"Hmph. I've seen enough."

Faeroth's scrying spell lost sight of the outsiders after they disembarked from the ship, having found no weapons of war onboard the vessel. There had been none, of course. The Chosen of the Capitol province had simply wanted to see what Zaman's adversaries were made of, and if they posed an actual threat to the stability of the realm.

They did not. Though perhaps Zaman did.

Faeroth had teleported in Nightingale and his Outcast Elties to meet the outsiders with orders to engage and assess the enemy, and capture them if it proved especially easy. True to their usual behavior, Nightingale's team had spent the battle playing with their food, and suffered a technical defeat thanks to a mad ploy and favorable terrain.

If these outsider upstarts could nearly be defeated by Fearoth's worst squad of elites, they weren't worth acknowledging. And if Zaman couldn't deal with them himself, he wasn't worthy of his title. Faeroth gave the conflict even odds of falling out one way or the other, and no matter the outcome there would be no truly impactful result beyond a change in stewardship.

For his part, Zaman looked like a child who'd just been informed St. Nikolai doesn't actually deliver New Year's presents. He stared at the air where the window of the scrying spell had been, stunned to silence.

"Chosen Faeroth—" he began.

"Don't let this affect your annual tribute, Zaman," Faeroth said. "It would be unpleasant for everyone involved." The dragonblood tapped his staff to the floor, and his attendants stood rigid. "We're leaving."

"Ah—of course, Faeroth. You can assure his Majesty that I will…"

Faeroth didn't catch the rest, already mentally preparing a teleportation spell to take him to the next province in his inspection list.

When a flash of light signaled his exit, Zaman slumped in his seat. "Well Garem, what do we now?"

Silence came in response. Zaman looked for his right hand, and found the man had vanished. "Garem?"

Garem Westmin was in his own office in Zaman's keep, having left Emily behind to observe the conclusion of the fight between the Chosen's elites and the outsiders. Sound and visuals had both been choppy at times, but he'd caught enough of the flow of the battle to learn most of what he needed. And he couldn't risk his reactions to what he saw betraying him.

If he missed anything important, Emily would inform him. Zaman's reaction to the spectacle would be harder to gauge. Either he'd grow despondent, enraged, or desperate. Maybe a combination of the three. Whatever he did, he would have to get by without his right hand for the time.

Garem had been summoned by his real employer.

"I thought you already left for Trandore," Garem said to the shadows of the office.

The Doctor did not appear from the corner so much as seem to melt out of it. Garem suppressed a shudder. Whatever the Doctor's magic was, it didn't sit right on Garem's spine.

"I delayed my departure when I learned of Faeroth's visit," the Doctor said, his deep baritone sounding completely undistorted by the mask, as if his voice came from in front of it rather than inside it. "Tell me. What did you think of him?"

Garem thought back to the tunnel Faeroth had bore through the castle and city. "Powerful. Flippant. Self-Important. I've killed plenty like him before."

"If you attempted to take his life, he would scatter you like gravel across the street."

"He has to sleep sometime."

"No. He does not."

Garem filed that piece of information away for later use, but maintained his stone faced expression. "I still think he's too overconfident. We've sent elite squads after these outsiders before. But he only sent one himself. Even if it was just to test them, he took a risk. It could have easily turned out worse."

"What do you think he was testing?"

"Whether or not the outsiders are a threat to him. Whether they're worth stepping in over."

"Hm." The Doctor sounded disappointed. He corrected Garem like a bored lecturer. "Faeroth would have been half-convinced they were not from the moment he heard of them. Pitting them against his forces only confirmed what he already believed he knew. The true test was whether or not they showed up at all."

Garem understood immediately, and felt a brief wound to his pride that he hadn't figured it out sooner. Faeroth had been very thorough in baiting his trap, seeding the rumor of the weapons of war and issuing movement orders that would give the impression of massing for an assault. Those factors combined would be a surefire way to draw the rebels out, and quickly—but only if they heard about them in time.

The orders hadn't been public knowledge. People might have noticed local garrisons packing up, but they'd have no way to know where they were headed beyond out of town. The only way the rebels could have had enough information to think the situation actionable is if they had eyes on the inside, but not so far inside as to know it was a trap.

There was a fox in the hen house.

"This wasn't just about testing the outsiders," Garem said. "He's testing Zaman."

"Indeed. Faeroth cares little for who occupies the position. Only that they fulfill their obligations to him," the Doctor said. "He has given Zaman all the information to identify that there is a spy in his ranks. Now he waits to see if Zaman can do anything about it."

"I doubt he's even put that together," Garem said. "Should I tell him?"

"Zaman has served every anticipated purpose I have for him as the Chosen, and he has been compensated accordingly," the Doctor said. "However, there is still the possibility of unanticipated uses for him. Do what you can do preserve his rule in these next few months. But if you are unable to save him from his own incompetence, do not hesitate to remove him. He cannot be allowed to reveal anything to his successor, whoever that may turn out to be."

"Yes sir."

The Doctor produced a rack of four green vials from his pocket, and placed them on Garem's desk. "Enough antidote to tide you over until you join me in Trandore."

With the most neutral tone of voice he had ever used in his life, he asked, "Four at once?"

"You are surprised." It wasn't a question.

"With you gone, I expected to receive these as deliveries."

"I did not consider the risk of a courier worth it. You are a valuable asset in my endeavors. I would hate to lose you while you are still of use. We have worked together for some time, and it has been years since you have tried to kill me. You have earned a measure of trust, even with the boy's presence in Lochmire. But Garem. Do not betray me. Or you will both die."

Garem did not move. He did not blink. He did not so much as twitch in the Doctor's direction. Even as ever fiber of his body yearned to rip the monster posing as a man in half.

"Yes sir."