Skadi yawned. “They still at it?”
A nearby aide smiled awkwardly. “They’ve been arguing for these causes their whole careers, chief. They’ll be at it a while yet.”
“Should’ve known. Gods, what a pain...”
Skadi looked around the senate hall once more. All around the circular chamber sat representatives from every region in Steissen. Until a little while earlier, they had been peacefully debating domestic policy, but once the topic turned to the empire, all order had dissolved. Some senators had asserted the time was ripe to invade. Others insisted it would be wiser to stand with the empire and maintain friendly relations. Yet others demanded that Steissen reclaim the territory it had ceded to Lichtein in the last war and cut off the River Saale. All manner of arguments had flown as the debate grew heated, from the realistic to the absurd, and affairs had dragged on with no resolution in sight. Angry senators had started trading insults and, finally, blows. The violence had renewed Skadi’s interest for a short while, but now she was simply bored.
“High Consul!” a Nidavellirite senator cried, chest heaving. “I support an invasion of the empire!”
The man’s clothing was torn in places, and blood trickled from his nose. It was all Skadi could do not to laugh, but she held it in. All the brawling had gotten tedious. The last thing she wanted was to start another fistfight.
“Proposal denied,” she said.
“On what grounds?! Beto von Muzuk is dead, and his nobles have no idea what to do with themselves. This is a golden opportunity to seize the southern territories!”
“’Cause it’s no fun, that’s why. Who’s gonna write songs about us kicking the empire while it’s down, eh? How does that prove we’re the strongest in Soleil?”
Had Beto still been alive, the southern territories would have put up a better fight, but now, a babe could tell how the invasion would end. The beastfolk’s hearts sang loudest when life and death hung in the balance. A preordained victory held no interest for them.
“Fun? What does fun matter next to the future of our nation? Capturing the southern territories would fuel Steissen to greater glory.”
The senator wasn’t wrong. There was a good argument to be made for territorial expansion. A large number of southern nobles would undoubtedly defect once they saw which way the wind was blowing. That said, resistance movements would inevitably form, and attending to them would sap Steissen’s strength. If the empire fell to the Demiurgos, the latter would grow in power, and while none knew exactly what the Lord’s intentions were, Steissen likely would be one of his first targets if he resumed the zlosta’s thousand-year-old crusade. The empire was victorious, prospects would be even grimmer. They would not look kindly upon an attempt to stab them in the back. The territory Steissen had gained would become next to impossible to hold, if not ruined entirely by the fighting. Even if Skadi did miraculously prevail, some other nation would sweep in to take the spoils—or worse, the dwarves of Nidavellir might try to take revenge on the beastfolk, an opportunity Lichtein would surely seize on. Steissen would follow the empire in short order.
The dilemma left Skadi in an uncomfortable position. As high consul, she knew it would be wisest to watch events play out. As a beastwoman, however, waiting bored her. Her blood cried out for excitement.
The dwarven senator approached her. “Are you listening to—?”
Skadi grasped him by the head and cast her gaze over the chamber. “Answer me this. Does it sound more fun to die quietly, or to raise some hell along the way?”
The senators could already tell what her answer would be. They could see it burning in her eyes.
“Then how about this? We do the empire a good turn and reap the rewards. I’ve got a deal in mind I’m sure the dwarves of Nidavellir will be happy with.”
She could afford to make some compromises. The last thing she needed was a revolt on her hands.
Released from her grip, the senator frowned back. “What are you suggesting? That we send reinforcements?”
“Waste of time. They’d never make it.”
“Then what?”
“The empire ain’t the only target. We got the Free Folk right next door, don’t we? All that land, ripe for the taking.”
The senator lapsed into thought. “Now that you mention it...”
The relationship between Steissen and the Free Folk had been contentious for generations. Border skirmishes were commonplace. Claiming their land and ridding themselves of a constant annoyance would be killing two birds with one stone.
“I’ll need a second force too,” Skadi added. “I’ll take command of that one.”
The senator looked perplexed. “Are you suggesting a two-pronged assault?”
“You got cotton for brains? Don’t you remember who’s on the other side of the Free Folk? If we’re doing this, I figure we might as well go all the way.”
This move would ingratiate Steissen to the empire and expand its borders in one fell swoop. She anticipated no objections. Sure enough, the vast majority of the chamber seemed to be in agreement. Internally, she breathed a sigh of relief.
“Now we’re square,” she murmured.
A face flashed into her mind—a boy whose short stature belied the power of a Lord. Once, not so long ago, she had given in to her instincts, challenged him to a duel, and lost. This choice was a direct result of that fateful day.
“But now I’m going to have my fun. Hope you won’t mind.”
Her debt was repaid. Now she could only pray the southern territories would hold strong. For their sake, she hoped they could find a capable leader.
＊＊＊＊＊
Sunspear, in the southern territories
A city grown rich on business and commerce, Sunspear was the heart of House Muzuk’s power. Their palace towered over the center of the city, exuding golden radiance. The pride of the people and the embodiment of their rulers’ authority, Glitnir attracted no end of sightseers. Today, however, the streets were bare of the typical excitement. A tense silence hung over the building.
Two armed forces stared each other down across the threshold. One, belonging to the southern nobles, was trying to force its way into the palace; the other, led by the eastern nobles, was trying to bar the way. Under ordinary circumstances, their positions would have been reversed, but these were no ordinary circumstances. The lord of House Muzuk had been slain by persons unknown, a great many southern nobles had perished alongside him, and the eastern nobles had been first on the scene. On hearing of the massacre, the southern troops had marched on the palace in outrage, leading to the present standoff. The situation was dry kindling waiting for a spark.
“Please, stop this madness! I ask only that you hear me out!”
A man at the head of the eastern noble troops was fighting to defuse the situation. He was Rugen Kiork von Gurinda, uncle to the sixth princess and margrave of Gurinda on the Lichtein border. An affable man with an ever-present smile, he now faced down the outraged soldiers with rare desperation.
“Let us through and then we’ll talk!” someone shouted back. “Why are you standing in our way?! Is there something you don’t want us to see?!”
The southern soldiers were already agitated. If they saw the butchered bodies of their masters, it was hard to imagine they would react with restraint. Letting them through would soon lead to a second massacre.
“You killed Lord von Muzuk, didn’t you?! You’re murderers!”
They were refusing to listen to reason as it was. Showing them Beto’s body would not change their minds. It would only risk pouring oil on the fire.
“It wasn’t us! That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you. And I have proof!” Kiork held up a stack of letters—correspondences that showed Beto had been conspiring with the Vanir Triumvirate—but it was no use. The soldiers were too furious.
“Lord von Muzuk served the empire his whole life! He’s no traitor! You wrote those letters yourself, I’ll bet! Everyone knows you shift loyalties like the wind!”
Kiork was well aware that he was not in good standing with the south. While technically a southern noble, he had worked extensively with the east, and it was no surprise to learn the people of Sunspear took a dim view of him. Still, the accusation rankled. He had sworn no loyalty to Beto von Muzuk, only to the Grantzian Empire, and he did not consider himself false. That said, arguing would only make things worse. He had no choice but to hold his tongue.
“I am telling the truth. It is his writing. By all means, see for yourself. I only ask that you listen to me! There is nothing to be gained from violence!”
“Silence, you treacherous cur!”
As Kiork watched the soldier reach for his sword, he sensed that all hope was lost. This was no time for imperial citizens to be squabbling among themselves, but these men would not be convinced. Lamenting the futility of it all, he reached for his belt.