You think you know anger, you silly thing. You think you understand fury, betrayal. It’s hilarious when you little nothings think you have an understanding of those emotions.

Your hero failed you, didn’t he? The Great Calvin, who everyone thought would be the champion for the common man. They all fail, after a while. Heroes are just people, after all, and people fail. Certainly, your hero failed me. The greatest fault of the males of your species is always your obsession with the females.

But it is not as though he was important. Not so important that he cannot be replaced by a hundred others. After all, you’re hearing me now.

Your new hero will arrive soon, and he will fail you, too. The difference is, this time you will know my rage. Soon, you will learn the true meaning of anger.

And while you take care of the shining one, the precious little vessel, I can deal with other matters. My Blood waits in the rip of the land. It only needs a drop of blood to awaken, and I’m sure it will get it. There is always blood when two neighbors fight over history.

Chapter

One

Victor paced the floor of the game room, a low growl barely contained in his throat. Everything about the room, from the soft backed chairs, the heavy curtains and the thick wooden tables irritated him right then. Including every single other man in it.

Lord Lewis, Victor’s uncle by marriage, and his son Howard played pool. They were knocking the balls together louder than he thought was really necessary. Every now and then Lewis would look up at Victor and chuckle. He was a broad man, with gray hair and a paunch he hadn’t had in his youth. Howard looked much like him, but with darker hair and no paunch to speak of yet.

“First time jitters,” Lewis said finally, “I was just the same when my twins were born.”

Oliver sat on the couch by the fire with Lord James. “Sit down, Victor,” he said, “The king will be back in a moment to tell us how it’s going.”

Oliver was, in Victor’s opinion, too good looking for a man. His hair got far too much attention, his perfect face was in need of roughening. The only thing that redeemed him was the kindness in his eyes.

Lord James, flipping through the pages of a book, chuckled. He was the only other man besides Victor in the room with light hair, a sign of their shared Montelarian heritage. But where Victor was tall and broad, James was a thin man. “It’s hard for you to be away from her right now, isn’t it?” James asked.

“It is not right,” Victor snapped, “I should be with her, she needs me.”

“That’s just where you shouldn’t be,” Lewis said, pointing his pool cue at him. “You have no more place in a birthing chamber than Lenore would have on a battle field.”

Victor thought of his wife and how she’d looked on the battle field, digging her dagger into the back of the neck of the man who’d killed her brother. He thought she’d done just fine.

“That is the way things are done in Montelair,” Victor said, “My da was with my ma when she had us.”

Howard set a hand on his shoulder. “You know you shouldn’t talk like that,” he said, “The people of Septa are having a hard enough time accepting a Montelarian so close to the throne. If we can’t let you wear your furred boots in public, we can’t let you follow Montelarian birth customs.”

Victor glanced down at his high polished boots. As far as he could tell, their only benefit was to match his black silk pants and Septan blue jacket. “Don’t remind me, they pinch,” he muttered.

“Victor,” Oliver said, “we all know how hard it’s been, getting used to Septa customs. But Montelair has been our enemy for so long. You can see why it’s been necessary, can’t you?”

“You would think killing my brother would be enough to prove my loyalty to the Mestonie family,” Victor said, “maybe even give me enough leeway to actually take care of my wife the way I think she should be taken care of!”

There was a scream from the other wing of the palace. Victor recognized Lenore’s voice. He started towards the door, but it opened before he could reach it.

King Samuel, his father in law, stood there. He was one of the few men in the palace big enough to look Victor in the eye. His hair was thick, with a steady streak of gray coming from both of his temples.

“Where are you going?” he asked with a smile.

“Lenore is screaming,” Victor said.

“She’s in pain,” Samuel replied, “Women suffer to bring our children into the world, and we should never forget that.”

“Did they let you in to see her?” Victor asked.

“No, of course not,” Samuel said with a chuckle, “But Lorna spoke to me in the outer chamber, and told me that all is going as well as can be expected.”

“Lenore’s got two midwives, Lorna and her auntie Heather,” Lewis said, naming his wife. “She is well supported.”

“Ramona and Tabitha are with her, too,” James said. James was common born, too. He knew the presence of Lenore’s own nurse and maid would be more of a comfort to Victor than a noble aunt neither of them were fond of.

Samuel sat down at a table that supported a chess set. “Come and have a game. It will make the time go faster,” he said.

Victor thought this unlikely, but to please Samuel he took a seat. But for the gray in his hair, Samuel looked just like he had the night they met. Victor had been so afraid that night, desperately trying to stop his mad brother from murdering Lenore and her family. He hadn’t expected to survive, let alone be given a job. Nearly three years had passed, and now he was the husband of the princess who would someday be queen.

“I remember when Lenore was born,” Samuel said, setting up the chess pieces. “It was the first time I ever heard Lorna raise her voice.”

“Not much like Lenore then,” Howard said.

The men laughed, but over their laughter Victor could hear Lenore’s voice. It didn’t sound like just a scream this time.

“Is she calling for me?” he asked.

Samuel’s cheeks turned red. “No, you’re hearing things,” he said. But the scream came again, and this time it was clearer. “Victor!”

He was out of his seat and to the door before anyone else in the room had time to react. As he ran through the halls of the palace, no one dared stop him. The other noblemen didn’t even bother to follow.

Lenore’s new body guard, Anthony, was standing in front of the door to the entry chamber. A tall, lanky man with a long tail of hair, he looked as bored as he ever did. He saw Victor coming, and moved aside.

“Thanks,” Victor said.

“Queen Mother is only going to throw you out anyway,” Anthony replied.

Howard’s twin sister Harper sat in the chamber with Lady Hannah. They were Lenore’s ladies of court and closest noble friends. Harper was a tall woman, thinner than her brother. Hannah was shorter, with a broad, soft build.

Lenore’s hound, Shepard, was lying in front of the door to the birthing chamber, looking forlorn. She, like Victor, was unaccustomed to being away from Lenore this long.

Both women jumped when he burst into the room. “What are you doing?” Harper cried, “I nearly put my needle through my finger.”

“Was Lenore calling for me?” he asked.

“She was,” Hannah said with a nod. Unlike the rest of court, she had not yet removed the black mourning cloths for Prince Octavian. “But I don’t think the queen will let you go in.”

“Don’t you tell me what I want!” Lenore screamed, “Victor promised me he would be here, and I want him here now, not later when I’m all fancied up!”

“Are you entirely sure you want to go in there?” Harper asked.

“Of course,” Victor said, “she won’t yell at me like that.” He opened the door to the birth chamber while Harper snorted.

The room was large and circular. In the center of the room was a bed on which Lenore sat, her nightgown pulled up around her waist. Her long, curly hair was pulled back in a messy braid, and her face was covered in sweat. A midwife knelt in front of her, hands between her legs. Queen Lorna stood between two waiting bassinets, looking tired.

“What in The Creator’s name took you so long?” Lenore cried.

“I am sorry,” he said, coming to her side.

“Oh, no,” Lorna said. “You’re not staying, not with her in this state.”

“Mother, shut up!” Lenore cried. “He put the babies in there, he’s seen it. And if anyone makes him leave I’m going to make them as miserable as me!”

Ramona and Tabitha glanced at each other. “No, that’s alright,” Tabitha said.

“He’s not bothering me,” Ramona said, “Make yourself useful, boy.” She handed him a clean cloth and pointed towards a bucket of iced water.

Victor took off his jacket, and dipped the cloth in the water. He sat down behind Lenore on the bed so that she could lean against him and set the cloth to her cheek. “Your uncle said to me that I had no more place in this room than you would have on a battlefield,” he said.

“Then you should do fine,” Lenore said, tensing with pain.

“He must not remember the last time Montelair attacked,” Victor said. He washed her face. “We’re changing all the rules, aren’t we, my girl?”

Lorna sniffed, but brought a fresh towel to the bed. “I suppose the next thing will be that you want me to teach you how to run the bloody palace,” she muttered.

“I’d be honored, if you have the time,” he said. When Lorna gave him a sharp look he shrugged, and said, “My old job is taken. I cannot be idle while my wife works.”

Lenore screamed, and pressed against him. He put his arm around her. “Deep breaths,” the midwife said, “In, hold, out.”

Lenore breathed for a few minutes. When the pain subsided, she said, “I wish Devon could have stayed to meet the girls. And Octavian, they’ll never even get to meet him.”

“Octavian will watch over our girls like a guardian angel,” Ramona said, “And I’m sure Devon and Sultiana will visit soon.”

“We haven’t thought of any names yet,” Victor said, trying to change the subject.

“You pick,” Lenore said.

“You can’t give them Montelarian names,” Lorna said.

“Hush, Lady Mother, you are upsetting my wife,” Victor replied.

Hours passed. Lenore’s pain grew worse. Victor started to get worried. He brushed stray bits of hair from her face. “Tabby, will you come and fix her braid?” he asked, thinking that getting her hair out of her face would be some relief.

Tabitha nodded. She brushed Lenore’s hair and set it in a neat plait while she napped between bouts of pain. “One of the many benefits of being sapphic,” she whispered, “Girls don’t get other girls pregnant.”

“Does it normally take this long?” Victor asked, “The midwife would know if there was something wrong, wouldn’t she?”

Tabitha gave him a smile. “Yes, she would know. She’s the best midwife in the country.”

The midwife in question moved Lenore’s knees apart, and said, “Don’t you fuss about me. The princess has only been in labor for six hours. Many women take days to bring their children into the world. They will come when they’re ready, and be cared for like every other baby born in this palace.”

“My heir,” Lenore said with a smile, “the first girl ever to be born heir to the throne.” Then, she drifted back into a light doze.

Lorna shook her head. “You should talk her out of that, you know. It’s one thing for Lenore to rule, Octavian chose her. But your daughter doesn’t have to.”

Victor raised an eyebrow at her.

“I’m only thinking of the baby,” Lorna said, “Lenore’s life is going to be hard. Don’t you want something better for your daughter?’

“My Lady Mother, how about you suggest to Lenore that her daughter not inherit?” Victor asked.

Lorna sighed. “I only want what’s best for you all,” she said.

Lenore was stirring, moaning in pain again. The midwife looked between her legs, and said, “She’s crowning.”

“Are you ready?” Ramona asked.

“I’d better be,” Lenore said.

“Push!” said the midwife.

Lenore pushed. Victor held her close and whispered, “You are so strong, so brave.” Lenore screamed, and soon her screams were joined by those of her daughter.

The midwife pulled the baby girl out, and held her up. “Look at that blond hair,” she said.

Victor looked at his daughter, aching to hold her. But there was another baby coming, so Ramona took the first born to clean her.

Lenore was screaming again, and another ten minutes of pain followed. Finally, the second daughter, tiny with dark hair, came into the world.

“Our girls,” Lenore said.

The midwives hurried to get Lenore cleaned up and in a second waiting bed.

Ramona and Lorna brought the babies to the bed. They placed the girls into Lenore’s arms, and she set them to her breasts for their first meals.

“I’m so tired I don’t know if I can hold them,” she whispered.

“I’ll help,” Victor said, placing his arms under hers, supporting them all.

“What do you want to name them?” she asked.

Victor smiled. “The one with the golden hair, we’ll call Eleanor, for you my love. And the dark haired one can be Loralie.”

“To match,” Lenore said, “That’s good. Eleanor will need her sister. She’ll need all the help she can get.”

Lenore fell asleep, and Victor held his little family close. There were so many dangers waiting outside of those doors, he thought. The people in Septa who didn’t want a ruling queen, much less one with a Montelarian husband. A bitter Montelair, full of men furious at how the war had ended, hung over their heads as well.

“Other das just have to worry about scraped knees and boys,” he whispered. He looked up at Tabitha, who sat nearby. “These girls have inherited all of our enemies.”

Tabitha gave him a sleepy grin. “Good thing they’ve inherited all of your friends, too,” she said.

Lorna wiped tears from her face. For the first time ever, Victor felt close to the cold woman. “You should take Eleanor out to see her people,” she said.

“Just her?” Victor asked, “Won’t the people want to see both of them?”

“She is the heir. She will always be the people’s first priority,” Lorna said.

“She’s sure to curse us for that one day,” Victor said. Never the less, he took his daughter with care, and carried her to the balcony attached to the birthing chamber to see her people.

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Devon Mestonie had lived in the palace of his uncle the king for most of his life. His father had a castle and lands of his own, of course. But in all of his fourteen years Devon didn’t think he’d spent more than a handful of months there. His papa said it was because there was a lot of work to do in the capital, and he was needed. His mamma, Lorna, said it was because Samuel and Issac were too close to stand being parted for very long.

In all that time, Devon and his brother Octavian had shared a room in their cousin Michael’s suite of rooms, as royal cousins and first in his court. Now, Octavian was being moved into Michael’s room. But he wasn’t going without making noise.

“Michael’s been dead for only two weeks, and we just can’t wait to shove all of his things aside and move on, can we?” Octavian cried at the head manservant, Peter, as he oversaw the move. Lighting was crackling along his shoulders, a sign that he was losing control of his magic right along with his temper.

“Prince Michael has gone to the arms of The Creator, and your father has been ordained king,” Peter said with a sigh. “That means that you, sir, are the new heir. This was never Prince Michael’s bedroom, it was the bedroom belonging to the heir of Septa, our next ruler. That is you. If you don’t like it, go and speak to your father the king.”

That, Devon decided, was the bit that was bothering him most. “Your father the king.” It had always been your uncle the king before. That left his father to just be papa. To Devon, it felt like their father didn’t belong to them as much as he had before.

Deciding that he wanted none of the fight that was brewing between Peter and Octavian, Devon ducked out into the hall. Sadly, there didn’t seem to be a single quiet place to be found in the whole palace.

He went first to the training rooms, to play with the bows. There he found Dennis Synthia and Oliver Castille, two of the noble boys of the court. Dennis was Lord David’s son, and he looked like it, being the tallest of the court, with the biggest nose. Oliver was, in Devon’s opinion, too pretty for his own good, with hair that he was too fond of caring for.

Devon selected a bow, and started to fit an arrow to the string. “Bet your papa wants you to take up sword work now,” Oliver said.

“Bugger that,” Devon replied. “I’m terrible with a sword.”

“But it’s more princely,” Dennis said, firing his bow.

“I’m not,” Devon replied.

The indoor range was near the conference chamber. The lords and ambassadors were there, apparently having another argument.

“What are they on about now?” Devon asked, listening to the men’s voices rising and falling.

“That man that stayed from the Montelair soldiers,” Oliver said. “My papa thinks that he’s a spy, and he wants him hung.”

“Lord Lewis thinks we ought to march on Montelair,” Dennis said. “He said that we’re taking the word of someone we know nothing about that this wasn’t an act of war on King Kurtis’s part.”

“Except when he said it, there was a lot more swearing,” Oliver said.

Devon fired his bow, sinking the arrow into the very edge of the red target in the center of the butt. “I was hoping for a bit of quiet,” he said.

“Then don’t go out to the outside range,” Dennis said, “Hank and Howard are out there, sparing.”

“Oh, Creator defend us, I wish they’d stop that,” Devon said. “They only get started fighting, and Hank gets mad if Howard uses his magic, even though he knows he’s got no control over it.”

The door to the conference room opened, and the ambassador from Coveline came out. She was a large dragon, thin in body and green in color.

“I don’t think I’ll ever get used to dragons in the palace,” Dennis whispered.

“Does Ambassador Lau look different from that language master she brought with her?” Oliver asked. “Isn’t she shorter, and fatter?”

“Of course she does,” Devon said. “Ambassador Lau’s a Vondrai dragon. They’re the ruling class. Mistress Risus is a Monnor. They’re more common.”

“Probably shouldn’t call her fat, though,” Oliver laughed.

“I’m going to go find Lenore,” Devon said

“Think she’s in the tower,” Dennis replied.

“How d’you know that?” Oliver asked, smirking.

“Because she’s with Hannah, and Papa likes me to know where my sister is, arse!” Dennis replied, blushing a little.

“Right, I’ll see you later, then,” Devon said. He set the practice bow back in place, and nearly ran to the tower workroom set aside for the thread mages in the palace.

It was Devon’s favorite room. It was circular and huge, with two great fireplaces to keep the cold away in the winter. Every available bit of wall space was covered with hooks that held thread and yarn in all different colors and weights. Great chests were placed beneath them for even more yarn and thread. Comfortable chairs were set around the room for the mages to sit. As his mamma had been the highest ranking thread mage in the palace since their grandmother died, this room did not change hands, and looked just the same as it always had.

Lenore was there, along with Hannah, Ramona and Victor. Hannah was a heavier girl, with a thick braid tucked over her shoulder. She sat next to Lenore, stitching a bright green vest.

Ramona was the head of the royal nursery. She was an older woman, with a stern face. She knelt before a loom, weaving a tapestry that showed birds flying across a blue sky. Thanks to her magic, the birds were moving.

Lenore sat in the sunlight near a window, spinning the light into her thread.

Victor’s appearance had changed a lot since the first time Devon had seen him. His hair had been cropped short and neat, his facial hair shaved. He dressed as most other men of Septa did, the same sort of cloths that Devon wore, with a jacket, undershirt and breeches, with high polished leather boots. He stood next to Lenore’s chair, watching her spin with a look of fascination that amused Devon.

“Hello, Prince,” Ramona said when she saw Devon.

“Please, don’t call me that,” Devon replied. He came to her side, and sat next to her on the floor.

“But that’s what we are now, prince and princess,” Lenore said with a grimace. “As though it does us any good. Octavian will be king, and you’ll be his adviser, I’m sure. But I’ll just have more of the lords after me for their sons. Disgusting, as though I’m nothing more than a means to an end.”

“Oh, stop,” Hannah said. “Being a noblewoman is an important calling. We’ve got lands to run, and families to look after. It’s not like you’ll ever be bored.”

“One can be busy and bored at the same time, if the thing one is doing is boring,” Lenore replied.

“Nurse, can I use your hand loom?” Devon asked.

“Sure,” Ramona said.

“You weave?” Victor asked. “Boys do not weave in my country.”

“Boys don’t weave here, either,” Lenore replied. “Just my little brother. And I wouldn’t allow it, but he’s not bad. You just cannot tell Papa.”

“And how am I to avoid telling him anything, being sworn to him and all?” Victor asked. “A man is not a man if he does not take his vows seriously.”

“Well, I don’t think he’ll ask you direct,” Ramona said. She set the loom in front of Devon, and he started to set it with base yarn. “Besides, a talent is a talent, even if it’s unusual.”

Devon smiled at her. “Thank you, Nurse.”

The five of them sat in silence for awhile. Victor wandered around the room, glancing out of windows and looking bored, but otherwise everyone stayed still. With the rest of the palace in such a rush with the funerals and Samuel’s coronation, this was a mercy.

Devon’s fingers started to itch while he wove. He stopped to rub his fingers on his breeches, then went back to work.

“Does the king know a group of Montelarians are coming up to the palace?” Victor asked, looking out the window.

“I don’t know,” Devon said.

“He does, and he said so yesterday,” Lenore said with a sigh. “Honestly, Devon, you are so hopeless. Papa sent a messenger up to Kurtis about the attack, and this will be the answer.”

Devon was pulling colors from Ramona’s rag bag at random. He looked at the fabric strip he was making, which should have been a simple striped pattern. Instead, it looked vaguely like a crossbow bolt, black with a thin arrow head and wooden fetches at the back in place of feathered ones. Around it was a pattern of flames.

“How did I do that?” he whispered.

Ramona looked down at his loom. “Well,” she said, “that is a clever little pattern.”

Lenore and Hannah bent over to see as well. “That is a manly thing to weave, I suppose,” Victor said.

“That is good,” Lenore said. “Well, if you can’t sword fight, and you aren’t a mage, at least you are good at something, little brother.”

“Wish my brother did something quiet,” Hannah said.

“Let’s go down and see the people from Montelair,” Lenore said, putting her spinning away. “Maybe Papa will let us sit in on the meeting.”

“Why would you want to do a thing like that?” Lorna asked. “They will only talk about boring matters of state. Surely you would be more interested in going to visit the hounds?”

“I am tired of hearing things secondhand,” Lenore said. “Besides, I’m sure Victor will want to know what’s going to happen.”

“I would like to know later, when the nobility of Montelair cannot see me and have me gutted,” Victor muttered.

“Come on,” Lenore said. Devon shoved his loom back into Ramona’s bag, and followed after her and Hannah.

“Here,” Hannah said, offering Lenore a bit of fabric. “I stitched that, so I’ll be able to hear anyone who talks into it. They’ll probably let you sit closer than me.”

“You ladies really are interested in politics?” Victor asked.

“This is history in the making. How is that not fascinating?” Hannah asked.

“I just want to know what’s going on,” Lenore said. “Men are always making all these decisions and they act like it’s not going to concern us poor little girls at all.”

Samuel and his lords were coming from the conference room as Devon and the others came around the corner. “Papa, may we come meet the delegates from Montelair with you?” Lenore asked.

“Oh, Bug, you’ll be frightfully bored,” Samuel said. “Devon, I didn’t think you had any interest in this sort of thing.”

“I do, Papa,” Devon said.

“And so do I,” Lenore said.

“You may come, but you may not speak,” Samuel said. “Montelair has a different opinion of ladies, and I can’t trust them to act like gentlemen to you, dear.”

“I won’t say a word, Papa,” Lenore said.

They fell into step behind the lords. “How do men treat women in Montelair?” Devon asked Victor.

“Not very well,” Victor replied. “I have not lived here long, but I am already seeing that men are more gentle with women here. You would not like Montelair, I think. We are not gentle with many things.”

The gondola holding the Montelair group was pulling up next to the boardwalk in front of the castle. “I will never get used to not having proper roads here, instead of all these canals,” Victor said.

“I can’t imagine living any other way,” Lenore replied.

“Thought we discussed no talking,” Samuel said.

A man was getting out of the gondola. He looked as different from Victor and the other Montelarians Devon had seen as it was possible to be. He was thin, and so pale that his veins could be seen on his face and neck. His eyes were watery. He wore a red velvet coat, and a large decorative velvet hat, encrusted with gold along the rim.

“What’s the matter with him?” Hannah asked.

“He’s inbred, like all the other aristocracy,” Victor whispered. “Stupid kuo i, weakening their whole line because they think their own people to be inferior.”

“What does that word mean, Kuo I?” Lenore asked.

“It is a not so nice word, Princess,” Victor replied. “I believe in Septa, you would say ass.”

The man looked around. Devon was sure he’d heard Victor. If he had, though, he made no mention. “I am Vitaly, official ambassador sent by King Kurtis of Montelair,” he said.

“I am Samuel Mestonie,” Samuel said. “I welcome you to our land, and I hope that we can move past the hostilities of the past to a better future for both of our countries.”

Vitaly smiled, “I hope so as well. I see that you’ve contained one of the Broken Chain men for us. Thank you. I’ve brought guards, we will take him into custody.”

Victor hissed. “Should have known I wasn’t getting off so easy,” he muttered.

“I have no idea what you are talking about,” Samuel said. “That man is my daughter’s bodyguard. He’s working off a debt to the family.”

“Ah,” Vitaly said. “In the interest of friendship, King Samuel, I want to caution against that. These commoners, they are like stray dogs. They will wag their tails for a meal, and happily sleep at the foot of your bed. But in the end, they will always belong to the person who feeds them best.”

“Well, also in the interest of friendship,” Samuel said, crossing his arms over his chest, “let me tell you that Victor knelt under my blade and swore fealty to my family. I don’t know what that means in Montelair, but in Septa we take a man at his word. That’s a Septa man you’re insulting right now, and if you want this conversation to remain ‘friendly’, I’d advise you to stop.”

Vitaly gave the king a gentle wave of his hand. “Of course. No offense meant, I assure you. My apologies.”

Devon’s attention was drawn to the wall. There was movement there, beyond the rhythmic back and forth of the guards marching. One of them had stopped, and was holding a crossbow. It was aimed at Vitaly.

“Papa!” Devon cried, pointing towards the man. Everyone looked up, just as the guard fired.

Samuel’s sword was out in a moment and he swung, throwing a wave of fire at the arrow. It caught, and fell to the ground in cinders. Victor was pulling Devon and Lenore back, as the guards on the wall grabbed the attacker. They pulled his helmet away, to reveal long blond hair.

“That’s one of the men that attacked us,” Lenore cried.

Vitaly’s guards were steadying him, and helping him to brush the ash from his cloths. “That was some very fast magic work, Sire,” he said, with a shaky laugh.

“I think we found your rabid dogs,” Samuel said. “It’s my turn to apologize, I thought we’d swept the palace before your arrival. Come inside, we’ll get you settled with a nice brandy.”

“Yes, that does sound like a good idea,” Vitaly said with a nod.

The king led Vitaly inside, a hand on his shoulder. The others followed, Lenore falling into step beside Devon.

“An arrow,” she said, looking at him sideways.

“What of it?” Devon asked.

“An arrow surrounded by flame,” Hannah added.

“That nice little picture you made, Prince,” Victor said. “Rather prophetic, don’t you think?”

Lenore Mestonie pulled her little brother, Devon, close to her. She tried to catch her breath. The boy who’d saved them scrambled to his feet, and ran towards the canal. She wanted to scream for him to come back, that there were other soldiers who might still hurt them, and she still couldn’t even see her brother Octavian, but then she realized how foolish that was. She didn’t even know this boy, after all.

Devon was struggling out of her grasp. “Michael was hurt, Lenore,” he cried. “We’ve got to check on him.”

“What are we going to do, stupid?” Lenore snapped. “Just stay here with me until we see Papa.”

Septa soldiers were running through the garden, trying to round up the Montelarians. Lenore saw some of them get away, and she hoped that they all drowned in the canals like their leader.

Samuel, her father, was running out into the garden, followed by the other men of the court. He was a tall man, with broad shoulders and a head and beard of thick black hair. He was looking around, as though trying to figure out what was going on. Lenore had to admit that it was very difficult to guess, given the chaos.

A guard was kneeling over Uncle Issac. He looked up, his face pale, and announced to no one in particular, “The king is dead!”

“Prince Michael, too!” someone cried. Lenore looked toward them, to find that it was her younger brother Octavian, the middle of the children, holding their cousin Michael in his arms and sobbing.

Lenore looked back at her father. His strong face was ashen. He took a deep breath, and then another. Finally, he walked over to her. “Bug,” he said, kneeling in front of her, “tell me what happened here.”

“Uncle Issac brought Devon, Michael and me out to see the bats leave the tower,” Lenore said. “Then the wall, well, it just sort of exploded, and those Montelair soldiers came running through. The biggest one shot some sort of light ball at Uncle Issac, Aunt Grace and Michael. I grabbed Devon, and we hid here, but the soldier saw us. He would have killed us, but that boy over there saved our lives.” She nodded her head towards the boy kneeling next to the canal.

“Papa, I thought we were at peace with Montelair,” Devon whispered.

“No tears, Devon,” Samuel said. “Look at your sister, she’s not crying.” Lenore thought that was a very near thing.

“I know that we were at peace with Montelair, and I’ve no idea why they’ve decided to attack us now,” Samuel said, getting to his feet, “but we will find out.”

“It was not Montelair,” said the boy.

Everyone looked towards him, as he rose to his feet, and turned. “It was not the king that sent us,” he repeated. “It was the Brothers of the Broken Chain. My older brother, Calvin, he was leading them. I was only along to try to stop him.”

Samuel pulled his sword, and swung it, lighting the blade on fire. “Not another step closer, not yet,” he said. “It was your brother who was leading, so it was him that killed my brother, the king?”

“And it is him that is now dead, at the bottom of your canal,” Victor said. His Montelarian accent was thick. Lenore had thought that he was a boy, but looking at his face she realized that he had to be at least twenty-three. His roughly cut blond hair hung in wet strands around his face.

“Papa, don’t hurt him,” Lenore said. “He saved us.”

“Who are you?” Samuel asked.

“My name is Victor Olendae. I was a member of the Brotherhood of the Broken Chain.”

“And why did you save my children?” Samuel asked.

“Because I did not want to see more innocent lives taken because my brother could not tell an enemy from a bystander. Because it was the right thing to do.”

“So, what am I to do with you now?” Samuel asked.

Lenore was astonished at how calm her father sounded. She wondered if anyone else noticed how his hands were shaking on the handle of his sword.

Samuel walked up to Victor. “I’ll make you a deal, Victor Olendae. You swear your fealty to me, and I’ll spare your life. I’ll give you a job, and a place in my household. Otherwise, I’ll hold you accountable for your brothers’ crimes.”

“So, my choices are death or slavery?” Victor asked.

“Fealty isn’t slavery,” Lenore snapped. “It’s a promise of loyalty and service. A slave is a bought and paid for possession, and slavery is a filthy practice. There haven’t been any slaves in Septa since my family overthrew the old church.”

One of the noblemen, Lord David, cleared his throat. Lenore looked over at him. He was a taller man, with more nose than his face really needed. “Prince Samuel, we are awaiting your orders,” he said.

“Oh,” Samuel said. “I suppose you must be. Yes, Victor, please look after my children while I get this mess sorted, will you?”

He wandered towards David, calling for guards to collect Issac and Michael, to sweep the grounds in case any more rebels were hiding, and to rouse the ambassadors.

Victor walked up to Lenore, who was just getting to her feet, pulling Devon along with her. “Your dress shines,” he said.

“I am a thread mage, I spin light into yarn,” Lenore said. “Thank you for saving us. I am sorry that you lost your brother.”

“I am sorry that you lost family as well,” Victor said. “I tried to stop the whole thing several times on the way here. This is not how my people should gain their freedom from our king.”

Octavian stumbled up to them. “Lenore,” he asked, “is Papa the king now?”

Lenore looked at him. For a moment, she had a hard time remembering what the words he’d used meant. King wasn’t a title, king was her uncle.

Finally, though, she said, “I think so.”

I have been so alone for so long. Since the other one had cheated me, leaving me in the darkness and cold, I have been alone. I had tried to find another place to bear my egg, my child, but there are precious few warm places in the darkness of the universe. There was nothing I could do, but hold it close to me as it died.

The other one’s child has flourished. Upon it, thousands of species had grown, warm and safe in the light of the sun. The sun that should have been mine.

I can bear this no longer.

Calvin Olendae didn’t believe in me, but that was all right. Men who didn’t believe were just as likely to hear my voice. They are just as likely to call me by my name. I’d spoken to him since he was young, whispering of the sins of Septa, and what he should do to stop them. No

tonight, it was time.

He led his men through the cold, black waters of the canals, right up to the side of the palace walls.

“Makes you sick, boys,” he whispered, “Those fine nobles snug and warm while our babies freeze to death in the night?”

“I still do not see how starting a war after five years of peace is going to fix that,” Victor muttered from beside him.

“Shut up, Vicky,” Calvin hissed. “Now I know you are not very bright, but I would think this plan was simple enough to understand. Do you think you can manage to take orders for once?”

“Yes, Calvin,” Victor muttered. There was one I would have to keep an eye out for. There was too much light within him.

Without another word, the men crawled from the canals, and took oiled cloth bags out from under their cloths. Even after nearly an hour of swimming through the dark waterways that served Septa as roads, they were still dry inside, thanks to a bit of magic from Calvin’s woman. It was a good thing too. The Septans were far more likely to believe they were actual Montelair soldiers if their red coats weren’t soaking wet.

The men stripped their wet coats, and pulled on the uniforms. Then, Calvin led them to the wall that surrounded the palace.

A guard on the wall saw them coming. “You there, stop!” he yelled, training a crossbow on them.

“Victor,” Calvin said.

Victor walked to the wall. When the guard fired, he held up one hand that glowed blue. The bolt hit it, and bounced off.

Calvin clenched his own hand, and a ball of the same blue light formed. More guards were running along the wall. Calvin waited until they got closer, then tossed the light at the wall.

Even his own men jumped when it burned away in a blast of blue light and dust. He ran through, with the others on his heels.

Inside of the wall, there was panic. I had made sure that Calvin would recognize King Issac Mestonie on sight. He stood in front of his wife and son, holding a sword. As Calvin watched, he swung the sword, and it lit with fire.

“That is a cute trick,” Calvin said, “but I have an even a better one.”

He clenched his fist again, and threw another ball at Issac. The king and his family were dead, just like that.

Guards were yelling, and men were running out of the palace. “Calvin,” Victor gasped, “that was a boy you just killed. He could not have been more than fourteen years old.”

“And now he will not reach fifteen,” Calvin replied. “You need to steady yourself for this, boy. This is what war is.”

A nobleman was running from the palace. He drew a sword, and set it afire just as the king had done. “Look, see?” Calvin said. “The nobles are just like weeds. You pull one, and there is always another to take its place. That’s why you have to rip them out by the damn roots, Victor. You take that one.”

Victor swallowed, and nodded. He walked towards the man, his hands glowing. Perhaps I could use him eventually. Calvin turned his attention to the guards. The other Brothers worked their way through them as well. Soon the pretty lawn was painted red with blood.

As Calvin stopped to take a breath, he noticed a flicker of light from behind one of the garden trees. He looked, and saw a young woman, no older than fifteen, and a boy of roughly thirteen. They were hugging each other, and obviously trying just to keep out of sight. That was never going to be possible, with her dress decked out in embroidery that light up like a lantern. The blessing of The One, the one they called The Creator was on her. They were nobles from the looks of them, with that same Mestonie curly black hair.

Calvin started towards them, already pulling together another ball. The girl saw him coming, and held the boy closer. “You get back!” she said.

“How like a noble,” Calvin laughed. “Never knowing when to stop giving orders.”

He started to pull his arm back to throw, but suddenly someone grabbed him from behind. He looked, and saw Victor.

“Let me go!” he yelled, wrenching his arm free. What was he doing?

“Calvin, you can’t cannot keep doing this!” Victor yelled. “Think about what Da would say if he knew you were killing girls.”

“I do not give a damn what Da would have said,” Calvin said. “Any noble that is left over can start this whole mess over again.”

Victor stepped in between him and the children. “This was not the plan! We were supposed to just attack, make them think we were soldiers, and leave. You already killed one child, will you kill two more? Look at them, Calvin, that girl is the same age as June!”

“And if I have to kill her to make sure June and my other children survive, I will do it!” Calvin cried. “Now move!”

Victor held up his hands. “No,” he said.

Calvin swelled with fury. “How dare you?” he hissed. “How dare you chose these noble hounds over your own family? Who raised you after Da died? Who put clothes on your ungrateful back?”

“That is why I’ve got to stop you. How much innocent blood do you want on your hands?”

“There is no innocent blood on my hands, little brother,” Calvin said. He threw the ball.

Victor caught it, and it knocked him back into the noble children. The girl tried to catch him, but all three of them went down. Victor cried out in pain as he landed, but he still didn’t move away from them. “You would really kill me, just to kill them?” he yelled.

Calvin looked down at him. “I do not even have to think about it that hard.” He raised his hand to form another ball. Before he could, though, he was hit from the side by an arrow. He gasped in pain, and another arrow struck his leg. He turned to run back toward the canal, and another arrow hit him in the back. Calvin stumbled, and fell into the black water. In too much agony to swim, he sank into the darkness.

Damn. And I had wasted so much time on him. Oh well, at least there was the other one. But, then, there was also that girl. There was light in her, yes. But perhaps there was room for darkness as well.

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Cover image by Pete Linforth

The city of Septa was filthy, and it was getting dirtier every day. Men and women in the streets, sinning before The Creator and their fellow man. Whores wandered the boardwalks between the deep city canals, laughing brazenly as they tempted men to sin. Men, oh so willing to follow them.

Brother Brennan walked through the boardwalks of the city, eyes down with his black hood over his face, lest he be recognized. His face, pockmarked and hard as carved stone, was far too recognizable.

There was a time when holy men like him didn’t have to hide their faces. They could walk the boardwalks in the open, given the respect they were due. There was a time when the streets were filled with nothing but pureblood Septans. Creator fearing men. Clean women who understood their place.

The fall of the city was the fault of the Mestonie family. The self-proclaimed noble family, who’d sworn to stamp out the Monks of the Silent Path. They weren’t Septan, they descended from an invader, who traveled over the Wolf’s Teeth mountains to destroy the holy city.

This had become more and more clear, ever since the monks had taken Brennan in as a boy.

Oh, how he’d been heralded as a hero then, with the blood of the Elder Sister still on his hands. This action, riding Septa of the false woman who claimed to speak for The Creator. Now, his actions were condemned. Now, his fervor for justice, for keeping Septa clean, was seen as a deficit.

Still, he walked the boardwalks every day, hood covering his head. Things were looking up, at least. People in the city were rising up against the false king. His daughter, the whore princess Lenore, called herself Creator touched with her glowing thread. And the fools, blind as they always were, confused the Creator’s grace with garden variety magic.

But she was a woman, as weak as any of them. When the city started fighting against her family, she had fled to Montelair with her wolf humping husband, abandoning the city. Good riddance to her.

Coming down the boardwalk towards him, Brennan saw two men. There was something about them that pulled him out of his musings. They were young, barely more than boys. They were laughing, their faces aglow.

Then, in front of The Creator and a boardwalk full of decent people, children even, one of the men reached out and interlaced his fingers with his companion. The fellow, in turn, kissed him on his mouth.

He’d been warned to stop lashing out in public. After the last time the elders had been forced to break him free of a worldly prison, he’d been warned to keep his temper.

But this he could not abide.

He pulled a mace from his belt, and swung before the men, the fags, knew he was there. It collided with the first one’s head, and he screamed.

The second one screamed, but Brennan brought up his mace and caught him in the throat.

People were screaming for the guards. Worthless peons, they hadn’t said a thing when the two fags had begun sinning right in front of them. Brennan had known that this would happen, the ungrateful filth. But he’d known that would happen. He also knew it would do him no good to run. So he just kept swinging, turning the men’s heads to nothing more than mush.

The guards certainly didn’t have any gratitude for him. The hit him hard with their batons, bruising his shoulder and rendering him semi-unconscious. “I suppose you would rather I’d have left those two out on the boardwalks to rape little boys?” he howled. But that just made the guards hit him across the face to silence him. Then, they pulled him to the nearest guard barracks and tossed him into a cell.

Brennan sat with his back against the wall, taking care not to put too much pressure on the shoulder the guards had bruised. His fury was abating, and the reality of the situation was sinking in.

The elders had been clear, they wouldn’t be able to save him again. They were right, he knew they were. He risked their great plans by causing this trouble, even if he was doing the work of The Creator. He knew what would happen the next day. The guards would speak with a worldly judge, who would feel that he had no choice but to sentence Brennan to death by hanging.

But then, why would a holy man fear death? He was ready to meet the Creator with a clear conscious. His hands might be dirty, but they were dirty with good, hard work.

Brennan lost himself in meditation and prayer as the sun set outside of his cell window. He could do nothing but wait for the dark to subside and the blessed light to return.

Some time in the night, though, his meditations were disturbed. He heard a man cry out for just a moment before he heard a heavy thump. He opened his eyes.

One of his brother monks, Lorenzo, was trotting to his cell with a set of keys. “Are you well, Brennan? Did they hurt you?”

“Just a bruised shoulder,” Brennan said, standing. “What are you doing here?”

“We are here to liberate you, of course,” Lorenzo said.

“No, don’t be foolish. The elders have made it clear, I could not expect their aid any longer if I lost my temper.”

“The elders sent me here. They are stepping aside for you. Some voluntarily, others less so.” He opened the door and stepped back. “Right this minute the whore princess is sailing for Septa. One of our brothers has had a vision. If something isn’t done, she will sit on the throne. This will mean the end of Septa as we know it. We cannot allow this to happen, Brother. We need a new leader. One who has never been afraid to do what needed to be done in service of The Creator.”

Brennan stepped through the door. “That whore thinks to rule in this city, in the seat of The Creator Himself?”

“What would you have us do?” Lorenzo asked.

Brennan put a hand on his brother’s shoulder. “Many, many things,” he said. “Let’s get started.”

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The following story takes place in between the events of Broken Patterns and Starting Chains. Lenore, heavy with her twin girls, is missing her brothers. The city of Septa is preparing for the winter holiday, Darkest Night. It’s celebrated with friends and families by praying to The Creator to thank Her for the days that Her Female face shines longer. People give each other gifts and enjoy days of feasting and parties by the fireside. Lenore, however, is not feeling much of the holiday spirit. And so she’s going to visit her common friends, Maggie, Sally, and Emily.

It was just past the noon hour when Lenore reached Maggie’s pub. The dining area was empty at the early hour, save for Maggie herself and their friend, Sally. They were sitting at one of the freshly scrubbed tables, sipping tea and nibbling on biscuits that were so warm that steam was rising from them.

“Hey, there,” Maggie said, “Where’s Victor?”

“At the palace, having a meeting with Mamma,” Lenore said, as her bodyguard, Anthony, came into the bar behind her.

“I bet he’s thrilled,” Maggie snorted.

“He’s happier about it than she is, actually,” Lenore chuckled.

She sat down at the table, setting her basket down and pulling out a loaf of brown bread.

“Anthony, do you want to join us?” Sally asked.

“Thank you, no, Miss,” Anthony said, taking up a position next to the door.

“Anthony doesn’t believe he should socialize with me,” Lenore said, pouring herself some tea.

“Well, look what happened when your last bodyguard did,” Maggie chuckled, “That’s how you wound up pregnant.”

“And married,” Lenore said.

“Both situations I’d like to avoid,” Sally said, cutting herself a slice of the bread Lenore brought. “Did Ramona make this?”

Before Lenore could answer, the door opened again and Emily came in. Her eyes were red, but she had a smile on her face. “It is cold out there, isn’t it?” she asked.

“Three days before Darkest Night, it ought to be,” Sally said, but she was giving her friend a searching look.

As Emily put a plate of cold sausages on the table, likely freshly made from her butcher shop, Lenore said, “Have you got a cold?”

“No, Princess,” Emily said, “Why?”

“Because your eyes are red and you sound stuffy. I actually believe you’ve been crying, but I thought I’d rule out cold first,” Lenore said. “What happened?”

Emily sighed and sat down next to Sally. “I’d just as soon not talk about it, to be honest.”

“Your meeting with your father went poorly,” Maggie said.

Emily’s head snapped up. “When I said I didn’t want to talk about it, I didn’t mean that I wanted other people to talk about it.”

“I didn’t know you were talking to your father,” Lenore said.

“She’s not,” Sally said, “Not on the regular, anyway.”

“Are none of you going to listen to me?” Emily cried.

“No,” Maggie said, “Not when you’re acting ashamed over something your papa should be ashamed of.”

Emily turned to Lenore imploringly. “It’s nothing, really,” she said.

“Truly,” Lenore said, “it’s nothing that’s got your eyes red with crying? I won’t press you if you don’t want to talk about it. But don’t insult my intelligence by lying to me, please. It’s insulting.”

“You’d better just tell her, or I will,” Maggie said, and Sally nodded in agreement.

“Fine,” Emily said, sighing. “I wanted to ask him if Tom could have our family name. He’s about to be blessed into the church, and I didn’t want him to be a Grace.”

Grace, Lenore knew, was the last name given a bastard child not recognized by their father’s family.

“He had to give his consent, or the church can’t bless him under your family name,” Lenore said.

“Aye,” Emily said, “But he won’t allow it.”

She was tearing up again. Lenore pulled out one of her handkerchiefs, embroidered in her own glowing light thread. Emily took it and dabbed under her eyes. “It shouldn’t matter,” she said, “but d’you know what he said to me? He said that he ought to be glad he hasn’t disowned me. That Mamma’s got to go to social events with Eugene’s wife, and that’s a humiliation. That a man they were really keen on marrying Liza won’t even make an offer, because of Tom. Here I’ve been, working in that butcher shop until my fingers bled until Master Owen’s wanted to retire and sold the place to me. I made my own life, bought my own house, own my own shop. I’ve never asked Papa for a single oct, but I asked him for our name. And all he can say is how I’ve embarrassed the family.”

Maggie moved closer to put an arm around Emily. “Anyone with sense would be proud to have you as a daughter, you know,” she said, “Just shows what a fool he is.”

Lenore leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knee. “I’m so sorry, Emily,” she said, “Isn’t there anything Elder Brother John can do?”

“I don’t think so,” Emily said. “And anyway, I’d hate to ask him. Monica, she’s one of the daughters-,”

“Monica and I know each other,” Lenore said, nodding.

“Well, she and I grew up close. She said Elder Brother John brought Papa and Eugene into his office and gave them a loud talking to. Said a man who couldn’t be a good papa wasn’t a good man. I don’t know what he expected that would do, but it didn’t do anything.”

“I expect they both told him the same thing,” Sally said, “They’ve got other children to think of. They can’t darken their prospects for a whore daughter and a bastard son.”

When the other women looked at her, she shrugged. “I don’t have to like or agree with the minds of wicked men to understand how they think.”

If Lenore had hoped that her visit with the girls would brighten her spirits, she was wrong. She went back to the palace, feeling lower than she had when she left.

She found Victor and her father, King Samuel, in the games room brooding over a chess board. Both men looked up when she and Anthony came in.

“Bug,” Samuel said, smiling at her. “Did you have a good time with your friends?”

“Not really,” Lenore said, taking a seat next to Victor.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, putting an arm around her waist. “Are the girls alright?”

“No,” Lenore said, “They’re not. Emily’s son is about to have his blessing, and he’s going to be a Grace. She wanted her father to let him have their family name, and he wouldn’t.”

She looked at her father and reached across the table for his hand. “This girl, she did the same thing I did, you know. The only difference was that the man didn’t want to marry her.”

“It’s hard, to see someone treated so unfairly,” the king said, nodding.

Then, his face brightened. “But, dear, you know that she doesn’t have to give her son her father’s name. Women can inherit now. She can give her own name to him.”

“What do you mean?” Lenore asked, “She doesn’t have any other name to give him. She has her father’s name, and he’s the patriarch of their family.”

“Well,” Samuel said, “maybe there’s something we can do about that.”

The day before Darkest Night, Lenore again made her way down to Maggie’s pub. She carried a basket full of gifts for the girls and their families. Victor was with her, sitting by her side.

When they arrived at the pub, Maggie and her husband <?> were there, with his daughter, Rosie. Sally was there, with her father Otis. Emily and Tom were there as well. Tom and Rosie were running around the bar, shouting for each other. They didn’t even notice when the prince and princess walked in.

“Look at them,” Victor said, warmly. “Soon our little girls will be running around with them.”

“Yes,” Lenore said, smiling.

“Hello,” Maggie said, coming to give them both hugs. “A peaceful Darkest Night to you both.”

“And you,” Lenore said, giving her a tight hug. “Shall we start with the presents?”

“I think the children would like that, yes,” Maggie said, laughing, as both children in question stopped in their tracks at the word presents.

“You must both sit down at the table and be quiet, though,” Lenore said. They both scrambled to get into a chair.

The adults took out wrapped gifts for the children first. Both children received a rubber ball, a jump rope, and a wooden soldier. They thanked each adult politely, then fell to playing in earnest.

Lenore let Maggie, Sally, and Emily give out their gifts first.

Maggie had a bottle of sweet wine for each of them.

Emily gave them all jars of garlic stuffed olives that made Lenore’s mouth water when she opened hers.

Sally gave everyone thick leather date books that looked very much like her own.

Finally, it was Lenore’s turn.

“For Maggie,” Lenore said, reaching into her basket, “I’ve made you a shawl.” She handed her friend a soft knitted shawl that shone softly with her magical yarn.

“Oh, it’s so lovely, Lenore,” Maggie said, putting it over her shoulders.

“For Sally,” Lenore said, “A set of silver candlestick holders, to commemorate you taking over the business.”

“And they’ll look quite handsome on my desk, thank you,” Sally said, taking the holders with a smile.

“And Emily,” Lenore said, reaching into the basket. “Oh, but it’s empty.”

“Lenore, you did not even forget Emily’s gift,” Maggie gasped.

“Wait, no,” Lenore said, “I have it. It just didn’t fit in a basket.”

She stood up. “Emily, as princess heir, it is my privilege to give titles to citizens that have earned them through good or brave works. When you had your son, you could have given him up to the church and gone back to a life of comfort as a wealthy man’s daughter. But instead, you committed yourself to him and creating a life that was all your own. For that, I’d like to give you your own family name, Fleischer. This is your own, and your son’s. No one can ever take it from you.”

Emily’s eyes widened. “Wait, d’you mean it? Can you do that?”

“I can,” Lenore said, “and I should.”

“Oh,” Emily said, “this is the best gift I’ve ever gotten, Lenore, thank you!”

“That’s hardly a gift, it’s something you’ve earned,” Sally said, putting a hand on Emily’s shoulder. “Personally, I think Lenore still owes you a present.”

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