Cadby’s recounting began. “I met Ophelia in my travels. A sharp young lady! I thought I was a big shot, but phew. Fancy meeting her and having her tell me she didn’t give a hoot about Sacer’s nobility or who I was. Of course, the Tamlins were in power at the time, so it’s not as if I was all that important, but still! No one had ever treated me so blunty, so every interaction was mighty entertaining.”

“Wait, the Tamlins?” So the Creeds hadn’t always ruled over Sacer?

Rhys cut in here. “My grandfather was the last Tamlin representative to serve as the head of the council. Cadby was the first Creed representative, and now Cinder Creed has led the council for about eleven years.”

“But why did your family have to step down?” Dorothea shook her head. “Never mind. I don’t mean to pry, you don’t have to tell me anything.”

Rhys smiled. “It’s alright.” He sighed and leaned back in his chair. “Nobles have certain responsibilities and criteria they have to meet in order to maintain their positions of power. The process kind of goes like this. We earn a rank in the nobility by doing something important for Sacer as a nation. For the Creeds, that was minimizing the spread of the epidemic through Sacer. They earned a council spot, and when the Tamlins fell out of power the Creeds were the most certified, so to speak, to step in.”

“Why, when their place on the council was still so new?”

“Lots of things having to do with those criteria I mentioned. Noble families have to demonstrate patriotism through their every word and action. That primarily includes military prowess, childbirth rates, and worship of the Pantheon of Old. The Creeds beat out all the other noble families in these factors combined, so they got council leadership. Plus, the council had been shaken up a lot in recent years with the Nobelises and Olyens being knocked out of the ranks and the Novaks barely hanging on to their position. Things just came together for the Creeds to take leadership.”

“I see…” So what had the Tamlins failed at in the first place? The fact that Rhys was an only child probably had something to do with it. But so were Hollyhock, Shark and Iree, and their families had or had once had council spots. So why could the Tamlins possibly have been forced aside? Rhys himself didn’t even seem to know. “Thank you for explaining.”

Rhys nodded, and they turned back to Cadby.

“Sorry for the change of subject. How else would you describe my mother at the time?” Dorothea asked.

Cadby looked eager to talk. “Little lass acted like she was already twice my age at the time. Was definitely smarter than me, too. She was an angry, insistent little girl. Didn’t like being refused. She played pranks, lots of ‘em. I got my ass stabbed with a fork.”

“My mother stabbed you?!” Dorothea gasped, horrified.

“Just a wee poke,” Cadby laughed, waving a casual hand. “But she was having fun, so I didn’t mind a whit. Didn’t seem like she got treated like a child very often. I like to think she enjoyed my company a good deal or that I helped her a bit. Not sure. Maybe I’m just tootin’ my own horn.”

“I’m sure she treasured the time you spent.” Dorothea smiled, feeling whimsical. It would have been wonderful to have been treated like a child for just a bit longer. “It’s surprising she let you leave,” she joked.

“She latched herself onto my leg and tried to get me to stay, sure, for a few minutes. Then she went right back to being a little adult. But I went back a few times, and she was happy to see me in her implike way. Stopped being able to go after a while, though. Building my own life.”

It was wonderful, somehow, to hear that her solemn and graceful and broken mother had been such a brat. “I’m sorry for the trouble she caused you.”

“Not at all. Those were good times. So tell me, how is Ophelia these days?”

“Oh, um, well… She’s since passed.”

Cadby leaned back in his chair, exhaling with shock. “Gee… So young, too… I’m sorry to make you think of something painful.” He paused as his eyes glazed over with a sheen of empathetic mourning. “The epidemic?”

“Yes, sir,” Dorothea lied. It wouldn’t hurt anyone to spare the man’s feelings by concealing how horrifically Ophelia had expired, though she saw Shark shoot her an understanding look from her periphery. “And please don’t apologize. I love hearing you talk about her.”

He smiled. “I’m always happy to gab about the past.”

Dorothea leaned forward, feeling breathless all of a sudden. She’d come here for information, and now she had a direct source sitting right in front of her. “Then, if you can, would you mind telling me more about the Ghurians? And about the current war?” At this question, Rhys glanced subtly at her, then at Ariana, then back, and she squeezed his arm under the table to assuage his concern. There was no harm in an outsider like her asking an old man a few questions so long as she didn’t guide the conversation anywhere too pointed.

Cadby fell into serious contemplation. When he spoke, each word was thoughtful and intensely focused. “Well, there wasn’t as much vitriol in the air as there is now. Or maybe it was just quieter. But it was still clear, the difference between us. Maybe we should have seen all of this coming back then…”

“What difference are you referring to?”

“The wealth, dear. Of the land, of our bodies, of it all. That’s why they call us pigs.”

“Oh.” Dorothea put a hand self-consciously to her stomach. “I see… So it’s always been well-known that the Ghurians have less resources?”

“It’s their lands, see. Not as fertile as the ones here. Less crops, less wildlife. All in all, a harsher lot. They make do, but it makes them colder.”

It was obvious. That was what the Ghurians were after, and that was why they had taken Sunmer and the villages around it. Greater means for survival. “In theory, then, renegotiating some of the circumstances created by previous treaties could help lead things to a more peaceful conclusion?”

Cadby laughed with both gentle amusement and bitterness. “It’s never that easy. War’s never just about resources. It’s about fear.”

“Right. Of Wither.” It was true. So long as everyone’s choices were guided by the terror of what Wither could do, there was no hope for reconciliation.

“Thaw, too.”

“Wait, the Creed family magic?” How was that supposed to fit into the picture?

“Yes indeedy. See, what happened was… Hrm.” He tapped his forehead as if to encourage thought. “It’s on the tip of my tongue now… Wait, no it’s not.”

Dorothea looked at Rhys and Ariana only to find them just as mystified as her. “Are you saying that, Wither aside, the Sacerians also did something to instigate the war?” Something within her, an instinct geared towards personal safety, compelled her to speak quietly.

“Nothing quite so bad as causing the death that the epidemic did, but yes. Something… An injustice?” Cadby frowned. “I’m sorry. It’s just not coming to me today.”

“No, please. Not at all. Thank you for what you’ve been able to tell me. It’s been enlightening.” She was looking for information on the Sacerians’ err in regards to starting the war, then. Knowing such a thing potentially existed was more than enough. Of course Iree had left that out too. But couldn’t anybody else have told her? Rather than an omission, it seemed more like a gap in knowledge. Strange…

Cadby stood, putting a stabilizing hand against his back. “Nice chatting with you, but I believe I’ll be off. I’d like to be alone with my thoughts.”

“Thank you again. Take care.”

“You as well.” He lifted a hand in farewell before departing.

“So… Do either of you know what he could possibly have been talking about?” she asked Rhys and Ariana, eyebrows raised.

“Unfortunately, no.” Rhys frowned. “His memory could be playing tricks on him, maybe?”

“Please,” Ariana scoffed. “He’s old, not insane. Don’t be stupid.”

Dorothea nodded. She and Ariana agreed on something for once. “I think so too. Uh, not that you’re stupid, Rhys, but I don’t feel like he was talking just for the sake of it.”

With that, she slouched to be more settled in her chair and turned to the books Cerid had unloaded on her. The first contained information detailing every battle that had previously occurred between Sacer and Ghuria. There was one trend in particular that Dorothea noticed as she skimmed through the reasons and outcomes of the fights: the Ghurians were always the aggressors, the civil war being the exception, and rarely the winners. She’d already known most of this from reading the Nobelis text, but a new thought occurred to her now. How did they have the Sacerians in such dire straits now?

“Cerid?” she called when she heard his footsteps tapping behind her.

“Hm?” He plopped six more books onto the table and took the seat next to Shark.

“To be frank, why haven’t the Sacerians won yet?”

“I can see how that would be a point of confusion. From what I have heard and experienced, Ghurians as a race have more of an inclination towards brutality. It is as if we are fighting people who live for bloodshed and do not care in part whether they live or die. You witnessed the Wither-user at Sunmer for yourself. They have honed themselves in ways we cannot understand.” He clasped his hands together and stared down at them. “The short answer is that both sides are strong and unwilling to surrender.”

It was strange to think about it deeply all of a sudden. The Ghurians had less to live on, so, technically, they were always closer to death than the Sacerians were. She remembered the three of them. Johanna Marley, Wesley the wind-user, and Gren Fall. The first two had been all smiles, borderline sadistic in their violence. Gren seemed to have no emotion at all. The last survivor of his family line. Why would he feel? How could any of them afford to?

“I see…” Yes, she was starting to see now and was terrified by what faintly materialized in her line of vision.

“Are you alright?” Cerid asked, doubtful.

Dorothea didn’t know what her face was conveying but figured it wasn’t anything good. She dragged up a smile. “I am. A question. So, is it really true that the Ghurians started every single fight?” Part of her still had to doubt it. Knowing that victory was impossible, they still… Sitting around and waiting for death wasn’t a better choice, though. Maybe that was how Ariana had felt when she’d come to Sacer? She resisted looking at the girl, knowing she would sense the pity behind her gaze and be enraged by it.

Cerid looked at her as if it were obvious. “Well, they are predisposed to violence, after all.”

Some of his earlier comments had made her squirm inside, but this tipped the scale. “You don’t…honestly believe that, do you?”

He seemed confused by her concern. “It is a truth proven by history’s trends.”

When she looked to Shark, they only shrugged.

They were all talking about people here. Fellow humans who strived and suffered alike. Yet there was such hatred and dread overwhelming them. She’d been blinded by it and had been part of spreading that hatred physically through bloodshed.

Oh, Gods. Something was terribly, terribly wrong here.