In a corner of the vast palace gardens stood a tall building: the Telosian Cathedral of Prata. It was here where the emperors of Argyll were laid to rest.
The building itself was not any grander or finer than the other cathedrals in Vif Arger, yet perhaps that was to be expected; apart from those who worked at the imperial palace, not a soul was allowed inside. Calling it a monument of cultural heritage was putting it nicely; in truth, it was nothing but a beaten, weathered old relic.
However, the building’s true value lay not in the vaulted halls of the cathedral itself, but rather in what rested beneath it. For here were laid emperors, empresses, all the great figures stretching back over eight hundred years to the empire’s foundation.
“It’s a strange feeling, looking at a grave with your own name on it.”
Staring at a stone slab sitting in a newly excavated cavity in the wall, Princess Fiarca gave a self-aware smirk. It was close to midnight, and in the twisting passageways of the imperial catacombs, she and Ras were the only living souls around. With no light sources so deep underground, Fiarca had used her auramancy to conjure a floating sphere of light.
Its white glow illuminated the words FIARCA JEVA ARGENTEIA, which were engraved into the stone. It was the final resting place of the imperial princess, who had lost her life two years earlier.
Of course, the princess was alive and well by Ras’s side, so the one inside the tomb was Fiarca’s twin brother, Crown Prince Auriol, the man who had died in her place.
“It’s rather grandiose, isn’t it?” said Ras with a sigh. “Almost like the tombs the emperors get.”
It hadn’t escaped his notice that the stone with Fiarca’s name on it was considerably grander than the others nearby. Not just in size but in ornamentation, too. Almost as though Fiarca herself had had something to do with it.
“It’s because the people of this nation loved Princess Fiarca,” she said without a shred of humility. “And that was before she sacrificed herself to keep the world safe, don’t forget.”
Ras scoffed, “I suppose so,” causing Fiarca to glare at him.
“You sound like you want to condemn me for stealing the glory of my brother’s deeds,” she said.
“Hardly. Fame means jack when you’re dead. I’m sure Aur thought that, too.”
“I suppose you’re right,” Fiarca replied. “But I don’t think he was wrong to do what he did. Aur was seriously wounded, and even if he returned home, it might have been years before he fully recovered.”
“An ailing emperor and an infirm prince… I see what you mean,” said Ras with a sour expression.
The Argyll Empire had lost many of its heirs to a bloody war of succession. That was one of the major contributing factors to the civil unrest currently brewing. Because of that, when the emperor fell ill, Auriol was forced to take over his father’s duties. He was put in charge of commanding the army, and consequently suffered a grave wound in battle.
“What do you think would happen,” asked Fiarca, “if the empire in that state lost its princess, too?”
“The Council of Seven would have no better chance to act,” Ras replied. “They’d move to seize the throne as soon as they could. They’d produce their own pretenders, fabricate their claims, and worst case, it could lead to civil war.”
“Exactly. So it’s only because Aur had the courage to die in my place that this nation is at peace. I don’t like to think of it that way, but it’s true.”
“He doesn’t deserve all the credit. You’re the one who assumed his identity and carried out the emperor’s duties in his place.”
“I wonder about that,” said Fiarca with an uncomfortable smile. “Sometimes I think that was all part of Aur’s plan as well. Like he knew what I was going to do before I did.”
When Auriol chose to lure the enemy armies into the dragon’s den, he did so using his sister’s Chasseur. He knew Fiarca would take over his position after he died.
And in fact, she did just that. Auriol was right all along. Even if it was the right thing to do, even if it was necessary, Fiarca didn’t like the feeling of dancing in her brother’s palm. She admired him well enough, and the two were close siblings, but Fiarca couldn’t remember a time she’d seen Auriol at a genuine loss, despite Fiarca herself being the troublemaker of the family.
“He’d always been like that, even at the academy,” said Ras, chuckling. “I remember it well.”
Auriol Ref Argenteia was a difficult man to sum up in just one word. His angelic good looks aside, he never seemed particularly remarkable. He was poorer with the blade than Ras, and less skilled at auramancy than his sister, Fiarca. His academic performance was commendable but never at the top of the class.
Yet despite all this, whenever he competed with his fellow students, Auriol always came out on top, whether that was on the proving grounds or when selling hotcakes at the school festival. He would build a strong team of specialized individuals, and his strategies were so perfect it was like he could see the future. Before anyone could figure him out, Auriol had run his competition into the dust.
And while his morals were irreproachable, Auriol had a real love for pranks and mischief. He once started brewing and selling moonshine in the student dorms in order to pay the debts of a struggling orphanage, and that was one of the lighter-hearted tales.
Once, he dressed as a girl and put his own body on the line in order to catch a member of staff engaging in inappropriate conduct. Another time, he stole a Chasseur from the training grounds and took it into the city to eliminate a slave-trading ring.
Every time, Fiarca and Ras were sucked into his schemes, and every time, they ended up dealing with the aftermath.
When viewed in that light, Fiarca’s situation seemed like her brother’s final prank. Perhaps even Ras’s appointment as a Guardian of Silver was a fate the man couldn’t escape.