Rook bounded up the staircase. The plates in his surcoat weighted him down and his helmet blocked his ability to look more than three steps forward, but still he sprinted, screaming for Hierax. During the Tournament he had seen the old butcher standing in his observation box at the top ring of the Colosseum, yet he had seemed out of reach then. Like he was across the sea. That had been bad enough—but now he was close. Now Rook smelled the blood on his hands. It hazed his vision over with red savagery. All he could think of was revenge.

A ducal knight intercepted him on a landing. The two traded blows on the armor, but as ten more of Rook’s hetairoi followed up the stairs, he surrendered, and Rook continued on.

“Don’t harm him!” he shouted. “Take him prisoner!”

He was already halfway up the next flight. Now Aletheia sprinted at his side; she wore her own elven-mail inscribed tunic, with a helmet that was much too big for her. When they encountered another three knights waiting for them with pollarms at the top of a flight, she sent out billows of smoke, consuming each man in sizzling golden fire, turning their armor into molten steel. Rook drove his sword through one’s cuirass, now no more protective than a sheet of liquid, then continued on.

They came to the top of the stairs. Now there was nowhere for Hierax to run. They emerged into the hallway that led to his father’s old room, where windows overlooked Crowsbrook and Katharos miles beyond, and there they came face-to-face with all the rest of the Duke’s men. Ten of them in two ranks, with Hierax at their rear.

Rook stared them down. As the seconds passed his own knights poured into the hallway, until he had twice their number behind him, braced and ready to fight.

There had been screaming of pain and fear and agony non-stop since they entered the bailey. Now all was silent but the labored breath of two sides of exhausted men.

“You’ve done all you can to defend your lord,” Rook called to them. His voice echoed. He remembered this hallway once having tapestries and rugs, but now they were gone, and it was bare stone the entire way down. “Surrender now and spare yourselves.”

Hierax took one step forward.

“What would your father say?” he called back. “To see his son rely on magicians to wage war on his own family? Enthralled to an enchantress?”

The question made Rook sick, coming from that mouth. He shot back with contempt: “You can ask him yourself soon enough.”

“You say you’re restoring the rightful rule of tradition. But you’re not doing anything of the kind, boy.”

“It’s over, Hierax. Don’t ask these men to die for you when you can’t win.”

“I can’t win. But neither can you. The Archon can’t overlook crimes like yours. Making love to a witch. Using her to attack a Duke’s keep. Cheating in the Tournament. You’ll get your just end soon enough. From the Prince, the Cult, or the Tower. You won’t get away with this. So maybe your men are the ones who should surrender.”

“Shut up,” whispered Aletheia.

“This is your last chance,” Rook said.

Hierax drew his sword. “Korakos falls while we still stand. Will you stand for that?”

The knights across from Rook shouted, “No!” and, “Never!” in unison.

Rook would never understand how even a man as foul as Hierax could command such loyalty. But then it only showed that no one was the villain in his own story. To them Rook was the usurper. And he hated that so many good, loyal, honorable men had to die for victory to be achieved.

But he would kill who he had to. And he would do what it took. He would not be kept from Hierax, no matter what.

Aletheia prepared to let fire loose over the Duke’s knights—

They charged. Sparks flew from her fingers as Rook pulled her away, pushing her back toward his men as a wave of blades clashed against him. His knights were quick to respond, and soon he found himself caught in the center of a melee, crushed between two masses of heavily armored footmen. Swords danced through the air. There was no screaming or routing now, only the shouts of battle, the eagerness for bloodshed, the final stand of Hierax’s most loyal forces against all of Rook’s old friends and new allies.

He was knocked to the ground and trampled in the chaos. Aletheia helped him back up to his feet, and then, from the rear of the fighting, he saw Hierax watching on as his men were captured, forced to surrender, subdued, and otherwise killed. Rook wasn’t injured but he had been bruised and battered and he was exhausted to the extreme, and he was desperate to get to Hierax, desperate to match swords with him and capture him. He still hadn’t decided what he would do to his father’s killer, he wanted revenge more than anything in the world, but he also knew how it would look to be merciful, and he wanted a trial, a trial that was robbed from his own father by Hierax, a trial like any man deserved—

Rook saw Hierax past the melee then. He had retreated to the Duke’s chambers, to the great banded doors that were still shut, and he looked up at Rook. He tossed his sword to the ground. Then he took off his own helmet and threw it beside the sword. He looked so much older than Rook remembered. And as Rook’s knights broke past his men, as he had nowhere left to run, he drew his dagger, and he smiled sadly.

He brought it to his neck and slit his own throat.

“Damn it!” Rook screamed. He pushed past his men, past the last of the fighting, punching the last knight still resisting as he made his way through, but by the time he made it to Hierax, he was dead. “You bastard! You—miserable, murdering—”

He grabbed Hierax by the shoulders and shook him. Screaming gibberish into the man’s lifeless face. After a life filled with treachery, this was his last: to rob Rook of a final confrontation. To prevent any trial, or any pardon, or any grant of mercy. The ultimate act of spite. Suicide before his nephew. And above all, the worst act of cowardice a man could commit.

A brave man would have fought to the death with his men. Rook would have fought to the death. All the fury of the night he watched Hierax butcher his parents deluged back into him now, as he beat the corpse before him. He pummeled the lifeless face and tore away at his armor, and he didn’t stop until Aletheia grabbed him by the shoulders and tugged him away.

“He’s dead!” she said. “Rook! We have to find Eris!”

He looked to her. Then to his men. The battle was one. The Keep was theirs. But Eris was nowhere to be found. She was not with him.

“Disarm and unharness every prisoner,” he commanded Ailouros, “make sure they get water, then take them to the dungeons. And search every inch of the Keep for stragglers!”

He rushed down the stairs so quickly that he nearly collapsed when he reached the ballroom once again. He told himself that he would stick by Eris’ side at all times, but he knew it wouldn’t be practical—he had men to command, charges to lead, melees to join. But now his heart pounded for her. Anything could have happened. She could take an army by herself, but all it would take was a rogue bolt from a crossbow, a stray arrow, a sword to her thigh—

His fears were unfounded. She was in the great hall, with Apeiron and Khelidon and Ajax and a few more knights, and most of the rest of the levies as they took prisoners and cleared away bodies. Khel instructed everyone on where to go and what to do.

Eris sat in the duke’s throne. She removed her helmet and lounged lazily, like a queen in her armor. She had never looked so splendid in her life. The revealing, succubus-like beauty of her adventurer’s attire, her skirt and baggy black cloak and rags across her torso, was enchanting—but he had almost grown used to it. He was accustomed to seeing her in dresses, too. But in pants, wearing his tunic, with her hair tied—she was like a different woman, and he rediscovered her again. She was so painfully attractive. So flawlessly gorgeous. Goddesses were envious of her figure.

Maybe he was so madly in love that those thoughts were all he could conjure when she stirred to regard him at his approach. Considering him like a kitten contemplating its new toy. Maybe she had seemed less perfect when they first met. He couldn’t remember. But he doubted it.

“I could grow used to this,” she said. “Would you kneel before me?”

As much as he wanted to play, he wasn’t in the mood. But he smiled at her anyway. “You’re all right. Why are you here?”

“A knight come down the stairs informed us you had the Duke captured,” she said. “The long walk up did not seem worth the effort.”

“Not captured. He killed himself,” Rook said. “When his men lost. He didn’t want to face my judgment.”

“I see. That is—” she hesitated, trying to read his features. “Good or bad news?”

He shook his head. “Why didn’t you follow up the stairs?”

“We pursued Kirkos.”

“Kirkos—” Rook’s eyes went wide. He shouted: “Kirkos! Where is he? Is he all right?”

Khel turned to face Rook at this moment. He shook his head. “He’s in the servants’ quarters. The bastard ambushed us when we followed after him.”

He knew his brother’s tone at once. No one ever followed with good news, and they neither led with bad. “The servants’ quarters.”

Eris showed Rook her wrist. A gash dripped blood. “He wounded me and would have killed me, had Khelidon not intervened.”

“We weren’t able to take him captive,” Khel said. “I’m sorry, brother. He fought till the end.”

Rook closed his eyes. He covered his face with his mittens and focused on his breath, and it took all his concentration not to scream as the bitter news set in. He had so many fond memories of his cousin. Playing with him. Riding with him. Fencing with him. He had known him since he was a baby. No matter how much Kirkos had come to hate Rook, Rook never could have hated Kirkos, and never in a lifetime could he have wanted him dead. And to hear the news—he almost started to cry.

“Why,” was all he managed.

“He knew how dangerous I was,” Eris said, “and would do everything to neutralize me. ‘Twas the only way to subdue him quickly.”

“Why didn’t you use Sleep?”

Eris hesitated, and past those beautiful features, the flawless complexion, the square jawline, the perfectly straight nose, the high cheekbones and golden eyes tilted like a cat’s that oozed malevolence with every glare, Rook saw the lie. Just a glimmer, for just a second, but he had spent three years with this woman, and he knew her too well by then.

She opened her mouth to respond—

Khel put an arm on Rook’s shoulder. “She tried, but there was no time. I made the choice, brother. I decided I preferred to save Eris, rather than risk her life for our cousin. Will you hold that against me?”

Rook was shaking in anger, but he considered his brother carefully.

“That is the truth,” Eris said. “I did my best to apprehend Kirkos. But if I used my magic, I risked killing him, and I could not concentrate once wounded. I lost my staff. I attempted to use Sleep, but there was no time. Khelidon saved me.”

There was more truth to this, but still Rook knew better. When Eris wasn’t believed she became indignant. Angry. Righteous. Here she was calm. Reasonable. Logical. Quiet. It was the sure sign of a lie to the man she loved. She felt guilty telling it. What had happened, then?

He glanced between the two of them. He closed his eyes. They would never tell him the truth. Kirkos was dead. What use was there in fighting the ones he loved? They were all that mattered to him. He would die for them gladly, and nothing could change that, Eris especially. She had him utterly ensorcelled.

So he nodded, just as he had the night the dwarf had disappeared in Keep Arqa.

“Okay,” he said sadly. “Then the black crows are no more. The blond crow is Duke.”

Hierax’s defenders numbered one hundred and ten. Of those, nearly a third were dead or would die within the week. Another third had fought valiantly and refused surrender, but succumbed to injures—yet would still survive. The rest surrendered. That left over seventy prisoners. For the time being he brought them to the dungeons beneath the keep. There was hardly room for everyone there, but it was a short-term arrangement.

Rook’s casualties were one hundred wounded—everyone who stormed the Keep received some injury—and fewer than fifty dead, including only three hetairoi.

There was chaos throughout the castle for two days. Raiders posed as soldiers came to steal artifacts from the opened gates while bodies were cleared away, and over-excited levies became carried away and looted whole rooms of silverware, finery, art, and whatever else could be sold.

Rook was a patient, kind, and tolerant man, but he would not permit that behavior. On the second morning he gathered his forces and proclaimed, “Any man caught looting will be hanged. His family will receive no stipend. Failure to report looting will result in a flogging. Is that understood?”

So it had been, but the threat was never enough. Two boys of sixteen who Rook recognized as shieldbearers, shieldbearers who valiantly fought through the bailey and were first with him into the keep, were caught stealing plates from the kitchens by Ajax.

When they saw Rook they broke into sobs. “Please,” the taller said, “it’s for our mother, and our sisters, they’re hungry and we needed just some money—just some money, please, Your Grace.”

Ajax punched the taller boy. “Five hundred drachmae not enough to feed a family these days? We should speak to the Prince about the quality of his mint.”

The other was histrionic. “I didn’t want to—it was his idea—Your Grace, it was just one mistake—I’ve never stealed before—never—I won’t ever again, I learned my lesson—please, Your Grace—”

Rook stared at them. Suddenly he remembered what it meant to have power. For his pronouncements to be binding. For others to look his way for guidance. He wasn’t an adventurer anymore. Once his house was cleaned, once his accounts were set and a steward was hired, he would be one of the most powerful men in the city. And he could do whatever he wanted with these two boys, brave fighters, now thieves.

One mistake. A lapse in concentration for one moment, and a young life was to be extinguished. Was that justice?

“Where should we string them?” Ajax asked. “In the bailey, so everyone knows? Or perhaps in the village?”

Rook sighed. The rules had been set. Justice was always to be tempered with mercy, but every looter would have a story just as sad. And when the rules were set, both sides needed to obey. Honor demanded that.

“The bailey,” Rook said. “Hang them from the battlements. Leave them up for only a day, I’m tired of the smell of carrion.”

He didn’t watch their faces or listen to their screams as they were hauled off to their executions. It was terrible, to have to spend two lives to prove himself a serious ruler. But many others would have done much worse, and execution was the standard punishment for looting in all armies of the Kathars—much less in the Duke’s own home.

Nothing else was stolen after that.

With help from the villagers the corpses of the fallen were removed and buried or returned to their families. The debris of the portcullis was cleared. The walls were repaired, but the gate itself would need a replacement. Rook didn’t know where to go for something like that, so for now it would stay open.

Jason handed out five hundred silver coins to each soldier from the Duke’s treasury.

“I’ll pay you back,” he said. “I promise. This is just easier.”

It was a vast enough trove of funds to pay off their mercenaries. Rook wondered aloud why Hierax hadn’t hired an army of his own, with so much gold beneath his feet.

“Mercenaries don’t like fights they can’t route from,” Ajax said. “And they tend to lose out when they surrender. Ransom, you understand.”

Ransom. That returned Rook’s attention to the matter of their prisoners. Most would be worth something to somebody—they came from noble families. They might also be pardoned. Or…

“I say we execute them,” Eris said. “This would send a message, would it not? And their crimes—taking arms against the rightful duke of Korakos—far exceed those of the looters you hanged.”

“It doesn’t work that way,” Rook said. “They’re gentlemen. I can’t kill them. Nor would I want to.”

“Why not? They are our enemies.”

“Not anymore. The war is over. Now they’re just soldiers, like me.”

“The looters were soldiers. And our allies. Do noblemen make a habit of sparing their adversaries while killing their own men?”

“It’s different,” Khel explained to her. “They went against their Duke’s own pronouncement. For that, the punishment is death. It’s dishonorable. But Hierax’s men were simply on the other side. They acted with honor, so we treat them with honor.”

“Your honor is idiotic,” Eris said.

“I think I agree with the witch,” Ajax said.

“Then see them as bags of money instead. There’s ten thousand talents in ransoms sitting in that dungeon, at least,” Khel said. “Enough to pay for our army.”

Rook had been thinking this all over carefully. Now he arrived at a decision. “No,” he said. “No. They’re to be pardoned.”

“Pardoned?” Khel gasped.

“I promised I would let any man who surrendered go. So I will.”

“We will still let them go,” Khel sputtered, “just not for free. For the Aether’s sake, brother, you’ve promised not to tax the villagers for the whole year! How do you intend to fund the duchy if you don’t ransom your prisoners?”

“My brother’s an excellent steward,” Rook said. “He’ll figure it out. By the way, I name you as my steward. Good luck.”

Thus the men in the prisoner were let go, for free, with their arms and armor. Rook knew he sacrificed a great deal in funds to make such a gesture. He also knew ransoming was customary, and forgoing it would do little to make him look strong. But he hoped this act might earn him favor among his enemies. The one thing he desperately needed was fewer enemies. That was worth far more than any number of ransoms.

There was only one other prisoner to attend to. A woman, apprehended in the Duke’s room. A dignified, graying lady of forty, in fine robes that were spoiled after days in a dungeon.

His aunt. Hierax’s wife. Desdemona.

Rook held his first session of court. With the soldiers paid and most of the knights gone home the Keep felt empty, held down by only a few lingering friends and Khelidon’s retinue. He had awaited this moment for years, the moment he sat in his father’s throne and issued judgment, but there was so much work to do that he had no time to savor anything. All he felt was the strange loneliness of the empty halls, where when he walked from staircase to staircase his company was often only ghosts and shadows.

Eris and Aletheia were there, watching him with admiration in their eyes. Or perhaps it was lust in Eris’ eyes. And Khelidon, and Jason, and Diana had come, and a few others—Ailouros and Apeiron stayed. But no courtiers, not yet. These things would come in time.

Ajax dragged the deposed duchess up from the dungeon and planted her at the throne’s steps.

“Desdemona Eidolon,” Khelidon said. “Of Portoantos. Mother to Kirke and the late Kirkos, widow to Hierax. Now at your mercy.” He stepped away, and so did Ajax, and Desdemona was left on the ground, on her side, dirty, sodden, yet still somehow noble in her airs. She did not look up at Rook.

Rook had not seen this woman in four years. And before that, he had only good memories. She and his mother were close friends. They went on trips together. They visited the river. They told stories and went to the Tournament in each other’s companies. She had always smiled then. She wasn’t smiling now. She had always seemed so fragile, so domestic, so gentle and maternal, that her betrayal was worst of them all. He remembered nights after the death of her eldest son to pneumonia, his cousin near his age, where her wails pierced the masonry like a ghost’s shrieks and kept the whole of the keep awake.

But he couldn’t hate her. Maybe he had before, but not anymore. She was too wretched for contempt.

“Rise,” he commanded.

She did not rise. Ajax stepped forward and lifted her to her feet; she punched at him and he slapped her, which only sent her back down to the ground, to her knees. Rook waived him away. He leaned forward in the throne.

“Desdemona,” he said, and he spoke softly. “Most of those around us today will tell me to have you executed. You should make it as hard as possible to give in to them.”

She wiped blood from her nose. Then, finally, she looked up at him, and she sniffled. “Toss me from the hill,” she whispered.

“What?”

“Hang me. Toss me from the hill. Cut off my head. Or if you’re too cowardly to do it, hand me the knife and let me do it myself.”

“That isn’t what I want,” Rook said.

“You and your slut have taken everything. Don’t you understand? There’s nothing left. Kill me. Kill me! Let me see my sons again! Send me back to my husband!”

She became more animated by the syllable, until she was screeching, flailing her arms like a beggar on the streets, finally on her feet. Rook stood and walked to her. She was a very small woman. Their eyes met for a moment, and she began to attack him, flailing weak arms against his chest. She went for his sword, but he grabbed her wrists and subdued her easily.

“Your throne cost me everything,” she whispered. Tears swelled in her eyes. “Just kill me.”

“Now you know what it was like for us,” Rook said to her. And the way she recoiled, the way her eyes went wide—Rook knew she was in on it. She had been the entire time. Now Rook’s words resonated with her. Now she truly did know. “I’ve had to live with it. And so will you.”

He let her fall to the ground and returned to the throne.

“I pardon you of any wrong-doing, Desdemona. I forgive any hand you had in the murder of Duke Korax XXXI.”

She curled into herself on the ground. “No!” she wailed, sobbing.

“Kirkos was killed in the fighting. I’m sorry. I didn’t want that for him. But you haven’t lost everything. Kirke is alive and well with her husband. You will be sent to his court, and there you will live out the rest of your days in comfort, knowing that when you helped your husband murder your brother-in-law, the fate of his wife and his children was not nearly so happy.”

Desdemona went without giving another word. One of Khelidon’s knights dragged her from the keep, and was to be her escort to her new home. His task was to make sure she didn’t kill herself until Rook was beyond culpability. The decision he made was out of prudence as much as mercy; a proper execution of a noblewoman demanded a trial, since she was not caught performing any crimes, and that was a hassle he didn’t want to deal with. It was better to let her go. It almost seemed the crueler fate.

But it still left a horrible taste in his mouth. At least, he told himself, it would be the last he needed to think about Hierax and his family for the rest of his life.

The coronation came next. Every ducal vassal was invited from the city, the magistrates who administered in his name and the patricians, the lesser gentlemen who held estates and the rights of taxation to various sections within each quarter, along with his hetairoi, many of whom had fought at his side in the siege.

When the day came, he recognized every face in the crowd that gathered in the great hall. He had seen them all here before. Every face, every name—every one his father’s vassals. His again.

He had feared many, or even most, might not attend the ritual. This was where they swore fealty to him. This was where he truly became doukas of Korakos. But as he entered the great hall in his purple robe, he was relieved to find that not a single one of the men obligated to attend had absconded. Not any. Every single vassal was there to swear homage to the Strategos.

Normally it would be the heir’s mother who placed the crown atop his head. That was symbolic, as one generation became the next. But Rook’s mother was gone. Now it hardly mattered where the crown came from, a simple diadem to signify his rank. But he had an idea.

“I want you to do it,” he had said to Eris the night before. They were together in the Duke’s room.

“…remind you of your mother, do I?”

He smiled at her, stealing a kiss. “Not even slightly. You’re much too tall. It’s just that…the men who come know the role you played, and they’re followers of the Cult. They’re going to believe the Aether sent you. That I was chosen.”

She rolled her eyes. “That is not how mana works.”

“The Cult would disagree. They say everything is part of the Aether’s plan. Eris—if you place the diadem on my head, it’ll look like a magician fulfilling a prophecy. And…maybe it’s true. I couldn’t have ever done this without you, or Aletheia. But especially you.”

She smiled at him. Bit her lip. Teased him, stroking his arms. But finally she relented. “Very well,” she said. “I will do this. But you must buy me a new dress in exchange.”

“I’ll sew it onto you myself,” he said, and he pushed her onto the bed.

That was how he found himself sitting in the throne, surrounded by dignified noblemen, while Eris approached with the Korakos crown in her hands. She was dressed in the most splendid purple Rook had ever seen. The fabric was tight on her figure, but very low cut, just how she liked to wear everything she could, and she walked right up to him.

He had to close his eyes to stay civil.

She rustled through his hair. A band of metal felt cool against his forehead, and then weight came down around his ears…

When his eyes opened Eris was at his side, and the room erupted in cheers.

One by one the traditional vassals of Korakos came to him. They pledged fealty to him until death, and in exchange he pledged to defend them, to uphold the law, to always keep his word. It took all night. Once all was finally settled, he rose from the throne to give a speech.

“Today marks the end of a long, bloody streak in my family’s chronicle,” he said. “From now-on, I swear to maintain the general peace between my vassals, and I swear that when I have sons, they will be my heirs. As the sons of the Korakoi have always been.”

Eris slipped away in the revelry that followed. Rook didn’t think much of it then; she was always a loner. Instead he enjoyed the reunion with so many old friends, until he grew ill from hearing again and again that, “I always believed in you;” and, “That Hierax was a mean son-of-a-bitch, wasn’t he?”

Some hours in he caught Aletheia’s eye. She smiled at him from beneath an archway to the gardens. He disengaged from unending attention and intercepted her.

She wore a yellow dress. Earrings. Her hair was braided. She looked phenomenal. For the first time since they had met, not like a dirty adventurer, not like a scrawny runaway girl, but like a real woman.

“So,” she said. “Do you feel different?”

“Now you mention it, I have a headache.” He led her out into the gardens. “I think I trust the vows of the magistrates even less than Lord Arqa.”

“But this was what you wanted, right?”

He nodded. He glanced around the garden. Khelidon and Jason were working on acquiring new slaves and servants to attend to the premises; for the time being they were falling out of order. But still, the Keep was beautiful. A sea of green within a continent of gray brick, illuminated by shafts of moonlight.

“It’s all I’ve ever wanted,” he said. “This is what I was born for. Literally.”

She stopped and hugged him suddenly. “You deserve it,” she said.

He hugged her back, and he brought her to a bench and made her sit next to him. “You don’t have to fight anymore. It’s over.”

She looked up at him. Her chin on his shoulder. “What will I do?”

“Anything you want. I’ll give it to you.”

“A pony?”

“We have those already.”

“A suit of armor?”

“That depends on if you’ve decided to stop growing first, but I think it could be arranged.”

“…you?”

That caught him off-guard. He looked to her. “Me?”

“Will I ever see you anymore?”

“Of course you will. Why do you say that?”

“You’re always with Khelidon. Or Jason. Or Ajax. Or Eris. We never…ever since we came to Katharos. We haven’t practiced fencing once.”

She was right. They hadn’t. Of course she had been on his mind, but there were only so many hours in a day, and business of state took most of them. “I’m sorry,” he said. “Things will change soon, once Khelidon can take over running the duchy. Then we’ll get back to how we used to be. We can go on a trip together, to wherever you want to go. I promise.”

“Promise?”

“I promise. And we won’t stop fencing until you beat me every time.”

She smiled. “Okay.” Then, “Can I tell you a secret? I feel really stupid in this dress.”

“You look amazing,” Rook said with a smile. “And if you still think you feel stupid in a dress, just think how stupid I’d look in it.”

She giggled, and they talked for a few minutes more, but then it was back to the festivities. It was all exhausting work. But that night, when Rook went to bed, it was with the certainty that he did so not as Rook, but as Hierax XXXII of Korakos, doukas. That let him sleep very soundly.

Eris was avoiding him. Two days passed and she was absent from their chambers. He caught her only in the halls, and even then she ignored him. He remained too busy to fret on her mental state. He exchanged letters with the Archon, arranging a meeting for the next week where he could swear fealty in turn to the city’s monarch, and met with an architect who began reconstructing the portcullis. He heard petitions on petty grievances between his vassal magistrates and adjudicated their feuds, and he sentenced a man convicted of rape to death.

Every passing hour the life of Keep Korakos seemed to drip. More courtiers. More attendants. More retainers. More people to speak with, more issues to resolve, more things to handle. Yet still, whenever he entered into the great hall, the memory of that night—the night his father was murdered—flooded back to him. When he traversed the corridors alone he saw nothing but fighting in his mind. When he walked the battlements he recalled only the smell of blood. And wherever he went, no matter what he did, it was impossible not to be reminded of his father and his mother, who he missed so terribly every day.

He confided in Jason and Khelidon. They were his pillars of support. But he needed a woman—he needed Eris—to be intimate with. To keep him sane. To let him express how he truly felt to be in a place he so desperately wanted to be, yet that would always seem to him haunted.

Another day. No sign. Another—and finally he caught her. It was twilight and she stood on the Keep’s inner walls, higher up than those of the bailey, solitary, looking out over Katharos silhouetted to the west by the setting of the sun, the city’s Spire and all its tallest buildings blurred in orange radiance like a cityscape on parchment spilled over with luminescent paint.

Her hair billowed in the tepid breeze. Summer was drawing to its close. She glanced his way, then hung her head at his approach.

“You have found me,” she said. “Do not approach too quickly, for I can Blink away should I grow startled.”

“I’ll tiptoe to your side, if it makes you feel safer,” he replied.

She smiled. “If you must, I suppose you may.”

He didn’t bother. Instead he strode to her, and cautiously he reached for the small of her back. She complied at first, but as he leaned in to kiss her she pulled away.

He sighed. “What’s wrong?”

“Must something be wrong for me to crave solitude?”

“Eris…”

Now she sighed. “I warned you. I made myself clear. I told you the court was no place for—one such as me.”

“You seemed happy on the throne.”

She shook her head. “I…do not know.” She turned to him. “I feel very strange. The demon we banished at the mirror factory. I believe it has poisoned me, or…done something to me, for I have felt ill and have not recovered since my encounter with it in the spring. I have noticed this since then, of course, but only now has it become untenable. Now I feel—like a woman, unable to make up my mind, weak and dependent.”

The explanation sounded plausible enough to Rook, but he also knew Eris. He knew when there was more than met the eye. He traced her back with a hand and came in closer to her.

“Forgive me for noticing,” he said, “but you are a woman.”

She puffed. “Do not remind me.”

“It’s one of my favorite things about you.”

Now their faces were near. She held her lips an inch from his. “It has its advantages,” she whispered. “Yet this sentimental talk of love has let loose something worse within me than within you.” She pulled away.

Rook took a seat on the parapet, his back to the city and the setting sun. “I don’t believe it’s a demon,” he said. “You’re just not used to using the staff and the focus. Or to being in love.”

“No,” she confessed. “I am not.”

“Please. Tell me what it really is.”

She walked some distance down the wall before patrolling back to him. Finally she replied, “Keep Korakos is a dungeon. Every moment I spend here, I feel as though I am shackled.”

“If it’s a dungeon, it’s a vast one. And comfortable, too. You’ve taken solace in cells before—remember Kaimas? If you feel jailed here, then you’ll feel jailed anywhere on Earth.”

“The Earth may be a dungeon as well, but ‘tis one I am not likely to see the bars of. But this castle—I am surrounded by its walls endlessly. I cannot escape them, except to come out here. Truly, from a distance it seems vast, but it is larger without than within, like some spell. And that is to say nothing of the people.”

“The people.”

“They are everywhere. I cannot evade them, no matter where I go. ‘Tis enjoyable to be waited upon, but the courtier women who have followed after you, and their boorish husbands—I have never had more ghastly company.”

“I told you they were all fat,” he said.

“That is just the beginning.” She shook her head. Now her tone became graver—she began pleading. “How many times must I repeat myself, Rook? I do not want to be your duchess. I do not want to participate in ceremony. I do not want to play a lady, dressed up like a doll, waiting for the Seekers to strike, with no purpose but to carry your children. ‘Tis boring, to say the least. I have had nothing to do but lounge while you dash about attending to matters of law and taxation. I—have more I desire to accomplish with my life. There is nothing for me here.”

“Nothing for you?”

She looked at him. “Nothing except you. And the enormous piles of gold within the treasury…but that is all.”

He laughed at her, and she laughed, too, and they came together on the parapet once again. They looked out over the city.

“I knew you couldn’t stay,” he whispered. “You don’t need to justify anything to me, Eris. You don’t need an excuse. If you hate it here, go. Without my permission. I won’t try to keep you where you don’t want to be.”

“…yet I do not want to leave,” she said at length. She buried her head in her palms as she realized the contradiction.

Rook pulled her in closer. “By the Aether. You are a woman.”

“I have never felt so weak. So unable to make up my mind, so uncertain what I want. Yet I do know what I want. I want freedom. I do not want to be jailed here.” She looked at him. “And I also want you.”

“I know what I want,” he said. “I want my title. I want my family’s honor. I want to stay here. And I also want you.”

“Then we are trapped,” she said. She wiped a tear from her face. “Do you see, how weak your ‘love’ makes me?” A sniffle. “I do not understand—I was never like this before. You have done this to me. You have made me a sniffling fool.”

“That’s what men do to women. The inverse is that when you wear a low-cut dress, you turn me into a mindless ape.”

“So there is little change, then, hm?”

“Now you mention it…” He brought her into an embrace, and after so many days without her, that was enough. She did seem very different, very suddenly. Eris was rarely this confused about anything. Even when she was wrong she usually chose a direction and stuck with it relentlessly, until fear of death forced her to right her course. Such clarity was unlikely to come this time. “The best thing about winning, Eris, is that you don’t need to decide now. You have as much time as you want. And I hope you spend that time with me, instead of avoiding me. We can have months together. An entire year.”

“I was hoping if I did not see you for a day, I might forget of you and be able to leave,” she said. “It did not work.” Then she nodded. “I will stay, for now. But only for now.” Then her eyes narrowed. “And why so long as a year?”

His face went white. This was something he had put a great deal of thought into. He had an idea, a proposition, an offer that might make them both happy in the end, but he was wary to mention it. He knew how she would respond. And it was ridiculous, really, but then everything about his life was ridiculous, so he chose his words carefully.

“Longer with our loved ones is usually better,” he said.

“Longer in a jail is usually worse, however.”

He smiled. “Eris…I know you won’t marry me.”

“Then you have taken some things to heart, at least.”

“And I know you won’t be my duchess. But we needn’t be married, and you needn’t stay forever, if we—if you—” he thought hard about what he wanted to say; he had her complete, cautious attention; his heart was pounding in his chest; he took a deep breath, and—

“Your Grace!” called the voice of Ajax. It echoed across the hilltop. They both turned and saw him on the far side of the wall, having just emerged from the inside of the keep.

Rook waited until he drew close. Secretly he was relieved for the interruption. “What is it?”

Ajax had clearly just ascended the stairs very quickly. “There’s an elf in the bailey,” he said between pants. “She says she’s here to pay you visit.”

Rook’s head began to tingle. He looked to Eris; her features were frozen in place.

“What is her name?” she asked.

“She calls herself Astera."