Orchid was having one hell of a night.

He hadn’t wanted to follow through with the plan. It had always been his father’s idea, the play to accuse some other nobles of treason and boost House Alzaq’s position. The plan had left a bad taste in Orchid’s mouth—it reeked of the plots and intrigue of the old world, the one that he had hoped he could one day leave behind.

Still, it hadn’t supposed to be like this. Nobody was supposed to have been hurt. Orchid had set it up specifically so that any injured would be within range of a healer. Ensured that the bulk of the guards would stay out of the way so that minimal harm would come to them when the civilian mobs came through.

He hadn’t been able to sell it. Orchid knew that he hadn’t been fooling anyone. Anyone with a brain, at least, would have easily figured out that he had been screwing with his oathtongue, and he hadn’t been enthusiastic enough.

And now his father was dead.

Orchid had mixed feelings about that. He’d hated his father, hated the way he treated his children like commodities and spent them in order to increase their standing in the noble court, and yet…

And yet.

As much as Lord William of House Alzaq might have been a despicable man and one of the old nobles, he had still been Orchid’s father.

Orchid wasn’t quite sure what exactly he was feeling. There was a burning mix of resentment and grief and anger and any number of things in his chest, a hundred anguished strands of emotion each tugging at his heart in their own directions.

Whatever the gestalt feeling was, Orchid could tell that it was bad.

And it might get worse tonight.

Orchid wasn’t the current patriarch of House Alzaq, but the closest replacements had elected not to come to Dakheng. The former Lord Alzaq had ensured that none of his five most direct successors would be in the area. Too much risk that one of them would snap and allow the plan to fail in an attempt to gain power.

That meant that Orchid was the current acting patriarch, and that meant not just headaches but also the aftermath of what his father had done.

You reap what you sow. Orchid’s father’s own lesson, given to all of his children as they grew. The Alzaqs had been a richer than normal merchant family not fifteen years ago, and Orchid had grown up as the family had transitioned into nobility. He’d never been allowed to forget their origins, and he had to admit that Lord William Alzaq’s tutelage had been a foundational part of who he was today.

And yet his father had strayed so far from those not-quite-humble origins. He’d become more and more like the nobles he’d sworn to remain distinct from, going so far as to rename his children with the flower names that were so popular for the children of Orchid’s age. His ambition had ruined him, and he’d been torn apart by his own plot, a civilian mob not realizing that he had been their hidden benefactor the whole time and beating him to death.

His father had reaped what he had sown, and now Orchid had to keep reaping lest the field drown his family.

Tonight had been a disaster. Alto Tempet had done what he had been meant to do, assembling and executing the commoner revolt. Then the mob had been fiercer than he’d thought it had been and the adventurers that his very own family had hired had gotten tangled up into it all and then Tempet was dead and then so were so very many others and—

Calm yourself, Orchid. Anger is a distraction. Grief is a distraction. Pain is a distraction.

He repeated the words over and over, examining the little facets of the mess of emotion he was experiencing, and slowly he brought himself back to reality, the sudden feeling of drowning dissipating as he continued his mantra.

One group of the commoners had been executed on the spot. Despite his famous tolerance, the Crowned King could not forgive treason to the Crown, and so they had been cut down where they stood, flooding the ballroom with viscera and blood. The other half had been taken to the dungeons, their executions postponed until a date that would allow their deaths to be viewed by the public.

Once again, not something that he’d planned. Orchid had been informed that the commoners were going to make a fuss and then promptly scatter to the winds, but that had been a lie too. They’d arrived murderous and bloodthirsty, and they’d refused to leave until it was their blood spilling across the ground.

It had been an exceptionally gruesome place to hold deliberations after the events of the night had concluded, but then Orchid acknowledged that it had done wonders for properly conveying the gravity of the revolt to those discussing it.

After a full hour had passed, the adventurers gone and doing… whatever it was they did, Orchid had ordered a search party sent out for his cousin Camellia.

They’d found her not fifteen minutes later, dazed and wandering the halls. When he’d questioned her, he’d discovered that her recollection of the entire day had dissolved into vague, uncertain fuzz.

Orchid had known that there was a force at play against House Alzaq’s play from that very moment. Nobody simply forgot what they had just been doing without foul play being involved.

After that, though, things had gotten hectic. Alto Tempet’s body had been discovered, and then fighting at the Alzaq manor had been reported. By the time Orchid’s paltry bodyguards—no more than a handful of family troops and the bodyguard that still insisted on being called Green—had reached the scene, there had been nothing left but bodies and violence, the involved parties long since gone and the other observers already leaving.

Then the adventurers had come back. Alex, Lukas, Kyle.

Jasmine.

They’d come back with fire in their eyes and dangerous words on their tongues, accusing Orchid of being in league with a traitor who had sought to manipulate his way into the crown.

Which, you know, fair. They hadn’t even directly accused him, only going so far as to subtly cast suspicion upon him while they mentioned the deeds of his late father.

He knew he shouldn’t have gone with the plan. Orchid had known that something was going to go wrong, so why hadn’t he just said no? It would have been so simple, and maybe the man who’d raised him would still be alive.

“I still don’t see why we don’t go for the throat.” A high-pitched woman’s tone intruded on his voice. Orchid looked up.

“Hello, Camellia,” he said tiredly, resting his head in his arms. The door to his study had been locked, he was sure of it. “Did I not ask to not be bothered?”

“And did I not ask for you to declare conflict upon them all?” she shot back. “If you want me to respect your wishes, you ought to consider doing the same first.”

“You want us to declare war on half of the greatest noble Houses,” Orchid said. “It’s suicide.”

“Tempets already did it,” Camellia grumped. “Rayes, Varga, us, and, well, I guess that last one was fake.”

Rumors had spread like wildfire. The adventurers and Jasmine hadn’t been the only parties observing the Alzaq manor, and not even the nobles in the ballroom had missed that sudden flash of images midway through the night, a confused jumble of one Lily Syashan’s childhood and death and betrayal and desperation that Orchid still wasn’t quite sure he fully understood.

Still, House Byron was dead, and no magical effect was going to change that.

“So we must keep ourselves safe from the Tempets,” Orchid said. “Very well. We need not declare conflict with all the rest as well.”

“They killed Uncle William,” Camellia snarled. “Your father. And the rest of them stood by and watched.”

“My late father was a traitor,” Orchid said, and the words felt like a burden falling off his shoulders. Like he hadn’t wanted to admit it to even himself. “He made a mistake, and it is our fortune that in the confusion of the night’s events that we even have a name to our House yet.”

“Yet his killers still walk the grounds of the city,” the woman countered. “They cannot go unpunished.”

“I—please, just let me rest,” Orchid pleaded, reluctantly extracting his head from his arms and sitting up straight as etiquette demanded. “It’s been a long day. I need time to process. Time to think. Nothing is so urgent as to be an issue that needs to be dealt with immediately.”

“On the contrary, dear cousin,” Camellia said, her voice saccharine sweet. “What our issues are is determined by the matriarch and patriarch of a House.”

“Yes, and?”

“And you are no true patriarch,” she said. Orchid didn’t even need to look at her to know that she was smiling. “Whilst I truly fulfill my role.”

“Your role?” Orchid asked, shaking his head. “Your role as matriarch is to support House Alzaq in its rise. Not to lead it to a certain fall.”

“I lead us not to a certain fall but an opportunity,” she said, leaning forward so her eyes were on the same level as his. “You would lead us to complacency. To weakness.”

“I choose peace,” Orchid disagreed.

“We shall see whether the true patriarch believes your… sentiment,” Camellia said, flashing him a grin dripping with venom. “We’ll see soon enough.”

With that definitely-not-ominous declaration, Camellia left his room, sauntering away like her choice was guaranteed.

Orchid had to admit that it probably was. He was, after all, only the acting patriarch. There was a two or three week timespan in which he was actually going to have power, and then his uncles were going to arrive and vy for the position of patriarch as the city burned around them.

And burn it would. Orchid wasn’t sure of his ability to rein in Camellia, especially when she had more true power than he did, and she seemed hell-bent on tearing everything down if it meant exacting revenge on the people who had—perhaps justifiably—slain Lord William Alzaq in battle.

Gods, my hand was supposed to be promised to her. The woman was pretty enough, sure, but the way she acted made her a less attractive prospect than… well, to be honest, a lot of nobles out there acted the same way.

Orchid sighed, putting his head into his arms again.

It was a sickness, it really was. The way that so many nobles ended up acting like Camellia, throwing away their lives and wealth all for the promise of more power, the way that they casually disregarded the lives of hundreds, thousands, or even the entire kingdom as they turned what should have been the most upstanding group of people in all of Tayan into a pit of snakes.

What could be done about it? He was just one man, and though Jasmine was sympathetic she had always been of the more “get away from the issue” brand of person when it came to these issues. Fundamental change just wasn’t going to happen no matter how much the Crowned King and Crown Prince sought to control their court.

This current situation with Camellia brought to mind the incident of House Byron. An incident that, if rumors were to be believed, hadn’t been completely cleaned up after. A messy, brutal situation that Orchid could still remember in clear detail. He remembered the murders, the way that every morning he would wake up to another one of his close friends or playmates dead or disappeared, the way that the nobility split itself in two as House Byron played them all for fools.

The bloodiness of the war that had resulted. That was what he was most concerned with right this moment. It was an eerie mirror to the current situation, what with the patriarch of one House orchestrating a silent rebellion and the children being forced into it. Orchid wished that he had the guts that the mysterious Byron traitor had had all those years ago, the servant or branch member or whoever it had been that had traded the rest of their life for the security of the kingdom. To have the bravery of the person who’d thrown themselves into the dungeons for life and condemned their family to death all to keep the kingdom in one piece.

As much as Orchid wanted the old ways to change, for this particular cycle of violence to not play out to an even greater extent than the last, he’d found himself unwilling to give it all up to stop his father’s machinations.

I’m useless. He hadn’t been able to stand up to his father, and now he would never have the opportunity to again. Somehow, Orchid had let himself be swayed by those honeyed words, believed the claim that this wouldn’t be anything like the Byron incident, but where had that gotten him?

He still had a choice, he realized suddenly. He could come forth with the information that his father had turned traitor against the Crown. Orchid could reasonably support a case that Camellia was going to do the same. House Alzaq’s position was tenuous right now, only supported by the fervent claims that Lord William Alzaq had been a lone actor and that there was not a spot of rebellion in the rest of the House.

Orchid could disprove that. It had been under his oathtongue that he had done it, the trust lost in him last night compensated by the fact that nobody else in the ballroom had a strong enough proficiency with the art, and it had been him that had temporarily absolved House Alzaq of blame.

It could be him that could bring the scheme falling down on its head. If he did, and the Crown focused its efforts on the House…

He could nip this war in the bud before it started. All that would be left was dealing with House Tempet.

That wasn’t an insignificant concern, though. House Tempet was going to be a pain to deal with in their anger, and then there was the matter of House Alzaq losing everything. If Orchid went ahead with this, kicking out the base of their house of cards, it was over for him and his family. The Crown punished rebellion with extreme prejudice. For a noble House as unimportant as the Alzaqs, a fresh face to the table that had barely even managed to get a seat in Dakheng, it wouldn’t even be close.

I’m making excuses, Orchid admitted to himself. He wasn’t strong enough. He respected the hell out of the traitor within the Byron House, whoever it had been that had been willing to take on the role of kinslayer, because he wasn’t going to be able to it. Yes, his family was gradually becoming a scheming pack of masterminds who represented everything he hated about the nobility, but they were still his family. As much as he was repulsed by Camellia’s headstrong attitude towards revenge for a completely warranted act, he couldn’t see himself giving the order that killed her.

He didn’t want to cause his family’s downfall. He didn’t want to aid them in doing it themselves.

What was he even supposed to do? He thought back to the others, to the adventurers. While most disparaged them as the out-of-control death junkies that many of them were, the adventurers he’d met over the course of the last week had been remarkably well adjusted. At any rate, the conviction of those who had survived and stayed active in Dakheng—Lily, Kyle, Green, and technically Jasmine, Alex, and Lukas—was far greater than anything he could muster on his own. Orchid was sure that if they were placed in his position, they would do a much better job at deciding on a true plan of action.

Still, there had to be something he could do, right? Some effort that he could point to when the world was burning to say that he had at least tried, a move that wouldn’t leave a horrible taste in his mouth.

There wasn’t anything decisive he was willing and able to do, but he could continue with what he had. That was doable. Continue delaying, stall out Camellia’s efforts, and maybe they would be able to reach some form of compromise before the true Alzaq successors arrived.

It wasn’t going to be enough, he knew, but it was something. More than the paralyzing, all-encompassing indecision that had him in its clutches right now.

That decided, he stood. Orchid wasn’t the best at politics, sure, but he wasn’t an incompetent. He knew his way around a House, and as much as he had despised the lessons training him to eventually become the Alzaq patriarch, he had learned from them. Besides, other than being trained as a noble, he had grown up a merchant. He’d been good enough at it to make the cut after the Alzaq family had cut near half their children away to secure the noble title, and if there was one thing he knew it was how to keep someone’s attention.

Decision made, he stepped out of his study, intent on getting a good night’s rest.

He was greeted by a silent blade to the throat, a cloaked figure striking from the shadows as he oppened the door.

“Stop,” he shouted instinctively, lacing his words with power. In the same moment, he threw himself backwards. Oathtongue was powerful, but it was less powerful when someone was actively trying to kill you.

Sure enough, the would-be assassin paused for just long enough for him to get back to his feet, but then they were on him again.

“Stop,” he ordered again, this time retreating back into his study. He wasn’t experienced in the art of weaponry, but he kept them around him in case of emergency. There was a staff next to his table, he knew, long and made of true steel and easy enough to use.

This time, it affected them less, and they were on him again in an instant.

“Step back,” he ordered, and this time he felt the impact on his throat. Oathtongue exacted its own price on its users, moreso when the enemy was resistant to it, and this one appeared to be more resistant than most.

They did, however, take a step back, freeing Orchid up to retreat into his study and find the staff. It was unwieldy, and it felt terribly unnatural in his hands. Not for the first time, Orchid found himself regretting the fact that he’d rarely had combat training.

“Who are you?” he asked, not bothering to inject his words with oathtongue. His throat hurt already, and his words came out scratchy like he’d just taken a long drag on a pipe.

The hooded assassin cocked their head in an uncomfortably familiar, and then he spoke. “You don’t recognize me, dear brother?”

“Chrysanthemum,” Orchid realized. His junior by two years, and significantly more trained in the art of the blade than he was.

“It is I,” Chris said, offering a sardonic bow. “Would you mind being a touch quieter?”

“Why would you do this, Chris?” Orchid asked. “I thought we were—“

“We’re brothers,” Chris cut him off. “And you’re weak.”

“You want to take advantage of our betrayal of the Crown,” Orchid realized.

“Ah-ah-ah,” Chris said, waving his dagger in the air like it was a teacher’s stick. “Our father’s descent into madness and subsequent actions, Orchid. Nothing to do with us.”

“You’re despicable,” Orchid spat, even as he knew that he himself wasn’t going to do anything about the situation that truly mattered.

“And you’re short-sighted,” Chris replied. “Worry not, brother, for I have no need to kill you. Only to cripple for a good long while and take your voice. Fear not, for I am merciful. Sarah would have been a different story altogether.”

“You’re all in on this?” Orchid asked.

“Nobody is in on anything,” Chris snarled, advancing forward. “You are simply out.”

Orchid wasn’t going to be able to use the staff. Not when his enemy was someone with years more duelling experience than him. Not when it was Chris. Even if he was fighting for his life, he didn’t know if he had it in him to attack his own family.

“Step back,” Orchid ordered again, and the pain hit him harder this time, a swift kick to the throat. He ignored it, stepping back himself.

Orchid glanced behind him. The study was on the fourth floor of the manor, and just like the majority of the rooms in this wing, it had a floor to ceiling window.

He’d been to the scene of the fight earlier, the one where Lily Syashan had caused half of Dakheng to converge on the Alzaq manor, and he’d seen how she’d escaped the room.

Chris must’ve realized what he wanted to do at the same time, because even beneath a cloak Orchid could tell that his body language changed.

At once, Chris rushed forward, and Orchid ran back, tossing the staff towards the window behind him as he did.

It wasn’t a great toss. Not even a good one. But it did hit, and cracks spiderwebbed out from the point of impact.

Chrysanthemum Alzaq hurled himself at Orchid, arms outstretched and blades gleaming in the dim light of the study.

“Miss,” Orchid ordered, and Chris did.

Orchid’s brother’s final strike went straight past the acting patriarch, and momentum carried Chris forward.

Chris smashed through the glass like it was nothing, and then he was falling.

A heartbeat later, Orchid heard the solid thwack of him hitting the ground. He winced. Probably not lethal for an oathholder, but very painful.

Orchid looked back towards the door, then back down to the ground.

He had to get out of here.

There was rope in the study, he knew, and that might allow him to exit through the window without knocking himself out on the ground.

It was a tense few minutes, putting together a makeshift rope ladder that he could climb down, but it was necessary. If he tried to leave through the manor, there was no telling what the other, bloodthirstier members of his own House would try to do with him.

As he slowly made his way down the side of his own manor, hand over hand down a roughshod hemp rope, Orchid realized that his longest night was far from over.

He’d barely even made the decision to delay, and he’d already failed.

There was going to be blood.