Ask those of every house why we spent so many generations mired in conflict, and you will receive ten different answers. Ask those of every house why we yet live with disunity and gently-veiled conflicts, and you will receive ten different answers.

Yet all those answers are at heart a single reason.

'We were wronged. We deserve better.' This family, that individual; this land, that city. Always some reason to hold a grudge, to blame others, to justify carrying on ancient feuds.

There can be no unity until we are willing to forgive the past.

-Beyond a Broken History

I woke in the middle of the night, sweating and gasping for breath. Vague nightmares of drowning and falling had added themselves to the usual Desten-related ones, merging and warping into a general impression of despair before fading slowly from clarity.

Laying in the darkness, I stared at the unfamiliar shapes of shadows and wondered how my life had come to this.

It felt as though ever since the Varon Reirn had first summoned me, I’d lost all control over my own life. Go live with this Desten; come touring with that Desten; show up to be thrown off cliffs by Pelys. And for what?

Why should I go on with this? There was no point. I couldn’t learn enough to save me if I ended up in a straight fight with killer Desten, and at least if I stopped now I wouldn’t have to endure any more days of being thrown off cliffs into the river.

I could pursue my investigation just as well without needing to master my stupid glowing powers. I could fly, more or less, and I at least knew what the aura bubble felt like so I could practice it on my own.

I’m not meant for this sort of thing! I belong behind a desk, or at the very most traveling on horseback.

The potential of being found out was quite enough danger for me. Even Pel’s healing power hadn’t been enough to completely erase the aches and bruises from his lesson, and I had no desire to undergo something that horrible again. It had been bad enough the first day, but the flooded river was so much more violent and everything I’d seen about him indicated that he’d only continue pushing harder and harder.

Desten would probably say I was throwing away a great opportunity, but if he wanted it so bad he could go be thrown off cliffs. I’d had more than enough. I was taking back control of my life.

My priority was finding Desten, not getting distracted by everyone I met.

I hadn’t had the time to search out any other of Fylen’s friends, and that had been my primary reason for coming to Sarosa. I could say Pel was good enough, but that made my researcher soul flinch away. One single source would not suffice.

I needed to know more. Not just about Fylen, but about the people he associated with. Pel was a good start, but it wasn’t enough to stop there and let him dictate my future.

With that resolve, I closed my eyes, rolled over, and tried my best to return to sleep.

It took a long time.

Lirndyn Cottage didn’t have the same well-stocked library as Desten 1’s house had, but it was located conveniently close to a public library. About a half-hour’s walk, or five minutes’ flight, depending on whether my power felt like cooperating or if my sensible desire to remain on the ground won out.

So I wasn’t at home when Pelys stormed in, demanding to know where I was and why I’d ignored our scheduled meeting. Desten was. He told me about it at great length upon my return.

“You’d better stop putting him off,” he concluded. “That guy’s scary.”

“I thought you wanted to have him teach you?” I asked, somewhat gleeful to have gotten the best of him.

“That was before he flew through my window and started shouting like I’d stolen his childstone. Where were you, anyway? It took nearly an hour before he accepted that I couldn’t satisfy him and left.”

“Better you don’t know.”

He eyed me suspiciously, and I quickly changed the subject.

“So, childstone theft is a serious taboo or something?”

“It’s more than that,” Desten said. Though he surely noticed my attempt to divert attention, he was too much a scholar to refuse a chance to discuss something. “Take Fylen Sarosa for example. He was an only child. When he was killed, the position of future-reirn would pass naturally to his daughter. But without his childstone, she’ll be a commoner. She can never inherit anything. Fylen’s line, and thus his parents’, has ended. Four hundred years of Sarosa reirns has come to a dead end. For the first time since before the alliance, a different branch of the family will be taking control.”

Why had I ever assumed I knew the furthest depths of the trouble I was in? Now I was single-handedly responsible for a dynasty-ending regime change? Gahh.

“Who’s next in line now that Fylen’s gone and Fyless is powerless?” I asked, once I was sure I had my voice under control.

“Well, that’s where it gets complicated. Reirn Ovnon has one sister, Lucyn, who would ordinarily be the obvious choice in this situation. But she outmarried into a Varon family and hasn’t been involved with Sarosa in decades, so it's uncertain if she's even eligible. Going back further, Reirn Mythar and Reirna Fylen had one other son, Nylran, but he never married and would be a poor choice for continuing on the line. It’s also entirely likely that he won’t outlive Reirn Ovnon, he’s never been the healthiest of individuals. While some have proposed trying to convince Nylran to form a hasty alliance with some respectable young woman in hopes of creating a new proper line, there are multiple factions hoping for different outcomes.”

I tried to pay attention to all the names, but I hadn’t spent much time in Sarosa genealogies aside from a quick scan for any Destens, and they were all basically meaningless to me. I did remember Reirn Mythar’s death, maybe fifteen years back. News that significant had filtered through the downcities pretty quickly. But I hadn’t known her husband was also named Fylen, nor any of the rest about her family line.

“So there’s going to be a succession crisis,” I concluded.

“Probably. Unless we can—” Desten cut himself off abruptly, looking uncomfortable for a moment. He glanced around the room, blinking rapidly, then continued hurriedly. “Um, identify an appropriate and eligible candidate from elsewhere.”

I wanted to ask him what he’d been about to say, but since he’d let me change the subject I felt it would be in poor taste to push him too much. At least not right now.

“Going back further still,” he added hastily, “Reirn Mythar had a younger brother, Vyrlon, and his line continues quite strongly to this day. Reirna Fylen — Reirn Mythar’s husband — unfortunately predeceased her, but he also had both an older and younger sister, either of whose children or grandchildren could tenuously lay claim to the position. From everything I’ve heard,it sounds like it’ll be a contest between whether Lucyn Varon is still eligible despite her distance, if Nylran can get his affairs together and outlive his healthier brother, or Vyrlon can claim enough support with his promise of a stable future line. Nylran has the strongest claim, but the worst circumstances.”

"Is there any reason for House Varon to care about the outcome of this succession crisis?" I asked. If killing Fylen had triggered all this, and a disproportional number of Destens were from Varon … if any of them had allied with Lucyn or her husband …? I had no idea how that would work, but it was possible. "Is there any chance Varon is pushing for it to be Lucyn? Do we know anything about Lucyn's husband? Any connection to the Varon Reirns?"

Desten laughed. "I see you've immediately assumed the worst. I'm sure it's nothing like that. Varon won't have any say in whether Lucyn is recalled or if she's left to Varon. She can refuse the reirnship if it's offered to her, but she cannot request it or seek it. The conversant will deal with her appointment or that of Nylran or Vyrlon."

"But she is close line, she’s the next possible candidate," I pressed. "Varon would know that." Reirn Ushan seemed to know my secret, but had as much as said he didn’t plan to unmask me. Why would he hide the truth from his oldest allies? Unless he had some ulterior motives.

"So?” Desten asked. “What would that benefit us? We're already deeply allied with Sarosa, beyond anything between any of the other houses. Why would we want to interfere in their politics?"

"I don't know, but I don't like the possibility." I hoped I was jumping to conclusions. I wouldn't say I liked Desten 1, but I had come to respect him, and he'd certainly done his duty to the best of his ability despite his personal feelings. I could definitely see him acting as an agent for Reirn Ushan if it was decided that Fylen’s death would be politically expedient.

I'd been assuming Fylen’s death was personal, but what if it had been political? Desten 1 and Fylen were close enough in age, close enough in position, it wouldn't be unreasonable for them to meet each other.

What colour power did Desten 1’s father have? I knew Reirn Ushan's was green, so he couldn’t be the killer’s ally. Breth Varon would be next in line upon Reirn Ushan’s death, followed naturally by Desten 1 himself. If anyone in their immediate circles were the red power contributor, it would be trivial for them to arrange the meeting with Fylen.

But the duel, that 'you never lived well'.

No, Desten 1 still didn't fit. He was the definition of living well. He was utterly responsible, doing everything correctly. Even if he had a temper, that didn't mean he never lived well. Given his circumstances, he would be well within his rights to exhibit a little stress.

I still couldn't picture it. I could easily imagine Desten 1 fighting, killing, but not as the maniac who tore Fylen apart. There was no reason to steal his stone, not for a respectable political duel. If it were Desten 1, I'd expect a very different endgame.

"Astesh?"

"Mmm?"

"You should get some more sleep. You don't look well."

"Pel's training is not fun," I answered in deflection.

"It's not supposed to be fun, it's supposed to be useful."

"It's not useful enough to be worth undergoing this kind of torture."

"But he's a fourth! I can only imagine what awe-inspiring feats he's capable of."

I glanced over at Desten. An ebi-rank, he was only two tiers higher than myself. On the Sarosa scale, he'd barely rate as a second. "You could always ask him to teach you."

"No, no, I'd be much too intimidated. Besides, it's you he likes."

I laughed hollowly. "Yes, he's so eager to help."

"What have you been learning so far?" Desten asked, somewhat hesitantly, as though afraid he was overstepping his bounds.

"How to not quite die in a river."

"Fly out of it?"

"You'd think so." I sighed. "Can I just tell him I'm done? I have other things to do. You still need me to help with your crusade for unity. I need to track down other friends of Fylen's. I don't have time for being thrown off cliffs today. Or ever again."

"Then why'd you agree to it in the first place?"

"I didn't realize 'training' meant 'chuck off cliff into river', or I wouldn't have. I can accept not being an expert, but there's something to be said for not expecting perfection from day one."

Desten smiled hesitantly. "If you'd rather help me, I'd certainly welcome it. I haven't been making much progress on my own."

"Yes. Let's do that."

"You should send Pelys a letter, or he'll come back."

I contemplated, and decided sending a letter was a fine compromise. And I wouldn't have to face either his wrath or his disappointment in my giving up. "Yes, a letter sounds perfect."

I spent the next half-hour composing said letter, using my best Astesh handwriting to inform Pelys that I greatly appreciated his help in attempting to prepare me, but that I would not be continuing his lessons. I would practice on my own, and if he had any tips that did not include near-death experiences, I'd be glad to receive them.

I listed our itinerary for the next several cities, just in case he wanted to know where we'd be, and as an afterthought added that I'd like to get in touch with other friends of Fylen if possible.

I spent a further hour correcting, adjusting, and rewording it to perfection, then rewrote it on a more expensive stationary and asked Avys to have it sent for me. Much less talkative than his brother, Avys agreed to the request with minimal interaction required. He didn't try to sell me the house either, which I greatly appreciated.

Then I returned to research, with Desten's project to convert house disunity into a new harmony as its subject.

I quickly found that there were myriad reasons for the houses to quietly loath each other, everything from battles and assassinations to the ownership of certain cities and control of resources and territories.

There were a handful of contested cities whose status had been 'locked' around the time of the current alliances creation, but those who did not end up maintaining control of those did not take kindly to their longtime rivals obtaining full and legal control of them.

Teshron had come out particularly well by the cessation of hostilities, as they'd held three cities, contested by Raysh, Wightok, Metako, and Novarot. Raysh felt themselves particularly shortchanged, as Metako took two cities they’d presumed ownership of, and Teshron a third. Utrenad lost a city to Varon; Varon lost a city to Oros. Wightok lost one to Teshron and one to Novarot, while Teshron lost one to Wightok; only Leetan and Sarosa had no major city claim grudges, and in Sarosa’s case that was largely because they’d amicably divided up the northern mountains between themselves and Varon.

All this added up to a general dissatisfaction with affairs between the houses, which festered quietly beneath the surface and led to the sort of bickering, power plays, assassinations, ‘legal duels’, and backstabbing of supposed allies that went on to this day.

Aside from those relatively simple border disputes, there were also the instances in which an incursion occurred and one house or another happened to show up a little bit later to the aid of their so-called allies than to others. When Teshron had to fight for hours alone before their near neighbors managed to reach them, or when Oros conveniently failed to show up to assist Utrenad, or when Sarosa and Varon sent their massive combined force halfway across the world, yet still arrived to the incursion over Raysh before anyone else made any effort to help whatsoever.

It led to increased bitterness, a greater chance that such tactics would be repeated, and that those who actually came to the aid of anyone would bear the brunt of the incursions' damage in place of anyone who should have been allied with the target location.

These had slowed down in recent years; everything had slowed down. Life was at its most peaceful, its most profitable, its most secure for generations. People were working on advancing technology, making better alchemical and medicinal supplies, exploring potential solutions to crossing the vast ocean in hopes of finding new lands safe from the threat of incursions or, at the least, where the houses could gain a little breathing room without the constant influx of citizens leading to the potential overcrowding that was always projected to be just a few decades away.

So far, the cities were large enough and open enough that new buildings could be expanded upwards and outward, perhaps pushing the downtcity further down in the process, or compressing the protective shielding, but that wouldn't be a solution forever.

There were various plans in place, various suggestions by various factions for how to deal with the problem, but so far it was not so much in anyone's direct interest to attack the issue.

This all added up to a very complicated, ever shifting set of sub-alliances within the greater alliance that I couldn't begin to follow.

I had no idea what made Desten think he could actually change anything. His calls for peace and unity were feeble things in the face of generational grudges.

It was doomed from the start.

“You’re right about the problem,” I told him after a two-day crash course in inter-house politics, “but not about the solution. The moment the incursions actually stop, or the houses realize that they've increased enough in number and power to be able to fight on their own without relying only on the entire group, the whole tense ceasefire will shatter.”

“I know the problem,” Desten said irritably. “The solution is what we need to work on.”

“But I don’t see that there is a solution. And once the alliance shatters, there’ll be no rebuilding afterwards either. Once the houses splinter apart, old feuds will ignite into all-out war. I don't see any way to prevent a new faction war as the houses ally in blocs to destroy those who opposed them.”

Sarosa and Varon already posed a potent problem to any potential aggressors, and together they could probably overrun Oros and Utrenad before anyone could stop them. Leetan had the fewest enemies, and if they could be convinced to join the Varon-Sarosa unit, the entire north would be united and impenetrable. Even if Oros and Utrenad united against their potential aggressors, neither was known for a strong military presence, and none of the other houses were close enough to care much about ensuring their survival.

Meanwhile, the south already stood on the verge of fracture. Teshron held too much of a monopoly over the arable farmland and Metako, Raysh, Wightok, and Novarot all wanted a piece of it for themselves. It wouldn’t take much to turn them into a five-way bloodbath. Or for the other four to divide Teshron amongst themselves in a southern alliance to form a strong face against the potential northern conquerors of Varon and Sarosa.

Desten refused to give up as easily as me. “There has to be a solution. If we divide Greenbrook territory between Wightok and Raysh, and split Oceanwatch between Wightok and Novarot …”

“No one would say 'yes, you stole two of our cities, left us to fight alone and caused the death of thousands of our best fighters, but of course, let's just be friends and you can keep the cities while we're at it'. While on the other side, no one would say, 'oh, you refused to help us in retaliation for our claiming cities we rightfully owned, and then when we did the same to you you only went about killing our best fighters in secrecy, but certainly, you may have one of your cities back and we'll live in peace and harmony’. There’s too much history in each of those cities for anyone to be content no matter who you gave them to.”