Roskvir lay awake on the bed of his quarters.

  The next day he was to board a swift destined for Thjali’s vanguard, leaving the lumbering Tanngnjostr behind. He would be gone for days, maybe weeks.

  He shivered in the dark, beneath his blanket.

  Against his will, once more he remembered what he’d seen, aboard the shogun’s observation deck. And imagined once more how M?erplat might appear after such total destruction.

  With streets quiet, but not like the witching hour of night, familiar from the time of his youth. Even in that quiet, one could hear the silence of so many others. Perhaps asleep, or respectful of those who were.

  But quiet instead like death.

  He’d stormed cities after long sieges, withered to but their last sick and emaciated survivors. Homes shelled out, neighborhoods razed to flush out partisans. But cities put to siege could in time be nursed back to health.

  Not even all he’d seen before taken in sum could compare to the desolation through the shogun’s window.

  He turned over, unable to lie comfortable beneath the covers.

  He imagined learning that his mother and sister had died in a surprise attack while he was away on campaign.

  Shadows swirled on the bulkhead walls. Once more, he found his meditation training useless.

  Nothing about those past few days made sense to him. Not the least the shogun’s struggle with the princess. Why was his lord so determined to coerce her voluntary cooperation? Their campaign was far ahead of schedule even without her as some sort of figurehead, encouraging her people to surrender. And the city… they were on track to sweep through the bulk of that foreign continent in a matter of months.

  And yet, the shogun seemed invested to the point of emotion in the obstacle of her will.

  And the city…

  Roskvir understood military strategy, and strikes of decapitation, and shows of force. But why destroy such a prize, when the invasion’s outcome was practically a foregone conclusion, anyway? Was it not more valuable to capture a grand city and its spoils intact? And it surprised him to learn the shogun even wielded weapons capable of that destruction in the first place. Had the admiralty really signed off on their employment?

  He couldn’t even imagine what the princess was going through.

  He shivered once more, as he thought of her standing against the shogun.

  Tears welled in his own eyes.

  He wondered if, maybe, all that was happening with the princess was just some extended test to which the shogun was subjecting him. He couldn’t tell if that was plausible, or if his time as Thjali’s lieutenant had thrown off his expectations.

  Either way, it would be better for everyone if the princess would soon relent, he thought. He’d have to redouble his efforts to entreat her cooperation when he returned from the errand with Thjali. Save them all from more pain.

  He lay awake on his bed for another minute, before realizing he wasn’t about to get much sleep anytime soon.

  * * *

  The forward mess hall was almost deserted by that late hour. A single cook on the night shift leaned back behind the counter, hiding a flask in his apron Roskvir pretended not to see.

  Roskvir at first ate from his tray of cold leftovers at the cook’s station, not caring to sit down. But after a draught of ale to wash down his first bites, he spied a small group of marines hunched over a table, playing cards, and recognized Dalgrandr among them.

  “Englihavt!” His old comrade grinned. “Damn… you look like shit.”

  “Deal me in, leutnant.”

  Rosvkir butted into the booth, taking care to keep his flagon level. The other soldiers all squeezed together to make room for him.

  “Hey, but it's not fair. Five pounds isn’t the same for us as it is for you, with your salary.”

  He rolled his eyes as Dalgrandr dealt him in anyways. The other soldiers resumed their earlier conversation, and they all began to play.

  The rounds went by, and Roskvir slowly lost his money. Even immersed in the other voices, he couldn’t stay focused on the game. But he kept up a smile, nevertheless.

  “So, Englihavt… what’s got you up this late?” asked Dalgrandr, when a lull came to the others’ conversation.

  Roskvir looked at his cards: another tough hand.

  “Oh, you know… I just couldn’t sleep, I suppose. I’m getting sent away tomorrow. Boots on the ground again.”

  Dalgrandr raised an eyebrow.

  “You’re not one to get cold feet. Something different about this one?”

  “Ah, well… Shouldn’t talk about it, really.”

  The shogun hadn’t specified secrecy, but perhaps only because his lord assumed that secrecy went without saying.

  The next player raised by a pound. Roskvir looked over the faces around the small circle.

  “But, without getting into it,” he said, “it may involve working with vizeadmiral Taerfoer, again.”

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  “Ah,” said Dalgrandr, sucking in air through his teeth. Some of the other officers around the table reacted much the same. “Just when you thought you were free, huh?”

  Roskvir shrugged.

  “So, the big brass decide to put you back where you came from?” asked one of the other marines.

  “No, still with him. But really, I shouldn’t say anything more.”

  “Well, either way, my friend,” said Dalgrandr. “That is truly unfortunate, to be back in the field with that bitch. I’m sorry to hear it.” He raised his flagon to Roskvir, then finished the dregs.

  After slamming the flagon back down with a hollow clunk, Dalgrandr seemed to think. He eyed Roskvir with a wry gleam.

  “You know what you need, my friend?” Dalgrandr tapped his empty flagon. “Some more.”

  In truth, Roskvir would’ve liked nothing better.

  “Well, you know. I have a trip to make tomorrow,” he protested halfheartedly.

  “To where Taerfoer’s encamped, in who knows where? You’ll spend the whole day on a swift,” Dalgrandr countered. “Plenty of time to sleep it off.”

  Roskvir rubbed his chin. The next day would be spent in quiet transit, in all likelihood.

  Dalgrandr scoffed.

  “Come now, Englihavt. What’s the cook going to say? ‘No, kapitanleutnant war hero Roskvir Englihavt, who is now reporting directly to the shogun. You can’t have a few more beers, even though nobody’s looking’?”

  All the flattery was starting to get on his nerves. But still, Roskvir had to admit, Dalgrandr was probably right about that last part, too. And he would rather get one last drink in before heading back to the front. It would help him sleep, if anything, wouldn’t it?

  “How much did we just take from you?” asked Dalgrandr. He leaned over the table, counting out money Roskvir had bet and lost. “What, like, seven pounds… thirty pence? Tell you what, Englihavt. Go up and ask the cook up there to give us all another round, and then some. I’ll give you your ten pounds back if he does anything other than roll over for you, without so much as a second look. How’s that sound?”

  Roskvir stood. Making a show of straightening his collar and the lapels of rank on his coat, he strode toward the counter.

  * * *

  Roskvir stumbled through the halls of the Tanngnjostr thick in a drunken stupor, having lost his way and then some on the trip back to his quarters.

  No, he remembered. He wasn’t headed back to his quarters, just yet. He’d wanted to see the shogun. The desire had come over him a while ago, halfway to his drunkenness then.

  Indeed, he’d taken those last few turns to have a talk with the shogun… about something. All details beyond that eluded him.

  He shook his head, trying to clear it.

  He hadn’t meant to get so drunk. It’d been a long time since he'd had anything much to drink, and much too late had he remembered how poor he was at holding his liquor.

  He tottered, trying to steady himself against the bulkhead. But the world swung sideways, and he fell.

  It was good that traffic on that end of the Tanngnjostr was so sparse in the wee morning, he thought, splayed on the floor.

  He was in no condition to talk to the shogun, he realized. He might embarrass himself.

  But if he could just find the man’s chambers… then he could sleep off the drink outside his door, and get his ear before the swift was due to leave later that morning. That was a better plan, wasn’t it? And by the time he woke up, he might even remember what it was he wanted to talk about, too.

  Yes, that was a very reasonable plan, he thought, nodding to himself.

  Roskvir forced back open his drooping eyelids. There was an intersection just ahead.

  He hoisted himself up to shamble forward, and strained to peer at the navigational markings at the crossroad. Letters swam in his vision, resisting his efforts to assemble them into words. They only truly prodded themselves into meaning, after he remembered he was trying to read Albian, not Setetic.

  He was in the high officers’ wing. Already past the shogun’s chambers. He had to turn around. Being there was frowned upon, unless there was an important reason.

  But who was going to stop him?

  He chuckled. He was Roskvir Englihavt, aide-de-camp to the shogun.

  He could do anything he wanted. Like get extra rounds of beer for a table of his mates in the mess hall.

  Laughing again, the world gave way, and he was once more on the floor.

  He simply lay there, uninclined to right himself.

  He was in a bad way, he realized distantly. He couldn’t fall asleep. Not there. If anyone even saw him like that, worst of all some high officer, he might be in serious trouble.

  But he’d landed such that a small vent of air blew warmth onto his neck, and it felt ever so pleasant to remain as he was.

  He could lie for just a little while longer, then stand up again, couldn’t he? Roskvir Englihavt, of all people, could rest his eyes for just a few moments without falling asleep.

  Aurelia screamed, and he jolted awake.

  In a single movement he was back on his feet.

  He weathered a head rush, dizzy as adrenaline surged, at once almost halfway sober.

  He could’ve sworn… he’d certainly just heard her. Hadn’t he?

  He frowned, ready to dismiss the sound as a misfire of his imagination, when he heard it again.

  A faint child’s cry, slipping out through the air vent then at his feet.

  * * *

  Roskvir skid to a halt before the two marines on guard duty outside the guest quarters.

  “Is she— she’s in there?” he begged.

  The nearest almost replied, then cocked his head to the side in confusion. But Roskvir was already pushing past him.

  His eyes watered with relief, then, when he saw her in the darkness within. Sleeping, and still on the bed where he’d left her, no less.

  Her eyebrows were furrowed in consternation, even as she slept. And through but a sliver of light spread from the hall, he could see her cheeks were stained with dried tears.

  But she was still there. Otherwise unharmed, and fast asleep.

  Dumbfounded, he withdrew from the door, slow and careful to close it quietly for her. With effort, he managed despite his drunkenness.

  He and the three guards regarded one another, all of them confused.

  “You didn’t hear anything… have you?” he asked. “It's been quiet there, I mean?”

  “Completely quiet, kapitanleutnant, sir.”

  Roskvir nodded back dumbly.

  “Well, then… carry on,” he said.

  He turned, starting to trudge away.

  But he hadn’t imagined what he’d heard, had he?

  He hadn’t. He’d heard it twice, the second clear as day.

  But… maybe he really was that drunk.

  He was in no position to make sense of anything, he realized.

  Was he really hallucinating things?

  What a mistake, that evening had been.

  It was long past time that he should’ve just lain in bed with his eyes shut. Even if that didn’t bring him to sleep, it would be better than… whatever it was he’d been doing, around the halls of the high officer’s quarters.

  Stumbling around, drunk out of his mind, hearing ghosts.

  "Freud advanced the idea that an analyst can differentiate between the manifest content and latent content of a dream. The manifest content refers to the remembered narrative that plays out in the dream itself. The latent content refers to the underlying meaning of the dream. During sleep, the unconscious condenses, displaces, and forms representations of the dream content, the latent content of which is often unrecognizable to the individual upon waking."

  Wikipedia