Whoever said, 'let bygones begone' must've not lived very long.

- UNKNOWN IMPERIAL

"WE'RE ALL FUCKED," one legionary muttered. “All this country bullshit? It sure as Tartarus won’t get us through today, or the next day, or the next day. Don’t even know why I’m still here.”

The other shrugged. “If you die, at least your wife and kids’ll get a remuneration outta it,” he offered half-heartedly. “I mean, it depends on whether there’ll be a government to get that remuneration by the end of this shitshow, but maybe we’ll get lucky. Don’t get too down in the dumps, man. Maybe we’ll get a new victory soon.”

The first legionary sighed. “I don’t know, man. It doesn’t feel like this’ll ever stop. Everything’s moving too fast. The attack was just yesterday, and...I don’t know, I could’ve been in there, man. I could’ve died, and it just...puts me on edge. Maybe I’ll just—there’ll be a ton of deserters around this time, yeah? They probably don’t have enough manpower to chase—”

“Don’t,” snapped the second, looking around as if someone was watching. “Don’t go there, man. We’ve a pledge to this country—”

“It’s a broken mess of a country,” the other shot back, although quiet. “This— wasn’t the country I was fighting for. I was fighting to keep my wife and kids safe, man, not to watch everyone else’s die.”

A quiet.

“It’s not any Imperials’ll actually come to the embassy, anyways,” he continued, softer, although an abrupt change in topic. “We’ll be fine, alright?” After a beat of hesitation, he patted his friend on the back. “Sorry if I worried you, man. I’ll stop, alright?”

There was a grunt, before the second’s head turned. “Hey, isn’t that a beggar over there?” he asked.

The first legionary followed his friend’s gaze, to where, by the corner of the street, there was a hunched cloaked figure, ragged clothes and all. The beggar’s face was surprisingly friendly, hands out with a broad smile as he pestered the people on the street. Of course, the beggar’s smile faltered with every sharp refusal, but still he was persistent. Occasionally, the beggar’s fingers danced on the ground as if twirling something invisible over his knuckles.

“Isn’t that a bit suspicious? He looks different from all the other beggars—that smile,” the second pressed.

The first shrugged. “I don’t know, man—if you want to check it out, you can.” His features were contemplating. “I just hope,” the legionary finished, “that he can stay smiling for as long as he can.”

The two watched in a twisted silence at their posts as a blonde Republica girl in the crowd across the street seemingly hesitatingly surrendered a coin to the beggar’s hands. The beggar’s smile grew visibly wider, and the girl darted away, blue eyes dancing.

“We can only hope,” the other said.

I watched Anaxeres’ eyes crinkle into a smile. I was surprised that I didn’t have to raid the embassy, really: I thought the spies would’ve been stationed inconspicuously so that I would have to attract at least some sort of attention to contact them, but alas. I internally sighed.

Really, I thought, the more surprising thing was that Anaxeres himself is here.

I didn’t ask where Petra was—this was enough, especially as I felt the legionaries stationed outside have their eyes on me.

Two legionaries?

That was a surprisingly low number: much lower than I’d expected, actually—evidently the Curia’s explosion had rattled the Senate enough for them to spread their numbers thin. The embassy was an obvious route; but too obvious to be viable, apparently. The city itself was on the tipping scales, and I thought—alright, I’ll admit it, for the first time—how easy this all was.

It wasn’t easy for other people, I knew.

So many people had died: at the Battle of Ends, in Notus; at the Harbor City’s blockade, in Azareth—at the Eastern Fires, the unofficially named Bellum Takeover. Cyrus had died. Yes, this felt personal—but, I mused to myself, not personal enough to make it hurt, to twist that knife when it’d been hilt-deep. Not enough to kill me, and I knew something—someone—out there could.

Ignoring the personal connotations behind this war, this wasn’t just a I-want-to-kill-more-people thought.

War usually took years, not Daycycles.

A war to seize a third of a continent? Even longer.

This wasn’t just purely genius strategies, even though strategy had sure helped—I couldn’t chalk this up to the Republic having a corrupt government, either; even though that had surely been a factor. I was certain that the monsters at the Union-Republic border wouldn’t cripple the Republic enough for Greta’s blow to drive them to this state; everything we had done wouldn’t, theoretically, corner them to desperation.

There was something else—another shoe that was going to drop, I (or my Ability) could feel it.

I was—not sure, but decently certain—that if we continued at this rate, we would conquer the Republic by another Daycycle.

And that scared me.

Don’t look a gift horse in the mouth?

If the Trojans had cut the horse open, their city wouldn’t have been razed.

“Paranoia,” I whispered to myself as I rounded the corner. “This is paranoia.”

But this wasn’t how it was supposed to go.

I was reminded of Rayan’s words, from back in the Cage—something along the lines of, ‘You haven’t lost everything so you don’t understand’?

This was too easy.

But I didn’t say it aloud.

“What’s up, Boss?” Lately, Xandros’ eyes were mostly filled with genuine concern and care, a bit more than I was usually comfortable with, but he was a good minion, so exceptions were made. Mercy, on the other hand, remained as stoic as ever, occasionally gracing the Moirai with a wry smile or two.

“Saw Naxy,” I replied. “He’ll be in contact soon. We couldn’t get an exact time since we were being watched, but let’s just wait around here.” The blond wig was itchy, I couldn’t deny it, but it would have to do.

“Got it, Boss.”

I turned to Mercy. “Where are we on possible shelters?”

The assassin pressed her lips together.

“We can’t acquire a shelter without making a scene, Your Ladyship,” said Mercy, her tone casual and low. “The legions are watching the inns—we do have solid identities, but if they make it a point to vet us, we can’t guarantee that we won’t be found out.”

“So we’re depending on Naxy, aren’t we?” I gave a sigh. “Sister really did send us over without a single Imperial safehouse. Pah.” Not that we had many safehouses in Honos in the first place. The capital was a strange place—if you made a misstep, you’d blow yourself up politically: it made sense that Anaxeres would have one, or maybe even multiple; but the alliance between spies and the Empire was blurry. Everyone knew we had spies, and it was Evimeria’s role as a duchy to take control of them, but…

“We can’t stand here anymore, Boss.” Xandros leaned forward and whispered. “People are going to get suspicious. We can pretend we’re going home, or something, until the Duke contacts us…?”

“Yeah, that’d probably be best,” I agreed, snapping myself out of my reverie.

We went down the alleys and roads curving around the city, careful not to stray too far from the area we found Naxy. The cool air around my cheeks was surprisingly refreshing, but there was that tension outside of our little bubble of marauders, and I didn’t want to think too much of it, yet still my thoughts wandered.

I pulled them back, of course: reined them in easily—they weren’t wild horses—but there was little to enjoy in the weather when the climate was terrible.

Honos’ buildings rose tall and I rested in the shade with my minions, from sight. The bark was craggy against my back, and I scanned my surroundings for any of Anaxeres’ spies disguised as beggars—I was surprised when a gentleman came instead, dressed in a clean Republica waistcoat and loose trousers. Naxy was walking with a cane, shiny and dark, hair slicked back and trimmed; broad grin stretched across his face as he offered an arm.

I took it, and Mercy and Xandros trailed after me like a mini-entourage as we toured the streets and made brisk conversation about politics and the fate of the continent.

“How was the operation?” I asked as we walked.

“The former Consul Valerius of Romus has perished,” responded Anaxeres. “The other Consul, Marcellus Romanus, was severely injured. Reportedly, his lower legs are permanently paralyzed, and it’ll be a long way till he’ll be back into commission. Half of the Patricians in the Senate are dead, and currently the Curia’s replacement would be the Romanus Estate, where both the current praetors were promoted to Consul just a couple days ago. Both the main Romanus and Romus political factions are crippled.”

I processed the information.

“All in a day’s work, I suppose,” I murmured. “Do you have any political ins?”

The man grinned.

“Most of the families we contacted are out of commission,” he said. “The good thing is that their military forces outside of those in Honos are sparse, so even if they try an offensive course of action, it’s unlikely that they’ll succeed. Right now, Bellum’s the supposed weakest point after your brother’s death, since Elexis is busy cleaning up after the Fires, but really, they just need to get their own house in order before setting other people’s on fire. Again.”

Your brother’s death. The words seemed distant, as if he were talking about some other brother in some other country.

I moved on.

“I’m betting they’re slamming up every defense,” I murmured. “Are you sure your spies won’t get caught? Was it a suicide mission?”

I was planning to ask about Marianus, but the current situation…

“Our dear centurion managed to sneak in our spies in Claudia’s staff, and the explosives in crates under the excuse of sprucing up the Curia’s gardens,” Anaxeres answered, smiling. “The explosions were detonated, and the spider in charge of the mission’s dead. We left no traces behind...for the most part. Even if they’re trying to follow our trail, it’ll be at least a few days before they find anything worth sniffing.”

I let an amused smile crawl its way up my face.

“And you’re not exactly going to let them sniff it, are you?” I asked rhetorically, turning my head towards the end of the street. “I’m more worried resource-wise, really. Food, water, shelter—are your spies all set in income? Greta can’t exactly fly over denarii, and we can’t use the same trick twice, is all I’m saying.”

The Duke laughed. “Fear not, my little spider. Most of my spies are alright. Some, however…” he hummed. “I just need a chat or two, and we’ll be right as rain."

I didn’t dwell on the chat bit.

“As long as you’re doing alright,” I said with a shrug, before I paused. “What about Petra and Gaius? Are both of them at the safehouse?”

“Petra’s back at Notus, terrorizing their citizens,” replied Anaxeres with a casual wave. “Gaius on the other hand...well, last I heard he killed himself in custody.”

I stopped almost abruptly. What?

“He...killed himself?”

Marianus—?

The bitter man, that general that had led the Republic in the Battle of Ends? The bastard child that had refused to bend until he broke— the one who’d accepted my offer, bit into the apple? Angular, snappish, grudging Marianus—

The Duke raised his eyebrows at our detour.

“It seemed like he couldn’t handle the guilt of turning,” Anaxeres said. “At least he didn’t outlast his use—now, that would’ve been messy.”

I started again, feeling the cold spring air.

“It would,” I acquiesced, “have been messy.”

There’d been the hope that it’d not be the bloody kind.

We turned the corner and I spent the night in the safehouse. It was a homely place, if you ignored the unusually dressed people that came in and out at ungodly hours of the day. Butchers, bakers, candlestick makers—maids and fishermen, businessmen and merchants—were all disguised as regular Republica citizens and slipped papers under the door, sometimes even coming in.

Codes were written and listed, and I just crouched in a corner reading reports with Xandros and Mercy for a good hour before Anaxeres made me run errands.

“You can recheck some numbers if you want to get out,” he’d said. “Wait—we need groceries, I forgot.”

The sixth Imperial princess, the Hundredth Chosen and Grand Duchess of the Empire, being sent out to buy groceries.

I lamented my fate as I put on that itchy blond wig again and slipped out alone. I gave Mercy specific orders to not show up until I gave the signal, and so I enjoyed the spring air with complicated questions and not enough answers.

Right where I’d started.

I curved around a corner and spotted a general goods store. After buying a bag of potatoes and heading towards the safehouse, I saw—

—a purple cape, glistening under the sun.

I automatically dropped my bag and leaned forward.

Electric blue eyes.

He—

Was here?

“Cas—”

I stepped forward and followed the shadow through the streets, picking up speed as I followed the person— laughing under the sunlight—and darted under an arch—

And the moment was fleeting, bitter as it was, as I bumped into a familiar chest.

“Who—”

A familiar voice.

His eyes were different. Not colder, harsher, or harder—they weren’t even indifferent: the burning hatred in them erased any assumption that could be made about the matter. It was really rather obvious, I thought. Most people would blame the person who’d done it, even though I wasn’t sure he knew I’d been the one who’d thought of it.

Did he hate me?

For all of the villainous things I’d done, this was..different.

We’d eaten and laughed together just a Dayhept ago.

His eyes had been light and warm, back then. As if inviting you to meet their gaze.

It wasn’t that I struggled to meet his eyes—it was just that it was... harder than before, I decided. Not out of shame or pride, or even regret—the taint of uneasiness. Guilt, my Ability echoed before I did.

Hazel eyes met my own blue ones.

You feel guilty.

Yes, I agreed. Yes, I do—

Move back.

The hairs on the back of my neck prickled, and I hesitated, just for a bit—

MOVE BACK.

—and then Julian unsheathed his knife and swung, just as I fell back.

The blade kissed my nose and blood leaked from the bridge where I’d been nicked, but I didn’t have time to gawk in error. I unsheathed my own dagger and met his sword head-on, readjusting my posture and parrying it edge-on-edge. He didn’t balk, instead pressing harder, falling back as he swung at my neck. I dodged but the blade pulled off the blonde wig, the soldiers behind him—how had I not noticed?—gasping in realization as my hair dropped to my shoulders.

My lips curved as Julian swung expertly again. I withdrew one of my smaller blades, matching it with my first one, using both to parry again before I took the former and aimed for his exposed stomach.

The praetor—Consul—pushed forward as I swiped in a burst of surprising strength, knocking me off my feet as he pressed a hand against his now-bleeding gut. I knew he’d noticed it’d been shallow but just shy of digging deep—mercy where I hadn’t meant there to be.

My back had been slammed against the ground in the fall—he hadn’t held back—and I was sure it would leave bruises, but still I dug my elbows into the sand and hoisted myself up, Julian looking at me warily as he raised his blade once more. There had been opportunities, I knew, where he could’ve dove for the kill: called his men to surround me and take me captive, maimed me and used his Hero strength more; but this was less of a mercy and more of a moment of clouded judgement.

Something personal.

I called out in Imperi as we circled each other, coming back to my senses.

“My dear, are you becoming Forsworn?”

The syllables were strange in the silence.

“Would be hard to marry me,” I continued, “if I was dead.”

Julian looked from watching my stance to meeting my eyes.

“Do you really think,” he rasped back in the same language, “that I would kill you?”

I shrugged. “I think,” I returned, “that you certainly could.”

A silence followed, as his expression contorted.

“You crippled my father,” he said, tone flat and barren of emotion. Ah, so it wasn’t that.

“That I did,” I agreed.

“You,” he forced the accusation out like he was drawing water from a stone, “killed people. Lots of people. Innocent people—my people.” He drew his sword again. “Marianus hanged himself,” he said. “You made him kill himself—you gave him that choice. It was because of you.” The last words were snarled, in anger and something beyond that—and, rather than deflecting or dismissing it (like I normally would),I paused.

I hesitated.

I’m sorry wouldn’t fix this—this was—

“Look at what you’ve done,” the Consul said. “Look, truly look at yourself and the things you’ve done. You can’t ignore it, or run away, or tell yourself that it isn’t as bad as people tell you it is, because it is. All that Thinking and all the planning? All those calculations and possibilities and choices? Turn around and look behind you. You can’t just tell yourself to keep moving, and I’m not here to tell you to stop forever.” His eyes were angry.

“Just stop,” said my Mari. “Turn around and look at what you’ve done, please. Just for a while.”

He really didn’t want to kill me, I realized at that moment. He knew if he did hate me, it would be me I hated and not my choices. Hating my choices but forgiving me would be the easy way out; but it would dishonor Marianus, dishonor the people who he saw died—forgiving me would dishonor himself, and even I realized that I didn’t want to ask that of him.

Not anymore.

It wasn’t that I’d suddenly become a good person overnight, it was just that I was standing at the precipice and it was a Tartarus of a long drop—I’d always known it was a Tartarus of a long drop, but it hadn’t been a cliff, it had been a journey.

There’s a bigger picture, Sera—you might see it, you might not.

Gods. Why was he—

This is a stepping stone—it provides power, a first step floating on a lake of no return— there’ll be a first, and a second, and a third; a fourth, and a fifth, and a hundredth, and a thousandth, and a millionth, and maybe it’ll be an endless journey.

Why was he—

He was dead.

There’s more. It might be too easy, it might be too difficult, but there’s more for you like there isn’t for me.

He was dead, but now you have the knife.

The Consul stood tall like a distant statue, an overbearing presence: an executioner’s knife fashioned into a Sword of Damocles. The knife was bloody and it was mine, but now it was asking me to look at the bodies behind me: the faces of the people I had stepped on. Julian was, of all things, asking me to stop playing and look behind me, at the Crownboard I was playing on and the people I was playing with.

I blinked.

I searched his face for some kind of ingenuity, some kind of falsity.

Weakness, my Ability accused. Offering mercy to an enemy—

But this wasn’t a mercy.

He knew I would fall.

I dug my nails into my palms in a clenched fist, letting my smile drain away as I looked blankly at the Consul.

“Are you,” I asked, switching to Republica, “going to kill me, Consul?”

This wasn’t fear, was it?

He was going to kill me.

He didn’t want to, but he would; because if you reached into a man of honor’s core and ripped everything he needed to prove out of him, all that was left was a brittle tree without branches. He had to keep standing, had to soak water out of the ground by his roots, and I wasn’t going to prance around saying I didn’t deserve to die—because, by all means, I did.

I deserved to die.

No, a voice in the back of my head argued.

No one deserves to die.

But I was just as bad as the people surrounded myself with, wasn’t I?

I wouldn’t be achieving any moral victories anytime soon.

“Are you ready for me to kill you?” Julian returned.

“I don’t want to die,” I whispered.

It was a rasp, barely a breath, but the Consul’s jaw clenched.

“I don’t,” I continued, in Imperi because this was rather embarrassing, “want to die. I never wanted this—all of it—because I never asked, not even once, but I never—” I took a staggering breath. “I never wanted to live like this, but I did— I do, I am living like this because I don’t want to die but I don’t know how to live—I don’t know how, Mari, or why, but I just had to, so I killed them— and now I have to live with this world and myself but—”

I cut myself off with a laugh.

Could I run?

Flickering flame, an elusive thought.

There were legionaries all around me, so that was out of the option—

“Are you going to kill me?” I asked, louder, in Republica. “Or take me captive? Interrogate me for information? Torture me?” I raised my eyebrows. “Don’t leave me hanging here, my Mari. It’s unbecoming—leave me some dignity here, eh, my love?”

The fingers on his blade twitched, and if he swung, I wasn’t going to hesitate again.

“You—”

He leaned forwards as if about to swing, and I stepped back ready to counter the blow, before a voice interrupted the expanse.

“Consul Romanus.”

An unfamiliar, strong voice cut through the tension like a knife.

The former praetor folded himself upwards again as he blinked, not lowering his sword or his gaze but moving his attention. “Consul Romus.” His voice was flat but his shoulders relaxed themselves, as the other former praetor strode over.

This praetor was older—around Cyrus’ age—but still young, with hard eyes and almost Greta-like blonde hair, only more vibrant and let loose around her face instead of tied up. She laid a hand on Julian’s shoulder briefly as she came up in front of the troop, lifting it after absorbing the scene.

“Romanus,” she repeated, lower. “We have to judge her by the Senate before executing anyone on any grounds of treason against the state.”

I could see Julian’s knuckles whiten as the Consul clenched his hand over his sword’s hilt, but betraying no visible emotion. His eyes still burned.

I saw no way out.

I stepped forward, and everyone stiffened—

—but I dropped the two daggers I was holding onto the ground.

What could be done to an enemy royal during war…

I reached into my robes again and found three other knives, all of which I let drop with a clang. I kicked off my sandals and dug into their empty soles, bringing out a large vial of sarawolf antidote that I carefully laid against the ground. I found the tiny knife-discs I hid under my sleeves and let them skitter to a halt at my feet. After bringing out a variety of poisonous bottles and placing them in a uniform row in front of my toes, I plucked the sarawolf antidote and stepped forward.

(Of course, I left a dagger somewhere. This was more of a show than anything else.)

“Ego nunc deficere,” I said, loudly and clearly.

Julian didn’t seem surprised, but there was a tilt to Cecilia’s eyebrow as I reached forward and pulled my Mari’s hand from his sword. He let me, surprisingly—he just looked at me for further elaboration when I placed the bottle in his hand, letting it stay there.

“Sarawolf antidote,” I explained, before rattling off the location. “There should be poisoned Republica legionaries from the remnants of the Fourth and Fifth Cohorts of your army. Remnants are a very generous term, but...I think I’ve written down the treatment plans somewhere there. Follow them and they’ll get better.”

There was no surprise on the Consul’s face, but he folded his fingers over the bottle just as my hand retreated.

Not a sign of forgiveness, but acceptance that we would have to sort this out sometime else.

I met his eyes and discreetly tapped my ring, just once, in a question.

He shook his head but turned away, so I turned to Cecilia instead.

“So, Your Consulship,” I said briskly, “will it be torture or diplomatic negotation first?”

Anaxeres watched the scene with a smile on his face.

“Well,” he said aloud, “she certainly has the steel for it, doesn’t she?”

When no one responded in the silence, he examined the people conversing in front of the estate.

“My knife’s returned home,” the gambler mused to himself. “Now Greta’ll get brave, won’t she?” He shook his head as he snorted. “This alliance was a gamble so she could get my spies and Tyche would support her—but now I’m actually thinking about sticking it out. Huh. Curious. Petra’s right, all this monologuing really is getting to my head.”

A pause.

“Won’t stop me from doing it, though,” Anaxeres chided the invisible mirage of the Ducal Lord.

Greta would get pissy if Anaxeres just left Seraphina alone.

The Duke Evimeria sighed, and got to work.

Really? Not even a 'thank you' in advance?

Cogs whirred. Machinations were started.

The stage was set.