Harper didn’t find out what had happened while she was gone until the following day. As soon as the party returned from their failed mission, she returned her loaned horse and supplies and went to bed.

  The exiled noble had never been more tired in her life. Days of nerve-racking activity with only short bouts of rest left her weak and unstable. She had fallen asleep near instantly and only awoken late in the morning. Not even the nightmares she had been suffering from since her Alius death and subsequent drowning disturbed her rest.

  She lay in bed another half hour, loath to get out of bed. No urgent matters needed to be taken care of. She didn’t need to resume her courier duties for another two days. When she did, she only needed to deliver to the most important parts of her route. The rest could wait until the following week.

  Eventually, she did get up and prepared for the day. After cleaning herself and eating breakfast, she questioned her landlady about what she knew. It turned out, that as a former guard, her connections ensured she was well-informed.

  Caravans around the colonies had been ambushed and sabotaged to varying levels of success. The main targets were escorts carrying cores and taxes to the ports to be shipped to Quilen. Most of the attacks fared poorly, with a few exceptions. Arboren’s own shipment to Orosburgh was one such exception, even perhaps the worst.

  The entire shipment was taken. The official losses were a month’s worth of taxes, a dozen Magnate cores, and even a Potentate core. Rumors were that it was the core of a slain nightbird, a creature on par with a phoenix or stormbird. A dangerous item to have in the wrong hands.

  But that was not the worst of it. The attack had been ruthless. Some sort of explosive was used to disrupt caravan, and an attack immediately followed. There were nine casualties. Both civilians and combatants were among their number.

  The attackers had managed to take their spoils and disappear. No attempt to track them had of yet been successful. People were distraught and the Governor was up in arms. Upon hearing the news, he had apparently taken the form of his Alius, a roc, and flew to the site of the ambush. Despite him searching for them personally, they got away cleanly.

  Another caravan that was set out to go this morning had to be delayed. While chances of it being attacked so soon after what happened to the first were nil, fear kept many of its occupants here. The escort would be reinforced and precautions put into play.

  Thankfully, most other attacks on the colony’s caravans were not nearly as successful. In fact, a number of ambushers were caught and in the process of being interrogated. The Unshackled’s operation seemed to be bigger and more widespread than the colonies had first anticipated.

  For the matter of Arboren’s loss, it was highly suspected that there were spies among the Governor’s people. How else would they have known the exact route the caravan had taken and had time to plan accordingly. Planting the explosives could not have been done quickly, and with the caravan’s scouts watching ahead would have been difficult to do indeed.

  No one had been accused yet, but matters were heated. As the responsibility for overseeing the safety of the caravans had been entrusted to the guard, most of the scrutiny had been directed at their higher ranks. Captain Kipper, the guard captain she had met a couple of months ago, had already resigned. He had been cleared of wrongdoing, but it happened on his watch regardless.

  The Unshackled had garnered quite a bit of attention at this point. Whereas before the colonies hadn’t done much except watch for them, they were now being actively hunted. People that were only suspected members were being taken into custody indefinitely. Searches would become more common and more invasive.

  Funds and resources, especially those going to Quilen, were to be watched closely. Nobody wanted the crown stepping in. A force dispatched from Quilen would be difficult to deal with, and would likely lead to the colonies losing the rights they had managed to gain over the past century.

  Harper was still acclimating to the odd governing culture they used here. Instead of the landed nobility and clearly defined ranking she was used to, things here were far less regimented.

  At first, she had likened the Governors to Dukes, albeit having power more in line with lower nobility. Her meeting with Governor Mavian had not dissuaded that notion, but the more time she spent in Mentril, the less it made sense.

  While the people treated Governor Tebour with respect, he was not set apart from the rest of them. It was difficult to put into words, but it was as if nobles and the common folk were different species. There was a divide between them not easily bridged.

  Harper did not detect anything like that here. The Governor was another of the people, just one with a great deal of power and trusted to use it responsibly. She had only realized it herself after noticing how easy it was to approach him.

  Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.

  Even as a noble herself, she couldn’t imagine approaching a Marquess or Duke with anywhere near the same amount of frequency or casualness. When she went to talk to the Governor, she didn’t seek an audience so much as a conversation.

  The same was true of others beside herself. While he wouldn’t just talk to anyone on their whim, it was not too difficult to make an appointment with him. Doing so with the nobility was not usually possible back in Magnon. If someone wanted to get a noble’s attention on a matter, they would have to report it to their superior and hoped it made its way up the chain.

  A peasant would report to their headman. Should they think it's something worth passing up it would go to the local magistrate. If something that couldn’t be handled by them, and also thought to be worth reporting, it would be sent to the Baron or Baroness. Then the Count or Countess, and so on and so forth.

  There were far less steps and protocol here. Even someone from a rural area could travel here and make a request. Harper had heard of a woodsman from the colony’s border ask the Governor for help killing a single Domain bear that made the area dangerous. He had promptly dispatched a squad of rangers to hunt it down.

  The difference was stark in interactions with the Governor. He almost never ordered, but rather requested. Nor would he seek to punish if refused. The governors just didn’t have that kind of power.

  From what she heard, Governor Mavian was more in line with what she would expect from nobles. Because the people could move whenever they wanted, should nothing hold them there ; it wasn’t uncommon for people to immigrate to Arboren, or other colonies with like-minded governors.

  Harper wasn’t sure how she felt about it. On one hand, the more flexible structure and independent social dynamics ensured a happier populace and a system less prone to bottlenecks. On the other hand, this very same system had produced the Unshackled. Their violent actions proved how unfit they were to self-govern.

  If they got their wish, and gained greater independence from Quilen, who was to say they wouldn’t destroy themselves? Better to leave it to those in Quilen. Her ancestors had been ruling for centuries. The original queen of Quilen had thrown off their tetran oppressors and formed the kingdom. Why would they wish to distance themselves from such a legacy?

  Whatever the case, their actions would only work against their own cause. If they continued to bite the hand that fed them, they would only draw Quilen’s military here, taking them away from their more important work in the north.

  She still felt little desire to get involved, only enough to ensure she would be left alone. The lessons she had learned here would serve her well back in Quilen, and her recent ambush renewed her desire to obtain a Magnate core.

  She had regained enough pride to not beg for admittance back, but she missed the safety and stability of home, even if it meant giving up her newfound independence. While she was as weak and vulnerable as she was currently, anyways.

  Harper left the house. The first thing she wanted to do was thank the person that saved her life. Well, indirectly saved her life. She fiddled with the ring on her finger. She didn’t like her chances in that clearing if she didn’t have something to delay the now dead Pelman. The surprise blast of water to his face gave her just enough time to get away.

  She walked into the crafter’s guild, intent on walking right past the receptionist, but she spoke. “Hi, how can I assist you today?”

  “Ah, I don’t need any help. I’m just visiting Declan. A social call, not a work order,” she added.

  The secretary nodded grimly. “That’s good; he needs it. Some people can be so insensitive. He shouldn’t be here in the first place.”

  The young woman frowned, about to ask her what she meant, but someone else walked in. They immediately got her attention, requesting the receptionist’s help. Shrugging her shoulders, she continued on in. If it was important, it would come up.

  Harper reached his workshop, knocking on the door. A monotone, “Come in,” returned.

  She knew something was wrong as soon as she walked in. Declan hadn’t gotten up to greet her or even looked her way. The excited query about the ring that she was expecting never came.

  “Declan? Are you okay?”

  At her question, he did glance her way. “Oh, Harper. I’m... fine.” He turned his head down, towards her hand. “Are you here about the ring? Did it work as intended?” His expression was lifeless and his words only more so.

  “Yes. It worked even better than expected. That isn’t important right now though. The receptionist said something about how you shouldn't be here. Did something happen? Can I help? Or maybe it's something the Governor can help with?”

  Declan looked away again, putting his hands in his lap. “The Governor already did what he could. He was not fast enough to find those responsible. There isn’t anything you can do.”

  The pieces came together suddenly. The receptionist’s words. His demeanor. The attack. The casualties. The cargo was cores and... tax money. Last time, when he was talking about applications for aetherspaces, he mentioned his mother’s profession.

  She was a tax collector.

  From there, the obvious conclusion presented itself. Declan’s mother had just died. At the hands of the Unshackled no less. She found herself in agreement with the receptionist. Why was he here?

  He had gone back to staring at the wall. She wasn’t sure if he even remembered her presence. She became very aware of how uncomfortable she was in this situation. She hadn’t known the woman, and didn’t exactly now him well enough to comfort him.

  Harper awkwardly put her hand on his shoulder. “I’m sorry. They will be found.” It was all she could think to say. He didn’t reply.

  Harper was about to leave, but something else occurred to her. “It saved my life.”

  That got his attention. “Huh?”

  “The ring. A few days ago, I got ambushed by a group connected to the Unshackled. I barely escaped, and the ring played a key part. If you hadn’t crafted it, I would not have gotten away. It dealt one of them a nasty black eye and enabled me to get away. Thank you.”

  This did elicit a reaction. A small, malicious grin flitted across his face, before he returned to his blank slate. He gestured to a nearby seat. Tell me about it.”