Welcome to Gaia! ::

The discussion with Phoebus and his crazy girlfriend-c**-bodyguard hadn’t gone well, and to be honest, all Aoi wanted at this point was breakfast and a nice bath. Except even as she went up the main staircase to the family wing of the palace, Hannelore was coming down, and her escorts neatly snagged both of Aoi’s arms in theirs. She sighed and let them drag her down the stairs backwards. “Going somewhere without your escorts again, Aoi,” asked Hanne, and she smiled, the corners of her gray eyes crinkling up. It was early enough in the day that Hanne hadn’t yet put on her face for the day. Her face still seemed spring-fresh and lightly pinked in all the right places--probably some kind of witchcraft. Aoi had been up since sunrise, and was as dressed as she wanted to get. “Join me for breakfast.”

Once they reached the bottom of the stairs, Aoi shook free and straightened her coat, following in Hanne’s footsteps. The Empress swept regally into the nearest sunroom, and Aoi settled herself in her usual comfy armchair. Outside the wide, clear windows, she could see Phoebus and his guard--the Prince reading a book now, and Sasha staring directly at the windows. Aoi waved, a little uncertain tock-tock of the hand. “Don’t bother,” said Hannelore, “That one’s a little b***h.”

Aoi shifts her armchair around, the scrape-thunk loud in the quiet room. Once she was facing the right way, she tucked her knees up to her chest and sighed, loudly. Hannelore plucked at a slim, tailored black sleeve and smiled, thinly. “I suppose you’re unnerved by tribute day,” she said. “You don’t like it.”

“No, I don’t,” said Aoi stridently. It hadn’t exactly been fun, being snatched from her family and brought to Gamont Kaising. It was seventeen years ago exactly, and though her life at home hadn’t been sweet, and she certainly wouldn’t have been who she was if she had remained, she’d been lucky. On her way out of the training annex earlier, at dawn, she’d seen one of the small boy-children in the green dress of a tribute crying, a hand pressed against his bleeding forehead. “It’s cruel.”

“It’s necessary,” said Hannelore gently, “This is how we keep control of our empire, Aoi. We take their children and they remember that we have all the power. They remember why we are vassals, and…” She shrugged one shoulder. “It’s not so terrible, to be a servant.”

Breakfast arrived, sweet pastries wrapped around thick cherry compote, still warm. A chopped fruit salad, draped in whipped cream. And tea, of course. They were always serving Aoi tea, even though she preferred coffee. She made a face and sighed. There wasn’t really any point to pressing this. She didn’t want to be the Empress and they’d had this fight a thousand times before. They ate in silence for a few moments, the Empress and her Champion, but when Aoi stood up to leave, Hannelore said, “Do change your outfit. It’s Tribute Day. I won’t have it said you didn’t dress to impress all these dignitaries.”

“Hanne,” Aoi whined.

“A dress,” said Hannelore, digging her spoon into a halved grapefruit. “I’ll have one sent up to you.”

Aoi kicked out at the leg of an escort’s stool, toppling it and him. “I’m not famous for wearing dresses,” she argued. “I’m the Queenmaker. People expect me to look like I just tripped off a battlefield.”

“No, they don’t.” Hannelore frowned, and looked to her fallen escort. “Are you alright, Jaime? Oh, good.--You’re a Princess of the Empire, Aoi, even if you’d rather not act like it. You’ll wear a dress.” Aoi flicked a nervous glance to the escorts, but they showed no sign that they had heard Hannelore speak at all; their eyes stayed straight ahead, the way that Hannelore told Aoi’s hers should. “Come on,” said Hanne. “I could out you at any moment and make you my heir. If things don’t work out with Camlann, then I almost certainly will.”

“I’m not going to wear a dress!” Aoi slammed the door to the sunroom open and stormed up the stairs, taking them two at a time. How dare Hannelore bring up that. She stripped off her stupid, confining jacket as soon as she was in the safety of her rooms, exposing bare shoulders and the mark on her back. Magic, they all said. How else could they explain the fact of the mark showing up in the same place, in the same shape, in the same size, on every member of the bloodline for a thousand years? Aoi had heard plenty of stories, but as for which one was true…

By the time she finished her bath, Hannelore’s tailor had been and gone. Aoi scrunched up her curls in her towel, doubtfully eyeballing the elegant gown on its stand. Dull, she thought. Dour, and severe, made for the Queenmaker rather than for Aoi. Inconvenient to move in. She sucked at politics, but she knew enough to tell when a statement was being made. What statement they wanted her appearance to make here, though… She pulled a flap of the lace cloak aside, and examined the dress beneath it. Floor length, a small train, and a high collar.

“I guess she’s not anticipating me having any problems,” she said, letting the lace panel fall with a disgusted noise.

Had they just moved the whole display up here from the atelier, wholesale, as it were? Probably. Hannelore regarded fashion with the same kind of respect the ancients had accorded to their gods. If there was a god of fashion--Kaising had always been atheistic--then certainly they were well-honored in the Imperial service.

After a long staredown, she sighed and unclasped the wire-worked rose at the throat of the lace. She shimmied into the gown, and only then realized that the back of it couldn’t be tied alone. “Oh, ******** me,” she said.

From the doorway, Erasme said, “I certainly will not!”

“That was an idiom,” said Nicodeme.

Aoi turned to her own escorts. Erasme was red in the face, doubtless from being abandoned that morning. Nicodeme was arranging jewelry on her vanity table, appraising and discarding pieces as he pleased. “That clasp is so gaudy,” said Erasme, snatching it off the cloak that still hung on the mannequin. Nicodeme was already offering a simpler option: a little brass fibula designed after a seashell-and-cloud. Erasme conferred with him, briefly, and came back with a silver wire seashell, as small as an Earth quarter. “She just wants to remind everyone you’re hers. Well, you aren’t!” Nicodeme sighed and gave Aoi a smile, one she returned, a little lackluster.

She let the pair of them fuss, holding her hair on top of her head with both hands as Nicodeme tightened and tied off the lacing and Erasme fussed through her shoes. Aoi still wasn’t sure why she needed more than two pairs, but they knew what they were doing better than she did.

When the whole rigamarole was over, she stepped into the sturdy heeled boots Erasme had chosen, and fluffed out the ends of her delicately styled hair. The girl in the mirror looked like someone intimidating. Someone to be feared. “And this is what the Queenmaker looks like,” said Nicodeme, as if finishing off a joke he’d told only himself.

“Yeah,” said Aoi, fingering the delicate wire-wrapping seashell. A pearl covered the place where the fibula rejoined the body of the brooch. “I feel like a punchline.”

“That isn’t what I meant,” Nicodeme sighed.

Before Aoi could start an argument, Erasmes looked at the clock and made a noise that was half-squawk and half-shout. He shoved the two of the them out the door. “We are going to be late,” he fretted, almost toppling Aoi down the stairs. “And then the Empress will kill us. Not you. Just me. And my brother.”

Aoi doubted it, but she’d also doubted Hannelore would keep up the tributaries, so, who knew? She skirted the greater passages, where she could hear the babble of arriving dignitaries and bustling servants, sticking to the lesser-known halls, until she found the spiral stair up to the forebuilding’s balcony. There was Hannelore, standing where Aoi had seen the Emperor--her father--seventeen years before. He had smiled, and waved, and she’d felt hopeful as she walked under the archway to the stairs…

Hannelore stood like a statue, cold-faced and unmoving as she watched the tributes file beneath the archway. “This is how it has to be, Aoi,” she said, without turning her head. “This is how our strength is maintained.”

“It’s time to go meet them, though,” said Aoi. “C’mon. You’re scaring them. Don’t you remember what the long walk was like?” That, and if they waited, they’d almost certainly get crushed in the tributes’ path to the throne hall.

They met Hannelore’s escorts at the bottom of the stairs, and then the party of six went and took their seats. As each vassal state was called out, their tributes were presented. Five from each state, Aoi knew; Mirchuska contributed just because they didn’t need the people, and that way Kaising would leave it alone. Half of them would live through the week, and those lucky enough to do so would be consigned to servitude in the palace or worse. “This is monstrous,” said Aoi into her hand, but Hannelore ignored her.

“Stop that one,” said Hannelore, near the trailing end of the line. The guard she’d spoken to crossed the hall to pull the man aside, and Hannelore beckoned down one of her escorts. “Find out why he’s got a rock surgically implanted in him,” she said. “It’s disgusting. I won’t have it.”

Aoi gaped. “Hanne,” she hissed.

“Remove it before dinner, please,” said Hannelore, holding up one hand in a sharp gesture for Aoi to be silent. “It’s an eyesore.”

“Hanne, you can’t,” said Aoi. “That’s--are you still going to require him to serve? I thought this was why we revolted?”

Hannelore frowned impressively at her, a hand still cupping her chin. “This is why you revolted, maybe,” she said. “Relax. If you want him, I can claim him for you. You’re supposed to go last, but you’ve never shown interest in someone before, so--”

This was so completely off the mark that Aoi couldn’t stop herself from grabbing her hair. “What the <********>, Hanne! They’re people,” was about the entirety of the impending rant that escaped before Erasme slapped a hand over her mouth and Nicodeme helped remove her from the premises.

“Carry on,” Aoi heard Hanne say regally. “The Queenmaker is a little overtired. She’ll be better by dinner.”

Overtired her a**. What she was was pissed. But with Erasme's hand over her mouth and Nicodeme dragging her insistently upstairs, she didn't have the opportunity to clear that up.

[FIN]

Aoi was uncomfortable, to put it delicately. She understood why Hannelore wanted her there, because of like, her reputation or something. She wasn’t that incompetent. The detention of Phoebus and his guard was wrong, though, and even if Aoi itched for the rigors of battle she did not itch for sending someone back to his family in pieces when he had been trusted to their care. “He’s seventeen, Hanne,” said Aoi, fussing with one of the ties on her ceremonial uniform. “We aren’t really going to hurt him, are we?”

“Of course not,” said Hannelore, adjusting the fine filigreed crown on her head. “I am sure the Grand Duke is a reasonable man.”

They stopped in the comm room, and Hannelore settled herself before opening the connection. Aoi would’ve thought that her attention would’ve been on the guy whose kid she’d just threatened to dismember slowly, but she’d produced a bloodwood box from somewhere and was flipping it open and shut. Clack-clack, went the box, like ancient trains in a period movie. “How rude,” said Hannelore, her eyebrows arching up. “No Lady et chere cousin? Have we begun to play at blood feud so soon?”

Aoi wanted to grab Hannelore and shake her, because this wasn’t cool--this was just like what her dad would’ve done, according to those books. “It’s a shame, cher cousin,” said Hannelore. “You know that I’m kinder than my predecessors. I’d let you remain siridar governor. And your son and his paramour would be able to come home unharmed. This seems fair to me.”



Hannelore smiled, a little thinly, and Aoi wondered if it was as obvious to the duke that she was irritated. This wasn’t a strategically strong way to start a war; Mirchuska wouldn’t move, probably, unless they saw an opportunity to get rid of a lot of their surplus population. But there were three other countries, and Aoi wasn’t all up on her politics of the day, but she did know that at least Columbia didn’t really like the Empire. “A ground war in the mountains is a really bad idea,” said Aoi, looking to Hannelore.

“Yes, thank you, Champion Melhilde,” said Hannelore, and her smile turned into a grimace. “Regardless, if you do not yield before your son runs out of limbs, a ground war in the mountains you shall have. Does it matter why I want Babylon?” Aoi kind of thought she wanted Babylon because she wanted to make a bigger mark in the Empire’s history than she already had. Like, the Kriemhilde dynasty’s fall had made Aoi’s reputation--there’d been attempted rebellions before, and each time they had been successfully put down, until Aoi had gotten involved. Not that she hadn’t had help, but it had been her tactics that took Gamont Kaising, a city which had never fallen. “I have the greatest tactical mind of our age,” Hannelore crowed, “and I’m sure whatever pathetic uprising your people could roust against us would be easily defeated.”

Aoi coughed indelicately. “Yeah, but there’s Columbia too--”

“Yes, thank you, Aoi, I know,” said Hannelore, but her attention was off the box now, and entirely on Menachem. “You’re a terrible negotiator, Your Grace.”



Hannelore leaned back in her chair. “See that you do,” she said. “You have two weeks. Fare thee well, Sire et cher cousin.”

Aoi took that as dismissal. “I’m gonna… you know… uh, Nicodeme wanted me,” she said, and she turned to leave, fussing with the fabric laying over her shoulder. Everyone was all, oh, the stupid birthmark would be easy to hide, but it--okay, like, it didn’t like being bound up, that was really the best way she could explain it. It itched, okay? She rubbed the long, narrow curve of the mark as she left the room, unwittingly exposing it clearly to anyone choosing to watch.



[FIN]

After abandoning Sasha and Phoebus--who, to be honest, were probably glad to see the back of her--she hurried down the servants’ halls to the kitchens, where she finally cornered the dark-haired tribute. As she’d thought, over the neckline of his moss-green shirt there was a neat, surgical patch of bandaging; no blood visible, but then, she hadn’t expected any. Medical science was advanced enough that she honestly hadn’t even thought the patch would be a thing, unless it was a hard removal.

“I’m borrowing him,” she said to the chamberlain directing the serving tributes, grabbing her specific tribute by the arm. He stopped and half-turned, mouth open with surprise. “He’s mine anyway, so I can do what I want with him, right?” Without waiting for an answer, she hauled him off to the nearest room she was familiar with. Once inside the small, dark parlor, she flicked lights on from her handheld and turned to him. “Okay, I’m really, really sorry I couldn’t stop her from taking that rock off you,” she started, intending to follow it up with please stop mind controlling me with it.

He did something unexpected that stopped her in her tracks. “Oh. Is that… it’s fine. It’s a relief, really.” The man’s fingers pressed against the bandaging and he winced. His fingers came away clean, but there was a tinge of red in the gauze now, and she frowned. That shouldn’t be happening. “I wasn’t particularly looking forward to dying, my lady. Truly. I’ve been trying to get it off me for a few years now, you see. So really… I should be thanking you.”

Aoi felt like she’d been blindsided by far too many things that day. The dismemberment of a friendly diplomat, natch, the continuing celebration of the tributary, check, too many ******** ugly black dresses to count, also got that one: but this one did not just take the cake. It had made a fake cake out of cardboard and replaced the real pastry cake with it, and she hadn’t noticed. It was galling, for someone renowned as a tactical mind in her own lifetime, to get thrown off so many times in one day. She managed a, “What?” through what was definitely shock-implemented paralysis of her voice.

“Oh, yes,” he said. “That wasn’t traditional on our world. It came from another one entirely. You see, in the gem dwells a sort of…” He paused, ruminating. “I don’t know the word in your form of Common. But once it’s attached to you, it drains your life force to rebuild its own.”

Attached? Aoi reached for the clasp of her necklace--dying did not seem like it was high on her list of priorities, right then. She did not want to do any dying. Definitely not ever. That was what this whole war had been about, right? Wait, no, it had been to stop her from getting knocked up by an older man and to end the ceaseless expansion of the Kaising Faufreluches before the entire construction collapsed. “Oh my god,” she said, pulling at the chain, but the pendant and its stone didn’t move. And there, in her head, amusement that didn’t belong to her. “Oh my god!”

“So you do know what that’s about,” he said, and was she imagining the delight in his voice? Probably not. s**t, s**t, s**t.

“No, I don’t,” she said, pulling the chain harder. All it did was send a warning spike of pain up her spine. “What do you mean, drains your life force to rebuild its own? That’s… that’s ********… that’s completely ridiculous superstition talk. Things like that don’t actually happen. Geists are just stories.”

The smile fell from his face, and he caught her hands in one of his big ones. “You’re going to hurt yourself,” he said, and he carefully set her down on one of the large comfy couches. “I’m sorry,” he said. “When you said ‘god’, I thought it meant that you’d… chosen to do this. I’m so very sorry.”

At the corners of her eyes, something burned. Tears, probably. Aoi looked at the sinuous silver chain in her hand, and then let it drop. “Let me help you with that,” he said, and she watched him carefully jimmy the wire wrapping around the pendant out from around it. The metal slid out of her skin, unmarked and unharmed, and she hiccuped a little terrified tear. It dripped to the back of his hand, and he sat for a moment staring at it before setting his hands in his lap, a demure and almost feminine motion. “You’re Aoi Melhilde,” he said. “Your first name means blue and your last name means sea-battle. You picked it yourself.”

“I like the ocean,” she said, a little numbly. If she died, who was going to make sure someone gave Hannelore a child with the right birthmark? “I’m the Lady of the Great Glass Sea. It seemed appropriate.” And -hilde was the noble name suffix. It worked better than claiming Kriemhilde, or taking Hannelore’s Grishilde, or going for Grimhilde, which was basically the same thing as Kriemhilde to any scholar.

They sat in silence until he said, “My name is Aska Kepanen.”

“Kepanen Melhilde,” she corrected, automatically. “That’s how the tributary works. That’s why my middle name is Grenbuch.”

He nodded. “Aska Kepanen Melhilde,” he repeated, obediently. “I come from a world called Gaia.”

“I thought it was Heimdallr?”

He shook his head. “That’s where I was. Causing trouble, I suppose. The Queen, Embless, she sent me as a… spare, I think.”

Aoi dropped her forehead to her knees. “This is so ******** up.” She couldn’t see his nod, but she heard it in the crinkling of his clothes. He rubbed a small circle on her back, gingerly, but she sighed and said, “You can keep doing that.” So he did, and they sat there quietly for a long, long time.

Aoi didn’t get back to her rooms until nearly ten the next morning. At least, unlike the tribute, she had nothing at all to do; she could go to sleep in her bed until dinner. And dinner would be late again, probably, after the bloodbath she was expecting the festivities tomorrow afternoon would be. She stripped off the blood red lacework jacket, abandoning it on the ground near the door. As she was stripping golden clips out of her hair, she heard the patient ping… of a waiting comm call. “No, I’m tired,” she wailed, but she could hear ******** his stupid love of rules--already answering and greeting the Grand Duke of Babylon.

“She’s just arrived, Your Grace,” Erasme said, bowing. “She’ll be with you in a moment.” The metallic wings at his back chimed invitingly, and she gestured rudely at him from the doorway as Nicodeme held out a day robe. Erasme went a bit pink around his ears, and then stalked off towards the bathroom. Probably he was running a bath. She wouldn’t be surprised. He thought baths solved everything.

She trudged across the room to the chair up in front of the comm projector. “What do you want,” she sighed, pressing against her temples with her fingers. “I have been up since yesterday at four in the morning, and I would just like to go to sleep now, okay? I’m not even the person you want to talk to.”



That stupid title. She rubbed her thumbs over her eyes and sat back in her chair. It was tempting to be like, yeah bye I will call you back later and by later I mean never, so bye for real. But that was not an option. She wasn’t even supposed to be talking to foreign dignitaries, because she sucked at politics and she knew it. Aoi bent down to pull off her boots and abandoned them to the side of her puffy burgundy chair. “It is the worst time,” she said. “But if you call back later, Hanne will know and then she will kill me. So I’m really ******** whenever you call.”

In case anyone was curious. Like, Hanne would understand if she had made the call to show off Cloudborn (the simple silver-and-gunmetal-gray b*****d sword was within arm’s reach now, neatly sheathed at the side of her chair). But she was answering a call. Like a dog. Wait, should she be refusing the call entirely? Politics was hard. And with Hanne gone to bed for now, and her spymaster trying to find out what went on with a tribute who’d gotten a knife… wouldn’t now be the best time? “I don’t get any say in politics,” she warned him, “so if you want me to intervene, you’re wasting your time. I’m officially Incompetent.”

Erasme snorted, the next room over, and Nicodeme shushed him. “You’re not incompetent,” he said, loud enough to be heard. “You just don’t think.” Aoi flushed a deep red and threw him an irritated look, hoping he was offscreen and too quiet to be heard by Menachem. But she knew he wasn’t. She’d said things from that room and been heard on the comm in here.

“Insubordinate escorts aside, what do you want from me?” She tucked her bare feet up next to her and tried not to look too overtly hostile.



Aoi had a bad feeling, and it wasn’t just from covering her birthmark all night. It was more from the way Menachem folded his hands together, so familiar--Sebastian had done something similar, every evening as they reviewed her progress in swordfighting and political niceties. Was it just something that nobles of a certain age did? There was a shivery burning pain in her birthmark, and that intrusive feeling--the god in her head--of amusement was back. “I don’t,” she said, “have any say. I gave that up.” She could’ve let the war proceed with Aoi as a figurehead empress. She hadn’t wanted to.

But now he was saying something else, and when he finished his sentence, Aoi went pale. For a moment, she gaped at the screen, lips gone bloodless and eyes gone wide. “How--” She’d been careful, hadn’t she? She couldn’t remember a single time she’d mentioned it. But maybe Babylon had spies everywhere, just as Kaising did?

She slapped the screen that would end the call and shuddered at the beads of sweat dripping down the long curve of her spine. He knew. Oh, ********, he knew, and even if he had no proof--and would he be threatening her without proof--just saying so would be so bad. That was one part of politics she grasped very tightly: most news was bad news.

And she had just practically confirmed it, hadn’t she? Her stomach rolled. “Nicodeme,” she said, when the brother with the real wings peered through the doorway. “I think I just ******** up really bad.”

He crossed the room and offered her a towel, called to Erasme to make tea, and said, “If the cat’s already out of the bag, milady, what are your options?”

Aoi looked at him, dark eyes wide and confused. “Tell Hanne and let her murder me for telling someone?”

“No,” said Nicodeme. “Well, yes, but it’s hardly your only option. You’re not comfortable with what Her Imperial Majesty is doing, are you?” He held up a hand to silence her, which shouldn’t have worked because she held rank, but it did because ******** it all, she trusted Nicodeme. “You think she should let the Prince and the na-Baroness go home. So… help the Grand Duke. Earn his support and take the throne from Her Imperial Majesty.” He waited, watching her face closely, before finishing, “The people of Kaising were not born knives. Your ancestors made them that way. Drink your tea and call him back, before Erasme has an apoplexy about you hanging up on the Grand Duke.”

Aoi sipped her tea and looked at the chronometer on the corner of the comm screen. Barely two minutes had passed. If she called back now… it was true that she didn’t like what Hanne was doing. She didn’t like the continuing tradition of tributes. She didn’t like how her childhood friend was becoming a monster, slowly, in increments, but still changing. And… maybe she was bad at politics, but everyone knew that Grand Duke Menachem Aegle of Babylon was a master of the form. Even she knew that.

She redialed the number and said, as soon as he answered, “Say that I was the actual b*****d daughter. I’m not saying I am, just that I might be. It’s a hypothetical.” She paused. “What would you want from me?”



“I can’t do that before tribute week ends,” said Aoi. The fact that she was even considering it made her feel a little shaky; this wasn’t like plotting to stab Niklaus Rache in the neck, or like trying to escape Sebastian’s clutches. Hannelore was her dear friend, someone who had saved her life before, and given Aoi the kind of life that Aoi wanted over the kind of life she was supposed to have. She dug her nails into the porcelain of the mug of tea until they slid on the smooth, sculpted surface. “I don’t want them to get hurt,” she mumbled, but her mind had moved on to the far more interesting topic of how one would conquer a land like the Kaising Faufreluches with such disparate armies. Especially since she didn’t have any idea how long this thing in her chest would take to kill her.

Best to be honest with him, then. “I don’t want Babylon,” she said. “I rebelled because I didn’t want to get ******** by a fifty-year-old man.” Some people were okay with a thirty-two year age difference. Aoi was not one of them. “I don’t want any of your countries. Or Camlann. But I’m not so sure all of those levies can go against Kaising’s on the best day, even with me planning their tactics.” If Helle didn’t have those mountains in the way… and if Aoi or Menachem could get the Camlann sealords on their side… that would be something. But there were mountains between Helle and Camlann, and there was a river seven miles across between Columbia and Kaising.

“I’ll try to move your son to the Rosforte,” she said, because--because she wanted to do that. She didn’t want anyone to get mutilated. “I can get him down there with the excuse that the holding facilities are more secure. I don’t know if Hannelore will let me take both of them. That’s… too nice for her. If that makes sense?...”

Honesty. “I’m dying. Can you promise your support to anyone I name, as long as they agree to the same terms I do?” She’d handed him another axe, just in case the first wasn’t enough, and she could tell by the way Nicodeme and Erasme stopped bustling around that they’d heard her, too. “I don’t know when. But can you promise me that?”



“I can’t promise both of them right now,” she said, “if I have to pick, who do you want?” Maybe if she had more time, she could talk Hannelore around to it, but there was a two-week deadline and one week of that was going to be all eaten up with the tributary and all that hubbub. She could hear them carrying the materials for the first events of the day in the courtyard three stories below, a low murmur like the tide coming in.

She exhaled a sharp breath, and wished she knew how this whole stolen life force would work. “Can you talk to the others now? And try to get them ready to move in two or three weeks? Everyone they can rally, and I’ll do my best to weaken the borders and capitols before then?” She was the Empress’s First Sword; the command of the military was hers entire. She could force the generals to do as she pleased and didn’t have to be kind about it. Maybe that would be enough? Some of them were tactically brilliant on their own, of course. She couldn’t gut them as much as she’d like, unless…

She shook her head, scraping her nails over the jewel that had fused itself into her breastbone. It hung there like a tumor, or like the executioner’s axe. A necklace that she could never take off. “I’ll try to set up everything I can, but I’m not good at sneaking. Can you…” She didn’t have any allies here, not any that would support her in a revolt--Tidewater and Southmark, she might have said, she’d gotten on well with their garrisons, but it was the lords who wouldn’t follow her. Did she need the lords? Did she need politics at all?

None of that mattered if the consciousness inside the jewel took over her head. “Do you believe in geists, Your Grace?”



Aoi nodded. “I’ll get her out of here as fast as I can,” she said. It wouldn’t be easy… she bit her lip. “You know she’s ******** your son, right,” she asked, not sure if that would affect his decision making. Like, no doubt he was doing it for some intense, complicated political reason, but to her it seemed like an important consideration.

She unfolded herself from her chair and dropped to her feet. That sent a jolt of pain up one leg and she huffed out a breath, leaning against the armchair again. This whole morning was just shooting her reputation in the foot. “They’re supposed to be evil ghosts,” she said. “The old stories I heard in Mirchuska said you could summon them through mirrors, and they’d steal your body if you weren’t careful…” She scuffed her toes on the rug, dug her toes into the deep pile. “I think that’s what’s wrong with me.” Aoi peeked up through her bangs--did he think her crazy? She hoped not. The plan unfolding in her head needed him for the connections he brought.

“I’ve asked a lot already,” she said. “But I remember hearing somewhere that the Kriemhilde birthmark is a spell, and that the original spell came from Babylon. I don’t know if that’s true, but, could you… look, and see if it’s still there? I want to see if I can buy myself more time.”

Stupid girl. No mortal magic can counteract me. Not twice.

She made a breathless little noise and looked over her shoulder for the man who’d spoken--no one there. “I’m really tired,” she said after a moment, all in one breath, red-faced and embarrassed. “I have to go before Hannelore’s stupid spymaster wakes up. And, uh… Camlann. You should talk to them. At least get them to not interfere. Maybe?”



She nodded, and rubbed at her shoulder. The news about the birthmark coming from Camlann wasn’t exactly welcome, but… Corbin liked her, didn’t he? The Lord of Camlann had become at least cordial with her as she was just figuring out how to run a mostly oceanic territory; fish didn’t tithe, after all. He was playing nice with Hannelore, but that didn’t mean anything, right? “I’ll get her down to the Rosforte. At least her. And your son as soon as I can.”

This was a risk, and she could acknowledge that to herself. Politicians were wily and untrustworthy; soldiers at least could be trusted to be honest and up-front with you if they hated you. Maybe she could get Hannelore to give her the keys to the magic protecting Gamont… that’d give her something to hold over Menachem, wouldn’t it? “I’m going to go now,” she said, uncertainly. “Unless there’s anything else?”

Erasme coughed.

“I mean, by your leave, Your Grace,” she added, throwing a dagger’s glance towards the younger of her escorts.

[FIN]

Aoi had her mission, and it wasn’t going to be an easy one. She’d seen Phoebus and Sasha together. More importantly, she’d pissed off Phoebus while Sasha was in the general radius. Firsthand experience told her that the Duke had given her the shittiest, worst assignment on all of II Delta Shaowei, and she was not going to have a fun time. She was going to have to pull out all of her people skills and all of her negotiating ability to just even get into Phoebus and Sasha’s quarters, probably.

She had certainly not anticipated the guards at their door. What had the pair of them even been up to that they needed a guard? “Hey, fellas,” she said, waving. “Can I get in there?” She pointed at the door, like her words weren’t clear.

“Her Majesty’s pissed,” said one of them--she thought his name might be Grenvych--and then he shrugged. “The girl was sending comm messages to insecured addresses or somethin’. I guess you could let the guy inside with them get a break, if you wanted.”

They trusted her so much, she thought, ruefully. Just on the weight of her reputation. “Yeah,” she said. “Why don’t the lot of you take fifteen? I’ve got an assignment from the Empress relative to Lady Alessandra, so I’ll get her out of your hair quickly. Sound good?”

The two outer guards shared a glance, nodded, and gathered their compatriot from inside. Aoi slipped into the common area and shut the door behind her. She turned to look at the two hostages. They were sitting very carefully several feet apart, out of each other’s reach; she had a book, and he had a tiny writing screen. “Maybe you could use some of the Earth stuff,” Sasha was saying. “The Johnathan… what was his name? A Most Proposal? Or something? If we’re arguing about Mirchuska’s population problem.”



“No,” said Sasha. “Except nerdlords like you.” She crossed one long leg over the other and turned her green-eyed gaze on Aoi. Aoi took a moment to draw a keymote out of her pocket, and cycled through her options until she found the one she wanted. She clicked, and it was like the central air had cut off, or something.

She pocketed the key, and said, “Population control isn’t a funny topic, but just so you know, I need Lady Alessandra to pack her things and come with me.” She had just shut off all the listening devices that the guard team had known about, but that didn’t mean there weren’t some that they didn’t. Not showing her hand would be a good thing, right? Hopefully Sasha wouldn’t pitch a fit and they could just, you know, leave through the front door and Hannelore would never be the wiser that Aoi was basically planning to steal her Empire out from under her. While possessed by a god.

“Like ******** I’m going with you,” said Sasha, closing her book with a definitive snap. “What makes you think I could pack up my things any kind of quickly enough, anyway?”

Somehow Aoi doubted Sasha’s things were very unpacked. She was probably anticipating being sent home any day now when the Empress and the Duke reached some kind of detente. That wasn’t going to happen; Hannelore was dug in. She wanted Babylon or she wanted the war that would allow her to get it without her being an obvious aggressor. Probably she would chop bits off Phoebus and mail him to Luceheim that way before she would ever dream of sending him back whole and alive. “I really need you to come with me,” she repeated lamely.



“The Rosforte,” responded Aoi, hoping she sounded suitably trustworthy to any listening Imperial spies. Could she get away with this without incriminating herself or Duke Menachem? Probably not. But probably they’d just installed the usual bugs in here, right? Even after Sasha had started the whole… what did an insecured comm even mean? That just sounded like Hannelore was trying to mess with them? “They’re my orders.”

s**t, that sounded shifty. “Look, yes, it is only Sasha. But it’s the Rosforte. Which is like… an hour from Babylon by the river.” Maybe that’d be a good enough hint? God damn it why hadn’t she thought to bring paper. It wasn’t like she carried any kind of silent communication device. Aoi settled herself on the arm of a nearby chair, and rummaged in her pockets. Maybe she had something...

Couldn’t you just grab her, Althai asked. What’s the point of all this unattractive muscle if you’re not going to use it?

“Shut up,” she muttered, hopefully quiet enough to avoid notice.

Unfortunately, she had the full attention of all parties in the room. “No one was talking,” said Sasha. “I really doubt you’re taking me to the former Emperor’s prison just to put me near Babylon.” That was exactly what Aoi was doing, but, uh, how the hell was she supposed to tell them that and not incriminate herself? “Why are you splitting us up?”

“Because that’s what I was told to do,” said Aoi, frustrated. Of course she forgot her ‘phone. Just, of course.



Well, thank god one of them had a brain. Aoi smiled and nodded, and… well, neither of them was particularly educated in hand signs, were they? Jeez. s**t. Sasha was looking like she thought Aoi was a liar, but why would Aoi lie about this? Like, if Hannelore wanted to manufacture a reason to separate them, she would’ve had those three gorillas do it once Sasha had sent those comms. “It’s well-guarded,” she said, “So don’t--” she surrounded that with air quotes “--imagine you’re getting out--” more air quotes “--from there.”

You are blisteringly clever. “I mean, Nicholas Kriemhilde’s okay. Kind of prickly. So I’d figure on staying out of his way. But.” She really just wanted that pad of paper. She held out a hand for it, wiggling her fingers in the universal sign for gimme gimme.



Aoi accepted the pad and scrawled busily across the middle of the pad. We need Camlann and Camlann won’t come if she’s still here. Wait, no, that was illegal soldier scrawl. She slowed down on her second time through: We need her for Camlann. That was clearer, right? I’m taking her to the Rosforte and she’ll go upriver from there.

She had to take this with her when she left. Or not. Wait, which was more suspicious? Tearing paper, or silence? s**t! She should be talking. “It’s not like you’re going to get, I don’t know, tortured or anything,” she said, flipping the electronic screen around and holding it out at the level of her knees, where people watching from the windows couldn’t see. “Mr. Kriemhilde would probably find that unpleasant, and the conditions of his surrender were that we couldn’t harm his family in any kind of suggestion of harm. So. Yeah. That’d definitely upset his wife and the babies.”

(She had a niece and nephew, which was ******** awesome, as far as these things went.)

“So go get your s**t and we’ll get going,” she said, trying to sound authoritative. It was hard, when someone wasn’t looking at her with near superstitious reverence.



It was actually really sweet, the way he asked her to go. Aoi would’ve cried if there wasn’t also a ******** annoying voice in her head now, someone who was sitting and snickering. What is it with my hosts and being ridiculous saps? If it wouldn’t have ruined the moment, she would’ve told him to shut up again. As it was, she imagined a neat box around the god in her head, and kept imagining it until he stopped protesting and went away.

“If anything happens to you, I will beat you within an inch of your life,” said Sasha, tugging one hand free to caress his cheek. “You understand me?” Aoi didn’t need a verbal threat to get the meaning behind the burning look sent her way; if anything happened to Phoebus, he’d get beat within an inch of his life, and Aoi would be buried.

Try it, she thought back, gray eyes narrowing. We’ll see who can dig the deeper grave. Sasha kissed Phoebus on the cheek, chastely--Aoi could tell she burned to do more--and passed into the bedroom to collect her things. “I’m sure the Empress is working on a counter-offer to get the Grand Duke to the negotiating table… or something…” Aoi tried on a smile, but it kind of… slid off… at the very real situation she was leaving Phoebus in. She could’ve tried to get them both, but… Hannelore was unlikely to let Phoebus go, anyway. “My escorts, Nicodeme and Erasme, will be down here in a few minutes,” she said, checking the chronometer on the wall. “Stay with them until I return. Uh… they’ll probably reorganize and refold your clothes, though. They’re like that.”

[FIN]

It turned out that Sasha had heard the whole goddamn thing, and now had no intention of talking to Aoi. No loss, really, since Aoi was now trying to find out a timetable where she got everything done before having to go back to Hannelore with her tail between her legs. Honestly, she didn’t think that Sasha was going to make any part of this easy. Like, could she maybe consider… not being a ******** psychopath for ten goddamn seconds while Aoi formulated a plan? It was all she could do to tune out Sasha’s irritable shouting.

“Calm down,” Aoi said finally, “you’re like, seventeen.”

That didn’t help. Eventually, Aoi found the controls for the sound system and flooded their compartment with white noise, which didn’t make Sasha’s shouting easier on her head. It did make her ranting harder to understand, which was practically the same thing. At least Aoi could try to marshal her excuses for why she was totally going to be late…

It took a brief sparring match to get Sasha onto a horse at the station. By ‘brief sparring’, Aoi meant that Sasha had swung at her, and it’d taken a few knockdowns to daze the na-Baroness enough to get her to get on the god damn horse. But they made it to the Rosforte mostly in one piece, which was a good thing, except Sasha had a maybe-concussion, which was a bad thing. Still, she was glad to see the inside of the gates, and gladder still that the Master of the Guard recognized her voice.

“Sorry about the no-notice,” she said to Lord Gudran, “it’s sort of a… no-notice thing for me, too. Hanne was all, ‘Oh my god, what if he tries to attack Gamont’ and I was all, ‘Uh, I’m not scared of Menachem Aegle, he is like, very old, and I am so badass,’ and she was all ‘give him an easier target’ and, uh, you know. I trust you.” Which apparently went over very well, because Sasha was hauled off to a guest room-- “guest” “room” more like “prisoner” “room”-- and Aoi was shown into a little parlor off her old rooms.

She smiled at her brother over the tray of coffee and sweets, gestured for Aska to sit down. He’d been quiet and forgettable the whole ride, but now that she was paying attention to him again, it was easy to see that he was exhausted. And also apparently kind of s**t at horseback riding, if the ginger way he settled was any indication. “Hi, Nick,” she said.

“Sister dearest,” said the deposed emperor over his cup of black coffee, “how wonderful to see you. Thank you for bringing a guest by, we’ve been starved for company since you locked us in here with a garrison of seventy-three guards.”

“Seventy-three,” said Aoi, “I thought I left eighty?”

Nick shrugged. “Vacation time. It’s seventy-three currently.”

There was a long silence as she absorbed that. “I told Gudran not to tell you details of the garrison,” she said, finally.

“I’m much more persuasive than you are,” said Nick, breaking a pastry in half. “And it’s hard to miss your usual riding partner disappearing for weeks at a time. Must you bring your tributes with you where-ever you go?”

Aoi pursed her lips and didn’t say anything about Nick maintaining the tributary for ten years of rule, because she needed him to like, shut his dumb mouth about what she was doing. “I remembered your stupid clock is broken. Aska knows how to fix things like splintered and warped wood. Right, Aska?” He nodded in the affirmative. “So he can do that while I’m here.”

“Thank you,” said Nick, and he knocked on the table to summon one of the guards. Aska went with the man willingly, peeking over his shoulder for just a moment as they left. Curiosity, probably. Aoi would hate to be left out of something like this, she knew that for sure. “What do you want, Aoi?”

She dipped her pastry in the dark-roast coffee and watched the butter flakes drift away, a thin film on top of the hot drink. “How’s Signy? I know she had a hard time with the pregnancy and all--”

Nick said, “******** off,” and leaned back in his chair, evidently done with the conversation. Aoi wanted to shake him and be like I am trying to make friends and butter you up so I can overthrow the woman who overthrew you, even though it’d been Aoi who had done most of the overthrowing, and Hannelore who’d sort of just sat on the throne. With Aoi’s implicit agreement, anyway, since Aoi was about as much ruling material as a wet newspaper.

“Great,” said Aoi, deciding to forge onward. “And how’s Raleigh? I heard he left Helle, Hanne got really pissed--”

“What do you want,” he repeated.

Well, if he wasn’t going to play her game, if a game was what it was anyway, Aoi was just going to… like… uh… talk. “I’m working with Menachem Aegle to overthrow Hannelore,” she blurted. “I need you to like, not stop the na-Baroness from leaving here tonight.”

“Why would I have stopped her,” he asked, nonplussed, and then: “Why shouldn’t I? I’m sure I could get a few concessions from Hannelore for turning you in as a traitor.”

There were so many reasons why that would be bad, Aoi reflected. “Because once Hanne’s gone, I’m going to get on the throne and do all that s**t we rebelled for,” she said. “End the tributary, break up the Empire, the whole nine yards. And I have to do it fast, because…” She waffled here. Althai said, Do it, and she did: “I’m dying. So I can’t really dawdle. Menachem says that if I give him Sasha, he’ll give me the levies I need to make this fly.”

“Rebellions don’t fly,” said Nick. “They creep. That’s why they’re rebellions and not bloodbaths.”

“Well, this one is going to fly,” she said, thinking: a*****e. “Because like I said. I’m dying.”

Nick considered this a long moment, his brow furrowed. Sitting across from him, she could see the similarities: her hair was the same dark shade, their eyes were the same blued-steel gray. He had a cowlick at the right of his hairline, just like she did, and their jaws were the same shape, even if hers was softer and rounder with femininity. Did her eyes crinkle like that at the corners when she considered unpalatable options, she wondered. “Now I regret signing that blood treaty,” he said. “Why are you dying?”

“Long story,” she told him. “Can I explain later?”

He shrugged. “As you would. Is this an official order from the Crown?”

Aoi hedged, “Hannelore approved Sasha being moved to the Rosforte…”

“Then I don’t see as I have a choice,” Nick said. “And if Gudran lets her slip out the water-lock, then that’s as may be.”

That was a yes, right, thought Aoi, arching an eyebrow at her brother.

“Yes,” he sighed, like he’d read her mind. “I’ll make sure no one interferes. But you--you need to make sure that Signy and the children are taken somewhere safe.”

Easy-peasy lemon-squeezy, judged Aoi. Menachem would do pretty much anything but kneel to get his son back. “So can I meet the babies,” she asked, deciding the serious conversation was over.

“No,” said Nick. “Absolutely not.”

“What? Come on! It’s not like I’m going to hurt them,” she protested. But it was a losing fight. Always had been, and she knew it--it was just a way to pass the time.

He’d seen his sister and his sister’s uh… whatever the hell you wanted to call the Babylonian they’d put on a boat last night… off and now he was just going to hope against hope that Hannelore never caught wind of it, and that the master of the guard (who Nick otherwise quite liked) would be the one catching all the flak for this. He had a wife and two young children to look after, and to be honest--he was quite innocent in the entire scheme of this plot. So, rather than proceeding to act suspiciously and burning all proof of his sister and her guest’s visit, he headed up the stairs to tuck up next to his wife.

“I have a way with females,” he said, solemnly, “no matter their age.” He smiled down at his daughter, and stroked the dark fluff of her hair until her big brown eyes closed, and her tiny fists were clenched up in dreams rather than rage at the injustice of bedtime. “Goodnight, Chenoeh. You too, Nicholas. Let’s try to make tonight the first night we make it through til sunrise without waking, hmm?”

Carefully, he stepped away from the bassinet. With exaggerated caution, he circled the room and got undressed before tucking up around Signy. Their marriage had been arranged, but there was a theory of love-at-first-sight that he had found proven quite true: when they’d first met, he’d been smitten. When they first spoke, he’d been in love. “I hope so too,” he said, “but I doubt she’ll stay gone long. If this trick works, she’s going to want to pull it again with the Babylonian prince… I’d say she should try Liechtenauer, but there’s too many variables in that. Lernaeus has never been a very dependable ally to anyone.” Unless that had changed since the son of the last Regent had died, leaving his young wife on the throne as Lady Regnant. He’d only just begun dealing with Judith Shepard when he’d been deposed. “Too busy waiting for their prophesied king, I suppose.”



“It’s because we’re prisoners of the Crown that I can’t say no,” Nicholas reminded her. He brushed a hand through her hair, and then again, the deep teal strands indistinguishable from black in the pale half-light of the second moon. “If they think I’m attempting to mold a rebellion of my own, things could go very badly for us.” Not that he particularly wanted the throne back, but he’d been well on his way to ending the tributary when he’d been overthrown. Yes, he’d still wanted to expand to Babylon and yes, he’d wanted to bring Mirchuska under his auspices--Camlann too--but that was to be expected, when one was raised by people like Nick’s parents.

Above and beyond anything else, though, he wanted his wife and children to be safe. Out of the available choices, Hannelore was more likely to destroy him in a paranoid fit--Aoi had her code of honor, and it did not involve killing children. He felt fairly sure that if it came down to it, Aoi would step up to protect her own blood. The Kriemhilde birthmark would run true; how else to explain why the many second or third sons had never attempted to take the throne from the first? Sheer luck? And that hope, that Aoi could protect them, was why he couldn’t refuse anything any agent of the Empire told him to do--no matter how indiscreet.

“We’re being careful, Signy,” he said. “As careful as we can be.” With a co-conspirator like Menachem Aegle, he could be fairly confident that Aoi’s political incompetence and inability to keep her mouth shut would be balanced out.



There was nothing to forgive. He was anxious, too, but the last thing he wanted was Signy dwelling on something so far out of their control. “You’re safe,” he reminded her, nudging her gently so she lay with her head over his heart. The treaty of his surrender promised her and any of his children safety. And the birthmark, that too was its own form of protection--if Hannelore dared raise a hand against him or the twins, everyone would know her claim to royal blood was false. “She’ll pull off another miracle and we’ll be free to leave, my darling.” And he would protect her. That was simply how it went.

He twined a hand into her hair, inhaled softly. To their right, he could hear the babies breathing, Nicky quiet and calm and Shay hiccuping sweetly every so often. “We’ll be safe. You, me, the twins. We’ll be safe and we’ll go.” Soon it wouldn’t matter who ruled the Empire. He would be gone, and so would everyone he loved.



He gently, with a great deal of understanding, put a hand over Signy’s eyes. “These are problems for at least the morning,” he told her, gently. “They can wait.” Nick longed to explain to her the details of the birthmark--but he could not. That wasn’t the way the magic worked. “We’d better get to sleep, though. The twins wake at the drop of a hat anymore.” Slipping his hand out of the way, he kissed her on the forehead and then leaned back into the pillows, closing his eyes. “I love you,” he said.

[FIN]