Agatha patted Sammy’s shoulder comfortingly. “I’m sure you can use an old, grumpy woman here, bossing some underlings around so they don’t get lazy. Who wouldn’t want that, after all?”

  It was meant entirely humorously. Sammy forced a smile. “Whatever it is that you desire here, it’s yours. Forever — or until the universe ends, anyway.”

  The marchioness winced. “Please don’t spoil me. Or if you do, as a reward for service.”

  “That’s not normally how things work here — look around you and see your existing reward for service. But if you want to create a structured schedule, I’m sure we can facilitate. When you’re not busy, you do and get whatever you want, though.”

  “I suppose it’ll have to do.”

  “You’ll survive, huh?”

  “Somehow, yes.”

  Sammy smiled authentically this time and Agatha shared it. “We’ll rely on you in the coming days with how to handle Mot Mekess after your death. We should find out who is responsible for your assassination, first and foremost.”

  “Are you certain that should be the focus, dear? It’s over with and it was most certainly one of those wanting my title. Perhaps it's one you don’t want taking over, but perhaps it actually is.”

  Sammy stared at her in disbelief. “You’d just forgive your own killer like that? And expect us to work with them?”

  “Well, that’s a stretch — I don’t forgive any of those arseclowns for their clownery. We’re talking about priorities, though. Removing a problem doesn’t have to be an immediate, rash act. Be practical about it. As I said, I was due to die. It would’ve been better had I not, but the consolation looks rather nice from where I’m standing. Don’t worry about me or some petty revenge you need to satiate for my sake. If you want to satisfy my desires, do what’s best for the realm above all — certainly above me.”

  Sammy nodded slowly. “So be it. That will be our approach, then. Our overarching philosophy, whatever we uncover.”

  Agatha gave a brief, sharp nod as she patted Sammy’s shoulder again. “Good, good. That-a-girl. Look, you have plenty of other things to deal with, I’m sure. Crow, myself, Servitors, your Brain Trust — a small army of your people can handle this matter, hmm?”

  “The hands and feet, yes. But I need to know the political situation, at the least. I can’t afford to be ignorant here, where I could make decisions or influence matters. It’s overdue, and being busy with ‘other things’ might’ve factored into your death.” Sammy held up her hand to stall any attempt by Agatha to massage away her responsibility. “I’m not taking the blame. I said it might’ve factored. You can understand how I’d want to prevent this from happening again? We need to look at this situation for room to improve.”

  I do take the blame, but she’ll never agree, so best to avoid the bull of the argument.

  Agatha took a deep breath, regarding Samantha calmly and soberly, and then finally gave another nod. “Well reasoned and you’re the boss. I’m not sure you can protect vulnerable public figures from an intricately planned assassination, however. There’s a certain high-tier price point that’s undeniable. The proper defense would be me being as capable as my station. That wasn’t the case. Whoever did this must be satisfied yet wincing at the cost. That… was quite a rare killer.”

  “Alright, so we can assume someone with extensive resources. Does it rule anyone out?”

  “I wouldn’t make assumptions. Baron Fallsland supposedly has some financial issues recently, but it could be a cover to divert suspicions. Count Ultaboro — the husband of my late husband’s niece, Natalie — is quite well-off, though a miser who’d even haggle with an assassin. The Lord of Mot Kodarion, my late husband’s nephew, Lord Gallust, could pull it off with various charmed backers.”

  “Huh. Are these the three among whom we’d choose as lesser evils to become… Marchon- no… uh, what’s it called again for the guys?”

  Agatha stared at her as if she’d gone mad. “Marquess.”

  “Right! Marquess. It was on the tip of my tongue! Anyway. Are these those three?”

  “Two. I’d sooner appoint the castle dog as see the vile Baron Fallsland as Marquess. If that happened, I’d go back down to Calrenazzod just to stab him through the heart. I was tempted to do so uncountable times in dealing with that creep and may have prevented a war between him and my husband once after an offense. I somewhat regret that now.”

  “Oookay then. That’s at least one your pragmatic side makes an exception for.”

  “Hardly. He’d ruin this whole region. As it stands, his spurious claim under the Protocols of Suitability — probably secured with bribes to certain Dominion authorities — is likely to generate immediate conflict unless he relents. Fallsland is a tough nut to crack, but not nearly as tough as the Baron’s smugness entails. If he pushes this issue, he’ll lose his Barony and his life, for certain.”

  A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

  “If he’s in financial trouble for real, could he be bribed out of his ambitions?”

  “Not just with coin. He’ll need some sort of satiation of that ambition. Some sort of land grant, or” — she shivered — “an arranged marriage. Gods help the girl that does.”

  Sammy frowned. “I don’t think I’ll be allowing that. So he’s single. And… let me guess. He wanted your hand?”

  The former marchioness grimaced with great sourness. “Let’s not discuss it. Nor suspicions about his poor, late wife’s ‘illness’ that facilitated his perception of an opportunity. Clearly, I’d been too nice to him in the past.”

  “Ugh. Alright. Not him, absolutely — got it. Who is the third option, then?”

  “The First Guardian of Oldaster, the dry and iron-hard Lord Doran. If it is possible to convince him. I’m not at all certain about it, because technically he’s supposed to secure Mot Mekess for the ruler, not become the ruler. But he has a strong claim by some relation and a greater dollop of the Dominion measure of things. Namely, because he is a clear Dominion loyalist and believer. Despite this, he’d be the most likely to put Oldaster first, out of all of them. He cares about this land, the giant asshole that he is. His sense of honor may make it impossible for him to agree to stake a claim, however. He’d also worry about the others making war over it.

  “I’m… honestly just not sure. They all dodged me like a prickly plant about brokering an agreed succession. If there is an arrangement, they succeeded in keeping it secret from me as they bided their time. Understand, I don’t get to decide fully. But I tried. I ended up drafting multiple Letters of Succession Desires as part of my will. Sir Jon Quinian will produce whichever is best, depending on the candidate preferred. It could be revealed immediately or it could be sequestered for ‘security’ if you will, and delayed until an agreement is reached.”

  Sammy was quickly growing to dislike the sound of things. “A Dominion gung ho type, and he’s the best, yet unlikely solution? Doesn’t bode well for the others.”

  Agatha sighed and turned to walk over to the edge of Heavenpeak, looking down on the cityscape below as the wind caught her dress and hair. “Only in my dated sense of things, Samantha. Oldaster’s sovereignty pales in comparison to what you bring. Will it even matter in the weeks and months to come? Revolution is on the horizon, and with it will come war. You should do what prepares for that, above all, as suits your agenda. Not mine. Mine is as dead as I am.”

  That gave Samantha some pause as her brain was more or less forced to consider it. A war of succession might weaken those that would become her allies — or soften them up for revolution in their lands.

  Yeah, sure. Let’s kill a bunch of people to suit the cause. Come on, brain.

  Sammy walked over to stand next to Agatha. “With something like this, I think it’s important to do what’s right. I’d want to strengthen the position of someone who aims principally to avoid bloodshed where possible. I understand we have to fight sometimes. But if diplomacy can do the trick, I’m all about making some compromise for peace. I don’t think the Borderlands are the habitats of my enemies. They can choose independence for themselves. If they march against what we raise up, which will go for the Dominion’s throat, that’s their choice.”

  Agatha smiled softly at her. “I’m afraid you’re being rather naive, Goddess. You can choose principle and honor, then end up getting twice as many people killed as you’re caught blindsided. You can’t have both honor and salvation of life. You’ll have to sacrifice one for the other. In my experience, anyway.”

  “I have to try. Which would you choose, then?”

  “It doesn’t matter. I think you’ll choose salvation, though. Once you hit your stride in all this. Assuming you keep your sanity when the chickens come home to roost.”

  “Is it really so bad? Must it be?”

  “Being a leader? Yes. In this world, it’s just the nature of power to pay in men’s lives, from the perspective of thousands of other leaders out there. They make your choice for you, you see? Your good intentions will make rivers of blood whatever you want. The key is to make the blood count. Nourish the future with it. Then you can know that they approve of you getting them killed because it made something better for their descendants and ideals.

  “You ordered them to the front line, and they went in obedience, but the choice to fight, that’s a higher thing. Your honoring of that choice is to succeed, to fulfill what they believed in. Short of that, you fight yourself to the end with all your strength… for what they believed in. That is the only way you’ll find solace in all the bodies you’ll bury.”

  Below, a flying chariot could be seen, pulled by two pegasi, ridden by three men, two of them painfully young, all looking out in wonder. One of them pointed out a giant roller coaster they passed to the others, and they laughed in amazement. The older gent had a woofing Mr. Perfect in his arms, ever doing his grand work of consoling the so recently departed.

  “This Heaven,” Agatha continued, “this quaint vacation of endless distraction, and even the engine of purpose it could grow to become, is small consolation if you fail in those ideals. If their goddess betrayed them — betrayed herself — it might as well be hell, because the life they lived and left behind, the very death they paid, will have all been for nothing.”

  Samantha watched the chariot pass out of sight, feeling her gut twist, knowing those men were deaths also while she was away. Men she didn’t truly know, but who still believed in her. Chose to follow her.

  ‘Just make it count.’ That’s what they’d say to me if they could be honest — even what Agatha herself is saying. It’s true, isn’t it?

  “I understand,” Samantha said. “I will.”

  Lawful Good is for dweebs!

  Next Chapter...

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