“Demi-human” was never a neutral term. The ancient Frey used it to describe the humans, disfigured by the Tranlin Empire, as something lesser. Today, Reikha has reclaimed it, making it their identity. Not everyone agrees that’s progress.

  – Sanura Tahan, Professor of History, Archaeology, and Linguistics, University of Ta-Neheb

  Vaera Clarke—Reikha's Queen in all but title—was biting her thumb's nail as she looked out onto the wet courtyard. "Another one? But we already had a group of mercenaries hunt the bear!" She closed her eyes, as an ache was beginning to form behind her forehead. A beast had been breaking into the food supplies of the commoners in the Duchy of Cheswardine, the area directly under her control. What was worse was that there was a war on. The rain outside seemed to wash away everything but the flaws in the structure of the castle.

  The small yillip courier flinched, his long furry ears drooping. "Y-yes Ma'am. It appears the bear wasn't the culprit." His eyes darted around in a panic. "O-or at least it wasn't the only one. They said it was some sort of wolf man this time…"

  Vaera sighed as she put a hand onto the cold stone pillar. The chill paralyzed her for a moment, before she leaned into it. "Right… Well, we can't have whatever it is stealing our soldier's rations. Resources are tight as it is." Her eyes narrowed as she thought back to the moment her cousin Kara had challenged her claim to the throne and rallied the other nobles to join in to usurp her. She had no crown, but for a year now, she’d been running the country like a tired steward. Her fist pounded against the pillar as she cursed under her breath. Why couldn't they see how much she sacrificed to keep the wheels turning?

  The yillip gulped and looked up at her. "S-shall I send for the mercenaries again then?"

  She blinked, only now registering his lingering presence. With a slow nod, she straightened her back, composing herself. "I'll leave it to you. Make sure they get the correct beast this time."

  She watched the courier scurry off and kicked the wall, hoping it might share her pain. Instead, her foot did. She cursed even harder. "Rihtae!" She exclaimed, blaming her misfortune on the god of mercy. "Haven't I done enough?"

  The grey stone walls and colourful drapes judged her silently. Vaera froze as she felt a gloved hand land on her shoulder, but when she looked over her shoulder, it was her friend Trista smiling back at her. The woman was a lot older than her, but as an impish—a type of demi-human—she barely reached Vaera's height.

  She let out a breath and turned to the window again. Light broke through the cloud cover and wandered across the ground, playing with the reflections it caused on the wet stone. "You startled me, Trista." Trista was her loyal bodyguard. She had been, even before her father and uncle both died of the same illness. Her uncle had been the King and he had chosen her father to take up the crown after him. As her father also died, it fell upon Vaera's shoulders to run the country of Reikha instead.

  "What's bothering you?" Trista asked, her face warm and a stark contrast to what Vaera called her "battle face". Though the scars of her many battles were still present, she almost looked like just a normal woman when she smiled and leaned back against the wall like she was doing now. A woman in the royal guard's uniform—armed and dangerous—that is.

  Vaera brushed against a red drape and traced a finger down its silky pattern as she sighed again. "The nobles pin everything on me. I'm not capable of taking out this… wolf man—the thing that's stealing people's food. I didn't prevent this war. I'm not a proper queen. Everything's my fault and no one sees how much I work behind the scenes." She bit her lip. She had said too much. This wasn't a conversation to be had out here in the hallway where they could potentially be overheard. If someone did, they would only use it as further fuel for their conspiracies against her.

  Trista polished an apple on her uniform and studied it lazily. "Huh…" She said, probably not understanding the extent Vaera's troubles. She had always been this way. Trista was an exceptional fighter and a loyal friend, but most things just flew over her head. "You don't need to do it all on your own, you know?" Trista deftly unsheathed a dagger and cut her apple in half, handing one half to Vaera. "No matter how many things you fix, there will always be more problems. All you can do is keep doing what you do best."

  Vaera smiled faintly as she accepted the apple, looking down at it as if it were a map to guide her out of her troubles. "Even the people hate me…" She admitted quietly, barely audible over the sound of the rain. Kicking idly at a loose pebble, she wondered if she even knew the face of the person responsible for maintaining this corridor.

  "Nah," Trista dismissed her worry with a wave of her hand, "you're overthinking. Maybe you should just give another public speech or something."

  Vaera flinched away from the suggestion. "Ugh…" She had been pushing off any public appearances, spending most of her time trying to fix the huge pile of issues instead. It felt insincere to show herself in front of her people as the Queen when she hadn't even fixed a fraction of the issues yet.

  As Vaera was about to reply, she spotted the courier hurrying back towards them. He looked panicked and his tiny paws were holding a letter, which he was waving around wildly.

  "Oh no, what now…?"

  Vaera's knuckle ached from the effort of propping up her chin, but she didn't pay it any mind. Her eyes were narrowed and fixed on the end of the letter in Aron's hand. The courier had delivered it only minutes earlier and she had immediately summoned her spymaster and—alongside Trista—her most trusted confidant.

  Aron's silver and black brows were furrowed as he read the report. Trista sat beside him, smiling awkwardly. Knowing that her friend wasn't actually taking the situation lightly did nothing to smother the flames of her annoyance at the carefree attitude the impish was displaying.

  Vaera lifted her head and shook her tired wrist, accidentally hitting the frustratingly sturdy and heavy hardwood table. She winced and shook her head, when Aron and Trista looked at her in surprise. "I'm losing it," she thought. She couldn't even keep a royal appearance up for two minutes. Maybe she really wasn't cut out for the job.

  Aron ran a hand through his salt and pepper hair, as he finally put down the letter. "So, the Duke of Goldcrest too…?"

  Vaera nodded, a grim expression falling onto her face. "Yes. Redash, Hirane, Murlayfield and Goldcrest. It would appear that our last remaining ally is Valhollow." Four out of six duchies had rallied behind Kara and her war to overthrow Vaera. At this point, there was no way they could win. "Tell me we can still win this." She knew there was no way. The numerical advantage was in their opponent's favour. Not to mention their new war machines imported from Barukk.

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  Trista looked from Aron to Vaera and back, concern etched on her face. "What about Valhollow? They can't take it. It's impenetrable!"

  Vaera shot her a glare so hot it made the fireplace crackle and blush. "Do you want me to rule over a single castle? Even if we held out in Valhollow, the people of Cheswardine and even the people outside Valhollow's castle would still be subject to whatever Kara's army has planned for them." She shook her head violently, her red curls freeing themselves from the pins in her hair. "If there's no way to win, we had best surrender. For the sake of the people."

  As Trista sulked and lowered her eyes, Aron spoke up. His rich voice made him seem like a distinguished noble gentleman, but Vaera knew about his dark past. "Lady Vaera, I don't see a way for us to beat Kara at this rate. Freyland is still neutral and will not offer any aid. We're lucky they're even accepting our refugees at this point." He glanced over at Trista and continued, "I agree with Trista that holding out in Valhollow seems to be our only viable option. But I understand, that this is not your wish." He turned his hand palm up, inviting Vaera to speak. "Clearly, you already have something in mind. That's why you called me here, yes?"

  A log in the fireplace cracked and the light from the fire flickered, casting eerie shadows on the unlit chandelier and the tall arched ceiling of the small room. Vaera folded her hands and closed her eyes. "It's what I said before. We should surrender."

  Trista looked aghast. She opened and closed her mouth a few times before settling on a response. "Surely, you don't mean—"

  Waving her hand, Vaera cut her off. "I'm not handing myself over to Kara. I know, what she would do… For all we know, she's the one who—" She bit her lip hard. She couldn't say it. An unfounded accusation, a hunch. Her father and her uncle—the late King—someone had to have poisoned them. It was the only explanation. And once Vaera had taken over instead of Kara, had she resented her for it? She clicked her tongue and tapped onto the polished wood of the table top. "My best choice is to leave the country. And the only person I trust to get me there is Meredith Lloyd."

  "Meredith?" Trista stammered, her face scrunching up in disgust. She had never liked the man, who covered himself in enough perfume to leave people dizzy.

  Aron nodded in agreement. "The smuggler ring of Coldtide. You're hoping for their help?"

  A smile tucked at the corner of Vaera's mouth. At least Aron understood what she was getting at. "Meredith owes me a favour. I'm sure, he'll do this for me." It would be a long journey to the north of Freyland. They'd have to pass the Dead Tops, Kald, and the northern sea just to get to the island. But most of the journey would be in Freyland. Safe from Kara and her underlings. Her tapping had become a rhythm. She tilted her head, listening to the fire, her tapping, the silence, her heartbeat. Before the silence could stretch too long, she added, "I trust you can handle communications with him? I'm planning on leaving on an airship and meeting up with his smugglers in Soroughes. Both of you will accompany me, of course."

  Instead of a confirmation from Aron, Vaera was slapped across the face by Trista's harsh objection. "I don't agree with this plan!" As Vaera opened her eyes, she saw that Trista was standing up, her hands splayed on the table, a challenge in her face. "There's a high possibility they already have men in the castle. A mysterious airship leaving just when you surrender? Everyone will know it's you. You'd be an obvious target for assassination!"

  Aron nodded silently and Vaera clicked her tongue again, failing to meet Trista's eyes. "What do you suggest, then?"

  Trista's hand flew to her chest as she insisted, "I'll be bait! I'll escort a maid out to Langdale, taking the obvious land route north." She turned to Aron, hoping to have her plan validated by someone smarter than her. "People will think, I'm taking the Queen, but it will just be a maid." She stood tall, looking down at Vaera then Aron, challenging them to defy her.

  Aron scratched his beard and smiled faintly. "You could leave the maid at the first inn you come across. Once you've left the city gates, she's served her purpose as a decoy." Chuckling warmly he added, "Heck, I could even ask an old friend of mine to change her face to look more like Lady Vaera—the real deal—illusion magic and all. Well, it probably only lasts for around a day and will cost a fortune. 'Better to spend the coin today than to lose it all tomorrow', as they'd say in the South."

  Vaera shook her head. "I'm not sending you off on your own. What if they attack you?"

  The shadows around Trista's silhouette seemed to mock her. "Then that would mean the plan worked, right?" Trista pushed her hands on her hips and smirked. "Besides, what are they going to do? Beat me in a fight?"

  Trista's confidence made Vaera feel small. She quietly acquiesced to her plan. "But only if you make haste after dropping off the maid. You'll take our fastest horse and you'll push it to the limit until you cross into Freyland, got it?"

  Leaning back and looking at the ceiling she sighed. It had been a short rule, no titles, no honours, nothing but the people's disdain and the nobles' jealousy. Well, some of it stemmed from her being a pureblood human, sure. But at least on paper demi-humans and pureblood humans were coexisting peacefully. She briefly wondered, how a gnome would fare in her position, before shaking her head again and calling an end to the meeting.

  The bulky amulet whirred and glowed, as Vaera channelled her mana through its circuits. It had been a gift from her aunt. Back then, Vaera had loved reading about all sorts of things. She would always get stuck on one topic and explore everything she could find.

  For a few months she had been obsessed with pearl diving in the western country of Sigalan. The pearl divers used amulets just like this one to dive below in search of pearls. These contraptions made it so that they wouldn't run out of air.

  Running a finger down the wooden frame surrounding her, she breathed in deeply. It was a strange sensation to be fed air from the amulet, but it wasn't as strange as when she had tried it in the river. Chuckling to herself in the small space, she recalled Trista's face, when she had emerged from the river after several long minutes. Of course, she had gotten chewed out for it.

  "Ah, Trista…" She sighed and dabbed at the wet corners of her eyes. This was no time for that. Trista had left hours ago and so had the courier carrying her message of surrender to Kara's armies. The long civil war would come to a close and her people would be safe, even if she had to flee and leave the throne to Kara.

  She looked around the tiny airtight box and idly wondered, whether someone might mistake the boxes and place hers underneath another. Maybe beyond the safety handle above her lay nothing but heavy cargo and she was truly stuck. Maybe once they finally found her, she'd have starved to death.

  Grimacing at the morbid thought, she turned her attention back to the amulet. No, Aron made sure things would work out. She had felt the movement when they had placed the box onto the airship and a few minutes ago the floor had lurched upwards indicating a take-off. Her leg tried to kick out, trying to get comfortable, but only found the opposing wall and rested uneasily against it.

  It was as good a plan as any. Trista would make it to Freyland and eventually make it to Coldtide. It would be weeks before they'd see each other again, but they definitely would. They better had.

  A loud click echoed through the compartment and bright magical light nearly blinded her, as the box was opened from the outside. Aron smiled down at her, before he noticed her discomfort and grimaced. "Sorry, I forgot about the lights." He swiftly fumbled with a wall panel, turning down the luminosity in the disorganized cargo room of the airship.

  Squinting Vaera emerged from her box. "How did it go?" She asked, the sound of her raspy voice surprising her.

  Aron handed her a bottle of water before responding. "Before we left, I already heard several people repeating the rumour, that Lady Vaera escaped on horseback alongside the leader of her royal guard." The corner of his mouth pulled upwards in a satisfied smirk. "I'd say, we're in the clear. We're passing by one stop in Freyland to refuel, then we're off straight for Soroughes."

  Vaera didn't care about appearances as she chugged most of the water in one go. Cool relief washed down her burning throat. When she handed the empty bottle back to Aron she wiped her mouth and grumbled, "next time, someone else can be on box duty."

  Aron smiled wryly. "When it comes to it, I'll offer myself as a willing sacrifice."