Isabella admired the beautiful gray bird perched before her with a red tail of feathers. She moved her head, and it moved with her, roaming side to side. She had been trying to create this spell for the past three days. Three days of enduring indignities from the Inquisitors, the nuns, and the paladins. But now…

  “I’ll admit that I’m impressed, girl,” Igraine said as she watched from the side. “I wouldn’t call you a genius. My son’s a genius—he learned this spell on his first try,” she said proudly. “But you… have a certain persistence born of passion. That’s something that can’t ever be taught.”

  With such praise levied, Isabella could only smile. Igraine was right—once she’d been taught the fundamentals of crafting a familiar, she’d slammed her head against the wall again and again until she’d gotten it right. And now she could feel it. This construct made of her own magic looked as beautiful as its model, Captain. The parrot had been a splendid model for her familiar.

  Isabella had known from the outset that a bird would be her familiar. It was because she always had a particular dream in mind.

  “I’d like to fly,” Isabella said, looking back at Igraine. “In fact… I have something that I’d like to deliver personally.”

  “…I’m afraid the problems with forming your mana lock at such a late age are manifesting,” Igraine said. “I doubt you have the magic to fly for a long period of time.”

  “It’s not far. Within the city,” Isabella said.

  “Even so, do you want to risk the spell failing and your delivery crashing down to the streets below?” Igraine questioned.

  Isabella felt a little crushed to hear that… but even flying a little sounded like so much fun. She was eager to try it out.

  “If you ask… I might be willing to lend you some of my magic,” Igraine said.

  Isabella walked forward. “Please?”

  “Please what?”

  “Please, teacher?” Isabella said with a smile.

  “Oh, very well.” Igraine smiled and pinched Isabella’s cheek. “What exactly are you delivering?”

  Isabella walked over to her desk, and her familiar flew to her shoulder. “I’m merely returning what’s been placed on my doorstep,” she said, picking up the bundle of documents that were to be released. “The first thunderbolt in a long storm.”

  ***

  Isabella soared through the sky, peering out across the land in the dead of night. Valerio may have sailed the seas, but now she sailed the skies themselves, watching through the eyes of her bird familiar. Nothing could be more exhilarating, nothing more life-giving. She was free—she was well and truly free. Free to do as she pleased, without worrying about who saw or what they thought.

  It was cumbersome at first, but as she adjusted and gained insight from Igraine’s commentary, she had gotten the hang of it. She flew down as gracefully as she could in her familiar’s body, landing on a building with a gray roof. Her eyes scanned the sign—the House of Jan Hus. She hopped from roof tile to roof tile, nearly tumbling off the roof at one point, until she found an open window for their carrier pigeons.

  Isabella hopped inside, where various pigeons roosting for the night flapped madly. Then, she raised her bird-like leg up, grabbed the string, and deposited the package. She made sure it was visible… and then she left the way she’d come, flying out into the open night sky.

  ***

  “I managed to deliver Alistair’s thesis to the printing house, alongside payment enough to get it printed,” Isabella said as she sat with Valerio the next morning.

  The holy paladins were near, observing. They were always here, these days. A constant reminder. When Gaspar wasn’t present, they were belligerent… but not bold enough to listen in on their conversation uninvited. Even still, they spoke in hushed tones.

  “And you think they will?” Valerio pressed. “Why not just take your money and do nothing?”

  “Because these people make more money based on what sells, and I think the translated Six Errors is something worth printing,” Isabella outlined succinctly.

  Valerio looked annoyed. “These brutes have carted away my coffee beans, claiming that they’re checking if they’re poison.”

  “Your coffee beans? The horror. What cruel and unusual punishment,” Isabella said dryly.

  He glanced at her with some fire in his gaze, but laughed and shook his head. “Already expecting a headache. Don’t make it worse.” Valerio spun his dagger through his hands in annoyance. “Right now they’re being nothing more than irritations.”

  “And by getting irritated, you’re giving them exactly what they want,” Isabella pointed out.

  Valerio sighed. “Pius has been looking into my shipping routes. Auditing them, I can tell. He’s good at sniffing out money. I don’t like it. But… still. This is my choice, and I don’t regret it.”

  “Are you sure?” Isabella asked. “You could always do what I first suggest—”

  “No,” Valerio said. “Stop bringing it up.”

  Isabella secretly smiled. She was beginning to let her guard down around Valerio, and while that might be ill-advised, she genuinely couldn’t see any benefits for him taken by her side in the midst of all this. There was no reason for him to do this. He was standing up against unimaginable pressure for her benefit alone. It was heartening… and frightening. She wasn’t sure she could survive having the rug pulled out from under her once more. If he abandoned her now, it might break her.

  “Would you like me to tell you what I think is going to happen?” Isabella asked, hoping to assuage his concerns.

  Valerio looked at her. “Sure.”

  “When Archbishop Pius gets the news, I have little doubt that he’ll react in a very wise, restrained way,” Isabella said, picturing the image in her head. “For all his faults, he made it where he is for a reason.”

  ***

  Pius sat with his son, Cesare, in a relatively secluded part of the palace of the archbishop. They enjoyed a sumptuous meal together.

  “Prince Amaury been particularly troublesome to Claude,” Cesare said. “He’s been trying to gather support in the hinterlands—raise up an army to claim the throne. It’s nothing serious… yet. Albert and I have been planning something together to take care of him. But… the blame, naturally, will rest on Duke Valerio. I have a very convincing trail of evidence to leave. Gaspar will be able to follow it.”

  “Assassinating a royal?” Pius rubbed his chin. “That’s risky business.”

  “If we can’t find evidence of wrongdoing, we’ll have to make some,” Cesare said. “You wanted results, father. I’ll give you results.”

  “Do you trust the people doing the task?”

  “I’ll have them killed when they’re done,” Cesare said. “It’s simplest that way.”

  “Hmm,” Pius said, smiling proudly. “You seem to have taken to your new position well.”

  “Albert’s a good employer. He throws money at me proportionate to the results that I give him, and he doesn’t balk at… extreme methods. My problem was never skills, father. My problem was always resources.” He raised up a glass of wine. “When this contract is done with, I think I can break from the Court of Condottieri permanently and strike out on my own.”

  Pius cut open his steak. “Perhaps I was wrong about you. I was committed to having you earn special privileges… but it seems you rise to the challenge, don’t you?”

  “Whatever you need from me,” Cesare promised. “Just ask.”

  As father and son enjoyed a moment of harmony, the door opened, and a monk of the convent walked in. “Archbishop,” the man said breathlessly. “I have some news that I believe you’ll need to hear.”

  “Speak freely,” he said to the monk, gesturing toward Cesare. “He’s trusted.”

  “Alistair of Veymont’s thesis, the Six Errors, has been translated into the common tongue and published widely,” the monk said. “It’s… causing quite the stir.”

  Pius frowned in annoyance. He had read that thesis—most had, by this point. He had been doing his best not to comment on it too much publicly in the hopes that it would simply wither into obscurity with the passing of time as so many theses presented before the church often did.

  “Is Alistair responsible?” Pius asked.

  “Actually, he wrote a letter of apology,” the monk said, holding out a paper. “He said that he was unaware who had done so, and that he was an ardent defender of the church.”

  “He recanted?” Pius asked.

  “No, but…”

  “Reach out to the printing house that’s released the document for some more information,” Pius said, then considered the implications. “It’s annoying, but… if he went public, we’ll have to give some concessions while punishing him mildly. How widely has it spread throughout the capital?”

  “Quite widely, sir. His Six Errors appear to have resonated with the people,” the monk said quietly. “And moreover… several priests in the capital have already been addressing their congregations with these Six Errors, criticizing the church indirectly with the use of scripture.”

  Pius accepted the information calmly, then exhaled. “I… see. That’s unideal. It must’ve been someone within the church, given the subject matter.”

  “Want me to look into it?” Cesare asked.

  “No. You’re busy with Albert,” Pius said firmly. “But… it seems I’ll be busy as well. Have to deal with an infestation before it spreads, after all. We’ll give some concessions where necessary, while ruthlessly eliminating the traitors within.” Pius stood up, fixing his unstained white robes. “We’ll hold an ecumenical council to discuss the Six Errors. Have Alistair as one of the presiding bishops. Even if he’s not responsible, we have to make him happy if things have gone this far.”

  ***

  “it’s the smart thing to do,” Isabella said. “After all, the church has survived for this long by being able to weather criticism and absorb it into the hierarchy. Dissidents naturally lose any fervor behind their cause when it feels like they have a voice that matters, and a seat at the table.”

  “But still, you think that it’ll be enough to pull Pius off our backs?” Valerio asked.

  “No,” Isabella shook her head. “If you want to make someone act irrationally, you have to strike at something that matters to them.” She looked at him. “Like the way they took your precious coffee beans.”

  Unauthorized reproduction: this story has been taken without approval. Report sightings.

  Valerio smiled. “And what are the coffee beans that we’re taking away?”

  “I’m thinking of attacking seeds of a different kind.”

  ***

  Pius walked out of the council chambers, having just had a productive session with King Claude. They were codifying certain rights that nobility had—foremost among which prohibited unjust executions, as had been carried out against Count Faust. Now, every noble would have the right to a trial by a jury of his peers. Pius thought it foolish to diminish royal authority in this fashion, but it only benefitted him, so he’d been a vocal supporter.

  “Pius…” one of the cardinals approached him urgently. “Something’s come up.”

  Pius looked around, then followed his cardinal to a more private area. “What is this?”

  “Another thesis has hit the streets,” the cardinal said grimly.

  Pius closed his eyes and exhaled deeply, then looked over. “Its contents?”

  “The author released an account of the church’s misdeeds in line with the Six Errors. They explain how our actions violate the Eternal Word, and suggest nonviolent ways to protest—refraining from tithing, refusing church attendance, pulling donations, et cetera,” the cardinal said. “As an explosive opening, they’ve revealed…” the man swallowed.

  “Go on,” Pius insisted.

  “This particular article was on the practice of the… concubinage fee that you instituted,” the cardinal said. “There’s been… a comprehensive list of notable offenders attached. First among them… bastard children born to high-ranking members of the clergy. Namely—"

  “Myself and Cesare,” Pius finished, then began massaging his forehead.

  “Not only yourself, sir. Countless bastard children have been exposed—many of whom weren’t even revealed to the public,” he said. “It’s a disaster. A bloody, bloody disaster. It’s absolutely outraged the people of the capital. And as a consequence, the story is leaking to the other cities.” The cardinal shook his head and continued, “For those that can’t read, they’re shouting them aloud. Many suggest refusing to recognize any clergymen that violated the issues outlined in the Six Errors, and some have already vowed to withhold tithes and cease church attendance both.”

  Pius stood still for a solid minute, thinking. “Cancel the ecumenical council. Call all of the cardinals.”

  “And what will you do?” the cardinal asked.

  “I’ll try and fix this.” He patted the man’s shoulders. “Just have everyone gathered within two days,” Pius said.

  ***

  “Once we make it personal, the church will be much less willing to compromise,” Isabella reasoned. “At least, not with those they think are responsible for this. Pius himself will be paranoid, vindictive. But I’ve done this very discreetly, moving in the dead of night with a very obscure route. There’s no way it’ll link back to us.”

  “And what do you think Pius’ lack of compromise will mean?” Valerio pressed.

  “I think that Pius will attempt to crack down hard on Alistair.” Isabella to him. “Do you remember when I mentioned that the church suppressed dissidents by welcoming them? Conversely, when you censor someone, when you attempt to silence them without giving their words any consideration, they become radicalized. Censorship doesn’t simply make ideas cease to exist—they need to be addressed, or the ideas will fester and spread until they emerge with more conviction than before.”

  ***

  Isabella perched on a dainty house overlooking a busy square in Dovhain. There, Alistair of Veymont gave a fiery sermon to an eager crowd of what might’ve been five thousand. He stood before them with a parchment in hand. He held it high for all to see.

  “This here…” Alistair shook the paper. “…is the voice of men who mistake themselves for gods! A decree not from the heavens, but from halls gilded in stolen coin! That palace on the hills!” Alistair pointed toward the archbishop’s court.

  He tore the seal and unfurled the parchment slowly, theatrically. “Archbishop Pius penned this in concert with other churchmen—an archiepiscopal bull. They say I am to be excommunicated if I do not recant.” The proclamation had weight. A bull couldn’t be easily disregarded. Alistair continued, “Cast out. Silenced. And for what? For daring to name the rot that festers in sacred robes? For daring to say that they are fallible men, not gods?!”

  The crowd murmured. Some gasped, some jeered.

  “I will not tremble before a threat written by cowards with ink bought by their own hypocrisy. The debased cannot claim the right to shepherd men away from debasement!” Alistair lit a stick from a nearby torch and held it to the edge of the archiepiscopal bull. The flame licked the parchment, and he let it fall into the brazier before him. The fire roared to life.

  “I will be judged,” Alistair said, eyes alive as he turned back to the crowd. “But not by those men in that gilded palace! I will be judged by the gods alone!”

  The people roared.

  ***

  Isabella shook her head. “Alistair won’t back down, not for a moment. There’s nothing more dangerous than telling a man with total conviction that he’s wrong. You saw him—saw how charismatic he was. He’ll win support, no question about it. And it’ll spread beyond the capital quickly.”

  Valerio crossed his arms ponderously. “And what do you think Pius will do then?”

  “When you see that you’re overextended in the battle, what would you do?”

  “Fall back, if possible,” Valerio concluded.

  “While minimizing losses,” Isabella concurred.

  ***

  Valerio and Pius walked side by side through the duke’s private shipyard. A brand-new ship was being assembled of the finest woods, even now. Gaspar and countless other holy paladins trailed nearby, offering security while the shipwrights labored.

  “Fortune seems to have befallen you. It seems as though you’ll be welcoming your twenty-third ship into your fleet,” Pius noted, gesturing toward the ship in construction.

  “Ever since trade opened up with Ambrose on account of my bounty being removed, I’ve been able to expand my business in a peaceful and profitable way,” Valerio confirmed.

  Pius nodded solemnly. “As I’m sure you’re aware, I’ve been tracking just how much money these ships of yours earn. Your ships are cutting edge, and they sail to the very end of the earths. You’re one of the main importers of precious goods like spices and perfumes.” Pius looked over to Valerio. “You hide your wealth very well. No significant lands or estates. But with twenty-two ships, each importing incredibly high-margin goods, you must be making a fortune.”

  Valerio didn’t say anything as he watched one of his ships come together, waiting for Pius to bring up his proposal.

  “I don’t want to grind your business to a halt. All I want is a fair take,” Pius said. “You don’t pay tithes on account of not having subjects, but I’m sure that you make almost as much gold as any other duke except Albert.”

  “And?” Valerio asked.

  Pius stopped and looked at Valerio plainly. “25% of your trade income, and the Inquisition stops.”

  Gaspar, escorting them, shook his head subtly. It was clear he disapproved of the extortion, but Valerio was the only one to take notice.

  “A tithe is a tenth,” Valerio pointed out. “Why should I pay more?”

  “Back taxes,” Pius said. “For cheating the church of its share for so long.”

  “10%,” Valerio stood his ground.

  “25%, but after a year, we’ll drop it down to 10%,” Pius countered.

  “10%.” Valerio repeated. “You’re having troubles in the capital right now. Why else would your security be so heavy right now?” He looked around. “People are outraged.”

  Pius looked at the ship, hesitating. Then, he turned back. “Very well.”

  “We’ll talk about the details tomorrow,” Valerio said.

  “Fair enough,” Pius nodded.

  ***

  “He’ll extort me? That’s—"

  “But you won’t give him anything,” Isabella interrupted with a raised finger. “Say you’ll talk about the details later, but commit nothing. Once he offers concessions, that’s when you’ll know that he’s been hit hard. He’ll act as though he’s doing you a mercy, but really, he’ll be scared.”

  Valerio looked intrigued. “Scared of what? How could we hurt him?”

  “Do you think that the other nobility won’t have taken notice of the fact that Duke Albert and the church have partnered?” Isabella shook her head. “That’ll raise alarm bells. Those two factions are the largest in the kingdom, perhaps even stronger than the crown itself when combined. All of the other nobles will be scared of what can be done if they stay together. They’ll try to suppress them.”

  “How?” Valerio asked.

  Isabella drummed her fingers on the table. “If you attend a royal council, I believe you’ll find some unlikely allies. And when an opponent overextends… if you don’t punish them, that’s simply foolish.”

  ***

  “So it is that henceforth, all serfs will be branded criminals if they attempt to flee the land they’ve been assigned to.” Claude read the law that had been proposed to him and passed by his council somewhat uneasily. “Everyone here assures me that this will be in the best interest of the kingdom, and so I will trust your judgment as lords of this land.” He looked around. “Are there any other matters to bring up in this council?”

  Valerio leaned in. “I would raise an issue, Your Majesty.”

  King Claude regarded him evenly. “Lord Admiral. You don’t often come to these council meetings. What would you bring up?”

  Valerio faced Pius. “I would seek remuneration from the church for an unjust Inquisition levied upon me.” He looked back at the king. “They’ve claimed that I’m to be subject to an Inquisition on account of having no bishop in my lands. This is despite knowing the fact that there is no population in the chain of islands that I own.”

  King Claude nodded evenly. “Would anyone support this claim?”

  It was a question of courtesy alone, but surprisingly several spoke up.

  “His claim is sound. A man cannot be faulted for the absence of a bishop where there are no souls to shepherd. The Inquisition reeks of opportunism, not justice.” Baron Merenal adjusted his heavy collar.

  Count Darneth spoke next. “Valerio has ever been loyal to the crown and prudent in governance. This Inquisition is not piety—it is politics.”

  “Strange, is it not, that the church finds its tongue when there are estates involved? I stand with the Lord Admiral.” Prince Halric leaned back in his chair.

  Prince Dreux tapped the table once. “If the Isles are uninhabited, then the matter is ecclesiastical only in name. If an Inquisition was raised for that reason, the duke is owed amends, not accusations.”

  On and on supports of Duke Valerio’s claim for redress went, countless nobles showing overwhelming support.

  Eventually, King Claude looked toward Archbishop Pius, whose face looked more haggard than usual. “Archbishop, do you have a defense?”

  Pius was silent for a long time, toying with papers placed in front of him. Eventually, he nodded. “Redress is… justified. What would you ask?”

  “For our Inquisition to cease, obviously,” Valerio responded. “For all the things taken from my home to be returned, at once.”

  “Done,” Pius conceded.

  “And…” Valerio continued, staring into his white eyes like a tiger hunting a deer. “Considering how you’ve disturbed a royal princess and disrupted my schedule massively, I’d ask that the church pay the customs for my shipping vessels this year.” Valerio tapped the table. “I believe you should be intimately aware of how much is due by this point, given how much effort you’ve expended looking into my shipping routes in your attempts to extort me,” he finished with a wicked smile.

  King Claude looked at Pius expectantly.

  Pius ground his teeth together. “…half the customs,” he bartered bitterly.

  “That’ll suffice,” Valerio said, leaning back into his chair. He had an unmistakable expression of victory.

  ***

  Isabella and Valerio watched as one of the holy paladins set down a barrel. Valerio peeled the lid off, revealing a bunch of roasted coffee beans. The holy paladin retreated back, likely to retrieve more things.

  “I imagine today’s coffee will taste rather sweet,” Isabella said, looking at him playfully.

  Valerio laughed, but his expression slowly sobered until he looked at her with some confusion. “I don’t understand how you did all of that.”

  Isabella picked up one of the beans. “You were with me the whole way. You saw all I did. Whenever someone attacks, they have to risk something. We just retaliated accordingly… and won, I should think.” She set the bean back down.

  “How did you know those clergymen had those hidden bastards? How did you know about Alistair, and his Six Errors?” Valerio looked at her intently. “How in the world could you read this situation so well while you were tied up by Pius’ Inquisition?”

  “The royal court was no less stifling than his petty Inquisition,” Isabella argued. “I’m used to it.”

  “And you did unexplainable things in the royal court as well—those artists, Archduke Felix’s ambitions, the ambassadors. There’s something you’re not telling me,” Valerio said, and she looked at him. “I’m not demanding anything. I’d just like to say that trusting me has historically worked out very well for my people.”

  Isabella bit her lip anxiously. The thought of telling him the truth spurred more anxiety than she thought. If he knew the truth—that this was some manner of foresight, and not any genuine talent—would he think less of her?

  “We’ve removed the Inquisition off our backs, but after the council meeting… Pius won’t let this rest, I shouldn’t think. But his grip is weak,” Isabella continued, hoping he wouldn’t press the matter. “All we have to do is peel his fingers away, and watch him fall.”

  Valerio looked at her, a strange look in his very dark eyes.

  “I understand what you’re saying. Just… please give me time to think,” Isabella finally said, unable to meet his gaze.

  Valerio gave her a nod.