A bird in the hand, two in the bush, neither worth the vulture stalking behind.

- EXCERPT FROM THE WEAVER'S EMBRACE: A TOME OF MILITARY STRATEGEMS AND HOW TO USE THEM

I HAD A SPIRAL, THAT NIGHT.

Some moronic ass had decided to leave the balcony open-

-A dark ledge, a plummeting figure-

I managed to usher Mercy out before I collapsed into bed, my hands going to my throat as memories seared themselves into my brain - my vision was blurry, everything was shaking. I couldn’t help but convulse as my world spun.

-A dark ledge, a plummeting figure-

I heard screams and fuck if I didn’t answer them - my hands went to my ears before I realized they were bloody. I was in the Queen’s Cage again, and for all the bodies I had buried and the lives I had taken - Cas’ blue eyes glinting back at me, all the people watching and whispering about me - and the slashing pain, knives and stone and the viridian woods again; blades and skin and the crushing wave of adrenaline, survival-

Scrambling for the cupboard, my knees buckled and I could feel myself crawl on reflex, a mess of elbows skating against the carpeted floor. My vision glinted, and I felt hazy all over, my Ability chittering in the background-

Fingers clung against metal, as I shook the opening clasps of the cupboard desperately-

-A dark ledge, a plummeting figure-

I didn’t love him; why-

He listened to you, he saw you-

You killed, murdered all of them- you’re irredeemable-

How many? How many died by your hand and command?

Finally, the hinges opened and clattered, moonlight glittering on the surface of the folded latticework Crownboard against the dark wood. I laughed in relief like a madman, my shaking hands reaching towards it and gripping its edges - They would not forget. Everyone would remember - as I spread it apart with all the grace of a boar. The Crownpieces fell to the floor as I shoved the memories aside-

It was an almost dreamy sight, the white cascades of Selene’s gaze washing over the carefully carved knobs and edges of the playing pieces. My hands were still shaking - survival, survival, survival - as I picked them up, setting them inside their positions one by one.

One, by one.

You killed eleven. Eleven Chosen. All of their blood is on your hands. You can’t even remember the son you killed. His blood is on your hands. Nero, Castor, all the others you’ve used as stepping stones to get here—all of their blood is on your hands.

One, by one.

My hands were bloody. A hallucination, probably the result of accumulating guilt. There was a term for it, one that was slipping my mind. Still, I propped the pieces up. One, by one. Memories darted through my head again, my thoughts swarming and stinging in disarray. The world was still blurry, but this was familiar.

I just needed to ride out the spiral. Endure, like I did the dreams before.

Move forward.

Keep playing.

I just needed to keep playing.

“You look terrible,” Julian remarked dryly.

I swatted his shoulder as I raised my eyebrows. “How would you know how terrible I look, when we’ve only known each other for a couple days?” I replied. “Besides, I’ve been told I’m fairly attractive when I don’t act out of it.”

The praetor threw his head back and laughed. It was a surprisingly hearty sound, and even my Ability sparked in surprise at the doing away of his stoic expression. He looked a lot younger, hazel eyes sparkling smiled amusedly in return. “Should I be worried about my fiancee cheating on me on the first Dayhept of engagement?” my fiance asked, grinning.

Grinning. I couldn’t read any forcedness in his posture or face. He seemed lighter, as he talked - the aura around him would almost make anyone forget he was a powerful Republica general. Something happened, changed - was it the atmosphere? Situation? The praetorian purple cape wasn’t on his shoulders.

“Unless you want me to run off with the Imperial Chef, you should,” I said with a wink. “He makes a mean moustalevria.”

Julian snorted. “By the way,” he responded, changing the subject while leaning back on the lounge, “I got the documents you sent me, about Branch Summanus. They aren’t too directly related to the Main House Roma for it to be a problem, but they’re still incredibly influential. It’ll take more than a human trafficking ring for them to stay down.”

“The smuggling of Imperial children isn’t going to cut it?” I raised an eyebrow. “Cassia is going to take the fall for the Emperor’s assassination, but no Branch involved in this - yours included - is going to come out unscathed. Wouldn’t Cassia and Summanus taking the brunt of it save Branch Romanus from most of the speculations?”

My tone came out clipped, business-like, and I frowned involuntarily - my Ability wasn’t immediately filtering it. Was it because-?

The boy-praetor shook his head. “Imperial and Republica politics aren’t the same. We can exploit the fact that Titus consorted with Imperial slavers, and that would be horrifying for an ordinary Plebeian - perhaps, if taken advantage of enough, Summaus’ Senate seat would be toppled for a couple terms, but-”

“It wouldn’t suffice to get rid of the Branches backing Summanus that could potentially get him back up from the fall,” I mused. I could feel glimmers of my Ability, now, and relief bloomed inside my chest.

“The main focus isn’t impacting Titus, though,” I pointed out. “The Roma Republic needs a diplomatic scapegoat. Someone has to take the fall for Father’s assassination, and who better than the person who actually ordered it?”

“The person, not the Branch.” My fiance relaxed his shoulders. “Now that— is possible.”

I tilted my head. “I don’t understand,” I admitted, honestly. “Wouldn’t Alberta being found guilty in the assassination impact your father and House Roma’s connections?” The Patrician was, after all, ordered by the Consul—and Greta—to hasten my Imperial Father’s death.

Julian nodded. “The next-in-line would be—and is— easier than Alberta to control. Branch Cassia may be weakened, and so it depends on Branch Romanus to rebuild-”

“Creating a dependent relationship while minimizing the losses, maximizing the gains.” I sighed. “Sometimes I underestimate your tactical genius, my Mari.”

The praetor smiled, slightly. Sunlight from my Residence’s curtains streamed on his face, his dark hair glinting with a deceptively amicable rosy hue. “Some may suspect the giant concession the Empire is giving,” he warned, “but if you chalk that up to political rivals, turbulency and all that, it should be smooth sailing.”

“Smooth enough sailing,” I corrected. “Politics always makes for terrible weather.” A comfortable silence made its way between us, but I cleared my throat. “Cyrus will be sent over for your military offer. He should be enough as a - what would you call it? - free trial. Unless the Source over there poses a threat big enough for better measures, he should be enough to bolster morale and all that.” A pause.

“If you ignore the fact that he’s bent on destroying Branch Halgrove, of course,” I added.

Julian frowned. “According to my admittedly limited understanding of marriage,” he said, after a while, “shouldn’t we be talking about things other than politics and work?”

I studied him for a bit, but sighed. “Probably,” I admitted. A silence, that curled and stretched. “What’s your favorite flower?” I asked him, randomly.

“Imperial bougainvillea when I was young, Eastern jasmine, now.” The young general relaxed. “Favorite food?”

“Moustalevria. Do you think this is going to help us act like a couple?”

“Not really. Favorite book?”

That question gave me pause. I considered it, for a while. “Not including books on military tactics?” I asked him, and received a nod in return. “It used to be Tales of the Heroes,” I responded, honestly. “Now, I’m not quite sure. An Allegory of the Boy Who Flew Into the Sun, maybe.” It was a nice read. A bit depressing, perhaps.

“That’s a nice one.”

A silence bordering oppressive, which I filled: “I heard there’s a dessert parlor in the Lower Quarter.” I hadn’t really, but I would need to find one. “Would you like to go there after the mourning period and the investigation’s wrapped up?” I asked neutrally. And the Imperial Guards aren’t waiting outside? I didn’t say.

“Alright,” Julian replied with a slight smile, which flickered into something serious. “I will help you, but not at the cost of my duty. As this relationship progresses, I hope you remember that.”

Ah, he took the opportunity to draw a line. All the well he beat me to it, I supposed.

“A transactional relationship,” I observed brightly. “Have no worries, my Mari. I am a perfectly capable partner.”

The praetor observed me, his gaze picking apart every micro-expression on my face like he was studying a particularly intriguing war strategy. I threaded my Ability, weaving together that familiar veil across my face, as he then nodded. “You are.”

I had a vague idea of people like him - raised to be a Soldier, a general that rose through the ranks, weighed down with a burden, a duty. There would be no dashing romance, no whirlwind love at first sight. He would always put his country and ‘duty’ first - but, of course, if I could edge his interest to align with mine-

I smiled. “That’s good, then.”

Julian Romanus. My Paladin.

After talking with my beloved fiance, I made my way towards the Barracks.

The Imperial Palace was an admitted architectural masterpiece, made of the main structure and the Residences that branched out from it like a twelve-petaled flower. Chryselephantine halls rose from the ground, grand walkways stringing together with lithe gold pillars supporting ivorstone arches - but I had no time to appreciate the scenery. Timaois had showed up last night, and, to his word, had delivered many intriguing revelations.

You’d think that the Imperial Guard would be the backbone of the capital’s society, rooting out crime in the Eternal City and upholding the Imperial standard for cracking down on crime - which was, admittedly, very low - but the situation was complicated. Everything always was.

The Imperial Army and the Imperial Guard were two separate entities - the former oversaw the entire Empire Eoina, Garrisons being stationed in every Stronghold and the Army itself being dispatched to the northern borders of Visava that the Empire held; the latter oversaw the Eternal City and its Quarters, Brigades usually being sent to put out fires that were too big to be put out by commoners, or ruckuses that attracted the attention of nobles.

Those of the City joked that they were of little use other than being the nobles’ dogs, corruption gnawing away at the Guard ever since they were established and assigned to members of the Imperial family. No respectable member of Imperial society would be caught dead joining the Guard, opting for the Army instead for more military prestige.

Lionel Moreau was a soldier. He had made it all the way to Colonel, before being ‘discharged’ and ousted from his seat by a person of fresh, young blood that hadn’t even made it a fortnight. Lionel got a post at the Guard, settled down and married an old friend from his Army days, adopted a child from the Lower Quarter - Rayan - and caught the attention of Nikephoros.

He wasn’t even close to the name of Nightbidden’s Hound - no, that seat was for Alina Evlogia herself. He was an individual, one rare in these circles - one that stood firm by his principles. But there was always a price to be paid to keep from kneeling at the altar of some sort of master - greed, ambition, arrogance. What price had Lionel Moreau paid?

As a dead friend’s father, he was to be admired. As a person, he was to be pitied.

How long could he keep struggling against the tide of human greed?

I was pulled from my reverie by Alia’s familiar voice.

“This Dayhept,” my secretary said, “you’ll be busy with the investigation. I’ve informed the orphanage that you’ve cancelled their visit-”

“No, don’t cancel,” I interrupted lightly. “I’ll go.” Resentful young people. A perfect source for employees. The more correct word for it was easy people to exploit, but business was all about sugarcoating, in the end. My Ability curled around the statement, agreeing.

Alia raised an eyebrow, but didn’t ask why. “Alright, Your Highness.” She continued, “Alyssa is currently busy with Sir Macedon and Lady Xanthe, and they sent a report this morning that the staff of the Emerald Seas have been managed. Some protests, but they have been managed.”

I glanced at my lady-in-waiting as we continued walking down the pathway. “Violence won’t work against courtesans,” I said with a slight frown. “We want a steady stream of income, not loyal henchmen at our beck and call.”

“No, not violence. Money. Macedon gave them a raise.” Alia looked up from her papers as I internally winced. “If I’m correct, you plan to use the brothel as a base of operations for both your information agency and your Seraphs, correct?”

“Call it as it is,” I waved her off. “I need henchmen. Grunt workers. The ‘tesans provide the funds for the business, and after the pleasure-house itself steadies itself, we’ll go around and tell people around the Lower Quarter we’re hiring. Professional help and mercenaries will only deplete our funds.”

There was an unspoken question that lingered in the air, but I didn’t address it. Alia, after all, had agreed to not interfere in my affairs too much.

Greta’s ascension to the throne. She was, after all, the First-in-line - even without being named Heir Designate, or the Glory Prince nonsense, she would likely be crowned by the Daycycle’s end. After the investigation business would be wrapped up, she would be the Emperor and, by then, would probably have some kind of horrifyingly intricate plan to take over the continent.

The smart thing to do would likely be gathering nobles to her side. The Greta thing to do would be writing a ‘it’s-time’ letter to every single one of her potential vassals that she had gathered, what, twenty years ago?

My Ability whispered that she would probably be doing so incredibly efficiently. I agreed.

Foresight - something my sister had that eluded me still.

“But you’ll take care of it, won’t you?” I filled the silence.

“I will, Your Highness.”

“Good. I expect nothing less,” I reminded, lightly. “Has Viscountess Bloodthorn made any moves pertaining to the letter I sent her?” The gambler’s mother had many things to do after she swore herself to support Greta’s reign - by being a vassal of a vassal, the Bloodthorns were now at my service. The Cardinals Greta already had in her embrace - Tyche and Doxa were the only ones left, after I had tasked Lazarus with getting a claim to the Marksman duchy.

Right now, I was grasping at the straws of a haystack that hid too many needles to count. There was a lot to do, and I couldn’t afford another spiral or needling doubt.

“No official contact has been made,” Alis said, after a beat.

Good.

That was good.

I sighed. Doxa was a Stronghold that likely would be taken care of by either Cyrus or someone else. Tyche’s Evimeria would be a problem if addressed, but I had too many things on my plate. Julian was likely being surveilled. Macedon, Alyssa, and Mercy were busy on financial matters. My siblings - I fumbled for a piece strong enough to take over the matter, but-

Greta hadn’t told me to do it. That meant- she’ll take care of it, my Ability coaxed. Coaxed. That was a new one. Just keep playing. Titus would be there, at the Emerald Seas, and I would scatter bait for Lionel to arrive there. And then the trap would be sprung on Alberta Cassia. I had some variation of a headache eating away at my temple, leftover from plagued sleep and too many cards at play.

I was tired.

“Good,” I echoed, again. We turned and twisted around the pillared pathway in silence, and this time I took the time to study the scenery, letting my Ability stretch its limbs over the refined pines and golden gates. It was a sturdy structure, the Barracks, in the shape of a peasant’s farm but with the touch of an artist’s flourish and rooted in no small amount of practicality.

The entrance was surprisingly - and almost insultingly - unguarded, sounds of clashing swordplay and guttural roars echoing from inside the barriers of the exterior. I gave a small chuckle at the clamor and insults - pigheaded drop of Minotaur’s piss was a nice one - as I strolled in.

Passing the threshold ignored by the Guards dressed in training uniform - or, more commonly known by its other name, almost scantily clad underclothes drenched in sweat - was, again, almost insultingly easy.

The combatants were decent, by all means, my Ability observed. Their swordplay was solid, with a few more open spots than my former instructor would’ve liked, but it was solid. A group of youths were experimenting with crossbows on the south wall’s targets, older men with their bayonets in the west. The expanse was filled with people of all ages and tossed crude insults, too invested in their training to notice an addition.

I placed a finger to my lips at Alia’s unsettled expression, but silently slunk my way to the crossbow children - I said children, they really were around my age - as I kept to the shadows of the wall. “Good afternoon,” I called out, loud enough for the cluster to hear but low enough to not draw attention.

They all were dressed in juvenile Guard uniforms, probably initiates of some sort, but they jumped, startled. “Good ‘fternoon,” one said, with the right amount of politeness and how-the-fuck-did-you-get-in suspicion. Another discreetly loaded their crossbow. I smiled.

“Please, don’t alert your superiors.” I raised my hands in a light joke. “I come in peace.” Tough crowd - none of them even grinned. “I wouldn’t want to interrupt anyone’s practice time,” I continued, not letting their reception dim my placid smile. “I’m looking for Captain Lionel Moreau. Have you seen him?”

The polite, suspicious youth narrowed his eyes. “Who’s asking? You a trainee?” he asked, somewhat perplexed. “Noble?”

Alia gave an indignant start. “Watch your language-”

“Yeah,” I agreed while shooting her a look. “I’m a noble, not a trainee, unfortunately.”

“How d’we know-” the one with the crossbow began, but the polite boy cut him off. “Shut y’trap, Leo,” the boy grunted, as he turned to me. “We’ll get Captain and tell him it’s…” he trailed off, obviously expecting a name.

“The girl from Inevita,” I supplied.

The boy’s doubt increased, but evidently the chance of offending the Captain with a false alarm was better than the chance of offending a noble. With a whispered glare, Leo was elected against his will to fetch the captain, and we were left in silence. I continued the habit for breaking it: “What’s your name?”

“Alexandros,” the boy replied tersely. I tilted my head towards his group, and the introductions reluctantly continued: Adrian, Iris, Lydia.

“Say, Alexandros,” I commented conversationally, my gaze turning towards the south wall’s targets, “while we’re waiting, want to get the chance to earn some drachmas? I hope you don’t mind me dropping the formalities, since we’re around the same age.”

Alexandros narrowed his eyes further. “You can’t bribe us,” he said, not proudly but in the way that meant he thought he wasn’t worth bribing.

I shook my head and laughed, noticing how the other three raised their hackles at the sound. They would do nicely, if I could manage to recruit them without people noticing. “No, it’s a bet.” I pointed at the targets. “If you manage to land three bullseyes in a row with a crossbow-” I nodded towards the weapon in question “-I’ll pay you one gold, no strings attached. I won’t chase after you if you win or anything. A fun time-passer.”

Xandros shifted. He looked at my eyes, and whatever he saw there was proof enough to warrant a flat: “No.”

Alia bristled again, but still I laughed.

“Alright,” I said, “what about this - if I get ten bullseyes in a row, you say yes to the bet.”

“No.” Xandros stood firm. The trio behind him jostled nervously at the continued denials, but my smile didn’t falter. He was a smart one, this Alexandros. Nobles usually didn’t make bets they couldn’t win.

“Alright, then at least give me the crossbow.” Still, I wheedled.

Alexandros sighed, relenting, and I took the weapon from him and tried it out. The mechination was familiar, but the arrow that shot out from it bounced harmlessly off the wall, a good hundred paces away from the target. I frowned, and tossed it to Alia. Well, I wasn’t going to be a master shooter anytime soon. “I’ll study it later,” I called, “just wait.” Reaching beneath my robes - to the scandalous looks from the youths and Alia - I brought out a dagger.

Now, everyone was watching. I let go of the blade in a familiar arc, my wrist turning in a calculated angle to the target that I pinpointed. It sang beautifully, implanting itself in the bullseye with a thud with just the right tilt.

A grandiloquent display.

“So it’s not my skill, hmm,” I said to myself. I turned to the youths. “Is your crossbow broken?”

Xandros shook his head, as one of them piped up, “Maybe you’re just not good at-” A well-aimed kick, and they were silent.

“Maybe,” I conceded. “But are you skilled with the crossbow, Alexandros?”

“I know how it works, if that’s what you’re asking, Your Ladyship,” he replied, curtly.

I mused, “But that won’t make much money with that skill until you’re hired as a Guard, are you?” I looked at the trio. “How about this? If any of you want to make some coin, you go to the Emerald Seas and tell Macedon the Sixth sent you. Instead of the bet and a lousy initiation period, you get a job that pays - doesn’t that sound better?”

“Are you trying to poach me?” Alexandros asked incredulously. “After we’ve known each other for all of five minutes-”

“Don’t you want to change the Empire?” I ignored his question. “Not wallowing away in the Barracks with an uncertain future?”

“Look, lady-”

“You’ll get paid in gold drachmas every month,” I continued. “I could even get you a noble writ, make you a Baron or Count. Work for me.” I turned towards the group. “This applies for all of you. If you think you can make yourself useful, go to the Emerald Seas and tell the man named Macedon the Sixth sent you. You’ll get paid your weight in gold.”

“I think you’re misunderstanding something-”

Just as I was about to cut Alexandros off, I heard a deep growl and the boy named Leo’s high-pitched voice.

“I swear, Sir! She said she was looking for you, Sir Moreau! Ask Alexandros-”

“What’s your name, again?”

“Leo-”

“Leo, if you’re wasting my time, crown, wreath and tome, considered-”

I turned, dagger in hand, and faced the source of the voices. I waved. “Sir Moreau,” I called, cheerfully. “I’m here for the investigation. You know, Seraphina of Inevita?”

I heard the thud of a crossbow falling to the ground behind me.

I was half-sure that I had four new henchmen. I was less than half-sure that Captain Moreau liked me.

His posture had given off waves of- not hate, but some kind of distaste that my Ability identified as the emotion on people who hated politicians, people who hated the Imperial family and nobles, people who hated Chosen, and in turn hated me. The kind of indistinguishable, category-based distaste-hate that was used to divide and conquer empires from the inside out.

I had smiled.

“Your Highness,” he had acknowledged testily. With a frown of his weathered face - skin eroded by age and sun - Rayan’s father had called out, voice booming across the Barracks: “What are you doing, you minotaur-assed buffoons? Greet the Sixth Imperial Princess!”

Collective surprise, before surprisingly professionally bowing.

I had then been grunted my way into his office. After waving away Alia, the Captain and I were alone. He stared at me. I stared back. He frowned. “The Guard is not going to be involved in your power plays,” Lionel began formally, almost refreshingly, “we all know that the Imperial Family has already designated a politically suitable culprit. I ask you to cut to the chase.”

My Act trembled, my practiced emotions threatening to shatter. I smiled wider.

“You know,” I replied, studying the older man’s sharp eyes, “you’re a lot like Ray.” The first time I had met the shrew-faced orphan, he had reminded everyone loudly that the Chosen were all there to kill each other. “He had never let me forget that he was the one who was going to kill me one day,” I said, tilting my head. “You raised him well.”

If it wasn’t for my Ability, I would’ve never caught Lionel’s pinky twitching.

The Captain inclined his head. “I thank you for the compliment, Your Highness. But, as courtesy serves, I request you not to ignore my last statement.”

“I ask you to cut to the chase,” I repeated mildly. “What a polite way of saying ‘cut with the political bullshit.’ I must save that,” I said, half to myself and half for the sake of theatricality. “An Imperial Proclamation will be sent out, to all corners of the Empire and delegations sent to the Republic and even the Union, that Father is dead.”

I spun the words in a steady cadence, my Ability offering me phrases to the beat the Captain threw me off of. “Formalities will be observed, a funeral held, and especially with the upcoming social season, the Empire will be thrown into a state of political turbulency.”

Lionel blinked. “And what does that have to do with me?” the Captain asked. “I helped stabilize Phoros’ position, but our partnership ended there.” He leaned forward. “I have no interest in the politics of the young, spry, and foolish,” the Captain said, “each year, the Empire bears many. They are either cut down, or stand until they are young no longer.” He stated the last sentence in a tone bordering I-lived-through-it-so-it-is-fact.

“But I’m not finished, Sir Moreau.” I held up a hand. “The investigation was established for a neutral partnership to be struck. But this time, Republica diplomats are involved.”

“The state of the public,” the Captain summarized dryly, raising his eyebrow. “An optimal time for both internal and external turmoil - the Imperial Family will use the investigation to quell rebellion sentiment from the commoners, while using the social season to stabilize the nobility. Meanwhile, the Empress-to-be will pressure the Republic into supporting her regime and agenda.” The perspective of a military man - strategic experience, my Ability echoed. “A well-thought out plan,” he admitted.

I gave a nod. “Yes, it is,” I agreed, honestly, “my sister is a very meticulous person.” I leaned back. “You can take the lead, of course - but, after all, everything is but an Act. All we need to do is-”

“Play along,” Lionel supplied with a slight frown.

I was going to say throw corpses at the Actors, but-

“Play along,” I agreed with a smile.

It was easier that way.