“I’m talking about rebellion. Overthrowing the Monarch for good!” Galier searched each of their faces and found only stunned shock. “It's what you want, isn’t it? To free the city! Isn’t that what you’re always talking about? I-I don’t understand…”

Were they really not interested? Were they too scared to put their ideas into action after all of Galier’s work? All three looked away from him. Scythese faced away, his hands clasped behind his back while Ana gaped vacantly. Sancte just stared at the table, refusing to meet his eyes.

The table divided them, Galier on one side, Scythese, Ana, and Sancte on the other. That table might as well have extended into eternity for the silence that it held. Could he have been wrong about these three? If he had been… He had always thought himself skilled at reading people. It let him act with confidence, knowing the hearts of others even when they were kept hidden. Or so he had thought.

Galier shrugged in his still damp shirt and jacket, new sweat causing it to stick to his skin. “...I thought you might help me…”

Again, silence. Galier looked to the floor, too embarrassed to confront them. What a fool he had been, to assume that they would act on their convictions. Only a fool would trust that ordinary people would be willing to give up their stable lives to follow a stranger’s promises.

But if not them, then who? They were willing to openly criticize the Monarch in direct violation of his decrees. Why not do more? What were they afraid of?

“I will help you, Galier,” Came a calm and steady voice, a surprisingly calm voice. “We will help you.”

Galier felt a hand on his shoulder and looked up into the face of Scythese, set with determination that should not have fit so well on his narrow jaw. There was a strength in his eyes that Galier had never seen before, a dedication that renewed his hope somehow. Beneath dark, lank hair in recessed eyes a flame burned. The same passion Galier only knew from another pair of very similar eyes. Lord Kalagor fought on for the sake of the woman he loved, taken from him by the Monarch’s hand. What did Scythese fight for that could spark the same drive? Nothing Galier knew, but there it was, and it was what he needed.

“I do not speak for all of us, but there are others, I know it. We will help you to reclaim this broken city.” A smile spread across Scythese’s face, one Galier had never seen before. Victorious, like he had just conquered a great foe, but more importantly, genuine. Scythese, for all of his rejection of his noble blood, he still wore a mask. Now he let it fade.

He turned towards the others who looked at him with just as much shock as they had directed towards Galier. Sancte looked almost afraid, with her big eyes widening by the second.

“You can’t be serious Scythese,” She stammered. Her voice was small and uncertain. “Galier?” She looked to him. Worry and fear creased her round face and her lip trembled.

Galier didn’t know what to say. He had been prepared for them to accept without hesitation, but even complete rejection made more sense than this. What was he to do? Ana had begun to nod fervently, her shock being replaced by determination as she processed what had been said, and Scythese clearly supported him. But Sancte? Quiet, dependable Sancte, who never voiced an objection unless she felt exceptionally strongly. Why must she be the one?

Ana turned to the other woman, her expression of stalwart determination softening for her friend. “Galier is right, this is what we wanted.”

Sancte shook her head and fear still dominated her expression.

“Maybe it has come sooner than we thought,” Ana continued, standing and walking over to Sancte’s chair where she knelt to look her in the eye. “But you knew as well as I that it was coming. This is good, Sancte, we can finally act instead of just talking and thinking and hoping that things will change…”

A fraction of the fear disappeared from Sancte’s face but she still looked far from certain. Her eyes darted between all three of them and Galier could practically hear her mind working.

Her hands shook where they rested in her lap but she remained mostly composed. Sancte might not be nobility, but she, like the vast majority of the old blood, followed in their footsteps. She was raised to obey without question and to emulate her betters. Talking about a world without such restrictions was one thing, something she could stomach, but building that world. It meant that she would have to break those bonds herself.

Galier understood feeling like his own hands were not strong enough for the task. He hid those fears because he had no other option, not with lady Ealhold ready to dispose of him at the slightest misstep, but he saw them reflected in Sancte, and they resonated within him.

Walking around the table to the other side, he knelt beside Ana and reached out to take Sancte’s hand. “It's overwhelming, I know. Believe me, I understand. What we’ll do will change the world, it's a lot for anyone to take responsibility for.”

She nodded hesitantly, or did she just shake? For all of her attempted serenity, Galier could tell that she was near to bursting. His heart panged for her. He understood the sudden pressure she felt. Her whole world was about to be torn down, and he was asking her to help with that.

Hesitation was understandable, but that was the extent of it. She had to be made to understand. There wasn’t another way, because she knew now. She could do too much damage with the little information she had. Galier had to convince her, to lead her to the end.

“Think about the people we’ll be helping,” He said, fighting to keep eye contact, “Think of the world we could build Sancte…”

“I know.” She whispered, but her voice quivered and her eyes were wet with tears.

Her shivering took time to fade. Ana remained to comfort her, but it did little good. Galier didn’t think there was any more that he could do. He just hoped that he had gotten through to her.

Scythese seemed to think the matter was resolved at least. He stood off to the side, near enough to watch over Sancte but far enough to give her a measure of privacy. She was rebuilding a world torn asunder in her head. He seemed to understand that too, although he did not express any similar feelings. He stood, immobile as a statue, his stance suggesting readiness to fight.

He had begun to learn to fight just in time for Galier’s plan. He didn’t want the people he recruited to be slaughtered when it came to the day. It was as if Scythese had known already. Known that he would have to fight.

When Sancte stood, it was with no small amount of difficulty. She was unsteady on her feet, though her face was schooled to serenity. The effect was only slightly ruined by the tears left in her eyes and the thin tracks on her face. She smiled at Galier, weakly, but there it was. Then stumbled over to Scythese who enveloped her in a hug, resting his chin on her head.

Tenderness was not something Galier had thought he would see from Scythese, but he had seen his assumptions about the nondescript man smashed before. It was a surprise, but no more than finding him training for a fight he did not know was coming.

They left soon after, making their farewells in turn. Scythese grasped Galier’s forearm like a warrior and once again promised his support in a low intense whisper. That fire was not the slightest bit less bright.

Ana gave him a discerning look, like she was looking at him for the first time. In the end she nodded, satisfied and made a polite nod. Not a bow. They were equals in this. Parentage did not factor into it in the slightest.

Sancte took a moment to meet his eyes, but she looked to be back to her usual self. The perennial smile was back, and although she still looked like she had seen a ghost, she was a good deal more steady on her feet.

Galier let out a contented sigh and allowed himself a small smile as he watched them go. He had accomplished exactly what he wanted to, albeit with a temporary stumble. But now he could go back to lord Kalagor with a plan as well as the necessary pieces in hand. If anything would cement his place and importance, it was this. He firmly believed that their plan would not work without him.

He turned to head back to his own rooms. He still kept them for his own personal use, even though he rarely visited the manor, much less stayed the night. They did not really have any other use now that the family wasn’t in residence.

The rooms he’d chosen for his own had belonged to Jormand before, but he’d chosen more because he didn’t want to let Adelphine change them than any preference on his part. He’d had a lot of the furniture replaced—Jormand had badly damaged some of it just before leaving—but most of it was still the same. Galier felt at home in that room, far more than in the rest of the building. Even with the new furniture, it was familiar. The only place he’d really been welcome in the manor before suddenly receiving it as his own.

In the halls, eyes had always followed him. They had known he was out of place just the same as he had. Martim had been aloof, hardly even noticing the man he had raised in his own home along with his own children. Then suddenly he was the heir.

Ketrim had been the worst of all, always sneering or commanding. Since childhood, Ketrim had known his place in relation to Galier. He held more power. He was the better fighter. He even thought that he was the better politician. Well, now Galier represented him while he lay in a sickbed. Let him try to manage the house without help. Let him try to navigate the remains of his father’s revolution. Clearly the rest of the house had known that they needed someone with a little more political acumen. And Galier was the clear choice.

Rounding a corner to head to his rooms, Galier felt his confidence surging once more. It had been quashed by lord Kalagor and lady Ealhold rather soundly, but even they would be impressed now. He had made the plan and brought it to reality. Without it they would not stand a chance. They simply had to acknowledge him now.

He looked around the halls of his manor, at all the things contained therein. The paintings, the carpets, the stone tunnels that made up the building. He might not have built it, he may not have even been born when the first stones were laid. He certainly didn’t decorate it, but still, it was a reflection of him. His seat of power. His manor. What a strange thought. Not long ago he had hardly been welcome in these walls. But today, who could even pass by on the street and not think of the man who the building stood for? The man he had become.

The walk to his rooms had once been tedious once, when he’d first moved in. More like a march to the gallows than a stroll through his own beautiful halls. When he had been the one to handle everything to do with the goings on here.

He found it hard to even remember that now. As he passed through the open walkway that looked out into the interior courtyard, he only saw the majesty of it. There were no other important matters to cloud his mind.

Moonbeams fell on reflective mosaic tiles and shimmered like jewels. The wind carried hints of the sea, the smell of salt, the hum of far off waves, to remind him of its gentle presence. How could he have ignored all of this?

His rooms were well lit with candles and lanterns that gave a pleasant, homely glow. They gently caressed the cuts and troughs left in the walls and some furniture by Jormand’s sword, making them seem like minor things. Unimportant but beautiful in their own way for their variation from the measured whole of the manor.

Galier pulled off his jacket and left it on the back of a chair, covering the scar of pale wood left by that blade. He took a seat to pull off his boots and undo his footwraps which he left on the seat of another chair along with his belt.

After a day spent sweating from sun and exercise, it felt good to let himself go and relax into his chair. No appearance to keep up, no people to impress. His hair, matted from the salty sea air, did not matter here. His no longer perfect makeup would not draw any eyes.

On the table there was a small box he did not recognize. Plain and made of well polished dark wood, it was no larger than his fist. It was the only thing in the room that he had not put there himself. Despite the lack of decoration, it looked well crafted, and Galier had certainly never seen it before.

He gingerly opened it, undoing the small latch and easing the stiff hinges. Inside was a folded piece of parchment tied with a shimmering grey ribbon. He picked it up and pulled the end of the ribbon, letting it fall away.

Before he could unfold it, he heard a soft knock at his door. Who was awake at his hour?

He set the ribbon and parchment back in the box and gently closed the lid, then padded over to the door. The cool stone felt good on his bare feet as did the breeze from the window on his skin. It was an altogether pleasant evening, he couldn’t be too surprised that someone else was up. But who would be knocking on his door?

He pulled open the door and came face to face with Adelphine, dressed down now that night had fallen. Her eyes were wide with something that looked an awful lot like fear and she clutched something tightly in her hands but Galier could not tell what.

She wore a breezy evening dress, the kind she would never be caught in in public. It was still made of silk, but an incredibly thin kind and there was no ornamentation whatsoever. It was a garment more of comfort than anything else.

When Galier opened the door, she took a tiny step back and her eyes flashed somehow wider still. She didn’t even blink.

“Good evening, my lady.” Galier said politely. He hoped she was not here to chastise him or to fight over her dismissal earlier. He really had not meant to offend her at all.

She performed a shaky bow without taking her eyes off of him. “Good evening.” Her voice shook even more than her bow and Galier noticed the conspicuous lack of honorifics. She usually was excellent at maintaining the image of a lady. For her to be anything but meant she must be very angry with him.

Resigned to dealing with the dispute now, despite how much he would have preferred to sleep, Galier stepped aside and invited Adelphine in. He offered a chair and took a seat himself but she chose to remain standing. Not once did she blink and her eyes never left him for a moment.

Even though she wore little more than he, he was incredibly conscious of his state of undress. He didn’t look any better than a common stable boy at the moment, what with his sweat stained clothes and unkempt hair.

For a moment he thought to stand too, but he was the seat of this house. She should be following his lead, not the other way around. So, stubbornly, he kept his seat, trying his best to appear relaxed even though he was already preparing for the verbal spar that was surely about to come and his hands had begun to sweat.

Adelphine just stood there for a while, like she was waiting for something.

In the light of the windows, her dress glowed a phantom white as it fluttered and played in the breeze. The fabric was so thin it seemed like air itself, or coalesced mist that chose to cloak her. The moonlight gave her face an ethereal light too, leaving one side in complete shadow while bathing the other in pale silver. It only drew more of Galier’s attention to that face.

Her lips trembled in something edging on a frown. And though her eyes were wide, they shook too.

“I heard you talking,” She said finally, her voice so soft that it blended into the breeze, “After I left.” She took a rattling breath and visibly tried to compose herself to little effect. “I stayed by the door…”

Galier’s blood ran cold. What had she heard? He couldn’t very well ask, what if he gave more away? But from the way she looked, she already had heard too much.

“Is it true?” She asked weakly, “That you’re going to…” She choked and couldn’t finish the sentence.

What was he supposed to say? Admit that he was plotting against the empire? Lie and risk that she had already heard everything? Adelphine was a vassal and loyal from what he could tell, but she was of the old blood. Tradition was steeped deep within her bones. She would not keep quiet about this.

“Aren’t you going to say anything?”

“It’s true.” He said simply.

After all she had done for him, all her work that allowed him to focus on the plan in the first place, after that, he owed her the truth. Besides which, if she chose to flee, the manor was filled with his guards. She would not get far.

She nodded, swallowing hard. Then, surprisingly, she took a seat, pulling back the chair that Galier’s jacket hung on and dropping into it with a sense of exhaustion. She crumpled just a little but it was a outburst for her.

She rested her hands on the table, opening them to reveal a small knife concealed within. The blade was only as long as the width of her palm and the handle not even long enough to hold in her fist. Had it been sheathed, he would have thought it to be only ornamental, but he could see the iron blade, it was as sharp as any. Sharper. Sharp enough to cut his throat without any difficulty.

She let the knife fall out of her hands onto the table. Along the inside of the fingers on one hand there was a line of small cuts from where she had been holding it. She rubbed her palm with her thumb to calm the tremors that still shook her.

“C-can I ask why?” She was confused, but this Galier could work with. Maybe he could explain it to her, maybe she could understand…

“This city, this empire… It's broken, Adelphine.” Her thin eyebrows came together in confusion, but she didn’t stop him talking.

He borrowed Scythese’s words because he didn’t have any others. He didn’t know why lord Kalagor and lady Elahold wanted what they did, nor why Martim had wanted it. Maybe it was a simple lust for power, maybe something more. All Galier had were the fragile ideals he’d been given. Even as he spoke, he knew that they weren’t enough.

“I see…” Her eyes drifted to Galier’s arm where his sleeve covered the faint scar that marked her oath to him. He could see the conflict within her, having sworn to a traitor. Tradition said that she was completely beholden to her liege lord, but it pulled her in two directions now. Her loyalty to her liege lord warred with her loyalty to the empire.

“I… I cannot allow you to do this, Galier…” He could tell that she was trying to be strong, but she knew as well as he did that she stood no chance. She didn’t make any move towards her knife.

“I know.” Galier replied.

She nodded, but kept her seat. She knew that she would not be allowed to leave, so what else could she do.

“Where do we go from here?” She whispered, looking back up to his eyes. He understood the fear that lay in there now. She was faced with an impossible situation, bound in on all sides by her oaths, loyalties, and heritage as a daughter of the old blood.

“You know that I can’t just let you go…”

She nodded. “I know.”

“So you’ll remain here. I cannot let you go.” She nodded again. “When everything is over… When it's over, you can go. I have broken your oath myself.”

She shook her head, a conflicted look on her face. “No you haven’t.” Clearly she didn’t want to say that, but tradition and honor bound her. It was the core of the old blood. It was what brought her here to begin with and it was not within her power to let it go. “It is I who swore without thinking. I am bound to you, lord Derran, no matter what you do…” Her miserable voice broke and he thought that he could see tears glistening in her eyes.

“Then you will stay here, under guard. I’m sorry Adelphine, truly…” She looked betrayed, and it cut deep. His apologies were cheap to her. More words from a traitor.

Galier had not meant for her to ever know, not until after all was said and done. What happened after? Well, he tried not to think about that either. Maybe she would accept the new world he built. Maybe.

Ever dignified, Adelphine pushed her knife across the table safely out of reach, then primly crossed her legs and folded her hands atop her knees. She would wait patiently to be taken into custody, Galier was certain of that.

He very nearly called the for guards right then and there, to have it over with—looking at her hurt—but… Something was gnawing at him. He had never questioned whether rebellion was the right thing to do. Lord Kalagor and lady Ealhold made sure that he knew there was no other option for him and although Stellaphrena never advocated for it explicitly, she certainly did not extol any merits of the empire. She only spoke of its flaws.

“Adelphine, I…” He began, unsure of where he was going. Did she really know anything he didn’t? Asking her would only complicate things but… He had to know. “Why? Why stay true to the Monarch?”

She did not reply, but stared a challenge at Galier. To her, his question was as silly as asking why she did not breathe water, but Galier would not be dissuaded, not now that he had begun.

“There has to be a reason. He-” Adelphine chose that moment to cut him off.

“And there has to be a reason for you to oppose him!” She spat, “He was given his rule by the Empress herself, do you think you have more right than she to decide who should rule?”

Her words dripped acid all of a sudden, melting through her years of trained propriety. Either she’d hidden it well or only now really understood what Galier was doing. Regardless, her hostility only convinced Galier that there was something to uncover.

“Of course there is!” He shot back, incredulous that she would think he might do something so drastic without reason.

But thinking about it, he couldn’t really put words to his motivation. Was it even his choice? Why did he want to overthrow the ruler he had been content enough to live under up until this point? He didn’t even know the reasons why lord Kalagor and lady Ealhold wanted and they were the only reason he was involved to begin with.

Without that, all Galier had were Stellaphrena’s teachings. Teachings that, while he agreed with them and wanted to follow them, were incomplete. He had only gone to her lectures for a little more than a month, that wasn’t enough to be convinced of insurrection, was it?

Adelphine’s stare pressed him back in his seat. He was keenly aware of the long pause. No matter what he said now, she would know that he was unsure of his own motivations, if she believed him at all.

“It’s complicated…”

“Is it?” She hissed, venom on her tongue. It seemed to anger her even more that he could not give her a reason.

“Yes!” He shouted back, surprised to find himself standing and leaning over the table. “Yes it is! This wasn’t my idea you know, I was caught up in it just like you. Do you think I want to risk my life for someone else’s plot?”

He was shaking, shocked by how much he meant it. He had been roped into all of this without even a chance to decide for himself what he thought was right.

Adelphine was looking at him with a raised eyebrow. An outburst like that was a serious breach of propriety for nobility. He doubted if she would listen to anything he had to say now.

Settling down in his seat again with a shudder at having lost control over himself so easily, he looked back at Adelphine, trying to compose himself.

“But it is right, Adelphine. The Monarch is not a good man. The people here, people not like us, they struggle just to live. Maybe… maybe I was willing to look past that before because it never changed anything for me, but… He tried to kill my friends. He tried to kill them with assassins in the night so no one would ever point the finger. Does that sound like what a ruler should do to you?”

His pleading eyes did not make one chip in her stoic facade. For all that she acknowledged him, he might have been singing, or prattling on like a drunk.

She remained silent. Galier thought he might have seen a flicker of conflict cross her face but if it was ever there, it was gone before he could latch on. She was back to composed disdain in no time.

Galier deflated, slumping onto the table with his head in his hands. He let out a pent up breath. He had hoped she might at least understand, if not agree. But it did not even matter to her. The Monarch was the Monarch and that was that. She would never question him.

Galier stood and picked up her knife.

“You swore to me once…” He mused, turning the ornamented weapon in his fingers.

“I did.”

A wry grin twisted his lips as he examined the knife. The very knife that he had used on that night when she had sworn to him. The small scar on his right forearm tingled thinking about it. She had been right, it had healed very quickly.

“I am sorry to make you regret it.” He said, walking towards the door. He heaved it open and stepped through but before he could close it behind, he heard her voice, small and soft now.

“I do not regret it.”

He closed the door without saying another word and started down the hallway in search of guards, still holding her knife.