When Heroes Die

“I find that High Lords share much in common with signal fires, Chancellor. You only need to set so many of them alight before somebody correctly interprets the message.”

―Dread Emperor Foul III, “the Linguist”

“The assembly recognizes the Chosen, Taylor Hebert,” the Master of Orders announced in a thick, Lycaonese accent.

The white-haired Master was one of her own Rhenians, one with a talent for languages she’d put into place soon after she’d ascended the throne. In this battlefield of courtesies and ceremonies, there were few advantages more precious than an arbiter of ceremonies entirely loyal to her.

Cordelia Hasenbach considered the Chosen before her while she appraised the room.

The Aspirant’s revelations into the deeper workings of the House of Light was a boon that Cordelia had not expected, but was eager to capitalize upon. The House of Light had ever been a thorn in the foot of every First Prince from as far back as the founding of the Principate. Cordelia would strive her utmost to see the institution have the last of its claws pulled out.

She would allow the proposal acknowledging Taylor as the leader of the House of Light to pass out of strategic necessity. Refusing the petition would weaken her position among her peers by denying them an opportunity to seize lands from the church, while seeing it through damaged the foundation of Taylor’s argument for further authority. Once the leader of the House of Light existed as a legal entity within the laws of Procer, the position would come with certain expectations that Taylor could not hope to fulfil.

Some dispossessed fantassins could be provided with incentives to relocate onto lands owned by the House of Light. They were sure to bring about strife now that they were bereft of purpose. Taylor was ill-equipped to manage the disruption that they would cause. It would not take much to convince the other princes to keep their hands to themselves. Patrols could be relocated in lands belonging to the Church, security could be made more lax.

The House of Light would request assistance once the fantassins turned to banditry. Assistance that would then be denied. A sufficient rise in tensions within church lands would pressure smaller church holdings into seceding from the House of Light at large. They would deem it safer to renounce the rights to their own lands in exchange for protection, then allow their lands to become ungovernable.

The House of Light did not have the ability to safeguard their own lands without the right of recruitment. That alone would provide sufficient incentive for every other motion to be denied by the Highest Assembly, even ignoring all other considerations.

Another leader of the House of Light might go so far as to threaten a Liturgic war in response to such an obvious retaliation, but doing as much ran against the grain of both Taylor’s plans and her nature. Without both the means and the will to enforce her authority, Taylor’s foundation of power was nothing more than a castle of sand built before the oncoming tide.

Attempting to claim more privileges for herself so soon after being legitimized would be seen as a grave overreach of power by everyone else within the Chamber of Assembly. It would be the work of years to further reduce the influence of the House of Light, but Cordelia was confident that she could slowly whittle it away.

And while the matter of the House of Light was a problem of some import, it was not the sole contender for Cordelia’s attention.

Cordelia had already discussed her ideas for Callow with Louis de Sartrons, and the first seeds of rebellion were ready to be sown. Insurgents within their eastern neighbour would be provided with both Proceran intelligence into the operational procedures of the Revolutionary in addition to some ancillary assistance towards their goals. It would be some time before those plans bore fruit, but she had assured she would see proof of her investment before the following winter.

Spring was almost upon them, and yet the northern borders remained silent. The Chain of Hunger could be expected to remain still for the next five years — if Taylor was to be believed — and yet that did little to explain the uncharacteristic stillness from Keter.

It felt like the calm before the storm.

News from Mercantis made Cordelia’s hackles rise. The Ravel Bank had materialized out of thin air and poured seemingly limitless coffers of coin onto the streets of the City of Bought and Sold. While it bore all the hallmarks of legitimate Mercantis coinage, something about its origin struck Cordelia as off. Declaring Mercantis currency illegitimate was fraught with many risks, but she suspected that failing to do so might have long term economic repercussions for the Principate when the house of cards toppled over at long last.

The dwarves had continued to provide material assistance as per her existing agreements with them after the end of the war, however her spies had informed her that there was an undercurrent of trouble brewing below the surface. Cordelia did her best to put that complication out of her mind, for any trouble involving the dwarves extended far beyond her ability to contain.

It was the Arlesite principalities that would prove to be the biggest obstacle to her long term ambitions. The potential wealth to be gained by repossessing House of Light holdings would only occupy their attention for so long before their ambitions returned to the throne. Cordelia had considered using their southern neighbours as a distraction for the Arlesites, only the borders with the Dominion of Levant were quiet for the first time in years. The attention of the nation had turned inward shortly before Cordelia seized the throne.

“By ancient oath, let every word I speak ring true,” the brunette declared.

Let us see how much you have learned.

Laurence de Montford sat atop a mount as weary as she was. The beast of burden trotted along the open road with no set destination in sight. The currents of fate would see her to her destination. Post coronation celebrations continued unabated even into the late noon of a new day. Her time drew close, she could feel it in her bones.

Her strength had continued to wane.

Soon, the world whispered to her. Soon, the thread of her story would be cut loose.

Taylor had confided the broader shape of her vision to Laurence. A world where both Named and the Princes were truly held to account. Where heroes could not weasel and connive like Proceran royalty and villains had no place at all.

It was a pretty dream, but one that could not be forged without large swaths of the old order fuelling the fire first. So Laurence had embarked on a journey from one principality to another before returning to Salia. She had learned what she could about each prince from their people in the time she spent on the road.

Some principalities she had no need to cast a shadow over.

Those she was already familiar with the leaders of. Should the worst come to pass — as Laurence expected it would — then the Lycaonese rulers could all be spared the kiss of her blade. Her brief visit in Aisne had left her with a positive impression of Princess Clotilde as well.

The further south she had travelled, the more assured of the path she had chosen she became.

Laurence did not know where she needed to be, but she knew that it lay somewhere close. She could almost feel the shape of the story.

The jubilant crowd parted around her like a head from a corpse.

It was the heavy smell of a brewery that alerted her to the arrival of the Wandering Bard. Laurence’s focus narrowed, honed itself in to a point. Her friend only ever appeared when the hour was darkest.

“Going somewhere, old friend?” A voice called out from beside her.

“One last swing, then it’s time to bury the hatchet,” Laurence replied.

Her wrinkled hands tightened on the reins. Her dappled mount slowed.

Dark blonde hair, narrow face and clothes of a like that Laurence had never seen before were dismissed as quickly as they were noted. It was the familiar flask and lute which marked her friend for who she was.

“It’s been tried a few times, you know.”

The Wandering Bard matched her pace to that of Laurence’s horse. They both cut their way through the celebrations — ignored — as if both of them were no more than ghosts.

“What has?”

The Wandering Bard was her senior in namelore. Every word she spoke could be mined for nuggets of wisdom. Her advice would be invaluable when navigating the chaos in the years to come.

“Reforming both the Principate and the Highest Assembly through diplomacy. Princess Eliza Alaguer was one of the last to give it a good go. She appealed to the common folk first. Tried to build popular support. When that failed, she appealed to the House of Light, before finally turning to the nobility. Many of the books that she wrote still exist in some form or another today.”

“How did her life end?”

The Bard broke off from their jaunt and headed towards a palace in the distance. Laurence trailed behind.

“Her attempt at reforming the Highest Assembly failed. What little support that she had vanished. Then her own family turned on her. She had made their position among the Salamans nobility tenuous. They told her to abdicate. She refused, and they imprisoned her in her own quarters. She starved to death in defiance of their will rather than abdicate in favour of somebody else.”

“And what of reform at the edge of a blade?”

“An Angel of Contrition touched three hundred thousand people in Salia at the start of the seventh crusade, including the Highest Assembly at the time.”

That the nature of the Principate had not changed in the aftermath need not be mentioned at all. It was much as Laurence had thought. Regardless, she would not hesitate to cut. For it was only when Good surrendered its will to fight that Evil would truly win. Good would try, and try, and try again and one day their efforts would bear fruit.

“Have you met Taylor? Are you aware of the new stories she gave birth to?”

The Bard halted, raised a hand and tilted the lute from side to side, before taking a pull with the other.

“It’s hard to judge. There might be some room to manoeuvre given the mess she made, but it remains to be seen how it will all pan out. I have some hope for the future, though.”

“Then my plans remain unchanged.” Laurence turned her eyes away from the Bard, onto the palace ahead.

“Farewell, old friend.”

Laurence felt the presence beside her vanish.

She pulled the reins, urging her horse into motion once more. It trotted up to the palace gates. The guards took one look at her and stiffened. It took a brief interrogation to learn that the palace she was outside contained the Chamber of Assembly, then a few more gentle threats to have them open the gates.

The horse trotted its way onto the palace grounds and along busy corridors.

“Why shouldn't those with a Name follow different rules… Wizards can't… Why should the Chosen be…”

Words whispered on the wind from some place far off, deeper within the palace. Laurence listened intently to their echoes. Taylor was speaking before the Highest Assembly. Arguing for the right of the Chosen to judge the princes. As if they needed the justification of petty men and women with tainted aspirations when they had the approval of the Gods.

“The law often fails the people…”

Cordelia Hasenbach replied. Laurence sneered. She had shown so much promise at first, taking the southern princes to task and starting to purge the poison in the Principate. Only when it came time to make the hard decisions, her hand pulled away from the axe.

The ancient oak door to the Chamber of Assembly loomed ahead.

“I already have that power. If the Saint of Swords was to ride thr-”

She drew her blade and sliced into the air before her.

The door shattered into thousands of splinters.

Laurence de Montford rode into a Chamber of Assembly that was utterly silent. Cordelia Hasenbach sat on a plain block of granite. Laurence presumed that the deceptive simplicity of it was supposed to contain some trite message, however any deeper meaning was wasted on these scheming eels. Klaus Papenheim was absent. The old war dog had left another hand to vote in his stead.

Laurence towered over everyone, seated as she was on her mount.

It took her less time than it took to draw steel to realize that she had arrived in the Chamber of Assembly too soon. The stage had not yet been set, the story was not yet in swing. Should she withdraw? No, all of Taylor’s plans would unravel if she stepped out of the room. The only way forward was through the monster’s guts. She would carry out the task she had chosen for herself and hope that she cut hard deep enough to bleed the monster out.

“Good afternoon, Your Highness, Princes and Princess of Procer.” Laurence called out. “The only laws that should concern us are the laws laid down by the Gods.” Laurence held her blade by her side, not bothering to sheathe it at all. “The Aspirant was Chosen by them. None of you back biting rats can make the same claim. It’s your scheming that turned this land so diseased.”

“Bravo, bravo. Encore! Encore!” Prince Arnaud clapped.

“Shut your mouth,” she snapped at him. “Your people had plenty to say about you, Prince Arnaud. Your throat will be the first that I slit should this come to blows.”

“The assembly recognizes the Prince of Rhenia,” the white haired man spoke as Cordelia Hasenbach rose to her feet.

“This is,” she declared, her voice hard, “the Chamber of Assembly. It is the seat of power of the most powerful surface nation on Calernia, not a city square where one can wander about and bluster as one pleases.”

Cordelia Hasenbach remained standing — but glared at her — as if she believed that a nasty stare was enough to see Laurence cowed. The kid had courage and the vision to see some good done, but was allowing herself to become complacent now that she had seized the throne.

“There is no place barred from those bearing the favour of the Gods,” Laurence retorted. “Not the Kingdom of the Dead, not the lands of Praes, certainly not a musty old chamber filled with snivelling snakes.”

“If you wish to petition before the Highest Assembly, then you may do so after following the correct procedures.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” Laurence grinned at them all, “and neither are any of you until this vote is properly resolved. If Taylor here is the Angel hanging over your shoulder whispering to do the right thing, then think of me as the orc that will rip out your intestines and dine on your entrails should you be tempted to stray onto a darker path.”

The Chamber held its breath for a moment. Many turned their gaze towards the shattered door — likely considering whether they could escape before she cut them down — but none dared to challenge her proclamation.

“You cannot govern a nation with swords. You cannot feed its people, build its cities, pave its roads, or man its walls with weapons and words alone. It takes ingenuity, artifice, and order to rule anything larger than a moderately sized hamlet. Years spent learning statecraft are required to have even a hope of managing a nation the size of Procer,” Cordelia Hasenbach retorted.

Taylor stepped forward into the middle of the room.

“The assembly recognizes the Aspirant,” the old man declared.

“It is fortunate then that I am not requesting the right to rule the Principate, only the right to mete out justice within it,” Taylor challenged her. “All of you have received a draft of my proposal before this motion was brought forth. It lays out terms for when it is acceptable for a hero to judge a prince, but it also lays out terms for when it is not. The right of execution is only given for heinous crimes including — but not limited to — rape, torture, conjuring forth demons, and a few other specific acts as defined by existing laws.”

“The Principate of Procer has existing systems by which appeals can be made to address all of these concerns.”

“Systems that don’t work because they’re infected, sick to the core with the same disease that plagues every other part of this nation,” Laurence replied.

“While all of those skills you detailed and many more are required to lead a nation, they do not grant the princes the right to treat the citizens of Procer as nothing more than cattle to be used.”

“Should the citizens of the Principate find reason to oppose the governance of their princes then they are already able to give protest.”

“The capacity to complain does not equate to the power to enact change.”

Cordelia Hasenbach took her seat on the hard granite block once more.

She considered the two white robed heroines before her. It took effort to keep the distaste from her lips. She had thought for but a moment that the arrival of the Saint of Swords had been some scheme by the other chosen, however only a glance spared in the Aspirant’s direction had shattered that illusion. She was as taken by surprise by Laurence de Montfort’s arrival as everyone else in the Chamber of Assembly.

The untimely arrival of the Saint of Swords also did not bear any of the hallmarks of Taylor’s approach to politics. While the Aspirant was ill-equipped to fight within these halls, she had shown a modicum of respect and abided by their traditions every step of the way.

Her uncle had called Laurence de Montfort a hard woman who always means well. It would be unlike her to draw her blade against the Highest Assembly without sufficient provocation, but her presence might convince the others to reconsider their votes.

Agnes would have warned me if death threatened these halls, unless something else has occupied her.

“The assembly recognizes the Prince of Brus,” the Master of Orders declared.

“You claim to have no aspirations for war, and yet you marched alongside Princess Mathilda against the forces of Brus. You claim to have no thirst for power, and yet even now you claw at the authority of the Princes of Procer. Is this all there is to you? Are you nothing more than a nest of contradictions with pretensions of virtue?”

“None of my actions are contradictory,” Taylor denied. “I stopped a war when both sides were prepared to give battle. Thousands of soldiers lived who would otherwise have perished. I’m also not asking for the right to make new laws or to overrule the Highest Assembly — except in specific extreme circumstances which are outlined in the written proposal — only for the right to render judgement.”

“She’s not asking for the right to render judgement,” the Saint of Swords snapped from the back of her horse. “She already has that. The Gods gave that to their Chosen, and none of you little shits have the power to take it away from us. She’s telling you to recognize both her place as judge and executioner and your own as the accused.”

Taylor’s expression was as open as a book to all here who could read it. She was not pleased with Laurence de Montfort, but did not speak against her for fear of weakening her own position.

“The assembly recognizes the Prince of Rhenia,” the Master of Orders declared.

Cordelia Hasenbach rose to her feet once more.

“Upon appointing yourself leader of the Proceran House of Light, you took it upon yourself to restructure the internal hierarchy of the institution. You have delegated individuals to positions of leadership, determined the allocation of funds and taken it upon yourself to define internal House of Light policy. You claim that you have no intention of ruling, and yet your every action since returning from the north gives lie to those words.”

She sat down again and waited for the Aspirant to respond.

“None of my proposals grant me the rights to govern any lands save those which already fell within the possession of the church.” Taylor paused. Her too wide jaw stiffened, then she changed her approach. “There is currently no viable method for a Prince of the Principate to hold a hero or villain to account. I’m not asking you to put me in charge. You’re more than welcome to pass a law declaring me ineligible to rule. I’m asking you to recognize my right to mete out justice.”

Cordelia could have argued further, but doing as much would have been counter-productive to her own cause. Taylor had deflected from Cordelia’s point, not challenged the body of it. She did not realize that none of those present would be fooled by the digression.

“The assembly recognizes the Prince of Neustria,” the Master of Orders declared.

The woman’s green mail rattled as she rose to her feet. She had never been one for courtly intrigue and had come to the Highest Assembly dressed for an altogether different kind of conflict.

“You did right by us in the swamp, girl. I’ll acknowledge as much. You might even make for a good royal arbiter, but whose to say your successor would be? We wouldn’t just be trusting you with this power, we’d be trusting every person who comes afterwards.”

“My proposal lays out rules. Terms that me or my successor must abide by. Those include the selection process for appointing my eventual replacement. Their authority needs to be acknowledged by the others among the Chosen, and they require the blessing of the House of Light. The Highest Assembly has no say in the process as by allowing them oversight it perverts the purpose of the position.”

“This does nothing to assuage any of our many concerns.”

“All of you should feel nervous,” Laurence de Montfort interjected. “The peasants in the fields don’t have any assurances that you’re protecting their interests. It’s about time you felt the same. This change is supposed to feel like the Gods Above are breathing down your neck and reminding you to be good little nobles or die screaming.”

“What a brilliant proposal,” Prince Arnaud smiled as he blustered. “Why, how could we never have consi-”

“Shut up you worm, or you’ll be a head shorter before the day is out,” the Saint of Swords snarled from the back of her horse and levelled her blade at the man. “I can sense the darkness that lies at the heart of you.”

“Why, how rude. See how she treats me when all I would do is throw in my weight behind her proposal?”

“It festers like an illness. How fortunate for you that I’m holding the cure.”

“Threatening violence won’t convince the princes that I’m right.” Taylor stated.

Cordelia suspected that Taylor had come to the erroneous conclusion that her earlier decision to avoid addressing Laurence was incorrect. That if she played herself off as the reasonable party then it might help to strengthen her own argument. While setting herself up as the animal handler holding the lion’s leash might in other circumstances grant her a measure of legitimacy, doing so in the Chamber of Assembly only made a mockery of their procedures.

Cordelia would curtail her involvement while Laurence’s intervention continued to undercut Taylor’s proposal. She doubted that there was any argument the Aspirant could present that would sway the minds of the other Princes to her cause regardless.

“Think, Taylor. This house is rotten to the bone and needs to be cleaned. If some of them die today because they can’t give up scheming, back biting and betraying each other, so the rest of them can do their duty then the Principate is all the better for it.”

Prince Arnaud did an admirable job at playing the part of the fool. With little effort he had redirected the Aspirant’s attention from assuaging Mathilda’s worries to arguing with her own ally.

“The assembly recognizes the Princess of Valencis,” the Master of Orders interrupted their discussion with narrowed eyes and downturned lips.

“You presented the argument that heroes should sit above the law due to the circumstances of their choosing. By switching only a few words one could argue that thieves or murderers should be freed from the trappings of justice in turn. What sets heroes apart from any other ruffian? Why do their circumstances merit additional consideration?”

“The Gods appointed us you scheming rat,” Laurence replied.

“I see no reason to consider the merits of a proposal that would allow one such as this to walk free.”

“You’re still prissy about that Prince of yours I cut down? If you want to lodge a complaint with the heavens, then I can send you to join him.”

“There’s no need to pour salt over an old wound, Laurence.”

“It's better for all of them to understand where they stand in relation to us,” Laurence retorted.

“When the laws fail, something needs to change,” Taylor addressed the original concern. “Either the laws themselves or how they are enforced. Laws are not immutable and need to adapt to the society that they serve. Look around you,” she spread her arms. “For twenty years you waged war upon one another and blood flowed like water, staining the soil of this land. How many times must this folly be repeated, how many more wars just like this one will it take for you to admit that the system you have does not work?”

“This is not a defence of your proposal, only a repudiation of our current system of governance. It is easy to set fire to another’s fields, but much harder to grow crops of your own.”

“The next time the Dead King marches his armies south, will you even be able to find it within yourselves to stand together against him? How long until the enmity between principalities is so strong that even the threat of extinction is not enough to bind your peoples together? Can this nation survive even another decade of conniving before it falls apart at the seams?”

“I repeat once more.” Princess Leonor declared, “This is not a defence of your proposal, only a repudiation of our current system of governance.”

“If you wish to prevent disasters such as this one from repeating, then a series of checks, balances, and incentives are required. The full scope of reforms necessary are beyond me, but I know this much. If they don’t acknowledge the reality of the world we live in, then they will always fall short. You will never be able to regulate heroes without their implicit buy in.”

Cordelia signalled her desire to speak. The Master of Orders gave her a subtle nod.

“The assembly recognizes the Prince of Rhenia.”

“The First Prince of Procer has the resources of the most powerful nation on the surface of Calernia at their fingertips. It cannot be understated how much harm could be done if that power was wielded without any restrictions. You posit the idea that heroes already exist outside the laws of our nation. Why then, would you elevate them above the First Prince? What makes them fit to hold more power than the ruler of the Principate? Surely laws should be enacted to curtail their power, rather than grant them more.”

“The Highest Assembly barely serves as an adequate check on the power of the First Prince. It does nothing to hold the rest of these rats accountable,” the Saint of Swords stated.

“Laurence,” Taylor chided looking up to the woman on the horse beside her. “There’s no need for names or threatening violence.”

“You’re blinding yourself, Taylor,” she spat onto the limestone floor. “The heads on these thrones have grown so bloated on their own wickedness that they aren’t even willing to consider an idea that threatens their own power.”

“Killing them won’t solve the problem,” Taylor replied, then returned her attention to the throne. “Neither the peasants nor the priests nor the wizards have the strength of arms required to challenge the security of the Princes of Procer. That capacity lies solely in the hands of the chosen and the damned. Nobody else would even give you reason to pause. Who else could even perform the duty?”

“The assembly recognizes the Princess of Aisne.”

“Forgive me, Chosen,” Princess Clotilde did her best to speak without trembling, but the tremors in her arms were plain for all to see, “but you have made many claims as to the necessity of passing this proposal but have failed to provide an adequate reason as to why we should vote for it.”

“Many new heroes and villains will arise in the years to come. There is no telling how much harm their actions will cause if it isn’t regulated.”

“While I make no claims as to the veracity of that statement, I fail to see how your proposal mitigates any of the disasters that are alleged to come. Surely you do not suggest that heroes will cease to apprehend villains if this proposal fails to pass? Are you suggesting that you would stand aside in the face of actions you deem Evil without being given permission to judge us?”

“No, no, you don’t understand the breadth of this proposal,” Prince Arnaud called out once again. “Why, by declaring that Named conflict will be regulated the outcome is all but assured. Isn’t that how all laws function?”

The Saint of Sword looked at the man, raised a finger and made a cutting motion across her own throat.

He grinned at her and waved merrily in reply.

“The fourth proposal I prepared for your consideration addresses implementation,” the Aspirant replied.

“May I remind all speakers that the merits of the fourth petition made by the House of Light are not the current subject of debate,” the Master of Orders declared.

“The assembly recognizes the Prince of Rhenia.”

“The Principate has existed as a nation since the fall of Triumphant and in that time thousands of rulers have graced these halls. Less than a hundred of them have died at the hands of heroes and villains both. Historically heroes have proven a less effective form of deterrence than the existing methods for unseating rulers. Why then should they be granted the rights and privileges that you have petitioned for when there is no historical evidence to support your claims?”

“There can be no evidence to support the proposed alternative because it relies on a different series of systems which currently do not exist.”

Cordelia Hasenbach listened with both ears as the proposed motion was dissected on the Chamber of Assembly’s floor…

Agnes felt out of place as she moved around the bare garden within the palace walls. With only a handful of bare trees, a broken headless statue of a man that Cordelia insisted was First Prince Clothor Merovins, and two uncomfortable stone benches this garden was the closest she came to feeling at home.

She felt it, sitting down on the bench beside the statue, the moment that the music played wrong.

The broken child found their purpose in the north. A guardian of flames, the lighthouse keeper. They returned to warn of the oncoming storm, only another tried to contest their place. The conflict was brief. A new keeper is chosen. The flame was lit. Now, the storm approaches. The lighthouse shines bright in the darkness, but the ship has not yet sailed into port.

Dawn arrives and cuts through the clouds. Only it arrives too soon. A false dawn. The fire is extinguished. The keeper descends the stairs, their duty done, only the clouds roll in once more as the false dawn fades away.

The keeper sees their mistake and climbs the stairs once more, but time is short. The ship flounders at sea. It veers off course and will crash into the rocks without a beacon to guide it to the shore.

Another. Another tried their hand at threading the needle of time. A face with more faces than there were stars, whose presence could only be noticed through the ripples they cast on the pond.

It was a crack, a tear in the weave of the future. Blame would be apportioned should the ship sail into the rocks. The sailors would blame the keeper, but the keeper is not at fault. Time needs to be purchased for the flame to be lit once more. Only, how?

Agnes glanced at the cracks trailing across the courtyard and followed the small growths of grass sprouting between the tiles in defiance of winter’s icy grasp, and glimpsed behind the curtain. Life in defiance of death, a path, a way forward. Even the darkest of storms could be navigated with the right captain.

But who to choose?

Agnes could not determine what it was that her unnamed partner sought to achieve, but she could discern the edges of the shadow that hovered over Cordelia. Should the Augur not intervene, then of those aboard the ship she was favoured for captaincy. It was not the future that the Auger had charted and yet… was it one that bore navigating away from?

It was difficult for Agnes to peer around the curtain that shrouded the stage. She looked and she looked. Deeper and deeper. Her eyes clouded over, and her breath became shallow from the toll it took. Careful, danger, some part of her whispered. And there, there! At the last moment, she caught but a glimpse of strings. The abyss beckoned. Agnes pulled back. Out, out, out of the maelstrom.

Her breath caught.

No, that was not a current that she could countenance. Her cousin, wrapped tight in strings, dancing to the tune of another. She had placed her trust in Cordelia, not in some unseen hands hidden above the stage.

Was there another path?

The dagger with no handle? Where an old path failed a blade could be used to carve a new one. Carve a passage through the reef. Her mother had said as much, at least. Hadn’t she? Agnes shook her head. She needed to pay attention. She could not afford to become lost in the then, she needed to stay in the now. No, it would always cut both ways. The foe she duelled with could seize the blade and bleed an ocean without perishing from the cost. Besides, no matter how she positioned the blade, her hands would always be stained red when she decided to cut.

The lead wick candle? Where an old light dies another could be fanned anew? There lay possibility. The candle burned in many colours and brought smiles to even the dourest of faces. But no, it could not shine bright enough to guide the way to the shore. Its fumes were toxic besides, and only her foe could afford to inhale the smoke.

How about… Yes, that would work. The fool had yet to claim a place on the stage. The faceless puppet master could only pull strings where strings were attached. He had no strings. None yet, at the very least. The fool did not know how to captain the ship.

No matter.

There were many ways to save the ship, and the fool knew how to play the part.