Ordadus

[Eillur, Sordmar XVII]

There is no peace in death for the living. That is why we carve names into headstones, making immovable monuments, constantly warring against decay and all that is forgotten. History is shaped by the scholars, and it is for that reason I carve with my pen the names of the crew that fell to the storm, the waves, and the poison of bloodweed: preventable deaths, but lives lived to their last in glory. If any a soul could be named fearless, there is none, but these sailors fought to the end for their comrades' survival.

I am only here because of their selflessness. It is a debt I will never forget and can never repay.

Here, we remember the beloved and the fallen.

Captain Rufus Cato. 24. Ambitious, passionate, full of life and a true patriot. A son of Marcellus, nephew of Francis, and grand-nephew of Admiral Magdalena Seneca, his veteran advisor. He died reaching for something few dare to try; he found the courage to step into the unknown. To be rewarded with death was his tragic sacrifice, but we honor it for all that he gave.

First Mate, Commodore Francis Seneca. 43. Dearly loved son of Admiral Seneca. A father to his family and to all under his care. Charismatic, affable, and spirited. He will be remembered for all his kindness - that which he showed seen and unseen.

Commander Hebe Morandi. 37. Mother of four, loyal to a fault, and harsh but fair. She ran the tightest ship of the New Soliman navy with unflinching conviction and devotion, and never gave up.

Ensign Cordula Roche. 32. She filled every room with light and life. Fiercely competent and fiercly alive, she seized every moment for all the delight it could offer.

Ensign Josias Silvestri. 51. Fearsome, but full of care. He made every meal with love, but his protective spirit transcended his role in the kitchen. He looked out for the best interests of others wherever he went, and was the first to anyone's defense.

Lieutenant Macedon Palacio.

A finger poked his shoulder repeatedly-- not forcefully, but in rapid succession, like barely contained excitement.

"Hey, stranger!" a young woman's voice said beside him, with cordial cheerfulness. "You're going to miss your chance at the wine we uncorked just for you if you don't look up from your book!"

A bubble popped.

The tail end of a loud cheer crashed over him, and Emiliano's heart catapulted into his throat. The Cambios clashed bubbling tankards and shining glasses against one another in cheerful camaraderie, and at the opposite end of the table, Felix poured Admiral Seneca a glass of deep red wine. Across from them, Julian and Sir Augustine were already sipping glasses of their own.

The rallying cry: To the survivors! Finally registered in his ears as Francisca tipped a glass his way, half-full. When he met her eyes, they were sparkling with her big grin.

"Oh!" Emiliano said, flashing a bright smile. "You're too thoughtful, Francisca. Yes, thank you, I'd love to."

His laugh spread out like a blanket over the sorrows he buried in the book, closing it on the pencil tucked in the binding. The night was alight with revelry as the Cambios dined under tents and stars. Standing torches bordered the area, leaving the best light at the far end of the table -- his corner, until the interruption.

Francisca giggled as she passed him the glass. "Do you always prefer books to people?"

His smile spread wide. "Quite the contrary," he said. "Under different circumstances, I'd eagerly partake in the merrymaking. It's only that, well-" He clicked his tongue. "Today I needed assistance. So, tell me, who's the first person to avoid?"

He circled his finger playfully at the rest of the table.

"Hmmm." Francisca squinted thoughtfully at the company, tapping her finger against her glass, before pointing at the man who guarded the cliff side. "Have you met Ulixes yet? If you have, has he actually said anything yet?"

"Ah, yes," he murmured. "The man who offered to throw me off the cliff side if I so much as breathed in the wrong direction. We've met."

"Wow, so he has spoken to you!" Francisca seemed more impressed at the idea than alarmed by that threat. "That's rare."

"I seem to have that affect on people," Emiliano said. "Compelling them to speak, that is. Though I'll say the greater portion of what I've elicited has been of questionable affability."

Francisca made a psssh sound, accompanied with a dismissive wave of her hand. "Ah, they'll warm up to you. They always do. You see Sertor over there, talking to Titus?"

"The medic and the unwavering smile."

"Right on." Francisca grinned wider. "Sertor's kind of a loner-- gets the job done, does it well, but gets grumpy if you try and snag his time without having a sprain or a cough to actually see him for. When Titus washed up here, no one would've expected Sertor to be the one he clung on to, and certainly not for it to work. It took a bit, but-- I mean, just look at them. They're best friends and the best part is Sertor can't even deny it anymore."

As Emiliano watched the pair, Titus was pulling an exaggerated grouchy face, saying something in a deep, forlorn voice that sounded like a playful imitation of Sertor. The medic rolled his eyes and visibly sighed, but Emiliano saw a smirk pull at his lips as he took a sip of wine. A fondness, both warm and distant, seeped through his chest at the sight.

"You all share a rich history."

"Oh, yeah." Francisca nodded. "I'm sure it looks like a lot, but you'll get used to that too. One day you'll blink and you'll be immersed, just like--" She snapped her fingers, beaming. "That!"

Emiliano grinned and took a slow sip of wine. Two days on this island, and now he was imagining a life here like it was the only option.

"If I'm to immerse myself," he said. "What is the first thing about me that screams: 'foreigner?'"

"Here? In the Cambios?" Francisca chuckled. "No one here cares about that, silly!"

He laughed, but he feared she'd misunderstood him entirely.

"But outside this place," he said. "Please. Just entertain the hypothetical for a moment. I've never been here: I do not know what sets us apart, but there is strength in understanding."

"Hmm. If you ever needed to blend in on a mission or something, then..." Francisca tilted her head thoughtfully. "Like, the accent is pretty obvious? Don't get me wrong, it's cute, but I've never heard anyone from here speak that way."

Sparks patterned over Emiliano's cerebrum.

It was the same thing Ilaria noticed, Aurelia chided, and Felix remarked about. He needed to learn the regional dialect of Ordadus, no matter how 'cute' his accent was. He hummed.

"How does this sound as a first pass?" he said, attempting her harder consonants and open vowels.

"Not bad, not bad! You're a fast learner." Francisca winked.

"It will take practice, though," he said, attempting to sustain it. "Accents are awfully easy to drop under duress when they're not your own."

"You're so right. You know what's good practice, though?" Francisca gave him a nudge of the shoulder. "Talking to more people who have it!"

With wistful longing, but less desire than he'd hoped, he let his gaze drift to the others at the table.

"Care to follow me, then?"

"As backup?"

"As a bridge."

"You got it." Francisca saluted.

Lieutenant Macedon Palacio.

He was well acquainted with Titus and Sertor. Their friendship was undeniably charming. Jocasta was amiable as ever.

46. Francis' dearest friend.

He let the evening carry on in one-sided conversations. Asking questions was like digging wells: when he hit a spring, they'd speak freely.

His heart was composed of nothing but fire and warmth. The most impressive sailor I have yet to know, and he saved my life without knowing it.

When he landed in the corner once more, it was when the elder Cambios began to turn in. His end of the table grew bare, and he reached for his pencil again.

I wish he was still here. I wish they all were.

A glance up at the dissipating crowd wounded him.

In a distant plane, I imagine Mar has taken them under her wing. Where the sea was merciless in life, it is gentle in death, and my only bitterness is that their bodies will never see the light. All but one of these names were the only ones who saw the shore: countless more were swallowed by the waves with their Captain. The crew numbered over one hundred strong, and I wish I knew all of them. How few saw land only deepens the weight of their loss.

What, then, do we do as those with the void they've left behind? For some, it is to find purpose in carrying on the mission of the Gloria Invicta. Glory, no longer in the name of New Solimar, but in the name of Rufus, and Francis, and Palacio. For every face the sea stole, for every soul lost to memory. But for me, my mission does not change.

Remember. Remember. Remember. I commit it all to memory, everything I possibly can, and I claim space with my pen...

"Missing the chickens?" Emiliano startled and looked up sharply, to find Julian staring at the page over his shoulder. He looked paler than before, slightly ill, but seemed to be mostly back on his feet. Julian clapped him on the back. Was he tipsy? He was certainly acting like it. "Truly tragic," he remarked. "One of the few birds who can't fly, at least not far enough to make a difference."

Emiliano closed the book, with his thumb in the pages.

"Julian," he said with a mustered smile. "It's good to see you up and about. Are you feeling much recovered?"

"Better, certainly, yes," Julian said, raising his cup to his lips to take a sip, then frowning. "Ah, it seems I finished it. Hm." He set the cup down decisively, then said, "You write often. You've met Sabina? She writes. A lot."

Emiliano nodded slowly, catching the alcohol on Julian's breath. "I have. She's been very kind to me."

A beat.

"Perhaps you should turn in for the night?" Emiliano suggested. "You still look a mite pallid."

"No, no," Julian said with a shake of his head. "Well, actually, yes, I likely should. She seems quite nice. Sabina, I mean. She has been kind to me as well. Seems the trusting sort."

Emiliano started to speak, taking the pause as a sign, but Julian turned to him so fast it almost startled him. "You know, we are all birds. And that's odd. Because I do not wish to be a bird. But you, I imagine as a crow. Or perhaps a parrot. They are quite smart, you know. And many can train parrots to speak. Actually, there may be a story of a crow speaking as well." Julian frowned. "I can't remember, and I can't say I wish to remember."

It was no wonder Julian and Augsutine got along. Their obsession with fowls was shared, though Julian's fixation seemed unwilling.

"I... want to imagine that there is an aim to your analogies," Emiliano offered. "But you needn't continue them if it pains you."

"No, no," Julian said insistently. "You are not understanding my words. Or rather, my words are not understanding me. In my mind, I mean. What I mean is, chickens, their heads come off, and we cannot put them back on. So then, we should just... stop thinking about the chickens."

...The chickens.

Julian meant to stop thinking about the sailors, then. To stop sulking, and cease grief. It was the same message of Francesca, through a garbled, drunken mouthpiece. He smiled thinly.

"I appreciate your attempt at comfort," he lied, patting Julian's shoulder as he stood up. "But I believe I should turn in lest I, too, lose my head."

"No, no," Julian said. "Parrots losing their heads, that isn't a saying. That wouldn't happen. Though I do suppose you could go crazy." He blinked a few times, then said, "I should likely be off as well. My tongue is too loose, and my thoughts are too... loose."

"Rest, then," Emiliano smiled, and tucked his book under his arm. "And don't lose your head, either."

He left the tables to return to the docks. There, he found the refuge of Sabina's boat again, and he entered carefully. She was already asleep-- he could see her in one of the two hammocks, on the far side of the dividing sail curtain. He took a seat at her desk with a small sigh and set his book down once more, only hoping to finish his thoughts as quietly as possible. He opened to a new page.

But before he could write a word, he felt the eyes of the world on the tip of his pencil, as if he'd earned its fixation. An image conjured in his mind of the princess, dusting sand off his missing page, and reading to investigate, and aquire knowledge.

How much had she deduced of his character from that tiny fraction? It would have been one thing to offer that information openly. He might've, under the right circumstance, if she'd asked it of him. But until present, they were strangers, and still much so. What plagued him was the fantasies his mind began to spin.

For a moment, Emiliano buried his face in his hands. When he finally took his pencil again, he began to write in Divitan.

Because he could not bear the princess reading this and comprehending, if his book were ever to be confiscated - worst come to worst.

Infatuation is men's greatest distraction, and I am a fool for knowingly entertaining it. There's a special kind of self-loathing that comes with overindulgence of any kind, but I've never known one like this.

I am not of sound mind. Who imagines a life with a princess when surrounded by ghosts? If I could separate the delusion from the ship haunting my shadow, perhaps I could justify the skip in my heart -- but this just feels infantile and cockamamie. I find myself longing for a brother who would throttle sense into my waterlogged skull. Perhaps, if I'd been born to siblings, I would know enough shame to have naught a longing at all.

All I've known is comfort, and now I have nothing. It is no wonder, then, that the visage of a beautiful woman would tempt my fragile inner fortitude. I am no stranger to finding escape in something so meaningless as lust, which far surpasses the scope of simple pleasures. I did, after all, board a ship in hopes of making history.

By Sol's light, I am beset by a compunction so suffocating I may not recover. I am a worm, looking to escape into the dust. I have to let this pass. It is in great repentance I pray I never see Dame Ilaria again, lest my weak heart find a home in my vain imaginations - for I know I will never find one in hers. Felix has made it clear there is no room for mixture with the enemy, and those lines were drawn long before my arrival... and survival.

No matter the wrestle inside Ilaria's soul, I am the last salt-filled sack she would dare consider, not because of my character or appearance, but because of what I am:

A foreigner. And that is a crime for which I can never pay penance.

With no other recourse, it is suffice to say: Long live the revolution.

It was well-known to her extremely small family that Aurelia dreamt of her daughter often.

Sometimes Lucia appeared as a child, giggling at the dinner table. That little girl-- she was all sparkling eyes and rosy cheeks. The only thing that could bring a smile to Aurelia's face. She could clearly imagine those dreams now, her daughter with a grin spread across her tiny face being ripped away by an unfamiliar man. In a place Aurelia would never see, hours away.

Because although Aurelia would never admit it to her daughter, Lucia being away from her might as well have been her worst nightmare.

Other times, she could foggily picture the girl, happier than ever in Nevra Cor. Her face was blurry--it had been two years since she'd last seen her own child--but she imagined Lucia as studious, gracious. Not so bubbly and bright, and yet...exactly what she needed to be.

Each time she woke up, a part of her died. Just a little, and not so much that she'd reveal it to anyone.

So when the princess had appeared at her door, Aurelia could see what she wanted, right there in reach. Tuition, paid by the government--yet it wasn't just tuition, it was freedom. And a chance to see the girl she loved more than her own soul.

Perhaps she'd been a little hesitant. For the first time in years, guilt had pricked at her throat. Even still, she negotiated. She'd seen the thread of desperation in Ilaria's eyes and tugged at it till it broke.

Yet the princess had asked a price that Aurelia wasn't so sure she could pay--information. On the shipwrecked, on their location. Aurelia knew what would happen to those people.

She didn't really care though, right? She thought about it as she sat cooking her meal for one. Those people were all foreigners, and some had been rude. And others had been...tolerable. She thought of the eye-patch woman -- the 'Admiral', that odd man had called her -- she had been a mother as well. Aurelia could tell, could hear the mourning in her voice. If the Admiral passed, she'd be with her son. And yet she would leave behind a daughter of her own.

Aurelia had given the information anyways.

The guilt pricked at her chest once more, though she tried to push it away. As she stoked her cooking-fire, it seemed to get hotter, making beads of sweat form on her neck. Before she knew it, she was out of breath. Breathe. she told herself, wiping her collarbone with her raggedy old kerchief.

She told herself this was all because she was just...nervous with excitement. From a young age, Aurelia had always been quite good at lying to herself.



"How long will you be gone?" Aurelia's mother asked coldly.

The question nagged at Aurelia, too, but she brushed it off. "It doesn't matter, does it?" she said, stuffing her nicest--well, cleanest--linen dress into her biggest sack.

Her mother scoffed. "Of course it matters, dear daughter." The words sounded like they were laced with blood. Aurelia wasn't sure if anyone was dear to her mother--let alone herself.

"No, it doesn't," Aurelia replied through gritted teeth. "I have money now. At least, enough to make sure Lucia finds her way. I don't believe I should rush back here."

"Insolent young one," the older woman coughed. "You always were on the lazier side."

Aurelia would have bitten back tears--that was always what happened when she was young--but now she just seethed.

"Because sitting in a market stall all day is so very productive," she said, voice tangled in anger.

Her mother merely raised her eyebrows. "I do you a favor, sitting there in the heat. All because you couldn't find a proper husband."

"Like you've never been tricked," Aurelia muttered.

Her husbandless life had long been a topic of conversation in the family, and no matter how much Aurelia protested that she didn't need a man, her mother couldn't accept it. "A woman like you should be supported by a man!" the elder woman would say, clucking her tongue.

Needless to say, it was a soft spot.

"Just because you got yourself pregnant off of a man who you hardly knew, let alone loved, doesn't mean I should have to suffer!" Aurelia's mother said indignantly.

Aurelia shoved a last scrap of fabric into her sack with a huff. Prolonging this...petty argument would do her no good. No matter how much she secretly wanted to slap her mother across the face.

Just then, a pounding at the door broke the empty silence.

"It must be my transport," Aurelia said flatly to her mother. Inside, though, her heart lit up. She ran to the entrance, sack in hand, and let her caller in.

Standing outside her door was a knight in full armor. The man was tall, and he carried a haughtiness that Aurelia assumed must come from his objectively good looks. His face, though marked with age, was also chiseled in a way that made her recoil, just a little.

"Sir," she said, opening the door wider and beckoning the knight in. He leaned down to get into the doorframe -- all of the generations that had lived in the Marin house had been, woefully, short -- and he extended his hand. To anyone else, Aurelia might have taken the hand, but there was something about the knight that put her on edge.

So she nodded. Quite awkwardly, actually. He played it off by twirling his hand to the side and bowing his head.

"Thank you, madame." He looked up with a warm smile. "Are you Ms. Aurelia Marin?"

Aurelia could hear the creak of her mother's footsteps behind her, and the subsequent gasp that came from the older woman. She sighed.

"Yes, I am," she said. "Are you here to escort me to Nevra Cor?"

The smile on the man's face turned curious. "Unfortunately, I am not. Perhaps that missive passed me while I was en route. I'm Sir Cicero, and it's quite the pleasure to meet you." He smiled brighter. "Which knight did you confer with for these plans?"

Something dropped in Aurelia's throat. "I spoke with Dame Ilaria, a few days ago."

"Ah," Cicero nodded. "It seems your business with her is underway, but if you are ready for departure now, I would be happy to escort you. It will be no trouble to send word to the Keep, as I have a messenger bird in my care -- and I am already going inland after this stop."

Aurelia's mother crept behind her and gently touched her shoulder. "Look, the nice knight wants to...escort you." The older woman winked. Once again, Aurelia sighed, though this time with a bit of relief.

"Let me collect my things," she told Cicero, who still wore that unnerving smile.

After having taken her sack, Aurelia followed the knight onto the dusty road, where his faelk stood. In the sunlight, Cicero's surcoat glittered, and she could see the intricacy of the silver clover that lay in the middle. It captivated her, perhaps more than it should, and she couldn't help staring.

Cicero tied her bags taut on the back of the saddle, and then turned to her with a faint grin. "Have you ever been on a Faelk before?" he asked.

Aurelia heard a strangely girlish giggle escape her mouth. "No, sir...not many chances for that in Darnell."

"Well, Aurelia, I'm honored to be your first," he said. With a confident, sweeping motion, he mounted the saddle and offered his hand. "One foot in the stirrup, and I'll keep you steady."

In the open window of her house, Aurelia could see her mother peeking through, an out-of-place grin on her lips. With a final smile at the elder woman, she stepped into the stirrup and held Cicero's oddly-large hand. He pulled her up, and her leg swung over the other side of the saddle. Placed in front of him, his arms came around her to take the reins, and he waved to Aurelia's mother at the door.

Being atop a faelk was almost like being in her boat. Except, the boat was pulsing beneath her, and there were two immense horns blocking her view.

And she was being practically held by a man in armor.

Cicero explained briefly it would take a day to reach the foothills and another to breach the mountain pass, going down into Nevra Cor. There was a Falken stable available for lodging where they would spend the night before continuing the journey. The description he gave her of the location sounded like a men's club for cowboys, but he tried to assure her they'd give her space, and it wasn't all creatures and chaos.

She was a little in shock, though she tried not to let it show. Staying...overnight. With a man. Something she hadn't done since a coincidental nine months before Lucia was born. Not that this was anything like that night.

Hopefully, Cicero wouldn't leave her alone in the morning. He was a knight, after all, he was...chivalrous.

There was a lot of time to watch the landscape passing by, as it shifted from the sandy beach to the grassy hills. The long, yellowed grass rippled with the ocean wind like waves, making the shore feel closer than it was, especially when the smell of sea salt still lingered in the breeze.

Eventually, Cicero broke the peaceful silence. "So, what was it like, meeting the Princess for the first time?"

Aurelia, still stiff, responded quickly. "As you'd imagine, it was quite a bit nerve-wracking. She's very straightforward -- although that did end up working to my advantage."

"Really? How so?"

The fisherwoman shrugged. "She was able to give me what I desired."

"A ride into Nevra Cor?"

"A ride, yes," Aurelia muttered. "Though to me it means a bit more than a ride."

"Is there something waiting for you there?" A pause. "Your husband? Family?"

Aurelia let out a bitter laugh. "Husband, Marra, no. A daughter, and yes, she was out of wedlock." Her voice softened. "Though, just calling her a daughter is a disservice."

Cicero's hum reverberated through his chest so deeply she could almost feel it herself. "It sounds like you love her dearly. How long have you been apart?"

"Two years," Aurelia said. "She studies in the capital. Future government official, she says."

"She must be incredibly bright to attend Corvinus Academy. The standards for testing are exceptional even for those in Nevra Cor."

"She did the best with what she had," Aurelia sighed. "I wish I could have given her more as a child -- though I suppose she turned out alright."

"With no slight to your birthplace," he said. "Accomplishing that as a fisherwoman from Darnell... I would give yourself more credit. Most people born in Darnell stay in Darnell."

Aurelia gazed out at the swiftly changing landscape. They had not been travelling for long, but truthfully, she had never been this far from home. Although she didn't wish to admit it, the knight was right.

"That is true," she said softly. After, conversation ran dry, and for a while the only sounds that surrounded them were the wind and the birds. Aurelia was surprised at the birds here: She had only known the seabirds, who'd cried like toddlers every morning since she was born. Yet in the hills, the birds sang sweet songs that she couldn't help but soak up.

"I hate to ask," Cicero finally broke the silence. "But what did the Princess ask for in exchange? Kind as she is, she's not one to hand out favors."

"Information," Aurelia said stiffly. "Likely the only valuable thing I could ever give her."

"Information?" Cicero sounded surprised. "What about?"

"There was...a shipwreck. While I was fishing in the late night," she said. "I had met some of the survivors. I had...harbored them. And she wanted to know about it."

"Harbored them?" Cicero's tone took on sincere concern. "You weren't forced to do so, were you? They didn't give you any trouble, did they?"

She sighed. "Only partially forced. And although they were strangers, they weren't too offensive. Though, one was annoyingly curious."

Cicero could feel the rising and falling of his chest as he sighed in relief. "Well. I'm glad you're alright. It's curious, though, that Ilaria's compensating so greatly for the information - valuable as it may be."

"To be completely honest, I don't know why she was paying me. For all I know, I should have been locked up," Aurelia said. "But the princess must have had her reasons."

"So it seems," Cicero hummed. There was a small pause as he leaned over her shoulder, just a tad, as if to catch her expression. "Say, if the survivors are no longer with you... where did they go?"

"That odd rebel man -- I don't quite remember much about him -- he took them to a town west of Darnell." she said. "Angler."

"Angler," he echoed. "Well. At least the trouble is far from you, now."

But as he leaned back, and his face briefly turned to her, she swore she saw genuine worry in his eyes, like he'd been searching hers, to see if she was truly unharmed. A part of him, it seemed, feared she was being used by the fugitives, and might've been under duress.

She didn't quite know if it was endearing or slightly creepy. But it was unfamiliar, a fondness and caring that she hadn't known since her daughter was very young.

It was odd, in that way. That a toddler could care as deeply as a grown man.

The air fell quiet again, this time laden with a tension she couldn't quite place. The hills rolled on by, grass turning lush with more green than she'd ever seen.

Eventually, the road became clearer, weeds no longer mixing with gravel.

Cicero pointed to a small building on the horizon. "The Solea Stables," he said fondly, explaining that knights kept their faelk stabled there, and he visited often, passing through. It was where he first obtained his faelk, Rumio, and bonded with his steed. A few more fond memories melded together as one painting, depicting a space filled with hardened knights at rest, amongst powerful beasts.

It reminded Aurelia of the stories she used to tell when Lucia was young. This man, his world, were both so distant.

When they arrived at last, the stables were much bigger than Aurelia could have imagined. The building was fashioned out of sleek wood, and faelk of all colors peeked out from their enclosures. In the middle was a large house-like structure, which Cicero told her was an inn for riders to stay on their journeys. Ostensibly, that would be where they would spend the night.

The ride in was met with many friendly waves from different falken tending to their creatures, and Cicero seemed a popular fellow. He handed off Rumio to a friend of his at the stables, leaving Aurelia with repeated short introductions to more names than she could absorb, but finally, they entered the inn with Cicero behind her, carrying her belongings in his arms. He led her to a first floor room, which had a heart on it. It seemed the doors mirrored the themed surcoats: each had a different suit from playing cards.

Cicero set her things inside the room, where the accomodations were simple, but nicer than most hut lodgings in Darnell.

"I'll see you in the morning. The mess hall's just around the corner," he said. "The cooks will have hot food after sunrise."

Aurelia let out a soft "oh" and nodded. "Where are you off to?"

Cicero smiled warmly. "I just have to send off a message to my Captain, and the birds are in the stables," he said. "But if you're hungry after the days' journey, I think there should be leftovers in the kitchen if you'd like to join me after you get settled?"

She nodded once more, this time more certain. "Of course."



In the darkness, Aurelia fumbled the door handle to her room, clumsy as she tried to turn it.

The sun had set, yes, and it was bothering her eyesight. But she also felt oddly airy.

Dinner, she told herself. That is all it had to have been. She and Cicero were of different worlds, but they managed to talk about a great many things. He never judged, only looked her in the eyes in that curious way. She hoped she had been a good conversation partner, considering she hadn't talked to many people in the last eighteen years.

Finally turning the handle, she stumbled into her room with an unnatural giggle. Her bed seemed feathery and soft, and she fell into it effortlessly.

Of course, it was better than her wooden boards back at home. Of course, she'd fall asleep like a baby, curled up under the blanket, and sleep better than she ever had.

Her dreams that night weren't of losing her daughter, as they usually were. Instead, she danced in a field not unlike the one they'd ridden through earlier that day.

She wasn't sure if she'd ever wake up.

But she did. A sharp knock at the door woke her, and as she opened her eyes, she could see that the sunrise was slowly creeping through the horizon.

She arose softly, padding along the wooden floors barefoot to open the door.

Cicero stood in the doorway, fully armored, and partially out of breath. His casual, breezy demeanor had given way to something far more sobered, and his lips curled in a small frown. He bowed his head as if chastened, seeking forgiveness.

"I must apologize, Ms. Aurelia," he said as he raised his head. "I have recieved a summons to Angler, and I'm required to leave at sunrise. Though I am reluctant to go, I have little say in the matter. It seems, for whatever the fugitives are up to, they are in need of reinforcements."

"I see," she said, trying not to let disappointment leak into her voice. He was being called to battle -- something she could have anticipated of a knight.

And, of course, he was leaving her.

"I hate to leave our journey unfinished," Cicero said. "And I'd like to see through your reunion with your daughter. Will you wait here, at Solea Stables? I promise I will do everything in my power to return to you, swiftly as I can."

"Thank you for your concern," she said. "Please take your time with the issue, I understand your work is important."

"I appreciate your understanding." Cicero nodded. "Make yourself at home here until then, and if you need anything, speak to the cook."

It was a hasty instruction before he departed. For the sun, it seemed, was already rising, and duty called.

With the door closed, Aurelia walked slowly back to the bed, flopping lazily onto the plush covers. Of course, she thought. Once again.

Long ago, Aurelia had sworn off caring for a singular reason. It seemed that she had lost track of that for a few euphoric hours.

She was a woman of reason, though -- and she reasoned that once again, she'd made a terrible mistake.

In lieu of headstones, the Cambios had taken one small article of clothing from the deceased's body - a sock, a handkerchief, a rag torn from their shirt - and tied it firmly around a stake. This was how she found Francis' grave: an emerald green ascot, stitched with gold scales, fluttering in the breeze.

She visited him the morning of their arrival in Angler, as soon as the sunlight rolled in and quelled the bloodweed. A woman named Vettia took her by the arm and led her straight through a narrow sandy gully to the steep steps that wound up the cliff.

Maggie's eye blurred with tears as she knelt at the grave to rub the ascot between her fingers. Near the stake was a small bundle of white and yellow flowers. The petals threatened to take flight, but a mound of seashells weighed the bundle down.

"Those are all from Felix," Vettia said behind her, so gently her voice was almost carried away by the wind. "He didn't come back down yesterday until every new grave had its flowers."

The revelation that a bitter man like Felix, eroded by this severe land, still harbored such tenderness, only twisted Maggie's broken heart further.

The next morning, as Maggie watched the sky bleed black into blue through the gaps in a rotting ship's ribcage, she prayed. For all her life she hadn't seen the point in praying: things either happened or they didn't; her solicitation to something as all-powerful as the sun would make no difference. It was an easy thing to accept when she herself had power, a sword at her belt and a whole ship's crew at her command. Asking Sol or Mar to protect the people she loved was time better spent ensuring their safety with her own two hands.

But after the Gloria Invicta drowned in flames as her son died in her arms, it seemed like the best thing her two hands could do was clasp over her chest. As the sun rose on a new day in Angler, she prayed for the souls of the unlucky crew, the protection of her far-away daughter, Isabella, and the deliverance of Ordadus from its unholy rule. Whether or not Sol listened or cared, she didn't know.



A large scroll of a top-down map of Ordavin Keep was spread on the table, held taut at the corners by daggers driven into the wood. The Keep was an oblong circle, with the inner castle forming its own circle on the inside, like the yolk of an egg. A jagged frozen river cut through the Keep, separating the two layers; above it arched a wide, grand staircase that turned into a road snaking back through the affluent homes and vendors of the lower keep.

"Although getting people inside the Keep takes a healthy deal of planning, it's remarkably simple to sneak supplies through." Felix's finger drummed over the spot where the eastern wall met the river. "Very rarely, the river does thaw, and they've learned the hard way they needed to build a grate here to allow it to flow through. It's just the right size to allow a delivery of almost any kind, whether you're smuggling in or out."

Maggie nodded, twirling a string of hair in thought. "Is it guarded like the gates?"

"That would require the guards to be clever, which they aren't." Felix huffed at the idea. "The Keep believes itself inpenetrable-- it might have been, once, back when there was only one entrance and exit. But they got sloppy. Weak spots got neglected, then forgotten. Renovations were built without being assessed for new potential access points. And of course, the guards mistakenly decided to rest on their laurels, believing their earlier strategies continue to properly safeguard the Keep. In reality, it's been compromised for years now. They just haven't noticed."

Maggie nodded. "Misplaced faith in antiquated precautions was one of Ustana's greatest vices, too."

A slice of sunlight from a gap in the wooden boards above their head was illuminating the center of the map, as if Sol himself was pointing it out. While the rest of the map was sketched out with confident, black ink, the center of the upper keep was outlined in graphite: ghosts of previous guesses, erased.

Maggie gestured to it. "The Cambios have never gotten this deep, I assume?"

"No one has. Not even Toriano." A small frown pulled at Felix's mouth as he stared it down, arms folded over his chest. "The security everywhere else pales to whatever's past those doors-- I can't even say whether the queen's been in there."

"That sounds like a challenge," Maggie said with a mischevious grin. "What have you tried so far?"

Felix evidently had something to say on the matter, but he snapped his mouth shut as a low but frantic note reverbrated through the ship's cabin-- the sound of a horn, blowing what was unmistakably a distress signal.

"Sol above," Felix muttered, whipping around to march out as his hand flew to his pistol.

A figure in the doorway beat him to it, however. It was Ace, her gray eyes alert and focused.

"What's the alarm for?" Felix demanded.

"The queen has learned of the survivors," she said.

A nervous thrill shot up the admiral's spine.

"We've received orders to rendezvous at Darnell," Ace continued after pausing to catch her breath. It was already late afternoon, so Maggie guessed Ace had taken a great risk to leave her post in Darnell if she expected to return by nightfall. "We're attacking at daybreak."

Maggie wasn't sure whether the "we" was referring to Ace and the other knights, or the Cambios stationed at Angler, but either way it meant a battle was mere hours away.

Felix rubbed a hand over his face, but if he wanted a moment to process this, he didn't take it. He was already moving in the next heartbeat, with Ace whirling and joining him on the way out, Maggie at her heels.

"Do you know how she learned?" he asked, his sharp gaze sweeping the cliffside.

"I suspect it was Dame Ilaria," Ace answered. "She returned to Darnell after you left."

Something flickered in Felix's eyes-- there and then gone before Maggie could place it. The severe scowl on his lips pulled tighter.

"What are you saying she's done, exactly?" The grave tone, coming from Felix, made sense. The question itself did not.

Ace lowered her voice. "Why else did she go back to the fisherwoman after her sweep of the beach instead of going straight to the queen?"

Felix seemed to have an answer to that one, but whatever it was, he swallowed it back as he turned them in the direction of Titus's boat.

The handyman stood at attention, his face calm but optimistic as a purposeful frenzy sparked over the camp. He was already holding a number of tools.

"How many bear traps do we have left?" Felix called as soon as they were within earshot.

"Thought you'd ask, sir! We're sitting comfortably at fourteen," Titus hollered back.

Felix's expression said he didn't think this was comfortable enough as he turned to Ace. "How many are they sending?"

"Hard to say," she replied. "I rode straight here as soon as I received my orders. If I were to guess . . ." She bit her lip. "From all the surrounding stations, probably fifteen knights?"

"Well, between all of us, we can probably take care of the one knight who doesn't get trapped?" Titus joked, but it sounded rather half-hearted.

The admiral, seeing that the Cambios leader was already pulled in a million different directions, ran through her own list in her mind. Traps. Gunpowder. Armor. Bandages. Medicine.

She turned towards Sertor's clinic, silver ponytail and coattails whipping in the salty breeze.

Every soldier on the field should have a medical kit of some kind. There was no telling how long this battle would last, and even the smallest scrape, left to fester without a bandage, could become deadly. She'd ensure every Cambios fighter was equipped with strips of linen; a needle and thread; honey, vinegar, or spirits for infections—

"Magdalena," a voice called out, sing-songy and sweet.

Vettia, broom in hand, was waving from the mouth of Vigilantem.

"There's no time for sweeping," Maggie said. As she strode toward the meal hall, she caught the aroma of something delicious brewing in the kitchen. Perhaps Vettia hadn't heard the horn over the boiling of stew. "The queen's men will be on our doorstep at daybreak."

"All the more reason to ensure everyone is well-fed tonight. Help me, will you?"

Here they were on the cusp of war, and before she realized it, Admiral Seneca was armed with a broom.

"Rats got into the grain last night," Vettia said with an ill-concealed smile. "We don't need anyone noticing their droppings while they sup, wouldn't you agree? Queasy stomachs is something we'll have plenty of as is."

Maggie suppressed a huff of disbelief. "We have greater things to worry about than dinner, Vettia. Save it for the victory feast."

Vettia unfurled a tablecloth and ironed out the wrinkles with her hands. "Emiliano told me you fought in a revolution back in Ustana."

"That's right," Maggie said. And we didn't win it by sweeping rat poop.

"All of this must remind you of that."

Stiffly, Maggie took the broom and brushed a small pile of dirt toward the doorway. She'd get the sweeping and the small talk over as soon as possible, then be on her way. She enjoyed Vettia's company - the woman was capable, kind, and wise - but right then she seemed unusually thick-skulled. If she saw the need to prepare dinner, fine, but she'd be better off recruiting Achillinus for making Vigilantem hospitable. The more she thought about it, the more irked she felt that Vettia was putting her on cleaning duty, of all things.

"In some ways," Maggie said shortly. "Not in others."

"Really?" Vettia unfolded another tablecloth with a flick of her wrists, a glimmer of mirth in her expression. "I'd assumed you'd lost your eye by broom handle."

Maggie shot her a confused smile. "What's all this about?" She held out the broom, and Vettia took it.

"Sweeping helps calm my nerves," Vettia said, attacking the dust and droppings with dexterity. "Doesn't do the same for you, does it? You need to get out there and tell people what to do, not the other way around."

Maggie's shoulders sank a little. Vettia was only trying to help.

"Felix runs a tight ship," the admiral said. "Seems like everyone already knows what to do. I'm impressed."

"Impressed, but a little lost?"

Maggie smiled and dipped her head. She wasn't used to being read so easily by someone she'd just met.

Vettia pulled out a chair to sweep under the table. "I know three other souls who are undoubtedly feeling a little lost right now."

Solah, what would the likes of Sir Augustine do in battle? Intercept enemy messenger pigeons? And Achillinus - write poetry?

"I'd better go find them," Maggie said, turning to go. She'd send Emil back to Vigilantem to help set the tables, and once that was done, he could help Sertor distribute medicine kits. Julian? He'd work well under Titus, checking traps and setting new ones.

With Sir Augustine, Maggie was at a loss.

Up against the cliffs, a flock of gulls took sudden flight, startled by Naydelin's target practice.

There was her answer. It wasn't easy to be a lookout when you didn't have the higher ground, but Augustine - he would detect the cavalry from birds alone.

How had the Queen found out that there were survivors in Angler?

This question plagued Ilaria's mind as she braided her hair and pulled her chain mail and armor in place. The rest of her body and her actions felt almost numb, as rigid as the icicles that grew off the branches of the trees surrounding the mountain. And for the life of her, Ilaria could not find an answer to the raging thoughts.

Orders from the queen had come to the knights' base by messenger bird early in the morning. They were orders to 'arrest the survivors' in Angler. Ilaria had sent the missive she had found on the beach back to the queen, but she hadn't mentioned a word about any of the ship's passengers still being alive. She had promised, after all, and she wasn't sure she could stomach any more bloodshed at the moment.

Perhaps someone had followed her. A chill went up her spine at the idea, and she banished it as quickly as it came into her mind. Now was not the time to be wondering all of this.

But the feeling she couldn't chase away was the growing queasiness in her stomach. Would she end up fighting Felix? Could she even bring herself to aim her sword at him?

The sick feeling threatened to overwhelm her, and she sat on her cot, leaning over her knees with her head in her hands.

Why did she have to be stuck in the middle of the two extremes of her life of responsibility and her love for someone who was as determined to not fit in as he was rejected by her society for his otherness? Ilaria sucked in a breath and exhaled slowly. She stared down at the rug spread on the floor as a more unwelcome idea entered her mind: Would either side truly feel any regret if she were struck down on the battlefield?

Those questions recieved a hollow echo in return, and then, a clearing of the throat. To her left, a tall man stood by, blocking the beam from the window. After calling in so many reinforcements, it was no surprise to see Sir Cicero at first light, but as a close friend to Valens, his smile was always a little too-perfect.

"Dame Ilaria," he said. "Why so downcast?"

Ilaria immediately straightened and pulled her helmet on. "Sir Cicero. A battle is never light news." She stood and gave a little shrug, though she wondered if it could be interpreted more as a shoulder flex in anticipation of the fight. "And neither is death. I was merely reflecting on the gravity of it all. Many lives could be ended here today."

She thought again that one of those lives could be hers. She met Cicero's eyes and stared in silence for a moment before saying, "You seem quite cheerful for someone who is about to . . . participate in bloodshed."

"I have confidence in our Order," Cicero said as his smile relaxed. "I'm only hoping to encourage a sense of camaraderie."

Ilaria inclined her head in acknowledgement. She smiled to hide the suspicions that entered her mind. "It is good to be united as an order. I have to admit, I'm surprised you arrived here so quickly. Weren't you stationed at Solea Stables?"

"I was indeed," Cicero said. "I left from there this morning."

"I see," she replied. "Your dedication is truly admirable. To the nation and to your friends."

Was it him? And beyond Cicero, Valens who had told the queen?

"I appreciate your vote of confidence," he said. "But I fear no one's loyalty could rival your own."

Ilaria's teeth clenched behind her frozen, upturned lips. Then she said, "You flatter me. I could hardly imagine that what I think or do is of much consequence, but I believe it is my duty to promote the welfare of our people as I can. And justice must--will be done."

It was frighteningly easy to say such things when faced with someone who held firmer opinions about keeping Ordadus closed to outsiders, as opposed to the opposite extreme when she had spoken with Felix. Ilaria knew exactly what she had meant to say, even if it was masked under vague language. Perhaps it was because she lacked her own convictions that she was somehow always quick to jump to playing devil's advocate with anyone who presented her with one idea or another.

Cicero bowed his head deeply. "And this is why you are the Princess." When he rose, he turned to walk away. "I'm glad to see your convictions have returned to their proper place."

Ilaria resisted the urge to clench her fists, to scowl, to do anything to make evident the rush of anger that had burst into flame at his jab. "Cicero," she called before he could walk too far away.

He stopped, and turned his head.

Ilaria picked up her sword. She pulled it a few inches out of its sheath to inspect the gleaming metal before she said, "When I am queen, I will remember your steadfast service in the Knights Order, and for the unwavering support you provide for my brother. He values your counsel highly." She smiled at him again as she slammed her sword back into the casing. "I will ensure that you are rightfully rewarded for it."

Cicero's eyes followed the hilt. "You've always been a beacon of generosity. I have your back, Dame Ilaria. I'll see you out there."

His salute was as empty as his smile, and when the door closed behind him, Ilaria shut her eyes and slowly released the breath that she hadn't dared to let go of. She found that her entire body was shaking with miniscule tremors of anxiety that only she could notice. She decided to sit for a few more minutes to try to slow her heartbeat before it would inevitably begin to run at a lightning pace once the real fighting broke out. At least her poise and publicity lessons had served her well in this situation.

"Commander!" A familiar voice--not Cicero's again, thankfully--broke through the heavy air before a young knight stepped through the doorway. "We're ready to head out."

Instead of wearing her helmet, she carried it between her arm and hip, the light hitting her tightly wound golden hair like a halo around her face. Though her blue eyes were bright and undimmed by the impending darkness of battle, unlike Cicero, they held no thinly veiled disapproval or ill intention. Ilaria found herself thinking that the color and sparkle of her eyes was just like that of the ocean, the very one that brought her Felix, a mountain of problems, and a heart divided. All of which seemed to culminate into this moment in time.

"Thank you, Gemma," Ilaria replied. Though her mind still felt heavier than it had before, it was as though some of her worries melted away when she looked longer at the newest member of her troop. She reminded Ilaria of her memories of her own younger sisters, back when they were all still innocent and ignorant of the cruelty of the world of growing up.

Gemma made a face. "You're doing it again! You and my parents are exactly the same, thinking of me like I'm still a baby. I'm a full-fledged knight. I graduated from the academy just like everybody else." She shoved her helmet over her head as if to hide the round youthfulness of her features.

Ilaria suppressed her laugh into a small cough. "I never said you weren't a knight like everybody else." She stood and headed towards the door.

"But you're thinking it," retorted Gemma, who fell into step beside her to walk through the hallways. "After we win this fight, I'm going to buy you dinner, Your Highness."

"Sure," said Ilaria. She was torn between amusement and the sudden grief that came with the idea that the knights might win. What would happen then to Felix and all the surivivors he protected?

"Commander," continued Gemma after a moment, unaware of Ilaria's inner turmoil, "do you think, way in the future when you become queen, I could become part of the royal guard?"

"The royal guard?" said Ilaria. She forced a grin. "You don't want to be part of my council?" Better Gemma than Valens.

The girl shrugged. "Well, I'm not exactly interested in arguing or too much political talk. I think I'd rather spend my time protecting y--ensuring the safety of my queen."

"Do you think I'll be a good queen?" Ilaria felt a twinge in her chest as she asked the question.

Gemma looked at Ilaria with incredulous eyes. "Of course," she said. "I'm not dumb--I can see how you look out for everyone. And you're smart and--"

"All right," interrupted Ilaria with a laugh. She put an arm around Gemma's shoulders. "That's enough out of you. You need to focus on what's ahead."

As they exited the building, Ilaria's smile faded away. She sent up a silent prayer that her knights would be safe, and that Felix would be as well.

If there's anyone who has to die today, please don't let it be them. Felix and Gemma don't deserve to die like this. Let it be me.

And maybe Cicero Alexopoulous, too.