Alana enters the room before I can wheedle the rest of the story from my wife. She looks stressed, brows heavily furrowed and thin lips pressed tight. Ah. Suppose I did leave her to fend off her family alone. Doubtful that Kierra would be very helpful lest the tension finally escalated to blows but the James are all too controlled to throw forks across the table. I offer a hesitant smile as her tired blue eyes find me.

“Hey. I asked the servants to prepare a bath. They’ll be here in a few minutes so don’t do anything you wouldn’t want to be caught doing.”

“Don’t say it like that. This one might take it as a challenge.”

Kierra grins but doesn’t refute the words. Alana shakes her head as she starts to strip. “Ariza mentioned that she’d shown you the writings from your ancestor? Did you find anything interesting?”

“What all did she say?”

She pauses in pulling off her shirt, looking at me over her shoulder. “Is there a problem?”

“Depends on how much your family knows. Your father mentioned that someone from my family showed up here following the footsteps of another ancestor. She directed me to a journal written by the older visitor. One that happens to be in a language other than Common. One I imagine few, if anyone, can read and no one has the confidence to translate with accuracy.”

I scowl. “The question is, did she give me that to stump me or to see if I could read it?” Neither option is beyond belief. It wouldn’t be unreasonable to think that the Tomes had passed down the language used by their ancestors. Failing that, summoners tended to be scholarly individuals by nature, the craft involving much research and theory-crafting in pursuit of contracting powerful elementals.

If I had a journal written by the only person to meet my greatest enemy and survive, I’d be very interested in having it translated. It costs them nothing. What I really want to know is if the duke has any inkling of this oath. I would think something this important would be passed down to every child. Clearly, the opposite has happened, every resident of Victory instilled with the fanatical drive to conquer the north. How did things become like this? I might have to read up on the fort’s history if I want any hope of saving these people.

“Ariza isn’t a schemer,” Alana mutters, tossing her shirt aside. “If there is something deeper to her actions, someone else is behind. Either Kalise or Eleanor, my father doesn’t scheme either. While I don’t doubt either one or both could be plotting something, baiting you with ancient texts doesn’t seem their style. What does it matter? It’s ancient history. They were probably curious. Unless there was something important written there…”

She trails off, giving me a look. I sigh under her expectant gaze. “Yeah, there was something important written there. We have a problem. Well, two problems.”

A hand slowly climbs to her face to pinch the bridge of her nose. “Are they relevant right now? This very moment?”

“I guess not?”

“Then I want my bath first,” she grumbles. “It’s been…a day. I kept waiting for Zach to say something snide about my plans for the hunters but he kept his mouth shut. I don’t know if he’s waiting for me to make a fool of myself or if his mother has pulled on his ear. Don’t know which one is worse.”

“About those plans. They’re probably going to have to change.”

The look she gives me is a mix of shock, anger, and frustration. I understand. She’s been working hard to coordinate our plans for the hunters under our control with the other forces of the campaign. It’s also her first time in command so she’s been extra critical of herself, leading to longer hours of work compounded by many more hours of second-guessing herself. I offered to lend her my succubi but, within all expectations, she refused, wanting to prove herself with her own strength.

I’ve just told her that all that hard work is meaningless. Worse, she might have to do it all again. To her credit, she doesn’t direct that frustration at me for long, dropping her head and pushing down her pants. I’m understandably distracted by the view as she continues to strip. She isn’t trying to be sexy and she doesn’t have the curves of my elf, but my eyes rake over her slender form, hard and soft in all the right places.

There is a knock on the door just before she takes off the cloth binding her chest. I glare at the door as Alana yells for the interruption to come in. A young girl dressed in a simple dress and apron stands in the doorway and asks if she’s ready for her bath. Alana gives her consent and the girl departs, soon returning with two older girls, each holding one end of a wooden tub, the handles on either end coated in brass. They set it against a wall and one of them kneels, opening a small round opening in the floor I hadn’t noticed until now.

One of the girl’s eyes glows with channeled mana as she holds her hand over the opening. In a matter of moments, she stands, a trail of clear water following the fingers. The stream of water is directed to the tub and quickly fills it up. The second girl is the next to cast. Once the tub is three-fourths full, she puts a finger in the water. In a moment, the water is steaming.

“Your bath is prepared is, my lady,” they say together. They wait for Alana’s dismissing hum before slipping from the room, shutting the door softly behind them.

“Aren’t you afraid of a splinter in an uncomfortable place?” I ask as she finishes stripping.

“The wood is specially treated not to splinter or absorb water,” she mutters while grabbing a cloth and what I assume is a small bottle of liquid soap from her dresser. Standing by the tub, she dips the cloth in the water, squirts a little of the soap on it, and begins to wipe herself down. A strong citrus scent mixed with a mellow spice fills my nose. “It’s also supposed to make the bath water better for the skin but I think that’s just an excuse. Wood is rare this far north, so it’s a status symbol. Besides, stone is far too heavy to have the servants lugging through the house every night.”

She finishes with the cloth, setting it on the edge of the tub before climbing in. She sighs as she sinks into the warm water, the suds on her body moving to its surface to obscure my view. I amuse myself watching her content expression while Kierra amuses herself wrestling with Bell. It takes several minutes before her eyes open and she looks at me. “Okay. Tell me.”

“Sure? You look comfortable.”

“Which is why this is the best time.”

“Mm. Do you want the big issue or the small issue first?”

“The small.”

“Oh? Most would say big. Handle the most important thing first.”

“Bigger does not always mean more urgent. You’ve already told me it’s nothing that needs to be handled tonight. Gives me time to hear the smaller issue and properly think about it. Otherwise, it may be neglected because of the bigger one.” She waves her hand. “What is it?”

“Do you think I’m boring?”

She blinks slowly. “…what?”

“Boring. Me. What say you?”

“…is this a joke?”’

I frown. “Rolly claims I’m boring. I thought it was ridiculous until I remembered that I spent the whole day happily reading an ancient journal. I have my doubts. So?”

“Lou, you’re married to an elf, you’re effectively immortal, you may as well be a living embodiment of sexual appetite, and you’re at the center of what could be the first war of the kingdom. You had your head cut off a few days ago and it meant less than someone else getting a paper cut. How in the Abyss are you boring?!”

There’s a flash of light as Rolly appears over her head. “Meh,” she says dismissively before disappearing again.

I point at where she was. “See?”

“She’s baiting you,” Alana sighs.

“But does she have a point?”

“Lou.”

I raise my hands to fend off the sharp exasperation in that one word. “Fine. The real problem. Before I tell you what I found, I need to ask a question. What do you know about any summoners that have come to Victory?”

“Only what my father said to you. Beyond that, I had no idea.”

“Okay. Another question—"

“Louuuu.”

“No, this is important, I swear. Why is Victory so intent on conquering the north?”

She scowls. “There is an army of monsters on the other side of our walls. At any moment, they could rally and storm the kingdom. Victory has the best fighters in Harvest and we can’t subdue them. How do you think the rest of humanity will fare? Either we get them or they get us.”

“Will they? It’s been centuries. When was the last time the monsters assaulted Victory? Not one, or two, or ten. I mean the army you’re talking about. A hundred beasts. Two. Three. When was the last time the fort fought off a serious siege?”

Her eyes narrow. “That doesn’t happen because the campaigns cull their numbers.”

“How is that enough? Apparently, no matter how many you kill, there’s plenty more.”

“There are a dozen theories about that. Some manabeasts mature rapidly. It’s possible that the adults lay their offspring in autumn, fight us winter, and the new horde is ready by spring, with plenty of time to start the cycle anew. There are those who think that us pushing deep into the north causes infighting, as the monsters battle over the newly emptied domains close to the largest concentration of food. Some think our walls intimidate them, reminding them of the peaks where they know the strongest manabeasts make their nests. What does it matter?”

I can feel her growing agitated. “One more question. What would it take for Victory to give up on conquering the north?”

She looks at me like I just asked how to suck all the mana from the world. Or the best recipe for dragon skewers.

“Humor me.”

She takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly. “This question is…ridiculous. But you asked me to humor you. Let’s forget the many vows, oaths, and pledges every family in the north has made to kill the Lords of Winter. Let’s forget the threat they pose. Let’s assume this is a world of pretend and somehow all the knights of Victory are willing to…give up. They can’t.

“Victory has developed around its war with the north. At a rough guess, seventy percent of all adult males are soldiers. Just about all their sons are soldiers. They don’t have any other skills. They don’t have any desire to learn a trade. They fight. That’s all. The kingdom has more than enough hunters. Do you know what it would mean if those hot-blooded men, and women, lose their cause? People who crave contest? Strong opponents? Violence and blood? Bad things.

“Not to mention the campaigns are essential for the fort’s economy. You’d think we’d be rich with all the mines we have but all that iron goes to arming the knights. The gold we make from the campaigns buys grain, cloth, potions, saints, everything! The meat keeps the fort fed. The furs and hides keep people warm. I…”

She shakes her head and relaxes in her bath. “Like I said, the thought is ridiculous. Victory needs the campaigns. No one ever talks about what happens when we finally win. As soon as the celebration ends, some awkward questions will need to be asked. More than one scholar has hoped that our ‘endless war’ continues until the end of time. The equivalent of blasphemy, but I think it’s better than the fanatics who think the James family will become northern royalty and the crazies who think upon slaying the Lords of Winter, the people of Victory will absorb their power and become something more.”

“Funny you said that. It’s a perfect lead-in to what I want to say…”