“You are planning the Winter Rites?”

“If that’s the party that happens after the campaign, then yes.”

The old servant frowns and looks around. I don’t know why he thinks it’s relevant but there is no one eavesdropping on our conversation. “You would take care not to describe the Rites as a…party.” His lips twist with distaste. “The surviving members of the army celebrate their fallen comrades but it should not be described in such a flippant way.”

“Alright. I didn’t mean any offense.” Burials are a sensitive topic. Their customs deserve to be respected, no matter how strange they are. And that Alana called it a party too. “I am planning the Rites for Alana’s army and would appreciate a few insights.”

He stares at me, probably judging my sincerity. Whatever he sees makes him scoff softly. Here is someone who remains unimpressed, or at least unintimidated, with me and the rest of my family despite our performance in the March. “I don’t know if a Rite is necessary. You suffered no losses.”

You would think that to be a cause for celebration but the way he says it, it sounds like a criticism. “These Rites are tradition. I thought you people were big on that. Anyways, Alana wants this to happen so that’s that. I would appreciate it if you were helpful.” I step closer to him. “I’m surprised I have to ask twice. Normally, a loyal servant would be jumping at the chance to help a member of the family they serve.”

Kierra, who is leaning against a wall a few paces away, raises her head and eyes him. Some people might think she’s glaring. I think she’s still sullen from our earlier conversation. Despite her posturing, I know she’s still…bothered.

Makes me wonder if her sense of failure is what caused her temper tantrum during the March. The last time she failed, her mother trapped her in the Enchanted Forest for twenty years. Geneva constantly reminds me that no one is infallible. Somewhere deep inside, very deep inside, she must have her own fears and insecurities. Hopefully, she’ll open up about them. And hopefully I know how to help when the time comes.

“I am always willing to be of service to the James,” the old servant says dryly, not appreciating my insinuation. Figures. He takes offense at one little dig but Alana has been taking the snubs from her family with grace for years. “I simply do not see how I can be of much help.”

Alana must have told me to talk to him for a reason. “If you can’t advise me on what to do, how about what I shouldn’t do?”

“Hm. Yes, I see how that could be useful. Perhaps we should sit down.”

“…alright.”

I expect him to take us to a sitting room. Instead, he guides us to the small, attached building the family uses for training. The servant hands us two plush cushions to sit on. I stack mine atop Kierra’s and settle in her lap as Bulliard leaves to fix us some tea. He doesn’t bother with one for himself, kneeling on the wooden floor without the slightest sign of discomfort. Once we’ve fixed our cups, he finally deigns to answer my question.

“If you truly wish to conform to Victory’s traditions, then there are several things you should remember.”

“Should I be writing this down?”

“Is your memory failing you at such a young age, Lady Tome?”

“Wow. Didn’t think someone with so many wrinkles could still have a sense of humor. Is that why the duke has kept you around for so long? The occasional laugh?”

His slight grimace says he understands that the tone of this conversation is determined by him. Rather than grace, I respond to snubs with sarcasm and violence. “It is nothing complicated. First, there is the order of entrance.”

“Mm.” At banquets large enough to warrant it, nobles are introduced based on their status. It’s a little surprising Victory would bother with something so pretentious but the concept is familiar.

“As the field commander, Alana should be standing at the entrance to welcome the army. The Moons and Stars are always first. Afterwards, who you welcome is a reflection of your preferences. Some don’t pay much attention. However, many eyes are watching the young lady.”

“People reading too much into useless gestures. I feel like I’m back in the capital.” Sigh. I don’t know anything about these orders. “Just give me a list that follows what the duke would do.”

Bulliard smiles. Must like us falling in line with his lord. “In addition, there are a few orders I would suggest the young lady not be seen welcoming at all.”

“Put it all on the list.”

“Good. There is also the matter of food.”

I wave him off. “I think we’ll take care of that ourselves.”

“As long as you serve the traditional titan stew.”

“What?”

He chuckles. “You know that the armies bring back the heads of the titans they slay. It is tradition to cook the brains of the largest titan in many large pots of stew to feed the entire army.”

My stomach heaves at the thought.

“It is said to give the warriors the wisdom of the ancestors.”

How does eating monster brains make you smarter? If anything, it should make you sick! Ugh. If only traditions needed to make sense. I don’t have to eat it, do I? No one’s going to be watching to make sure I slurp down some brains, are they? I wonder if even Geneva can make that taste good. And is it even still edible? We’ve been dragging around that head for weeks. I know food keeps better in the cold but that has to be pushing it, right?

“I have a recipe—"

“No! We don’t need that. Let’s just finish talking about this par—the Rites. Anything else we should know?”

“The Rites are one of the few events where weapons are not allowed. Before you ask, grief-stricken, emotional knights do not mix well with drink and sharp instruments.”

“A given.” This is what shocks me the most. Eating the brains of their kills? Perfectly in-line with what I’ve observed of these people. Keeping weapons away from drunken warriors looking for a fight? Incredibly reasonable and therefore very unexpected. Bordering on unbelievable.

“During the Rites, the knights tell stories of the fallen. If you let them, they will go on all night. There is an art to interrupting war stories without inciting a riot. Hopefully, you figure it out without too many incidents.”

So, it’s inevitable there will be incidents? “You told me I didn’t need to write this down.” This list is getting long.

“That is all.” Bulliard pauses to pour himself a cup of the bitter tea I haven’t taken a second sip of. I swear, these people have no sense of taste. Which isn’t surprising, since brains are a traditional food. Saints. “May I be as presumptuous as to ask you a question now?”

“You’ve been helpful so why not?”

“Are you the reason Lady Alana wishes to leave?”

“That another one of your jokes?” I huff. “This family has given her more than enough reasons to want to leave.”

“You are her lover. You could convince her to stay but you don’t.”

“Why, by all that is saintly, would I do that?” I hate it here. Anyone who isn’t insane would hate it here. And it’s not going to get any better anytime soon.

“With you supporting her, she is practically guaranteed to be Victory’s next commander. She will do well too, with a little training. With her mother…” He frowns. Reconsidering his words? “I would have thought the power behind the title of duchess would appeal to a noble of the south.”

“No title is worth dealing with the north.”

“The James are unquestioned in Victory. Especially a strong James. If there is something that displeases you, you need only change it.”

“And if I said the war displeases me? How do you think it’ll go if I try to change that?” I chuckle as his frown deepens. “See? The position comes with more problems than it does powers. Who would be interested? I suggest you stop wasting your breath. At your age, I don’t know how much you have left.”

He glares at me. “Victory’s healers are not so incompetent I need to worry about my health. I will live for many decades. I had hoped to watch the house passed to capable hands. A shame.”

“Do you think so little of the other heirs?”

“No. They are James through and through. The same goes for Yulia’s husband, a man of the north. Alana is…different. Perhaps she is merely blessed with incredible luck. Her affinity, being sent to the Grand Hall, coming back with you.” He looks at me meaningfully. “Victory has pursued strength for countless generations and achieved nothing. I believe it may be time to prioritize something different.”

“…well. Great?” I’m not sure how to respond to that. I know how I want to. I want to snap that no one cares what he thinks but that would be both petty and pointless.

The old servant grunts as he climbs to his feet, collecting the tea tray. “If that is all you needed to know, I must return to my duties.”

“Thanks for the help,” I call as he walks off. That was a weak attempt to change our minds. But what should I expect from him? Knowing these people, they can’t comprehend how anyone wouldn’t want to throw their lives away for Victory. Asking them to persuade someone rational to their way of thinking is too high of a hurdle, I’d say.

“Come on.” I stand and hold out a hand for Kierra. “Let’s go see a succubus about a stew.”