"A nation is built upon the laws it upholds. A nation without law is but a mob, ready to collapse upon itself at the slightest provocation." - Ancient Alcidean saying, unknown source.

"Got the culprit already, huh? that's fast," admitted Aideen as she helped herself to some good herbal tea from the pot, liberally laced with precious honey from a rare breed of monster bees only found deep in the jungles of Elmaiya.

That cup of strong, fragrant tea and wickedly delicious honey alone would have cost more than a laborer's weekly pay, but Aideen was definitely not one to refuse when the Empress herself offered her palace's hospitality.

It has been four days since Khaer Ul regained consciousness, and Aideen was pretty much done with his treatment as of that afternoon. Right now, the old man was being accompanied by his older great-grandchildren on his bed while he cradled the youngest of them, who had always been his favorite.

Lucea and Aideen were seated in a different room on the same wing, mostly because what they had to discuss was not suitable for the children's ears. At least, not yet.

"In the end, it was just another idiotic attempt of a power grab," sighed the Empress as she stirred her own cup of tea, with a more modest amount of honey within. "Berthold and Qarsel were reasonable people, but their grandchildren had not inherited their discretion, at all."

The names mentioned by the Empress were that of the late Markiz Berthold Hillos and Qarsel Denslev, two nobles who used to be part of different rebel armies in the civil war but switched sides to support Khaer Ul's claim to the throne later on.

Their contributions were rewarded with the title of Markiz - a Marquis, in the northern continent's terms - and hereditary land, and they had served admirably in that role. Lucea even saw them as sort of uncles to her as she grew up seeing them often.

When they abdicated at a late age - they were already old when Lucea was born - they were replaced by their sons. Those sons were less competent, but still served as reasonable nobles who tried their best.

Sadly, the next generation proved to be more disappointing, considering the assassination attempt they had tried. Eventually the rot mage who crafted the plague - the son of Aegon Rowliss - squealed in exchange for leniency to him and his mother.

Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

Those two Markiz and their immediate families were already in the process of being rounded up by members of the Imperial Guards as Lucea had her tea with Aideen that afternoon, and would be brought as prisoners to Sabaya within a day.

"Politics," said Aideen with notable disdain. "I never had much of a stomach for it. Was always glad that politicking was nearly nonexistent in Ptolodecca, to be honest with you."

"That's a given since you got an immortal, all-powerful lich at the helm and everything he says, goes," replied Lucea with an amused snicker that showed a lot of sharp teeth. "I wish we could go for something just as simple, but it won't work. Even if my kind lives long, I only have another two centuries or so at most."

"Speaking of which… about your grandfather," said Aideen with a more serious tone, which made Lucea sit upright as she listened carefully to her next words. "While I've taken care of the plague as best I could… there are some things I am powerless to deal with."

"It's his age, is it not?" replied the Empress with a question of her own as she sighed. She herself had likely known such a day would be coming sooner or later, from her saddened, reluctant expression. "How much longer does he have left?"

"On his own? Two, maybe three years. With proper care from a good healer from time to time, five to seven years," answered Aideen honestly. She was quite familiar with the subject, due to her own experiences with Artair's last years. "If you have a powerful dedicated healer who stayed and treated him every day, probably as much as ten years."

"I doubt grandfather would agree to such treatment just to prolong his life a little bit more," said Lucea with a sigh. She was all too familiar with how her grandfather's character was. "That said, I'm sure I can talk him into accepting regular treatments. I thank you sincerely, for all the aid you have rendered us."

"You're welcome," said Aideen politely as she sipped the last of the tea in her cup and poured herself another nonchalantly. The Empress pushed the jar of honey she had used over to her when she saw that. "By the way, what are you going to do with the perpetrators?"

"That son of Rowliss' and his mother will forever be under house arrest. They will work for the empire for the rest of their lives," stated Lucea calmly as she sipped her tea. "As for the involved nobles… all who were responsible and participated in the plot will be sentenced to final exile."

Aideen winced slightly when she heard the term. Final exile was a punishment used by the Empire for heinous criminals, and involved dropping those criminals, naked and without any tools, right in the center of the deepest jungle in the empire. Mages were previously crippled before their exile, in a way that would prevent them from using their gifts.

None of the criminals ever made it out.

"And their families?" asked Aideen as she pondered for a bit.

"We will find several suitable heirs from the family, though not direct descendants of the guilty, to take over and split the land amongst them. Their titles would be reduced to baron," replied the Empress in a calmer voice. "As for those descended from the guilty, they would be banned from any governmental position for three generations."

"That's rather merciful of you," commented Aideen with good reason, as many countries would straight up exterminate the entire families of such people, up and down the line.

"We try to be when we can," said the Empress with a sigh. "Deities know this world lacks kindness as it is."