Chapter 75

  Hard decisions (part.2)

  The standards were ablaze, while screams rose in a single chorus. The ships, infernos on water, approached the coast, while those witnessing from the shore tried to make sense of it.

  The mermen leaped out of the water to board the vessels. From that distance, Calca couldn't get a clear idea of the events unfolding before her.

  "The mermen... They have betrayed us!" A voice rose in the silent astonishment. The owner was immediately recognized: Escalera. The bishop advocated for a crusade in the solemn departure.

  Guilherme, his protégé, summoned his knights and the priests of Fire, deploying them in precise formations, almost as if he had been waiting for nothing else than to show off. The ships had almost docked, and the funeral of Marquess Serrano had turned into an impending carnage.

  "Your Highness..." Remedios took Calca by the arm, gripping her too tightly despite herself, the mounting concern replacing any courtesy. "Sanchez is setting up a defensive perimeter for the coast... If the mermen have truly betrayed us, and intend to attack your life, you must flee..."

  Soon the blue sky would be covered by arrows. Her brother had also taken command of the personal troops of the rest of the nobility gathered there, seizing the initiative that would soon raise his reputation throughout the kingdom.

  Could this all be a plan orchestrated by him? For what reason, though, would the mermen obey his orders?

  "No..." Calca broke away from the paladin, leaving Remedios dumbfounded. "We must stop all this..."

  Kelart tried to dissuade her, the priestess' breath for once strained and uncontrolled. "If we let the mermen approach... If Ran Tsu An Rin has decided to attack your life, it will be difficult to protect you, even if Remedios and I remain by your side."

  They were ready to face humans, but the unexpected had replaced that. They should have understood it, and perhaps they had. An assassination attempt on the queen would not be a simple matter... Marquess Serrano had been aware of this, and now he was giving Calca the opportunity to uncover the rot that had corroded Roble from within.

  To do this, she could not close her eyes when called to face something unusual, or use danger as an excuse to run away.

  "Guilherme!" Calca called her brother, with the most commanding voice she could muster. The result may not have been incredible, but it served its purpose. "Stop these men! I want to know what is happening offshore first..."

  The prince frowned, perplexed. "Do you believe your eyes are deceiving you? Or that it is an illusion capable of tricking all these people?" He pointed, arrogantly, toward the horizon. The symbol of Roble on the flagship had been torn apart; the security of the Holy Kingdom's navy trampled. "Our marines are suffering... We must give them support!"

  "We will give it to them," Calca replied, with a decisiveness that surprised even herself. "I want clarity first... There must be a priest capable of scrying, no? The art of divination has not been lost in these lands... I ask... no, I demand, in my capacity as the royal authority, that my orders be obeyed."

  Her brother collected his rising anger and masked it with a sneering smile. "A woman knows nothing of war."

  Remedios moved to step forward, but her younger sister blocked her. Even Caspond, who had remained on the sidelines, gave no voice to the thoughts crossing his mind.

  This was because any unspoken response from Calca would have been nothing more than useless words in the wind.

  "And yet... this woman knows war better than you," the queen retorted. "One priest, or any spellcaster in my entourage... Just one, and then you may proceed with your orders. The mermen are our allies, and we owe them the benefit of the doubt."

  "Your Highness..." Guilherme did not continue with his grievances, as he allowed one of the priests in Kelart's retinue to cast his divination spell.

  It took no more than a few seconds. Bishop Escalera summoned his followers, showing off his usefulness by doing nothing.

  The High Priestess instructed an old veteran, whom she trusted blindly, named Diago. Tall and imposing, he looked more like a warrior than an ecclesiastic. The robe with embroidery of the God of Earth fluttered in the wind as he recited the formulas with precision, fixing his gaze toward the impending battle.

  The man concentrated, and after a few seconds, puke flowed uncontrollably from his mouth. His face lost color, and terror invaded his expression.

  "What is happening?" Remedios burst out. Saferlisia, already drawn, shone dimly, reflecting its mistress's state of mind.

  Shaking off her worry, Calca approached the man together with Kelart, undecided whether to offer him a hand to alleviate his distress. Bishop Escalera and his followers remained impassive, the satisfaction of having won that discussion running beneath an icy indifference.

  Diago kept repeating only one thing: "The Long Rain... They are back..."

  Those were not prophetic words... The past was only evoked by those brief cries, and what could not be forgotten from the collective memory regained form through that last word, chanted with macabre solemnity... "The srush… The srush are here…"

  Kelart rushed forward, catching Diago before he could definitively collapse. "Someone cast 'Lionheart' on him," she ordered her retinue. "Diago! Diago! Pull yourself together!" Where magic failed to reach, would slaps be enough?

  "They're... They're even worse..." The man, despite the attempts, struggled to remain standing, a never-faded trauma staining his now cadaverous appearance. "...They have our faces... Our features..."

  Making sense of his delirium became increasingly difficult, and the more understanding faded, the more fear fed on that past name. The Long Rain obscured the serene sky with its memory alone.

  Calca looked at her brothers, wondering in those few seconds what they were thinking. Guilherme might finally be able to display his skills as a monster hunter. Her younger brother took a few steps back, grasping his sword tremblingly. The golden hilt, a symbol of royalty, touched by fingers that had not known hardship.

  Caspond, however, maintained his calm, giving precise instructions to his followers.

  And she, meanwhile? What should the queen do in that situation?

  "The mermen are not enemies... They are trying to stop the Srush..." How had those creatures managed to board the navy ships? "Everyone, give them support! Soon the ships will be on the coast..."

  The warmth flooded the queen's palms. Her prayer was answered when the Principality of Peace completed its materialization. Following her example, other priests and clerics called forth more angels, a river of white feathers billowing in the air, while the paladins, under Remedios's orders, tightened into defensive lines.

  The ships docked on the coast, or, more accurately, ran aground on the sandy shore. The distant screams soon became ear-piercing shrieks.

  Sighing, Calca moved close to Kelart, as the demihumans seized the nearby space.

  "We must get the civilians to safety..." The queen's first thought was directed toward her subjects. The High Priestess hesitated, her attention divided between those she had sworn to protect and the friend she had promised to serve.

  "You should get away too," Kelart replied.

  "Soon…"

  "Look! Ran Tsu is leading the mermen in retreat!"

  The aquatic demihumans were running backward, while deformed creatures threw themselves in pursuit. The Green, the only non-human of Roble's Colors, ensured the retreat proceeded, brandishing his silver trident against the srush. The marvelous scales from which he took his epithet were stained with a reddish substance, blood of a different color.

  It was a second, just one second, where everything lay in the hands of that precious commodity called trust.

  What disembarked from the ships were men. Creatures trying to pass themselves off as men, at least. Their grotesque features were camouflaged by a change in skin tone. While many clearly maintained monstrous appearances, with sucker-punch hands and tongues flickering in the air, imbued with mortal poison, some had torn the flesh of the sailors and covered their bodies with tattered scraps of corpse, wearing them like one might wear a dress, tearing the faces from the dead to press them onto their own faces like blasphemous masks.

  They had replicated that twisted ritual with the mermen, tearing off their precious scales and gluing them onto their shoulders and fading chests.

  And they advanced. The srush advanced on the sand, which was stained by their passing, while the mermen who had managed to survive the massacre could now find hope only in the humans they distrusted.

  Calca swallowed. She, who had known battle, now knew war. Her summons, the angel brought to life by the miracles of magic, erased evil. What she saw now was not simple evil, but the ruthless and indifferent flow of nature.

  The srush responded to their imperative to feed and conquer, devastating only in the name of their own survival. The dichotomy of us or them became evident when the paladins opened their ranks, following Remedios's orders, and allowed the inhabitants of the sea to find refuge among their lines, while other horrors alleviated the differences.

  With her breathing becoming heavy, Calca positioned herself behind, protected by the Custodio sisters, while the angels and casters tried to keep the confrontation between paladins and demihumans from becoming close.

  "The srush are not suited for long-range combat; as long as Sanchez manages to keep the paladins on the defensive and maintain ranks, we shouldn't suffer heavy losses."

  Remedios's opinion was far too optimistic, and perhaps more of a wish that things would proceed well as long as the queen was there, just steps from the front line, rather than wise experience.

  Despite the mermen having managed to find shelter, they were not exceptional fighters out of the water, and they couldn't reinforce the paladins' wall of shields. The latter had mounted notable resistance, but the srush were more numerous than they could have hoped for, and they kept emerging from what were now nothing more than wreckage.

  "Sister, a single srush requires two or three ordinary-rank paladins to be dealt with... Every minute that passes, one of ours falls, while the enemy grows bolder... Moreover, the coastline is too extended..." Kelart's words sounded prophetic.

  The paladins had two options: close ranks into a tortoise formation and try to defend until their bodies gave out, or split into multiple groups to prevent other demihumans from climbing the cove and bursting into the town of Lareconquista...

  No matter what, a second Long Rain would be inevitable.

  "Remedios, Kelart, don't worry about me... You are the strongest people here, try to eliminate as many as possible..."

  Both Custodio sisters were women who had set foot in the realm of heroes... As long as a lord-rank monster didn't appear, and they kept an eye on their fatigue, they would have no problem getting rid of every enemy.

  "Sister..." However, Remedios couldn't detach herself and give her best, since something was holding her back. And that something was nothing else than her queen.

  The trembling in Calca's fingers didn't stop, forcing her to hide her hands in the hem of her robe, with poor results, so that it wouldn't be too noticeable. So that she wouldn't notice. Wouldn't notice the fear.

  "Sister... I will stay here with the queen... Remember why you were given the rank of White..."

  Kelart reminded her older sister of her duty, cleaving the paladin woman's soul in two. On one side, honor and duty. On the other, friendship.

  And, regarding that choice, others had already made the decision for her.

  "Remedios Custodio," forcing back tears, pushing away the terror that gripped her, Calca spoke. "I, as your queen, order you to follow your heart..."

  Everything around the queen was dying. The mermen who had surfaced were dying, while the Green protected his people. The paladins, the priests, and her brother's soldiers were dying.

  Bishop Escalera had flown away already, and her brother Guilherme too couldn't be seen.

  Even if their eyes weren't focused on the queen, the one to whom many had sworn fealty, ready to die for her, were now questioning in their last moments whether that promise of sacrifice would be fulfilled right there, right then.

  Calca searched for Remedios's gaze, and found two brown eyes that knew what the right thing to do was, but avoided plunging, throwing themselves into that gorge.

  "Go..." Calca urged her.

  The White Paladin obeyed. Safarlisia, the holy sword, was to be stained with blood.

  Calca found Caspond's reassuring hand resting on her shoulder, her brother's dirty face, who should have become king, veiled with pride.

  "That's how a queen behaves."

  He, too, was taking part in the battle. As a cleric, his skills were excellent both on the front line and in the rear. Even without weapons, he could provide adequate support to the members of his guard.

  "Don't worry, my friend. As long as Remedios has you to incite her, she is invincible." Kelart shook her hair as she watched her sister walk away. Even though she was the younger one, everyone in the Roble Kingdom had always considered her the more reliable of the two.

  But if everyone relied on Kelart Custodio, Kelart relied in the same way on Remedios.

  And when the White finally entered the field, it wasn't hard to understand why. It was as if everything had changed with her simple arrival. For Calca, it was hard to explain. Not only did Remedios cut down enemies with such ease that it made every difficulty seem surmountable, but her charge left a trail of hope, white and pure just like her nickname.

  And just like that, the paladins, who moments before were on the verge of throwing in the towel and succumbing to the poison of the abject creatures, found themselves motivated by a force more effective than any magic: Remedios Custodio, the strongest sword of Roble, was the source of that new-found will.

  Graceful and fierce at the same time, the paladin master provided the necessary relief to regain strength and allow the breath of those who were about to sink to resurface once again.

  It took little time for Remedios to be covered in what she cut down. If the srush had used parts of their victims to feed a sick sense of imitation, she was covered by the mere consequences of her work, transforming more and more into a demon in her act of bringing salvation.

  Almost as if, through the desire to save others, a price had to be paid: that of climbing over the lives of those who threatened.

  'It's not about justice,' thought Calca, observing her friend closely. It wasn't Remedios's sword skills that left her astonished. Every parry and lunge was not a matter of morality.

  When the paladin slaughtered, she did not question her righteousness. Remedios skewered one srush, followed in rapid succession by two more of its kind, without breath or fatigue claiming their share. A venomous bite was not a punishment; the moan of pain was not a retribution for the death inflicted.

  The screeching of fangs on shields was the music with which she continued her advance. Following her example, Sanchez, vice-captain of the paladins and Roble's Pink, and Ran Tsu, the Green, reunited with the other Color, in a strange rainbow descended upon the acrid earth.

  "We are winning," Kelart encouraged the other ecclesiastics who were still hesitant. "Anyone who conserves mana, use it to cure the poison or support the paladins with summons!"

  Their faction gained ground as the demihumans dispersed. Some, however, had decided to break away and use a nearby cove to climb the coast.

  "Kelart!" Calca called.

  "Remedios is surrounded. It will take her a few minutes to break through..." The High Priestess took an interminable second before starting to move herself. "I'll handle it..."

  Calca followed her. "I can't let them reach the city."

  Kelart hesitated but did not move. Caspond also decided to lead a small group of chosen guards.

  At least two dozen srush had made their way into the cove, but they were not the only ones. Guilherme and his knights had found themselves pursued, and were now on the brink of ruin. Most of them had already fallen, and the Prince of the South was left alone, surrounded by at least three demihumans.

  "Brother!" Calca tried to call him. Guilherme turned and, for an instant, in his frightened and betrayed face, the queen saw the younger brother she had once loved.

  "Brother... Why...?"

  They were so close that Calca heard his last words, before a srush tore off his head, devouring it in a single bite. The severed body was attacked by other beasts, and soon nothing remained of him...

  Afterward, Calca could not recall what she screamed. The pain was so harrowing that the memories became confused. A series of images flashed before her eyes on the verge of crying, but what flowed out were not tears, but a dazzling light, descended from the sky. No god, however, had inflicted judgment.

  It was only Calca and Kelart, especially, who gave credence to their title as Roble's first enchantresses. The thunder of their magic echoed in the land, scourging the demihuman dangers with its miracle.

  "What... What happened?"

  In the end, Caspond enclosed her in an embrace, while Kelart and her followers provided aid to the few wounded remaining.

  "Sister... You were magnificent. May this day be remembered as your triumph, not your mourning."

  Burying her face in the chest of her remaining brother, Calca paid no attention to the shouts of joy from the paladins coming from the coast, nor the sighs of relief from the inhabitants of Lareconquista, who could sleep soundly that night.

  Another Long Rain would not be repeated, and that success would be attributed only to her.

  And yet, there was no satisfaction in Calca's heart. Only a profound solitude that would never leave her again.

  Once back on the coast, they found the remaining srush completely exterminated, thanks to the joint efforts of Remedios and Ran Tsu An Rin. There had been heavy losses on Roble's side as well, but civilian casualties had been completely avoided—this was enough to consider it a sound victory.

  Calca and Caspond carried the remains of Guilherme and his men with them. The valiant mercenaries who had defeated the Great King of Destruction had been unable to protect their lord from a few demihumans.

  Such was the irony of life.

  "Bishop Escalera?" Kelart questioned every survivor, but could not find any trace of the ecclesiastic.

  "Perhaps he was devoured," Caspond speculated.

  "Or perhaps he ran away..."

  Calca couldn't find interest. She gripped what remained of her prince brother —mostly his cloak— with commiseration, forcing herself to maintain a resolute expression so that her grief would not spread.

  "Queen of Men..." Green, as the representative of the mermen, knelt before her. Even if he felt regret for his lost brethren, he managed not to show it. "I am glad you are safe."

  His armor was chipped, and the trident he brandished was covered in clumps of blood.

  "Ran Tsu An Rin. Friend. What happened?"

  The merman rose gracefully. Calca couldn't understand what he was thinking. The emotions of a demihuman were not manifested in the same way as men, she thought. Where there should have been exhaustion, there was only a dignified reserve. Whether this was attributable to his nature as a merman or his discipline as a warrior was impossible to grasp.

  Not right now.

  "I wish I could tell you with certainty. I was heading here to pay my respects to a friend who is no longer with us... Serrano was tied to our sea. He understood what a source of wealth and life it was. We worship different deities, but we end up thanking the same things, in the end."

  "We, too, came here for that."

  "Yes..." Ran Tsu An Rin bowed his head, his mourning no less profound than Calca's. "While I was heading here with my people, I noticed Roble's vessels. I wanted to offer a greeting when we found ourselves attacked. You already know the rest."

  "Where did those ships come from?"

  "Impossible to say... But I believe they came from the west... The srush are capable of steering a ship, but I doubt they have more than some basic experience... They must have taken advantage of a docking nearby to assault the vessels and then proceeded in a straight line."

  Evidently, the Roble marines hadn't expected to be boarded while resting on the coast... If they had reason to think they were safe from demihuman attacks, then what had they thought when they found legions of Srush near them?

  Had they tried to escape? Or had they mounted a strenuous resistance?

  "West. Sister..." Caspond tried to take her aside, but Calca prevented him.

  'Frederique's fiefdom is west of Lareconquista...'

  Guilherme had named a brother as his last words. It was impossible that it was Caspond, which left only one alternative. The goal was to increase Guilherme's fame, first by presenting the head of a danger like the Great King of Destruction, then by having him avert a second Long Rain, attributing the blame to the mermen. This would have inflamed passions and allowed tensions between north and south to escalate, with the latter pushing even harder for independence.

  Calca exchanged a glance with Kelart, who seemed to share that speculation. Obviously, both knew there was still much to discover.

  However, Calca couldn't be completely caught up in those machinations. She had lost a brother, and another had probably betrayed them both. All for ambition.

  "Today we mourn more than we wished. Ran Tsu An Rin, how many of your people have you lost?"

  "Many... The srush's poison is so powerful that even seawater cannot fully dissolve it quickly... I would advise your fishermen not to venture into these waters for a few weeks, and to be very cautious... Some amphibious beasts might be driven to seek refuge on land to escape the intoxication. For some monsters, the substance could have effects that stimulate violence and loss of reason."

  The crystal basin was just a dirty puddle. All that beauty had been ruined. And for what? For an empty throne.

  "Maybe we could purify it with magic," Kelart suggested.

  "It would still take a lot of time and resources."

  Calca approached the coast, casting inspecting glances among the paladins and priests, between the mermen and the nobles who had remained to fight. The only thing that relieved her spirit was that sense of brotherhood born from adversity. There was a bitter awareness in recognizing that bonds were forged only by the most terrible events.

  "The sea is truly beautiful... I'm not surprised that Marquess Serrano wanted to find his final rest right here."

  Despite the surrounding devastation, despite the mourning and what had been destroyed, the possibility of being moved by that spectacle reminded the queen that she was still alive. Even if it wasn't enough, at least it would be something.

  "This view... It's relaxing..." Remedios, who more than anyone had undertaken the path of violence and who still bore the marks of her recent ordeal—the battered pieces of armor, the oily and disheveled hair, the gaze hardened by toughness—sighed, gathering the members of her order around her.

  Safarlisia had never been so splendid. The Grand Master of the Paladin Order retracted it into the hilt as she had the squire Baraja hand her a cloth to clean herself.

  "Let us join in prayer..."

  The Marquess's remains had stayed on the land. His journey could not end where he wished.

  Would the Four Gods listen? The wind blowing was not an answer.

  Calca sighed. Her throat was choked by a faith that screamed to get out. The word of the gods was not a magic formula to be recited, but a scream from her most hidden world.

  "Your Highness..." Remedios offered her hand, and Calca accepted. Calloused, the grip was firm and secure. "I'm not good with speeches. But I knew Marquess Serrano well. If he could be here today, he would still be content."

  Awkward, entirely different from the figure who stood on the battlefield. The Custodio tried to carry that heavy burden alone.

  Today, Calca had said goodbye to a precious friend and a brother of whom only the memory remained beautiful. Soon, she would lose another.

  'Frederique, was it really you who organized all this?'

  The thought made her uneasy. Soon, everyone gathered near her, observing the contaminated water. Caspond, Kelart, the Serrano family. Even Ran Tsu An Rin.

  "We don't believe in the same gods, as I said," the merman spoke. "Our prayers are different, but their purpose can be the same."

  "Thank you. What does your people believe in?"

  Calca realized she knew so little about them.

  "There are many cults, but they all return to the sea. Because that is where my people return, in the end. Our remains become nourishment for life to come. From the sea algae to the fish we catch, everything is part of us, part of something bigger and different. Death is not just death, but something more."

  Utility. Knowing that the end could be the first stone for the path of one's loved ones could provide comfort.

  If the world ended there, in that instant, would Calca be satisfied? Having Remedios so close to her, she couldn't help but ask herself that question, knowing that nothing would give her the answer she sought.

  The sea before them remained calm; the flowing waves broke, while something undefined began to emerge from the surface of the water.

  "What is it?"

  In a blaze of light, the great sea serpent rose. Feathered protuberances glided in the sky, while the slender and gigantic body set itself free in the clear heaven. A mouth adorned with regal wings, angel-like, shining with radiant purity, opened heralding the sorrowful roar that followed, as if the mighty beast sensed with all his power the misery all around his reign.

  "It's the guardian deity!"

  After long years—centuries, even—Roble's guardian emerged from the abysses of its kingdom to bring its blessing to those who invoked it. Or—perhaps—to inflict its punishment on those who had dared to soil its abode.

  For a moment, everyone hesitated as the sea dragon approached the shore, carrying a morning blight in its wake. It puffed out its chest which, unlike the rest of its entirely white body, was of a cosmic blue, almost as if the starry sky had been torn from the celestial vault and embedded into the heart of that majestic creature, blinding in its luster. The protector stopped a few meters from the spectators, intoning a mysterious song, calming and delicate as the sound of a harp.

  The scales on its forehead, an intense cobalt blue, began to shine, following the rhythm of that music which had stopped the flow of the world and the gasps of fear in their hearts.

  The peace it brought dispelled every darkness, and its sea returned to how it should be. The beauty of the crystals poured back into that poisoned water, and every trace of conflict vanished, erased forever.

  A murmur of astonishment and wonder spread among those who remained stupefied, witnessing that miracle.

  Only Calca remained silent, contemplating the dragon. When it prepared to withdraw into the depths where it lived, ceasing its song, the Queen of Roble had the feeling that its final attention was directed specifically toward her.

  For some strange event, Calca was in awe in front of the sky and the sea both, as if the secrets of creation had been disclosed only for her, leaving the woman with more questions than answers.

  And then the dragon, whose face had always remained the same, smiled at her.

  The following days were, as expected, turbulent. Upon returning to the capital, Calca had to contend with the widespread and fragmented news that was spreading like wildfire throughout the kingdom.

  "Bishop Escalera survived, rat that he is. He is holed up with a count in the south, hostile to us. The other major bishops are undecided on how to judge him, but I believe that—"

  "Kelart, please. As if the last days weren't difficult enough..." Guilherme's funeral had been as tragic as anticipated. Since almost nothing remained of his body, even the Raise Dead resurrection spell could not be used. Not that the High Priestess would have easily consented, as her mastery of the fifth tier needed to remain a state secret. "Cease with the peasantries. What is that man doing?"

  "He's spreading rumors and superstitions, with poor results. The fear he sows is not accepted by the populace. Not in the same way that the deeds of the queen who stayed are being sung..." Although Calca hadn't approved, Kelart's propaganda machine had moved quickly, extolling the exploits of a woman—a queen—who had placed the well-being of her subjects before her own safety, averting a tragedy with her strength of spirit alone. "The dissent has not completely quieted down, but it is more manageable. Obviously, our internal enemies will try to discredit you even more in the future."

  For every hard-won advantage, the dangers increased. Within the walls of her palace, Calca did not feel entirely safe. Her nightmares had disappeared, replaced by dreamless sleep.

  "Let Bishop Escalera continue his proselytizing... He will gather allies whom we can discredit... Do you believe it will be possible to have him excommunicated from his position?"

  "I have so much dirty material on him that it would take only a few minutes..." Kelart's smug expression did not last long. "There's no need to explain to you, however, how this could lead to serious consequences."

  Obviously. One didn't reach such a position in the clergy without the right connections. Was this reason enough to paralyze further action?

  "What do you advise me?"

  "The kingdom is in chaos... Why not throw more wood on the fire?"

  "Playing with fire gets you burned."

  "And we are ready to get burned, aren't we? What are flames to the best magic casters of Roble?"

  The two women managed to laugh, enough so that for that small moment what troubled them was on the verge of being forgotten. "My brother?" Calca asked, returning to seriousness.

  "Which one?"

  Caspond had decided to return to the royal palace, at least for a few months. The eldest of the Bessarez siblings had taken residence in a wing of the structure reserved for the most prestigious guests, and rarely left his rooms.

  The last time was for a journey he had insisted on making on his own, despite Calca's protests.

  "Both..."

  "Well, let the person concerned tell you."

  Kelart gestured to one of the guards waiting at the door to open the entrance to the throne room, where the two were conversing. The slow creak of the doors announced Caspond, who entered with a measured step before bowing before his sister, his queen.

  "Brother, there's no need for all this." Calca approached him and, taking him by the shoulders, forced him to stand up.

  Caspond was not much taller than her, and he struggled to mask the pain in his eyes with other emotion. He did not bring good news.

  "Sister... I wish I had something sweet for you. Instead, despite myself, I only bring bitterness."

  "Did you find Frederique?"

  The man looked away, biting his lip. Was it from the shame of having failed, or the regret of having succeeded?

  "I went to his palace, with the Grand Master of the Paladin Order, some of the most trusted paladins, and a temple delegation, bearing your seal and your will, sister..." He paused, letting the narration serve as a prelude to the tragedy, trying to make every bit of pathos aseptic, to let facts and only facts frame that chronicle. "The palace was deserted. Blood and corpses were our clues. Those and what remained of some srush... Sister, I don't want to be the bearer of bad news..."

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  'Then be silent, I beg you...' What Calca wanted was not what her position demanded.

  "Is he dead?"

  The agony that Caspond struggled to make disappear behind his austerity left no room for misunderstanding. He too had lost a brother.

  "That's all that I could find…" He placed a brass ring on her hand.

  "I gifted him this very ring when he came of age…" The smile of gratitude on her brother still lived vivid in the queen's memories.

  "Calca, are you feeling well?"

  Kelart helped Calca lean on the throne, now that standing was becoming difficult. Tears blurred her vision, and her legs gave way and sank to the floor, while her head retreated into her hands, to hide the ugliness of the loss from the entire world.

  "No... My brother is dead, Kelart. My brother is dead..."

  And with him, another part of her was gone. What remained of Calca Bessarez?

  Caspond, the last one left, extended his hand to her, interlacing his fingers with hers. They were so cold and devoid of compassion. Almost as if he felt nothing for what he was recounting. Yet, it couldn't be so. Frederique had been everyone's favorite when he was younger. Guilherme had taught him to fight, and Caspond the art of governance. While Calca...

  Calca believed she had taught him compassion, to listen to his own heart. Now that she tried to feel the beating of her own, silence was the only deafening noise she could hear.

  "What do you think happened?"

  To maintain a frozen detachment, to remain rational in the face of adversity. She had to confront the indifference toward her position, placing cold logic above all superfluity.

  "I can only attempt to formulate some hypotheses..."

  Caspond, sweet Caspond. How much did he truly understand? And how much did he share?

  If he had been in her place, instead of Calca, would the crown have had someone better suited to wear it? To abdicate for the one better prepared to rule—was that not altruism? To condemn all those who sought to snatch the throne... But was she herself not clinging to it too tightly? And for what? A foolish dream that everyone seemed to loathe?

  "Your Highness..." Kelart only called her that when things were serious. "Do you wish to withdraw? I will see to drafting a report on your brother's account."

  Did Kelart also believe she wouldn't be able to face the horror lurking within her own family? One could endure the evil that came from without, but when you realized it didn't even compare to the evil being hatched in your own home, what was the alternative?

  "Please... I want to hear from him what happened." Calca, perhaps, had never truly known her brothers. She had idealized them, never giving them the chance to show her who they were deep down, no matter how rotten they might be. They were her brothers still. "Before official investigations, before inquiries and more or less probable reconstructions, I want it to be my family—what's left of it—to inform me."

  Kelart and Caspond accepted this conviction, though they were stunned by it. They didn't underestimate her, but they had placed her on a pedestal, protected by a glass bell, so that Calca the Queen could remain Calca the Pure—the Calca who did not let herself be corrupted by the game of politics.

  'Things must change.'

  "It is difficult to determine if Frederique found a hidden srush village within the inner territory of the Holy Kingdom. The first Long Rain occurred in the northern lands, and even admitting the possibility that some survivors had settled in some remote, sparsely populated area—for such a long time, moreover—moving such a high number of them... On the other hand, even if they had been introduced from the Abelion Hills, I find it improbable that so many specimens escaped the guards' patrols on the Great Wall."

  "Attempts at bribery, perhaps?"

  "So many? The system is rotten, we both know it, but finding so many collaborators for something so risky... Unlikely."

  "Where did so many demi-humans come from, then? There were no breaches in the wall. Nothing that would have favored such a large migration."

  What Kelart asked was dictated by simple common sense. Caspond was as uncertain as they were.

  "There are many sea channels connecting the north with the south... If Frederique had set up a sort of relay with a great feudal lord of the north, it would have been, in theory, possible. The risks, however, even in that case, would have been extremely high. Being discovered, or simply being betrayed. Someone must have negotiated with the srush and convinced them to mask themselves and stay quiet before the attack. Despite what we believe, they are not beasts devoid of reason. Someone with great diplomatic skills may have persuaded them to wait for the propitious moment... The moment in which the Roble Queen would be vulnerable."

  "But who?"

  Calca looked at Caspond. The last remaining prince stiffened. "Hard to say... Frederique was good at diplomacy, unlike Guilherme. Perhaps he had an ally in Bishop Escalera, who brought some northern nobles to his side."

  "Prince Caspond, do you believe that a high-ranking member of the clergy, who has always professed hatred for other races, was capable of devising a plan in which demi-humans were involved?"

  "Hatred is merely a tool. As such, it is possible to know when it is best to employ it. Let us take it as an experiment. A civil war, as was in the plans of Escalera and our brothers, would have involved a great expenditure of forces and resources regardless, with an uncertain result. Most of the Colors of Roble, after all, are loyal to the current queen—including the mermen of Ran Tsu An Rin. How to overturn such a disadvantage?"

  Using other demi-humans as cannon fodder. A plan far too bold for a decrepit old man... Yet, at the same time, it was perfectly in line with her brothers' ambitions. Underestimating the external threat, believing they could exploit it for their own ends.

  Believing oneself a clever puppeteer, never realizing the invisible strings hanging above one's own head. Guilherme was one thing. But Frederique too...?

  Calca remained unconvinced. What if someone had persuaded him? But who? Was it truly possible that Bishop Escalera was that convincing?

  "If the srush had destroyed themselves along with our forces on the beach... Would it have been possible for Escalera to blame the death of the royal family on the mermen? He could have fueled friction with our allies that way..."

  "But his plan failed," Kelart shot back, a satisfied smile playing on her lips. "Calca lives, and so do you, First Prince. The primary line of the royal family has escaped such an idiotic plot."

  "But what if it hadn't? What if Calca and I hadn't survived?"

  "At that point, they would have sought a more suitable heir... one of our distant cousins... someone who would let themselves be cajoled in exchange for empty promises." Calca gripped the pommels of her throne with such intensity that her hands began to ache from the effort. "Brother, do you reproach me as well?"

  Caspond did not dare utter a sound, his gaze darting first to Kelart, who followed his example, and then to his sister. Finally, after a long hesitation, he replied flatly. "Every choice we make bears its consequences."

  And the consequence of a lack of heirs translated into an inherent ease in deleting a bloodline—at least, the primary one.

  Calca felt those duties grazing her neck, clutching her heart, whispering contempt into her ears. She recognized their importance without being able to determine their worth.

  The price to pay for the kingdom was meager. For her, however...

  "I know you want what is best for me, brother."

  "If only another way were possible, sister."

  Caspond had not taken a wife. He had produced no heirs. Who said the throne should only be left to sons and daughters? Why not to nephews? Her older brother had never known love, and perhaps he never would. For him, however, that was fine.

  Therein lay the difference. For Caspond, solitude was acceptable.

  "In any case, even a brat of one or two years wouldn't have solved the situation. Accidents happen, especially to children. What matters to us now is stifling every revolt."

  "And how do you intend to do that, High Priestess? Do you wish to denounce the enemies of the crown publicly? Or make use of the shadows and resolve every problem with guile? As you said yourself, accidents happen..."

  Kelart Custodio was capable of everything a woman could be. "That... is not for me to decide."

  Attention shifted back to Calca.

  Whatever choice she made, the others would follow. This fact made breaking the impasse even more difficult.

  "For now, we will let Bishop Escalera show us his allies. If they want civil war—if they want to uproot this kingdom from its foundations to feed their greed—they will find themselves facing roots far deeper than they expect. Once we have identified the primary culprits... then, we act."

  "And what do you intend to do, sister?"

  "Brother, if they choose the way of the sword, we will show them who truly commands the art of war. On the beaches of Lareconquista, the royal faction showed fangs that even the demi-humans cannot boast. I can forgive a mistake. I can forgive a conspiracy. But how can I forgive ignorance? How can I close my eyes if my adored subjects ignore the evidence?"

  If they wanted conflict, Calca would give it to them. She desired nothing more than a kingdom where everyone could smile, but some could only find happiness in protest. Therefore, those silent protests would be heard—and handled accordingly.

  Kelart agreed with this line of action. "If they have other allies, we will smoke them out. Escalera certainly has other high-ranking ecclesiastics he can count on. The Church of the Four Gods has been in need of reform for a long time."

  "And the best reforms are achieved through blood. You taught me that, Kelart."

  "It would be preferable to avoid it, of course... But things do not change until you give people a sufficient reason to change them."

  Calca stood up, feeling the weight of the crown upon her head grow increasingly heavy. She ran a hand through her golden hair; the necessity of abandoning her ideals loomed like a distant monster that could no longer be ignored.

  "Is this what you truly want, sister?"

  When the time came for the Prince to take his leave, the queen found a sense of affliction in Caspond's gaze.

  'Have I disappointed you? You said it yourself: every choice has consequences. And you made yours when you abdicated.'

  The resentment she tried so hard to forget grew more intense. If the crown had been placed on Caspond's head, would their brothers still be alive? Or would they have been left to rot much sooner? In a sense, Calca's ascension had guaranteed their survival, if only for a short while.

  "Do you regret anything?"

  Caspond smiled ruefully, and Calca's heart yearned for their future to be as serene as their past. "No, on the contrary. Seeing you so decisive... It is comforting."

  For the first time, perhaps, her brother was truly proud of his decision to leave the throne to her.

  "Will we see each other again soon?"

  "Of course. I am always by your side. And I always will be."

  They parted with a brief embrace, though both lingered, wishing for more. One could not always get what they wanted.

  Left alone, Calca and Kelart continued to discuss the state of the Roble Holy Kingdom.

  "There is more news," the High Priestess said, her voice grave.

  "More surprises?"

  "Not exactly... A delegation from the Theocracy will be visiting us shortly."

  This was a rare occurrence. Relations between the two nations were cordial but cold. "Do you think it is a good idea?"

  "Refusing could be poorly received by other international actors. And making excuses could be interpreted as weakness. The Theocracy remains the primary power in the region; having their support will also strengthen your position."

  "How soon?"

  "A couple of weeks."

  So little time. And with everything happening lately, the welcome they could offer the delegation would certainly not be the best.

  However, the Theocracy was unique, both for its immense internal stability and the way it managed every external threat. At times, some even argued it was thanks to that "Shield of Humanity" that other nations were able to prosper, though Calca was not entirely convinced.

  Regardless, the meeting could at least prove fruitful from a certain perspective.

  "What do you think?"

  Kelart's opinion was ambivalent. As the primary representative of the Four Gods, she had reservations about the Cult of the Six. To worship an undead—even if the Theocracy maintained a firm stance that the deity known as Surshana was something beyond that earthly concept—was blasphemous to many people of faith. Kelart herself found some of their methods... questionable.

  Her pragmatism, however, led her to respect the efficiency of their offices and the loyalty with which they pursued their cause.

  As with all things, the truth, while present, was difficult to reach.

  "You are the Queen. I will comply."

  "Your advice remains precious nonetheless."

  "You must learn to use people, Calca. Use your subordinates. Use your soldiers. Use the Theocracy. That is what I believe."

  "Then... let it be so."

  There was nothing left to do but wait. Calca waited for everything to fall back into its proper place while, from the heights of her palace, Roble entered an era of chaos.

  But that chaos was under her control. The Crown could not attack the nobility directly, for it required their support to fully exercise its power. The same held true for the clergy.

  Yet, as the days passed, Bishop Escalera's faction found itself increasingly stripped of support. Why was this happening? Intimidations in the shadows? Popular support? The simple turning of fortune's wheel?

  Perhaps all these things combined could paint part of the picture. But there was something else. Something far more ethereal.

  "The Theocracy's delegation will be here shortly, Your Majesty."

  Catallina had awakened her that morning. It had been a long time since the servants had to knock on a room still shrouded in darkness. When the curtains were flung open, Calca opened her eyes with renewed vigor.

  "Today is a great day, my friend."

  The old servant paid no mind to those words, letting her actions speak for her instead. Within a short time, Calca had never looked so elated.

  A silk dress with cerulean blue embroidery and golden borders, as deep as the starriest night. Makeup to bring color to her skin, making it soft and glowing. Nail polish on perfectly trimmed nails, and a thin layer of lip gloss to make her smile even more charming.

  "You have never been so beautiful, Your Highness."

  "I am this beautiful for a group of priests." The irony of the situation was not lost on her.

  "The priests of the Theocracy are not bound by celibacy. And many of the Cardinals' families are ancient and important, equal to our own nobility... If it could secure you an alliance with one of them..."

  "You speak to me about marriage. But whom would I marry? A man, a faith, or a nation? Today, I have enough politics to keep me busy, and this letter is all I want." Calca seized a missive that had been delivered the night before by Kelart herself.

  She had not yet opened it.

  "What is it about?" Curiosity made Catallina's mask of an austere servant slip, finally revealing the much more pleasant woman beneath.

  "Everything a woman could wish for, my dear. News of a death."

  "I don't understand, Your Highness."

  "Everything in due time."

  Calca waited for the members of the Theocracy in the throne room, the two ever-present Custodio sisters at her sides.

  The first to enter were knights in shimmering armor, silver and bright like a full moon on the darkest night. Roble's paladins swallowed hard, feeling diminished when compared to those champions.

  Only Remedios remained indifferent.

  Next, a small group of priests exchanged ritual greetings with Kelart's ecclesiastical body. The High Priestess was presented with a recently copied tome containing spells developed by the Theocracy's magical research institute for the growth and development of crops.

  In return, Kelart delivered a treatise written by her own hand on the possibility of employing divine magic to prevent mind control.

  Finally, the primary representative of the Theocracy—the Cardinal of the Fire God, Berenice Nagua Santini—made her entrance, accompanied by a woman with long blonde hair, just like Calca's.

  "Your Highness, I am quite pleased that you decided to receive us on such short notice." The Fire Cardinal was an elderly woman, no longer in her prime, but still spry and sharp. Berenice Nagua Santini possessed a magnetic gaze that commanded authority with a simple look. "I hope we do not cause you any trouble."

  This was a person who knows how to be obeyed, Calca reflected. Yet, she also sensed a simple kindness in the woman's manners.

  "Please, there is no need to bow. Our nations are friends. And what does one feel when a friend comes to visit, if not gratitude?"

  Relations between Roble and Slane were cold, but formally cordial. Cardinal Berenice acknowledged the statement with a grave nod. Her robes, embroidered with the symbols of the Theocracy's Fire God, were elegant but made of simple, ordinary fabric. Her stature was communicated not through material wealth, but through the spirituality heralded from her every movement.

  The comparison to Bishop Escalera was pitiless, no matter how one looked at it.

  "Your warm welcome is a great source of joy for us. We have not come empty-handed. Allow me to introduce Elena Melpomene Tersicore, the leading tenor of the Theocracy's opera house."

  At a sign from the Cardinal, the other woman stepped forward, bowing her head with respect. Her long blonde hair was as golden as a wheat field in the early morning. Many praised the beauty of the Holy Kingdom's queen, but this maiden was so beautiful she was moving to behold.

  But it wasn't just her appearance that took one's breath away. "It is a great honor for me, Queen of Roble. If you will allow it, it will be a great pleasure to sing for you."

  Her voice... Elena's voice was as melodious as a full orchestra. Even without accompaniment, it echoed softly and sweetly in every ear, capturing the listeners in an enchanted place woven by the skillful inspiration of her art. And this was only a preamble. What would happen once the actual song began?

  "I have heard of you," Kelart said, appearing cold and detached. "You perform rarely, and each time is an event that is almost impossible to attend. Great nobles from many nations have found doors closed in their faces when they requested to meet you."

  "I did not expect to be so famous... I am glad. Unfortunately, I am very shy. Forgive my bad manners." The singer pressed her hands to her chest, looking almost ashamed to be the center of such attention. Every man present swallowed hard, mentally volunteering to become her personal defender. "The last time I performed was for the Emperor of Baharuth. Today, I have come only at the request of my dear benefactor; Cardinal Santini has always been good to me."

  Kelart's gaze sharpened, turning her predatory nature toward a possible prey, but she refrained from sharing further thoughts.

  "Elena was my pupil, Your Highness," Berenice added, not elaborating further on the nature of their relationship. "I can assure you that hearing her sing is a gift reserved for the few." As a sign of friendship, to cultivate good relations, the Theocracy had brought something unexpected.

  Of course, no one ever did anything for nothing. Whether their aims were hidden behind good intentions or would reveal themselves as demands, Calca would soon find out.

  "You must be tired from your journey. Please, rest. I have had a banquet prepared specifically for you."

  After the delegation had taken their leave, Remedios approached Calca, whispering in her ear. "I don't like it... That woman, Elena, is dangerous."

  It was hard to imagine such a dear, tender girl being capable of putting them in danger. But the First Paladin's instinct was rarely wrong.

  "You noticed it too, sister? She isn't just a singer. She is an existence on par with our own." Kelart shared those suspicions.

  "You don't think...?"

  "If the Theocracy wanted us dead, they wouldn't use such simple methods. But the most skilled bards are capable of caressing the soul in unexpected ways. If they intend to make a request, having us well-disposed toward them would be beneficial to their goals. In the meanwhile, cast some spells to augment your mental fortitude. I will do the same for me and my sister."

  "Let us wait and try to understand what they want. If they intend to forge a firmer alliance, it may not necessarily be contrary to our interests."

  Most of the Theocracy's military strength remained unknown, but the deeds of the infamous Scriptures resounded even in the most deserted wings of every royal palace, Roble included. Being able to count on their help, with the demi-humans of the Hills posing a constant threat, was not necessarily a bad idea.

  "In any case, it will be a very interesting dinner."

  And so it was. For the occasion, Calca had a lavish banquet prepared in the dining hall of the Hoburns royal palace. Food flowed in abundance, consisting of many typical Roble dishes—from mutton marinated in Loyts' sweet and sour sauce to spiced wine with Prart honey.

  "Is it to your liking, Your Eminence?"

  Calca sat beside Cardinal Santini. The Theocracy's escort, though remaining austere and composed, had managed to be drawn—if only slightly—into the festive atmosphere.

  "Your Highness, there is no need to be so formal. Call me Berenice, if it pleases you."

  "Then call me simply Calca, Berenice."

  The woman did not hesitate even for an instant before putting an end to formalities. "It will be a pleasure, Calca." Before every meal, she folded her hands in prayer, reciting a small ritual to give thanks for the food and drink.

  Even for someone raised in the austere and religious Holy Kingdom, that demonstration of faith appeared excessive. There were entire unknown customs that followers of the Theocracy had to adhere to even for the simplest movement, strictly punctuating every moment of their existence with total self-abnegation toward the Gods.

  "Aren't you afraid the food will get cold?"

  "It's not a problem. I've been used to it since I was young. And besides, I can always use magic to heat it up." Convenient, surely, but also a bit of a waste.

  "Have you been a Cardinal for long? Forgive me, but I am no expert on the internal workings of the Theocracy."

  "A few years, to tell the truth. Before that, I dealt with a different kind of trouble," her hands gripped a glass goblet, revealing calluses and scars in stark contrast to her image as an official. "In my youth, I traveled much, finding myself forced to adapt to the most varied situations."

  "It must have been very interesting to see all kinds of different places. I almost envy you." For Calca, who rarely left her domain and whose few trips abroad were mostly for diplomatic missions, there was an entire world to discover out there.

  The Cardinal, despite her role, did not let strictness define her. She ate with gusto, offering flattering compliments for every dish presented without hesitation. Likewise, she paid homage to every alcoholic beverage offered, indulging in the pleasure without much concern. An interesting contradiction: how could this pious and devoted woman control vice with such ease?

  She hated neither sin nor sinners. Despite a certain rigidity, the authenticity of their convictions was so deeply rooted that they recognized error as a fundamental step in their spiritual journey, without condemning it as a whole.

  "Does something trouble you, my dear?"

  Berenice had immediately moved to familiar terms, adopting a conciliatory and protective tone. Was it all a tactic to slip inside her defenses? Or, as Calca dared not hope, was this care not entirely manufactured?

  "If I told you, I would reveal my hand."

  "The game of politics is made of subterfuge. I do not judge you if you are still uncertain about the reason for our visit. I have heard of your magnanimity and your aspirations. A kingdom where everyone can be happy—that is nothing to laugh at."

  "Do you truly think so?"

  "Of course. Perhaps you are guilty of naivety. But isn't it better to be naive and try to make things better rather than suffocating in cynicism and despising every virtue?"

  "Your words might even sound sincere." Calca sighed, analyzing every minute detail of her interlocutor, unable to definitively determine her intentions. She was no Kelart, who could read anyone like an open book. Calca's instinct only told her whether those before her were worthy of her trust. At that moment, however, she wavered.

  "Why shouldn't they? To me, you are already like a beloved daughter."

  "But we've only just met!" The most incredible thing was that, despite the absurd initial impact of that statement, part of Calca found it hard not to believe.

  "Every man and woman is like a child to us who lead humanity. Even if we belong to different factions, our disagreements must not make us forget our ancestral bonds. We are made of the same substance as the Gods, and we walk the same dangerous path, hand in hand, though we often tend to forget it. Calca, you wonder about the reason for this meeting. The High Council has learned of what your family and your kingdom are going through, and intends to lend you our support. If the demi-humans managed to take advantage of your internal weakness, the price to pay would be too high..."

  "I would love to believe you..." Part of Calca wanted to let go and confide in this stranger who was offering her help. In truth, she felt so alone...

  Kelart, at another part of the table, was conversing amiably with Elena, while Remedios was holding discussions—likely of a military nature—with some of the Theocracy's knights.

  "You don't need to believe me. I am here to provide our support for the common cause. Alas, it is always painful when men forget their ties and focus on waging war against each other, believing—from the height of their arrogance—that they can afford to."

  Now, Berenice's tone was streaked with an uncharacteristic hardness. Her condemnation—the condemnation of Slaine—was aimed at those who had betrayed. Not Roble, not the Theocracy. But mankind whole.

  "If you were in my place, what would you do?"

  "Sacrifices are sometimes necessary." There it was, the perfect phrase. But it did not come alone. "That is something easy to repeat to oneself, for those who use these pretty words ignore their weight. It is simple to sacrifice when others suffer the consequences. It is simple to sacrifice enemies. Or friends. But what about when we sacrifice ourselves? Are we even able to do that?"

  What did "sacrificing oneself" even mean, anyway? Putting others' happiness before one's own, perhaps. Calca had held onto that conviction as her guiding light, yet she did not feel as though she had truly sacrificed herself for something greater.

  "I believed that wanting to see my subjects satisfied and safe was enough. Now, my enemies consider me weak for it. And who could blame them? My brothers perished because of my tenderness—my stupidity. And this morning... This morning I received a letter. I still haven't opened it. As long as I don't, I can ignore the consequences of my actions. But for how much longer?"

  "We are all called to make difficult decisions. Even more so when we are in a position of command." Berenice moved her hand toward Calca's, gripping it firmly. "Can we trust others? Even those we love are capable of destroying us. This world is fragile, governed by injustice. We struggle to coexist even with our own kind, with our peers."

  'Those we love...' Who did Calca love? The Custodio sisters? Catallina? Her people? Her family? If any of them turned their backs on her, how would she take it? How had she taken it, with her brothers' betrayal? Didn't they torn-apart her heart already?

  "You are wise, Cardinal."

  "I simply have more experience. I always tell my children and grandchildren: experience is the first half of wisdom, while study is the second."

  "Are you a mother?"

  Berenice laughed heartily, as if the question amused her. "Aren't you?"

  "Not yet... I haven't found anyone who can make my heart beat fast. Not as I desire." Now that Calca said it out loud, she realized how foolish it sounded. The silly aspirations of a girl who had never grown up.

  Berenice refrained from showing any disdain. Instead, she raised her voice so that Elena, a few seats away, could hear her. "Sing for the queen, please." Then, as the singer rose to head toward the small stage set up for the occasion, she turned to Calca. "Many things trouble you, I believe. I could offer advice, but they would be merely the words of an old woman who has had her day. Better than me you are aware of what your role demands of you. I am certain your answers are already within you; you just need to give them the opportunity to be heard."

  Calca did not reply. Instead, she focused on Elena. The woman wore a dress of lush green, like a meadow thick with grass. Opening her eyes slowly, she revealed a vacant gaze, devoid of any trace of emotion.

  "Please, listen to the silence."

  For a minute, she remained there, completely motionless. Her presence had seemingly vanished.

  Strangely, everyone followed her lead. What had been a lively hall full of deafening noise and vivid discussion just moments before was transformed into a strange ceremony, held by a solemnity reminiscent of a religious celebration.

  Elena began to sing.

  Her song painted a story with words, colored emotions with sound, and touched the soul with melody.

  It began with the legend of the Six; she spoke of the Gods as if they were men. She sang of their loves and hates, their most famous deeds, and their most mundane moments. The song had lasted only a few minutes, yet entire generations passed within the heartful tale, centuries that followed the flow of notes. The Gods conceived sons and daughters, and from those unions, humanity found prosperity.

  Not just the Theocracy, but the Empire, Re-Estize, and Roble itself could boast ties to the Gods. Or, at least, so Slaine tradition claimed. It wasn't the truth that mattered; it was simply being able to convince and bestow something akin to an emotion.

  "You have many legends. Many wonderful tales."

  "Six hundred years. It is so little. There are cultures that have thrived for millennia. We are still young, just taking our first steps in this world."

  Berenice signaled Elena to conclude. The singer lowered her tone. She sang of a father and a daughter. Of a daughter who killed her father to avenge her mother and her land.

  "Does revenge bring peace? Is that the moral of the story?"

  "I don't think it's quite like that... I loved a girl like a daughter. Not just I—everyone in the Theocracy considered her their child, and this child could have destroyed us, had she wished to."

  Calca understood whom the Cardinal was referring to. But how could a single person bring a nation to ruin? Could a cataclysm take the form of a person?

  "And what did you do?"

  The music ceased. The only sound remaining was that of enthusiastic applause. Elena accepted the warm reception for her art, bowing repeatedly.

  "We treated her as our equal. She was our family. You see, that is the worst part. No matter how much we loved her, no matter how much we esteemed her, there was always a distance. Every relationship is defined by a strength struggle, and the weaker party is always forced to make concessions. The stronger can ignore it or pretend it isn't so—that inequality exists. Rights, possibilities, social constructs... These are beautiful things, but they are inexorably tied to a power dynamic that can be granted just as easily as it can be snatched away. Tell me, is that trust?"

  The Theocracy's policy categorically denied coexistence with other races. It started from that assumption: as long as someone was in a position of advantage—as non-humans were compared to humanity—any artificial attempt at integration was destined to fail because it was based on an intrinsic imbalance.

  It was a logic that, while imperfect, stood on solid ground.

  Calca thought deeply. "Yes. In the end, even the weakest have their pride." But there was an underlying hypocrisy. "Cardinal, if you did not place trust in those who are stronger, who would protect you?"

  Berenice smiled pleasantly. "You are an intelligent woman. You will have no trouble managing this kingdom."

  "Do you approve of my methods?"

  "I approve of anything that allows humanity to prosper. If the Theocracy is wrong, prove it. Anything, so long as mankind lasts."

  "You place too much trust in me."

  "Perhaps... But as I've already explained, you could be one of my daughters. Calca, you already know how to resolve your turmoil, don't you? You're just afraid of the confrontation that awaits you."

  Calca gulped down a glass of wine, hoping it would help to make everything cease. The fire in her throat only made things worse. "Yes. That is what makes it so difficult."

  Eventful days followed the Theocracy's departure from Roble. For a brief time, the Holy Kingdom experienced a momentary peace, where every problem seemed to have temporarily vanished.

  It was an ordinary evening—neither too cold nor too hot—when Calca found herself sipping tea after dinner with her brother, Caspond. At the Queen's express request, only the Custodio sisters accompanied the two members of the royal family.

  "Bishop Escalera is dead," Calca began, letting her tea grow cold before her. "I received the letter with all the details just some days ago. It was thought to be natural causes, but an examination of the corpse revealed traces of violence. Someone tried to poison him first, but the bishop noticed in time and managed to halt the symptoms. Hateful as he was, he was still a first-rate caster. It wasn't enough..."

  Her brother did not follow her lead; he sipped what had been offered to him, indifferently squeezing a lemon wedge into his cup, totally unconcerned by the brutal scene being described. "Murder?"

  "I doubt the Bishop was seized by a sudden impulse to swallow poison. At the very least, he was inclined to trust at first, and the poison was likely ingested in the company of his executioner—an executioner who then decided to finish the job with their own hands."

  Caspond set down his cup, resting his right hand on the table. "That is a good thing..."

  "We also found a list of the conspirators who worked with him," Calca explained, looking into her brother's cold eyes. "It is all to our advantage. A true godsend."

  "For once, the Gods assist us. Is there anything I can do to help you?"

  "Get rid of the other conspirators… Many are high-profile nobles of the south, and some high-ranking members of the Church too. All these assassinations one after another are to cause a stir in public opinion."

  "Sister, this is not like you." Caspond waivered, letting emotions, for once, creeping in his composed stare.

  Calca turned her weary gaze to her still-full cup, letting Kelart approach. "What would you do if I told you it was I who orchestrated Escalera's death? Kelart, here, helped me."

  For the first time in a long while, her brother faltered. For the impassive Caspond, that declaration must have been more unexpected than a bolt from the blue. Not even during the srush attack on the shores of Lareconquista had his spirit been thrown into such agitation.

  "You jest… There is no other explanation!"

  "No, Prince. The Queen has never been more serious," Kelart replied for Calca with a malicious, cruel sneer. "I organized a private meeting with Escalera. I poisoned him with a particularly potent formula given to us as a gift by the Theocracy. Well, that old man turned out to be more stubborn than I expected..." She pulled back the sleeves of her tunic; though not quite on the level of her elder sister, even the younger Custodio possessed well-developed muscles. "When you want something done, you simply have to do it with your own hands."

  "Sister, I know for certain that you did not give this order."

  "And why is that, brother? Because I am too kind-hearted? Because Kelart only acts behind my back? Because I cannot manage this kingdom on my own?" Calca analyzed every trace of weakness in the spectrum of emotions passing through Caspond, yet she could find neither coldness nor warmth.

  Her brother, the last one left, was a specter. The shadow of Roble that haunted her as she did what had to be done, until she too would be consumed.

  "Because you do not act this way!" He protested, finally raising his voice. "Escalera... you would have wanted to expose him, to see him humiliated and begging for mercy. But not dead. You believe in second chances, Calca. You believe in redemption, sister!"

  That flood of words was as pure as crystal. No one knew her as well as Caspond did.

  Caspond, her older brother. Caspond, the man who had relinquished the throne for her. Caspond, who was now understanding everything.

  Calca had given no order at all.

  Before he could even stand, Safarlisia was dangerously close to his neck. The prince was fast, but not fast enough.

  Remedios had already blocked any possible path of escape.

  "You are right, Caspond. I believe in redemption. I believe in the goodness of people's hearts. But you do not..."

  The last prince of Roble brushed against the blade of the Holy Sword, accepting his fate with serenity. The two Custodio sisters did not utter a word.

  "When?"

  "When what? When I realized that it was you who killed Escalera? When I realized you had planned the srush assault? When I realized that you convinced first Guilherme, then Frederique, to turn against me? Or perhaps the order was reversed? What words did you use? 'I made a mistake.' 'She is not fit for the kingdom.' 'It should have been you sitting on the throne.'"

  Every accusation was a stab to the chest—but not Calca's.

  "I never... I never dared to utter such insinuations. Calca, you remain the perfect queen for this kingdom, despite what you might think."

  "Then... Why?" Tears, no matter how much she cursed herself and fought them, would not stop falling. They flowed alongside Calca's shame. "Why did you kill our brothers?"

  "I!?" Outrage at the insinuation. "I killed no one. Guilherme and Frederique ruined themselves. Attempting to use demi-humans as an army, boasting of deeds never accomplished just to stroke their own egos, trying to exterminate their own family. Trying to exterminate you! What an affront!"

  Even though his tone remained outwardly calm, Caspond's fury was palpable. "Cut off my head, Paladin!" He gripped the blade of Safarlisia with such force that it cut him, spilling blood across the table. "I killed my brothers? It was this condemned realm of sycophants, the corrupt, the greedy flatterers and social climbers who signed their death warrants! People like Escalera, who coated their poison in honey just to divide us, to highlight our differences and profit from our pain. When I tightened my hands around that piece of trash, I felt no remorse..."

  He took a napkin and began to scrub the table until it was soaked in red. "It was just like this. I did nothing but clean a filthy stain."

  Had madness perhaps possessed him? Her brother had never sounded so sincere, so at peace with himself. The more he let go of the weight of his abject secrets, the more serene he appeared.

  How long had he carried this burden alone? How long had Calca ignored his pain, too focused on her own?

  "Lareconquista... were you behind that too? Prince Caspond, you placed the safety of your Queen in grave danger." Kelart knew no mercy. For the two Custodio sisters, such a concession was denied to anyone who had jeopardized their sovereign.

  "Sister...?" Remedios wanted to strike.

  Calca stopped them both. She wanted to hear the story to its end.

  Caspond treated himself to another cup of tea. These might have been his final moments, yet he continued to act as if there were no sword looming over him. "Marquis Serrano and I conducted hundreds of simulations... We knew the martial capabilities of the srush, the mermen, the paladins, you Custodio sisters, and yours, Calca."

  "The Marquis as well, then?"

  "He loved you like a father, Calca."

  "And he wanted to eliminate my brothers for that?"

  "Our brothers died a long time ago, sister. Guilherme died when he began conspiring with the South to trigger a civil war, intending to be crowned King of the South first, and then lead an army to capture Hoburns. Slayers of monsters… What a joke! Frederique... Frederique had lost his mind, obsessed with demi-humans. He captured various species to conduct experiments. Made pacts with dark dwarfs, who sold him monstrous slaves, all for his ambition. He wanted to become like them... He wanted to lead the human race into a new era, with himself at the head."

  This did not surprise Calca. She knew she had grown distant from those two brothers a long, long time ago. The bitterness of that loss had never faded, but the realization that she had also lost the brother she always counted on—that was something impossible to describe.

  Caspond had sunk into the blackest abyss to keep Calca from being stained by it. As always, her brother was sacrificing himself for her. But if he had shared his turmoil in advance, perhaps they could have endured it together without drowning.

  "And if Calca had died?" Safarlisia was on the verge of delivering judgment. Remedios could barely contain her ire. "Prince, if your sister hadn't made it? Did you intend to resurrect her? You saw what the srush did to Guilherme."

  "Calca would have triumphed. The srush we deployed weren't particularly dangerous. It wouldn't have been wise to let in more tenacious specimens. No. The only one to die was Guilherme… Poor Guilherme, I had promised him a safe route. My promises were as worth as his skills with the sword."

  "On that note—how did you manage to bring in so many srush and control them with such coordination?" Kelart asked.

  Caspond frowned, letting the question hang in the air for a few seconds. "Is it not obvious, High Priestess? This was my brothers' mad plan. To capture and buy demi-human cubs and raise them to be loyal soldiers. Many races from the Hills grow much faster than we do. It only took a few years. I suggested the srush myself, to exploit their foul reputation and the terror of a memory that never faded." At that, the prince snickered. "The Long Rain... to many nobles, it's nothing but a tall tale. Without the support of many great nobles from the South, it would have been impossible to bury every small incident during the 'rearing' phase. Bribes in abundance—and every time someone asked too many questions, they mysteriously vanished. What would I have done if my sister had died, you want to know? Then I would have burned all of this down; I would have uprooted everything until nothing remained."

  "Is this what you want, brother?"

  Calca had listened to every single word, unable to recognize the man she loved so dearly.

  "No. It is not what I want."

  "You killed Frederique too?"

  "His plans killed him."

  Which could mean all and nothing.

  "Why did you choose me? I never asked you... If you wanted to reform the kingdom, to sweep away Roble's corruption... Why didn't you accept this crown?"

  "And for what? To become another Bloody Emperor? My ascent would have exacerbated tensions, and my hand would have been forced. Sooner or later, either civil war or a great purge would have been inevitable. No... Sister, it had to be you. It had to be someone who truly believed. It had to be someone better."

  "I am no better than you."

  "You are," Caspond smiled. It was a weary smile, but no less sincere. "Do you know why the nobility—and part of the people—look at me or our brothers and respect us? It's because we are no better than they are. They look at us and see not inspiring rulers, but people who share their worst instincts. That is comforting. You, however... You are a star shining upon their shadows. You are luminous, and you move souls with your righteousness. You remind the rest of us that we can be something more—that we must be something more. And that is frightening. Not everyone can accept it. It is easier to belittle those who are better than us than to confront our own weaknesses. That is why... That is why I wanted everyone to see you for who you truly are. My inspiration. My heroine."

  Now that he was saying it out loud, did he realize how childish it all sounded? Caspond, like Calca, had taken his sister and amplified her virtues, letting her flaws be nothing more than dust in the wind.

  How could she condemn him? To do so would be to condemn herself.

  "I never wanted any of this," Calca muttered. "I wanted my brother, and nothing else."

  "We don't always get what we want, sister. The plan is working. Even those who were skeptical of you have begun to respect you after you repelled the srush once again."

  "But for how long?" Kelart interrogated him. "How long will it last? Until the end of Calca's reign? Or will others resume their plotting once this memory has faded? Legends are created, yet they are so simple to change, to misunderstand."

  To this, the traitor prince had no answer. He stood up as Remedios moved the Holy Sword away from him, the blue of his eyes deep and melancholic like the sea they both loved so much. "I have only one request. Let me be the one to kill myself. I will get rid of the last remaining enemies of the crown, and then I will arrange my departure so that no one can even dream your hand was behind any of it."

  "Do you think that will make me happy? Seeing my last brother sacrifice himself? To no longer have you by my side? To bury you alongside Guilherme and Frederique, having only a cold grave when I seek consolation? Chilly stone when I reach for your embrace?"

  He had chosen in her stead because he believed it was the right thing to do. But had he ever stopped, even for an instant, to wonder about Calca's reaction? Had Caspond ever been halted by remorse and hesitation?

  He believed he knew better than she what was best, ignoring her own opinion. Because of this, forgiveness was so difficult to find.

  "Go. Walk out that door," Calca ordered, her brother's back being the only thing left before her.

  On her shoulders, she felt the worried hands of the two Custodio sisters. "Your Highness..."

  Caspond was about to open the door, to leave and never return. Then, Calca stopped him. These could have been her final words. "I don't want this to be a goodbye. Let's do things properly. They will say it was all my plan. They will call me malicious, horrible, kinslayer. They will curse me and impose your sins upon me. I don't care. We will face all of this. If you cannot, I will do it alone. I just... I just don't want to see my brother die."

  For a moment, just for a moment, it was like everything halted, and the prince's decision was the only thing that mattered.

  The door closed slowly. The sound of Caspond's receding footsteps was the only echo breaking the silence for a long time.

  "Did I do the right thing?"

  Calca should have locked him away and held a formal trial to bring his crimes to light, so that everyone could know what he had done.

  "Your Highness. I am no skilled politician, but I know you acted rightly." Remedios sought her sister's approval before continuing. Kelart nodded in agreement. "Your brother committed heinous acts... But I can understand him. It was the love that binds you that drove him to act. In different circumstances, I would have done the same."

  Calca had known the consequences of the worst parts of humanity: envy, resentment, greed. As long as she attributed every tragedy to those basenesses, it was easy to find a sense of purpose behind it, however weak.

  But could atrocities be committed out of love? Out of generosity? Out of a spirit of sacrifice? Caspond's affection had left a trail of corpses whose blood now stained Calca's hands, as if she herself had committed those heinous acts. That was much harder to accept.

  A world where everyone could smile was a world where even the villains knew happiness. An all too obvious contradiction.

  "And so, have I gotten it all wrong? Was my ideal the cause of all this?"

  "Even if it were, you would do it again, Your Highness," Remedios answered with conviction. "The Calca I chose to serve is more than a mere idealist. She is a good person. It sounds ridiculous, and I don't have great words to describe you. You are a good person because you can even shed tears for your enemies and feel affection for them. How many people can say such a thing? The Calca I know is a good person. And my friend."

  "Sister, you completely lack tact," Kelart said.

  "Sister, why are you crying, then?"

  "I'm not crying!" Kelart wiped away her tears.

  Calca stood up and embraced the two Custodios. The warmth of their breath infused her with new life.

  "I am lucky to have you with me."

  "We are the lucky ones, Your Highness..."

  Perhaps a new Roble could not be born under her guidance. Perhaps civil war would be inevitable. The demi-humans might break through the Wall. The legacy of the Bessarez might be nothing more than an unexciting footnote at the margin of the page.

  They might mock and jeer at Calca—the queen who achieved nothing, who died alone, leaving behind nothing but a lesson on the kingdom's naivety. That would be a bleak future, but a possible one.

  And it would be okay just like that. As long as Calca could keep dreaming.