When Schemel arrived at Demettle’s home, an ambulance was already waiting in the yard. Green Officers stood in the compound, taking notes from a frantic Sirios. Jenne’s scent clung to the air, sharper even than the alcohol fumes of the Deus markers. Strong enough that Ashey caught it too. No wonder her daughter had come here.

  Demettle stood near the entrance with a blanket on his shoulders, his staff planted at his feet, watching the scene unfold with a muted sadness. Schemel had brought only one soldier, careful not to draw attention. She was here for two things—Jenne, and the key.

  In the back seat of an officer’s vehicle, Jenne sat collared and pale. Nearby, Sirios raged, demanding the soldiers arrest Schemel. He pointed at her with shaking hands, voice hoarse with fury.

  But when the officer turned, he stomped his boot and saluted. Another man pulled open the car door and helped Jenne out.

  Sirios sagged, utterly defeated. His fingers clawed through his wet hair, pulling, searching for strength that wasn’t there.

  From inside the house came a stir. All eyes turned as paramedics emerged, carrying a stretcher draped in white. Demettle shifted aside, his staff pressed to the floor as Isse’s body passed by him and into the ambulance.

  “Nobody leaves without my permission,” Schemel told the officers. Her voice cut the air, sharp and certain. They hesitated, glancing at one another, weighing her authority against their orders.

  Her boots struck the stairs in hollow echoes. At the top floor, she found Hamis slumped against the wall, feet inches from his sister’s blood. His face was dry, stripped even of tears, as if grief had burned him hollow.

  Schemel held herself back, resisting the urge to reach out. Instead, she said quietly,

  “I lost someone once. I won’t compare my pain to yours—grief is never the same twice. All I can say is this: do not let loss shape you, as it did me.”

  She paused, then stepped closer, her shadow falling across him. “Do not mistake the gun for the hand that pulls the trigger. Guns don’t kill, Hamis. People do. Your friend is a weapon, and I was the one who aimed him at your home. Blame me. Forgive him.”

  Her words lingered in the silence as she turned, retrieved the key, and walked out without looking back.

  Outside, Ashey had arrived. She cupped Jenne’s face, shaking him gently, begging him to answer, but he could not speak. His lips parted soundlessly. Desperate for someone to lash at, Ashey rounded on Schemel.

  “You’re doing bad stuff again, aren’t you?” she snapped. “Mom, what’s going on? Why are there soldiers here?”

  Schemel did not break stride. She had no time for her daughter’s fury. The Deus family was compromised, and the next move had to be made.

  Schemel pressed a finger to her lips, leading Jenne aside. His body sagged, all life drained from him. She crouched to meet his eyes, holding his arms steady as he swayed.

  “Love,” she said softly. “I know you want to leave with your earthen friend. I won’t stop you. But let me convince you to stay a few days. Change is coming fast, and I don’t want you caught where I can’t protect you. Stay with Ashey tonight and tomorrow. After that—you’re free.”

  “Hanna,” Jenne whispered.

  “She’s safe,” Schemel promised. “Safer on the Third than anywhere near Camp Regis.”

  His answer was little more than breath. “Okay.”

  Schemel drew him close, hugging him tightly, pressing her lips to his brow. When an officer offered to take them home, she let Jenne go.

  Three men stood behind the vault in the Regis Astaphite Depository, each with a key ready. Schemel watched from a distance with her new Firstman, Archer, as the locks ticked, groaned, and released. The door opened, exhaling a breath of cool air.

  Inside lay a treasure chest: hundreds of trays stacked in gleaming rows, each sealed with astaphite submerged in water.

  She moved among them, fingers brushing cold steel until she slid one tray free. A seal popped loose. Water shimmered in the light, chilling her hand as she reached in. Her fingers closed around a red stone.

  The instant she touched it, the gem bled into yellow. She held it in her palm, then crushed it. The shards cut her skin as the stone’s power surged through her veins—searing, flooding, intoxicating. Ascension lit her blood like fire.

  Schemel seethed, fixing her mind’s eye on the task. The hex on the back of her hand burned through her skin. Archer approached, worried by the blood trickling from her nose, but Schemel held him back. A flower of light blossomed in her hand. Archer’s laugh was tight; he wanted to stop her from doing that again, but he only watched as she plucked three more nuggets. With them, she fashioned a bouquet and handed it to her Firstman.

  Church bells rang in the morning, heralding a new day as the people of Henrikia returned to work. Councilmen had slept peacefully, eaten breakfast, and kissed their wives and daughters goodbye. One by one they filled their seats in the Assembly Hall, each of them wondering why Schemel Sorel, of all people, was sitting in the chancellor’s chair.

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  One hundred men in grey robes sat in uneasy silence, awaiting some explanation for this spectacle. The unusual absence of Green Officers, replaced by Gold, made the wise sit quietly while the foolish grew restless. Some still believed Jacqolin would appear at any moment.

  At her own pace, Schemel rose from the chancellor’s seat and stepped onto the dais. She paused behind the lectern, squinting at the cameras trained on her from the corners of the chamber. With a single tap of her finger, she tested the microphone and cleared her throat.

  “The law states that in the absence of a High Commander, the Henrikian military must elect a temporary representative within six hours. The Primus would normally choose a candidate from among the Gaverians. In the Primus’s absence, the choice must be voted upon by all Commissioners, Seconders, and Captains of the Green, Red, and Gold Corps. By unanimous decision, the leaders of those corps have chosen me—Schemel Sorel—as their High Commander.”

  “The law also states that a state of emergency must be declared when all six members of the Primus are absent at the start of an Assembly Hall meeting. A state of emergency can only be declared by the High Commander at her discretion. I declare a state of emergency.

  “During a state of emergency, the High Commander is granted veto over national resources, including, but not limited to, the military and all its assets, to protect and defend the government’s interests. We have enemies on our borders and across the sea who would do anything to humiliate us. I shall not stand by and watch it happen. To defend the honour of my country, I shall take back what was unlawfully stolen from us. Henrikia.” She stepped down from the dais and walked down the central aisle so all could see her leave. Her hands were clasped behind her back, her head and shoulders held upright. Savage would be proud of her.

  Not yet accepting the reality of the situation, the councilmen sat in stunned silence. They would not be much of a problem now. She had over a thousand men waiting outside on her orders. At the entrance, Gunner stood with his cap tucked under his arm. He saluted and then fell into position at her flanks as she moved along.

  “Given the time frame you provided, it will be impossible to get the men or our large fleet ready for an invasion,” Gunner said. “The bonuses you promised have incentivised a few, but don't expect them to be dedicated. We are exhausted and in no mood to fight a war we have already lost.”

  “I don’t like your tone, Ren Gunner. I may find a new captain for the Last Alangre if you keep this up.”

  “I apologise, High Commander,” the captain said. “If I may ask, Solis, what do you gain from this small, insignificant island?”

  “It means everything to me,” she said. “Alert whoever is in charge of the air troop to get ready for lift-off. We will launch our first attack on Tardis in half an hour.”

  Troops circled Henrik City, moving through the streets on their morning inspection. Her destination was the airstrip far to the north, one she could have reached by driving through a Ring. Instead, she ordered a convoy to take her to New Crest, where she had instructed Archer to handle a task she believed would be easy for him.

  As her convoy rolled into the small region, she found what she expected: empty streets and homes, the people all gathered at Thorel’s Ring Square. In the heavy morning mist, hundreds of townsfolk stood in unison, their eyes fixed on the statue. There was nothing remarkable about this statue—Thorel holding three glowing rings in his palm was nothing new. What had drawn them here was the battered scapegoat hanging from the statue’s neck.

  As people do these days, they recorded the sight with their phones. Not one of them stepped forward to help Marissa down.

  One soldier reached up to the limp girl and dragged off her trousers. Another pushed his head between her broken knees, flashing a peace sign while grinning. His friend snapped a picture, and then they swapped places. When they heard the High Commander’s convoy approaching, they hurried away from the dangling corpse to stand at attention.

  They did not shout praise in Schemel’s name. The people of New Crest prided themselves on being refined and well-mannered. For decades they had tried to tear down Thorel’s statue, arguing he was no hero but a tyrant and a war criminal. Schemel, his heir and granddaughter, was no more popular with them.

  Her vehicle stopped in front of the statue and she stepped out to take a breath of the morning air. The crowd recoiled as if she had come to harm them. Many lowered their phones, while a few raised them higher for better angles. Schemel made things easy for everyone when she climbed onto the roof of the car and sat there, feet dangling over the windows.

  She raised both hands; no one saw the ring on her finger because her gloves hid it. She formed a fist over her mouth and blew out a curl of fog. With the crowd’s focus peeled away from the corpse above her head, she prepared to speak.

  “This woman above my head is dead,” she said. “Those of you with a strong sense of morality will look at this and say, ‘Schemel is a murderer. Schemel killed this poor woman for nothing.’ That is not true. Schemel did not murder—she sentenced this woman to death. You do not know that this woman hated Henrikia and contributed to the decline of our country.

  “You might wonder what I mean by that. I will tell you. This woman plotted with others like her to degrade my name and bring shame upon my family. She manipulated a child to spread disgusting lies about me, putting doubt into the hearts of the good people. I have been quiet for too long. I cannot sit back and watch while this country rots from the inside.”

  “My grandfather made me promise to crush our enemies with the hammer of God. I never thought those enemies would come from within our own home. God forgive me for turning a blind eye to the sickness that spreads in our land. These foreigners have come into our home and have turned our children against us.

  “It all began with questionable ideals. The Sodenites shame the chaste Henrikian child. They encourage perversion and promiscuity in their schools. You let those Sodenites near your wife and she will be bedding women as well. Why else would my daughter, a child, be a target for the fantasies of men I trusted? Up to the point when she became a victim. Because the Sodenites trained her to attract attention. I have learned my lessons the hard way.

  “You call yourselves intellectuals but are as blind as the rest of us. How many of you go to the supermarket and see products that did not exist a year ago? Yunnish goods flood the markets, fattening us up like pigs. I remember a time when every Henrikian was battle-ready. Now you sit behind a phone all day and consume the rubbish your enemies prepared just for you. Earthens are dwindling, yet you have no outrage—because it is cruel to keep the earthen working? Let me ask you this: what happens when the Yunnish emperor orders you to bow? You left your farms abandoned and now need him to feed you. Bastards. Open your eyes and be afraid. You’ve forgotten what you are, but I am here to drag you to war. In war, you will remember. And to you, who have become the renegades I despise, know that the sun has risen.”