“You shouldn’t agitate her so much,” Mydea said.

Father sighed. “That’s unavoidable whenever I’m in her presence,” he said. “Ephyra never liked me, not from the first moment your mother took a liking to me at the athenaeum. It does not help that her sons died in duels against me, even if I did it to save you and your brother.”

They walked in silence the rest of the way to the Great Hall. Portraits of every lord and lady of their house lined the walls starting from Noeh the Knowing, frozen in place in accordance with the strictures of ancient stillform, with his green cotton tunic and the leathern girdle tied around his waist.

In contrast, her mother was painted in a more modern style that allowed for looped motion. The brown-skinned woman was the picture of vitality and nobility in her study, sipping on a cooled cup of sage tea while bright green, almond-shaped eyes perused shelves of ancient tomes. Her long tawny hair swayed as her mother’s depiction paced, and there was even a spring in her step!

The artist took great liberties, Mydea thought with a frown. Her brother would have had the frame burned if it weren’t the only portrait they had of her likeness.

"Kass never read a book she didn’t need to,” Father said.

Mydea could not recall. She'd been five when her mother passed away giving birth to Chalsi. “Grandmother said she was very sure of herself?”

“Her visions more like it,” Father said. “It frustrated her to no end that she wasn’t heeded more.”

Perhaps the most grievous departure from the truth was that her mother was walking about vigorously. That, Mydea was certain, had never happened, for she’d been struck with a wheezing breath as a child and never got the better of it.

“At least the tea is about right, though as I recall, she liked it warmer,” Mydea said, tongue reflexively rubbing the roof of her mouth. She shook her head free of old memories. “We ought not keep dinner waiting any longer.”

Her father pushed open the wide, ironwood doors to the Great Hall not far from the portraits. Six long rows of trestle tables carved from solid oak ran parallel to each other, ending just before the raised platform on the far end of the hall. About a hundred people were seated, clumped in groups near the high table, but it still left the room looking barren.

I suppose that can’t be avoided, Mydea thought as they walked down the room. The hall had been built to accommodate not just the daily household of Aigis, but also a full assembly of lords, knights, and mages-at-arms sworn to her brother. Behind the high table were hanging banners—the winged and jagged shield in green and silver chief among them—but that left much of the mural still visible. The white-capped peaks of the Aigean Range, looking like a row of angry and uneven spearheads, were unmistakable. It was a reminder of their family’s history.

The senior members of the household waited standing for Mydea to take her seat. As a lady advocate, she sat where her brother would have at the very center, while her father took the seat to her right.

Only when she had taken her seat was the food served by the servants.

There was a bowl of mashed potatoes topped with melted, gooey cheese; a warm chicken soup served with bread, and a salad of sweetgrass and mixed berries too. Set directly before her were beautifully twisted knobs of dough, some stuffed with meat and spices, while others were filled with mushroom and curds.

“As I promised, your favorite,” Father said with a grin while gesturing to the dumplings.

“Thank you,” Mydea said as she popped one into her mouth. Flavor exploded in her mouth after she bit through the dough, letting the hot broth seep out.

Father tore off a generous chunk of sourdough with a pleasant crackle. “So, how did you find Aelisium?”

“It was wondrous,” Mydea said. “They had these wagons and carriages pulling themselves along the street. Some artificer’s work I reckon. Why, if such things become widely spread, it could change the world as we know it!”

“If,” Father said with a laugh. “I’ve never known an artificer’s work not to break down once removed from their pristine athenaeums.”

That was fair enough she supposed. “Oh! They also had a marvelous selection of fruits!” Mydea gushed. “I got to try a mango.”

“Was it to your tastes?”

“I found it too sour, but I would not say no to another chance,” she said. “It was different and interesting.”

“You almost sound like you miss it,” Father said, raising a brow at her. “Should I be worried my daughter will be leaving home to chase the clouds? Your handmaid’s brother did that, didn’t he?”

“He did. And, no, you don’t need to worry about that,” Mydea said. “It’s a wonderful place to visit, but I would dread having to actually live there.”

“How does that follow?”

She took a moment to chew and swallow before replying. “Anyone who stays in the Imperial City for long is bound to get caught up in the schemes of that place.” There was never a shortage of those whenever power was concerned. “The incessant need to guard against daggers hidden behind the shadows and the smiles? Avoiding the enmity of greater lords and ladies and maneuvering that narrow strait between their rivalries? Not knowing who you can trust?” Mydea shook her head. “There may be endless wonders to take in, but one would have little time to appreciate such things with endless worries to watch for!”

“But you excel at those games,” Father pointed out. “Your time at the athenaeum certainly proved it.”

“I get involved when I need to, and when something is at stake,” Mydea said. “I do not engage just for the sake of it. Besides, imagine the risk! One misstep might doom us all.”

Nothing could be worth the lives of kin and kith and all she held dear.

She shook her head clear of such thoughts.

As the night progressed, Mydea found herself speaking to Hystor Theios. “My father means to swear an oath to me before we leave,” she said to him. “I was also thinking of making a vow.”

“I would happily bear witness, of course,” Theios said, stroking his grey wisp of a beard.

“What might be an appropriate sacrifice?” Mydea asked.

“The favor of a god is not cheaply bought, and it would also depend on what it is you are asking for.”

Mydea nodded. That was one of the basic tenets of a vow: to give that the gods might give.

“It is still the season of harvest, and so Nomos takes primacy among the pantheon,” Theios added. “Still, is the matter within Nomos’ domain?”

It was the god of rulers and the ruled, and she would be praying for success in bringing her brother’s vassals to heel. “I can think of no deity more appropriate.”

“A sabertooth killed with your own hands would be best then.”

Hunting one of those elusive mountain predators would take days she did not have, even if one had been sighted recently. “Is there any alternative?”

“Failing that, Nomos is always fond of sheep,” Theios said. “One can never go wrong with a white, firstborn lamb, the fattest of a flock. You would need something personal to imbue it with too.”

“Of course,” Mydea said.

A sacrifice without meaning was no sacrifice at all.