“Cybill, I entrust you with a great duty: the Champion has escaped and I need someone to journey out into the Commonality, find him and return him to Malnor Castle. Do you accept?”

The memory had now turned into a dream and as was the way of sleep, everything was exaggerated: Cybill and Allyceus stood in a great garden, with glowing ribbons stretching from the branches of the trees which towered above them and thinner lines with white-petalled flowers trailing down. Ally was a stately figure, adorned in armour with a long cape draping down from his shoulders, and a heavy crown sitting atop his head.

Ally’s face was like stone, hard and unmoving.

Cybill wanted to offer her paramour comfort, to give him a reprieve from the weight being the future king of Althor set on his shoulders, but some part of her realised that this was only a dream.

I want to wake up, Cybill thought as she felt a coil of darkness wrap around her heart and squeeze it. The pain might have been from a wound for how vivid it felt.

I want to wake up, she thought with more insistence and that was enough.

Cybill’s heart was pounding as she jolted awake. For a long moment she laid back, focusing on how lumpy the mattress was as a distraction from her thoughts. She had grown up sleeping in a much worse bed, but a few years spent in the castle had already gotten worn away the calluses of a lifetime.

At least this is better than another night beside a fire, she thought, which only made her long for Ally, Freda, Ellora and Jaslynn. Cybill had not been a friend to Odysseus, but in the months that had passed since she had left the castle, she had begun to miss his presence too.

“You are awake earlier than usual,” said Sir Anthony Thorndyke, sitting in the bed opposite Cybill’s own. The young knight wore no armour, but everything of his expression spoke of one who expected danger; his sword leaned against his bed, at a distance where he could easily grab it.

Cybill hummed, rubbing away the remnants of sleep.

It should not have taken three months to reach Susserton, especially when rumours had reached them that the Champion Jordan had chosen to settle in one of the southern lands; but Cybill had stalled their progress, always feeling her stomach flip and flutter whenever she thought about the duty Ally had put before her.

The feeling was still there and between the dream and the fact that they were only three villages away from the Champion’s home, Cybill felt moments from drowning.

“Did you sleep?” she asked as her arm flung out, catching a pitcher with the last dregs of mead from the night before. She swallowed it all in one gulp, feeling sweet relief as her thoughts and emotions began to lose some of their weight. The woman moved to her feet and went to the shuttered windows, opening them to let in the cool air.

“Some,” Anthony said. Cybill glanced back, seeing the bags under his eyes. It wasn’t worth commenting. “Travellers arrived and I talked to them,” he explained. “The Champion has returned to the village accompanying a mage who is the son of one of the small chiefs of Susserton.”

Cybill turned her gaze back out the window, taking in the sight of a village whose name she hadn’t thought to commit to memory. The buildings were different from those of her own, prone to being crafted from wood instead of the stone and brick of her own; further afield, in the edges of civilisation, were longer houses peaking beyond hills.

She did not like thinking about the Champion because he, like Ally, was a figure that filled her with a complicated mix of emotions. Cybill still remembered a conversation between the two of them — one of the few times they had been alone — the Champion’s words had been pointed, in an instant washing away all of Cybill’s delusions and forcing her to consider things that even Ally might have thought treasonous.

Cybill felt, once more, as if she were close to drowning. Her hands gripped the windowsill and she leaned out, drinking in the morning air.

“You told me we were waiting for him to return,” Anthony said, wrenching her mind back.

“I did say that, didn’t I?” Cybill muttered.

“Princess Allycea entrusted this task to us,” he started, but the words were unheard as Cybill was overcome with frustration directed at everyone and no one.

She had known that this was the final destination, that eventually she would have to meet the Champion and return him to Malnor Castle, but…she had hoped for more time. Cybill cursed herself for not dragging her feet more, but Anthony had taken to being insistent of late and she had wanted to give him something to shut him up.

You could leave him and go at it alone, Cybill thought, but the thought made no sense. She had promised Ally that she would capture the Champion. Why, then, was she hesitating?

“Fine,” Cybill said, though the word trembled. She swallowed and dressed, with each piece that she put on feeling stronger.

The Champion was the cause of all their troubles, Cybill told herself. Had the man not run, Ally would not have been so quickly engaged to Owain the Younger and all the shit with the Urocy would not have happened either. There had been a plan in motion, one that would have seen Allyceus as king of the Althor, but through trickery and deceit, the Champion had destroyed everything.

Anger found Cybill and eagerly grabbed at it, fanning the flames to turn them into a blaze. This emotion was familiar to her and it wasn’t as crippling as doubt and apprehension could be. She felt an extreme urge to act and capturing the Champion was something at the forefront of her mind.

“Breakfast before we travel,” Cybill said, the words hard. “If we are quick, we shall reach them by evening fall and we can capture the Champion in the night.”

Downstairs Cybill and Anthony found a table, settling into a silence that had become the norm. They were paid no mind, with everyone too focused on their own conversations. The pair listened.

“I’m telling you,” a man said, his voice loud and boisterous. He wore silken clothes and his fingers were weighed down by rings of gold and silver. The man spoke to another man dressed similarly, with a mix of men and women with the look of mercenaries sitting around them. Cybill was sure that the pair were no lords or chiefs, which likely meant that they were merchants of some kind. “There’s profit to be made if we move quickly.”

“The ways of money move slowly,” the man’s friend said, his words slow as if he thought through each individual one as he was speaking. He was thinner than his companion, with hawkish features. “It’s only a matter of time before the Althorean King regains control over his kingdom.”

The boisterous man laughed, taking a drink of wine. “You think him too competent, friend,” he said. Anthony reacted, hand going to his side as his body started to stand. Cybill’s eyes opened wide, stalling the boy from doing something stupid. The mercenaries had noticed, their bodies primed to move though they hadn’t yet reached their weapons.

The merchants, however, were too enraptured by their conversation. “One does not simply break their word where the Urocy are involved and expect them to forget,” the boisterous man continued. “Why, my master had a foreign friend, Angelo, he came from beyond the seas and knew nothing of the Urocy. He lied in his dealings with them and those crafty foxes kept well enough track of him that none of his apprentices could deal with the Urocy throughout the Commonality.”

“But that was a lowly merchant,” said the hawkish merchant. “Can they do the same for a king?”

“If the rumours are correct, then yes,” said the man with a boisterous voice. “The Urocy of the Briarpatch Dens have disappeared into their caves, breaking all relations with those who still ally with King Orpheus. The Black Pastures were set to have dealings with them — their mines are running dry you see — but all those have now ceased with Prince Odysseus engaged to Lady Margaret.”

“Only a drop in the ocean,” the hawkish merchant said. “It means nothing.”

“Yes, but,” the man said, and this time he went into a whisper. “Well…I have it on good authority that it is only a matter of time before the Urocy of the Elmwood Dens close their doors as well.”

Cybill’s eyes opened wide.

Althor was known the Commonality over for its spatial network, but the power of the temporal mages was as important. It was their power that ensure crops could be grown quickly, feeding cities as large as Altheer or the Twin Cities of Harrengrove; it was their technician who built and maintained the storerooms, where food could be frozen for years if needed; and, most important to the nobility, it was the work of temporal mages that meant they could be stalled when they were grievously injured, giving them ample time to reach healers.

If the Urocy of the Elmwood Dens closed their doors…

“The Althorean King cannot accept that,” the man with the quiet voice whispered. “There would be war for the temporal mines.”

“Which is why I predict profit,” the man with the boisterous voice said. “Their crop production will be low. We will have to speak to our own mages, ensure that they increase our yields so we can send them to the villages at the border of Susserton.”

The slow-voiced man nodded sedately, mulling over the new information before he said, “Do you think Champion Rowan has anything to do with this?”

“I would be surprised if he wasn’t,” the first man said. “Does this not all seem like a grand conspiracy for Althor’s fall much like that of Washerton.”

“Washerton did not fall,” the slow-voiced man said. “The influence of the old families has been usurped, merchants have a stronger hold and even commoners have risen in strength.”

The first man laughed. “That might be true, but I don’t think the old families would agree with your assessment,” he said. “At any rate, if you look carefully, then you see the invisible hand that works in the shadow. First the grand mages committing treason, the escape of the Dark Champion, and now these events. It has to be him.”

“I once knew a man who worked for a time under the Champion Rowan,” a woman’s voice joined them, low and sultry, as sharp as a fine blade. Cybill, who had kept her head down for the most part, focusing on her porridge, looked up to see a fine figure; sharp figured, her skin as dark as those of the Sky Cities were won’t to be, and her hair trailing down to her shoulders.

Beautiful, Cybill thought as she met the woman’s eyes. Then she looked away, her heart twisting as she was overwhelmed with the feeling that she might be betraying Ally.

The woman smiled, devoting a sliver of her attention to the merchants who waited on her word, the rest of her attention on Cybill whose eyes had returned to her.

“Champion Rowan had a favoured tactic, delivered as a tale of his schooling days. For a lark, he would say, if you seek to disrupt the festivities you send pigs into the proceedings. Only two shall be sent, but on each you will write — so big it cannot be missed — the numbers one and three. The first pig will be found and certainly the ‘third’. But a long amount of time will be wasted trying to find a second pig which does not exist.”

“An ingenious tactic,” the man with the boisterous voice said. “But…it certainly cannot be true, could it? Champion Rowan has proven he has the wit to topple an empire.”

The woman hummed and shrugged. “Believe what you will, but I would be cautious,” she said.

The conversation of the merchants turned away from anything Cybill found interesting, which meant their time at the inn was at an end. She and Anthony left not long after, both ahorse, travelling at a sedate speed through the wilds of the southern edges of Susserton, at every step getting closer to their quarry.

Late afternoon found the pair resting beside a thin river, letting their horses drink while they rested. Neither of them spoke, months they had travelled together, but in that time the bonds of friendship had not been given room to grow. It meant that when the words, “Rollo, come!” were shouted in the air, both were primed to hear them.

With the instinct of warriors both were immediately on their feet, their weapons in their grips as they ran forward, keeping between the trees as they went to find their quarry. Anthony led the way, the young knight had been trained by a huntmaster and with the air gem he kept on his person, he could sense shifts in the wind, giving him insight of where people were.

Five, Anthony motioned. For a second Cybill thought that to stop them. The discomfort in her stomach grew with every step, something she still could not understand.

Closer now, a laugh cut into the air. Cybill allowed herself to truly listen and she was surprised by how young the voices were. Closer still and finally she could see them.

Five people, but they were children of ten or eleven, playing.

One was the Champion, carrying a pistol that had been carved from wood and at his wrist a bracelet made from yarn; there was another who wore a crudely made crown to show horns, and he was the goat; two children carried long sticks; and the last carried something that might have looked like a hammer.

“Boom!” the child with the hammer said as they hit the ground. Three of the four children stumbled while another jumped, putting his arms out and raced around them.

Flying, Cybill thought, that one will be the Falconer who was once in the Champion’s company.

Shortly after his escape, the Champion had been in the company of five others: Matthaeus, the Falconer Surya, Ji-ho of the Sisters of Serenity, Luther, the Summoner of the Shower of Sabres, and Hatim, Keeper of the Blighted Horse. It was still unclear why, but many of them had left the Champion’s side, leaving only Ji-ho and Hatim.

At least the Fates have seen to grant us favour, Cybill thought. There might have been three people, but the Champion had never been a fighter. She and Anthony would only have to fight Ji-ho and Hatim before capturing Jordan.

Then you will send him back to Malnor Castle, she thought. Back to Allyceus.

What excuse will she find next to send you away next? The thought Cybill by surprise, leaving her with a pain that felt eerily close to a stab, though no weapon had punctured her.

“Children,” Anthony said, his voice drawing her from imaginary throbbing of pain.

Cybill nodded. “We’ll camp further away and travel at night,” she said, her voice with a trembling edge.

They were a good distance away from the village, but every so often there would be a passer-by and they paid them to get more information about the village.

The people of Khayalethu had formerly belonged to Althor. They had been treated unfairly by their liege lord and they had run, looking for a new home; as was the lord’s right, he had chased after those who belonged to and the Champion had stood in his way, founding Khayalethu so they might have a new place to live.

“What do you think of the war with Washerton?” the Champion had asked long ago.

Cybill had told the Champion that it wasn’t her business to care and the Champion’s words had been cutting. As the woman sat — no fire or illumination less the smoke gave them away — she had the same feelings running through her now as there had been then: she had wondered if it was just to keep people from opportunity — a better life.

For the first time Cybill wondered if the Champion had escaped because of cowardice or if he had wanted this.

With retrospect it was clear that he had never liked his role in the castle and that there was a side he had favoured in the war against Washerton — opposing Ally and his family; perhaps he had escaped because he thought he could do good elsewhere.

If you do indeed capture him, will it not be the height of selfishness? Cybill thought. Likely the Champion can do good for commoners, but you would send him back for a chance with the person you love?

And does he even love you back? she thought, something that felt treason.

She pushed all such thoughts and feelings aside. There were plans to be mad and so that the Champion might be secured.

Night fell quickly, but they waited until it was near midnight before they moved. The village was still being built, but the three months had been used well. At the fringes was tilled land, bounded by fences though no crops yet grew; there were homes with pens and each of them had either goats, sheep or cows — there were a great many chickens and they had to be careful lest they cause a ruckus. At the east most end of the village training grounds had been created out of the earth, and Cybill felt a pang because it reminded her of the castle; and near the centre of the village, in an area that might have been a park, something much like training grounds, though painted in bright colours, sat with benches placed around it.

They found the Champion’s home. Cybill had expected grandeur but there was none, it was a large house, but nothing differentiated it from any of the other homes which surrounded it.

Anthony went to the furthest edge of the village and started a fire, his sensory ability ensured that he wasn’t seen or heard as he ran the village’s length to reach Cybill who kept watch of the Champion’s home, ensuring that he wouldn’t run while they weren’t looking.

“Three people and a beast in the house, and there are two horses in the stables,” said Anthony, shifting his sword as he settled beside her. They were both dressed in leather armour, something light and geared for strength. “Two are in one room, one is on the floor below, close to the beast.”

“That will be him,” Cybill said, readying her sword and shield. The Champion and the goat had always been close.

“Fire!” The shout rang out moments later, quickly taken up by others as red started to light the night. In moments there was activity — people leaving their homes carrying buckets, all running towards the growing blaze.

Inside the Champions there was fervent motion, visible as shadows as luminous gems were lit. Cybill and Anthony continued to watch, seeing as the people above went to the floor below and didn’t leave.

“What’s going on?” Cybill asked.

“I think they are talking,” he returned.

“Could one of them sense us?” she asked.

“None of them are mages and months are not enough time to learn magic without the work of a mage,” he said. “We would have heard rumours if they had a mage.”

“There’s much we don’t know about these people,” said Cybill. “They might have the ability.”

“Should we run, then?” Anthony asked, but from his voice alone Cybill could tell the young knight wanted to fight.

“No,” she said. “We smoke them out. The Champion will run and we will fight his protectors. Can you track the goat?”

“It’s magic leaves distinctive traces. We will be able to follow them.”

“Start a fire as we move near the stables,” she said. “We keep them from their horses.”

Anthony reached into his side and pulled out a wand — stolen from Odysseus’ storeroom. He pointed it up and red again lit the night as a gout of fire flew and hit the thatched roof of the Champion’s home, at once it was ablaze.

“One of them is running upstairs and the others are coming,” Anthony said. “Not to the stables but in our direction.”

Cybill stood, sword and shield at the ready.

The two people below would be the warriors and the runner would be the Champion. Cybill remembered her last conversation with Allyceus before the worst had happened, he had commended the Champion’s dexterity. It was likely he would use the rooftops to escape before the fire spread too much, calling his goat when he was a distance away.

Ji-ho and Hatim stepped out of the house, the former in red robes and the latter wearing a hodgepodge of armour that had been hastily put together. Both were unsurprised and unfazed by their appearance as one rolled his shoulders and another spun her staff.

“We meet again, squire,” Ji-ho said, a hint of amusement in her voice. Anthony’s expression became stone — the last time he had fought against them he had gone against a man with a spatial artefact that brought forth swords.

“It was through my aid that you are alive today, do you know?” Ji-ho continued.

“I know, my lady,” said Anthony. “And I am grateful, which is why I give you the option to stand aside. Do this and you will not be harmed.”

“You’re a confident one,” said Hatim — he carried no weapons, Cybill noted. Yet confidence still radiated off him, what tricks did his armour have made from different pelts, leathers and metals?

“I had a great teacher,” Anthony returned, unsheathing his sword and levelling it. Hatim walked forward and from his leather gloves the dark claws of a nyx shimmered into existence.

“And I guess that we will battle,” said Ji-ho, stepping right while Hatim stepped left, her staff spinning. “I fought your friend and she had a magical artefact, do you think you will win against me?”

For a moment Cybill’s eyes flickered up as she heard a loud hiss. The fires that had been steadily growing began to dim. Someone inside had a water artefact and they had begun to chip away at the fire. The Champion, Cybill wondered, had he added another weapon to his arsenal.

She filed it away in case he chose to fight.

“I’m not Jaslynn,” Cybill said, keeping her eyes on Ji-ho and trusting Hatim to Anthony.

“No,” the woman agreed. “She revelled in causing pain, you on the other hand are angry. But that’s only a mask, what you truly feel is hurt and…fear.”

Cybill’s expression shifted as, unbidden, her mind saw fit to remind her that even with the Champion captured there would be no going back. There were too many things threatening the power of the Mandaron family, the need for steadfast allies was needed now more than ever, and Allyceus’ hand in marriage was a tool that was too important.

The sound of feet meeting ground pulled her back. Cybill quickly brought up her shield as the yellow staff struck forward; a clack rang through the air as staff met shield, Cybill pushed it aside and stepped forward, swinging her knife. She expected impact but Ji-ho had already moved, she and her stuff spinning as they both went low — trying to sweep Cybill off her feet. Cybill jumped back, grinning as she caught the flicker of surprise on Ji-ho’s expression.

She was heftier than most but she was still fast, something that often caught her opponents off guard. As soon as she stepped foot on the ground, Cybill was already moving forward, forcing Ji-ho to bring up her staff to bat away the shield. The weapon was only wood but Cybill’s blade found trouble biting into it.

Cybill kept up the pressure, but Ji-ho had a sense of her now and she moved faster, with a grace Cybill had seen and envied on Freda — though the monk wore no boots to aid her mobility. Unbidden, a pang of hurt ran through Cybill as she thought of her friends, none of whom had chosen to journey with her. She wondered if they had ever really been friends, or had they been people who tolerated her because Cybill had had a relationship with Allyceus.

It was one distraction amongst a myriad: to her left, Anthony was being beaten by a Hatim who dashed to dodge, flowing past attacks or blocking them with gauntlets the blade couldn’t cut, and finding strikes that kept the young knight destabilised; and above the fire dimmed to embers.

All together the distractions meant that Ji-ho was suddenly upon her, striking Cybill’s shield out of her hand and landing a hit to her jaw. Cybill roared as she stumbled, spinning around to see that Ji-ho had not allowed her a moment’s respite; before the second impact could land Ji-ho pushed her will upon her blade and a burst of light erupted from its length only to extinguish a second later.

Ji-ho, now blind, stumbled and Cybill used the distraction to her favour, striking out with a foot that caught the woman in the chest; with another bellow, she darted forward, slashing the blade through the air. Ji-ho, guessing the coming attack, had used the kick to put more distance between them, falling further than she should have, one hand going to blinking eyes.

A grunt rose through the air and to her left Cybill saw that Anthony had landed a strike but Hatim wove under the follow up, dashing to the side and then forward, catching the knight with his shoulder and throwing him into the air. Cybill hadn’t framed her burst of light correctly and it had missed Hatim, it was likely that the distraction that had landed the cut was Cybill almost striking Ji-ho.

At the reminder she darted forward, only to stop as a beam of water crashed into the ground before her, so strong that it drew a line in the ground.

Cybill looked up. The worst of the fire had been extinguished but there were still dregs, red light that illuminated a tall figure dressed in armour that looked like bark or dark leather, padded at the chest, shoulders and elbows; in each of his hands he carried long short staves made of metal, engraved with diagrams and at their head two large water gems.

“Cybill,” Jordan said, his voice even. He was a tall and thin fellow, his skin dark but reflecting the light off of it. In the months since his departure his hair had grown out and where it was usually small knots, now it was longer, standing up like thin fingers. “I was expecting you.”

“If you run, I’ll kill her,” Cybill said, the words hard. Ji-ho was still on the ground, her eyes tearing up as she blinked. Anthony had found his feet again and he stood in the way of Hatim. Cybill only had to dash forward and she would be able to take something from Jordan as he had taken Ally. “I’ll chase you to the ends of the earth, ensuring that you never return to your home. Come with me and there’s still a chance things might work out for you.”

“Do you think that’s true?” Jordan said. “Or is it something you tell yourself so you can sleep at night?”

“Don’t listen to his words, Lady Cybill,” said Anthony, still catching his breath. “Latimer shared with me the reason for his loss. It is the same with Lady Jaslynn. The Champion has a way of knowing what you most want and using it against you.”

“She’s not a lady, Anthony,” Jordan cut in, the words not accusing as they often had been when said in the castle, only a statement of fact. “Cybill’s a commoner a lot like me. She’s known since she was a girl how little our lives mean to the nobility. Now the lesson has been reinforced. He threw you away.”

Cybill shook her head. She knew this for the distraction that it was.

“He chose to throw you away, no matter what he tells himself,” he said. “Allyceus cares more about power than you. No matter how much he’s said he loves you. So consider…why are you doing this?”

“If I return you to the castle, things will return to normal,” Cybill said, insistent.

You don’t really believe that do you? she thought as the Champion said, “I don’t think you believe that.”

Cybill trembled, thoughts and emotions she hadn’t let herself feel hitting like a hammer. She swallowed, feeling a pressure in her chest, her stomach wriggling and her heart being squeezed by an unyielding hand.

“Lady Cybill,” Anthony said, the words a whisper. The young knight trembled and Cybill soon saw why: the fire had already been extinguished and no doubt the villagers had heard the commotion. The first of them had arrived, carrying axes, shovels and pitchforks, with a few children in their number carrying rocks.

“This is your fault,” she said, the words a whisper. Cybill’s mind turned away from the people whose existence here was owed to Jordan’s valour. Anger was simpler and she reached for it, letting it guide her. “This would have never happened if you hadn’t run. If you’d stayed, done as we’d planned, Ally and I would be together.”

“Cybill,” said Jordan, his voice becoming gentler. “You left your family for Allyceus, that was a sacrifice you made. Why couldn’t he do something similar? Why is it always people like us who make the compromises for people like them? Maybe I’m the direct cause this time, but this situation was inevitable. Now you’ve seen the decision he would have made. Ask yourself, what are you truly fighting for?”

Cybill could not answer.

She had known the truth from the beginning. This journey had been nothing but an excuse, the king had already put a price on Jordan's head. Allyceus had needed Cybill out of the castle and this had been the how. Even if she returned in victory, she and Allyceus would not be together again.

“Lady Cybill,” Anthony said, worried. “They are beginning to regain their sight. We should run.”

Cybill didn’t care.

She looked up at the man who was the cause of all this, at the man who had made her see through lies she had used to fool herself while in the castle. Cybill reached for anger but none came. She felt tapped out.

“The nobility does not care about any of us commoners,” Jordan continued. “I know what I’m about to say sucks, but…think about it…did they really care about you? Did any of them? Did they ever have an interest in who you were? Or the plight of your family? Were they interested in that?”

Still, Cybill said nothing, her anger extinguished and only the pain of loss taking its place. Allyceus had been the first person she had loved and they had had grand plans of the future, but that had been for nought.

Above Jordan stepped forward and jumped, drifting down slower with aid from gravitational magic. He landed lightly, his weapons stowed away. Even with Cybill still holding her sword, the man stepped forward, closing the distance.

“Cybill,” he said, the words insistent, drawing her to look upon him. “This isn’t the battle you should be fighting. Getting me to the castle serves nothing, but…if you stood at my side, we might be able to do more. There are people who are feeling the same thing you are now, who want to be free of nobles but they don’t have a place to go. They’ve already started, leaving their prisons for homes, and your skill could help them get here. That’s the fight. Join us.”

Allyceus had once been Cybill’s entire world, allowing her to ignore the goings on in the greater world. It had been the Champion’s words that had muddied that picture, infecting it with a creeping doubt that had made her consider if it was right — a treasonous thought she had reflected then, especially at the reminder of her place.

But now she saw the truth of those words with crystal clarity. How easy it had been to be discarded.

“Why should they rule when they care so little of our lives?” Cybill whispered.

Anthony chose that moment to bolt, darting left. A rock hurtled through the air and missed, but it was distraction enough for Hatim to close the distance and trip the knight; in two moves Anthony was without his sword, a foot resting on his chest, keeping him from moving.

All through it Cybill hadn’t moved, considering the words she had spoken, the thought she had kept from infecting her so long ago but one which severed anything she and Ally might have regained.

Jordan, she noticed, was smiling and it was disconcerting.

“They shouldn’t,” he said. “People should govern themselves. Work together to ensure their own best interest. Let’s work together to make that possible.”