Laczlo stood at a balcony overlooking the northern end of Delues’s Throat with his hands on the finely carved cedar railing, his freshly shaven face pointed away from the busy waterways of the city. He was looking over his shoulder expectedly. It wasn’t often a voivode had to wait for meetings. But the Olverins, the servant informed him in all apologetic manners, were quite busy indeed.

  Busy scrambling to determine a proper response to my sudden arrival, he thought with a sigh. If they didn’t know about his involvement yet—and they likely didn’t, based on his well-placed bribes finding no Vasian messengers arriving in the last few days—then, for them, it would be a delicate thing indeed. He’d considered bringing Silene but figured the Olverins could speak Vasian well enough that it wasn’t worth the risk. It was nearing the evening of his third day in the city, and she had been getting restless. She’d offered to help, to spy in her own manner, but he’d turned her down at every turn. It simply wasn’t worth the risk. What if someone recognized her? What if it was a trap, and she was the first taken? What if such traps were already in the works? And to make it worse, Mikha had been even more distant and cold, giving Laczlo further reason for concern.

  He did, however, have his druzhina close at hand, with Isak having actually followed him inside the manor, standing only a few paces away, silent and still as stone. It made Laczlo feel more confident knowing his men, recently resworn, were ready and prepared. Negotiations could, at any time, turn sour, and negotiations with merchants… well, he would just have to expect some tricks.

  After a little while, two large doors to the balcony were thrown open, and a middle-aged woman strode out, smiling and with open arms. She wore a fine-woven, closed-neck tunic bound with a golden ring with the clasp of a serpent, its eye a ruby. Her hands, neck, and ears were decorated with gold jewelry, much of it bearing small gems. Rich, but not quite ostentatious. Her figure was not as the stereotypes of Delues merchants would have one believe, he idly noted, though her hair was tightly braided and adorned with dangling ornamentation. It was an amusing contrast compared to him, dressed well but hardly overflowing with rich jewels and gold. And yet he was the voivode.

  “Voivode Vilsky,” she said warmly, coming to a greeting embrace, hands to his elbows, lips to his left cheek. He mirrored her, quickly recalling the greeting. “It is an incontrovertible pleasure to finally make your personal acquaintance.”

  He gave her a properly jubilant smile in return. “Madam Olverin, your home—”

  “Please, as a guest of my humble city and home, it is Marion.”

  “Only if you refer to me as Laczlo, of course.”

  “At your request, honorable sir.”

  “Madam Marion, then,” he said, pausing as she conceded the small defeat of the respectful title with a raising of hands and a bobbing nod, “I have not traveled as much as I like in my years, but I must say your home is one of the most beautiful I have ever seen. And, trust in that I mean not just to flatter; it inspires me to aim for further exploration of Armagne itself.”

  “High praise for our humble family.” She extended an arm behind her to the open doors. “Come. I have a sitting room away from the city air you would fine comforting. Your guardsman is welcome to wait outside, of course.”

  “Druzhina, respectfully,” he replied.

  “Ah, my mistake. Of course. I should have known.” She turned a touch red as she glanced away in embarrassment.

  “Put it from your mind. It is no matter,” he said, catching Isak’s brief grin behind Marion’s shoulder. “But let us; I desire to see more of this veritable castle.”

  “Hardly. Hardly. It is a home for business, perhaps, but nothing so grand. And certainly not like your estates, one can imagine.” She led the way inside, and he followed through the statue-lined halls. Busts of men, women, and strange creatures were everywhere, carved out of flawless marble, lifelike in detail, and oddly, rarely with clothes. They reminded him of the Kostuveskis’ statue. What was it called? It was of a hunter of some kind, he recalled. “I have visited Nova twice before, you see,” she interrupted his thinking as they went, “and I witnessed the great voivode estates. It is a humbling venture, I must say, even for a merchant of Delues, so accustomed with our arrogance as we are. Such a fine city you call home.”

  Laczlo entered the room behind her and was overwhelmed with the excess of fine, flawless parchment sheets. “Nova is a home away from home, I suppose,” he murmured, looking around. There were thick sheets of it stacked, bound, hung—those were dyed a wondrous array of colors, swirling, blended, vibrant.

  “You must be alarmed by the display. It looks like the workshop of someone mad, does it not?” Marion gestured to the wall layered with hung sheets of multitudinous color. “It is a hobby of mine—experimentation, if you will, on the future of paper from our fine city. Why limit ourselves to vellum and the rough stuff of South-Eastern parchment? A pulped mixture makes for a far finer writing experience. Well, this would be my pitch, I suppose. But we needn’t bog ourselves down with such talk.” She closed the door behind him and gestured to a pair of seats before a well-tended hearth. “If it would please you.”

  He sat and leaned back. She mirrored him. He gave a relaxed smile with a buried twinge of discomfort. “You must wonder why I am here, Madam Marion.”

  “It is an honor, sir. It truly is. But to have a voivode visit unannounced is, as you have duly noted, quite the surprise and shock to us.” She smoothed out her snow-white skirts and set her hands down slowly and deliberately on her knees as if to keep them still.

  Is there true anxiety there? Or is it a disguise? A mask painted to what she imagines I wish to see? Laczlo ran a finger over the places near his knuckles where his rings might usually be. They were scabbed from the fighting aboard the ship; indeed, his face still hurt from his healing wound. He hoped she would not ask about it. “I will not regale you with a long and circuitous tale. The truth is that my house is still, ahem, recovering from the weight of the unfortunate conflict from my succession. While we have been fortunate enough to hold no current debt of coin, our other obligations are mounting.” He smiled self-deprecatingly to hide his discomfort and made an effort to fail. “The Olverins are known to us in Vasia for their success and wisdom in this realm of, how should we call it? Business? Yes, well known in business… We have many assets of such business ourselves, but their incomes are slow to manifest. You must know the realities of such incomes of tolls, fines, and obligations. And this new trend of payments in kind, as it is deemed… It is all quite, ah, slow, all of it.”

  He watched her carefully as he gave his semi-rehearsed speech. It had gone better than he expected, especially with following Silene’s advice for an image of attempted confidence. Marion was a woman of tact and prudence, he gathered rather early on, and so she revealed little in her reactions, but he did note a relaxing in her palms—giving up on the pretense of nervousness perhaps?—and an understanding, serious look of concern. And, underneath it all, slight as it was, a gleam in the eye. The look of the opportunist, he thought, grimacing into his folded hands for the briefest of moments. He put himself back in time before Nanko was born, when Bora was little more than an infant, when Kapitalena was not so cold, and he was a mess of fear, worry, and dark sorrow for the coming end.

  Then Laczlo looked up, trying another smile. “Forgive my candidness, Madam. I have spent many days aboard a ship away from home.”

  “No, no, do not apologize for anything, sir Laczlo. Your candidness, as you call it, is more than welcomed here—a well-met reprieve from the days of duplicities, I would say.” She extended a small covered cup that was on a small table beside her chair. “Please, have some tea. Let us speak as more than strangers, for you are a guest in my home and have been honest and true with me as few are.” He took the cup; she had another in her hand and blew on the steaming surface. “You have an abundance of what we would call illiquid assets and steady, predictable, but small incomes, no offense of any kind intended, of course. This arrangement typically excels in numerous fashions, but does a poor job in bearing the weight of sudden… changes, as your case may be.”

  “It is as you say, I am afraid.”

  “Forgive my ignorance on the political arrangements of Vasia,” she began with a tentative, probing tone, “but would the tsar not come to your aid in such circumstances? Is it not his role to support his voivodes in times of crisis amidst pretender usurpers.”

  Here it is. Laczlo stood with a great sigh and paced to a window covered with a fine wooden latticework. He stared out over the city for a few moments, then gave a small shake of his head. “In some cases. In some. But the tsar is… was… occupied by other responsibilities, I believe. It is a challenging time for us all.” He looked back at her, mouth tight, eyes narrowed. “I would never speak ill of Vadoyeski the Second, nor any of his dynasty, you must understand.”

  “Of course. I would never presume.”

  “But,” he said, letting the word linger, “it is as you say. There has been little support.” He did not need to fake his expressions or delivery much, for this was true. He was veritably abandoned to his own means during the crisis, with only a token of imperial support sufficient to raise the brow of only children, for all else could see the shallow feebleness of the tsar’s call for peace. “We made due as best we could, of course, Deus willing.” That earned the small flash of excitement he was hoping for. But he had to be careful lest it be too obvious. Laczlo returned to his seat with a forced smile. “He is our lord, and we his vassals, the Column promises that. It is not expected he fights every battle for us, I suppose. This is… only natural.”

  “Of course, of course,” she said, smiling pleasantly. “There is an order to it, certainly.”

  The conversation had all the appearances of a friendly, frank one, but Laczlo knew she was poised like a plains predator stalking its prey, waiting for the right moment to strike. He’d seen it enough firsthand—experienced it enough firsthand—to know the moment was approaching. There was no finer teacher than the hasty ignorance of youth, after all.

  This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

  Marion took a sip of her tea, set it down, crossed her legs and interlocked her fingers over her knees. “But you have not come here to discuss the system or the unfortunate circumstances of your voivodeships’ inheritance, no? We should speak about how to move forward. How to absolve you of these difficulties, as it were. Is this agreeable?”

  Laczlo’s face lit up. “Certainly.”

  “The Olverins would be prepared to extend an offer of gold of substancial amounts. It would be enough to clear you of any worries of debts and push you over this temporary stretch of difficulty.” She leaned forward, adjusting in her seat, eyes holding his. “This, of course, would have its own conditions—the details of which can be more thoroughly discussed with you through a representative of ours. This offer, generous as it is, is of a more unique variety, so some of these obligations would be of a more political sort.”

  Laczlo stiffened. “What do you mean? I don’t want to get entangled in another war.”

  “No, no, nothing of the sort. I am not one to speak on this, as this would be an agreement to extend beyond the purview of my humble house. Consider me a reliable intermediary.”

  “An intermediary? I don’t understand.”

  “Yes. One who can afford you the coin you require.” She paused as if to let the weight of that sink in. “You worry over agreeing to that which you don’t understand. That is commendable and responsible, certainly, but nothing is put in ink, as we say. No deals have been made. If you wish to hear through this proposition, I shall arrange a meeting, and it shall be so.”

  They wanted Eastern Commander Voiakh to agree before he knew the exact conditions, if I recall correctly. Interesting. Is she desperate for agreeance? Why? He chewed at his lip, looked away in a long moment’s contemplation, then stared down into his teacup. “How much gold, do you say?”

  “You could rebuild your manor, hire new personal guards, and make renovations to your holdings with the coin we are prepared to arrange in your name.”

  “So much? How? With whom?”

  “Your questions will be answered soon enough, good sir. Now, I can arrange a meeting as soon as tomorrow evening. Is this agreeable?”

  “I suppose there is no harm.” He smiled. “My, I must say, it seems my fortune is looking brighter. Thank Deus, and thank you, Madam.”

  She returned his smile, standing and extending a hand; he shook it, finding her grip firm and decisive. “Of course, Sir Laczlo, Voivode. I might dare to say that your fortune is looking up indeed, and in more ways than one.”

  Not long after, he left, navigating his way through the open archways and garden of the Olverins, Isak just behind. When they made it out past the small but well-guarded gate, he nodded and turned to Isak. “I’ve secured a meeting for tomorrow.”

  “So easy?” The warrior turned and jerked his head to the busy street. Well-hidden men shifted from their positions, hard to catch for their disguises as laborers, common merchants, and drunks—all but the hard and experienced druzhina they were. “Any names?”

  “She was not forthcoming on that information, unfortunately.”

  “Hm.”

  Laczlo began down the street. “Regardless, a day’s time is close, but the less time for a particularly determined messenger to slip through, the better.”

  “I’ll put another at the gates.”

  “Make it two.”

  “Voivode,” he said in acknowledgment of the order.

  Tomorrow night. It was soon, but still so far away. And then? Well, and then it would be time to go back. Back to reality, back to whatever fallout this scheme’s unveiling might have.

  …

  Mikha was waiting for him upon his return to the apartment. At first glance, he might seem calm, even nonplussed, but having known him for so long, Laczlo could spot the signs of distress in his tightly folded hands and particularly clenched jaw. Though he always looked a shade of severe, it was in times like these—if other times could be compared to these, at least—that the sharpness of his disposition emerged in full force. And with it, usually some sort of lecture.

  “Voivode,” his head servant said, offering a slight bow as Laczlo approached, “I presume the venture was successful?”

  If it’s about Silene… Deus, I’m avoiding this conversation. “Indeed. The Olverins were quite helpful.”

  “Wonderful news indeed.” He closed the door behind him and gestured further in. “Would you wish for supper to be prepared?”

  “Ah, in an hour’s time. I wish for some privacy until then.”

  “Very well. It shall be as you say, Voivode.”

  Laczlo nodded and strode on, passing through the well-furnished and rich—but still relatively humble next to his station—apartment towards his private chamber, breathing a sigh of relief. In truth, he wished for something other than privacy. And with luck, he’d find it waiting for him on his bed, stretched out beneath silk, naked and attentive. He could barely contain his step. What has gotten into me? he wondered, smirking to himself. Have I grown so arrogant in my deceptions? Is this what having the upper hand feels like? He climbed the narrow spiral stairs two steps at a time. His breath was deep, hot. The stairwell opened into a small corridor extending past a strong, well-carved door. He opened it and stepped in, throwing it closed behind.

  A few chests, a chair, pegs for clothes, a large bed with draping curtains and light, comfortable sheets, but no Silene. He frowned and turned around, scanning the entire interior once more in case she was playing some trick on him and hiding. But it was empty. Silene was gone.

  He took a moment to, as one might say, collect himself, then left to go downstairs. He found Mikha quickly enough near the bottom of the stairwell, waiting. Fuck. “Where is Silene?”

  The old man’s taught expression grew both disapproving and further worried. “She has left.”

  Laczlo shut the door leading out to the lower level, throwing them into shadow and privacy. “Left? Deus, not the talk of assisting me again, I hope. Where has she gone?”

  “I do not know.”

  “You don’t know? Has she gone to search out contacts in the city? Search for leads? I told her to not get involved,” he growled out, then rubbed at his face in frustration when Mikha shook his head. “If you knew this, why not stop her?”

  “I did not stop her, Voivode, because it was I who told her to go.”

  Laczlo’s breath caught in his throat, heart stopping. “What?”

  Mikha raised his chin. “I thought it best for her to be gone from this household. And if it means she utilizes her skills in deception, subterfuge, and manipulation in a different manner, then so be it. I told her she was no longer welcome here and if she returned, I would have her taken and held for her lies.”

  “You… You did what?” The declaration caught Laczlo like a punch to the stomach. He blinked and stared, momentarily lost for words, then turned to pace a few steps away before rounding back on the man. “You threatened her with my authority? Deus above, why? How could you think she’s manipulating me? How could you even think that?”

  “It is her trade.”

  “She wasn’t lying to me! How could you banish her like that?” Laczlo stared at him, chest aching, something scared and desperate suddenly alive and feral in him. Some childhood fear? The last remnants of control? His hands were curled into fists, nails biting into his skin. He cracked open his clenched jaw and said, “You are my servant, not my guardian, mentor, or protector.”

  “And yet you need it. For you are allowing a foreign spy to work her way into your bed and confidence. Have you even thought about your wife? About your children?”

  Laczlo scoffed and looked away. “As if Father never slept with other women.”

  “That is not the same.” Mikha stepped in closer, his wizened, smaller form seeming imposing in its radiating authority and anger. It took a good deal of courage not to immediately retreat. “He had his transgressions, but they were limited, temporary, and most importantly, transactional in nature. They were not… whatever you might call your relationship with this spy.”

  “How would you know what Silene and I have?”

  Mikha shook his head slowly. “Laczlo, my boy, I know you. I’ve seen how you look at her, how you two speak.” He let out a deep sigh. “I gave her my purse. It had enough silver to buy her a new life somewhere else. I offered it with the promise that she leave and never come back. She knows my threats are not idle.”

  Laczlo stumbled back. “I don’t believe you.”

  “It is the truth.”

  “You are lying,” he seethed. “I know it. I know a liar. You are lying to me!”

  “Laczlo, my boy—”

  “Don’t call me that!” He shook off Mikha’s grasp and threw an accusing finger in the bastard’s face. “You want to lie to me? Fine. I’ll find her and tell her she has nothing to fear from me or you. And when she tells me the truth, you are gone.” He let out a big huff, the heat of the moment like fire in his veins. He needed to go further. He needed to prove everyone wrong. “And then I’ll bring her back to Nova because at least she trusts me!”

  “Don’t even threaten that. By all the gods, don’t Laczlo. Do you know what that could do to your family? To the Vilsky name?”

  “The Vilsky name? My name’s been nothing for years. We are pawns, laughing stock of the other voivodes. Even my wife doesn’t respect me.” He pushed past towards the door. “Maybe it’s time I do what I want for a change?” He opened the door to leave.

  “She’s not who she says she is,” Mikha said. “I swear it upon your parents’ honor as voivodes.”

  He had the door half-opened. He let it shut and looked back. “What?”

  The old man sighed, looking at his feet. “She is not the niece of Lord Sevestiana as she has made you believe. She is a courtesan to the royal court and was expected to serve Karnys Vestile of the Rodezian Royal Dynasty, whom she claimed to have been engaged to. She is a lowborn.”

  “How can you say this? How can you—”

  Mikha pulled out a piece of parchment and handed it over. Laczlo snatched it up and scanned through it, then read it over again. It wasn’t parchment at all, but Deluesian paper… a copy of some sort of a ledger of names of the most powerful nobles in Rodezia. He saw his wife’s father’s name, others he recognized, even Lord Zanik Sevastia, his children, wives, and siblings. He had a brother, who had two sons and a daughter. The daughter’s name was Silene, and she was reported to be married to some other fellow. Their marriage was dated only one year ago.

  “What is this?” Laczlo waved the page, feeling his hand shake, his voice tremor. Her story doesn’t match up to the records… It’s as if she just took someone’s name. “Where did you get this?”

  “Here in the city. I knew an old friend who kept records of all marriages across the West. He has done work for us in the past. The woman, the spy, she is not Silene.”

  Laczlo stared at the paper again, then threw it back. “Yes? And what if he’s wrong?”

  “I’m sorry. I tried to protect you from this—”

  “She wasn’t lying!”

  “Look at me,” Mikha said. “You have an eye for the truth. You knew it before. Am I lying to you now, Laczlo? Am I?”

  “How can I trust you? How can I trust anyone?”

  “You must. Laczlo, you must.”

  He sat on a stair step and put his head in his hands. His vision was wobbly, mind a hazy mess, everything swimming and shifting. After a long while, he looked up into the face of the man who’d served his family since he was an infant, since before. “What really happened?”

  “I told her I knew the truth and said if she left now, I would not arrest her for your wrath. I gave her coin, which she took, and made her promise not to return.” He bowed his head. “I am sorry. I… I knew how you looked at her. It broke my heart to see, for these things can only end in disaster, but I did not wish for it to happen like this.”

  Laczlo stared at him through tears. “She told me we were the same, that she felt my fears, my pains… Was… Was all of it a lie?”

  “My boy, the only thing you must focus on now is moving forward.”

  “Moving forward,” he scoffed. “For what?”

  “Your family.”

  He sneered, silencing a sob that so desperately wanted to burst from his lips. “I’ve already said how much they despise me.”

  “Your son does not. Your daughter is traumatized, but that can be fixed. She does not despise you, Laczlo; she is just afraid.”

  “And Kapitalena?”

  “She thinks you weak.” Mikha stood over him, offering a hand. “But I’ve seen otherwise. You are not the man you were but a few months ago. Do you still hide from the crowds? Do you still fear the druzhina? You are changed. Anyone can see it. Return and you will not only earn her respect, but that of others.”

  Laczlo looked up at him. “I’m so tired, Mikha. I just… I just want this all to end.”

  “I know. But you have a responsibility to your dynasty, to those who came before you.” He gestured with his extended hand. “Get up. Let us eat, then we will discuss tomorrow.”

  He almost didn’t. He almost left to hide away in his room through the night, to banish himself from this world of disappointments, but after a deep breath, he took Mikha’s hand and rose.