Chapter 74

  Hard decisions (part. 1)

  That morning, Calca Bessarez woke up summoned by a gloomy premonition. Her room was still enveloped in darkness, the sun's rays not yet high in the clear sky.

  Her head was dizzy. The certainty of having been immersed in a nightmare forced her to keep her eyes open, although the content of her discomfort was now distant and unknown.

  The blankets cuddled her body, inviting her to return to the world she had just abandoned. That bed was incredibly large for a single person. Moving her arms, searching for something to embrace to give comfort, Calca found only empty space and the softness of the mattress to make her company.

  She began to rise, paying maximum attention not to make the slightest noise. At the first sign of danger, the soldiers guarding beyond the room would rush in, and their small movement would trigger a great chain reaction that would cause the entire royal palace to wake up in the middle of the night.

  First, Kelart would be alerted, then Remedios. The two Custodio sisters would question her thoroughly only to discover the source of her distress.

  Being queen meant that her every smallest action was scrutinized to an unbelievable extent.

  'You are too kind.' Calca brought a hand to her chest, as that man's voice echoed around her in the surrounding silence. The last time the Holy Queen had shared a room with the Bloody Emperor, he had pronounced that warning to her, halfway between compassion and contempt, which had now found refuge in every corner of her mind.

  Calca finally got up. She was barefoot, and the floor was cold. A shiver was born from the contact. The woman had placed a cloak on the edge of the bed, which she promptly used to cover the nightgown she was wearing. In part, it was also a pure modesty that urged her not to leave her shoulders bare for much longer, almost as if her nudity, even if shared in solitary intimacy, was a cause of discomfort.

  'It's dawn...' Still, there was almost no light in the world outside. Frantic noises coming from the adjacent areas alerted her that many servants already were awake, busy with their tasks.

  She sat down at the desk, where piles of documents had gathered. Much of the previous days' work was still waiting for the queen to dedicate her attention to it. Matters of state required exhausting commitment, yet they did not bring her true displeasure. In Calca, there was a genuine hunger for curiosity towards her kingdom, towards every small facet of the Holy Kingdom.

  'These are requests from the temples... These from the nobility... These concern military matters...'

  In making order, the queen managed to find the comfort that sleep had not afforded her. That strange sensation, the malaise that was now bubbling in her stomach, with the clear purpose of not letting her forget, had not lessened.

  'Is it really a flaw, being too kind?' The thread of her thoughts kept her company, walking down memory lane. She had posed that question to the Bloody Emperor, in that now distant moment.

  Jircniv Rune Farlord El-Nix had laughed contemptuously, without giving her a precise answer. 'Find what you seek within yourself,' he had told her.

  The Emperor's crown had been laid upon the blood of his siblings.

  On the other hand it had been Caspond, her beloved older brother, who had ceded the throne to Calca. Comparing the two experiences, the Queen of the Holy Kingdom couldn't help but feel a minimum of compassion for Jircniv.

  He had been only an adolescent, little more than a child, forced to perform such an act for his own survival. Between the two, she had been the fortunate one.

  'Caspond, brother, did you make the right choice?'

  The rest of the royal family did not agree with that result. Her brothers, uncles, cousins... There was no one else who saw an adequate sovereign in her, which in turn pushed Calca to give her all to, a hundred times more than normal, never reaching perfection.

  Did she want to prove them wrong regarding her methods? Everyone had their own personal definition, which consisted of asserting not only their own position but also diminishing that of others.

  When Calca reflected on her role as queen, she could only connect it to her subjects, to the people she loved. Even those who despised her were part of that mass, and their personal opinions alone could not be sufficient reasons to detach them from what she felt.

  Calca stretched out in her chair, flexing her arms and taking a deep breath. She wrote a few unimportant letters that didn't require much attention. Mostly, they were congratulations for marriages between minor houses, or simple, more or less important anniversaries that she wanted to celebrate from afar.

  Kelart would scold her for writing them herself. She could almost hear her. 'A Queen should limit herself to imposing her seal. The content can be drafted by a page.'

  And where would the care be, then? Did Calca not claim to love every one of her subjects? What would a simple, formalized, empty missive transmit, if not coldness? The hypocrisy of a foolish woman?

  Some considered love to be something childish, stupid. For her, love was above all sacrifice.

  It couldn't be otherwise.

  Shortly after, when it was time to take a break, the queen headed to the window. Her small morning ritual was to offer a little prayer to one of the Four Deities, as she looked out over her loving capital bursting with life, Hoburns.

  This time, she directed her pleas to the Deity of Fire, as she thought back to all the marriage proposals that lay unanswered somewhere. The promises of love and military alliances poured onto the ink did not provide the love she sought.

  The loneliness was unpleasant.

  A knock came at the door.

  "Come in," Calca said, trying to shake off those melancholic considerations.

  "My Queen, I see you are already awake."

  A woman with long blonde hair, already advanced in age, entered without too much fanfare. Dressed as a maid, she was accompanied by other girls, all younger than her, but not as quick and ready-minded.

  "Catallina, please, how many times will I have to beg you to call me by my name?"

  "Nonsense. You are the Queen, and I am your humble servant."

  "You have taken care of me since I was a child."

  "And I will continue to take care of you until my bones crumble, Your Highness."

  The old housekeeper clapped her hands forcefully, a gesture that, as long as Calca could remember, meant one thing: further discussions had to cease. The other maids began to scatter around the room, dividing themselves between those who were to tidy up and those who would attend to their mistress's morning routine.

  They prepared a hot bath for her. They prepared clothes for the day. They brushed her hair. They applied creams to her face.

  After an hour, the preparations were complete.

  "Your Majesty, the High Priestess wants to know if you will join her for breakfast."

  Catallina was adjusting Calca's makeup, with those calloused and warm hands of hers.

  "Certainly. We have much to catch up on," she confirmed, letting the maid finish the preparations. The older woman had thin lips that rarely smiled, but were capable of showing satisfaction with just a slight arch, which the queen had learned to recognize instantly. "Is there something that makes you particularly satisfied today?"

  "I am just very proud to see how strong and healthy you have grown. If only..."

  The conversation was already heading towards territories trodden many times before.

  "Catallina, you know I adore you. And you also know that I have no intention of marrying for politics."

  A man who could see the true Calca Bessarez, beneath appearance and titles. That would be magnificent. Beauty would fade with time and age, and titles meant nothing beyond what men attributed to them.

  If someone could get to know Calca beyond all those useless things, would they be able to find a passionate yet comforting love? Or perhaps, what she feared, would they find nothing at all?

  "Regarding this, I'm afraid you are still the naive little girl I used to know. Love has nothing to do with marriage."

  "Catallina, now you wouldn't have me believe that you didn't love your husband? I remember, during my early years, your endless complaints, your worries, and your scoldings. You didn't leave that poor man alone for a single moment."

  "And you believe that is love? My late husband tormented me every day with his stupid behavior. It was like having an additional child!"

  Calca laughed, thinking back to those squabbles that had colored her childhood. "Of course! Because I also noticed the way he looked at you, and you looked at him while both of you took care of each other. If that's not love, what was it?"

  "You've always been an observant child," the maid complained, albeit only for show. A smidgen of nostalgia arching her thin lips. "However, I am a simple servant. You need someone who can bring stability to the kingdom. Someone who provides military and economic aid, and who silences all gossip. Furthermore, most of all, the kingdom needs an heir."

  Roble demanded its offspring, as the people demanded their Holy King and their Holy Princes. Calca touched her stomach, sighing. "Kelart is waiting for me, right?"

  "We have already set the table."

  The High Priestess of the Temple of the Four Gods was seated composedly, sipping hot coffee with utter calm. Kelart Custodio was a woman who exuded confidence, and who gave the impression of always having everything under control.

  "Your Highness!" The impeccable tone with which she received her did not prevent Calca from noticing a good-natured dose of mockery hidden within.

  "Please, let's dispense with the formalities, at least when we're alone."

  In truth, there were servants and guards waiting outside the small room they had converted into a dining room. The palace obviously had one more suitable for a queen worthy of the title, but it was so vast that it oppressed Calca when she was there in small company.

  "Have you heard the latest news?" Kelart was eager. Her hazel eyes darted with a desire to update her queen on everything.

  "Yes. Re-Estize has lost its king, once again. Now the second prince will ascend the throne, while the masses weep for what was lost."

  A military defeat across the board, justified by a total lack of understanding of the military art. The Holy Queen had met Prince Barbro on a few occasions, but he had given her the impression of being an arrogant and conceited man, whose qualities were unknown to most, except for himself.

  She did not feel pity for an idiot, but her heart twisted at the thought of those who had lost their lives for his folly.

  Kelart offered her a butter cookie. The morning sickness was gone, and Calca was happy to add a touch of sweetness to a morning that seemed to be progressing along an ever-winding path.

  "The Bloody Emperor is furious. This has completely messed up his plans for conquest... Ridiculous, don't you think so? They are fortunate. They can waste time waging war on each other, rather than fearing what awaits them out there."

  A pointed accusation: only fools could allow themselves to be caught up in those kinds of affairs. Not when the other races were just waiting to prey on their weakness.

  So, what did that make them?

  "You speak as if the South fully supported my nomination. There is still much resentment about the person wearing the crown," Calca said, with a deprecating tone. "Guilherme and Frederique are rallying their alliances. Every weakness will be exploited to question my rights."

  Her other brothers were the complete opposite of her and Caspond. The queen of the Holy Kingdom had always grown up in solitude, the only girl in a den of males. Age had not strengthened their bonds, but on the contrary, had accentuated the differences.

  If it hadn't been for her older brother and her trusted friends, her youth would have been framed by a pitiful loneliness.

  "Divide and Conquer. Rather than a single idiot who gathers all his friends, we have two. And in those fragile alliances there are also your cousins and your uncles, each of them boasting a claim to the throne more or less solid." The High Priestess took a clear cloth and used it to wipe her already immaculate lips. "However, that doesn't make them any less dangerous. Guilherme is holding private talks with Bishop Escalera. That drooling old man is still stewing that a woman took the position he believed was due to him by merit and virtue. The merit of having a tongue that doesn't splash even the hairiest of asses, and a virtue that makes him believe he's a God reborn."

  Every time they met, the awareness dawned on Calca that Kelart was just waiting for a nod of assent from her. The High Priestess had little regard for many of those who were technically her subordinates, but who in fact challenged her authority at every chance, and expressed a not entirely unjustified contempt with not entirely ladylike vulgarity.

  "Guilherme is not as foolish as you think. And neither is Frederique. They know my position is unstable. One moment of weakness will be enough, and they can advance different claims..."

  "If we let them..."

  Kelart's sharp gaze incited action. 'Get rid of those who oppose you.' Now, both she and Jircniv blurred into a distorted shadow.

  "I do not intend to harm my own blood." Among all sins, the slay of kin was among the gravest. The Church of the Four Gods had few justifications for such an act, and as long as they had not made a move, both her brothers were technically innocent. "Kelart, for the friendship that binds us, trust me."

  The priestess let the ruthless mask drop, and for a moment she returned to being the girl full of ideals who had made a pact of sisterhood with Calca. 'For a kingdom that can always smile.' Repeating it now, it was nothing more than a far-away dream.

  "I always have faith in you, Calca," and the Queen knew it was the truth, which made that morning coffee even more bitter, no matter how much sugar she added. "But... well... things are going badly... I don't know if it's my place to inform you..."

  And then a grimace of regret on Kelart's always calm face made Calca's stomach churn, and the urge to escape the bad news that was at the door seduced her for an insignificant second, so long that it led her to be consumed by the following guilt.

  "Please, share with me what is troubling you."

  Of the three women at the foundations of the Roble Holy Kingdom's government, Calca knew she had the most fragile image in the common imagination. The Queen did not boast the extraordinary feats of Remedios, Grand Chief of the Paladin Order, nor the shrewdness of Kelart, or her extraordinary magical ability.

  However, perhaps with unjustified pride, she knew that without her, the two sisters would feel lost. Calca was their reason for going on.

  "Marquis Serrano... Purple... has left this world."

  The news arrived, and the Queen's heart skipped a beat.

  "It cannot be..."

  "I know how attached you were to him... But his heart succumbed to old age."

  "..."

  "The Marquis was an old man, plagued by illness for his last years. You knew it already. It was only a matter of time."

  "Did he have a peaceful death?"

  "He passed away in his bed, surrounded by the people he loved."

  Much more than many could have wished for. A good life, and a good death. Calca remembered the kind old man who always offered her exotic sweets and toys from distant lands when he came to visit her father at the royal palace. The dignified noble who had offered her his support at the coronation. The friend who considered her, for whatever reason, an excellent leader.

  Driven by instinct, she brought a hand to her chest, trying to restrain her emotion and not show signs of weakness. Even the walls had ears. To show emotions was to show imperfection. "I must send my condolences... And prepare to attend the funeral. What kind of ceremony will be held? The Marquis served for years in the military and merchant navy, so I suppose he will have a funeral according to the dictates of the Water God..."

  In that case, the ceremonies would be held near a lake, or a large pool of water. For the most prominent figures, it was also possible to organize a final farewell near the sea.

  "Calm down!" Kelart raised her arm, signaling her to cease all traces of humanity. 'Stop being Calca and return to being the Queen of Roble.' That was the priestess' plea. "The ceremonies will be held near the sacred basin."

  "Given the time of year, do they intend to make it coincide with the offerings to the Guardian Deity?"

  What was called the sacred basin was nothing more than a marine inlet a few meters from the port city of Lareconquista, where thanks were offered every year for what was called the Guardian Deity of the Roble Holy Kingdom: a sea dragon that protected the navigators and merchants who ventured into its waters. Even though that protector rarely showed itself, it was fundamental for the important maritime commerce to proceed with its blessing.

  Both women knew that this choice hid a specific plan behind it.

  "The Marquis stipulated in his will that he wished to witness the festivities one last time. At least, that is the official reason."

  Calca ran a hand over her face, massaging her cheeks. She had eaten very little, and yet appetite had already left her. "Lareconquista is not only the place where the celebrations are held. It is also where we granted a small community of mermen permission to settle, to act as a liaison with their government. Kelart… Do you think…?"

  The mermen constituted an exception. If relations between humans and demihumans were usually stormy at best, atrocious at worst, in this case there were no real reasons for conflict.

  Although they could feed on human flesh, that kind had no particular predisposition for it, considering the human race as just one among many. Their kingdoms were located in the abyss, and therefore there was no territorial dispute either.

  However, many of them were great merchants, and they wished to acquire products found only on the surface. This had led small groups to settle in some lands bordering their beloved sea, as happened in the Roble Holy Kingdom and the Argland Nation.

  "My friend, I believe someone wants to stir up tensions with the mermen. You have been one of the biggest proponents of integration policies, even conferring the title of Green on one of them."

  "Ran Tsu An Rin was fundamental in drafting new commercial agreements. And he is also an excellent warrior," Calca countered, well aware that Kelart shared her opinion. "His appointment had also been supported by my late father, when he was still alive."

  And, more than anything else, Ran Tsu was a trusted friend and advisor. That someone could use him as a pretext to attack her, left the Holy Queen with dissatisfaction and a deep sense of oppression.

  "You and I know the truth, of course. For those interested in politics, the truth is nothing more than a tool to be bent to one's own favor." The High Priestess moved her long brown hair with a gesture of her hand. Her expression grew hard. "If something were to happen to you during the funerals, it will be easy for your brothers or your detractors to blame a simple scapegoat. After the Long Rain, almost no one looks favorably upon non-humans, even if they are our long-time collaborators. Furthermore, we must also take external interference into account."

  In the neighboring regions, there was a great power that did not look favorably upon non-humans, even more so than the Holy Kingdom.

  "Do you believe the Slaine Theocracy might interfere?"

  "I'm not sure... Lately their policies have proven more tolerant, especially after the end of the war with the Elf King. But it might just be a fa?ade to keep the Argland councilors satisfied. You saw the new elf queen they proclaimed as a savior and symbol of cooperation. What impression did she make on you?"

  At the grand ball organized by the Bloody Emperor, which Calca had also attended, the new Elf Queen, Antilene Heran Fouche, had made her social debut. However, their acquaintance was brief. "I wasn't able to engage in a very long conversation with Lady Fouche, just some greetings of circumstance. Your sister said she couldn't give an exact estimate of her strength, but that could mean everything and nothing. Or she is nothing more than a ruse, a feigned puppet for the Cardinals' plan, or some horror wearing human skin, whose absence of perceivable power is goosebumps inducing in itself."

  Upon hearing her sister's name, Kelart drew inward, trying to display an unassailable strength and composure, although recent events had made even her perfectly sculpted figure wavering. "Remedios said that? When it comes to assessing physical capabilities, she has always had good intuition..." The High Priestess held a high opinion of her older sister, at least confined to a few specific areas. "Did anything else leave an impression on you?"

  Calca thought back to those distant moments. One thing, in fact, had struck her. "That girl had very sad eyes."

  Some believed that eyes were the mirror of the soul, a portal to an individual's inner world. Understanding what someone was going through, the whirlwind of contradictions and hopes harbored within, simply with a fleeting glance was, in the Holy Queen's opinion, a naive concept.

  An impression remained just that, and it was not worth forcing it. Getting to know someone required a much more demanding effort. That initial surmise could be proven wrong in the future, just like that.

  Kelart raised an eyebrow. "Sad eyes? Well, then that's to our advantage. If she's depressed, it will be harder for her to meddle in our affairs... In any case..." She tapped her fingers on the table, a sign that she was reflecting on the course of action to take. "Now, I wonder, what do you intend to do?"

  She was placing the matter back in Calca's hands, although the gears of the High Priestess's intellect had already begun to turn. Calca imagined that Kelart had secret projects, careful plans that traced the good of the Roble Kingdom on a design that did not always follow the Holy Queen's model, even if they shared the theoretical final form.

  "A new member of the Colors must be chosen, one who can replace Marquis Serrano... I will have a list of capable men and women prepared... Naturally, the temples and the nobility will want to share their opinions. Furthermore, I intend to take part in the respectful ceremonies for the late Purple."

  Kelart smiled ironically. "Even if there might be an assassination attempt?"

  Calca shrugged, returning her friend's smile. "We must give our enemies a reason to come out into the open. This is the opportunity given to me by an old friend. I have nothing to fear, as long as she is with me."

  The High Priestess rose from the table, a mocking and stinging laugh masking part of the guilt that consumed her. "Then you had better make that clear to her. She hasn't been the same for quite some time now."

  Calca nodded, a strange pain in her chest. "I know."

  The head of the paladin order was in the training field reserved for the most important members.

  Calca approached Remedios without making the slightest noise, remaining at a distance for a few minutes. The elder of the Custodio sisters was in training gear. Sweat soaked her muscular body; a grimace of exertion testified to how dedicated she was to the routine.

  The strongest paladin of the Roble Kingdom, and heroine of countless battles against the execrable demihumans. Remedios was esteemed as the shield and sword of the Holy Kingdom by many, and criticized by the same number for her lack of common sense. Where self-denial was overflowing, perhaps something was missing to truly make her a capable leader.

  Stolen story; please report.

  "Your Highness!"

  "Remedios... I find you well."

  When the paladin noticed her liege, she paused briefly before regaining control and heading towards her.

  Her short brown hair was wet and crispy. Her olive skin covered in mud and dirt. The undergarment peeked out from beneath the messy white armor. It was far from the image of order one would expect from a woman in her position. Remedios, who had spent the entire morning in that field honing her skills, was just like that.

  Calca couldn't help but feel a thrill of happiness seeing her lifelong friend try to compose herself, to return to a more suitable appearance for her rank, with poor results.

  She was fine with it. She loved Remedios for those flaws too.

  "Your Highness, please forgive me. I didn't expect a visit from you..."

  "I asked Gustaf not to make a fuss about my coming. I wanted to talk to my old friend, but I didn't want to interrupt your training."

  "No... You could never disturb me..." The light of a blade dazzled the Queen as she got close to Remedios. Safarlisia, the sacred sword, mirrored the excitement of its wielder. "I am the one who must be forgiven... Lately, my duties have been performed with little rigor."

  The head of the paladins had many flaws, but doubt rarely crept into her. Inflexible and unwavering, the elder Custodio was the exact opposite of her younger sister. A frank and direct personality, who followed her moral principles without wavering.

  The kind of trunk that bends without breaking.

  That's how Calca had always seen her. Yet, now, in that peaceful place, Remedios was showing her a part of herself that both of them had always thought was buried, if not entirely absent, under heavy convictions.

  "Your last expedition to the front was a success. The zoastia would have broken through the wall if you hadn't been there. That terrible demihuman, Demon's Claw, was felled by Safarlisia. And who wielded it, if not you?"

  The sacred sword maintained its immaculate polish; the unknown mineral it was composed of had not been stained by blood. The blade that kills evil and the heroine who shines in the darkness. Remedios Custodio was this too.

  So why, in her friend's eyes, was the seed of remorse being cultivated? Remedios always repeated to Calca, 'I rely on you,' almost as if her judgment was placed on the same level as her dream. Ideals and ambitions coincided only when they could be made to coincide.

  For this reason, it was more correct to say that the queen relied on the paladin.

  "It wasn't a real siege. Just a test of strength... Demon Claw, Vijar Rajandala, was looking for glory," Remedios recalled the event clearly, as if she were still there, distant. "I didn't give it to him," she shook her head, showing disgust.

  "But you won!"

  "Not alone. The Black was there with me. If he hadn't targeted Vijar from the walls with his deadly arrows... And if their leader hadn't prevented the other Zoastia from taking part in the battle... The triumph was dictated by their arrogance. And, still, compared to him I was no more than a helpless infant. Had it been a fair fight, I would be dead and he would be marching here, in this same palace."

  The Night Watchman was the most skilled archer in the Holy Kingdom, a hero decorated almost as much as Remedios. If she needed his help to win, then Demon Claw must have been a truly formidable opponent.

  There was no shame in receiving help. Survival was more important than honor, and this was one of the few advantages humanity could boast against its enemies.

  The paladin was aware of it herself. Perhaps that day she was lucky that another member of the Colors was stationed near her. Perhaps that day they were lucky that the Zoastia wanted a fair fight, in their sick definition of honor. So what? Luck was also a skill to be considered.

  "It's not just that... It's not fighting dishonorably that troubles you."

  Calca had hit the nail on the head. Remedios bowed, moved by the resentment she harbored. Resentment not directed towards her Queen, or towards the demihumans. It was the most treacherous thing, self-hatred.

  'What's wrong with you, my friend?'

  The Grand Chief of the Paladin Order of the Roble Holy Kingdom was on her knees. Safarlisia, the sword that slays evil, presented as a sign of apology. "I failed. During the battle with Vijar, Safarlisia's trump card, Holy Strike, failed."

  The epithet of the blade was not given for beauty alone. Its greatest miracle was the light it displayed to scatter creatures of darkness. The greater the depravity of the target, the more severe the damage inflicted. A simple rule. "If it failed..."

  Remedios hit her knuckles on the hard ground, making the underlying earth tremble. Her hand rose, trembling. "That accursed beast should not have been immune. It wasn't Safarlisia... It was me. I am no longer worthy... Your Majesty, punish me for my lack of faith!"

  Calca tried to place a hand on her. "Remedios..." Months of accumulated anger were now pouring out onto the only person the eldest of the Custodio sisters despised, and that person was not her queen. "We both know that's not how it works."

  Rules could be circumvented, but not broken. The simplest explanation, however much it might challenge one's beliefs, was usually the best.

  Vijar Rajandala, Demon Claw, was not a being made of wickedness. Being an enemy of humanity, a devourer and destroyer of everything they held dear, did not make him a monster. He probably had a family. Friends, dreams, aspirations. Everything that made up his individual being had made him innocent in the judgment of the Holy Sword.

  "I've wanted to ask you for a long time..." Remedios's eyes watered with frustration. "Relieve me of my duties. A sword that cannot protect is a dull sword. Useless."

  She was there, humiliated and pleading, in the same position in which she had been proclaimed head of the paladin order in the past. Now to demand her demotion. If anyone had seen her, they would have ripped away her fragility, ignored the emotion, the strong self-denial, and reduced that doubting warrior to a hysterical madwoman.

  Such was the way of men.

  Calca could not stand to see her like this. "Remedios Custodio!" She raised her voice louder than she ever had before, hoping that that thunder was enough to find the friend lost in the silence of her demons. "Stand up! Your Holy Queen commands it!"

  If Calca Bessarez could not stop the paladin from sinking into her self-pity, then it was up to the queen of the Roble Holy Kingdom to save Remedios Custodio.

  "My Lady..." She executed the order. It didn't matter if it was a mechanical gesture, dictated by habit, or a new conviction yearning to blossom.

  What mattered, now, was that they could look each other straight in the eye again. Calca searched Remedios's gaze, which implored her to tell her what to do. But this would not be possible.

  "Purple is dead... You will have been informed... Now the rainbow of Roble has lost one of its colors... And our enemies are waiting for us at the gate. A world where everyone can smile can never be completed if you are not by my side."

  "Your Highness..."

  "The Long Rain has shown us how weak we are. We cannot trust anyone. Where are our enemies? Out there, in the wild forests? By our side, with the faces of our friends? Have we always been our own worst nemesis? We are human, Remedios. Humans make mistakes. Vijar was a noble opponent, and you killed him dishonorably. Does that make you evil? The Zoastia wanted to feed on the innocent you protected, putting your life on the barricade. Does that make you a good person? But the Holy Sword did not reject you. A sword cannot speak, but it can choose. And it chose you. Remedios Custodio. I cannot impose on you what is right and what is wrong. I am just a woman, as you are."

  "Your Majesty, you are so much more!"

  "I am not. And even if I were, what would I be without you? What would a knight be without his sword? Would he be less noble without a weapon? Or is it his spirit that attests to his worth? If you are not by my side, I do not lack a sword. I lack my courage."

  Where were the enemies? The srush had crossed the great wall once already, staining their passage with blood. It was rumored they were still hiding in their territories, awaiting the opportune moment for a new Long Rain.

  The Abelion Hills concealed unspeakable horrors within. The zoastia were only one of the many dangers the Roble Kingdom was called to face. As long as they remained divided, the various demihuman races could not overwhelm humanity. But what if this were to change?

  Then, even united, mankind would be called to fight by any means necessary. How could her brothers not understand this? How could her family focus on a throne that, in the end, imposed a heavier cost than any privilege?

  "Your Majesty, you grant me too great an honor. Should someone appear whom I am unable to defeat, what will become of you? Find someone who can give you what you seek..."

  "And who, pray tell? The three of us are one in heart. I, you, and Kelart are nothing more than means to achieve something higher. Cut my veins, Custodio, if you believe you are no longer useful to me. Without you, I am an empty shell."

  "Your Majesty!" Remedios grew agitated, closing the distance between them. Now her breathing became intense, pressing against Calca's face with inappropriate closeness. "How can you ask this of me?"

  "Then, Remedios Custodio, how can you ask me to not trust you?"

  'I already know the answer. Please forgive me.' That silent plea would remain unheard.

  Was it right? Calca was taking away her friend's autonomy, just because she knew she couldn't continue without her. Naive, and tender-hearted. But how could they define her that way, if she sacrificed the most important people to her for the sake of her own selfishness?

  Remedios bit her lip. "I am nothing more than a sword. Use me, then." Every thought of the woman quelled by that newfound faith.

  And they said Calca was too kind.

  Two hundred years ago, at the dawn of the Roble Holy Kingdom, there was a demon. What that demon was like, the chronicles no longer agreed.

  He was a despicable, monstrous being. Dozens of meters tall, some said. A dispenser of death and terror. He was the classic demon of stories. Grotesque and cruel, incapable of feeling mercy towards those who hindered his path.

  Two hundred years ago, the world was full of demons like him. It was the era when demons took the appellation of Gods, and ruled that part of the world, their evil bestowed upon the earth.

  Everyone knew the story of the Thirteen, the brave ones who brought peace during those troubled times. Of the defeat of the vampire Landfall, the extermination of the insect fiends of the Tob forest, of the platinum armor and the weakest man in the world who defeated the King of Pestilence. There were many such stories, and every nation could boast its own specific version, a tale that contained within it an identity forged by the ravages of history.

  The Crimson Guardian of Re-Estize and the battle with the Ice Titan. The Dark Knight of Karnasus who buried his beloved lady. The necromancer who awakened the dead for justice.

  The Roble Holy Kingdom? As mentioned, those lands that were not yet united under the Bessarez banner were tormented by a demon now forgotten: Ronghalex, the fire sky.

  Calca, ever since she could remember, had read the story of that monster in different versions.

  'The sky turned red for our sins. I accept what is to come without any regrets, for our faith and love in the gods is stronger than any punishment they might inflict on us.'

  That inscription was the last remaining fragment of an old testimony dated more than a century before; it was all that remained of those bygone times. The rest, history had erased, and the truth had taken the form of multiple stories.

  The demon, Ronghalex, appeared differently each time. Sometimes, he was just a dark, formless being, a representation of fear and delirium, lacking a real shape, almost as if he wanted to act out the storytellers' ideas about horror and darkness. Fire, the source of life, was a pyre raised to creative impulse, an opaque vision to oppose the light.

  "A coin for your thoughts," Kelart ran a finger over the document Calca was leafing through, to better focus on the letters following the jostling of the carriage. "Still those old stories?"

  "Sister, don't address Her Majesty in such a direct way!" Remedios warned her.

  The two sisters exchanged a knowing look, and then burst out laughing. The atmosphere, despite the funeral celebration that had justified the trip, was relaxed.

  Calca couldn't help but be happy about it.

  "We are close to Lareconquista... It is said that it was precisely in this area that the demon Ronghalex was defeated forever."

  "By that paladin... What did some accounts call them?" Kelart massaged her chin, straining to remember.

  "Valkeriea, sister," Remedios said.

  "No, I think it was something different. Valkaria? Valkeka?" Her tongue struggled to pronounce the difficult word.

  Calca couldn't suppress a laugh. "I believe the correct pronunciation is 'Valkyria.' Many philologists have debated the meaning of this word, without managing to find a convincing root from these lands. Some theorize it comes from the south and that it doesn't indicate exactly a paladin, but rather a more general concept of a Holy Knight."

  "It sounds complicated..." Remedios scratched her head, embarrassed for not being able to fully follow the conversation. "In any case, if they managed to slay an Evil Deity alone, they were certainly an extraordinary fighter."

  "Sister, you are no less. Who knows, perhaps one day someone will speak of you with the same reverence."

  "The only one the posterity will revere will be Lady Calca, certainly not a humble servant like myself."

  Kelart raised an eyebrow. "In any case, you didn't just pull out those writings to lose yourself in legends, did you?" She turned to Calca, already having a clear idea of what troubled the Queen. "Lareconquista has its own version of the story, if I remember correctly. A very different one."

  As usual, the High Priestess had guessed everything with just a few clues. The long journey had not diminished the sharpness of her observation skills.

  "You're not wrong. There are scattered, and not very detailed, testimonies, but nevertheless, there are brief accounts of Ronghalex's fate. The demon, who is described as a winged beast overflowing with heat, flew through the countries, dispensing his malignancy onto the trees, forests, and the peasants' lands, burning crops and people alike. The God of the Sea, the sacred protector, emerged from the water to stop the carnage, and devoured the demon in a single bite."

  Narrated aloud, it was a silly story: a monster that destroys everything, and a dragon emerging from the water to eat it and put an end to its wickedness. Lacking punch, yet the lesson was clear.

  "Water, as a source of life, ceases the flames of devastation. For the fishermen and first navigators of the Holy Kingdom, it was natural to attribute every sort of miracle to the sea dragon they revered," Kelart concluded. She smoothed a hand over her priestess robes, adorned with the symbols of the Four Deities.

  "So that's how things really went, I see. After all, the Guardian Deity of Roble truly exists."

  "Who can say?" The younger sister sighed at the elder's haste to jump to easy conclusions. "The truth, in hindsight, is nothing more than a contest over who presents the most convincing arguments. Legends arise from many things: popular beliefs, explanations to give rationality to the unknown, or simple testimonies distorted by word of mouth. What matters is how they are used, for various purposes. The history and roots of a people are the foundation of culture and modern customs. If we rethink this story, it's easy to imagine how it was born, and it's easy to imagine why it became unpopular."

  "You make it sound easy, but I didn't understand anything."

  "Look at it this way, Remedios. The Church of the Four Gods prohibits the anthropomorphic depiction of Divinities, unlike the Faith of the Six. This is because it is believed that the Gods are not concrete entities, but a permeation that surrounds us in everything," Calca explained, seeking a nod of assent from the High Priestess, which came promptly. "A story like this would favor an overlap between the water divinity and the sacred guardian."

  And this, obviously, could cause conflict. Even if the Church of Roble was ready to venerate the sea dragon as a minor divinity, elevating it to a true god would have significant repercussions, especially towards the most extreme fringes of the cult.

  "I think I get it," Remedios stroked her chin, trying to assume a thoughtful air, with mixed results. "It could lead to a schism in the Church."

  "Well done, but that would only be the most direct repercussion, big sister," Kelart began to step down from the carriage. They had arrived. "Reflect. Who might have an interest in preventing a non-human from being venerated?"

  The blush of dawn was still fading in the blue sky. Lareconquista was a small, but enchanting town. Facing the sea, the white marble houses, viewed from a distance, were a dreamlike spectacle, where the splendor of the bricks reflected the morning rays.

  The pungent, salty smell awakened numerous tender memories in Calca. The distant beach was an expanse of crystalline sand, where the quiet waves came to rest.

  The last to descend, the Queen waited for her entourage to complete the preparations before beginning to move freely. Remedios's paladins had formed a defensive line around the part of the sea basin that would be designated for the funerals, while servants set up a small banquet that would follow the funeral observances.

  It was rare for the Queen to leave the capital, and so a small crowd of curious onlookers had gathered in the distance, to be amazed by the novelty. Calca gave instructions for food and cool drinks to be brought to them.

  "Excellent move," Kelart commented, whispering in her ear. "It's good to be loved as much as possible."

  Her tone seemed to mean 'I know that's not the reason, but at least let me pretend it is.'

  Surely someone was listening, and might get the wrong idea. Calca sighed, pulling her black dress tighter, holding back a shiver, and covering her face with the veil. White was the official color for every ceremony, but she had opted, given the occasion, for something more sober and appropriate. Kelart had also followed her example.

  Only Remedios, who had not abandoned her military attire, stood out pure and immaculate amidst the pristine beach.

  "Are my brothers here yet?"

  Marquis Serrano had been a sort of second father to all of them. It was impossible for her brothers not to show up, especially upon learning of their sister's arrival. Calca dared to hope that, on this occasion of regret, there was at least a chance to build something good again.

  "Prince Caspond has preceded you. I'm not sure about the other two..."

  Kelart pointed to a familiar figure, paying his respects to the deceased's family. Caspond Bessarez greatly resembled Calca, so much so that many believed they were twins, although he was a few years older.

  Handsome, with charming manners and a marked talent for magic, the First Prince had been the golden young scion of Roble during his youth, as well as the most beloved royal before his refusal of the throne.

  'Why?' That incessant question poured into Calca's every consideration whenever she saw him again. She sought a confirmation, in him, who had been so loved, so praised, by peers and non-peers alike. 'I reached the dominion of the fourth tier, and you did not. Is this the only difference? Does magic separate acumen and intellect? Where I can protect, can you not venture?'

  If the world was a ladder, Calca had climbed the first rung. Had her brothers, all of them, remained watching her from below? Or had they reached different summits?

  'Speak to me, and tell me I'm wrong.'

  "Sister, I find you well..." Every word of his was a mirror of the truth. The long blonde hair of the two siblings was said to be more splendid than any ray of sunshine. Caspond spoke, and the world listened. Calca listened, because the world's words suffocated her own voice.

  "My beloved brother, what a pleasure to see you again." Months had passed since their last meeting at the Royal Palace.

  Caspond had maintained his sharp gaze, albeit furrowed by the same unpleasant melancholy which distinguished him. Calca had always found her brother's eyes profoundly sad, burdened by an awareness that not everything was malleable to his control.

  A part of the Queen, undoubtedly the cruelest one, had wondered if the renunciation was not dictated by trust, but rather by cowardice. The cowardice of not wanting to stoop to the art of government, of wanting to remain sinless, so as to remain scathing and judgmental towards those who had to crawl in the mire, getting dirty with mud and filth, emerging to breathe only rarely.

  'We both wore black, today. Why do you alone appear so clean?'

  "I only wish it hadn't been such unpleasant circumstances that led me back into your presence..." He had cried. Caspond was the kind of man who gave his tears their due weight and recognized the extraordinary power of pain. Marquis Serrano, that day, was mourned by more children than he had fathered. "Alas, a glimmer of hope can be found even in the darkest moments."

  And then, when doubt assailed her, all Calca wanted, more than anything else, was to cling to him. To hug each other, like when they were children, and he confided his fear of not being enough, and she let herself go and shared her dreams with him.

  'Only… My last dreams were nightmares, and you will not console me again.'

  To return to those sweet memories, she would no longer have to be the sovereign of Roble, and he would no longer have to be her loyal vassal. Affection was weakness, Kelart had warned.

  Showing love was equivalent to providing a target. So Calca stood there, reaching immovably towards the only brother she still managed to see as such, feeling torn in half. Wishing they would cleave her in two, so that one part could wear the crown, and the other could return to being able to feel a human emotion.

  "Today is a sad day."

  "It always is, sister. But today more than others."

  Caspond and Calca maintained the etiquette of the occasion, while other guests began to gather around them.

  "Brother. Your Majesty. It's good to see you again..." Guilherme, with the body of a soldier. Guilherme, with short, stiff hair, shining irises, and a face that knew only how to dare.

  'How far do you dare, brother dearest?

  The Second-Prince arrived accompanied by his personal guard. Knights in white armor and priests in the tunics of the God of Fire.

  Calca allowed him to greet her by kissing her hand, as the Prince-Knight pushed aside his heavy manticore cloak and knelt to bring his chapped lips to his sister's skin. "My beloved brother, it's been a long time indeed."

  More than a year, to be precise. The fief assigned to the younger brother was in the deep south, where the land was rich and life was peaceful.

  "Brother, seeing you brings me comfort. I am pleased that, in sad circumstances, our family manages to emerge more united."

  The Second Prince let out a sardonic smile. "Dear sister, you always remain beautiful, even in mourning..." And he confined every quality of his own flesh and blood to that characteristic. Calca's graceful features, for him who shared them, were nothing more than an embellishment. "The crown makes your eyes stand out. For the occasion, I have brought a gift."

  At his signal, a shriveled man, dignified but arrogant in appearance, slowly approached them, making his way through Guilherme's retinue. His refined scarlet robes indicated his belonging to the seat of the God of Fire.

  "Bishop Escalera..." Kelart was the first to recognize him.

  "High Priestess. Bewitching as always."

  Escalera had small, sharp eyes that scrutinized his superior with envy and contempt. If it hadn't been for the younger Custodio, the position of Grand Priest would likely have fallen to him, and the man, from the height of his holiness, had never forgiven that slight inflicted by a younger woman.

  Alas, his limit as an enchanter was nothing more than ordinary administration for Kelart. Envy would have grown more, had the old man known the true limits of the young woman. The current High Priestess shot a defiant look at her subordinate, covering the lower part of her face with a sapphire-colored fan. "Sea air is said to work miracles for old bones. I will pray that your aches regain vigor, thanks to this day."

  The bishop could harbor repressed desires towards the one who was young, beautiful, and at the apex of the cult, but if he wanted to snatch it from the hands of the current Grand Priestess, he would find claws ready to scratch him.

  Escalera, therefore, ignored her, accepting the slight, and headed towards whom he considered a more manageable opponent. "Your Majesty, you are beautiful as always..."

  "Your Holiness, please present what we found to my sister," Guilherme urged him not to waste any more time on pleasantries.

  Indeed, the older man had a small box adorned with precious stones in his dry, calloused hands, which he presented to Calca with false reverence.

  "What is it?"

  "Sister, have faith..." When Guilherme spoke, Caspond stiffened, but said nothing. "Let me explain. I assembled various mercenaries, capable adventurers who know the Hills well, and offered them large sums for a special prize, something that would be worth keeping as a trophy for the Holy Kingdom of Roble, and for the one who represents it."

  Calca slowly lifted the lid, and what she found inside made her gasp.

  "This is... A head! A demihuman's head..." Stuffed, in such a way that the mouth remained open, showing the dangerous sharp fangs and the bloodthirsty gaze. Goat horns had been broken and placed on the sides of the macabre gift. "It's a bafolk... Brother, what does all this mean?"

  "Not a common bafolk. It's the Great King of Destruction, or what remains of him..."

  Such a name inspired terror just to hear it. One of the most dangerous demihumans within the Hills, infamous for his cruelty and continuous assaults on human and non-human traveler caravans alike, who, if the rumors that had arrived were not entirely unfounded, had perished a few months earlier during a battle whose outcomes were only scattered echoes.

  Did this mean, then, that the mercenaries in her brother's pay had accomplished such a feat? To strike down an enemy of that caliber, they must necessarily be capable individuals, comparable to the members of the Colors renowned for their military abilities.

  Provided that was the true Great King of Destruction, of course.

  "It is truly a splendid gift, brother. Many will sleep soundly now that such a monster has been defeated..." Calca hesitated before grasping that hateful relic. Her brother was staring at her, awaiting her reaction. That too was a test. "Did you provide for the embalming?"

  She took out the head very calmly, taking care not to let her disgust show, holding it up almost like a trophy. It wasn't so much being so close to death that made her agitated, nor the dull and shaggy fur that brushed her fingertips that left her with a bitter taste.

  It was the simple awareness that, even at that moment, reunited with her brothers, she could not show something genuine, but a mere artifact, a response crafted for a policy she wanted to reform, but to which she had to abide.

  A woman should be weak. A queen had to remain unfazed.

  "Who else? You know I've always had a passion for manual labor."

  There was a time when Guilherme carved wooden toys for all of them. For Calca, in particular, he sculpted every kind of character, be they knights or princesses, sorcerers or ogres.

  Now, that same brother brought her severed heads as a gift. It wasn't the object itself that made her regret the change. It was the objective behind it.

  "In the Crown's name, I thank you for your service."

  "I live to serve, sister."

  A celebration ceremony would be appropriate. If not organized by the throne, then the Second Prince himself would provide one, increasing his personal prestige.

  "The funeral is about to begin, brothers," Caspond said, studying the tribute carefully. Something didn't quite convince him. "And yet, I don't see Frederique."

  Guilherme shrugged. "Our younger brother has always been a standoffish type, preferring solitude to social occasions. I wouldn't be surprised if he missed this event."

  Frederique was the smallest among them. Lacking Caspond's shrewdness and Guilherme's military skills, he had always been the youngest and most ignored. The child who clung to his mother's hem first, and then his sister's, had grown into a solitary man who rarely left his own territories.

  "Your younger brother has always been an enigmatic personality, Your Highness," Bishop Escalera began to sow discord and gossip, as if in the middle of one of his sermons. "But it is not for me to judge royal blood. Only, in the name of the Gods, I pray for caution. Any gossip can undermine the stability of the kingdom. The tragedy of the Long Rain is still a fresh memory in the minds of many."

  And what tragedy, if the Srush were hiding in the royal lands.

  'Let it be said that my brother consorts with the demihumans, old man. For you, the truth is nothing more than a sign of weakness.'

  Calca replied sorrowfully. "I have complete faith in my beloved brother Frederique. Just as I do in Guilherme and Caspond."

  The eldest closed his eyes, approving those words. The youngest smiled contemptuously, as always.

  "Sister, may the Gods assist you..." He took his leave with that wish, which sounded so much like a threat.

  Caspond also departed, to offer his greetings to the rest of the gathered nobility.

  Before Calca could follow him, Kelart took her aside and led her to an isolated spot on the shore, where some priests loyal to her had prepared a defensive perimeter.

  "My sister will be able to tell us if this Bafolk is truly the Great King of Destruction."

  Remedios approached them immediately afterward and looked at the contents of the box very carefully. "It's difficult to say..." She decreed, after a long reflection. "If he were still alive, his bloodlust aura would have immediately alerted me to his dangerousness. But this way..."

  "So we have no way of establishing whether it's a fake or not..."

  "No... Perhaps there is a way..." Remedios called over one of the paladins patrolling nearby. "You, call the new squire, and tell her to come here immediately!"

  The order was executed at once. After a few seconds, a small girl rushed over in a hurry, prostrating herself at Calca's knees.

  "Please, stand up. There's no need for all these ceremonies."

  "Squire Baraja, listen carefully, and everything you say must be strictly confidential, do we understand each other?"

  The girl nodded dutifully. Remedios did not spare the tough love, especially toward new recruits.

  The queen tried to ease the tension, using a gentle tone to address the squire. "Baraja... Are you perhaps related to the Night Watchman?"

  "Y... Yes..." She murmured, intimidated. Was Calca that scary? "I am his daughter. Neia... Neia Baraja..."

  "Oh, Pabel's daughter!" The resemblance, now that she noticed it, was remarkable. The same intensity in her gaze, and that unwavering ardor. "So you are also Lehonor's daughter! Indeed, there are many things you share with your parents. Both are great warriors, and I am sure you will follow in their footsteps, Neia. May I call you Neia?"

  "Y... Yes."

  Calca smiled, attempting to reassure the girl. "Then, Neia, can you help us identify this head? Take a deep breath; I wouldn't want you to be shocked by the sight."

  "It won't be a problem... A squire must be ready to face the most delicate situations..." Neia glanced at Remedios, who firmly approved.

  'She is a child,' Calca thought. Daughter of two great warriors, but still a child. In her kingdom where everyone was supposed to be happy, children were already being sent to train as soldiers.

  Ignoring a slight feeling of nausea that assailed her, she slowly opened the box in front of Neia so the squire could examine the contents. "Your father met the Great King of Destruction... Are you able to recall if he spoke to you about any distinguishing marks? Something that could help us identify him."

  "N... No," Neia shook her head, opening her eyes as wide as possible to scan every detail. "But... But I don't think this is the Great King of Destruction."

  The impression Calca had formed of the little girl in that brief time was that she was a profoundly shy personality, even taking into account the awe a queen could inspire. So the certainty with which she stated her judgment convinced Calca.

  "How can you be so sure?" Kelart inquired, using methods certainly less gentle than her friend's.

  Neia flinched for a moment before regaining her confidence. "The horns... The horns are small..." She pointed with a finger. "The most dangerous bafolk have longer horns... The Great King of Destruction was a lord... He surely had an appearance that reflected his position... These are... ordinary..."

  Kelart raised an eyebrow, evaluating the truthfulness of that statement. Calca refocused on the horns. Was length really such an important factor? The ones presented were smaller than the head. Did a bafolk lord have larger ones?

  "The squire speaks the truth. I was also aware of this characteristic," Remedios said. "However, I can't figure out if the length is really so indicative."

  "That's because you've never had a keen eye for detail, big sister."

  The older sister mumbled something at the younger one's reproach, probably chastising herself internally for that oversight.

  "Then... Assuming this is a fake..." Calca closed the box again. "What does this mean? Does my brother want to deceive us? His prestige is still at stake..."

  Guilherme would never bet on Calca's naiveté, no matter how low her opinion might be. Similarly, an accusation of falsehood with such flimsy motivations would not be well-regarded by the nobility and the clergy, who tended to prefer her brothers.

  "Um... If I may..." Neia slightly raised her voice, probably reaching heights that were comparable to shouting for her. "The last time I saw my father, he was also convinced that the bafolk were in turmoil. Many have attacked the wall lately. But they weren't coordinated attacks... More like... Migration attempts, as if they had been thrown into disarray... The death of their king and various divisions within the tribe might be plausible."

  "So... Assuming that the Great King of Destruction truly perished, there are two possibilities. Guilherme has reason to believe that the rumors are reliable, and therefore it was enough for him to procure a bafolk corpse that was similar enough to stage the scene and present himself as a hero. Or..."

  Calca didn't even want to risk the second hypothesis. Kelart voiced her worries. "Or your brother really did get his hands on the bafolk lord's corpse. Whether it was his mercenaries or someone else who delivered it to him doesn't matter... What matters is what he did with it... It's to be expected that every treasure and equipment would fall into the killer's hands... But why keep the body intact?"

  'Yeah, why?' That interrogative lingered between the women, even if it had been resolved since the start.

  "...My brother would not resort to necromancy."

  Kelart raised an eyebrow and remained silent. Remedios led Neia away and escorted Calca to the shore, where the ceremony was in its initial stages.

  Far away, off the coast, several ships bearing the emblem of the Roble Holy Kingdom sailed on quiet waters. On the surface of the water, skilled, scaled swimmers escorted the vessels. The mermen of Ran Tsu An Rin were approaching the coast.

  And that was when one of the ships caught fire.