“They accepted.” Thoms reported.

  “Really?” Taradira expected at least some pushback, some negotiating. This felt too easy, and put her on edge.

  “The troops are retreating to the southwest, and the militia have laid down their arms. Governor Polmgran wishes to meet you in the eastern market square. Large open area, we can easily surround it and prevent any kind of ambush.”

  Taradira rubbed her forehead. Paranoia would get her nowhere. “Let’s walk into the trap, then.”

  Governor Polmgran, a tall and chubby man with a receding hairline, met them in the market square as promised. Instead of guards, four unarmed men dressed in gaudy, colorful attire surrounded him.

  Taradira held out her hand, and the man hesitated only a moment before shaking it. “I’m glad we could come to an understanding,” She said. “However, I have an additional request of you. Are you on good terms with the emperor, or anyone in the capital?”

  Swallowing visibly, Polmgran nodded. “I have talked with his majesty several times, and my cousin is the main adviser to the minister of agriculture.”

  Smiling, Taradira held her hand out to Thoms, who presented her with a sealed envelope. “I want to invite the empire to peace talks at the earliest possibility. To end the war across the entire front.”

  All five men stiffened, the four behind the governor exchanging glances with each other while the man himself stared at the packet in Taradira’s hand. Slowly, he reached out and took it. “I will…see what I can do, General.”

  “Excellent. Now, I’d like to leave you in charge of most of the city's management. No need to disrupt a working system. The king has no desire to negatively impact the lives of his subjects.”

  “Yes, o-of course.” Polmgran nodded. “I will take care of it. If you would like, I have made a residence available to you in the city. The captain-“

  “Thank you for the offer, but my men and I will remain where we are, aside from a small detachment that will stay in the city to assist you.”

  Leaving Polmgran blinking, Taradira turned around and walked away.

  “When we get back to the camp, send a messenger to the king. He should know we’ve accomplished his order and will need negotiators. Then get me lieutenant Rodmar. He’ll be the best fit for this.”

  “Yes, general.” Thoms replied.

  Pulled roughly up from the floor where she was sleeping, Ferene found the guards grabbing her hands, trying to tie them together behind her back. She twisted, kicking out, striking one of them as she pulled away. There were six of them, however, and they quickly restrained her. Her bare hands and feet were of little use against their armor, though she did manage to knock one to the ground before she was pinned herself.

  Naked except for her smallclothes, she found herself led once more to the arena. Her bindings were cut right before she was pushed down into the entry nook, rolling as she landed. Before she could start to think through what was happening, the gate opened.

  The emperor’s coliseum roared today. A larger area greeted her, three times as large as before. A roaring crowd filled the benches above the walls, even though the sun had barely started to rise. She could see it framing the imperial palace, blocking her view of the emperor’s seat.

  Two men stood across from her, on the sand. The elderly, thin one wore a green and red jacket, shiny boots on his feet. The other stood in front of him, taller than Ferene and clad in heavy armor, a helmet obscuring his face, each hand holding an axe.

  A loud sound beside her drew her attention. Her sword, surrounded by sand still falling from the impact. Someone had thrown it down at her. The crowd roared louder as she picked it up, holding it in both hands and facing the armored man across from her.

  As her opponent approached her, the crowd grew silent. Ferene heard his footsteps and the clanking of his armor.

  “Is this a joke?” He asked, his voice echoing through his helmet. “If the emperor is going to make me fight a naked woman, he could at least give me a more attractive one.”

  Ferene eyed his weapons and adjusted her stance. Her sword was too large to effectively fight two weapons at once, so if he got close to her he could easily tear her to shreds. She should drop it, switch to her shorter weapon, and try to wear him down. She felt the sand between her toes. She could run, but the arena wasn’t that big.

  “Count Reistad has been accused by his own subjects of abuse of power. The claims brought against him include unlawful taxation, kidnapping, and murder.” Elhaten’s voice boomed out. Ferene didn’t take her eyes off her opponent, but she did see the elderly man behind him stand up a bit straighter. “He has claimed his innocence, but refuses to entertain a trial from the peasantry. Our benevolent ruler has given him a chance to prove himself in combat. Due to his age, he has been allowed to select a champion from his guard. Sir Andel represents him, and accepts that his abilities will carry the judgment for both of them.”

  The armored man lifted a hand, waving upwards, towards the palace.

  “He will engage the emperor’s chosen combatant in a fight to the death.”

  Despite his size and his armor, the man moved fast. As soon as Elhaten finished speaking, he burst into motion, charging Ferene, looking for a swift end to the fight.

  Scrambling backwards, Ferene blocked one attack, barely managing to twist away from the next. The third swing caught her, tearing a line across her left shoulder. She grit her teeth - such a shallow blow wouldn’t have pierced her armor, but now pain blossomed down her entire arm.

  Shifting her stance, she put all her strength into a wide, horizontal swing. The armored man backed away, easily stepping out of reach of the obvious attack. With space between them, Ferene dug her toes into the sand and pushed. She specialized in running, so she ran. Yelling, she charged him, taking another wild swing. This wasn’t like her fight with Linara. This wasn’t like any fight she’d had in years. She wasn’t in the imperial coliseum, she was in an underground pit, ringed by torches. She was fighting for her life while the men who tormented her and her mother laughed and placed bets. If she got hit the wrong way, she’d be dead. She and the other children were given rusty, stolen weapons. Too many mouths to feed, they had said, before turning them on each other.

  If she lost, they’d kill her, and they’d kill Jall afterward. She was fighting for him. The boy across from her wielded two decently sharp knives, while Ferene had only a wooden club.

  Unlike back then, she wasn’t gripped by fear this time. It wasn’t like that. It was the other way around, wasn’t it? Ferene wasn’t defending anyone. Jall was long dead, and she held something far better than a heavy stick. Her opponent was better equipped, but he was the one backed into a corner. How often did he fight with everything on the line this way? Duels with rules and judges? Skirmishes where he was surrounded by allies? At this moment, Ferene was in her element. All she had to do was kill this man and bring the person he protected to justice. She wasn’t defending Jall. She wasn’t defending Cerise. She wasn’t proving herself to the Hatharen. She was fighting to make the world just a little bit better.

  Yelling, she swung, driving Andel backwards. Her sword carried enough momentum with each swing to make him worry despite his armor. Ferene could feel her heart pounding as she moved, transitioning from swing to swing, easily correcting her balance to stay on the offensive.

  Andel tried to block her attack with an axe, only for her to slice through his weapon. Tossing the handle away, he ducked under her next attack, swinging at her torso. Ferene leaned to the side, letting the weapon impact her ribs vertically. Pain shot through her as the head buried itself in her bones. Her attacker made the mistake of trying to pull his weapon free instead of letting go. Ferene brought her sword down on the top of his helm a moment later. Metal screeched as it bent inwards under the force of her blow, and Sir Andel fell away from her, crashing heavily to the ground.

  Blood pouring from her chest and shoulder, Ferene stalked towards the count, dragging her sword behind her. He stared at her in horror, his face white. “I-“

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  She silenced him with a swing, separating his head from his body.

  The crowd was cheering. Putting the tip of her sword in the ground, Ferene freed her hand to grab the axe and rip it out of her chest, silently holding it above her head as she stared up at the imperial palace.

  Her vision swam as someone led her out of the arena, pulling off her smallclothes and washing her before wrapping her torso in bandages. Ferene didn’t resist, feeling faint. She knew she would survive, but she fought to remain conscious through the pain and blood loss. The attendants left her sitting on a wooden chair, naked except for her bindings, alone in a small room.

  “His majesty is very impressed with you.” Ferene slowly turned her head, seeing the old lady - Mara - walking into the room, pushing a handcart. “You are a terrifying one.”

  Ferene took half a breath, stopping short due to pain. Her mouth felt dry.

  “He shouldn’t test you any further, if that is what you are worried about. Your uniform is here.” She patted the pile of neatly-folded black cloth on the cart before picking up the comb and cord beside it. “I’m going to make you nice and presentable. I’d tell you not to fight back, but I don’t think that will be a problem in your current state.”

  There was no mirror this time, but Ferene could feel the woman take the same steps as before, tying her hair up behind her head, wrapping the cord around it to keep it in place. When instructed, she stood up, putting on new smallclothes and trousers before taking a jacket and pausing.

  The garment was heavy. She held it in both hands, twisting the fabric. It seemed to be several layers thick, with something hard pressed between. It wasn’t her first time seeing this style of armor, but the nature of the jacket eluded her until she held it in her hands. The feeling of not belonging came back, wrapping around her as she stood still, staring at her uniform.

  “Put it on.” Mara’s voice cut through her stupor, and Ferene took a deep, painful breath before donning the jacket. Black and green, with gold trim. As she fastened the gold-painted buttons, the weight seemed to vanish, settling across her body evenly. It did not feel like she was wearing armor when she stood still, and she only noticed the extra weight when she took a step, yet still it was not as heavy as it felt to hold. Mara produced a pair of shiny leather boots from the bottom of the cart, along with fresh socks. The final piece was a cloak, black on the outside and green on the inside, with golden tassels on the shoulders. “You look proper.”

  “Take your place.” The emperor said, gesturing to the side of his throne. Ferene walked forward, wearing her new uniform, one sword on her back and another on her belt. Elhaten’s eyes followed her as she approached, glaring, his jaw clenched. She reached the position beside the emperor opposite him and turned, facing into the throne room. The massive chamber was filled with people, standing in messy rows, staring up at the raised platform where the emperor sat with his two Hatharen. Ferene entered from a side door directly onto the platform, and didn’t see the audience until now, as they watched her.

  “Magnificent. Truly, you are magnificent. History is important. Traditions are important. People love history, they cling to traditions. It’s comforting. But there are some traditions that have a negative impact. People in power use their power to avoid trials, to avoid justice. Vile soldiers use their strength to avoid punishment for their crimes. Our traditions, our history values strength and power, but those are not always the most important things.” Ferene stayed still, her arms at her side. She wasn’t sure if Elhaten was still watching her or not. “The inherent problem is that the only way to combat the abuse of strength, the abuse of power, is with strength and power of your own. The masses can stand up against the one, but they should not have to. Not all those with strength and power need to be evil.” She heard him stand up, his cane tapping against the floor as he stepped forward, in front of her, addressing the room. “As the leader of this empire, I am here to protect you. But while I have power, I do not have strength. Ferene understands that those without strength need to be protected, and that is why she will be my blade. While the army fights an invasion from the east, Ferene is the strength that protects the people here.”

  The chamber remained silent, rows of people watching the emperor. After a moment, he turned, looking at Ferene, extending a hand to her. As she stepped towards him, the crowd erupted into applause, their eyes on her.

  “Kneel.” The emperor mouthed as he pulled back his hand the moment Ferene reached to take it. She followed his instructions, dropping to her knee beside him. She felt his hand tap her shoulder.

  “The Emperor’s Blade is a part of the emperor.” Elhaten’s voice rang out loudly, drowning out the cheers. “Her actions are his actions. The blood she draws is blood drawn by the emperor’s own hand. The judgments she carries out will be treated as if they came from the emperor himself.”

  “Rise.” The emperor said, just loud enough for her to hear. She came to her feet, and he nodded at her before turning and walking back to his throne. “Your new life starts today, Ferene.”

  “They found her.”

  Taradira raised an eyebrow at the messenger who interrupted her strategy meeting “Found who?”

  “Ferene. She’s…she is serving the emperor directly.”

  “Interesting.” Taradira leaned back in her chair, tapping a finger against her chin. What did that mean, exactly? The girl didn’t know anything about war. Turning her - however they managed it - did not help the empire. She wasn’t aware of Taradira’s plans nor close enough to her to predict her moves. Either Ferene was far more capable of bluffing than Taradira gave her credit for, or something else entirely was going on.

  This event was the first noteworthy thing to happen in the week since she took Barakin. Not scouting parties from the enemy, no acts of rebellion from the city’s residents. They simply waited, and it bored Taradira. She rotated her forces through different tasks, keeping a watch around the newly-established border, checking on the other captured towns, guarding supplies that came in from Naymoor. With the border city acting as a central hub for the invasion, all caravans stopped there before moving to various places. The annexed towns and cities could no longer trade with the empire, so Ettsgras supplied them with what they needed until peace could be established and trade started again.

  “Can we get a message to her?” Taradira asked, turning to Gelvain.

  He shrugged. “We can try, but it runs the risk of revealing one of our spies. It is very hard to get a spy into the imperial palace to begin with. Trying to deliver a message runs the risk of discovery, and your former friend might-“

  “Ferene is no more loyal to the empire than she was to Ettsgras.” Taradira cut him off. “She is an independent mercenary who worked with me because we share a common goal. She would not sabotage that goal. I don’t know what she is doing for the emperor, but I have full confidence that she is not working against me.”

  Gelvain frowned. “Despite your trust in her, I feel that the message is not for her to assassinate the emperor.”

  “Sending her a message isn’t worth the risk of discovery. Let her do whatever she is doing. Any word of our other lost lamb?” The messenger, still waiting, shook her head. “Very well. You’re dismissed, then.”

  Gallen kept his gaze on Taradira, his mouth curved downward. “What other lost lamb? The only other thing we are missing is that cavalry group, and Frennich assigned a few scouts to watch their movements.”

  “Don’t worry about it.” Taradira waved her hand. “We need to en-“ At the sight of Gelvain’s raised eyebrow, she stopped. “There was a small mercenary group that I dismissed before the war officially started. They went west after leaving the capital.”

  The other four at the table - Gallen, Frennich, and Gelvain seated, Thoms standing behind her - all remained silent for time. Gelvain was the first to speak. “Our initial advance seemed oddly easy. The enemy was slow to respond, as if their attention was split. You ordered this group to attack their back lines, before the war even started?”

  Slowly, she smiled. “I made no orders. The Lieutenant I assigned to oversee the group came to me with the idea of conducting raids. I objected to the use of such tactics, and they were discharged. Not under my command, as they were no longer part of the army. Returned all of the supplies they borrowed from us. I never saw them again.”

  Frennich frowned, Gallen looked shocked, but Gelvain smiled. “And you did nothing to forbid them from carrying out the plan they had.”

  “I told the man that I’d be charging him with misconduct for even suggesting such an idea, and he wouldn’t be welcome in the capital. I don’t think I ever got around to writing the document.”

  “And so Celngi’s eastern border was unprepared for our sudden offensive, despite months of time spent staring at our army. But now there is no sign of the former lieutenant or his mercenary company.” Matching Gelvain’s smile, Taradira nodded.

  “Also, there was a small group of Hatharen that showed up. I placed them in his unit before his eventual dismissal. They went with him. His entire unit is only forty or so, but given the state of the enemy during our advance, they are quite effective. We can also assume that if they were killed or captured, there would be some word about it. So, they are missing for now.” Taradira explained, looking down at the map in front of her. “Back to the matters at hand. Contact Coryan and him back. If we are looking for peace, threatening Galbr is no longer useful. We need to ensure we can defend what we have, show the empire that it will be too costly for them to take it.”

  Ferene spent her hours wandering the halls of the Palace. The emperor rarely needed her, and while she could stay by his side, he made no objection to her taking her leave, and she would rather not stand and be subject to Elhaten glaring hatefully at her every time he wasn’t in the emperor’s field of view.

  In addition to the fancy clothes, the opulent room, the overly soft bed, and the sheer decadence of the palace, Ferene hated being unable to kill the other Hatharen. She wanted to, but couldn’t bring herself to do it. She instinctively disliked him, but aside from capturing her, none of his actions marked him as evil. She could not kill someone based on a simple feeling. Not anymore.

  Also, he was her equal. The emperor would surely execute her. She could attempt to fight her way out, but that would simply be more killing. Elhaten wasn’t worth her own life, nor the lives of others. So she did her best to avoid him.

  Turning a corner, she found herself face to face with Ines. They both came to a stop, staring at each other.

  For several moments, they remained silent, not even breaking eye contact aside from the occasional blink. “Are all of you broken?” Ines finally asked, breaking the silence.

  Her mind went to Linara, the woman who smiled despite the pain she felt, until she finally broke and demanded a duel with Ferene, only to laugh when she lost. “The other one I know is.”

  Blinking once in response, Ines stepped around Ferene, silently walking away. Ferene didn’t turn to look at the woman, instead continuing forward. The people in this place made her as uncomfortable as the rest of it.

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