Today was the day. He'd arranged everything, sent the court mage on a wild goose chase, made time to escape. Eirik pulled the hood up and carefully slipped out of the castle, out of the ever increasing magical barriers and alarms that prevented Matius from scrying him. He made his way to the abandoned house in the city and, feverously glancing around that he wasn't followed, slipped inside. He sat on the dusty floor and waited, praying.

Only once a year they spoke now. As the war between Aziron and Valhym raged on, security against magic had risen exponentially. Yet still, the mage Matius as the conduit, Eirik was able to speak to his daughter—the one bright spot of hope in his world's dimming light.

He wished he could see her but even her voice gave him life. As the years passed, that voice had grown older and more confident. She was happy and healthy—and that was all that mattered.

"Glad you could make it, Your Majesty," Matius's cheerful voice blew past his ears. "I won't take up any more time."

"Father!"

Eirik smiled at his daughter's voice.

"Fiona, how are you?"

"Very well. Fenrin sends his greetings. How are you? Are you eating? Sleeping?"

"I told you last year not to worry about me. I'm fine."

Her voice was accusatory. "You look pale and you have dark circles still. You promised me you'd take better care of yourself."

Apologizing again, he asked her about her friends, her interests, all about her life in the valley. Each story healed his broken heart a bit more. She really was happy. They talked for hours until the exhausted Matius begged them to say their goodbyes, his magic at its limit.

Eirik slipped back into the castle laying in bed awake until the dawn light crept through the window. Mechanically, he rose to attend his duties with his regular efficiency. All was normal until a messenger burst through the doors.

"Your Highness!"

The man bowed low and the steward took the message, handing it to Eirik whose heart raced as he recognized his wife's writing. He scanned the contents, face growing pale. Finally, he took a deep breath and plastered on a smile.

"Good news! The Queen of Aziron is dead! Our Empress is returning to gather a force to at last finish the treacherous mages!"

There was a cheer in the court and Eirik handed the letter to the general. The steward bustled off to prepare for the monarch's return and Eirik slipped away to his office. He sat down with a sigh but a pair of arms wrapped around his throat and he stiffened.

"Nicely put, dear husband." Lyra laughed and came around, sliding onto his desk, enjoying his panicked face.

She had not been seen in the castle for two years but was largely unchanged. War seemed to suit her and despite reaching forty, she still looked and was as deadly as a decade before. Eirik, however, had not aged as kindly, his brown hair half greyed already and his body gaunt.

He gathered himself. "Dare I ask how you did it? Eight years of war, of not being able to so much as cross the border and suddenly the queen and her unborn child die mysteriously."

"It's quite perfect, isn't it? I played a better long game is all and now I finish it." She sighed a fake sigh. "It is a shame I couldn't put a dagger in her myself, especially after playing with her so long. But there's always the Arch Mage. That old fool has been in my way long enough."

"When Aziron is taken, will you be satisfied?"

Lyra laughed. "How tired you sound! It will take a while for the Azir to see their place and I will enjoy the fruits of all my hard work, but even if I have won the game, I'd like to clear the pieces."

She ran a finger over the map on his desk, tapping on Mara, the mysterious tip of En. The only place besides Aziron that even the old Solis empire had never conquered. Mara had no interactions with other nations and was shrouded with mystery.

"But don't worry, dear, that won't be for a while and there are other loose ends that need tying. I, for one, think it's high time that daughter of ours came home. She's old enough now to take some responsibility."

Eirik stood up. His mouth forming an objection but with a look from Lyra it shriveled up and died. Her eyes narrowed.

"Now, now, you surprise me. I would have thought you'd be overjoyed to hear I'd be bringing her out of that dismal valley."

Like the tiger she was named for, Lyra stalked forward, Eirik backing up until his back hit the wall. Her piercing green eyes dissected him, reading him like a familiar book.

"What aren't you telling me, Eirik?" she asked, her voice as dangerous as a bear trap. Eirik tried to stay calm, tried to banish the thoughts of the conversation he'd had not twelve hours ago.

She reached up and took his chin. "Have I been gone so long, you've forgotten your place?"

King Eirik did his best to meet her eyes. "No, I haven't forgotten."

His voice was beaten but she hissed, a knee knocking his breath out and he fell doubled over. She kicked him onto his back and straddled him, kneeling, one knee on his chest.

"What are you hiding?"

He coughed, "Nothing."

"You know you're a terrible liar."

One of her thin daggers appeared and plunged itself into his upper arm. He bit his lip muffling his cry. Blood dripped out of his mouth.

"Tell me or I'll have to tell our daughter her father is dead. I was planning to bring her back here, you know. Have you train her to run the empire, but apparently I can't trust you."

Eirik fought the pain to get a clear thought. He'd never be able to convince Lyra to leave Fiona in the valley, she'd be better back here with him. Maybe he could…

Lyra twisted the dagger and he writhed under her in pain. He couldn't die, Fiona might need him, Fiona might...

"I-I spoke with her," he said, his voice gurgling. Lyra ripped the dagger out and wiped it on his sleeve. He turned and spat blood onto the floor. "A mage in the valley, a few times he let us speak."

Lyra pondered the dagger. "How many times?"

"Once or twice a year since she left."

"What's the mage's name?"

Eirik hesitated for a millisecond before quickly saying, "Matius. I don't know anything else about him, we didn't talk much. It was usually just Fiona and I. We never spoke of anything important, just about her and how she was doing."

Lyra got off him, spinning his chair around to sit on as he dragged himself over to lean against the wall, clutching his bleeding arm. She gestured with the dagger for him to continue, her face dangerously passive.

"I know she's well. She knows how to use a sword and completed her studies but that's all, I swear." He gasped the words out, already regretting his betrayal.

"I thought you were holding up surprisingly well.” Lyra tutted. “I chalked it up to me underestimating your endurance. It was that mage I was underestimating—you are exactly as pathetic as I believed." She got up and knelt in front of him again.

"I didn't..." He breathed heavily. "She sounded happy. I didn't want you to take that away."

"Aww," Lyra mocked, "such concern. Clearly I've left this matter too long and my brother was more capable than I thought. No matter. The girl will still be useful. I can still trust you to teach her how to do her job though, isn't that right?"

The question was laced with so many threats, Eirik felt he was striking a deal with a demon. Something he often felt with Lyra. She was an unstoppable force and if she wanted Fiona, she would have her. All he could do was continue with damage control like he had for the last two decades of their marriage.

"Of course," he said, praying she'd give him the chance.

She patted his cheek. "That's more like it. Now this surprise visit has taken a turn...let's go with the usual assassination attempt, shall we? It'll help explain things."

He nodded grimly, a common story to explain away her abuse. The dagger flitted back into view and Lyra’s voice took a dangerous lilt, "However, there's still a question of your punishment. After all you wriggled so neatly out of the last one. I said you were not to see our daughter, so let's make sure you listen this time."

Lyra lashed out and her knife cut into Eirik’s face and he screamed.

He clutched his bloodied eyes and rolled on the ground. There was the pounding of feet as guards arrived. Someone held his shoulders.

"Your Highness, what happened?"

He grit his teeth, his bloodied and useless eyes downcast. "Assassin. They're gone now."