[40th Year of Foresai, Upper Fire Month, Day 16]

“Sense. Telekinesis.”

Streaks of light illuminated the air, a circle of arcane words burning into it and leaving a swiftly fading afterglow. Evileye felt the sensation of ephemeral limbs flood her mind, forcing a number of psychic flagella from a mote of power she had manifested two stories above her. Within a few seconds, she registered the familiar textures of the drawers she had been looking for. Letting the rest of the tendrils wither and dissolve into the flux, she strengthened the three remaining antennas into arcane tentacles, opening three drawers in tandem. By the crackling qualia of touching mana-charged inscriptions with false coils of the same make, she found the three scrolls she wanted, and began to withdraw them rapidly.

Going through two sets in the same day is overwhelmingly consumptive, but I have no choice in the matter.

“Gagaran, Tina, rouse our rides. Tia, the vorpal poisons.”

“I have four vials-”

“Not enough. Move.”

The three she had commanded bolted from the room, Gagaran and Tina through the main entrance, while Tia lept and scaled a wall, vaulting over a balcony to ascend to the second floor. Lakyus’s and Evileye’s motions synced, both scrolls and blades whipping around the bend of the stair swiftly. Evileye did not bother reaching out to them, instead surging the mana she poured into the existence of her appendages, igniting them in magical flame and by the same token consuming the parchments in sequence. It was an uncontrolled cast, rings of magic auto-assembling.

“Extend Magic - Counter Detect; Extend Magic - False Cover; Extend and Penetrate Magic - Message.”

Here we go. What should I tell her?

The enthralled words of their prisoner made it clear that there was an imminent danger to the palace. He could not clarify the ‘when’ or the ‘how’ of the thing, but the ‘why’ was clear. Eight Fingers was moving to eliminate both the King and his bodyguard in a linked blow. With forewarning, they hoped to stay the assault until they could arrive the next morning. The space in front of her roiled, arcane symbols morphing and adopting terminal states. They linked, forming the energetic morass necessary to leap the breach between her and the Princess. The system collapsed, hardened light shredding apart and violently dissolving.

It failed to resolve?! I provided it with the power and range to seek her.

Evileye loosed a sixth spell on instinct, an unconscious release of a soothic tool she had developed for problems exactly like this. A diagnostic rune glowed iridescently in the air.

‘Ansuz’. It failed due to a lack of target? I provided it with instructions to find and lock to her-

Lakyus, hastily shuffling through a drawer, looked up and caught the spell dissociating.

“That fizzled. Evileye, explain.”

“Lakyus, The princess is unconscious.”

“What?! Can you wake her up?”

“No, without her being awake there's nothing I can draw upon to read for her.”

“Shit! Do we have recourse?”

“No. I would need to wake her up and that's not possible at this distance.”

“Dammit! Contact Stronoff instead. He should still be awake. Drop the anti-divination incantations, we need you strong through this night and it doesn’t matter if we’re caught contacting him.”

Evileye dumped more of her mana into the air, refilling some of the hollowed magical frameworks that remained from her previous cast. The previous failure of her magic to harmonize and execute meant that many arcane structures were still left in place unused, and bolstering those allowed her to rapidly turn around and attempt a second time. Power surged, and the casting was forced apart. Angry red fissures webbed across their efulgent blue forms of the arcane circles, dashing them. A rapid sequence of bangs sundered the space in front of her, seven rapid implosions.

That was a counterspell! ‘Lesser Feedback’?!

“What was that?!”

“I was blocked by an abjurer. Triggered a spell-bomb.”

“What?”

That backlash. At twelve leagues, that effect would break down. That wasn’t ‘Lesser Feedback’ cast, that was ‘Feedback’.

“Fifth tier caster, at least. They’ll know someone tried to warn him.”

“Then link to Jelka!”

Defensive wards are already going up. There’s no chance of it getting through.

“‘False Cover’ only functions if they can’t read my signature, and I just gave it to them.”

Lakyus clicked her tongue and threw her head to her side, grinding her teeth in frustration. The world-thread stretched between Evileye and Gazef was still primed, and she felt the outlying sensors twitch as something surged across it. A bolt of some foul energy passed along it in the few moments before it dissipated. Before she could react, it struck her, yet she did not sense an impact as it collided with her form.

A second trap? No, that was an active offensive cast. Still, what was it? I didn’t feel anything when it hit me.

Lakyus paused, nearly freezing her motion, and raised her hand to her head. Evileye found the scene utterly enthralling, unsure of what her boss was doing. She plucked a few hairs from her head, and looked at them. Their stems matched her usual golden-blond, but many of the ends on her right side had turned gray.

She was caught right at the edge of the effect column. That was ‘scourge’. What sort of mana would it take - no, it wasn’t from the tier spell. It wouldn’t have had the range. That was something inherent to the caster.

“The enemy has a lich.”

“Shit! That makes it all but certain Six Arms is on Gazef.”

She’s right. They count one among them.

Tia flipped back into the room, landing gracefully.

“What happened? I heard bangs.”

“Counter-spell. Likely the Six Arms lich stalking Gazef Stronoff. This is bad.”

Tia stiffened, not used to Evileye expressing her feelings on the state of a situation. Lakyus recovered from her shock faster than either of the other two women in the room.”

“If we can’t give forewarning, we need to depart now.”

“We can’t make it.”

It’s too far. Even riding flat out we couldn’t make it more than an hour or two before daybreak.

“We’re going.”

“We have no time.”

“We’re going!”

“We can’t reach Valencia. At a pace of-”

“Then what do you propose? Sit here and do nothing while the King and the Warrior-Captain get cut to pieces?!”

Silence hung in the room. Gagaran and Tina slammed the door back open, tracking mud in. They snagged when they noticed Lakyus and Evileye glaring at each other.

“Boss, the Slepnir are ready.”

We can’t ride there on time, no horse could carry us that distance in such a short time. Even flight couldn't bridge that gap. Transport would need to be instant.

Lakyus’s eyes darted away from Evileye for a moment, jumping back and forth from spots on the ground.

Two points, instantly.

Evileye’s eyes widened under her mask, a sense of clarity coming to her as a result of her leader’s lack. Her heart gave a single pump, the black bile in her veins flowing losing their stagnancy for half a second.

“We’ll teleport.”

“What? Shorty, you losing it? Where is this-”

“Gagaran, Tina, the attack is coming tonight. No, it's already started.”

“But isn’t it too far? It's over a dozen leagues away. We haven’t done anything more than a-”

“Short jumps, no more than eleven-hundred paces.”

“Isn’t that too far-”

“You’re right, I haven’t done anything like this before. Twelve leagues distance is near impossible, especially bringing along four people with enchanted weapons. Without an anti-magic shield, the arcane immaterial would shred us. Worse, who knows what sort of abjurant spell walls that lich is putting up on the other side. We would crash against them at this speed. It will require ‘Extend’, ‘Bolster’, and ‘Penetrate’ enhancements. It will be hard.”

So much more than you could know. I’ve already expended much of my reserves in that short engagement, I’ll be pushing myself far past any range I’ve done. Mother, if you ever knew I was going to attempt a Pseudo-Greatening to the seventh tier, you would have never let me within five-hundred paces of a spellbook.

Gagaran, Tina, and Tia looked at Evileye stunned. Lakyus raised her gaze to stare at her too, but found her words quickly.

“How hard?”

“This will be the most difficult spell I have ever attempted. Four to seven chance it succeeds, two to seven it fails and backfires, one to seven backfires badly.”

“What do you mean by badly?”

Paste our bodies in a thin red line drawn between here and Re-Estize.

“Would be lethal.”

“What?! Shorty, are you-”

“This is madness, Evil Boss-”

“Fiendish Leader, tell her-”

“The three of you shut up. Lakyus, we need to act now.”

Lakyus listened to the protests of her mortal comrades, but her decision took her no more than a second.

“We’re doing it.”

“What?! Boss!”

“Gagaran, we have no choice. Gazef is being hunted. They couldn’t kill him in E-Rantel, so they’re trying to kill him now. If Gazef is being hunted, that means so is the King. We can’t contact Renner, and they have a spellcaster running interference to prevent us from contacting others. We need to do this and we need to do this now.”

No one dared to raise a protest. Evileye took three measured paces to her flank and dropped to her knees, pulling out a deep red in color stick of chalk and starting to sweep the arc of a circle.

“I’ll need to do it here, not enough space otherwise. You’ll need to get me the materials from upstairs. Can’t waste any mana or time on retrieving it myself”

“What do you need?”

“Mercury. Sulfur. Layline flux. White, red, and blue aspect charged salts. A weirding rod- no, two. The balanced focusing crystals. A helix core, orange aspect. Chronometers, both the counter-chirality aligned and magnified orthogonal matrix-”

“Gagaran, Tia, Tina, just grab everything from upstairs. I’ll draw the supporting circles.”

They don’t know what I’m talking about? No, what sort of question is that? Of course they don’t. They wouldn’t have a clue.

“We need five, two alignment and three bolstering. The patterns are in here. Be careful with the words of power, make sure you replicate the vertical strokes exactly.”

Evileye reached into her robe a second time and threw a spellbook at Lakyus.

Oh Fleuder, after this, you won’t have anything on me!

—

The room was unnervingly quiet, an oppressive silence hanging on the space. A single candle burned on the table before Barbro, shadows flickering a poor render of his form on the wall behind him. It was a delicate thing, falling off its balance at any breath from him that exceeded his slightest exertions. It was threatened every time he did so, and he needed care for his exhilations lest he trample its luminance like a seedling in spring.

So much has slipped through my hands tonight. First my brother, a potion for him, then another due to that idiot’s mistake. It’s not like I couldn’t give it to him, I need him ready and active. This whole thing has me out nine standards to boot. With what I spent on Harlink and Bajan, I’m flat broke after tonight. If it weren't for the payments passed to me by Eight Fingers, I would need to ask father for that. Things would be truly dire on that of all days.

He clicked his tongue, finding the foolishness in what he just said palpable.

No, I wouldn’t need to ask him. I’ll never need to ask him for additional funds ever again. I’ll just have access to the treasury in full soon. All the crown lands, crown powers, crown taxes. I’ll have that by dawn.

He broke his gaze from the flame and looked wistfully at the ceiling. His mind had always run rampant with images of himself as King. As a boy, he dreamed of the day his father would place the crown on his head, the coronation that would grant him his birthright. As a young child, he thought this meant his twelfth birthday, and learning this wasn’t the case after a gentle scolding from his mother, Queen Nunia, was a cause for tears. Barbro found himself drifting back to that moment, yet could not assemble words in his mind to describe it. He snatched at vague images; the face of his mother, who even in other recollections he struggled to place; the cushness of the bed they sat on while they talked; the entrance of his father. With time, he had learned to remember it as one of the misunderstandings of childhood, a preconception born of nothing that would slip back into nothing.

No, it's my brother that should matter the most here. At least I prevented him from turning against me. What a shame. It’s aggravating to think he can’t see that my course is the correct one.

The memory had almost slipped from him entirely, yet the planning with Bolloupe had brought it back. It filled his thoughts time and time again, with more intensity each time. Now, when he thought back to that moment, it seemed less a harmless thing and more the first in a string of blows. The day of his ascendance seemed as if it would never come, dashing farther afield from him into the future. His father’s age and laxity in siring children had made it seem to the nobility that Barbro would be yet another young ascendant to the throne, continuing the tradition led by his father. This did not come to pass. Sixteen came, and his father was not dead. Eighteen, and still he lived and ruled. Twenty, the unthinkable, and yet still he was still coiled in the realm of the living. Worse, he seemed to have no plans for slipping out of it.

Any advance I made was brushed off. Any attempt of getting an answer from him was ignored. Why? What could I have done to earn such coldness from him?

He tried his best to slow his emotions, but this was difficult. He was unaccompanied in his sitting space, no knight or maid by his side. He was left alone to ferment his thoughts; no base way to distract himself, no vice to indulge himself in. He rapped his fingers against his armrest, their steady beat doing little to arrest his thoughts.

I must stay myself. I am to be King in a few hours. I cannot let myself be vexed by these failures of my father. The days to come will be difficult, I need to focus on that. Bolloupe will have Vellen present evidence that this was the work of the Imperial Embassy. I’ll have Mercat sent to the gallows, same with his staff. If it means triggering a war early, so be it. My fellows have already been preparing in the wake of Gazef’s failed killing.

The kindle in his breast began to heat, burning hotter as it found a new, more potent fuel to consume. He pulled his hand into a fist, feeling his nails dig into the flesh of his palm.

Still, to think that I would need to worry about the Empire at all. Father’s complete failure to deal with the Boy-Emperor is the most compelling indictment. Is he so blind with Baharuth? We need to go on the offensive, take up an active campaign and crush their warmaking potential. Route them from the borderlands. One grand encirclement would be all we need to utterly annihilate their army as my great-grandfather did in the west. Their full legions number less than one hundred thousand. Even if they conscripted, they couldn’t match us, and we could exceed him two- no three-fold. Why has my father not done this?! He’s a fool of a king! Drained by years of apathies in the north, he’s completely incapable of decision.

The fouler side of valor took its toll on Barbro, the fire in him leaping from branch to branch in his soul. He began to clench his hand over and over again, pulsing it out of time with the increasing pace of his heart. Dissonance grew inside of him, breaching his countenance and causing his face to twitch.

This isn’t to mention his complete failure in controlling the political situation. Letting fools like Raeven run around with no clear allegiance, or any of a number of mistakes from Urovana’s part. That man has been in power for as long as my father and he only recently managed to quell the troubles in his demesne. What fools they are! Blumrush at least meets a mark of quality, but of the rest of the faction? Completely incompetent. Completely insolent! How frustrating. No wonder Bolloupe has managed to build such momentum in national matters.

Barbro smiled bitterly, the smoke from his chest choking out and clouding his thoughts.

He sees the true nature of things. Knows that my father’s reign is over-long and desperately needs to be brought to an end. The backing of Lytton and Vellen embodies that. So many minor names and families spy these facts too. That the numbers seem uncountable and endless for those willing to assist me in my assent. Nobles like him at my side will make things swifter and smoother. How clear does it need to be, father?

The candle flame wavered, light losing its fight to keep its vitality moment after moment. He was breathing too forcefully, threatening to snuff it. He brought his arm up and off the arm, placing his fist against his mouth to protect the yewling consumption.

I deserve the throne! He’s a fool for not ceding it. A damned fool! Does he wish to rule into the grave? Hmph, well, he’ll have his way. What possible reason could he have for not accepting me as his successor. To keep his crown so flush against him? He’s old! Old enough to no longer be venerable but simply saddening. He has done nothing! In four decades of rule he has done nothing. Simply sat this nation on its territory while it hollowed away on the inside.

He suddenly hit his chair, breaking the point at which its arm bonded to the backrest. His wrist was sliced open, but he found himself unable to do more than wince at the pain, letting no sound escape his lips. Hot blood flowed from the wound, a strange and unbidden sensation of wetness and heat flowing across his palm, some settling into the grooves dug by his nails. He looked at it for a time, unable to understand the mechanism of its coming. It was gripping, and he found himself unable to break his eyes from the sight.

Why does he not favor me? Why does it have to be my brother that knows his love? I am his first son. I am to be the head of this family, the next in this bloodline. I am the next Vaiself, not Zanac. He treats me like the least of the Ryle’s. Why? Have I not proven my worth? I have thrown myself into the borderlands time and time again. I claimed the heads of those skulking knights that dashed into the spaces of our people, or- or at least I would have seemed too. I have brought cross faction unity, acquired the respect and loyalty of the Marquis’s who so spurn you. I will be Andrean the IV. I will live to the promise of my name. Our blood has not yet known true defeat, and I will not be the one to bring it. Zanac may be wise, but he is not strong. He cannot lead, only middle and wallow in the palace.

He swept up the vial Teloran had left unfinished and dabbed its contents on the wound. He set it aside, feeling his skin and veins seal. The escape of his blood slogged and arrested. He tried his best to dismiss the omen.

The worst of this is my sister. Vena and Lulara know their place, but Renner knows nothing. She’s dull, frighteningly so. Yet my father is obsessed with her. Obsessed beyond all reason. Gods, I should not focus on her. Not now. Tonight is not a time to dawdle on idiots.

Moisture had built on its brow, finally breaking and dripping onto his face and eyes. He fluttered his eyelids, trying to rid the sweat from his face. This only served to blur his vision further, and he instinctively wiped his face with his hand, realizing too late that he had smeared blood across it. The motion had parted his lips for a moment, and the metallic tinge of his blood coated the inside his mouth and his tongue. The flavor was overwhelming, and it shook him of his thoughts for a few moments.

Yet, I can’t help it. That smile of hers. That dead-eyed look she gives when I talk. The way she gets confused about the littlest things. She has the faculties of a child. Her asinine suggestions. What possible purpose could paving the roads bring? I don’t understand it. Commoners are not riding in carts. What need for comfort could they have? The fact that anyone would listen to her about slavery? My father made a horrible mistake in letting her parrot that suggestion. That man - “Doll” or whatever his name was - would be willing to fund his removal. Did he realize how many enemies he made because of that? How deep the hatred runs against him in the south? And- and father just lets her talk! Lets her spout that- those absurdities of hers. She never gets reprimanded, never gets shamed. Father will at least do that with my brother, but her? She’s a darling to him; to what fucking end?

She’s a shell of a human being. A wooden puppet. Completely substanceless. Hollow and empty and, and- worthless. A waste of space. She just needs to sit there and look pretty, and she can’t even manage that! She comes across as cute, overly sweet, and nothing else. I don’t even think of her as someone I could talk to. It’s as if she is just a face plastered onto a body with nothing inside it. Her interruption of the council meetings. Why? Simply to invite Gazef to tea?! It’s infuriating. It's unthinkable! The way she prances about the palace doing nothing in her days. Clipping flowers in the garden. Inviting that feckless bitch of an Aindra to play party to worthless girls-talk. Playing with that toy of hers.

That’s what that no-blood is right? Some sort of doll. Gods, is that what he is to her? Or is it actual girlish love? Some mix of the two? Or does he have her charmed? It’s impossible to tell. She spends so much time with him. The gossip she speaks about with the maids, speaking about even minor accomplishments of his. She was actually talking with Vena over dinner about his accomplishments at practice jousting! Absolutely inane. He has no name for Gods sake! That’s all he has is “Climb”, compared to what, her five? No, she doesn’t deserve five. She doesn’t qualify as royalty in any sense of the word. Chardelon and Chardelon alone is what she deserves if she so decides to use that dog as anything more than that. If she decides to treat herself as his bitch.

She has no purpose in this life other than to stay fair long enough to get married and she fails. She fails again and again. Had she resisted that offer from Harlink five years ago, that would have been one thing. But at sixteen? Is she insane? How mindless must she be? Just get fucking married! How hard is it to simply assent to it? Had father given her away as he did with Vena and with Lulara, this never would have been a problem. But she had to insist otherwise; had to resist the advances of men, Harlink only being the last in a long chain. Does she know how much she cost me in that moment? No, would she care if she knew?

Everything about her infuriates me. Why does father give her so much? She has done nothing for him! Nothing for the Vaiself name, for Re-Estize. She has that mockery of a title, Golden Princess, but that’s only for her actions alone. She would dare so leach off of the king and then. An entirely selfish act on her part.

Why does father love her so much? Why does father care so much for her? She is nothing. She will never be anything. Why does he love her more than I? Why does he look at her and smile, while he looks at me and despair? You think I cannot see it? I know that look in your eyes, that tinge of sadness. You’ll see. When I’m done after tonight, she won’t have anything. I’ll expel her out and that toy of hers. Have her stripped of her status and crown. Perhaps, perhaps even exile from these lands. Complete rejection of her and everything she represents. Who would stop me?

I hate her.

The sensation of dry blood tugging at his skin pulled Barbro from his thoughts. He was left in the immediacy of the moment, back in his chair at the palace. His body had never left, and so the aches and stagnancy it developed caused his body to hurt in ways common in such failures to remain in the present. His wrist no longer had any pain besides a dull afterglow of cold heat at the potion, but he still outwardly looked a mess. He could not stop himself from scoffing at his shirt, the white cravat of his shirt stained in vital colors.

My face probably is bloodied beyond reckoning. Blazes. Where is the nearest wash bowl? I should clean- no, I shouldn’t. Better to leave it on, make it look as if I was wounded in fighting. Tonight requires cunning. If my father - and that hag of a sister - are to be thrown down, I ought to be careful. Considered. Hm, perhaps exile is not enough. She would just be happy at the side of her fake knight. I should take him from her. Brand him one of Mercat’s spies. I-

The door opened, Teloran returning from his task. He did not see Barbro’s face.

“The night is set. They’ll work their way to father’s chambers for now.”

“Who was it on guard?”

“Galdra, MacNamera-”

“I understand. Royal Guard.”

“...Yes, your highness.”

Still, the thought of her living somewhere foreign to here. Practicing her dull charms. Speaking her empty-headed thoughts is unbearable. No, exile is not enough.

Barbro stood, turning himself to face Teloran. The candle flame surged and shuddered, leaping wildly as its existence was threatened by being so enthralled in a torrent of air. Its desperate dancing cast the shadows on his face erratically, the red streaks of his outburst covering his face.

“Teloran, I have something I need you to do.”