“Ocia was supposedly the last of these cities to be reached by the faith of Viera. It is common knowledge that at the time, those who believed in her burning fire clashed with some Daeli natives who tried to spread the values of Pelirise across the strait. But for a number of reasons, I surmise the religious history of that city is much more ancient, and we should not dismiss the possibility of its builders and forerunners worshipping the primordial deities of the Grey Sea.

-Tarhas, History of the Known World”

* * *

Ezveril

Despite the soft warmth of the sun, she felt a chill, and the cold air coming from the balcony gave her goose bumps. The balcony from her own chamber had always been somewhat windy, since it was located fairly high, but Vierodel's apartments were the worst so far. From up here, Ezveril watched the city with its narrow streets and its reddish roofs, the walls with their tall towers, the ships blocking the strait, and their sails painted in gold and purple. Sipping her spiced tea, listening to the conversation that took place nearby, with a more or less attentive ear.

“...and the warehouses are full, we've gathered as much wheat as we could,” said a tall man in a leather attire. From time to time she would see him unshaved, ring mail over his torso and swordbelt at his waist, but today he was clean and proper, and had the purple half cape some distinguished Vieran citizens would often wear.

“Good work, captain Flavo,” Vierodel said with a satisfied nod, playing with his long hair like always. He was lying on his side, stuck between the massive velvet cushions of a divan. His mother had agreed to let him take part in the preparations of the city's defences, and while she'd usually attend, today she wasn't there. “I trust we're almost done with our defences, too? And tunnels, I'm worried about tunnels.”

If he shared the lord's worries, captain Flavo did very little to show it, his face as hard and indecipherable as ever. “Masons and stoneworkers are taking care of a couple places I deemed unsafe. And we have plenty of wood for our carpenters to work with. More than enough, I'd say.”

“The question is, do we have enough carpenters to work that wood?” Saerge Segheon sighed, wandering aimlessly on the colourful carpets. His sigh sounded somewhat forced, and he was probably tired or bored rather than anxious. “I don't care if we have plenty of wood, it's plenty of arrows and catapults we need.”

Ezveril glanced at the horizon, beyond the walls. There had been a couple of small woods not far from here, not so long ago. Now she couldn't even see a single trunk. Her eyes wandered again in the room, observing everyone here. She stared a bit longer at the silent Hilne, who had traded her suit of plate armour for a more comfortable grey doublet, though her longsword still hung at her waist. The sigil of the Neraldes family stitched discretely on the breast, three silvery moons sewn in the dark fabric.

She's far more elegant than anyone else in the room.

“Any word from your spies, my lord?” Saerge then asked Vierodel. “I fear the Paarese may have reached out to Callir.”

Vierodel bit in a cherry, the juice running along his fingers. He spat the stone in a bowl, sucked his fingers, and shrugged. “Last I heard, the Blood Church hasn't come to an official decision yet, but it seems there's talk of war. Even so, it won't matter. Akilne stands in their way, whether they try to come by land or by sea.”

“That is, if the council of Akilne sides with us.” Hearing that, Vierodel frowned and sighed in exasperation. Flavo, however, didn't even blink.

“What are you suggesting? They have no reason to side with the Paarese.”

“No, of course.” Lord Segheon extended an arm toward the balcony, and the city. “They have reasons to side against Dael, however. Paarese agents are still spreading rumours about Ocia becoming a vassal of Dael, and with each day passing more and more people are lending a worried ear to these claims.”

Vierodel's frown worsened and he glanced at Flavo. “Is this matter not solved yet?” the young lord inquired.

The captain bowed as low as he could, but his indifferent voice had no hint of care or guilt. “My lord, I must apologise. Troublemakers keep disturbing the city despite my men's best efforts. For each agitator we arrest, another ten appear.”

“Then question the ones we caught. I don't care how, but have them cough up the names of their accomplices before it gets out of hand. Make an example out of these Paarese dogs if need be. Your men may as well release some of that nervousness before the siege, don't you think?” Ezveril thought that captain Flavo flashed a smile for a split-second, but she couldn't be sure. Perhaps it was her imagination. She knew Flavo as an unexpressive wall rather than a vicious bully. In any case, it did nothing to better her opinion of the man. I don't like him.

Saerge cleared his throat. “My lord, I would advise against it. Trust me when I say that these arrests don't go unnoticed. The more these agitators get... silenced, the more attention it will attract. Our efforts would be all for naught. Even your lady mother forbade needless violence against Vieran citizens.”

“Bah, they're not even Vierans,” Vierodel muttered, his purple lips pursed. “And those who sell their honour to Paar have no right to call themselves citizens of Ocia.”

He looked grumpy, that much was obvious, but Ezveril guessed there was something else. He's nervous. And rightfully so, if she had to say. Even Ezveril wouldn't allow herself to be reassured by Saerge or Flavo, when the former's cautiousness hinted at the uncertainty of the situation, and the latter's indifference had probably more to do with a lack of emotion, or a surplus of confidence, rather than a genuine and justified feeling of safety.

...Perhaps I'm overthinking it.

“Anyhow,” Vierodel of Ocia eventually said, waving his hand in annoyance. “You're all dismissed. Captain, make them speak. Just don't go too far, and try not to attract attention.”

“As you wish,” captain Flavo said, bowing, before stepping out with everyone else.

Ezveril left with Hilne Neraldes and Saerge Segheon. Vierodel gave her a kind smile, followed by a nod, and she answered in kind, perfectly aware that his polite smile was merely masking his annoyance. He began playing a tune on his harp as the doors closed behind her. He'd do that whenever he wanted to vent his anger or ease his mind. Dedicate himself to music or poetry... or simply call for the pleasure slaves.

Ezveril sighed. She needed air – not the windy air of the balconies, and certainly not the filthy, reeking air of the palace. The gardens of the palace wouldn't do either, as she'd risk meeting Atricia of Ocia there, and the lady-regent was the last person Ezveril wanted to see right now. Or ever, in fact. “I want to go outside, Hilne,” she muttered.

“Your highness,” the knight answered sorrily, “I would recommend against it. With such rumours and such unrest in the city, the streets aren't safe for the royal blood of Dael.”

...And we cannot risk giving credence to these rumours. Of course, she was aware. Still, Ezveril pouted, trying to get her sympathy. “But you're with me, right? I'll be fine as long as you're here. Please...”

Saerge, who was lurking behind them – Ezveril didn't need to see him to know, his perfume was enough – suddenly interjected in the princess' favour. “Where's the harm, lady Neraldes? I, for one, would like to get a feel of the city, see for myself if it's as bad as they say. Why don't you two come along? The noble features of her highness aren't known to the common people. Have men of the citywatch accompany you, if you must.”

The lord ambassador certainly had nothing to worry about. His accent could still betray his Daeli birth, but at least with his skin, he looked the part of a native Vieran. Unlike Ezveril and her knight, whose pale complexion and sky-coloured eyes weren't all that common in these lands. An upset Hilne probably meant to protest such things, but she didn't bother to argue.

Perhaps I should dye my hair purple, like lady Atricia keeps telling me to do, she thought as they rode in a carriage flanked by guards both on foot and on horseback. But it would give Atricia satisfaction, something Ezveril couldn't accept.

They drew the curtains of the carriage, so she could see the city. Unchanged, she thought. Not that she expected to see packs of guards hunting down these would-be street orators she heard mention of, but still.

“Lord Segheon,” she said, eyes still observing the streets. “You said earlier that Callir might side with our enemies.”

The ambassador gave her a glance before shrugging. “Ah, well... Let us not speak half-truths – they will side with our enemies.”

Ezveril squinted her eyes, but she wasn't that surprised. “And are you not worried?” As for me, I sure am.

“It's been... expected of them. They merely needed one last push before going at war with us. The Paarese belligerence was an opportunity for Callir.”

The farther away they went from the palace, the more Ezveril began to notice changes. Carriages filled with stone and wood, workers and soldiers wandering around, carrying tools and whatnot. Slaves moving crates and barrels. Their contents unknown to Ezveril, but she could try and guess. Food, probably. Steel and arrows, perhaps. Oil?

“Is that why the Paarese haven't attacked us yet? Because they were looking for allies?”

“In all likelihood,” Saerge said with a nod. “They cannot risk failure, and they surely want to prepare themselves fully. In the first place, it's unlikely they could manage to smuggle a whole army and enough siege engines through the Vieran states. So they have to gather the means to besiege us in some other way.”

“Mercenary companies,” Hilne stated flatly. “As long as they have gold and silver, the Paarese won't have trouble finding siege weaponry and men to wield it.” She seldom took part in this kind of conversation, which puzzled Ezveril.

“You should be in charge of the city's defences, Hilne,” she said with a smile. But the knight seemed to think otherwise as she shook her head slightly.

“I have no experience with sieges, princess. And more importantly, this isn't my city – better have someone who knows the place in charge... no matter how much you may dislike them.”

Hilne probably knew that Ezveril had no sympathy, much less trust, toward the captain of the citywatch, Flavo. Perhaps the knight didn't like him either. What she says is right, she admitted. If it was Dael or the Moonlit Castle, Hilne's home, then yes, perhaps... But Ocia was a foreign city, with a foreign population.

The carriage passed a street full of workshops and smithies. Already the blacksmiths were working the steel, heating the coals, making Ezveril's ears ring with each hammer strike. Passersby would of course steal glances at the carriage, wondering who could afford being escorted by the citywatch, but they soon got back to minding their own business. All in all, if onlookers somehow guessed that the carriage's passengers were Daeli, they didn't seem to really care.

“Hmm.” Saerge Segheon stretched his head outside and exchanged a few words with the guards. The carriage left the blacksmith district and Saerge took notice of Ezveril's curious stare. “I'll show you something, princess.”

They passed in front of a large workshop of carpenters, and Ezveril glimpsed at some devices she had seen once or twice during her life in Dael, mainly when she had first left the castle's walls and visited the rest of the capital with her father. She couldn't recall much, what with being a small child at the time. But she could remember a younger Hilne explaining her the purpose of these things. Though most of Ezveril's memories were about Hilne herself rather than the content of her explanations. At the time, she had only begun to understand what a splendid feat it was, for a woman, to stand here as a royal guard. Even though Ezveril had yet to learn what it really meant to be a woman in this world. Those were joyous days.

And how could she forget, there was also the cheering crowds and the king, already old but still healthy at the time. King Arvus, riding a beautiful stallion and waving at the people. Her father the crown-prince was acclaimed too, and he looked bright and radiant under the sun, both his pale golden hair and his magnificent armour shining upon the world. Held high was the floating banner of Agel's descendants, a golden bird on a field of azure sky. Then of course, there was princess Noctine Neraldes, catching the eye of every man in the kingdom since the youngest age. Noctine was Ezveril's cousin, and only a distant relative of Hilne, but despite that, the older princess had inherited more of the Neraldes traits, with her height, her hair as dark as the night itself, her lovely thick eyebrows, and all that. Yet it did not seem like Hilne was especially close to her – perhaps it had to do with the knight coming from a lesser branch – whereas Noctine had always been kind and friendly with all of the siblings and cousins from the rest of the Agelien line, Ezveril amongst them.

Regardless, sometimes Ezveril felt envious of the attention they'd give her cousin. Sometimes, she felt relieved that it was Noctine, and not her. Nowadays, she wasn't sure how she felt – after all, it wasn't Noctine who had been shipped away to Ocia, but Ezveril.

She snapped out of her reminiscing when she heard a coarse bellowing followed by a number of grumbling voices. She glanced at Hilne, then Saerge, saw their unworried faces, and followed their gaze outside. They were at the port already, and the least she could say was that the atmosphere was different. Or was it the smell of fish and drunkards?

“If there's any place in the city where we'll find trouble and tension, it has to be here.” Lord Segheon pointed at a crowd further down, on the quays. Men of the citywatch, men on horseback, and a bunch of people yelling at them. “That's the harbormaster,” he continued, motioning toward one of the riders, a middle-aged dignitary Ezveril had perhaps seen on her first day in Ocia, at the feast. Fat and sweaty in his purple silks, he listened with a bored look to the complaints of the other group. “I gather he has to deal with angry sailors and enraged merchants.”

“Why is that?”

Saerge then pointed to the ships. Yellow sails. Others had a bright, colourful sun with a smiling profile painted on them, in that funny eastern style. Under the stern stares of the citywatch, slaves were unloading cargo from the ships. Some had skin darker than coal, other had curious shades of gold and copper.

“Most of these ships were stopped from crossing the strait. We cannot let all this fine merchandise go to waste. They are from Paar, from Tehen, or from the Dominion, and of course none of them want to see their goods stolen away like that.”

Talk about discretion. If lord Vierodel wanted to prevent troublemakers from, well, making trouble, he could begin there. “I think I get why some people are having doubts about the lords of Ocia,” she said. “I'm sure there must be better ways to handle the matter?”

“Oh, but of course. It's always preferable to strike a deal, and most of the time we manage to work out an agreement. But when these people refuse our offer of trade and hospitality and start to insult us, we have to make an example out of them. We of Ocia will ask for their cooperation, and will take what we need if they refuse. It's a show of strength. We don't have much of a choice anyway.”

But then, farther away at the end of the docks, an old merchant with that odd golden skin colour was ordering his men around as they carried crates and crates of fish. She could see as her carriage passed by, from the common tuna to the large sharks of the southern seas, there were all sorts of creatures. A few of these things, Ezveril had never seen before – a bright blue octopus and some translucent sea-snakes, whatever the hell these were. Occasionally, the guards had a taste of the food, but otherwise they didn't touch the merchandise, nor did they bother the old merchant. Another merchant, young and clad in red velvet, chatting and jesting with a tall, hairy sailor, and a couple of guards, while his slaves carried away bags and chests and barrels. Here again, none of the guards were confiscating the goods. Instead, their pockets were probably filled with silver. What a lawful, honest bunch, she mocked bitterly, frowning, as she glanced away from Flavo's men.

“We can also make use of their ships, to help defend the port until our fleet arrives,” Hilne said, referring to the Daeli ships that were expected to come. Ezveril had been told that the Daeli fleet would have to wait until the siege began before coming to their rescue. Else it would show that they were prepared for a siege. It was all about making the Paarese attackers appear as the offenders, when really it was the Daeli influence and the blockade that started it all.

Nobody in Ocia is expecting defeat, she had realised some time ago. They can afford to treat this diplomatic incident as their little game because they're convinced it'll go their way. They knew the whole thing was staged by her father, Arthian Agelien. What reason was there to doubt him? Ezveril had never heard anyone doubting her father's abilities, whether they admired him or openly hated him.

Even I am no exception, she thought, perhaps trying to fool herself.