[41th Year of Foresai, Middle Fire Month, Day 1]

Four decades now. Four decades.

Ramposa looked out across the procession, silently counting those in attendance. Once he confirmed the presence of Boullope, Lytton, and Raeven, he lost interest in tallying the rest. Age had taken its toll on his physical endurance, and worse, his patience.

What is there to say, Iliadan? What has been the sum of your rule?

He struggled to bring anything to mind. He resisted the urge to laugh, then resisted the urge to sigh. This was the fortieth anniversary of his coronation. This ought to have called for a much grander ceremony, round numbers demanding extra reverence, but the whole of the high nobility had wordlessly agreed that none had the vigor for such an affair. The sum total of the Carne Incident, an early General Council, the Black Night, and the parallel Vampiric Crisis and Exhumation of E-Rantel had left most every house in Re-Estize exhausted - something which combined became known as the Long Summer. Thus, the anniversary was conducted with little fanfare; less a celebration of his rule than a reflexive acknowledgement. In a way, Ramposa was grateful for this, not having the patience for the jubilees of decades past. He simply sat upon his throne and gazed upon the attendees in the hall.

I should have wed with her earlier. My darling Theiere, how I miss you. What would you think of today? Had we tied the bond immediately, and then bore a son soon after, I could have avoided half the mess this house is in; my sons in their thirties, fires tempered and heads cooled. Chance I could have ceded the throne by now, then had Zanac run off to found a line of dukes. Had I done that, the seeds of stability I have yet to plant could have been a sapling by now. I suppose I would be more alone for it, my sons away on their conquests, my daughters already having been married in total. Even the scant time I get with them I appreciate. I loved those breakfasts with Renner… when they were ongoing.

Ever since the morning of the twenty-first, Renner had not made a showing at any of their private breakfasts. That, for she barely seemed to be leaving her quarters at all. She had taken meal after meal in her drawing room, only leaving to return a single book to the palace library and pick flowers once. After five days of her isolating herself, Ramposa had requested her attendance at supper. She had dutifully shown then, she being polite and respectful as always, but it was clear she had no desire to be there. He hadn’t bothered summoning her since.

I hate to see her withdraw into herself, but it's understandable. Everything she saw that night; everything that happened after. Her brothers’ actions towards her. I still cannot believe Barbro struck her, or Zanac’s words for that matter. That she was covered in vitality, even if it was her bodyguard’s. I’m a failure of a father, aren’t I? It’s not as if she retreated into herself on that baleful day after. There’s been a string of events that drove her back; dozens of mistakes on my part.

Ramposa began a far worse tally than he did earlier, trying his best to pull together a more complete picture of his daughter’s agony. His failure to protect her one he consistently hung on, her dress having been stained in blood spilled in violent combat. It was an indictment of him and his rule. That she was sitting three seats away from him, composed as ever, spoke to her resilience.

She did her best, even if she fell asleep on the palace lawn. Maids-talk has it that there was a spat between her and that Aindra after she woke, I can only hope that’s not true. That breakfast, I know readiness for marriage was something I wanted her to prepare for, but it hurt to see her disparage herself over it. That, and then that other breakfast with her siblings. I don’t understand why Zanac lashed her with his tongue. I’ve never been so irate at him. And after she put together an act of charity which if he had played right, and I hate to say this, would have been to his gain. I don’t understand why Barbro was being so miserly. Oughtn’t he know the crown’s coffers are always opening?

The song the minstrels were performing reached its end, a musical tradition to mark another year of reign. As the low hum of its strings drew off, the crowd moved to applaud, an empty clap filling the chambers.

At least she’s safe. Who knows what good the walls will do after this, but blade is what kept her protected. I wish I could give that boy proper thanks, bestow him a sword or something. Shame such an act is impossible, it would be a crisis by itself. In any case, it seems like she was already ahead of me for that; getting him a room and that suit of armor. How much did she spend on that? I know she said it was a gift from that younger Aindra… Lakyus, that’s it - but it can’t have been. How deep to adventurer’s pockets go? Hm…If she could hear me call my fatherhood inadequate, she would reassure me to the contrary. I hope she exits her room soon.

Ramposa snapped his mind back to the present. He found nothing of note, the ceremony was continuing as before. Anniversaries did not demand anything from their celebrated regents, only to sit and receive honors. The court crier stood, and walked to the centerline of the procession. He reached it, turned, and began to recite his speech.

“It is the joy of the Kingdom of Re-Estize to proclaim that His Majesty, King Ramposa the Third, Defender of the Kingdom of Re-Estize has reigned for another year!”

It’s no small wonder how much she lives up to her namesake. Her compassion. Her kindness. Her usefulness. Look at all that she’s done. That push to ban slavery, that was hers. She even went to the House of Lords. Not that her reaching out to that bombastic organization didn’t cause me trouble, but she at least bothered to do it.

“Once again, this midsommar carries with it the glory of the Kingdom of Re-Estize, the glory of its attentive and loyal subjects, the glory of House Vaiself, and the glory of the Era of Foresai.”

What of my sons? The only trouble they get into is with women and drink. Barbro plays at the border, but to little actual effect. He’s yet to learn that political advantage is worthless if it doesn’t do anything else. Fighting skirmishes in place of others doesn’t do anything for the country and its people, it's a wasted effort.

“Four decades! Four decades of security! Four decades without one step back! Four decades of vigilant defense!”

Still, at least he bothers to put in effort. For all the chittering I get about Renner growing stale, she’s at least making something of her unwed years. What of Zanac? He’s stagnant. He does nothing. He was such an energetic boy, intellectual that he was.

“Four decades of defeating our enemies, dashing their armies against the plains, routing their men and driving them back across the border!”

His adolescence, though. I should have seen the signs in him as soon as he turned forteen; I suppose I did, I just ignored them. The best I can hope for now is that he pulls his nose from the breasts of whores and puts them back in books. I ought to count myself lucky neither have taken up the practice of smoking Laira.

“Four decades of life, of prosperity, of honor, of glory! Four decades in which the red and black banner of Re-Estize has flown unblemished!”

The investigation into the Black Night had begun to yield results. Many of the details were lost to the gloom; however, even a rough outline of the events made it clear it was a several step infiltration, one that had been planned meticulously. At the very least, the men - who themselves were almost certainly all eight fingers - had somehow breached or bypassed the fortress of Ro-Lante without setting off an alarm, and then did the same to slip into Valencia, all while avoiding patrols, sentries, and guards. The odds of a traitor among the palace staff were high, though, this made the very grandeur of the act strange.

“Four decades of our blood valiantly spilled to protect our lands. Four decades of our soil yielding bountiful harvests and feeding our people.”

I still don’t understand why they didn't simply send a maid with a knife. Why twenty-four men? Why did they have heavy armor and mage combatants? It's nonsensical. It couldn’t have given them better odds in killing me. It’s as if they expected the need to hold the palace itself against counterattack, but from whom? Whoever did this either needed a panic, or deemed it unavoidable.

“Four decades of wealth and prosperity, of purity and sovereignty. Four decades of House Vaiself and their honored helm! We can't help but ask for another four!”

How they had gotten past the walls of Ro-Lante was still unknown, but the fact that Ramposa was assaulted in his bedroom by wallwalking wetworkers made it clear that the secret passages were compromised. Only eleven in the scope of the world should have known of the passages in the palace: Ramposa himself, his sons and daughters, Defensive Coordinator Jelka, Knight Galdra, Knight Macnamara, Courier Brendel, and Warrior-Captain Stronoff.

“As it is our joy to say that he has reigned another year, so we shall say that he will rule once again!”

I have complete faith in my men. Galdra and Brendel died in my service, and all three others put their lives on the line that night as well. I… I dare not think of the alternative. Stop, Iliadan. Force yourself. Have you wronged any of your children so deeply that they would let slip such a secret?

“That we shall always hold!”

It was a horrible question, one Ramposa did not wish to pose., only Aa baleful need. The answer came to him quickly.

“That we shall never break, never step back, never lose our aegis; that we will never fall to strife, to turmoil, or to chaos; that we shall never suffer the enemy cracking the gates or swarming our cities; that we cannot suffer defeat, surrender, nor loss!”

I have failed them all, but the worst of it has been with Lulara. What a fool you were for listening to that man. That her family name is no longer Vaiself but Selusa is a mistake I will bear for the rest of my days. I’ve always been of half a mind to march to that demesne, string that man up, and retrieve her. He isn’t even a man, he’s a cur at most. I don’t understand how I fell for his words. I can’t undo it now, the crisis would be too great; it was never an option. I wonder if that's the cause for Renner’s resistance to marriage; she was never close with Vena, but Lulara was only two years her elder. If any of them have whispered away those secrets, she is the only one with proper cause.

“That we shall always stand firm, always stand tall, always bear our shield between us and the enemy; that we will always maintain our lands with peace, prosperity, and perpetuity; that the enemy shall always fall, always break when we go to war; that we will always achieve victory, supremacy, and glory!”

Still, how that would happen is a different matter entirely. He’s such a recluse, any meeting wouldn’t go unnoticed by the maidstaff. If Selusa is marked as a traitor, then that means his liege, Blumrush, is too, and that simply isn't possible. Where does that leave the events of the sixteenth, then? A traitor among my sons, daughters, or closest men, or that the secret passages were independently discovered.

“That we are indefatigable, insurmountable, indestructible, invincible!”

Perhaps the information has come from someone already dead. Long dead. The oldest parts of Ro-Lante date to the time of Andrean II ‘the Builder’, and it was only completed under Parheiln I. If anyone in the time let the secrets slip- or revealed the plans- it could have been used today. Who, if any, would know such a thing? If that boy to the east knows, he hasn’t shown it yet, and surely the Nix Dynasty has had its more foolish forefathers. Slane? Who knows what they know; it's not impossible they have weirding magics anyway. Eight Fingers could; they’re close in proximity, and perhaps a forefather or uncle of mine revealed it, either by pact or point. They would have kept it, saved it for something like this. Cunning bastards. How can I fight them? That war would take years, it would be Barbro’s war. How could he fight them?

“That House Vaiself is unroutable, untarnishable, undefeatable, unending!”

Barbro’s recount of his attack was, in a word, inconsistent; the one unified thread between his reports to Jelka, Vellen, and Theiern was that he was accosted by a single bladesman, whom Teloran chased off into the gloom to never be seen again. The only actual bladework on his body had been on the inside of his wrist, an unusual spot for a wound. Black rumors spoke of it being self-inflicted as some ploy to improve his station. Blacker still were those who supposed it was an attempt to end his own life. Urovana had quietly informed Ramposa of both.

“That King Thenak Ramposa Iliadan Foresai Vaiself will rule for his forty-first year as he has ruled the previous forty. That this Kingdom is eternal!”

He’ll get this Kingdom one day, but he’s not prepared. His actions on the sixteenth show that. He squandered his resources. He sent his man off to his death - wherever that was - and required rescue. He raved to his sister. He struck her. He couldn’t deliver a coherent account when it mattered. He vomited in the council room. He’s not composed. His behavior is erratic, afraid, and confused. What happens when there is not a Rochefort to come to his aid? What happens when there’s not an Aindra to sweep the palace for him? He’s not prepared to rule. I cannot abdicate, not yet.

“Glory to King Ramposa the Third!”

I want to get this over with.

—

And thus, House Vaiself stretches itself across another year. Another year for Foresai. Another year with nothing to show for House Boullope.

Boullope watched as the flower wreath was placed over the neck of the king, he leaning forward in his chair. That it was Ramposa the Third sitting there, and not Andrean the Fourth spoke to the monument of his failure.

Gazef triumphing over Six Arms was something I was prepared for, and I thought Unglaus’s band was fit to fight the Blue Roses, or at least slow them down enough. Teleportation! How was I supposed to account for teleportation? Those magics are something out of legend. First, magic stops Slane from burying the Warrior-Captain, and now it has prevented Eight Fingers doing the same to the king. Damn those accursed magic casters. May that Ainz Ooal Gown and that Evileye burn in pits forever.

Applause broke through the chamber, Boullope reflexively joining it. Ramposa leaned back, basking in the clapping. Some members of the Royal Faction cheered, throwing their fists in the air and making their own declarations of his glory. His sons and daughters turned in their chairs and joined as well. It continued for a time, Boullope letting his draw out early, before he stopped. Lytton dropped his hands a moment later. Within a few seconds, almost every member of the Noble faction had stopped applauding, including a few independents. The Royals kept going.

I have no followup. No counterplay. What can I do at this point? Mitigate. Sell assets, useless iron stocks. Wrench an explanation from Slane; have them explain their complete failure to me in a way that makes sense. Debts? Only to the prince, Doll, Eight Fingers, and Six Arms. I dare not snub any of them. I only ought to confer with the prince, assure him I really am in his camp. I’m going to need to wait for Ramposa’s natural death. Who knows what other parts of the Kingdom will fall into imperial hands by then? I need to keep the prince close. Show him that despite this failure I’m still on his side. He’s still indebted to me.

The independents fell off evenly, Raeven dropped his hands. In practiced fashion, Urovana, Blumrush, and Pespea stopped at once, the chamber falling into silence within a few seconds as the rest of the Royals halted as well. At this, the conductor in front of the assembled musicians resumed movement, and after a waiting flourish with his hands, started the next piece with a downward stroke.

What in damnation am I thinking? This was all his mistake. He’s not tied to me, I’m tied to him. If I do anything he perceives as questioning him, he can turn around and blow our treason wide open. Vaiself would have a traitor son, but Boullope would be a traitor house. Assuming the worst, he already knows that. Why did he have to send his bondsman off to hunt his sister? We need her alive; the influence her words have among the peasantry can’t be underestimated, it would have made the coronation smoother. The optics could have been good if she had simply been attacked, but he had to slap her in a public space? And then his repeated failures to leash his tongue? Luck of the Greed Kings that no one has made an accusation of his treason public, but who knows who knows?

The sixteenth was to be a culminating moment, an event to unify the threads of two years. To secure House Boullope’s position as one equal in status and power to House Vaiself. Backroom deals with merchants, slavers, foriegn powers, nobles across nominal faction lines, and the king’s own traitorous son were to have ensured victory. To eliminate Gazef with the aid of border nobles and Slane, then to kill Ramposa in his own palace through use of a dark adventuring team. If Barbro’s coronation was accepted by the rest of the six, immediate war with Baharuth. His ascension to the throne was all but assured; Pespea was a definite supporter, as was Urovana and Blumrush; Raeven, free flying bird that he was, could be brought to the ground by coin; Lytton was already indebted to Boullope, no rejection being likely.

Godsdammit! The whole affair is rotten. What in the names of the Gods was I thinking by siding with him? Zanac has double the wits, and I doubt I could negotiate half of what I did with his brother, but at least he is consistent. The thought of Barbro becoming king is beginning to terrify me. If I can keep control of him, things would be possibly good, but all that hinges on if. I’ll need to find a better way to keep him down, lead him by the nose in whores and dust.

This seeming certainty did not prevent Boullope from lacking it, and thus he forged a stopgap measure. If, for whatever reason, any of his fellows rejected Andrean the Fourth, Barbro would have enough men at the palace to force the issue at bladepoint. Not only would Boullope have his own men ready to counter Raeven’s force, but a whole separate force of wetworking men-at-arms, those being the elite soldiers and enforcers of the Narcotics and Assassination divisions of Eight Fingers. Combined with Lytton and the potential to secure Raeven in a last-minute pact, Boullope would kill the threat of armed resistance in its cradle. Re-Estize, even in a crisis of succession, would not fall to civil war.

What sort of rage consumed him when he tried to have his sister murdered? She’s annoying, and you can almost always find her handprints on the oddest of measures and proposals, but she’s a girl. She’s pretty, she’s charming, and she would be a useful tool. She has her independent flits, yes, but you simply need to feed her a cause to champion and she will. She’s reliably charitable, and thus reliably containable. As a “popular” princess, she’s invaluable. How does he fail to see that?

That Gazef had not died at Carne was surprising, yet Boullope had prepared for such a contingency as well. He was not to let that night slip through his grip. Through contacts with now clandestine slave merchants, Boullope had hired Six Arms, placing one of their men in the Re-Estize City Guard through a favor owed to him by one of its precinct captains. The general council was convened as expected, and its sunset was to be the last that Ramposa would see. The failure was nightmarishly random. A single Assassination division rogue, too witful and cunning a hunter, had tracked prey on an unrelated mission. Falling into the web of the Blue Roses, he spoke of a plot he should not have known of, and forced that team into action. This too had been accounted for, with a band of highwaymen north of Re-Estize to stop their advance, and a second, breakaway force of Boullope’s men further back. This did not matter, and Boullope realized his fatal mistake in only planning for the possible.

Not as if I want to make friends with the monarchy, but her life is necessary. I still can’t believe her father let her appeal directly to the House of Lords for her slavery ban. At that point, I’m perfectly happy to let her assume that title of hers. I wonder how much more we can rip from her. Promises of charity? Any attention from the royal family at all is legitimizing. I need the next king to fight Vaiself’s enemies beyond the borders, not inside them. I need a king who will not think to act against us.

Now, he was spent; spent of capital, be it coin, compact, or covenant; spent of plans, fallbacks, and the fallbacks of fallbacks; spent of his vigor, vitality, and velocity; spent of every form of leverage he knew except his men and the prince; spent of momentum; spent of will; spent of care. All was lost to the treachery of a surefire gambit. He knew it would take months to convince himself that this was not a personal failing; rather, dumb luck.

What now? Keeping a wizard on retainer for one; or, perhaps a witch. Besides that, what? Waddle along? Build forces? Yes, but those are all waiting moves. I have no choice but to remain stagnant. Waiting for what, Ramposa to keel over on his throne? The whole purpose of this was to avoid that.

Boullope turned to his right, plotting the distance between him and his allies. The throne room was near the limit of what could be called comfortable: the nobles within were not quite butting shoulder to shoulder, but they were close enough to force any clandestine conversation out of the room. Lytton was near, as were many of his vassals.

It’s unsustainable. That we by order of blood either must have a madman or lush as regent - if we’re lucky. If that fails, it falls to the daughters, and who knows what sort of jockeying for the crown would occur then. Inara and Vena would likely snatch it for House Pespea, I can’t imagine Gilbert putting forward a claim. Would Renner? I could see that becoming dangerous quite quickly, though considering her charity, it feels unlikely. Add a bitch, a recluse, and an airhead to the list.

The second musical piece ended without Boullope ever paying attention to it. Boullope snapped his head to the front, anticipating the coming of another task. Lo it did: another round of applause came, a repeat of the timing game between Noble faction, Royal faction, and independent highbloods. A careful balance of faction loyalty, performative deference to the king, and the webs of family, be a noble the first, second, or third cousin of another. In all of that social purpose, genuine admiration for the music was lost, another tradition Boullope found the crown to have emptied out. He hated it with all his heart, the entire endeavor brought low by the influence of national politics.

That power would be in the hands of so few. It's unbelievable. That an entire Kingdom is forced to suffer the strengths and weaknesses of one family. Worse than unbelievable, it's unacceptable. How much longer can we plod along like this? We can’t, not any longer. Gods, that’s why I did this now! That it would fail! Why in the name of He of the Jetting Blaze would it have failed?! The boy emperor surely would have been at our gates, but the might of Re-Estize would have come to meet him, a full array of all our forces without the impotence of Vaiself hands. The war wouldn’t have been full of highbloods jockeying for favor with the crown, but a sort of true combat, one for the fate of the Kingdom. A grand unified act of collaboration. Now he will simply come later, and we will be none the stronger to show for it. This whole structure is fucking rotten.

Boullope swept his gaze to the side, Lytton having left in the interim. He clicked his tongue, and swept his gaze throughout the room to try and spy on his comrade. Boullope was tall enough to peer over the heads of most, but the throne room was far too crowded to spot a single man.

There’s nothing to do about the regents of our age now; both are unassailable. I can only build faction power now, and through that, domestic power. I ought to approach Lytton now, wherever he went. Likely a side room.

Boullope broke from his place. The ceremony portion of the anniversary celebration had concluded, with only a reception to follow. Had times been normal, it would have been yet another day of feasting for the Royals - as well as most independents - yet the general exhaustion had yet to leave the nobility. Almost all wished to return to their demesnes as fast as possible, most with urgent business either delayed or harried by the sixteenth and subsequent catastrophes. Boullope hazarded a guess, working his way through the thicket of nobles - many of which were leaving themselves - to enter one of the side reception spaces. He guessed correctly, Lytton sitting on a couch in an empty room.

“Count.”

“Marquis. Do tell, how are you enjoying the jubilee?”

“Not any more than I always do.”

“Really? I’m thanking the stars for it.”

“Why’s that?”

“That we’re having this anniversary at all.”

Lytton’s voice bore a bitter timbre. Boullope had never explicitly informed Lytton of his plans, though he had done his best to hint at their existence. In the weeks running up to the general council, he had sent letter after letter inquiring on the strength of forces that Lytton would bring with him to a future of such meetings. These were met with a deliberately vague response, Lytton understanding the innuendo and speaking of hypothetical violence. Since the sixteenth, however, Lytton hadn’t spoken more than a handful of words to him, none of which had been substantial. Barbro lowered his tone, trying to find a way in with the subordinate who had been dodging him.

“You speak of the Black Night turmoil.”

“A certain man has gone and made a fool of himself. At the cost of twenty-four men, and another six of absent repute, decided to splatter the halls of this palace for twelve dead. Twelve dead, who among their number, count nothing but paupers, villains, and knights. A man, who for some Godsforsaken reason, decided to hunt our Kingdom’s esteemed treasure in the form of a teenage girl. A man, who without cause, has given House Vaiself a victory. A man who has given them a story, one that they need not utter to believe. Who has given them a conspiracy to fight. Who has given them a stonesure excuse to pass their friends coin.”

I’ve never seen him so close to losing his composure; rageful, but never like this. He thinks Barbro’s hunting of Renner was my idea. I suppose it's hard to believe that the crown prince is that foolish. I can’t say otherwise, lest he think the prince isn’t under my command. Evade.

“I see no reason to make those statements of yours.”

“No? Are you to deny that such a thing happened?”

“If there is a master of this conspiracy-”

“If?”

“Yes, if.”

“How rich.”

“In any case, if there is a master of this conspiracy, I doubt this was his intention.”

“I doubt it too! By the Gods I doubt far more! I doubt his wit, I doubt his sanity, I doubt his equilibrium. I doubt he planned for any of this. Rather, I doubt he had the competence or the will to execute his schemes. I mark him a complete incompenent.”

He’s simply going to berate me at this rate; I give up trying to please him.

“Remember your station; the station you would not hold if I did not give it to you.”

“Shall I be a slave to your liquidity for all time, then? Fettered and mute by the tyranny of an unjust master.”

“Slavery is illegal, Count.”

“Another victory for House Vaiself! Thank you for reminding me.”

The pair fell into silence, Lytton turning his face away with a scowl. Boullope stood for a time, before setting himself down on the couch opposite his ireful comrade. Soon, he spoke.

“Perhaps you’re right. I do hold you in bondage unfairly.”

Lytton narrowed his eyes, drawing them across Boullope in reevaluation.

“What do you mean?”

“The Prime Minister, what do you think?”

“What?”

“I ask that you indulge me, Count.”

“Fine.”

Lytton paused, spending a moment thinking. He readjusted himself on the couch, lifting his chin off his palm, and spoke.

“Cailloux has his uses, but-”

“Not who, what.”

“The office itself?”

“Yes.”

“It’s hollow. It only holds authority within the House of Lords, which is, truly, only a meeting club for our faction. All he serves to do is call order, which by all rights should be a duty in the hands of someone else, yet hasn't been delegated away lest it lose the last of its responsibilities. All the office does is sign off on impotent declarations.”

In that, I agree. Though, it won't be so for long.

“Why does it only hold power within the House of Lords?”

“Lord, I don’t take kindly to those attempting to patronize me.”

“Because the prime minister has yet to be powerful.”

Lytton cocked his head.

“What are you saying?”

“I’m saying with the right man in the position, it will then become valuable.”

“You want me to back your bid? After this?”

“I don’t want you to back my bid. I want you to back yours.”

Lytton chuckled, raising an eyebrow as he did so.

“Mine?”

“Yes, yours.”

There, something irresistible. You always have craved status, let me present it to you.

“Fine, tell Cailloux to issue his resignation.”

“I will do no such thing.”

“What?”

“You are to challenge him for the spot. You are to convince your peers in the house that you will be better at the role, and then I will do the same thing.”

“Why? You wish to be in competition for the office?”

“Yes. The benefits are self-evident.”

“And which of us is to win?”

I, of course. There is no need for you to win. Even if you lose, you’ll gain status for it.

“Whomever among us is elected by our peers, be it Cailloux, you, or I.”

“This to show that the Prime Minister’s seat is something to be taken?”

“To be taken, to be desired, and one day, to be coveted.”

“Thus, to overshadow the throne.”

“Exactly.”

“And why will I join in?”

“Twenty standards, three as liquid, rest as forgiveness for House Lytton’s debts to House Boullope.”

“And what of the platinum spent in my bid?”

“I’ll cover up to half a weight.”

Lytton’s response was instant.

“I accept.”

“Then it’s done.”

It pains me to have to return to such political games, but violence is a dead end, at least for now. Perhaps the next war with Baharuth will present an opportunity. No matter, House Boullope will know its victory.