"Gentlemen," said Emerlun, sweeping his gaze over those present. Few people had gathered in the Golden Hall—only those whose opinions the king trusted. But just in case, he scanned the small assembly again. He no longer knew who or what to trust.

  "Gentlemen, I have very unpleasant news."

  The people were silent. They didn’t look at him, but at the white lanterns that were lit in the hall at night. Someone sighed deeply, someone paled at the thought that the worst had happened, for everyone had already guessed what the king was about to say.

  "I received a letter from Ringus. Nalvin has fallen. He could do nothing, as the pirate forces exceeded even the accounts of the witnesses. We couldn’t gather enough men. We didn’t have time to arm them. We didn’t have time to rally the people to boost morale. And we underestimated Saelin. He became allies with Orwell Cassander."

  Someone groaned softly. In the ensuing silence, Emerlun could almost hear them grinding their teeth, suppressing despair and rage.

  "That can’t be," Maclevirr said quietly. "This is the first known case of pirates allying with mainlanders…"

  "It will be hard," assessed Lord Geonar, an old and no less distinguished commander than Ringus Felm, who had been sent to Nalvin. "If Mainor is their next target, it will be very hard. Did Ringus survive?"

  "He has about a hundred warriors left. Of them, forty-three are injured or maimed. He’s already left the camp and is heading for the capital. Apparently, the pirates are in no rush to take Mainor. For now, they’re gathering forces in the Southern Province and looting the surrounding villages. Terror reigns in the area around Nalvin."

  "Then we still have time."

  "Time—if we want to continue the war." Emerlun looked around at his ministers. "And that is why I’ve gathered you so late. I’ve received another letter. From Saelin’s castle. He has sent another ultimatum. And this time, I’m certain we must take his words seriously. He had the strength to destroy Nalvin, and that was the oldest and strongest of the southern fortresses."

  "In Nalvin we were unprepared," said the Minister of Trade, Kile Ardaya. "We delayed mobilization, assumed Saelin’s first letter was a bluff disguised as a typical pirate raid, even if it claimed thousands of lives. We only realized the truth when waves of terror swept through the southern counties and towns, and waves of refugees surged north. As a result, we failed to seize control of the situation…"

  "Is that a reproach?" Emerlun asked sharply, suddenly looking him in the eye. Kile shrank back in fear.

  "I can’t do everything alone." The king ground his teeth angrily. "You all know perfectly well that refugee waves began flowing at the end of last year, after signs of a northern threat appeared, and we began preparations in case Vaimar broke the non-aggression pact. Taxes were raised… but no one foresaw that this would trigger peasant uprisings and mass executions. And this spring, I saw firsthand what our bloated, complacent officials and citizens had become. The war ended a hundred years ago. At most, half a percent of the population knows history. No one thinks about what will happen if our peaceful little world is plundered and burned. They just don’t want to believe that someone decided to start a new war, that they’ll have to take up arms and shed blood for their homeland. They’ve forgotten what patriotism means, damn it! That’s the real reason for Nalvin’s fall—there it is! Until the very end, none of us believed, none of us wanted to believe, that they want to destroy us again, that we’ll have to defend Aktida again! No one!"

  The king slammed his fist against the armrest. No one dared to sit.

  "Until this autumn, we still had a chance to keep the situation under control," he said hoarsely. "Now Saelin has made us another offer. Either his troops continue their advance, declaring war on all things living, on all that can burn—or…"

  "Or what?" Maclevirr interrupted calmly. "What, Your Majesty? I don’t understand, truly don’t understand, what we’ll achieve by compromising with Saelin. He won’t make concessions. If he says he wants Aktida, then he won’t stop at the Southern Province, or even at Mainor."

  "We will enter another round of negotiations, this time more thorough," the king said with a dry throat. "We’ll try to persuade him to soften his demands. Because now, if we continue the war, we’re risking everything. Absolutely everything. If Mainor falls, Aktida will be wiped off the map. And frankly, no one will be able to stop Saelin from doing what he’s ultimately after—the throne itself."

  "If we make concessions now, who knows what will be better," Geonar grimaced. "Maybe it’ll just be the same tyranny, only this time we accept it voluntarily. The Empire of Saelin, handed over to him without resistance by King Emerlun Winver the Third and the entire Cabinet. Perhaps right now, we’re just choosing the lesser of two evils—who knows? And I would rather die in glorious battle than live under the regime of that madman and go insane myself from knowing I was the one who gave him the country…"

  "All the responsibility will fall on me," the king interrupted.

  "No, Your Majesty. Only formally. In reality, the blame will be shared."

  "But maybe," said Lord Ardaya quietly, "if we give in to Saelin now, we’ll have a chance. In wartime—especially in a war to the death, where we constantly fear betrayal, where enemy agents lie in wait on the roads—we’ll be cut off from the world. Mainor will have to bear the brunt alone and rely only on strong walls. Our task must be to preserve peace at all costs and try to get rid of Saelin through diplomacy. Otherwise, everything we worked so hard to restore after the world war will be lost. It will be the end of the economy, the end of politics. A return to natural selection—the rule of ‘might makes right.’"

  "My thoughts exactly," the king agreed. "If we surrender Mainor to Saelin under peaceful terms, we’ll have the chance to work from within. To use underground organizations. To ensure that the people themselves come to the realization that they must rise against the tyrant. If all of Aktida rises against him, he’ll be powerless. But if we lose the war, we won’t have that chance."

  "And what if he’s not powerless? What if he finds a way to control all of Aktida?" Geonar exclaimed. "Think about it: the Mages' Guild and the Academy of Sciences are on his side—that’s one. They’re neutral for now and trying to avoid terror, but under peaceful circumstances, they’ll support him. Our strained relations with Vaimar—that’s two. The northern threat could play into Saelin’s hands, and we’ll be caught in the middle. And the Lake of Aktida—that’s three. Don’t forget his first victories were due to that diamond. If that’s true, then… we won’t be able to do anything. Our only option would be an alliance with Vaimar. And that means choosing between two dependencies—either on Saelin, or on Jake Farian."

  The king was silent.

  "What do you propose?" he asked at last, in a dull voice.

  "Strengthening the dynasty," Maclevirr said quickly. "You need to secure alliances with foreign powers. Farian has a daughter of marriageable age, and among the islanders there are many rulers interested in political marriage. Ultimately, we could unite local and overseas counts, barons, and marquises, since in Vaimar they hold significant posts and can influence the king. Then, tax cuts, amnesties—to win the support and love of the common folk. A crackdown on corruption in the bureaucracy, to set an example of honesty. At the same time, spread information about the army’s advance—so everyone hears about the fires in Nalvin and Surrelle. So that the people themselves volunteer and fight bravely."

  "No alliances with Vaimar!" the king snapped furiously.

  "But, Your Majesty…"

  "You heard me, Maclevirr."

  "The Nocturns are not the answer," Geonar cut in. "Have you forgotten how they looked at us when their envoys came in the spring? The hostility between our people and the aborigines won’t die out in two or even ten thousand years. They’ll side with Saelin just to oppress us. And he can offer them that strip of land, the Olmaer Ridge, and all their shrines. What does he care about shrines? I’m sure Saelin wants something very specific in seeking the throne. But the Nocturns want justice, even if centuries have passed since our ancestors drove them from the continent."

  "Fine. There are other forces. We’ve forgotten about them, but they’re close—and they’ll help if we offer them what’s easy to give. I’m talking about the Nocturns in the reservations. About the goblins from the Eastern Deserts. About the centaurs right next to us, in the Enchanted Forest. And many others. I repeat: you need every living being in Aktida on your side. Whether you know of them or not."

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  "Centaurs…" Geonar muttered. "That’s a thought."

  "Not bad, Maclevirr," Ardaya chuckled.

  "We’ll take care of the rest," the chief of the secret services bared his teeth. "Preparing the defense, in case we don’t make it in time. Mobilizing and assembling troops in Mainor. Fortifying approaches to the capital and the border fortresses of the Northern, Western, and Eastern Provinces. Boosting production. The Academy is still working for us, and we must ensure it doesn’t fail now. We’ll throw all efforts into delaying the pirates’ approach to Mainor as long as possible. Meanwhile, we’ll prepare for winter. For a long siege—which we will endure. And then it won’t be the pirates wearing us down, but we them."

  The king straightened. He looked around at the ministers. Took a deep breath.

  "Very well," he said. "The die is cast. But remember, gentlemen—we’ve staked everything. Go and begin your work. Prepare the necessary orders."

  The ministers rose, bowed, and headed for the exit of the Golden Hall.

  "Your Majesty?"

  The king looked up. Maclevirr stood before him. They were alone.

  "Speak, Siegfried."

  "One more important matter—urgent." The chief of intelligence cleared his throat. "You told me that during your visit to Saelin, Petros temporarily joined you."

  "Ah, yes… That’s right. I’ve been meaning to talk to you about that. I don’t understand the purpose of your investigations into Petros. Why are we wasting time on this? Have you found something on him?"

  "You could say that," Maclevirr lowered his voice. "But Your Majesty, this conversation must remain strictly between us… I believe it’s a bad omen that Petros has resurfaced now, acting so openly and brazenly. I think we should monitor his movements. And also his close circle."

  "Why? What has he done?"

  Maclevirr paused, choosing his words.

  "Lately, we in the Secret Chancellery have been receiving increasing reports of unrest among the population. The urban poor, merchants, workers, students. I must report, some of the laws we passed were… let’s say, not very popular. At night in taverns, you can sometimes hear voices shouting ‘Down with the king!’ Revolutionaries." Maclevirr sneered. "But in recent years, their numbers have grown suspiciously large, Your Majesty. There are hints that a secret organization operates in Aktida. A network of people working to undermine the government’s authority, distributing anti-monarchist pamphlets, writing manifestos. So far, they’ve kept quiet, though we suspect they were behind the assassination of the Chief of the Petista City Guard two years ago… But they may be planning something bigger. Terrorist attacks. Right now, with us at war with the pirates, this is especially dangerous: the people might fall for their provocations. We’ve suffered two major defeats, and our authority has been shaken. That plays into the rebels’ hands: the people might follow them, if they promise an end to the war and a better life under Saelin."

  "That’s all we needed," muttered the king. "Crush them, Maclevirr, crush them mercilessly! But what does Petros have to do with it?"

  "Your Majesty, you may not remember, but back in the days of your father, King Karplakh, Petros was a well-known rebel. Back then, just like now, it was fashionable in universities to discuss politics and criticize the authorities, but Petros—he formed a whole circle. He traveled across all of Aktida giving lectures about how good things were under the ancient Nocturns, when there was a republic, and how now it’s time for us to create a republic too, and other such heresies. The scholars and the archmage turned a blind eye to it back then. And Saelin supported him—that’s why they hit it off.

  "Thirty years ago, intelligence reported that he wasn’t just good at stirring things up with words, but was also plotting something. Then came the Derelz Expedition, and Petros disappeared—he was supposed to be tried both for the expedition and for attempting to create a terrorist organization, but he was never found. It was assumed he died then, and the case was closed. But I, Your Majesty, never believed he perished—his body was never recovered. I always thought he had gone underground.

  "And a couple of years ago, we started getting reports that he was seen in Petista. Coincidentally, around that time we also exposed the leader of a rebel cell there, and lo and behold—Petros appears. So I figured this was no coincidence and began putting more effort into finding him. I don’t have hard evidence yet, but there are signs he may be involved in the new revolutionary movements."

  "Then issue an arrest warrant and be done with it," the king grimaced. "No need to dawdle. First hang him, then we can sort it out. We don’t need any revolutionaries around here. Especially now!"

  "At once, Your Majesty!" Maclevirr beamed. "That’s exactly what I wanted to confirm with you. I’ll set the process in motion."

  "And you say he used to run with Saelin? Could they still be in cahoots?"

  "Anything is possible," Maclevirr said thoughtfully. "But after that expedition, Saelin testified against Petros. He did everything to distance himself from him—claimed they were enemies now. But it’s entirely possible that was just a clever ruse."

  "Find out everything, and hang that Petros if necessary," the king waved his hand. "That all?"

  "Yes, Your Majesty. Understood."

  "By the way," Emerlun suddenly remembered. "Where is your junior assistant now? Ordevix?"

  "I sent him with an ops squad north to Asternia. We received reports from there about Vaimar spies. Possibly a dangerous group."

  "That’s a shame," the king winced. "He would’ve been useful here in Mainor. He’s a capable lad, don’t you think, Siegfried? I believe he could’ve made good progress rooting out rebels in the capital…"

  "Your Majesty…" Maclevirr hesitated. "To be honest, I sent him away because I wanted to keep a closer eye on him. There’s a man in the squad tasked with watching him."

  "You’re joking?" The king was stunned. "He struck me as the most loyal of your men. He risked his life to save the protocol from the meeting with Jake and Raniot from being stolen…"

  "Indeed, Your Majesty. He did risk it. But it’s quite possible it was just theater. A performance to win your and my trust."

  "What made you think that?" the king frowned.

  "Ordevix’s last mission before his promotion was also in Petista. He was supposed to monitor Nubel’s associates, a certain accountant named Lainter and a guide named Rita. Both had previously been linked to Petros. Ordevix made contact with Lainter there and brought back an excellent report, which earned him the promotion. But after that… he started acting differently. Some colleagues noticed. He was seen in places where he had no reason to be, speaking to people above his rank, or looking for information he shouldn’t have needed. So I flagged him. At some point, I think he needs to be checked for assuming someone else’s appearance."

  "Seriously? That’s possible?"

  "It’s a very complex procedure that requires years of magical study, and access to alchemical ingredients that are tightly regulated, though, of course, you can get them on the black market. Smugglers bring in tons of the stuff from Vaimar and Rikutiam. But such transformations require a powerful and skilled mage. Again, I suspect Petros’s hand in this."

  The king nodded in shock.

  "Thank you for sharing this, Siegfried... I’ve got a lot to think about now. And thank you for your service."

  "I serve the crown and the Winver dynasty," said the head of secret services, bowing. He turned and left, leaving Emerlun alone with a storm of troubling thoughts. The king sank heavily into his chair. He felt paranoia tightening its grip.

  "No one can be trusted," he thought. "No one."

  ***

  At first, it felt like a dream.

  Rita looked around. She hadn’t been here in many years, but she remembered this house vividly and in detail, just like everything from childhood, when every impression burns into memory for life. She remembered the warmth of the stove in the center of the living room, the soft sofas, the clock on the wall, the scent of books, the glow of evening lamps, and daylight streaming in through the small windows in white beams... Now it was all different. Cabinets and wardrobes overturned. Feathers from a torn pillow and straw from a mattress scattered across the floor. Paintings ripped from the walls. A table with broken legs. Nothing remained as it had been. The place had been searched. Three times.

  She walked through, touched a brown stain of dried blood on the doorframe. Took a deep breath. Lifted one of the floorboards. Most of them had already been pulled up—Rita was sure that if her mother had hidden anything beneath the floor, it would have been found.

  She surveyed the room again. There wasn’t a single place the intruders had left untouched. The windowsill was scratched where the killer’s boots had stepped.

  Mom…

  What happened here?

  Why did you leave us back then, in Petista?

  What didn’t I know about you?

  Inside, a storm of rage mixed with bottomless sorrow brewed. She felt tears tracing down her cheeks. Slowly, she left the living room and stepped into the nursery. This was where she used to sleep, when her father brought her to Mainor as a little girl. Her old dolls lay on the floor, her mother had sewn them herself. The floorboards here were also ripped up, the small bed broken. Rita stood for a long time at the threshold, clenching her teeth, fighting back the sobs in her throat, just staring, studying every item out of place, out of order… and then her eyes caught a small music box on the shelf in the corner, where she once kept her toys.

  Rita picked up the box and turned the key. Gears groaned inside, and tiny hammers played a melody from an old childhood song. She listened for a long time, feeling her heart clench, memories flooding in, blurring her vision… Her father had made this box for her—many years ago, when they still lived in Petista, when the three of them were together and happy…

  But why was the box here?

  The melody ended, and silence fell. And then Rita remembered. She slowly turned the box in her hands, feeling the wooden inlays along the edge. In one spot, a tiny carved lotus flower shifted under her finger. A quiet click sounded, and the box opened, revealing the drum, the hammers, and a hidden compartment beneath the base.

  Inside lay a piece of paper, folded in four.