The Justicars—and by extension the City of the Veil—hold aloft a singular creed: justice as fairness. Through their sacred veil of ignorance, they claim to rise above mortal bias and behold the world as it ought to be. In that vision, power is not hoarded by lineage but surrendered to uplift the weak; when governance cannot know who it serves, it must ensure liberty flourishes and opportunity lies open to all.

  Such a doctrine enrages the entrenched elites of the Sul Empire: why grant the UlaanBal—Greenskins, outcasts, and the unclaimed—parity with scions of ancient blood or the Malan dynasties? Yet the Justicars insist that no soul deserves disadvantage by birth, that there is virtue in fighting for equal footing. And history, relentless as fate, reminds us that this vision is won not with words alone but at the edge of a sword—for progress, like justice, demands blood.

  - The Justicar’s Creed by Alcar Valentar

  Aslavain: Twenty-Five Days After the Summer Solstice

  Sitting in the arena, Sylva found herself oddly captivated. After Hadrian’s recent victory over Zelvarn, she’d absentmindedly fished a ball of string from her pocket—expecting to feign interest while the contestants clashed. Martial combat had never bored her; it was simply missing the complexity she craved. Yet by the fourth match after Hadrian’s win, she realized that duels could be far more interesting than she’d assumed.

  A Penitent stepped into the arena bare?chested, his torso crisscrossed with jagged scars that collected the Sulphen’s dark mist like mold. Unlike Zelvarn he wore nothing but simple trousers and sandals. His opponent—a heavyset Dion woman wearing a reptilian skull as a helmet—mocked his poverty until the Justicar declared the fight begun.

  Moments later, the Sulphen clinging to the Penitent’s scars flared into brilliant scarlet flame, enveloping him in a living corona of fire as he began to sing. Each line of his song drew more inky mist into the blaze. He is drawing the sacrifice—the Sulphen—into the working with his song, Sylva realized. As the heat of the arena intensified and the woman moved away from the blazing man taking calm steps towards the Dion woman’s shield shifted from yellow to orange, then deep red causing the Justicar to end the bout—and without anything more than the power of his voice, the Penitent had won.

  Three matches later, a slender Kiel woman in a flowing silk robe squared off against a towering Bal swordsman. Raising her slender wooden wand, she traced swift arcs in the air. The Sulphen gathered into glowing script before dissipating. As her opponent advanced, she hurled dozens of needles with her free hand. The accelerated volley struck his shield—turning it red—before he could even begin his attack.

  By the time the next spellcaster entered, Sylva had recorded every stroke of the Kiel woman’s wand in the scholarly script, confident she could replicate the working. She was less certain about the Penitent’s mastery of flame—after Tir Na Nog, she’d sworn never to touch the Radiant Flame again, not voluntarily at least.

  Match after match, Sylva noted patterns in how rare spellcasters adapted incantations into combat magic, and most saw their shields turn red before completing a spell. She was certain she could do better. If she had a wand, she could replicate the woman’s spell just as she’d replicated the lemur’s days before. Nothing these candidates mastered was beyond her capacity.

  Casselia emerged from the chamber below the arena—where she’d retreated with Hadrian after selecting a towering Bal man as his second opponent. When Hadrian met Sylva’s eyes, a genuine grin crossed his face, and she found herself smiling back before she could stop it, embarrassed at the unconscious response. She should have been better trained than that.

  Casselia moved to sit beside Sylva while Hadrian bounced on the balls of his feet, waiting for his opponent. Her gaze scanned the chamber, lingering briefly on Chanvar surrounded by his disciples. Sylva wondered how much history existed between the Dion Venerate and Casselia—there was clearly animosity, but why?

  “Krinka is still missing, then,” Casselia stated.

  “He is,” Sylva admitted. “I didn’t expect him to return at all. Should I?”

  “I… I’m not sure.” Casselia’s hesitation did not escape Sylva’s notice.

  “Isn’t he working for you? He mentioned tasks…”

  “I’m certain he serves our shared goals, yet I know no more than you.”

  Sylva pressed, “Does that bother you?”

  Casselia’s eyes remained fixed on the arena below. “Not Krinka,” she repeated firmly. “He’s earned every ounce of my trust. We’ve weathered too many years apart to let secrets unravel loyalty.”

  Before Sylva could press further, a hush fell over the arena.

  Sylva turned, following the gaze of the crowd. A woman wearing black armor interwoven with veins of silver and gold had entered the tent. A member of the Order of the Black Seal? Sylva was taken aback. Who in the empire wouldn’t recognize the personal guards sworn to protect the Imperial Triumvirate? They would have never enter Aslavain without a reigning monarch preceding them—but that was impossible. The Imperial Triumvirate rarely left Rahabia, and as far as Sylva knew, they never came to Aslavain without an active crisis.

  The Sealbearer’s unwavering gaze locked onto Casselia. With dignified authority, she cut through the crowd, each person parting to yield her path. Sylva’s eyes darted to Hadrian, who watched the approaching guard with puzzled concern. Does he recognize their armor? she wondered. Offending a Sealbearer was unthinkable—especially for someone unaware of the stakes.

  “Lady Crownless,” the Sealbearer intoned, nodding to Casselia but offering no more respect than due a peer. “You and the Kiel boy from the Foglands have been summoned. Come.” Casselia remained seated, hands calmly crossed in her lap as though unfazed. The arena fell near silent as the crowd watched the quiet exchange.

  “Who specifically summons me?” Casselia asked while Sylva bowed deeply to the Sealbearer. Sylva half expected the Sealbearer to snap—their reputation was as dark as their armor regarding disrespect for the Imperial Triumvirate—but the woman remained unbothered.

  “Empress Althara Vandros has—”

  Casselia cut off the Sealbearer, interrupting her as she would Krinka when he overexplained an idea. Sylva felt a tight knot of worry in her chest. One did not simply interrupt a Sealbearer—it was not done.

  “The Tempest has entered Aslavain? Why?”

  “The Empress’s motivation is not yours to question, [Venerate] or no,” the Sealbearer said, turning to stride away. “Follow before I am forced to bring you against your will.” She glanced back at Casselia. “Please. And bring the Kiel with you,” the Sealbearer added.

  “Hadrian,” Casselia called as she stood, “come here.” The Sealbearer nodded approvingly and waited silently as Hadrian approached. “Sylva, you will come with us as well. Prepare yourself.”

  “The Empress did not request her presence,” the Sealbearer said, clenching her fist by her side and straightening, as though preparing for a fight.

  “She did not,” Casselia agreed casually. Sylva looked between them, she knew better than to defy a Sealbearer, and yet, that was what Casselia seemed intent on doing. Worse, Casselia wanted to make her defy the Sealbearer directly. Sylva hesitated.

  “Sylva—you heard me.” Casselia repeated, making Sylva’s choice for her. Sylva stood hesitantly as the Sealbearer’s face tightened with tension.

  “The Empress did not request her presence,” the Sealbearer repeated more firmly.

  “And what of it?” Casselia snapped, whirling on the woman. “I believe that Althara would be well?served to meet Sylva, and you lack any information needed to judge if that’s true. Did Althara explicitly forbid you from returning with anyone else?”

  Althara, Sylva thought, not Empress or any of her official titles. Is Casselia trying to provoke the guard?

  “She did not,” the Sealbearer admitted, an edge creeping into her tone. “But the Empress does not deign to tell us how to do every aspect of our work. If she wanted Sylva’s presence, she would have demanded it.”

  “You are not the first Sealbearer to tell me how to do my work, and you certainly won’t be the last. But hear this.” Casselia paused, her tone softening so much that Sylva had to lean forward to catch her next words. “I have never allowed bodyguards to stop my service to the Empire. Once we arrive, if Althara wishes Sylva gone, she shall leave without complaint. But it is not your place to gainsay me.”

  Sylva had never heard of anyone speaking to the Order of the Black Seal like that—she hadn’t thought anyone reckless enough to try. Why pull on a loose thread when it wasn’t necessary? Even better: why cause all this trouble for her? Casselia could have left her and she would have thought nothing of it. Sure, Sylva wanted to meet the Empress. Of course she did. But she knew the cost wasn’t worth it. So why did Casselia think otherwise?

  “You dare,” the woman breathed, real anger entering her tone as Sylva watched the womans aura swirl, drawing in the inky mist as though preparing.

  “Casselia, it’s fine. I—” Sylva began, but Casselia cut her off with a look that broached no disagreement.

  “I have the authority to make such a demand,” Casselia said firmly to the Sealbearer. “Contact the Sealkeeper if you must; they will confirm my words.”

  “I speak with the voice of the Sealkeeper in this. On whose authority do you claim this right.” the woman said, almost hissing the words between clenched teeth.

  “If you had the voice of the Sealkeeper, you wouldn’t have to ask. Now, check with the Sealkeeper if you must; I will not reveal more in this arena.”

  “I will,” the Sealbearer growled, whirling as Hadrian tentatively approached. “I will take you to the Empress, then confirm your words. If you have lied to the Order of the Black Seal, there will be consequences.”

  Casselia merely sighed before moving to follow the woman. Sylva met her mentor’s gaze, horrified that she’d caused this. Casselia’s gaze, however, was playful—as though it were nothing more than a grand game. As the fear faded and Sylva thought about the encounter she became certain of at least one thing: Casselia had advocated for her. Cass had risked the ire of one of the empire’s most powerful groups—directly and publicly challenging the woman’s authority— to ensure Sylva was included in whatever was to come. A thrill raced through Sylva at the trust that implied.

  As they emerged from the tent, Casselia looked at the swirling clouds overhead and sighed. Silently, they walked through Dornogor. Groups parted nervously for the Sealbearer, and Hadrian’s confusion was palpable. Sylva chose her silence carefully; speaking might offend a guardian of one of the empire’s most powerful figures.

  At the base of a towering tree, two additional Sealbearers intercepted them. The lead guardian ordered them to wait, then stepped into a brisk conversation with his colleagues. Hadrian’s puzzled glances flickered between the strangers and Sylva, who leaned in to explain in a hushed tone, “They are members of the Order of the Black Seal—guardians of the Imperial Triumvirate.”

  “They asked for Casselia?” Hadrian asked, darting a glance at the [Venerate], who watched the trio with a fierce gaze.

  “Casselia… and you,” Sylva said, watching Hadrian’s eyes widen in surprise.

  “Me?”

  “Hush now,” Casselia said. “They’re finishing their conversation and are already on edge.”

  The woman gestured for them to approach. As they did, she spoke in forced neutrality, suggesting she hadn’t found the support she sought from her companions.

  “The Empress is in the canopy—will you need us to carry you, or can you reach it on your own?”

  “Hadrian and I can escort ourselves to the canopy, but Sylva will require aid.”

  Sylva knew Casselia was right—she lacked the skill or knowledge to reach the canopy alone, but admitting it still stung her pride. One Sealbearer withdrew a leather harness covered in pressed runes that drew the Sulphen from a small bag and, with nods of approval from Sylva and Casselia, strapped it around her. She didn’t appreciate wearing it over her emerald silk robe; the harness clung to the fabric, pulling it unflatteringly as a thin strand connected her to the Sealbearer.

  She suffered the minor indignity in silence while Hadrian and Casselia climbed the tree as nimbly as lemurs. Sylva almost thought Hadrian moved with more certainty up the trunk than he did on the ground. She distracted herself from the Sealbearer as they prepared to carry her up the tree with thoughts that someday he would show her his home—they would travel to the Silklands as she’d always dreamed, then head south through the Foglands to reach Cutra. It was a distant dream, a hope to cling to as they faced the challenges of Aslavain and beyond.

  As the Sealbearer climbed, they activated the harness and Sylva watched the Sulphen quiver and cling to her before she felt a sense of lightness, as though she weighed no more than the air itself. Floating behind him, they rapidly ascended the tree. Sylva was acutely aware in that moment that Silkborn were more resilient to falls than humans. She was also discovering that the knowledge offered little comfort as the ground receded and nothing by a thin harness kept her aloft. She wasn’t sure if the heights or the moments to come were causing her nerves. This was it: the moment her dreams collided with reality. She was about to meet an Empress.

  Hadrian and Casselia slowed near the canopy. The Sealbearer reached them first, stepping onto a wide branch with the grace of a bird. With a single motion he unclipped Sylva’s harness and tucked it away, his expression unreadable beneath black-and?gold armor. Sylva barely had time to breathe before her eyes locked on the figure standing in the filtered sunlight.

  Althara Vandros emerged onto a wide branch, clad in a robe of fog?silk that shifted like clouds drifting across the sky. She surveyed Hadrian’s mirrored garment with a subtle, appraising smile. “Now that,” the Empress pronounced, her voice resonating through the canopy, “is quite the surprise.”

  Althara Vandros stood on a wide tree branch opposite Casselia, with a cunning look in her eyes as she took them in. Casselia extended her senses, being careful to avoid anything that would draw the attention of the Sealbearers. She knew her stunt to ensure Sylva’s presence had made at least one enemy of the guards, but she found little reason to care. From what she knew of Althara’s reputation, it was unlikely that she paid much heed to the opinions of her guards.

  Casselia knew the type. The Imperial Triumvirate of the Sul Empire wasn’t selected to govern. They didn’t make laws like the legislative bodies of Eidolons or the living representatives of the cities. They didn’t enforce the law like the Justicar or other judicial bodies of the empire. The Imperial Triumvirate served to deter aggression from enemies within and abroad. They were the empire’s sword and shield, meant for conquering Eternal Domiciles or fighting armies. In times of peace, what warrior didn’t chafe under the restrictions placed upon them?

  Casselia knelt deliberately to ensure that Hadrian and Sylva could imitate her. She lowered her eyes and took three deep, long breaths, as the ritual required, before meeting Althara’s gaze. Casselia had found that a little formality and ritual at the start of a conversation could excuse much of her failure to conform once a rapport was established. She spoke, infusing just a touch of her aura’s authority into her words. Her students wouldn’t notice the difference, but Casselia knew Althara would detect the shift.

  “Empress, I regret that I have not had the opportunity to meet you before my entrance into Aslavain. I recently returned from more than two centuries in recovery and was asked by Nyxol to enter Aslavain to mentor this triumvirate.” Casselia paused, letting Nyxol’s involvement catch Althara’s attention before continuing. “I beg your forgiveness—your Sealbearer requested only Hadrian and my appearance, but I knew you would be interested in meeting Sylva of the Clan Strenath, one of the Sect of Silken Grace, and insisted she be brought along.”

  Althara slowly blinked, then gave a suspicious glance at the Sealbearer who had brought Sylva up the tree. “You insisted—and they listened to you? Now that is even more of a surprise than the lad’s robe. You will need to teach me the trick sometime. Sylva, was it? A good Triumvirate doesn’t keep secrets from one another; you are welcome, so long as Hadrian is here.”

  Casselia felt the tension in her shoulders ease with Althara’s words. She stood, assuming a calm posture that she hoped would keep Althara comfortable. Having an ally on the Imperial Triumvirate was a fortuitous opportunity—especially now. If they could convince her to unseal Al’s powers… Casselia banished the thought. Without a crisis, there was no chance of that, and if she didn’t win Althara over, there was no chance at all.

  “Thank you, Empress,” Casselia said. “How may we serve?”

  “Sealbearers, I wish to speak privately with Casselia. When I am done, I wish to speak to Hadrian and Sylva. Please ensure they are comfortable while we talk.”

  Casselia felt the wards solidify in the air around them—a bubble of Sulphen that she knew would keep their conversation silent and prevent her from using her skills while within the barrier. She felt her intuition fade as the barrier took hold, sealing her powers. She flexed her will, testing the barrier, but the Sealbearer had done their work, and she allowed her will to settle.

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  “They call you the Crownless,” Althara said simply, her eyes watching Casselia with a calm certainty that made her wonder what had prompted this conversation.

  “They do—though it was never a title with which I was particularly happy,” Casselia shrugged, not bothering to hide her feelings. The truth was an easy coin to spend when your secrets were already public. “I never thought of myself as someone lacking a crown,” she scoffed, pausing to meet Althara’s gaze. “I never wanted one to begin with.”

  “I have borne that duty for nearly three decades now. I envy you for realizing that about yourself before it was too late.” Althara matched Casselia’s sincerity. “The oaths bind us. Far more than we were ever allowed to realize.” Althara raised a single eyebrow—as though questioning whether she needed to say more before coming to her conclusion—and added softly, “You understand.”

  Casselia nodded slowly, forcing stillness into her body. She hadn’t expected Althara to mention the oaths. Not so soon. Not so… publicly. Warding or no. One did not talk lightly about the oaths that the Sul Empire imposed upon you—in some cases the oaths allowed no dissent at all. She must know about Als, Casselia realized.

  “I… do. Every [Venerate] understands—especially those of us who have lived through war. The oaths bind us all.”

  “Two years. I have two years left in my service before the oaths slip away.” Althara looked wistfully across the plains below as the clouds continued to swirl across the horizon, drawn ever inward toward the point directly above them. “When the oaths are gone, I wish to become a [Paragon]—as is my right.”

  Casselia nodded once more, unsurprised. Most former Emperors and Empresses became [Paragons], settling into the fabric of the Empire while shedding the oaths that bound them. Casselia had helped dozens of the empire’s best ascend to the status of [Paragon]; she knew what was coming next.

  “I ask for your aid in preparing for such an ascension.” Casselia began to respond, but Althara cut her off. “I know that it is not standard for the Empress to ask for aid—not while she sits upon the throne. I also know that I have the power necessary to ascend and become a [Paragon]. What I ask of you is simply to show me how to do it properly—in the old ways.”

  “I have guided dozens to become [Paragons] of the empire. You would not be the first Empress I have guided, and you would certainly not be the weakest. This is well within my capacity.”

  “So you agree?” Althara asked, her eyes excited. The wind swirled gently, pulling at Casselia’s robe.

  “I have… concerns that must be addressed first.” Casselia felt she needed to move carefully. She didn’t have time to teach Althara—not while attending to her goals and her trainees. Moreover, she didn’t want to draw attention to herself, knowing that training Althara would do just that.

  “Is it your students?” Althara said, glancing behind Casselia to where Hadrian and Sylva waited. “If you are concerned about their development, I am prepared to offer personal mentorship to them as compensation.” Casselia nodded; it was a fair assumption and solution. If anything, the weight of the Empress’s attention would ensure the Sulphen took notice of her students—feedback from Althara might count for even more than her own. Still, Casselia hesitated.

  “That is very generous, Your Majesty,” Casselia hesitated.

  “Out with it,” Althara commanded.

  “I worry about the consequences of such an arrangement. The last time that I worked directly with a member of the Imperial Triumvirate, it ended poorly for my students.”

  “You need not fear while under my protection,” Althara said, frowning. “Surely you know that.”

  “That is what the last Emperor said. My students were dead within half a decade—lost in a tragic accident that I can’t help but think was an assassination.” She paused, meeting Althara’s gaze. “If you have read my history, surely you recognize that assassination has always been my companion.”

  “It was noted as your cause of death last time, though not much more than that,” Althara admitted. “Surely they can’t still be such a threat that I couldn’t protect you?”

  Casselia hesitated. “Have you heard of the [Procurator]?”

  “The Dion [Venerate]? I know he is alive—in Calcara, I believe—though he hasn’t done anything of note for the entirety of my reign.”

  “I am sure he has done plenty,” Casselia said, venom creeping into her tone. “He never stops moving pieces on the board. He has always admired the ghosts that guard his city—in fact, he has spent the centuries since the Beastwars ensuring that he has become one. I know he is already planning to kill my students. He never stops. If I help you, he will be forced to escalate, and I am not the one who would be most at risk when he does.”

  Althara paused, letting her gaze drift across the landscape as the wind danced around them. Eventually, she seemed to reach a decision. She turned and spoke with a confidence that Casselia approved of.

  “I can promise protection against his agents—for you and your students. I will bind these promises in a formal oath and intervene directly should their safety be in danger. I am also willing to provide direct support against the [Procurator] for the remainder of my reign. I don’t know much about his activities, but I have never been fond of Dion meddling, especially that of the Ancient Blood. Surely that is enough to waylay your concerns.”

  “It is sufficient to waylay my concerns,” Casselia agreed easily. “Though I wish for one additional boon before I swear my part of the agreement.” Althara inclined her head, and Casselia strove to ease the tension from her voice. “Alsarana. His powers were sealed by a prior Imperial Triumvirate. I wish for them to be freed.”

  “No,” Althara said firmly, meeting Casselia’s gaze with a faint suspicion.

  “The Mandate of Empire has sworn to prevent the third apocalypse. We work to ensure that a new tenant’s rise doesn’t destroy everything we have built—the Sul Empire, the Scaled Dominion, even the tentative truces with the Brood. All of it can shatter if a tenant forms. You know this. All I ask is that if the moment comes when the storm breaks and you know things are going to change, free him. He is my charge to guard and channel—not the empire’s to cage. Will you swear that at least?”

  “If the moment comes when I see the winds change and feel the storm shift during my reign, aye, I can swear to you that I will free the Harbinger.” Althara nodded slowly as she processed the implications of her words. “For your guidance, yes.”

  Casselia and Althara spoke for the better part of an hour about the specific wording of their agreement. Once both were comfortable, they swore the oaths, and Casselia felt the Sulphen twisting within her, binding her to her word. She could break the oath, but not without a cost—and she didn’t let that bother her. Casselia had sworn thousands of oaths, and Althara—Empress or not—was far from the most intimidating. Althara looked thrilled, as though she had gotten everything she wished with no true cost. Casselia supposed she had—except if a crisis truly arose. If her aid to Althara could free the Harbinger—even on a chance—she was comfortable with that trade.

  “Now, before we have the seal removed, tell me everything about these students. I have been briefed on Cutra’s mission and now need to understand where the boy got that Fog Robe.” She looked at Casselia with avaricious eyes. “Do you have any idea how much I had to spend to get this? How did they afford it?”

  “The boy has a Fogflare Moth affinity. He told Alsarana that his village learned how to harvest the materials and sell their silk—enough to fund one of the brood hives, and maybe they could afford it.” Casselia shrugged.

  “Ahh yes, this village of a few dozen Luminaries and washed-out champions of the arenas has discovered a novel methodology for harvesting silk—a methodology that the Arenea, the Silkborn, and the Brood lack. And they used this vast wealth to buy a single twenty-year-old boy a fog robe before sending him into Aslavain?”

  Casselia shrugged. “That is a fair summation of the facts I have so far.” Althara absently twisted a strand of hair as she thought. Eventually, she seemed to reach a conclusion before continuing her questioning.

  “How did you come to be his mentor? Nyxol, you said?”

  “She tasked me with mentoring this group of three specifically. I was told that he had more potential than I could want—and that Sylva and Lotem weren’t far behind. I accepted the request, of course I did.”

  “Do they?” Althara asked curiously.

  “Hadrian has an incredible foundation. From what I can gather, the boy has spent nearly his entire life performing tasks, exercises, and drills designed to make him the best fighter he can be. At first, I thought Rovan picked the boy for the robe, but the more I train him, the more confident I become that Rovan simply admired Hadrian’s spirit. The boy approaches adversity with an almost feral willingness to grow.” Casselia met Althara’s curious gaze seriously. “I think if you moved Hadrian to Rahabia, he would be a strong contender to win their spring contest.”

  “That strong?” Althara looked doubtful, but she seemed to accept Casselia’s assessment after a moments thought.

  “Sylva has the instincts and knowledge for sympathetic magic that Alsarana looks for in a pupil—rare enough on its own—and Krinka tells me that she learns new spell theory faster than anyone he has taught in generations. I trust them, and they have high hopes.”

  “Lotem is the toughest to evaluate,” Casselia continued. “The boy is part Numen—with his boon from Sylvine enhancing his bloodline. He also possesses a skill that he shares with his companions. Currently, that skill manifests in a kitten he brought into Aslavain, though we hope for a better option after the upcoming contest.”

  “You want to gift a Wyvern with a Numen bloodline?” Althara began to smile. “The diplomatic consequences alone will be… this will anger the Serpentine Monarchs worse than we have seen in centuries, likely.”

  “One of my long-term concerns, but I couldn’t justify not taking the opportunity when it was offered. Our focus right now is ensuring that he acquires skills proper for sharing. Alsarana is currently training him in one of the trials.”

  “Summon them if you can… with urgency.”

  “As you will,” Casselia said as she withdrew a bone from her pocket and, running her fingernail over it, sent her message. Once Alsarana had confirmed that he had received it, she turned her attention back to the waiting Empress.

  “Now, tell me of their time in Aslavain. I want to know everything before I speak to the children. I am certain we will need to change some things.”

  “Do you—” Hadrian began quietly as he looked to where Sylva sat beside him on the branch. A cold, unforgiving voice cut off his whispered words.

  “Now is not the time for conversation; it is the time for contemplation,” the Sealbearer said as he watched Hadrian and Sylva with an unblinking gaze. The man’s graying hair and wrinkles only deepened the severity of his expression as his deep purple eyes took in everything around him. Hadrian wasn’t sure the man had blinked the entire time they waited for the black globe surrounding Casselia and the Empress to disappear. The Sealbearer had been clear: until the Empress ordered the barrier removed, they were to sit silently and contemplate the glory of the Sul Empire.

  “Honor to the Sul Empire,” Sylva said, bowing from her kneeling position as she met the Sealbearer’s gaze. “We do not mean to offend the sensibilities of the Order of the Black Seal, and we certainly do not wish to give the Empress any offense. My companion surely was wondering why we are unable to speak even though there is a barrier of such superb quality to suppress our words.”

  The Sealbearer nodded slowly to Sylva’s words. Hadrian wondered why he couldn’t finish his sentence, while Sylva could talk as long as she wished. Hadn’t they summoned him?

  “That is an excellent thought to contemplate,” the man said a finality that reminded Hadrian of when his Pa had made up his mind on something. So, Hadrian began to contemplate what his Pa would think of this—of the Empress summoning him personally for an audience. Hadrian flushed with a rush of anticipation and a sudden sense of pride. He was the representative from Cutra this year. If he was worthy of an audience with the Empress, then Cutra had been deemed worthy of an audience with the Empress. It was an honor beyond anything he had expected.

  More than that, Althara wore a Fog Robe of her own. Hadrian had known that Fog Robes were expensive. From his parents’ words to Sylva’s reaction to the silk, he had understood that he wore a treasure even before it was upgraded, and he had gained a sense of control over it. But knowing you wore a treasure was different from seeing it worn by none other than royalty. Cutra had given him robes befitting an Empress of the Sul Empire. They had trusted him that much. The anticipation and pride blended with a sudden anxiety as he looked over the grassland below and the herds of beasts milling beneath the swirling, streaming clouds in the sky.

  Hadrian had been trying to ask Sylva if she thought the Empress was still casting the spell that filled the horizon with clouds winding inwards to join the swirling whirlpool above. The clouds had grown thick enough for a shadow to cover Dornogor, casting their surroundings in the half-light of twilight. It reminded Hadrian of the fall, as the Fologian Flora began to release billowing gusts of fog that breached the canopies for several weeks before the eastern winds pulled the excess mist away.

  Hadrian’s contemplations ended with a sharp elbow to the ribs from Sylva as the barrier surrounding Casselia and the Empress disappeared. The Sealbearer snapped a sharp salute—one hand moving to his brow while the other covered his heart. Hadrian looked to Casselia as the Empress moved toward them. Casselia wore a blank expression that revealed nothing of the long conversation they had just had, and it worried him. Normally, she was quick with a smile when he needed reassurance. The Empress nodded to the Sealbearer, then turned to regard Hadrian and Sylva.

  “Sylva of the Clan Strenath. Hadrian of the Village Cutra. I greet thee with the voice of an Empress.” Hadrian felt an undertone of ritual in the words, but he had no idea how he was supposed to respond. He did not want to offend the Empress.

  “Empress, you honor us.” Sylva smoothly intoned, filling the silence as Althara watched them. “How may we best serve?”

  “Casselia has explained your current situation to me, and I have decided to ensure that you are properly trained for the coming needs of the empire.” Hadrian found that very thoughtful. He had not expected someone as powerful as the Empress to care about their situation or training. He wondered what she meant by ‘properly trained’; he felt as though Casselia had been exceptional thus far. Althara continued, and Casselia maintained her expressionless mask.

  “There have been a few points on which Casselia and I have disagreed; she has insisted that she would not force major changes upon her pupils. I want to be clear that these are not orders so much as firm suggestions that you may choose to refuse.” Hadrian thought that any ‘firm suggestion’ by an Empress was as good as an order, but he decided to keep an open mind.

  “First, Sylva, you do not currently have an implement—no wand, no staff, no spellstring—nothing to assist in guiding the Sulphen. Casselia insists that Krinka believes your foundations will be stronger if you learn without one. I think that sounds like thunder with no storm. You need an implement, and you need one now.”

  “I…” Sylva hesitated, glancing between Althara and Casselia. “I’m not opposed to an implement. I was watching duals and considering what I saw other candidates using when the Sealbearer came to get us, but…I trust Krinka.”

  “We will speak to the Archivist then; I am sure this is something we can easily rectify.” Althara nodded as though the matter were as good as settled. She looked back to Sylva: “Now, I’ve stopped shrouding my aura. Watch the Sulphen around me carefully as I speak with Hadrian while my spell begins to consolidate.”

  “Now Hadrian, Casselia has explained the situation with your dual in two days to Meris of Clan Torthen. She has also explained her challenge to Dornogor. I judge both to now be a mistake. My presence will intensify your risk in an unacceptable fashion. You will need to renounce your intention to dual either Meris or anyone else in the arena.”

  Hadrian looked to Casselia and found her gaze fiercely watching him, though her face remained blank—impossible to read. He had never wanted to dual Meris; he had been tricked into it and, especially after learning that the magical shields wouldn’t protect him, had grown wary of the incoming match. Drakar had killed him dozens of times, but Hadrian could recover then. This was different, and some injuries wouldn’t just heal. Yet he thought he had no choice, not as the [Squire of Carven Bone].

  “I’m… not opposed to the concept, but—apologies if this sounds ignorant—I was under the impression that, as the [Squire of Carven Bone], I had to dual with Meris because of how he challenged me.”

  “That is true enough,” Althara said, her gaze downturned and her mouth set in a thin frown, as though she did not look forward to what she was about to say. “My firm… suggestion is that you renounce your class.” Hadrian froze. Did she really want him to renounce being Rovan’s [Squire]? Rovan had chosen him after meeting thousands of candidates—she wanted him to renounce that?

  “I wouldn’t be the [Squire of Carven Bone]?” The words were breathless, as though the tightness gripping his chest had pressed the air from his lungs and he were struggling to pull it back. “I would renounce Rovan?”

  “He wouldn’t take it personally,” Althara dismissed with a wave of her hand. Her eyes refused to meet his as he tried to piece together what she was asking of him. “Rovan’s squires rarely last more than a few months with the title. He would understand.”

  “Why? Why would I do that?” he asked, his head shaking side to side as he considered her request.

  “It would free you from your obligation to dual and remove much of the focus that you are currently drawing. I know that you don’t mind the attention, but it will likely prove dangerous for those you love.”

  Hadrian could hear the thumping of his heart in the silence following her words. Had that been a threat?

  “What do you mean?” he asked, his words suddenly firm and clear as they cut through the air.

  “Cutra is not a sanctioned city of the Sul Empire, Hadrian. It is an illegal occupation of Brood territory. The nearby Kumutara and Tisserandian hives could destroy your village, and we could do nothing in response without risking war. Hirion and the Kiel would love to see a regional war erupt with the Brood, but we cannot afford that right now as an Empire. Accordingly, any attention to Cutra in this moment could result in orders from the House of Lords to remove the settlement proactively.”

  “Why would they? We bother no one. We trade with the hives. Why would my being [Squire] make any difference?” He couldn’t understand it. He knew Cutra was controversial; he knew that expanding the empire would create enemies. But that shouldn’t have been related to his class. Rovan had picked him knowing what the consequences would be. If Rovan thought the risk was worthwhile, why shouldn’t Hadrian?

  “Because you wear a Fog Robe, boy,” Althara said quietly. “Do you not see the attention that will draw? If Cutra can afford to give that kind of wealth to a child, it will prompt investigation. A candidate wearing a Fog Robe is distinctive enough. With Rovan’s blessing, it would be inevitable that people began to investigate.”

  “Cutra gave me this robe. Rovan gave me my class. Am I supposed to feel bad about the gifts that others have given me? Who would be [Squire] instead in this grand plan of yours?”

  “Lotem,” Althara said, her tone reflecting none of Hadrian’s frustration.

  “Lotem?” Hadrian repeated, suddenly unsure.

  “The boy has a Numen bloodline—that will be good enough for the Titan to accept the arrangement. It would also void this dual with Meris. Once you win the contest and have the Wyvern, Lotem will be able to share the class skills with the beast. It is best for both of you. The only thing that is injured is your pride.”

  Hadrian didn’t feel as though his pride would be the only thing injured in the exchange. He would be breaking his relationship with Rovan Khal. He would be admitting that he was afraid of the duel and, in so doing, that he was admitting to failure. His parents had trained him to fight—they had trained him for exactly this; why wasn’t that enough? And who was Althara, Empress or not, to tell him his path without a word spoken directly to him?

  “Hadrian,” Casselia’s voice broke through his doubts like sunshine through the clouds. “It is your choice. But, for what it’s worth, I think Althara may be right.” Hadrian took a deep breath and released it as Casselia looked on, her expressionless mask broken to reveal the woman he had grown to respect. He remembered the last time they had spoken in this tree, and how Casselia had given him a choice. He looked pleadingly toward her and tried to make her understand.

  “You told me that growth demands risk, but that you thought I could do it—that I could be good enough.” A hint of accusation snuck into his voice. “Has that changed? I won my duals today! I can still beat Meris—we don’t need to get rid of my class.”

  “That hasn’t changed,” Casselia said, shaking her head. “But much else has, Hadrian.” She gestured to the sky, now dark with heavy cloud cover. The white clouds had begun to grow dark as they conversed, the near-twilight atmosphere enveloping the city. “The Empress has come and shared insights I once lacked. Moreover, this ritual of hers is going to call everyone in the region to Dornogor. Our gambit was not designed for that—not once the Empress arrived.”

  Althara watched their exchange calmly, her gaze moving between them and the sky with increasing satisfaction. Hadrian felt his body begin to shake as he tried to decide what he should do. He didn’t want to renounce his class. He wouldn’t hurt Rovan. Yet he trusted Casselia, and he knew that a rejection of the Empress’s request would now be a rejection of her advice as well. Would giving up his class protect Cutra as the Empress claimed? If so, he would do it in a heartbeat—anything to keep his village safe. Still, he had promised to do his best to grow strong enough to form a shrine in Cutra; was renouncing his class going against that promise?

  “When do I have to decide?” he asked Casselia, suddenly desperate for more time.

  “Lotem will arrive in a few hours, and we will need to discuss the situation with him. We will want to ensure that he has passed his first ascension, so that he can maintain his [Guardian] class—and he should be close enough. Empress, you would be amenable to ensuring that is the case, at least, correct?”

  “If needed,” Althara responded airily, as though the specifics were outside of her concern. Hadrian suspected she was doing something with that ritual spell of hers; he could feel a tension building in the air, though what it meant he had no idea. “Now that that is decided, Sealbearers, please escort them to the ground. And Sylva, don’t forget to watch the sky. You may learn something.”

  Althara rose from the branch, suddenly airborne as she rose into the sky, the fog robe around her darkening to reflect the color of the clouds above. Hadrian had begun to understand why they called her the Tempest.