Ferene waited, alone in a posh, but scarcely-furnished room with her thoughts. The stones beneath her feet were polished to a shine, and tapestries hung on the walls, showing various landscapes. Yet there were no chairs or tables to be seen, just four walls, each with a wooden door.

  When Elhaten first took her captive, she fought back, but after that remained passive. A previous self would have struggled at even the slightest opportunity. Capturing her was not wrong, as much as she might not like it. She fought alongside Taradira, and against the empire. Why wouldn’t they capture her, their enemy? Was that a crime, and injustice? Did they deserve death for that? The doubts she had about participating in the war stopped her from acting out. The opportunity presented to her by the emperor gave her exactly what she wanted, even though he was supposed to be her enemy.

  As she started to think of him, one of the doors opened, and he stepped through, preceded by an armored guard and followed by Elhaten. Ferene hesitated for a moment, just long enough for him to raise an eyebrow at her, before she bowed.

  “It would be more proper to kneel, but you can be taught that in time. Rise, Ferene.” She straightened, meeting his gaze. “You have proven yourself, in both your ability and strength of your ideals. You proved that you are not simply a crazed vigilante, but someone truly interested in setting things right. I offer you the position as the Emperor’s Blade.”

  Elhaten, who had been smugly smiling, suddenly went pale, his mouth opening before he clenched his teeth, glaring at Ferene, his eyes wide in anger.

  “What would I do? Your majesty.”

  He grinned at her, resting both hands on his cane without leaning on it. “What you just did. Administer my justice in my name. Whenever something arises that would require me to fight, you would take my place. Trials by combat, mostly, but if someone wished to challenge me for the throne, you would be there to fight them. In an emergency, you would serve as a bodyguard, but that is not your primary role, and I would not ask you to constantly attend me. Quite the opposite, in fact - my physical presence is often requested elsewhere in the empire, and I am rarely able to attend. Justice needs to be administered far and wide.”

  As he talked, the emperor smiled confidently. What would he do if she refused? Did she even want to refuse? She had committed to learning from Taradira, but what she had learned made her question her decision. This was a way out. An escape.

  “I accept, your majesty.”

  Elhaten’s face twisted into a soundless snarl behind the emperor, who simply nodded, raising a hand and snapping his fingers. From the door to her side, two unarmed men stepped out, wearing tight fitting but unmarked white clothes. “If you are in my service, you will need a proper uniform, befitting of your allegiance and station. I will not demand that you discard the colors of Wellant, as I understand they were a gift, but you must not wear them while serving me. Go with these two.”

  Ferene blinked once, nodding as one of the two reopened the door they came through, bowing to her and gesturing her through. She took a step forward, and the other one walked in front of her, leading the way as the one holding the door fell in behind her.

  A dizzying number of turns later, she found herself standing on a wooden floor in a room filled with mannequins, shelves of cloth, and large tables. One of the two men pulled out a string, tapping her cloak, her armor, and her swords.

  “What?”

  He pointed at a small table by the door. Ferene shrugged, unstrapping her armor and weapons. The man nodded, stepping and taking her measurements, his hands firmly adjusting her posture. It reminded her of Relgren’s training. If she wanted to be able to return to the stronghold, Taradira needed to win a war against these people. Would these two die? Was that right?

  After each measurement, the one with the string made a hand signal to the other, who wrote something down. The two did not speak, even when they finished the measurements and immediately went to work grabbing cloth, laying it out on the table and cutting it. As they worked, an older woman entered the room, looking at the two men and then Ferene. “Come with me.” She said, and vanished behind a wooden divider Ferene hadn’t noticed. Following, Ferene found a simple chair placed in front of a mirror, a set of shelves beside it filled with various small implements, some Ferene recognized and many she didn’t. Various combs and bottles filled one shelf. “Sit.” The woman said.

  As soon as she did, the woman picked up a comb and moved behind her, brushing out her hair. Ferene stiffened, watching the woman closely in the mirror.

  “Don’t do that.” She instructed firmly. “If I wanted to kill you, I’d have done it as soon as I moved behind you. His majesty wouldn’t like that.”

  “Is there something wrong with my hair?” Ferene asked. She was hesitant to say what was on her mind. The palace was stifling. Just like before, she felt like she didn’t belong. She couldn’t say or do what she wanted, as long as she was here.

  “You have too much. Long and messy.” The woman reached over to the shelf, grabbing a long, thin piece of cloth. Ferene watched as she pulled her hair into a ponytail, leaving the locks hanging in front of her shoulders alone “Can’t go with a ribbon, not for the emperor’s blade. You must appear serious, not elegant. Rough and intimidating. That’s how his majesty wants you.”

  Elhaten stepped into Ferene’s view in the mirrow. “His majesty will grow bored of her soon enough, don’t waste your efforts.” His reflection sneered at her. “She’s a new toy, nothing more. In his excitement he gave her a position she doesn’t deserve. Once calms down, he will put her in a more proper place. A permanent fixture in his arena, to dispose of violent criminals for entertainment. She’s a stupid animal and that’s how she deserves to be treated - no amount of dressing her up will change that.”

  There was a small flicker of movement at the old woman’s wrist. While she held the hand of the brush, the head forward, her hand also held a knife, reversed, the blade resting against her arm. “It is unwise to speak of our emperor in such a way, even for one of your position.” Her stern voice turned cold.

  “Put the knife away, Mara. You might be wrinkly now but I remember when you were a small child, shaking in fear of the previous emperor’s guard captain. You can’t intimidate me, I know all your tricks.”

  There was a second flicker of movement, accompanied by a chuckle, and the knife was gone. Ferene adjusted her foot, her hand lingering above the opening to her boot, ready to grab her own knife.

  “If you aren’t aware of what is going on, don’t get yourself involved in it.” Mara whispered, taking a wide-toothed combo across Ferene’s bangs, straightening them. “We bare our teeth at each other, but we don’t bite.” In the mirror, Ferene saw her grin briefly before she turned around to face Elhaten. “The emperor will do what the emperor wishes, and I will follow the emperor’s orders.”

  The short Hatharen let out a loud sigh. “Just don’t do anything to get her a sense of importance. She shouldn’t get used to her current position. If you let a dog eat from the table it might start getting expectations.” With that, he walked out of Ferene’s view.

  “Don’t let him get to you.”

  Going well and going according to plan weren’t always the same thing. In this case, however, they were, but Taradira wasn’t satisfied with that. Everything was within the scale of her estimates, but she wanted to do better than that.

  Three times she clashed her army against the one defending the mining city, and three times they retreated after taking more losses than she had. The first engagement in the open outside the city ended swifty, the defending army downhill from the attackers, with Taradira’s own force charging down the mountainside to attack their flank. As they fell back, Taradira pursued, ending up fighting a second battle among the buildings outside the walls. Both sides engaged without their cavalry, the forces near useless in the tight spaces. The mix of militia, footmen, and archers fought hard, but still retreated to the wall in the end.

  The next day, Taradira’s forces took the outer wall. This was exceptionally bloody, the stones red and littered with bodies by the end of the day. A quarter of her men were dead, but she estimated the defenders were down to barely more than a half of their initial strength, with the militia likely facing a loss of hope.

  If Barakin surrendered, it would be enough to meet the king’s demands. Yet if she routed the enemy, the population requirement wouldn’t be met. Dead bodies couldn’t become citizens. Regardless of the outcome there, Celngi needed to accept the change of ownership and borders. Would they allow Ettsgras to take the city, or would they mount a counterattack to take it back? How many needed to die before this war ended? For her own plans, Taradira needed to minimize the damage to both realms.

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  It stressed her, and she hated it. Even her first few campaigns with the humans weighed less on her than this. Hundreds of years of planning lead her here, and with only a few wrong choices she could lose the opportunity. She knew this, prepared herself for this, told herself it worked this way, yet still she felt underprepared.

  “General.” Thoms said from behind her. She looked over her shoulder, seeing him smiling at her from the other side of the room. They took over one of the larger buildings outside the wall as her headquarters. “We will win this. You will win this. Don’t worry.”

  She didn’t think her anxiety showed, but somehow, Thoms could see it. How well did he know her? How well could he know her, after only a few years working with her? “I don’t expect to lose.” She responded, turning fully to him. “Things will happen after this. We are changing the balance of power in the region. What happens here will affect the independent lands, Wellant and Olentor, and even beyond.” She didn’t specify the mountains. She didn’t dare say it.

  “You can deal with it, General. I know you can.” He took a step towards her. “I trust you. The king trusts you. There isn’t anyone more ready for what’s to come than you are.”

  Taradira nodded, turning away from him, back to the table in front of her. Another map, of Barakin and the surrounding areas. “I want them to surrender. Send a messenger. Tell them they may evacuate their soldiers if they turn the city and the civilians over to us. The same terms of governance we offered everyone else.”

  “Are you sure, general?”

  “I’ll trade their army escaping for not having to massacre thousands. Has Frennich reported back yet?”

  Thoms nodded. “He sent a messenger. Reports that he is following them south at a distance, wary of them leading him into an ambush. They moved past Coryan’s force and kept moving. They aren’t in a position to threaten anything.”

  Rubbing her neck, Taradira let out a sigh. “It’s the perfect move. One hundred of anything else is obviously a distraction, but a cavalry force that size is a threat if they show up during a battle. By the same logic, they are too valuable to use just to confuse me. They must be doing something. Do we have any word on who is in charge of their movements?”

  “We have yet to hear from any of our spies in the imperial capital.”

  “Very well. Send the envoy. It’s time we move onto the next phase.”

  The clack of wood on wood echoed across the arena. Ferene twisted away from her opponent’s strike, swinging her own mock weapon and impacting the woman on her side, the force sending her stumbling after her own strike put her off-balance.

  In the past, Ferene would have written her off as inexperienced, but she could tell that wasn’t the case. It was very subtle, but the woman was faking it. Her strikes were ever so slightly slow, just a tiny bit off-target. The minor change made them easy to avoid while the tell wasn’t overly obvious, and the soldier held her sword wrong, in a clearly inexperienced grip, not the hold of an experienced fighter.

  “Why are you doing that?” Ferene asked, tossing the practice sword from one hand to the other, then back. While none of the options matched her two-handed weapon, this one was identical to the size of her short sword, though notably lighter.

  Her opponent wiped the sweat off her forehead, running her hand back a second time to fix her short-cut, light-brown hair. “Because I’m putting on a show.” She said, before spinning into an elaborate overhead strike that Ferene quickly stepped away from, only to have to block anyway as her opponent transitioned into a kick aimed at her chest.

  Kicking up sand as she retreated, Ferene took a moment to look upwards. Was the emperor somewhere in the sparse crowd that filled the benches today? She didn’t find him before she was on the defensive again, blocking another flashy swing. The woman interrupted her breakfast to demand a training session, and only now after a dozen rounds - all in Ferene’s favor - did she switch from her amateurish style to an equally ineffective theatrical one.

  It annoyed Ferene.

  Was Elhaten right? Was she simply a playing of the emperor, or was he testing her? If she was being tested, why did he not tell her? Why did her opponent not fight seriously?

  Ferene stepped into the next attack, slapping her opponent's sword aside and driving an elbow into her chest. The woman twirled with the blow, dropping her weapon and grabbing Ferene’s arm. Suddenly their legs were in a tangle and the two fell to the ground, grappling with each other.

  One hand went for Ferene’s eyes while the other dropped lower. She made a grab at both, managing to catch the woman by her wrists. While one hand was empty, fingernails just barely too far to scratch Ferene’s eyes, the other held a dagger. A real, metal bladed weapon. Ferene twisted that wrist, causing her opponent to drop it. The two separated, Ferene not trying to hold her. “Good catch! You’ve exhausted my tricks, so I’ll have to withdraw.”

  She could only feel confusion. “Why didn’t you just fight properly?”

  The shorter woman tilted her head, smiling. “I’m not a proper fighter. I’m small and weak. I’m a circus performer.” She winked, before surging forward, stopping at arm’s length, just out of Ferene’s reach. “And an assassin.” She whispered. “Not exactly someone who would fight you head on. I gave it a shot under the conditions applied to me. If I was free to eliminate you with my own choice of method, you would never have seen me.” With that, the woman bowed, turned, and left.

  Ferene turned towards a gate on her own, walking up the staircase and finding the emperor waiting for her, Ines at his side. She stared at the two of them for a moment before remembering to kneel.

  “Rise.” He commanded. “You did well today. I am told your uniform will be ready tomorrow, and you can take your place formally. For the rest of the day, I leave you in the captain’s capable hands.” With that, he walked away, not looking back.

  Meeting Ferene’s eyes, Ines remained expressionless. Ferene studied her for a moment, before realizing her ponytail was almost the same as the captain’s. It felt wrong for some reason. She never thought about how her hair looked before, but something about sharing the look bothered her.

  “You can just go back to your room if you want.” Ines said, crossing her arms. “If you want to wander around, I’ll have to follow you, but I’m not going to stop from going anywhere.”

  She didn’t want to go back to her room. While it was scarcely decorated, the few furnishings it contained didn’t work for Ferene. She slept last night on the floor, wrapped in a blanket from the bed. She was once again in a palace, and she still didn’t fit in.

  Realization hit her, and she blinked twice, frowning. If she looked like Ines, she looked like she fit in. Changing herself to be part of the palace. Becoming someone different, if even in this small way, not for herself but for another. This was an adaptation for survival, but she wasn’t desperate, panicked, like the girl she used to be. This was calculated. She accepted an offer instead of fighting back at every moment. The idea that she didn’t need to fight the emperor or his guards sat firmly in her mind.

  Had she fallen for his trick? Was there a trick here?

  “Are you still going to refuse to talk as much as possible? We’re working for the same person now. I’m here to help you.”

  Ines’ words snapped Ferene out of her thoughts. “I can go anywhere?” She asked.

  “Some of the imperial guards might stop you, but I won’t. I just have to follow you around.”

  “Is Elhaten the only Hatharen here?”

  A smile crept across Ines’ features. “Do you want to meet them?”

  The way she asked the question - slowly, heavily, staring directly into Ferene’s eyes - sent a chill down her spine, but she nodded.

  Up and around in circles, they climbed a dizzying number of stairs. Every dozen steps there was a window, and Ferene caught glimpses of the city below them, before it gave way to the landscape of the surrounding area. Gently rolling hills covered in greenery stretched out as far she could see.

  “Here.” Ines announced, stopping at the top of the staircase. The landing was simple, with a table against the wall across from the stairway, and two doors along the other walls, facing each other. An armored guard stood at each one, their hands empty but swords strapped to their waists. Weapons not for defending the stairway, but for fighting in the close quarters against someone coming through the doors, which opened outwards, into the landing, rather than inwards to the rooms. They were also barred. “Pick a door.” Ines said simply.

  Ferene looked at her, then to the door on her left. “That one.” Ines made a gesture, and the guard slid the bar out of the way and opened it.

  Inside, a male Hatharen sat in a chair, reading a book. “Go away.” He called out, not even turning to look. Ferene stepped forward, into the room. There was a bed, a table with several plates piled on it, and a large bookshelf filled with large tomes.

  “You are being visited by the emperor’s blade. Greet her properly.”

  Letting out a sigh, the black-haired Hatharen set his book down, turning to look at her. He immediately frowned. “This isn’t one of mine. Is your emperor keeping more of my people somewhere?”

  “My father is far away from here.” Ferene told him.

  “That’s where you should be. Is Elhaten still alive?” Ferene nodded. “There were two other children his age. They are both dead. Now go away. From my room and from this city. I’d tell you to take my son with you, but he’s too far gone.” He picked up his book and went back to reading. Ferene stared at him for a moment before stepping back out of the room, watching the guard close and secure the door.

  “Is that Elhaten’s father?” Ines nodded in response to the question. “What happened to the other two?”

  “They died, like he said. I wasn’t alive then. Elhaten might know more, if you can stand talking to him.”

  “Do you hate him?”

  “Other door now.” Ines said, turning and gesturing to the guard. The second room was a perfect mirror of the first, but the table was filled with stacks of loose paper. A single ink pen sat in the center of it. The room’s sole occupant lay on her bed, staring upwards at the ceiling.

  Ines walked into the room, standing next to the bed and tapping the woman’s shoulder, twice. “Lisha.”

  The Hatharen woman shook her head and sat up, pressing her fingers to her temples. Her eyes looked first to Ines, then to Ferene. Blinking twice, she stood up, walking over, slowly, her golden irises not leaving Ferene’s face. Extending one hand, she touched Ferene’s nose, then traced her cheekbone, down to her chin before turning away and sitting down on the edge of the bed.

  “Who is she?”

  Ines hesitated for a moment, looking down at the woman. “A prisoner, just like the other.” She finally said, walking past Ferene, towards the door. “Your visit is over.”