongside the archpriestess.”

There had been no king in Baum for a thousand years. Surtr’s appearance had been a proverbial bolt from the blue, not just for the empire but for all of Soleil. The empire had even gone so far as to protest his appointment, although fear of worsening relations had kept it from following through on its words. Tensions still had not quite cooled to this day, and now that the archpriestess was in the capital, they had once again bubbled to the surface.

“This fortuitous meeting would not have occurred if not for Lord Surtr,” the álfen woman said. “I daresay I owe him a debt.”

“So do I,” Liz replied. “He’s putting my people through their paces.”

The imperial palace had been a hive of activity for days now. Its officials, normally well accustomed to entertaining monarchs and other dignitaries, had lost their composure to an almost comical degree. Much like the attack on the palace two years prior, they had been slow to respond to emergencies. Peace had made them lax. Evidently, their arrogance was so deep-rooted that repeated upsets were not enough to excise it. It was a vexing problem, but not one that Liz could afford to ignore. Adapting to the unexpected was a skill they would undoubtedly need in the weeks and months to come.

The archpriestess watched her ponder for a while. Eventually, she spoke. “Did you know that the first archpriestess has no known burial site, Your Highness?”

“Of course. Everybody does.” The change of subject took Liz slightly aback, but she quickly switched gears. “But Mars founded Baum on the land she loved as his tribute to her, or so historians think. The whole nation is her grave.”

The first archpriestess was almost as enigmatic a figure as the War God himself. Mars had maintained a clear presence in history for a short period, but then he had abruptly vanished, only reappearing to succeed the throne after the first emperor’s death before passing away a year later from unrecorded causes. The first archpriestess had also disappeared young from the historical record, passing away suddenly from illness. The enduring mystery surrounding the pair was part of why the people found them so captivating. Even in the modern day, countless scholars combed dusty tomes in the hope of shedding some light on their lives.

“It is because there is so little known about her that the people of Baum visit the imperial capital,” the archpriestess said. “They wish to lay eyes on this very statue, hoping to catch some glimpse of her true self.”

One could only imagine how they felt to see Baum’s spiritual ancestor raised up as the god of another nation. That said, they made no attempt to build their own statues of the Valditte. Adherents of the Spirit King could not acknowledge a foreign deity within his own domain.

“I heard that Lord Surtr’s ascension didn’t go entirely smoothly.”

“Indeed. Many stood opposed to him taking stewardship of the country, but they could not ignore a revelation from the Spirit King himself.”

“No. I’m sure they would have had no choice but to fall in line.”

The archpriestess’s word was law to the people of Baum. If she claimed the Spirit King had gifted her with a revelation, the truth was irrelevant.

“Do you doubt my word?” the archpriestess asked.

Liz only shrugged. She would be lying if she said she didn’t, but there was no way to prove her suspicions. Only the archpriestess was privy to the word of the Spirit King. She smiled and shook her head, taking care not to let her thoughts show. “I was just curious, that’s all.”

“I see. Well, if you have any more concerns, I will do my best to enlighten you.” The archpriestess’s smile never faltered, and her eyes never left Liz’s face. “That is the least I can do to honor our nations’ thousand-year history.”

A chill crept up Liz’s spine. The álfen woman’s smile seemed cold beneath the moonlight, and so faint that it was hard to tell whether it was really there at all. That said, the archpriestess’s role—the role of any ruler—was to make the difficult decisions that ensured the survival of her nation. In that sense, Liz almost admired her cunning.

“You must have to be strong,” she said.

“Not at all. Influence I may possess, but I am not even free to leave Baum of my own volition. It would be no exaggeration to call me powerless.”

The archpriestess could not act lightly. Indeed, the weight of her actions was what gave her value. Baum was said to be small in breadth but large in stature, and that was a large part of why. Liz was beginning to find herself in a similar position; she could no longer act as freely as she once had, nor could she speak to soldiers or townsfolk as casually as she used to.

The archpriestess broke the silence. “You seem troubled, Your Highness.”

Liz flinched a little in surprise. “Was I that obvious?”

It was dark—too dark to make out the details of someone’s expression, even with the aid of the moonlight. But then the archpriestess gestured to her eyes, and Liz realized her mistake.

“Human hearts are like open books to the Far Sight. You have grown more adept at hiding your colors than you once were, Your Highness, but not enough to fool me yet.”

There were three great arcane eyes in the world of Aletia: Caelus, the Leonine Sight; Uranos, the Empyreal Sight; and the Far Sight, which was passed down through successive generations of archpriestesses. It rendered emotions visible as colors, allowing its bearers to perceive the smallest change in heart. Concealing one’s thoughts from them was next to impossible.

“I have heard much of you, Your Highness. Of your efforts as empress regent too. No doubt the empire’s vastness has impressed itself upon you anew as you have settled into your role.”

The álfen woman looked up at the sky. Liz followed her gaze. The swift wind had ushered the clouds on, revealing the moon. The stars glittered around it, trying to outshine its gentle glow with their own fierce light.

“You fear that you will assume the throne only to fail to bring the lion to heel.” The archpriestess’s expression was inscrutable. “Is that not so?”

For a long time, Liz did not reply. That was not the whole of the matter, but it was certainly a great deal. Should she acknowledge as much or try to conceal it? It did not take long to reach a decision. There was no fooling the archpriestess’s eyes, and it would be inconvenient for the woman to look deeper than she already had.

With a faint smile, she admitted the truth—or part of it, at least. “I really can’t keep any secrets from you, can I? Yes, you’re right. I worry that I’m not fit to be empress.”

Now that she was closer than ever to the height of power, she could see the empire’s woes more clearly. Despotic nobles abused their power, and resentment smoldered in the bellies of the commonfolk. The fires of war spread by the day. Many of the empire’s neighbors wished for its downfall, and more than a few were working in the shadows to speed things along. None of that was new, however. It was simply the accumulated sins of a thousand years of rule coming home to roost. The previous emperors must have been plagued by similar worries as Liz was now, terrified they would be the ones to pull the wrong stick from the pile and bring the whole affair crashing down.

“Do you know, my predecessor once told me that His Majesty Emperor Greiheit felt much the same.”

“He did? Really? My father?”

In his youth, Emperor Greiheit had set out to unify Soleil, aspiring to make himself the thirteenth Divine. Many smaller nations had fallen prey to his ambition, and many more had capitulated through force or revolt. He had been arrogant, ruthless, and even more bellicose than Stovell, or so the stories said. Liz herself remembered him champing at the bit to invade Faerzen since her early childhood.

“It may be hard to believe, perhaps, but he visited Frieden many times to seek my predecessor’s counsel.” The archpriestess’s gaze softened as she looked up at the imperial palace. “She said he was a kindhearted man. Far more so than the world gave him credit for.”

That was an unexpected appraisal, to say the least, and one that was hard for Liz to fully accept. The archpriestess seemed to see her confusion and lifted an amused hand to her mouth.

“Are you familiar with his Fifth Spring, Your Highness?” she asked with a giggle.

That was a particularly famous anecdote of Greiheit’s rule, a short period before Liz’s birth when there had been no war in Soleil. As he had been among the most warmongering emperors the empire had ever seen, the time had been remarkable enough to be christened with a name.

“That was when he met your mother, Lady Primavera. We call it his Fifth Spring in the interests of preserving his imperial dignity, but the truth of the matter is that he was stricken with lovesickness.”

Liz knew her father as more monster than man. It was difficult to believe that he had even been capable of falling in love. Her mind struggled to grapple with the idea, and she could do nothing but stare at the archpriestess in surprise.

“Their meeting was a tumultuous one to say the least,” the woman continued. “I am told she struck him across the face—with muddied hands, no less. She had been working the fields, you see.”

The southern territories had been saddled with heavy taxes at the time, leading to discontent with Greiheit’s rule. He had been touring their cities in an attempt to alleviate the people’s frustrations. In time, he had grown weary of traveling and stopped by the town of Linkus with only his royal guard in tow. He and his entourage had descended on a tavern, emptied it out, and proceeded to grow rowdy with drink. Disgusted by their conduct, Primavera—the daughter of the then-margrave, Liz’s grandfather—had lost her patience, walked up to Greiheit, and punched him.

“‘What kind of emperor carouses while his people suffer?!’ she shouted, or so I am told.”

Liz paled. “She’s lucky she wasn’t executed for that...”

“She was fleet of foot, it seems. And those present were naturally slow to respond.” The archpriestess gave a small giggle. Judging by the trembling of her shoulders, the cover of night was all that saved her from descending into gales of laughter. “But she could not flee forever. Her beauty and willfulness were famous throughout the south, you see. Her identity was soon uncovered, and she and her father were obliged to visit the imperial capital to make a formal apology.”

Even that, however, did not proceed as planned. Perhaps deciding that she was doomed to execution no matter what, Primavera had lambasted the emperor in front of all his nobles and officials.

“Yet even then, he did not execute her,” the archpriestess said. “Indeed, not only did he forgive her transgressions, he furnished her with an abundance of riches.”

“Maybe she hit him a little too hard...”

The archpriestess blinked. “Do you know that she said much the same thing?”

Primavera had not accepted the emperor’s gifts. She had asked for them to be divided among her people and returned to Gurinda empty-handed. The nobles had been outraged at her impertinence, but that, too, Greiheit had forgiven with a smile. In the following months, he reviewed his tax policies and set about reforming local governance, throwing his support behind the southern territories with particular vigor.

“For perhaps three years, His Majesty sent Lady Primavera letter after letter and traveled south whenever he could spare the time from his duties. She could not resist his advances forever. Eventually, despite her low standing at court, she acquiesced to be his fourth empress consort.”

The archpriestess said no more. She looked back up at the statue of the Valditte as though to signify that her story was over.

Liz did not need to ask why she had fallen silent. Spring had not lasted long for the emperor. Shortly after Liz’s birth had come the Tragedy of the Rear Palace, perpetrated by none other than the first empress consort.

Greiheit had been traveling at the time, surveying the north. He returned to find the rear palace burned to ashes. Both the first empress consort and Liz’s mother had been pulled from the wreckage, their bodies unrecognizable. Miraculously, Liz had managed to escape harm due to being in her grandfather’s care, but he had followed his daughter shortly after. Kiork, Liz’s uncle, had succeeded the title of margrave, but it had proved a heavy burden for his young shoulders, sending Gurinda into a period of decline. Without his support, Liz had been ousted from noble society, setting her on the thorny road that had brought her to the present day.

“It hasn’t always been easy,” Liz said, “but my mother made sure I wasn’t alone.”

She might not have had any clear memories of her mother, but—perhaps sensing that her time might be short—Primavera had left behind a wealth of letters.

“She gave me the strength to keep dreaming until I met Tris and Dios. And then I found Hiro to teach me, and Aura, and Scáthach, and so many more...” With one last look up at the Valditte, Liz turned her back on the archpriestess and began to walk away. “I have to go. The palace will be in uproar if I’m away for too long. You should head back as well. I’m sure it’s the same for you.”

“I will return in due time. I thought I might stay a little longer.”

Liz stopped and looked back, cocking her head. “Would you like me to leave my guard behind for you?”

“Thank you for the offer, but that won’t be necessary.”

Hearing that, Liz cast out her awareness and was astonished to discover the presence of several people nearby, watching the proceedings. She hadn’t even heard them breathe. They blended into the darkness so perfectly that they were barely distinct from thin air. It seemed the archpriestess had her own capable guards.

“So I see. In that case, good evening.” Liz’s footsteps were muffled as she walked away, perhaps in consideration of the late hour.

The archpriestess breathed a sigh as she watched her depart. “Perhaps you do not realize how extraordinary that was, Your Highness,” she said in a whisper too soft to hear. “Even a Spiritblade’s chosen should not have been able to see them.”

Astonishment lingered in her gaze for a long time, even after her initial shock cooled. In time, her expression turned to sorrow, and she raised her eyes to the sky so no one could see.

“The time of her awakening is close. Whatever shall I tell Lord Surtr...?” She shook her head in vexation before looking to the brightest star in the sky. “Or could this, too, have been planned?” Her voice took on a pleading edge, audibly hoping to be told that she was wrong. “Oh, great Spirit King... What is it that you desire?”

No answer came. The archpriestess’s shoulders slumped in defeat. She cast another glance after Liz, but there was nothing there now but darkness, a black abyss that only exacerbated her unease.

“Do you know why Emperor Greiheit was so taken with Lady Primavera, Your Highness?”

The summer wind warmed the air, but it brought her no relief. An icy chill settled over her, sapping the warmth from her limbs, and as her anxiety grew, a knot of terror tightened in her chest.

“Because of her crimson hair.”

The wind snatched her fears away before they could take shape, and they melted into the dark, a tangle too tight to be unwound.

＊＊＊＊＊

In the center of Natua, Baum’s only city, rose the square structure of the Spirit King’s Sanctum, where the Spirit King dwelled. The building had a long history. Erected when Mars founded Baum one thousand years ago, it was as old as the palace of the Grantzian Empire, and on account of Baum’s influence over the affairs of Soleil, it frequently played host to rulers and other dignitaries come to pay their respects to the archpriestess. Now that Baum had a king, however, it had fallen under the control of Lord Surtr—that was to say, Hiro.

“How the archpriestess ever managed to entertain all these visitors by herself, I’ll never know,” Hiro murmured.

He gazed up at the moon through his chamber window. The writing desk behind him was piled high with books and other documents. He had turned his chair away as if trying to avoid looking at it.

“Not pointless, not unimportant, but so low priority that attending to them is a waste of time. Those are the worst kind of tasks, don’t you think?”

“So you would prefer to pretend they don’t exist?” replied a curt voice. “I daresay you spend more time concocting excuses to avoid your duties than they ever would have taken.”

The voice issued from Hiro’s bed. A woman lay beneath the covers. Most of her form was swathed in darkness, but her eyes gleamed with a bestial sharpness.

Any ordinary person would have been intimidated by the intensity of her gaze, but Hiro only gave a nonplussed shrug. “I’m not pretending they don’t exist; I’m just putting them off. It’s hard to be enthusiastic about doing chores when they’ll cost me sleep.”

He picked up a sheet of paper by his feet and pulled a face. Had it been a petition from the people of Baum, the imminent problem might have given his mind the jump start it required, but it was only a letter from a Lichtein noble. The contents were simple: an offer of marriage to his daughter, with documents and a portrait included. Similar proposals had arrived from Draal, which never seemed to take no for an answer; at least their persistence assured him that Baum would not want for paper anytime soon. More than a few of the remaining letters were clearly written by people hoping to use Baum for their own ends, begging for spirit stones and the like.

“Maybe paperwork could be enjoyable in its own way during peacetime,” he said, “but not with war on the horizon. We need to think about what the future will look like, not how to spend the present.”

“Then why not leave it to that blockhead you named the king’s counsel?”

She was referring to Garda Meteor, a lilac-skinned zlosta. Dutiful and loyal, he served as Hiro’s right hand. Indeed, Hiro relied on him so heavily that Baum’s affairs would likely have fallen apart without him. He had earned the trust of the people too, to the point that they had recently begun to approach him with gifts as he made his way about town.

“I tried. He refused. In his words, he already has enough on his plate, so I could at least do my share.”

“Then how about your two shadows? I don’t doubt they would both jump at the chance.”

This time she meant the human siblings Huginn and Muninn. They were no less indispensable than Garda, frequently infiltrating foreign nations to gather intelligence on Hiro’s behalf. Even allowing for personal bias, Hiro was quietly confident that the unit of spies they had assembled outclassed even those of the empire. The pair could lack a little for formality, but he often found their candor refreshing in the course of his royal duties.

Thinking of them left him smiling a little. “Huginn is away on reconnaissance, and Muninn’s busy as well. Besides, they’re hardly state officials. Baum wouldn’t last three days with them in charge.”

With them and Garda indisposed, the only remaining candidate was the woman on the bed.

“Don’t even think about foisting your duties on me,” she said.

Although she showed no sign of emerging from under the covers, she watched his every move from the darkness. She was Luka Mammon du Vulpes, a former princess of Six Kingdoms. She had entered Hiro’s service after losing to Liz in battle, and for the past two years, she had spent every minute of every day looking for an opportunity to take his head. It was all too clear what would happen if he delegated any matters of state to her.

“Don’t worry,” he said, “I wouldn’t dream of it. If I left you in charge of Baum, we’d be at war by tomorrow.”

With an irritable scowl, Luka lay down and retreated under the covers. Evidently, no help was forthcoming from other quarters. Hiro turned back to his desk, already composing tactful rejections to his marriage proposals.

At that moment, there was a thud from the door.

“Don’t mind me.”

A colossal man clad in heavy armor entered. He had not waited for a response to his knock. It was Garda. Just my luck, Hiro thought sourly. He’d finally worked up the energy to get to work, only to be interrupted before he could start.

Garda drew closer but stopped, conscious that Hiro was staring. “If you’ve something to say, take that mask off to say it. You’re too hard to read with it on.”

“No, never mind. It’s nothing.” Hiro pushed his mask back into place and looked at Garda afresh. “What do you need?”

The zlosta raised a hand containing two parchment scrolls. “Reports from the siblings. Should I start with the good news or the bad news?”

“Let’s go with the good news.”

“Huginn, then.” Garda unfurled the scroll, heedless of Luka’s eyes flashing in the dark beneath the bedcovers—an impressive feat, given that if looks could kill, he would probably be dead. “She’s succeeded in infiltrating the Anguis troops occupying Faerzen. Gotten herself hired as Queen Lucia’s assistant, no less.”

Hiro blinked. “How did she manage that?”

He had never even considered she might position herself so well that quickly. Normally, it would have been unthinkable. His highest hopes had been for her to find a placement as a military clerk.

“Lots of unemployment in a war-torn nation, and a lot of dead men leaving their positions open. Seems the queen’s letting women and Faerzen citizens cut to the front of the line. A calculated move, of course, but it’s working out for her.”

Winning the people’s hearts was a vital part of establishing order and stabilizing a nation’s affairs. By preferentially promoting women to official roles, Lucia was trying to do just that. Her strategy would take time to pay off, but it was well considered. The people of a war-ravaged nation wouldn’t care much if she had ulterior motives as long as she could put clothes on their backs, food in their bellies, and a roof over their heads.

Hiro rested his elbows on the desk, folded his hands, and rested his chin atop them as he expelled a troubled sigh. “It’s going to be hard for the empire to take Faerzen back if she starts winning its people’s loyalty.”

The empire might have had Scáthach, the last of Faerzen’s royal line, but however righteous her cause, it would mean nothing without the will of the people behind her. Retaking Faerzen would be one thing; ruling an unwilling populace, quite another. Nobody wanted to see the crown reinstated if it meant more bloodshed. Their affection for the royal line came a distant second to the interests of their own families.

“Huginn might have overreached this time,” Hiro mused. “It’ll be hard for her to act freely when she’s so close to Lucia.”

That was another problem to consider. It was hard to tell whether Huginn’s success had been a stroke of good fortune or a poisoned chalice. What was true for her, however, was also true for Lucia. The queen of Anguis had put herself in a position where she could not act on idle suspicions without consequence. Even if she had appointed Huginn knowing her true identity, the woman would be safe from any careless retaliation for the time being. In Lucia’s position, Hiro mused, he would try to use Huginn’s talents as best he could, especially considering the current state of Faerzen and the hard times facing Soleil. Whether Lucia was quite that shrewd, however, remained to be seen.

“We must have other agents trying to infiltrate the Anguis forces. Leave the intelligence-gathering to them while Huginn focuses on her duties. Tell her to prioritize avoiding suspicion.”

Playing this wrong would destroy all they had gained. For now, the best way forward was to prioritize winning Lucia’s trust and securing Huginn’s position.

“Understood.” Garda cupped his chin in his hand and nodded thoughtfully. “I’ll have to see about finding a more secure line of communication.”

Huginn’s situation might not have been ideal, but at least she was now something of an ace in the hole. Still, if that was the good news...

“What’s the bad news?”

“Word from Muninn up in the north.” Garda’s voice lowered, and his eyes turned steely. A chill wind blew in their depths, advising Hiro to brace himself. “House Scharm’s lost control of the northern nobles. House Brommel, one of the other big players, has seized power.” He fell silent, regarding Hiro steadily as he waited for a reply.

Hiro didn’t need any help processing the information; he had already expected it. “Chancellor Graeci’s death dealt a heavy blow to House Scharm’s authority. I suppose they must never have recovered. Still, I wouldn’t be too quick to count them out entirely.”

Second Prince Selene was still alive and well. While he had been injured in the attack on the imperial palace, he was still the next likely candidate to succeed the throne after Liz.

“The north’s alive with whispers that the little lady is certain to be empress,” Garda said. “And with House Kelheit and House Muzuk dominating affairs at court, it’s little surprise the lesser nobles are turning on their leaders.”

Selene had always insisted that he had no interest in the throne as long as the north was secure. Now, it seemed his love for his homeland had come back to bite him. With House Scharm’s grip on power shaken by Chancellor Graeci’s death, the northern nobles must have seen the writing on the wall.

“Let’s talk about House Brommel,” Hiro said. “What do you know about them?”

He had heard the name on several occasions during his time in the empire. They were an old and powerful household with a pedigree to match House Scharm’s, but that had seemed to be the only noteworthy thing about them.

“I’ve been keeping an eye on the north these past two years,” Garda said. “They’ve been biding their time for a long while, but it seems they’ve seen their chance.”

“Have they been pushed into this by their peers, or were they pulling the strings from the start?”

“The latter, I’d wager. They’ve too much sway to be figureheads.”

Hiro nodded. He concurred. “Now, the real question is what their next move will be. Dialogue or force, do you think?”

“The north’s kept its hands clean of the fighting so far. They’ll not bother with talking when they have whole legions unscathed. At the very least, they’ve the strength to lean on the empire’s leaders if they wanted to.”

Hiro lowered his gaze, his mind churning. With the imperial leadership’s eyes turned to the occupied Faerzen, most of their forces were away from the capital. He couldn’t afford for anything untoward to happen while they were distracted.