If the duke is surprised by the crowd of people that push into his study, it doesn’t show on his face. One week has passed. It’s time to deliver my judgment and decide Khan’s fate. What he no doubt expected to be a quiet conversation between the two of us has become a rather crowded conference of all the involved individuals.

As the main character of this show, I’m in the lead. Geneva stands beside me, looking as cute and unthreatening as ever. Behind us are Alana and Yulia. The latter is a last-minute addition. Alana decided that her sister had a right to speak on behalf of her brother. Honestly, I think it was less morality that led to her accommodating her sister and more a pair of big, green eyes. My future saint is weak to children, something I already suspected after the Wenry incident.

Bringing up the rear are the older women. Two of the dukes wives, a grim-faced Eleanor standing beside an equally and unusually dour Kalise, who is holding back Bulliard who tried to stop them from entering. Kierra is leaning against the wall near them, arms folded as she prepares for a good show. She doesn’t have a direct role in the conversation, but should this devolve to brutish threat exchanges, I’m sure she’ll be happy to join the fun. Beside her is Roza, presence muted as she similarly waits for her moment.

“Lady Tome.” The duke gazes at the unexpected additions before bringing his gaze back to me. “I meant for our meeting to be private.”

“I apologize for breaking etiquette and surprising you, but they have a matter that relates to our discussion. I think it’s better we all talk together.”

He takes the measure of the room before dipping his head. “Very well. What is your judgment?”

“I won’t speak in circles. We haven’t been able to heal Khan but there is a chance. It’s going to take time, though. Time we aren’t willing to spend in the north.”

“There is no difference.”

“There is a big difference. We may be able to save him. We just don’t want to do it here. Which is where my proposal comes in. You let us take Khan back to the Grand Hall. Once we have tried our methods, we will return him to you either whole or broken to do with as you please.”

“Impossible,” the duke replies immediately. “Khan is a known traitor. The people of Victory expect judgment. Exile is too lenient.”

I turn to Alana’s mother as she steps forward, hearing her cue. “Perhaps not, my lord. Bulliard delivered my proposal for how to handle the Khan problem. This can make it even better. We present Khan as mentally ill. His sister, having recently come back from a campaign where she didn’t lose a single soldier, takes in her brother. She vows to heal his madness and return to avenge him.” Her gaze moves to her daughter. “Of course, this hinges on my daughter returning.”

“I will,” she grouses, “but first I need distance from this. We all do.”

“We do not need distance, we need action. Your method makes for a good story, but a story is not enough. There is a chance for doubt.”

“A chance, yes.” A point of contention between us. Roza refused to give us her unconditional support. The truth of it is, our way does leave room for doubt in the hearts of Victory’s people. The duke’s doesn’t.

Roza has gotten to where she is because the duke can trust her, at least when it comes to the matters of the north, implicitly. She refuses to compromise that relationship to make us look better, especially because the duke wouldn’t be fooled for a moment. “I think the chance is worth the possible gains.”

“Supposing the information my son provides isn’t tainted, what would a prisoner and a pawn know of the enemy?”

“It is impossible to know what is inside his head and there are more important things at stake.”

“Like the goodwill of your family,” I add.

Roza winces at my bluntness but doesn’t correct me. That prompts the duke to look around the room again, re-examining the determined expressions on his family’s faces. “I see.” His hands press against the top of his desk as he stands, leaning forward and frowning. “I am the lord of Victory. My wives and daughters do not dictate my actions.”

I scoff. I’m a godling and my wives often dictate my actions. Does he think a title means he doesn’t have to care about anyone other than himself?

Eleanor’s response is more civil than what I’m thinking. “Are you not a father as well?”

“My responsibilities come first.”

“What responsibilities?” Kalise snaps. “What about your responsibility to your son? To me?”

Not even her impassioned shouting is enough to break his stern mask. “You knew who you were marrying.”

“Oh, I knew Erenheart. I accepted that our children would be soldiers in a never-ending war. The clans aren’t much different. Here, they would be little lords and ladies. My children, nobles! A privilege they would have to fight for, but we must fight for everything.” Her lips twisted into a sneer. “You never told me my son would die to make you look good.”

“What happens to him is a consequence of his own actions.”

“How?! Someone fecked around in his mind!”

“He chose to forsake the campaigns and venture beyond the Peaks alone, despite lacking in strength. He exposed himself to the enemy. It is no surprise they were not merciful.”

“Are you blaming him for being attacked?” Kalise growls, eyes glowing. She looks one second from throwing herself at him and not in the fun way. Eleanor grips her arm tightly, but she doesn’t look happy herself.

“My family has as much history in the north as the James,” the stern woman says slowly, voice tight with her effort to squash her emotions so they don’t compromise her speech. “My father grew up knowing he would die in the campaigns one day. I grew up knowing the same. When we were engaged, I knew my children would die too. As I got older, I had to accept that some of them would die before me. They have.”

She takes a deep breath. “Everyone who goes beyond the Peaks does so knowing they may not return but they do it because they believe in Victory. In our traditions. One of which is that we do not abandon our own. If there is a shred of life left in a soldier, we bring them home. If they can be healed, we save them, so they can fight again. Khan is not dead. He is sick. The ancestors say that he must be healed so he can fight again another day.”

The duke closes his eyes, a heavy silence filling the room as he appears to think. After several long moments, he lets out a deep sigh and opens his eyes. Something in his gaze speaks to exhaustion. “Do you think I am eager for my son to die? I have already lost far…far too many.”

He shakes his head and whatever vulnerability in his gaze I think I saw is gone. “Victory can survive the loss of Khan. What it cannot survive is doubt. If they doubt us, they doubt our mission. If they doubt our mission, they doubt our traditions. And if our traditions cannot be trusted, then there is nothing holding us together.

“Nearly every man and woman in the north can fight and fight well. I am not Alana’s bannerwoman.” His eyes move to me. “I can lose my head and I will not stand up. The James family is not the strongest. Nor have we ever been. Yet, our rule has never been questioned. Victory has never revolted. We have always been united. Why? Because of our will. Our strength may be contestable but our devotion to Victory’s ideals is not. No James, not one, has ever failed to follow tradition.

“We have ruled this harsh land for so long because no one is confident they could do the same. I have lost four sons. What father thinks he could do the same and continue to look after Victory’s interest? Who could bury child after child and send those that remain back into war? Who can do that generation after generation? No one! No one but the James has the will! That is why they respect us! Why they follow us.

“Our will, our sacrifices, bind Victory together. If we lose that identity? It all crumbles. If I spare Khan, in any way, then the duke of Victory is not a man of unbreakable will. He is a normal man. A man with a heart. A man who can falter. A man that can compromise. If that is the case, then the duke of Victory can be any man. A man stronger than me. A man smarter than me. All it takes is one. One man with enough ambition to think he can rule better than me. One man with enough belief to think that I have betrayed the north as well. One incident and our unity, that is already strained, fractures. Then, it is only a matter of time until it breaks.”

I stare with wide eyes as the duke sucks down a deep breath, having spent it all on the longest speech I’ve ever heard from him. I’m not the only one shocked. Everyone is gaping at him as he retakes his seat.

“If it were just myself at stake, I wouldn’t hesitate. I’ve been lucky so far and lived a long life but my body is tired. I have too many old injuries that ache and too many defeats to run at the northern hordes with the same energy as the younger men. I believe Khan may hold advantages in his mind. But all the advantages in the world aren’t worth the chance that Victory tears itself apart. We cannot risk it. Not now.”

He looks at his wives. “I won’t ask for your forgiveness. I am choosing duty over our child. I also won’t allow you to stop me. I did what I could for Khan but there will be no more stalling. He will be executed.”

A poignant silence lingers after he finishes speaking. His family is shocked into silence. Both with his unexpected wordy reasoning and his logic.

I understand. I still think the north and everyone in it is a special brand of crazy but I understand his concerns. Why he thinks he doesn’t have a choice.

If variations of that speech have been drilled into his head by his family since he was a child, it’ll be in his bones by now. And he has to believe it. What else could comfort him at night after burying four sons? Certainly not his wives.

“…is this some kind of joke?”

Unexpectedly, the one to break the silence is Alana. I’m taken aback by her quickly mounting anger, displayed clear as day on her twisted expression. If Kalise looked ready to throttle her husband earlier, my future saint’s scowl says she wants to rip his heart out and feed it to him in small pieces while Kierra keeps him alive.

“You’re going to let Khan die…out of fear?”

That gets the biggest reaction out of the duke so far. “I am not afraid,” he snaps. “The James—"

“Who gives a flying fuck about that stupid name!” she yells, cutting him off. “I’m sick of it! Years and years I struggled for it. I thought it meant everything. Since you haven’t figured it out yet, let me tell you something, Father. It doesn’t mean a damn thing!

“You think the north needs the James? I haven’t heard a funnier joke in my life. If we all disappeared, right now, do you think Victory will simply cease to exist? That the war ends?” Her laughter is sharp and cruel, not a trace of joy to be found in it. “Get over yourself! This is Victory’s war, not the James’! And something else, you selfish bastard! You are a man. A normal man. Because if you were this force you’re trying to describe, if you had a truly unshakable will, then you’d save your son and hold Victory together, whatever it took. That’s what I would do. And you…you…”

She sounds absolutely disgusted. The duke’s brows are furrowed so heavily, he could likely fold a piece of iron between them. “Those words are easy for you to say. Centuries of tradition and thousands of lives aren’t yours to consider. You have the luxury of following your heart.”

“The worst part of it is, a part of me agrees with you,” Alana bites out. “It says it makes sense for him to die for this family’s reputation. That he was going to die for Victory anyway, so does it really matter how or when? If this was before, I wouldn’t have questioned it. But I’ve seen real power. It doesn’t give a shit about honor, duty, tradition, or your last name. Power is power. That’s what the estrazi have. If a dragon flies over Victory, your stupid traditions aren’t going to do shit to stop it!”

“Wait a fecking moment,” Kalise shouted the same time Roza shouted, “Did she just say a fucking dragon?”

“Did he not tell you that?” Alana asked sarcastically, turning around. “When the estrazi ambushed us, we found a dragon scale. One that still had mana within it.”

“Meaning it either came from a live dragon or was found before the mana could fade,” Eleanor explained softly.

“Wait, wait, wait!” Kalise shook off Eleanor’s hand. “Ignoring how fecking ridiculous this is, if there’s a dragon coming, we all need to leave Victory. Now.”

“Leaving isn’t an option.”

“The feck it isn’t! Saints’ blessed asses, the kitten is right. The north has the best fighters I’ve ever seen but that doesn’t mean a damn thing against a dragon.”

“It isn’t confirmed,” the duke tries to argue again but his wife isn’t hearing it.

“Confirmed? Even a possibility is too much!”

“That’s what I said,” Alana grumbles with vindication.

“They destroyed a continent, Erenhart. A whole fecking continent! What in the shit-churning Abyss do you think a few thousand knights are going to do against that kind of power?! You want to kill our son when this whole kingdom may be drowned in dragon magic because of your family’s crazy war?! No. Feck no. I’m not asking your permission anymore. My son and I are leaving.”