“It is not the strongest beast which triumphs,” Matthaeus started, the words low and his eyes shining with melancholy. Our group had no leader, but with how he stood — framed by everyone sitting or standing in a half-circle — it would only be natural to assume that was the role he occupied. “But the one whose wit is keenest.”

The Matthaeus I’d first met had been happy and rowdy, always ready for battle and the type of person I would have judged for being randy had I not known him. But through our journey he’d change: first when forced to fight and capture his cousin, and his disposition becoming worse still after his meeting with Rowan.

Now it was the worst I’d ever seen.

I idly wondered if this was the Matthaeus of Malnor castle. A man whose strong shoulders seemed to be buckling under an invisible weight, whose deft hands had trouble finding stillness, and whose gaze was more likely to be elsewhere than with the people around him.

If that had been his disposition, then how had the people in Malnor castle missed it?

My stomach turned as I thought back to being there, the feeling of being alone even when surrounded by others, where people had been too focused on their own wants than mine.

Except Surefoot, I thought. He asked how I was, and those simple words meant more than the Urocy will ever know.

With that in mind, I could see how his disposition would be missed, and I felt equally guilty that I hadn’t offered Matthaeus the same shoulder that had been offered to me.

“You have to admit, friend,” said Surya, his voice cool and holding a subtle hint of concern, “that even the cleverest of beasts would fail with the odds that are set before us, especially when you insist on taking the hardest path.”

The Falconer sat with his legs crossed and his spear on his lap, a clothe in his hand that he used to polish the weapon; sitting around Surya were different spearheads with spatial gems on their underside.

“And not explain why,” Hatim said, his brow furrowed. He sat on a reed carpet, seemingly at ease with his legs stretched and one arm settled on his knee; but his body was rigid and his eyes were clouded with suspicion.

Luther — standing beside Hatim — shifted, looking as if he wanted to say something but catching himself. He chose instead to shove his hands in his pockets, with the feeling of discomfort not leave his expression.

A hint of betrayal flicked through me as my eyes met his, which quickly morphed to a crushing dread as I looked at each of my friends, knowing that they were a day closer to leaving.

Do you ever think this is how Odysseus, Allyceus and the others felt? I thought, and the notion was so discomforting I instinctively shoved it aside, putting it in the well-worn box that had meant I hadn’t thought about the princes since the last letter Odysseus had sent.

I took comfort in Ji-ho to my right. She sat with one arm thrown over my shoulder, her head against shoulders I’d been told were bony. Ji-ho exuded an air of laziness, as if all of this didn’t matter to her.

If she’s not emotionally invested in the lives of these people then it’ll be all the easier for her to leave, a part of me thought. I took a deep breath, earning a sidelong glance, but as I let it out she returned to looking at the others.

Where Ji-ho sat to my right, Clyde stood to my left, the man’s shoulders taut and his body sometimes shifting as if he wanted nothing but to be away from here. I’d looped him in like I’d said I would, but I worried — going by his body language — that he would be like Luther and not voice disagreement.

Already this quorum was starting to feel more like a decision between friends than a discussion on how to safely buy the settlement’s freedom.

I made a mental note to direct his focus my way.

Matthaeus’ eyes lingered on Hatim for a long moment before they flicked over to Clyde, then to me and finally back to the man. Under the direct gaze of a much larger Matthaeus, Clyde shrunk, unable to stop from stepping back and ceding ground.

I’d wanted him as an active participant in our discussion, but if he wasn’t able to do so here, in a low stress environment, then Matthaeus or I would have to lead things — and I was reluctant to do so. As much as I had driven us to this point, I wasn’t a leader like Matthaeus or Clyde, and I didn’t want to be one; but it felt like I might have to be when I couldn’t be sure Matthaeus wouldn’t choose the best interests of his cousins over the people of this settlement, and Clyde might capitulate because he’d been taught to do so against the nobility.

“Clyde,” said Matthaeus. “The Champion called you to join us…” It was as if he knew I was about to say something because he stopped and turned my way, his brow rising in an unspoken question.

“Um…” I started and then leaned on the ring to gather my thoughts. “Point…of order, I guess. I mean, literally I called Clyde here, but…that makes it feel like he’s only here because of me. That’s not it. Clyde, you’re here because you, more than any of us, deserves to be here. These are your people and you might be their only true advocate.”

“You give yourself too little credit,” Ji-ho said. “I think the same is true for you too.”

“Maybe in some ways,” I said. “But Clyde knows that that’s not a hundred percent the truth, don’t you?” The man shifted uncomfortably, and I felt terrible for putting him on the spot. He was out of his element and alone, not an environment conducive for a person to speak their mind, it might be a good idea that he had someone he trusted along with him. “Sorry for interrupting you,” I said to Matthaeus.

The man hummed. “Clyde,” he said, causing the other man to jump. “This is a secret that I do not put too much effort in hiding, yet it is still a secret that should be kept. You are a part of talks that will decide the nature of the negotiations and it is therefore important that you have a full breadth of knowledge. You may confirm this with the Champion if you so please, but these words are true. I am not Marcus as you have heard my friends call me, but Prince Matthaeus Mandaron, once Crowned Prince of Althor.”

There was a moment where everything stopped, as if Clyde had not understood the words. Then his mouth opened and closed while his eyes grew wide, he turned to each of us, as if in search of some form of negation, and when he found none he fell, landing on his knees in a bow so deep it meant his forehead touched the ground.

“Forgiveness, Your Majesty,” he said, the words hurried and filled with fear.

You’re using the wrong titles, I thought sardonically, my eyes settled in a scowl at the bowed man.

Clyde had known Matthaeus for a long time — under a different name but he’d still known the man; he’d treated him with mistrust, likely thinking he was of the same ilk of mercenaries who had stolen supplies from his people, but now — at a word — everything had changed and he spoke with reverence.

“We—we should have known and offered you more comfort. You honoured us, with your help and your gifts, and we—”

“Clyde,” Matthaeus said, his voice low but edged with the timbre I’d heard from King Orpheus and Odysseus. The man on the ground stopped. “Look up.” Slowly, he did, but he made sure not to look the prince in the eyes. “Stand. Remember, that my being prince is a secret, what matters most is the path before us.”

And the fact that I don’t think Clyde will be able to speak against you, I thought with a sinking sensation.

Cybill, Luther and now Clyde. People who had reason to buck against the hierarchies as set by the nobility, but who all the same followed them. As much as it wasn’t my place to decide how this place was run, it still felt important that people see that their problems started with the governance structure they had, where they were at the whims of ‘greater’ people who saw them only as tools.

Maybe this is the frustration that Rowan feels, I thought, and he shortcuts to thinking them as barbarians instead of knowing they were a product of their environment.

But his own actions weren’t right. He didn’t want to free these people from the way they thought, instead he sought to put himself at the head because he believed he knew better — and I couldn’t be sure that was completely true. I had different experiences to him and maybe I could come at things from a different direction.

The most potent weapon in the hands of the oppressor is the minds of the oppressed, I thought, a quote by Steve Biko, a revolutionary from my own province. Just as it had been true in South Africa, I could see it here. If I wanted to liberate these people, then it would have to be through ideas, hoping that the change was internal and could be propagated forward.

No easy task, but then these things never were.

“As I was telling the others,” Matthaeus continued. “My plan for the freedom of your people involves a meeting with my siblings. If they were to broker the deal, then all of Althor would be bound by their word.”

“Of course, Your Majesty,” said Clyde and I had to keep myself from being angry, “and what a smart plan it is. If you think it so, then it is so.”

“There are holes,” I stepped in, feeling the urge to be the voice of the people. “Like the fact that it’d be so much more dangerous talking to members of the royal family — that’s if they’ll even agree.”

“They’ll agree,” said Matthaeus, more to Clyde than me. “Matters in Althor have been tenuous for a very long time, or they would not have summoned the Champion to bolster Father’s position. The Champion has been lost and now looks to be working against my family, whatever goodwill Father had earned is now lost, he might be in a worse position than before your summoning, Khaya, which he sought to alleviate by the proposed union between Ally and Owain the Younger.”

Your fault, my thoughts whispered and a frown appeared on my face, the feelings of guilt threatening to shatter their box and overwhelm me.

“The family will need to secure relationships, but…Father is a hard man, he finds it hard to capitulate even if it would serve him well. He will not take any action to debase himself, but Odysseus was raised by Mother, he knows subtlety and he knows politics. If we were to send a letter to him, even if he is fuelled by the furies of anger, he will accept.”

“You want us to talk to Odysseus?” I said and my voice caught.

Why am I confused when this seemed like the direction things would go from the start? I asked.

The box broke and I felt a well of emotion that had been put away resurge.

Actions, even correct ones, still had consequences. I didn’t regret leaving — as much as I’d come to like Odysseus and Allyceus, staying in the castle hadn’t been an option; but the mess of my departure still weighed on my conscience.

The memory of our last conversation played through my head. One word — why — followed by words meant to hurt me. I’d shot back and some part of it had been cathartic, but I worried that I wouldn’t have the same courage if they were in front of me, especially since I knew exactly what he was feeling as it looked like I would be without friends once more.

Matthaeus, too lost in thought to catch my shifting mood, nodded. “Anyone else and they would be too crafty,” he said. “Father, as I said, does not capitulate; in any discussion he would be a wall that we would either fail to move, or have to smash through which might have adverse consequences. Mother is subtle, but deceptive; she would stretch the process most likely, all the while finding some other way to free Corneleus or end us as she sees fit. My siblings are simpler, they are both naive and eager, and they seek father’s approval without losing themselves in his gravity.”

I get the feeling that that’s not how your dad works, I thought, my mind easily recalling how the relationship between Orpheus and Odysseus was strained because the latter was a scholar, not a warrior. The same had happened with Matthaeus in a respect, King Orpheus had tried so much to turn his son into the person he wanted, that Matthaeus had broken under the weight of his expectation.

Did that extend out to how he ruled the kingdom? A part of me wished I had paid more attention.

“If things are posed well, then we can predict how they will react,” Matthaeus finished.

“But will things go well?” Ji-ho asked and I was grateful for the question. I felt rattled by the reminder of Odysseus and the possibility that I might be seeing him in person, that I might have to talk to him, explain myself when I knew he would be too emotional to listen.

“As I said, we need only to be keen in wit and things will go well,” he said.

“Then explain your plan to us,” said Surya. “Perhaps you might yet change those minds which remain unmoved by your argument.”

“Letters,” Matthaeus started. “One will be sent to Odysseus, telling him to meet us to discuss the terms for Corneleus’ freedom, but in the background we will manoeuvre to force him toward a limited set of actions. We will send two other letters, one to Baron Tiffaneus — Corneleus’ father — telling him of the actions we have taken, and the other will be sent to Lord Bowers, with a similar idea in mind.”

Power is a fragile thing and the greatest lie is that the person at the top holds all the power. King Orpheus needed the other Dukes and Barons on his side, and even though there were grievances between the Mandaron and Marlin Houses, politically those disputes had to be put aside if he wanted to remain in power. Odysseus and Allyceus were already aware of this, and by losing me they’d already messed things up badly, this would counter that — however small that fix might be.

But… “It took a lot of schmoozing for us to get out in the castle when it came to my escape,” I said. “What makes you think that Odysseus and Allyceus will be able to leave the castle now?”

“Odysseus isn’t in Malnor Castle,” said Matthaeus. “He is in the Low Mountains likely attempting to kindle a relationship that will secure the alliance between the people of the Pastures and my family.”

The Earls of the Pastures kept themselves isolated from the rest of Althor and their titles were a part of that. I’d met all three of them, though the only one I remembered with any detail was a guy in a hovering wheelchair. They had been important enough that they had been invited to meet me.

Odysseus, like Allyceus, is caught in the prison of marriage because of you, came the thought. I leaned on the ring and gathered the feelings into a delicate ball and foisted them down, down, down. The act left me a little jittery, afraid when I’d worked so hard to get over my fears. I began to list all of my victories in my head, anchoring myself by reminding myself of my successes.

Ji-ho noticed and raised a brow. I shook my head. She leaned against my side again, her hair close to my face, the smell of lavender rising from it. I hadn’t asked it of her. Ji-ho had found a seat beside me at the beginning of the meeting and then leaned against me. Now, when I felt a little jittery at the thought of a talk with the Mandaron brothers, I couldn’t help but draw comfort from the physical contact.

Feeling a sense of trepidation, I leaned my head against hers and when she didn’t move, the tension over my body eased.

“Father’s fears for my siblings are waning against the greater desperation of his position,” Matthaeus continued. “Odysseus is in the Low Mountains and Allyceus travelled with Father to the Elemental Line. I think, with sufficient pressure and a great lessening of the apparent risk, Father might be compelled to allow Odysseus and Allyceus to head these negotiations.

“The pressure are the letters which will be sent to the Bowers and the Marlin branch,” he said, “and the lessening of risk will be the word we will send to the Urocy of the Briarpatch Dens. They are stalwart in keeping to the truth and if they agree to serve as neutral ground, protecting both parties from assault from the other, there are very few in the Commonality who would doubt their word and commitment.”

“You want me to go back to Althor?” I said, with a start. Going back to see Odysseus was one thing, but going back to their grasp? “I spent a fuck-ton of time planning my escape and you want me to go back?”

“You will be safe,” said Matthaeus. “I will be in your company, as well as two others.”

“Only two?” Ji-ho said, but I was already talking over her.

“We could be ambushed or it could be a trap. There’s a fucking lot that could go wrong.”

“Which is why the word and esteem of the Urocy matters most,” said Matthaeus.

“I know the Urocy don’t lie, but what if your father forces them to?” I asked.

“He would not,” Matthaeus said, his confidence lost on me. “If he did, he would be losing the alliances not only of the Briarpatch Dens, but those of Elmwood as well. He would be making a declaration, that he does not care of the ways of the Urocy, and all the dens of this world would be less likely to deal with him.”

It made sense politically, but that also didn’t fill me with the confidence that Matthaeus seemed to have.

“Aside from the danger,” said Hatim, interrupting thoughts that were too heated to settle on any one thing. “Everything you’ve said is convoluted, Marcus. You realise that, don’t you? You’re being forced to go through all these loops and I still cannot see why you would be going through all this trouble.”

“Because there is something we’re missing,” said Ji-ho.

“Rowan,” I said and Luther perked up, his eyes shining with new light. I kept myself from frowning as my eyes stopped on him. As much as I didn’t like that he was leaving, he was making the decisions that served him best — what we were all doing.

Ji-ho nodded. “Khaya shared his conversation with the Champion of Yesteryear,” she said, “but you were silent. You have been different ever since, surrounded by a dark gloom. Even your obsession with freeing your cousin dimmed compared to what was going through your mind.”

Matthaeus stayed silent.

“We cannot understand what we do not know,” said Surya gently. “What did you and the Old Champion discuss?”

“A horse may be led to water,” said Matthaeus, “but it cannot be forced to drink. Rowan told me that. He told me that the idea I had for my family is one they might never accept, and I had to be cognizant of that fact. He told me to speak to them, to explain myself and then decide if this is the course of action I truly want to take.”

“So this is about your family,” Hatim said, frustrated, “at the expense of the people Khaya wants to protect?”

“Not at their expense,” said Matthaeus.

Hatim let out an irritated breath and shook his head. “You still think like a noble — a king — when better ideas of what leaders could be, stand before you, Marcus. Clyde who needed the say-so of his people before making the decision that led us here today, and Khaya whose work needs no words. Why didn’t you tell us this was what you wanted? Why did you pose this plan as if it was the smartest option?”

“Because you might have refused,” he returned, his tone edged with guilt. Matthaeus sighed. “I do not know their scope, but Rowan speaks as though it would be trivial to destroy my family. I believe him. Mother cut the number of the Grand Mages in half and some part of me fears that it was all according to Rowan’s machinations, he is likely to have spies in the Spatial Order and who knows the amount of damage he could wreak. I want to save my sibling from that fate.”

“Are we so callous a people that you thought we would not be moved by this?” Surya asked.

“All of you have your reasons to despise the establishment,” he said. “It was too great a risk to leave it to the whims of chance.”

“We probably didn’t help matters when we wanted to kill your cousin, did we?” Ji-ho asked, a hint of humour in her voice.

“No,” said Matthaeus. “Though I understand that circumstances are different.” The man braced. “So what say you? Knowing everything? Will you give me this, even with the risk involved?”

“I still think all of this is convoluted and bound to fail,” Hatim muttered. “But I know the lengths one goes to protect their kin. I couldn’t keep you from doing the same.”

“You followed me on my crusade,” said Surya. “I’ll follow you on yours.”

“Likewise,” said Ji-ho.

Matthaeus looked at Luther. The mage jumped and he swallowed. “I…I don’t think I have any right to add anything here,” he said.

I shook my head. “Don’t diminish your voice, Luther,” I said.

“Apologies, Champion, but it’s not that,” he said. Luther looked down. “I…can’t speak because…and I know we were to wait, but…I have been thinking about it, and I think I should leave.” Even knowing that this was coming, my stomach still fell. “I wanted to work under Rowan and now more than ever I want to learn from him. I know it is undeserved, but…since you’ve been talking I have been thinking about how dangerous this all is and how…well…”

“There’s the chance we might die,” said Ji-ho matter-of-factly.

Luther swallowed and nodded. “I am so very close to what I’ve been working for since I left the spatial school,” he said. “Rowan’s daughter is near and if I were to meet her, then I might work for him — that’s an opportunity I don’t want to miss.” He turned to me and flinched. I schooled my expression. “Champion,” he said, “it might be asking too much—”

“I know what you’re going to say,” I said stiffly. “I’ll send Quinn a message. Maybe she’ll agree to meet you at the Town of the Weeping Wench.”

“Thank you,” he said with a bow, then he shuffled, looking around as if he wanted to leave. Luther eventually settled with his arms crossed and his eyes down, not looking at anyone in particular.

“What of you, Champion?” Matthaeus asked.

“Clyde?” I said. He turned to me and then his eyes went back to Matthaeus. “Forget about him, forget about me, forget about everything else. What do you want to do? You can say screw everyone and look after your own if that’s what you want.”

You’ve already done it before, I thought and going by his expression I had the eerie sense that he knew what I was thinking. Clyde bowed under some force I couldn’t see.

“You are still our prince, Your Majesty,” said Clyde. “I cannot refuse.”

I barely restrained my sigh.

Everyone had now turned to me.

“I don’t want your siblings to be hurt,” I started, but I also don’t want to be a prisoner again, and I honestly don’t want to see them again. As unhealthy as it was not to deal with my feelings, it had been easier to focus on something else, good even because of the impact I was serving.

“That I know, Champion,” said Matthaeus. “All the same I am interested in what you have to say.”

“I don’t think they’ll agree,” I said, and I couldn’t be sure if that was something I truly believed or if it was because I didn’t want to go back. “Odysseus and Allyceus want power. One wants to be king and the other wants influence. I can’t imagine them accepting a bargain where they have nothing.”

“I have to try,” said Matthaeus. “If I did not, I would spend my entire life in a state of regret.”

Closure, I thought. After I’d met Matthaeus I’d been angry at him for leaving his brothers and sister, and I’d asked him to send a letter to Odysseus and Allyceus — which had been the last time that the messenger box had been used. My last words to Odysseus had been fuelled by anger and spite — a riposte to his own harsh words — but I’d left the same way that Matthaeus had, after a lot of work put into making him regard me as a friend.

Talking to them, even if it might be harsh, would be good, for them and for me. I could use that as an opportunity to move past everything and focus on the future.

“I’ll need assurances,” I said, “that I won’t be caught again, that I’ll be able to leave and get back here.”

“We have time,” said Matthaeus. “We can plan until you are satisfied.”

“Okay,” I said, still feeling jittery, as if I were seconds away from panic. “Let’s do it.”