You pass kingdoms and watch them fall, you build Strongholds and watch them stand tall;

Yet the dynasties forge hierarchs of new, and their wars tear through the lands you knew.

You hear - yet again - the war-song's faint drawl, you see your creation heed its call;

Yet they polish bone and see carrion eaten, after they - yet again - paint the world their hue.

- An Allegory of the Boy Who Flew Into the Sun, 'Hymn of the Hierarch'

It started with troops attacking Notus.

It wasn’t unexpected. The messengers, led by sturdily-bred horses, brought news of an attack on Petra and their people; bringing large casualty reports, a personally written letter that contained much profanity, and a request for war aid.

After the whole gun incident, the Republica Consuls didn’t linger — alright, if I were being honest, they flat-out refused the protectorate agreement and bolted. Julian went with them, not acknowledging our engagement contract but not properly annulling it, either, leaving without even a ‘toodles.’

The formal declaration of war, what the Republic called the casus belli, was sent out a Dayhept later.

During that very Dayhept, many things happened — one, the Imperial Army’s generals, along with all the Cardinals aside from Damokles were gathered, and a war meeting was held over a very expensively detailed map of the Empire.

Ara and his co-conspirator, Josie, were sent into solitary confinement that I was sure they would get a kick out of; Greta had commandeered titles for me and Cyrus, initiated both of us into the Imperial Army, and stuck us both in the meeting as Colonels.

I was oh-so-tempted to whistle in appreciation at the professional-looking setting, but I refrained.

“I have already sent out militarization orders to all Cardinals and Strongholds,” said the Empress, leaning back on her throne. “By the end of this meeting, war orders should be given and carried out, along with specific posts designated — but first, reports. Duchess Elexis of Eurus, you may stand.”

The warrior stood. “Eurus has made contact with the Galani to keep watch on the Snakelands’ borders, as well as activating some old posts in the mountains. Some garrisons have been sent out, but it’s also a matter of Snakeland-Cadmus conflict, as well.” Uncertain, but expectant.

Ah, the good old Galani-Eurus conflict. I pursed my lips.

“We hope towards a stable relationship, and minor tensions and conflicts may appear,” Elexis continued, “but we’ve put into action all countermeasures, as per Imperial regulation. If we’re delving into the numbers, however, the garrisons in the Snakelands come up to a total of around a brigade size — four thousand infantry, five hundred cavalry.”

Greta tilted her head. “In the case of a conflict in the Snakelands, you will have to join with the Galani forces, as well,” she lightly warned. “Have you taken into account their numbers, as well as the battalion formations needed?”

Elexis inclined her head. “General Alax as well as my appointed colonels have sent word that they have prepared,” she replied. “As I’ve said, minor conflicts have arisen; but, as a whole, the numbers should be enough.” She believes what she’s saying, my Ability whispered.

My maternal grandmother was capable, I knew.

“You should not function on merely shoulds,” said Greta, “but you have prepared well for the information you have been given. You may sit.” The Empress’ gaze shifted. “Duke Anaxeres of Tyche, you may stand.”

The notorious gambler obeyed the order, grinning all the while. Amusement, concealing— knowledge? “As an Imperial Order has not been given to the civilians,” he said, bowing almost mockingly low, “so they’re still wasting their money gambling.” Mocking derision? “As long as the nobles close to my fief come and spend their money in our casinos, a hefty revenue shall be generated.”

Tyche was, after all, an entertainment city.

“And your spies?” Greta asked, raising an eyebrow. “I am well aware that you have attempted to plant some in the Republica Armies. How well have you fared?”

The Duke coughed — not out of embarrassment, my Ability found; he seemed to have a genuine problem with his lungs — before finding his grin again.

“I’m in dire need of people, you see, Your Imperial Majesty,” he said. “The Republicas are smarter than I’d given them credit for — most of my less experienced spies are getting rooted out; and apparently they’re playing everything close to the chest.”

The Empress considered it. “Manpower.” Her eyes skimmed over me for a dangerous while — is she actually going to stick me with the insane gambling Duke, some voice at the back of my head wailed — before settling on the Duke again. “Take inventory of your supplies and current people, send it over to the Sixth Princess after you’re done. You may sit.”

Ah. Right. I pretended like this was the plan all along, nodding respectfully at the Duke, who nodded amusedly back.

Greta moved on. “Duchess Alina of Doxa, you may stand.”

Alina stood.

I could Read the grooves of her face that came with age, but still her tone remained steady.

“Doxa is fully militarized and has ceased trading with the Republic,” she enunciated, calmly. “But we have channeled the appropriate funds to the Imperial coffers — along with the revenue generated from Tyche, that should be enough to cover food and water for garrisons.”

“And? What about the Sunguard?” Like the Winterdeath, it was the Evlogia’s version of a military branch — Doxa wasn’t renowned for its military might since it was more of a mercantile city, but there was a strict type of law that existed there. The Sunguard were, reportedly, more enforcers than actual fighters, so I wasn’t sure why she’d mentioned it.

But she had, which meant my sister was likely planning to move it. And with me preoccupied with Evimeria and his spies, the responsibility of leading it would logically fall to Cyrus, who had connections with both Roxane and the Duchess herself.

Right.

It’d been a long while since I’d had to form conclusions on my own.

“The Sunguard has been equipped to handle any Merchant dissent,” replied Alina, smoothly. “Both the entire Stronghold and Evlogia are prepared for civil unrest.”

Ah, right. The trade bit. Knowing there was a war, Merchants from the Eastern Empire and the High Kingdom, the two main entities that (according to texts) interacted with Doxa the most would likely take the chance to bolt (like my fiance). More the Rhianites than the Easterners, since the High Kingdom was so notoriously insistent on staying neutral.

I wasn’t sure why I insisted on providing commentary on everything, but it was a distraction to the persistent headache that’d been there since yesterday. I shifted in my seat.

Greta nodded, curtly. “You may sit.”

Alina sat.

Duchess Delphine Hyacinth was summoned to stand next. Zephyr was closer to the border than Doxa, and I’d met her a couple times when I was younger — the rumors of her being an airhead held more ground than I’d liked it to have. At least, that I was what I had been thinking before the Duchess of Hyacinth opened her mouth.

“Land or sea. Those are the options the Republic has ahead of them. They could go by sea from their supposed Harbor City, Azareth, try to seize Zephyr, and our navy would be woefully inadequate to resist against them. But that would mean going through the Epivolous Range—” sometimes I forgot those mountains existed “—since that is one of our main western defences.”

Greta let Delphine continue.

“The next two land options are either to cut through the border and attack Notus from their capital, Honos; or to try and push through the Peaks and crawl up the Snakelands. We have to guard against both, but the former is more likely for a sudden war,” the Duchess Hyacinth said, lightly. “And, revenue from both Doxa and Tyche are, inevitably, dependent on people.”

Delphine fluttered her fan in front of her face. “Once Your Majesty releases the Imperial Edict for the commoners, and conscription ensues, some avenues of revenue will drop. We’ll have to depend on the gems mined from the Epivolous Range for some of our expenditures." Her fan halted for a while - emphasis. "Bait. Merchants and nobles will pay to get their children out of conscription, and we can use their money to sustain the conscripted.”

The Empress tilted her head. “Interesting,” she said, finally. “Once the Fifth Prince and the Fourth Princess have finished their respective punishments, I will assign them to you. Submit a rough proposal this Dayend. You may sit.”

Delphine bowed. She sat.

“Conscription,” Greta mused, aloud. Her green eyes fixed on me — again — before flickering to Petra. “Ducal Lord Petra — how are your troops on that end?”

They grinned, broadly. “Like Delphie said, Your Majesty, they can either cut straight through the border to Noty; or go up the Snakelands to Lexi.”

Delphine grinned at the nickname, while Elexis grimaced.

The Ducal Lord continued, “With the war going on, most of the ‘Pub citizens will feel unsafe. Cornered. Some of them will become refugees, flee across the border. If you’re talking about being spies, that’s the best cover you’ll get.”

They shrugged. “But, in terms of conscription, we’ll take some losses with the Pubs running away. Like Delphie said, people’ll undoubtedly pay to get out of 'mandatory' service. Some will gladly enter it. A lot of things depend on a lot of things.”

“And one of those things is the Imperial Order,” Greta guessed, sighing. She massaged her head. "Right."

After the session, specific battle formations were distributed and discussed, I was shooed away to talk spies with the Duke. Cyrus shot me a triumphant smirk. I flipped him the finger (on a whim) when his back was turned and no one was looking.

The Duke followed, snickering at the finger — he’d noticed — as we headed into a separate parlor.

“You know, this makes me feel like I’m on babysitting duty,” he admitted, frankly. “But honestly, I’ve heard good things about you from Aeron; and I have no reason to believe that you’re not the person he’s made you out to be.” The Duke leaned back.

I smiled, amusedly. “That’s a strange way to base your conclusions on,” I commented, mimicking his relaxed posture, “but, no matter. What tasks do you have for me, Your Grace?”

Greta probably needed me to work in conjunction—

Anaxeres of Tyche waved a hand. Flippant. “Enough with the ‘Your Grace.’ I’m Anaxeres. Formality matters little — if I was going to bring someone under my wing, I would’ve preferred to do it in a more relaxed setting; but, you know, adversity breeds excellence and all that.” He reached up and messed up his own hair. “Well, I guess this is it — the Empress has chosen you, her sister, to become trained to become an Imperial Spymaster.”

He dramatically spread his hands. “And I’m the damned man who has to do it.”

I blinked. “Right.” I jerked a thumb towards the area where the war meeting was being held. “Don’t you, you know, have slightly more important things to do? Or do I owe you the honor of being the reason for a cleared schedule?” My tone was dry, but my eyes were trained on his reaction.

An Imperial Spymaster. Was that even a position?

Greta had spies, I knew that — but based on Tyche’s probes towards the throne, I’d assumed they acted under her, and her only—

“You’re probably thinking about Imperial politics,” Anaxeres interrupted. “Don’t.” He tapped the table. “Spies are a web. Sometimes webs have different areas, and sometimes spiders eat each other. That’s just the way it goes — but you don’t think about eating each other when the entire web’s in danger.”

I ignored the urge to point out that the comparison technically didn’t make sense.

“Spymasters are spiders.” Anaxeres badly mimed the insect in question crawling on the table. “You know what’s the most important thing in war?” he asked.

I didn’t answer, but he still finished, “Information. What they’re planning as their next move, who got assassinated, who killed their mother and took over her seat. Big things. What the diplomat likes for breakfast, what perfume their lover wears, what time their parties are. Little things.”

The Duke drummed his finger. “That’s what we — spymasters — do. Especially in war, where everyone has their guards up; it’s our job to find where the holes in the shields are, and crawl our way in.” He mimed an insect, again. “Whether we get squashed—” he splayed his finger-spider against the table “—or we survive—” it was miraculously resurrected “—it all depends on how we can blend in.”

And then Anaxeres clapped his hands together. “Right, then, let’s get started.”

I tried to ignore how concerningly quickly I’d been introduced to another field (I also tried to ignore how it felt like being inducted into another religion). At least I didn’t need to stab people — killing people from far away was much easier than going berserk again.

“Right,” I said, giving a nod, “please, enlighten me.”

We went to the Emerald Seas, and immediately the Duke tutted in disapproval. “It’s a waste of premise,” Anaxeres said, tapping the wall of the empty room they were in. “You could easily drill some holes, add some structures so you can slip some assistants into the walls, record secrets.”

I made an indistinguishable noise. “Been a bit too busy for renovations.”

A Spymaster.

Everything had sped by a bit too quickly for my taste, but I got the gist of it. Greta had stuck me to help out with the supposed ‘spy war’ — Anaxeres’ words, not mine — and I was going to do it.

Play along.

Following orders unquestionably was something I could do. It was, after all, one less thing to doubt, other than my Ability’s Drawback. The headache was a strange thing; now just a numbness in the back of my brain rather than the pounding it was before, but it was still there.

I made a mental note to ingest some herbs — for aches and pains, it was—

“What do people want?” Anaxeres asked me, suddenly.

I blinked. “As in, philosophically?”

The gambler shrugged. “Whatever floats your boat.”

There were a lot of answers. Orion had said ‘love.’ Josephine would likely say the same, or perhaps power. Arathis would opt for ‘fun.’ Greta...I didn’t know what Greta would say. Maybe some sort of ‘better.’ They were all valid answers — any answer you could justify, were technically valid to a vague question.

“I read a theory,” I mused, staring at the office I was in, “that wants come in layers. They’re conditional. You first need to survive, to have wants at all.” I folded a finger. “And if that survival condition is met, you’d need to have an adequate standard of living.” Another finger folded.

“And if that condition is met, you’ll hope for better standards of living — things like happiness, wealth, power; or whatever you think will make your life better. Or easier.” I folded the last finger. “Love. Money. More. Better. That’s basically what comes next. It can be classified as conditional wants, if you saw human minds as a science.”

But they weren't.

Interestingly enough, the whole system of a Queen’s Cage came into play here. You first survived, meeting the first condition; and then were given more than adequate living conditions — every want you could have was given to you on a silver platter; so there would be less questioning why do I want more and more I want more.

If you were thrown into a streak of ‘good luck’ and you went along with the flow — like you actually were embroiled in the entire desire schtick, like I was — you would question why the next thing wasn’t given to you; and then the next thing (at least, if you weren't a raging cynic who kept questioning when the luck would end; in which case you'd lose your mind).

It was actually very clever.

I met the Duke’s watching eyes with a grin. “Wants are conditional. Your past experiences make up who you are, so that is a condition. Who you are is a condition,” I summarized. “The short answer is that it depends on who you are and what conditions you’re in, and I already gave you the long answer.”

Anaxeres smiled. “How much of your Ability was that?” he asked, his gaze dancing.

The question was surprising, but I tried to answer it. “I used it once, to remember the specific framework of the theory—” using it to access past fragments when I already had an almost flawless memory was easy enough “—but that was it, I’m pretty sure.” I put a hand over the right side of my chest. “It comes from the heart.”

“Wrong side,” the Duke pointed out, but he still chuckled at my joke (it was a strange and stupid one; but a joke still). “Damokles told me about you, you know,” Anaxeres informed me. “He said you were haunted. And I of course told him that everyone these days was haunted; and he replied that you were haunted differently.”

The gambler tapped his head, that off-kilter glint still in his eye. “You’re haunted here. The most dangerous place to be haunted in. And your Ability, your power has something to do with it, doesn’t it?”

I leaned back in my chair.

“Is it that obvious?” I questioned, dryly.

Anaxeres Evimeria shrugged. “Not very — I’m just better at telling these things.” He looked at me. “It’s alright to be not right in the head. Tartarus, I’m not right in the head and look at me now!” He cackled, not knowing — or perhaps he did — that it didn’t help his case.

“But it shouldn’t affect your work,” the Duke said, turning more serious, his smile relaxing in the way that it dwindled. “Spies have to give people what they want, and need, to earn their trust. And, after earning people’s trust, you earn their information.”

“Is there a difference between being a spymaster, and a spy, then?” I asked, arching a brow.

“Of course!” Anaxeres clapped his hands together. “But you’ll learn that when we go to Notus.”

What?

What I’d wanted was a moment alone to gather my thoughts. That was also what I didn’t get.

“You’re sure this is authorized,” I said, still in the Emerald Seas. Of course, I’d like to think that Greta wouldn’t allow a Duke to lug one of her siblings away to a Stronghold that bordered a nation that we were about to go to war with; but it was— always good to make sure, my Ability agreed.

I had never gone to war before, and having someone green waddle around in war strategy was probably a not-very-well-thought-out decision, so I guessed I should’ve expected it. What I hadn’t expected was for Greta to have another use for me altogether.

“Quite,” responded Anaxeres, inclining his head. “I’ve heard you’ve got an information system going — I would, of course, in a less hectic situation try to incorporate that into our plans; but it’s in our best interest to deal with current operations before we move on.”

“And your current operations are in Notus,” I guessed.

The Duke leaned forward, interlacing his fingers together. “That’s where we’re trying to establish our current base of operations. You’ve heard what Petra said — with the escalating hostilities, and if Notus potentially turns into an Imperial military host, most of the ‘Pubs that’re there will flee across the border. If we forge papers and credentials, it’ll be sufficient cover for my plants to sneak in.”

“So we’re going there. Right.”

I considered the situation.

“When are we setting out?” I asked, after a while.

“Tonight,” answered the Duke.

“Ah, alright.”

Xanthe looked at the Princess.

“We’re going to Notus,” the assassin said, slowly.

“Correct.” Seraphina smiled. “You pass kingdoms and watch them fall, you build Strongholds and watch them stand tall….” the Princess was singing quietly. “Yet the dynasties forge hierarchs of new, and their wars tear through the lands you knew.” She was studying her Crownboard intently. “Have you heard of ‘the Hymn of the Hierarch,’ Mercy?”

“No.”

“Good.” She made an indistinguishable noise. The explanation came swiftly. “It’s in ‘The Allegory of a Boy Who Flew Into the Sun.’ A banned book for commoners, so it’d be best if you hadn’t read it.” As always, Seraphina seemed out of it, but more so than usual — her eyes were strangely unfocused, pupils dilated.

“Loyalty is dimming,” said Mercy. “I don’t think we can keep it throughout the war.” By it, of course, the assassin meant their power in the capital. Disloyal people were easily spooked people.

The Sixth Princess made another noise. “Perhaps,” she acknowledged. “People were never easy to Read.” Seraphina laughed. “I mean, they are; but they aren’t — Weaving conclusions are strange, these days. I cannot operate on uncertainties, this time.”

There it was, two capital words. If Mercy wanted to, she could turn. Be a spy for the other side. Yet.

Yet, she agreed.

“Monsters may lurk in the depths of man,” the Princess continued, quietly, pushing a piece forward. She turned the board, observing the Game from another angle, playing as another player. “But the player of the Game shall play as they can— tell me, Mercy dear, do you think we cut all strings?”

Mercy shrugged. “If you’re talking about abandoning the homeless system for a while, I’m not entirely opposed.” She offered, “I can threaten the Rosalie girl into swearing a Fealty Oath, and once everything in Notus is settled, we can come back to cash it in.”

“That sounds agreeable enough,” responded Athena’s Chosen. “But Macedon...I’m planning to give over the management of the Emerald Seas over to him, after making him swear an Oath to not embezzle — although I’m sure he’ll find loopholes. I don’t think a criminal syndicate’s my thing.”

Mercy shook her head.

“Well, then it’s best you start studying.”

The assassin inclined her head. “So we’re seeking intelligence?”

“Pretty sure.”

“Right, then. Anything else?”

Seraphina tilted her head in consideration. “Ah, yes — bring Alexandros along, after you’ve gotten the Oaths out of everyone else. Tell him that we’re leaving tonight.”

I knew about the Skirmish. Everyone knew about the Skirmish.

But the important thing was that it ended in an Imperial victory, Angelo the Avenger cleaning up her predecessor’s mess by finishing her father’s war and getting Notus declared as an Imperial Stronghold (and a Cardinal, at that).

Of course, then, Cardinal names (named for the Anemoi, vague wind gods from before the Cage’s time) hadn’t existed yet, but what mattered was that Notus was the closest Imperial Stronghold to the Imperial-Republica border.

Which meant, of course, a cultural anomaly.

You see, if you lived in the Empire, you would likely believe in the unspoken adage that spread in its ranks — survival was survival, and things outside of that were choices. Sometimes difficult choices, but still choices made by the individual.

In the Republic, it was different — the Republic’s survival was the Republic’s survival; and things outside of that needed to contribute towards it. That was the way Mari — Julian — had seemingly been raised, and I had no reason to doubt some miniscule version of that value had spread in the nation’s citizens.

Imagine those two nations (one tolerant of Kato and the other not) merging, one pooling into the other. It was the definition of water and oil mixing.

But it wasn’t.

Notus had been described as soup, by Analyst Iraklidis. It might not taste the best, but it was edible. It worked.

“It tastes like shit,” I whispered underneath my breath, with no small amount of disgust. The entire city reeked of a political shitshow, and tension was in the air even when the Imperial Order hadn’t technically been spread.

Petra heard me. “Of course,” they said with a snort. “But it’s my shit.”

Anaxeres, who was beside them, just smiled amusedly.

Xandros and Mercy trailed behind me like twin shadows, the former uneasy while the latter was graceful.

If it was shit, it was nicely-built shit, though. Towers of clay and stone glittered with platin reinforcements and stretched towards the blue sky — a welcome sight, after two days of travel (the horses were of a top Imperial breed, and were surprisingly fast).

A molded statue of Angelo the Avenger, in all her war hero glory, stood at the entrance where Petra’d greeted us, with surprisingly little cracks in her earthy figure. Instead of winding around the buildings, the streets were brittle and straight; purple and gold silks draped between roofs, hanging like banners; and the humidity of the air clashed against the cold tension that seeped through Notus’ capital city, Diamandis.

I was, strangely, reminded of a verse in An Allegory. They feed us the illusion of glory, provide us the kings of old — they spin a tale of dust and story, and say that what awaits us is gold. Diamandis, the supposed gleaming diamond of Notus, reminded me of the last line. Dust and old story — nothing more.

It was only two days later, when the troops came and the war actually begun.