Pictor gave us a tour of the palace’s finest features, served stale dinner, and was in every way an accommodating host. He never addressed Maia or Felix, but did refer to them and ask me a few questions, which I answered as I thought my persona might. It seemed to satisfy him, and he left us to our guest rooms in high spirits.

By daylight, while the ghosts were drowsy and frail, we explored the estate. From earlier conversations I knew the dungeons were somewhere within the manor itself, but beyond that my map of the place was woefully lacking. Most of Pictor’s tour had taken us outside, through the estate grounds. To cover more ground we decided to split up and meet back in the guest rooms in an hour.

Finn took the bodyguards while Duncan went with me. Easier to explain away if caught, and it maximized our offensive output in a fight.

It was an awkward search for the first ten minutes. Duncan avoided looking at my face, and I didn’t have the words to describe… whatever I wanted to say. I still didn’t know how to feel about her. I still couldn’t separate my sense of competition from the real Duncan.

I finally said, “Did you ever hate me?”

Duncan halted and turned to look at me with an incredulous look on her face. I wanted to reach out with glamour and probe her emotions, but fear of getting caught stayed my hand.

“I just.. I’ve just been wondering that. I haven’t really been the most graceful winner.”

“Nor the most graceful competitor,” she muttered.

“Right. Yeah.”

More awkward silence, and I started us searching again, moving through the opulent halls. After a few more minutes, I tried again.

“I just want to know. You kind of shocked me when you… when you threw it all away to help me.”

She snorted with semi-mirth. “I shocked myself. You wanna know a secret?”

“Always.”

“I don’t think I did it for you. Not really. I’ve been torturing myself over that for days, but… I think I was just trying to run away.”

I frowned, peeked inside a doorway, then turned back to her. “Run away from what? You were being offered the metaphorical throne, and the literal awe of the whole chantry.”

“Exactly.” She let out a frustrated sigh, dared a glance at me, then looked back at the hallways. “You don’t get it. You never did.”

“Get what?”

“I never wanted to be the chosen one.”

I was floored. Stunned. Disbelieving. “I’m sorry, what? You… why?”

Duncan threw her hands up in the air. “Lots of reasons! It’s a terrifying responsibility, and I never felt strong enough, especially not compared to you. I just wanted a nice life. I didn’t want the attention that being a candidate brought, and I certainly didn’t want to be the chantry’s leader. I never wanted to be the chosen one. That’s what I was running from.”

More silence passed between us as I tried to understand. When the other candidates had dropped out, one by one, until it was only Mal, Duncan, and myself left, I thought they were all just admitting I was superior. When Mal left, I assumed the same. I’d never once considered that they might not want it. Not want the glory, the power.

We searched a few more rooms and hallways while I processed.

“Okay. That’s… big. I guess that adds more credence to my theory.”

“Theory?”

“That I lied to myself about you. That I created a false image. It’s kind of hard to reconcile my mental image of you as a ruthless opponent with… well, with you. You’re too soft.”

“Gee, thanks.”

“I don’t-” I rolled my eyes. “Not like that. You’re plenty strong. I just mean that you’re quick to show empathy for people you don’t know. Places long dead. You seem pretty horrified whenever Strix brings up slavery, for one.”

“Because slavery is an abomination that our ancestors outlawed for good reason.”

I nodded. “Right, sure. But they did that centuries ago. Neither of us have ever seen a slave. I’m not saying it’s a bad thing, necessarily, but it isn’t exactly a warrior’s trait.”

Duncan turned on her heel and stared at me. “Is there a point to any of this?”

“Yeah. Um… I’m sorry, I guess. For being an ass, sometimes. I was short-sighted.”

She laughed, shook her head exasperatedly, and kept on walking the halls.

“I’m pretty bad at apologies, I’ll admit that.”

We searched in more silence for another five or ten minutes, until curiosity gnawed at me again.

“Just… why do it? If you never wanted to be chosen one, why try at all? Why be a candidate?”

“They didn’t give me much choice. Told me I had potential, lumped me with a bunch of warriors and said, ‘Learn this’. What else could I have done?”

“You could have left. Mal did. You could have gotten yourself eliminated in trials. Lots did.”

She was getting annoyed. I didn’t need glamour to see that. “I couldn’t leave a responsibility like that. I had a debt to the chantry. I couldn’t walk away.”

“You walked away to follow me.”

Duncan stopped. She clenched her fists. We were in a corridor, by ourselves, no ghosts in sight. She turned on me and, through gritted teeth, barely controlling her volume, she said, “You really want to know it? You want to know why I kept at it, why I tried, why I competed?”

I nodded hesitantly.

Duncan took a few steps toward me and got up in my face. “I had a crush on you, idiot. I had a crush on you for like, a year, and I thought that if I could just be strong like you then I might catch your attention. Well I did. I caught your attention, and it ruined my life. By the time I realized you were too self-absorbed to ever see another person with any trace of genuine affection, it was too late. I’d made a commitment to the chantry, and I had to honor it. That’s why. Happy?”

She didn’t wait for answer. She stormed off, leaving me alone, blinking and gaping like the idiot she’d labeled me.

Well, shit, said me to myself.

I leaned against the nearest wall and tried to make sense of her revelation. A crush. She had a crush on me? Like, a feelings crush? A kiss-me-in-the-dark, you-make-me-blush, bona fide teenage sweetheart crush?

Operative word: had. Not anymore, clearly. My fault, obviously. It was just so hard.

It was hard to pay attention to what people said and listen to their feelings and put in the energy to care. Glamour made it easier, but I still had to think up responses. I had to lie and smile and sidestep and backpedal. I was never good at public speaking. I preferred to lead by example, or to just stab things.

Morgan always told me I should be a more friendly leader. The Council talked circles around me. Strix kept secrets from me. And Duncan left me stunned, reeling, questioning myself.

I just wanted things to be simple. I was good. My enemy was bad. I stab them, they die, everyone is happy.

For the first time, for a fraction of an instant, I regretted being the chosen one.

But no. No, that was ridiculous.

I am the chosen one. This is my destiny. I am important.

I fucked up with Duncan. I had to admit that. I had to acknowledge the ways my obsessive, competitive nature cost me. It would be hard, but I had to become a shrewder person. I had to learn this stupid courtly game, even if I hated it, because it was useful. It was necessary. I needed to learn how to analyze people, how to dissect who they were, and use that information to get what I wanted.

And I needed Finn and Duncan to have faith in me. Faith in their chosen one.

I hardened my resolve and returned to our room. The others were all waiting. We swapped information, tallied rooms, and came to the conclusion that the only place the dungeon could be was in the north wing, which was locked.

I cracked my knuckles. “Nothing we can’t handle.”

Finn raised an eyebrow. “You ready for that? We break the door, that’s immediate escalation. No more play pretend, we’ll have to fight our way out. We’re taking a risk. What if the dungeon isn’t there?”

“You think it’s upstairs? Only locked door in a mansion screams dungeon.”

“There’s a lot of extra space, if that’s true. The entire north wing is sealed off.”

Duncan interjected, “We have time to check the upper floors. The sun is still high in the sky.”

I frowned. “We haven’t slept. If we hold off too long, we’ll be the weak ones, which decreases our chances further. No, we have to do this now.”

She shrugged assent. She wasn’t afraid to look at me anymore. There was a fierceness in her eyes, as if admitting her history had absolved her of it.

I wanted to use glamour and dig past her mask, but she was always too quick to catch on. I needed a better opportunity.

I started to speak and almost called her Duncan, but then remembered the guards. “Alright, game plan: Maia, you and I open with sorcery every time we see one of Pictor’s, starting with whoever is outside the north wing. While they’re stunned, Asellio’s guards execute. We break the lock, open the door, and storm the dungeons in search of Cossus. Once we find him, hopefully we can just run out. Got it?”

Maia, Felix, and our ghostly escorts nodded. We geared up and began the mission.

I was still a bit off-kilter from Maia’s revelation, but anger came as easy relief. I threw lightning at the single footman guarding the north wing entrance. Our escorts executed the guard swiftly, easily. The door was locked, but that was fixed by a few kicks and a hefty swing of my sword.

The first floor north wing looked more like a war room than an opulent palace. Curled maps, sharp implements, and more corpses than anywhere else in the mansion. The entryway hosted two more ghosts, who went down to lightning, a sorcerous blade, and two ghostly swords.

Felix stooped to investigate papers as we passed. He whistled appreciatively. “Troop orders. Pictor was planning something with a few collaborators. Probably something about Strix.”

I examined a few myself. “Hmm. He nabbed Cossus after the world died, right? Maybe he’d been arranging an op like that beforehand, and his forces kept pursuing that plan in death.”

We continued on through a few more rooms, efficiently taking down every ghost we saw. A few cried out, but the palace’s inhabitants were still sluggish enough that no proper alarm was raised. Pictor’s soldiers were disorganized, weakened by sunlight, and unprepared for an internal assault.

In the distance, I heard a scream; someone had found the bodies – what passed for bodies, at least.

We sped up. The north wing was large, but areas had clear themes. We went towards the rougher area and, after passing through a few more rooms, found a ladder down.

We wasted precious seconds trying to decide the optimal order. I went first, then a ghost, then Felix, Maia, and the other ghost. I slid down the rungs as quickly as I could and threw lightning wildly the moment I hit the ground.

A stray blast hit one of the three ghostly wardens guarding the dungeons. Cells lined the walls, a dusty chest lay in one corner, and the wardens wielded wicked-looking maces as they advanced on me. I rolled to the side and blasted all three with lightning, pouring as much power as I could into crippling them while my allies joined me and rushed them.

The first warden fell, then the second, and my lightning flickered and died before my companions reached the third. She lashed out with her mace and crushed a ghostly arm. The wounded guard let out a keening howl and stumbled away. The other guard lunged in and ran the warden through.

The dungeon was ours. I motioned for my allies to watch the ladder while I investigated the cells. I passed a few ghosts that looked too ratty and weak to be the Consul, before settling on the only specter to wear fine jewelry.

He looked up at me and frowned. “You… you’re not one of them. You have color in your cheeks, and your eyes. You’re alive, aren’t you?”

I nodded. “You’re not. How whole are you? Strix sent me. She prepared for her death well.”

Cossus laughed bitterly. “Of course she did. She told me, you know. She warned me about all of this. I warned her, too. I suppose, in the end, we were both fools, yet I the greater. No matter. Get me out of here, then I’ll here whatever crazy scheme she has in mind.”

I tilted my head. “Can’t you just pass through the bars?”

He waved a hand dismissively. “Of course not. I’m weak, and even with all my wits about me that would take a great deal of effort. Are you new at this?”

I rolled my eyes. “I’m not from around here. As you can tell by my being alive, and you’re being dead.”

“Yes, yes, I get the point. Just smash the lock, I can take it from there.”

I obliged, a swift hilt-bash dealing with the rusty bars. “Know a quick way out of here? The whole palace is about to descend on us.”

Cossus limped over to the wooden chest, opened it, and reached for an ornate dagger. When he touched it, an ethereal outline emerged and followed his hand. He drew his ghostly dagger and pointed at a cracked brick in the wall. “Secret passageway. Pictor’s an idiot and thought it would be the safest place to put his escape route. His loss, our gain. Leads into the sewers.”

I looked to my companions. “Maia, Felix, with me. Soldiers… hold them off. We’ll honor you sacrifice.”

The guards nodded and turned blades to the ladder, silent sentinels awaiting second death.

Maia and Felix ran to me and together we fiddled with the brick wall until we found the hidden latch. A secret door emerged, and a dark tunnel beckoned. With one last look behind us at Pictor’s palace, we fled into the darkness, Cossus right with us.

When I saw Asellio’s manor house, I thought that was what nobility looked like. A shadow of the imperial palace, to be sure, but still impressive.

Pictor’s estate disabused me of that notion.

His mansion looked more like a cathedral, with stained glass windows (mostly shattered) and shining spires (mostly corroded). It sprawled its way down a hill, tapering to a point where pearly gates hung open. Little flickers of ghostly light were scattered across the dead fields surrounding his palace. A wide canal circled the entire estate like a moat, and the only way into the area was a single bridge equipped with fortifications.

“Paranoid, much?” I muttered.

Strix smirked. “Not paranoid if everyone’s really out to get you. All the Lords have estates like this, guarded against other Lords seeking to eliminate rivals or climb the glorious ladder. A useful excuse for why a Lord’s levies might not all join the legions abroad.”

Strix detached from our unit as we approached the bridge, promising to wait with Asellio while we went about freeing Cossus.

We arrived at the bridge proper and two burly ghosts in blue livery crossed their pikes. “State your name and business.”

“Valerian, sent here by Marquis Asellio for a meeting with Lord Pictor.” I contorted my mouth into the illusion of a charming smile and handed lefty the letter. It fell through her hand.

She stared at her hand and her eyes darted in lines like she was actually reading the letter, which was currently sitting in her foot. “Checks out. Have a pleasant day, Valerian.” They uncrossed their pikes.

I gave them a breezy wave and stepped over their corpses, making my way up the brick road that led to Pictor’s cathedral. I made sure to scoop up the letter as well, just in case I still needed it.

Gavin snickered as we walked. “Well, that was easy. Let’s hope all of Pictor’s ghosts are that dense, eh?”

Duncan made a little concerned buzzing noise in her throat. “Not dense, just stuck in their fantasy world. Remember what Strix said: the more we interact with these ghosts, the more they start to shake off that stasis and change. We won’t be this lucky forever.”

“She was reading the air in front of her hand. I think we’ll be fine for at least a few more days.”

We reached the doors (which hung open) and I knocked on one of them. A loud tapping sound reverberated through the once-opulent entry hall. For a haunted palace, it was surprisingly empty and tame. When no one came out to greet us, I stepped inside.

Lord Pictor’s taste in art was no less ostentatious than his taste in architecture. There were at least seven portraits of the same man in the entry hall, which I surmised to be the noble himself. The others were of fruit.

As we examined strange sculptures and loitered in the lobby, a ghostly servant emerged from a shadowy passageway, saw us, and hurried over. “Hello! Are you here to see Lord Pictor?”

I projected my best ‘above it all’ attitude. “I’m Valerian, a friend of the Marquis Asellio and new arrival to Aurelion. This is my bodyguard, Maia, and my doctor, Felix. We were told Lord Pictor would be happy to host us for a few nights and tell us about the city.”

The servant nodded hastily. “Of course, of course. I’ll inform him at once. Feel free to wait in a sitting room, tea will be served shortly.”

She gestured at the hallway she’d come from and then bustled off in the opposite direction. We entered the sitting room and found it just as lavish, but with armchairs and low tables. I sat and Felix sat. The guards stayed standing, and Maia followed their example, staying in arm’s reach of me.

The servant spoke truthfully, as only half a minute later someone came in with a teapot and began pouring it into cups. Pouring air, more precisely, but I appreciated the sentiment. I had Maia lend me a water canteen from her satchel and poured us all drinks.

Felix gave Maia a wry glance. “Comfortable standing?”

She raised an eyebrow in response. “No worse than chantry training. Though I do find my position as ‘bodyguard’ ironic. Meat shield might be more accurate.”

I smiled thinly and sipped my water. I let them joke and focused my thoughts inward, preparing the persona I would present to Pictor. I let that cold detachment creep back into me, and immersed myself in glamour.

I needed Pictor to think me harmless, or perhaps even a useful pawn. An idle rich visiting the city as little more than an expensive tourist, but with political connections that might serve his interests. Someone sympathetic to his loyalties.

Asellio’s loaned guards displayed little emotion. The most I could sense out of them was boredom, but not active boredom, more a glazed apathy. They were operating on automatic. Maia felt nervous, with an undercurrent of anticipation. Felix was just dully amused. I tried to focus in on Maia’s emotions, like I had before, digging for that tension underneath the surface, the strange tinge I’d noted previously. I slipped past her anxiety and felt a lingering sense of amazement at the city, and disbelief at our situation. There was more, more waiting for me in her thoughts and fears.

Someone nudged me, and I started. “What?”

Maia frowned at me. “Were you using glamour again? I asked you what our plan was going to be.”

“Oh. Well, yes. Practicing for Pictor.” Looks like going too deep into glamour carried the risk of not noticing less ephemeral details. “As for a plan, I think I’ll just chat him up, score some info, then sneak around to find the dungeon and free Cossus. Then run.”

Felix rolled his eyes. “Elegant simplicity.”

“Exactly.”

Anything else he had to say was interrupted by the arrival of the palace’s ruler, Lord Pictor. I could tell it was him because he was flanked by guards in livery, and because he wore opulent robes, and because through my glamour I could feel the arrogance radiating off him without even trying.

I rose to greet him and he just smiled and waved at me. “Please, please, no need for formalities or handshaking. A friend of Kaeso is a friend of mine.” He sat down in a chair facing me and took a sip of not-there tea.

I adopted my fakest smile and said, “I’m glad to hear that. The Marquis speaks highly of you. He insisted I visit, and told me you were an excellent host.”

He chuckled – false, my glamour told me – and shook his head. “Oh, please, you flatter me. I love a good compliment as much as the next noble, but I’m really just average. I used to be brilliant at it, believe me, but my party-throwing skills have grown rusty with the recent… troubles.”

“I’d think slave revolts would encourage more parties, just to get away from the squalor.”

He chuckled again, this time more genuinely. “Yes, so did I, but everyone’s hiding away or currying favor with the emperor. Only two parties in the last month, can you believe that?”

I put my hand to mouth dramatically. “Really? Two? How does the city survive like this? Something simply must be done to revitalize spirits.” I was slowly getting into the character of the vain noble. It was actually kind of fun.

“Alas, there’s little to be done. I’ve tried. No, they will scurry about, and some of them will hide in the palace and beg Nero for protection, but even those above such base simpering don’t have the stomach to risk their hides in public on more than one occasion a week.”

I arched an eyebrow and gave my best innocently-curious face. “And you? No interest in the emperor’s affections? Abandoned local politicking for the time?”

His mouth twitched into a smile and through glamour I felt the restrained excitement of someone with a secret to hide. “My connections to the court are still strong. Nero knows where my loyalties lie, and that is far more important than any ballroom appearance.”

I nodded appreciatively. “In trying times it is important we stay true to our oaths, and to the good of the empire. Actually,” I leaned in as if sharing a secret, “that’s part of why I came here. There are those on distant shores who, in the chaos, have not forgotten the importance of a strong, united empire. They’ve sent me to do what I can helping fix this mess.”

Intrigue twinkled in his eyes, and I felt that restrained excitement building, morphing. He was wary, too, but sensed a potential ally.

“If there’s anything I can do to help you, and help Nero, I’d be happy to lend my resources. The empire’s enemies are many, and we must stick together to resist them.”

At the mention of enemies, a dark thread twisted through his emotions. I risked focusing on it, the world around me bleeding away for a single moment. It didn’t feel like resentment at the slaves – I’d felt that earlier, and it was a dull fire. This burned hot and cruel. It had to be Cossus.

To my luck, Pictor hadn’t said anything during my lapse. He was just nodding and sipping his tea.

“Yes… my sentiments exactly, Valerian. There are many who would risk our empire for personal benefit.”

“More than just the slaves?” I inquired with a knowing look.

He smiled, and this time it was more irritated and sarcastic. “Yes… perhaps Asellio told you, then, of the serpents in our court.”

I waved a hand and shrugged. “Only vagaries. He seemed concerned to speak of it too openly.”

“Of course, of course. Really, I shouldn’t either, but this is my domain. I will not be intimidated, especially not by self-important fools.” His mask of charm fully slipped for a moment, and I heard the bitterness in his voice. “There is a threat to our empire within the emperor’s own advisors.” He paused for dramatic effect. “The Triumvirate.”

I acted surprised. “The Triumvirate? Truly? All of them? Have things gotten that bad?”

He nodded. “Indeed. Caria, I believe, is only involved incidentally. Cossus harbors ill intentions, and has more sway over the military than I’d like, but,” that I-know-a-secret feeling flared up, “I don’t think he’s a true threat. I have ways of opposing him. No, the true threat is their leader, the First Consul: Strix.”

What.

Pictor interpreted my shock as being about the accusation, rather than learning who Strix was, for which I didn’t have time to be grateful. “Yes, it’s hard to hear, but I speak truth. I think the First Consul harbors a hatred for the emperor, and a lust for his throne. She may well represent the gravest threat to our empire in all the world.”

I recovered from my stupor, barely, and stammered out, “I believe you. I… I think I believe you. It makes a twisted sort of sense.”

Relief surged in him, more than I would have expected. “Thank you. Strix and her lackeys have much of the nobility wrapped around her finger, so finding allies is not an easy task. In truth, Kaeso has been my closest confidante these past months.”

Kaeso, the man who had just pledged his loyalties to Strix, and to me. I made a note to watch him more closely. You can’t trust a spy, even one working for you.

“It vexes me that they can’t see her treachery, but she has entrenched her position well. Strix and her cabal.” He spat the word.

I frowned. “You said both Cossus and Caria back Strix in this. Isn’t that unusual, for a Triumvirate to be so… closely aligned?” I didn’t know that for certain, but it seemed like a logical guess.

He nodded. “Yes, yes it is. It made me suspicious too, so I began looking into their histories more closely. To my horror, I realized, far too late to do anything, that the three of them have been working together since before they were Consuls.”

My eyes widened. “A conspiracy. The three of them had a conspiracy to take power as the Triumvirate.”

“Yes. A successful conspiracy, which they are now reaping the rewards of. They are second in power only to the emperor, and when they act unanimously – which they only do when it has extraordinary benefit, to preserve the illusion of being fair and distinct – the entire nobility obeys. Now you see why I consider them a greater danger than the uprisings.”

I slowly nodded, and sank back a little in my seat.

Strix was part of the Triumvirate, the one she claimed was vital to my bid for the throne. Cossus was an old friend of hers, who she had worked with to secure the second greatest seat of power in the fallen empire. Before the world died, she had already been working to usurp Nero, working alongside the other Consuls and stringing along the nobility of Aurelion.

And she had told me none of this. A lie of omission, if nothing more blatant. Anger began to build in me, burning away the cold. My glamour failed. I didn’t try to restore it.

I hated being lied to. I hated being manipulated. Strix had insulted me, and it was an insult I wouldn’t forget. But I still needed her. I needed her Triumvirate. Her corruption would serve me, and that was, for the moment, more important than personal strife.

Outwardly, I let out a breath that lay between a snarl and a sigh. Pictor nodded sympathetically.

“Yes, that’s about what my reaction was. It doesn’t look good, Valerian.”

“It really doesn’t. This is a daunting problem you’ve laid before me, Lord Pictor. But… perhaps not an impossible one. My backers will be sympathetic to your cause, and their resources may prove useful in whatever your plans are.”

He smiled. “Thank you. May I ask, what resources they have to offer?”

“Whatever is needed. They’re a diverse collective. Armaments, supplies, political strings. They won’t commit their personal retinues or anything of that like, but they can support any effort you make with your own tools. Their only concern is being exposed to retaliation. They’re far more comfortable in the shadows, at least until we have a greater handle on this threat.”

“It is appreciated all the same. Though… ‘we’? Do you intend on staying long?” It sounded more friendly than wary, but I didn’t have glamour to make sure.

“If you’ll have me. A concern of the empire is a concern of mine, and my backers will appreciate having a liaison here in person.”

He seemed to weigh those words for a moment before smiling even wider and calling for wine. “To celebrate this partnership. Together, we just might save the empire.”

I smiled back at the long dead ghost, drank a cup of ancient wine, and made a toast to an empire that had fallen centuries ago. “To saving the empire.”

Brunch was served on dusty plates, and the food looked as old as it was.

There was, however, a bottle of wine that had apparently survived the ages. A ghostly servant poured it into vintage glasses (I hastily shook the dust off of mine), and the red liquid looked just as good as any drink back home.

I took a cautious sip and was pleasantly surprised by the taste. It tasted like wine.

The Marquis smiled graciously. “I hope you’re enjoying brunch. It’s been a while since I entertained guests.”

I shot a glance at Strix questioningly, but she just raised a wineglass to her lips. She didn’t drink any, of course, but the Marquis didn’t seem to notice that.

I took another sip myself and nodded. “It’s good. I missed such pleasantries on the trip here.”

“Yes,” he said, “Strix told me you were from far off. We haven’t had many visitors to the city lately, mostly people leaving. I wish you could have come at a better time, that I might show you a proper view of the capital’s glory. Alas, I doubt things will be presentable any day soon.”

“We’ve had trouble too, but nothing like here. Strix tells me there have been riots, even uprisings.”

“Oh, yes. Nothing to worry about, just a few rough spots. I’m sure any day now the imperial guard will restore order.” Asellio continued to smile as he mimicked the motions of eating, but glamour told me that my words hit home. There was resentment there, aimed at a higher power. Aimed at the emperor.

“I’m not so confident, Marquis.”

“Please, call me Kaeso.”

I nodded. “I’ve seen the guard. I’ve read about Nero. Neither… impress me.”

He shrugged. “What’s to be done? He is emperor. They are his tools.” He agreed with me, but he wasn’t willing to express it. I needed to be the one to vocalize it, to turn idle fancy into actionable reality.

“What if he wasn’t emperor?”

The statement was treason, and he knew it, but it lured him all the same. He took another cautious fake sip and waved for me to continue. “What if?”

I put down my glass and leaned forward. “Kaeso, I’ve seen Nero, and I’ve seen others like him. They only have power so long as people think they have power. This empire deserves someone with real strength. Someone who is willing to do more about our problem than sit in an ivory tower and hold galas.”

“Someone like you?”

Internally, I freaked out. On the exterior, I just shrugged and said, “Perhaps.”

Was this what Strix had meant? Was that why she played coy? She wasn’t just using me to build a rebellion… she was trying to sell me as the next sovereign. Her deceit irritated me, but I still had a part to play.

“What matters now,” I said, “is building a coalition. Bringing together those who no longer have faith in the emperor and uniting them in a common cause. I believe you can help us do that, Kaeso.”

“Us?”

“Strix and I, of course.”

He tossed a shred glance at my spectral advisor. “Yes… I’m curious about that. It’s not like Strix to put her weight behind someone at random. Are you a conspirator in this, then? You agree with Valerian’s sentiment?”

Strix nodded. “Completely, old friend. The time has come for a great upheaval, and I believe Valerian is our best chance at such an event. She has my full support, and my explicit endorsement.”

That seemed to impress him, at least according to my glamour. “Well. That is a bold claim. An auspicious start to this venture, I suppose. Alright. I’ll participate in your little coup. What do you need?”

I gestured to Strix and she said, “For now, very little. Just an invitation to Lord Pictor‘s estate, and a small escort. The streets aren’t safe these days, and the imperial guard aren’t… fond of Valerian, let’s say.”

He gave a terse nod. “That can be arranged. Both of them. I assume you’ll want that letter as quickly as possible.”

“Of course. Time is of the essence. The longer we take to mobilize, the more chances Nero has to intercede.”

Like that, the meeting was over. Strix and the Marquis swept away in private conversation, leaving Duncan, Finn, and myself behind.

“Well,” I said, “that was interesting.”

Finn laughed darkly. “One way to put it. No backing out now; we’re conspirators in a coup. A coup against a ghost emperor. Not how I expected this trip to go.”

“Yeah. Kind of… intense, as far as outcomes go. Think we can pull it off?”

He shrugged. “We have to.”

Duncan seemed thoughtful. “Did you notice the same thing I did? The Marquis implied you were trying to be empress. Is that Strix’s real plan?”

“Maybe,” I said. “Hard to know for sure. It could be a convenient lie to unite the nobility. But why the necessity? Wouldn’t she prefer to be empress herself?”

“She needs us to provoke change, so maybe her plan wouldn’t work if she were the figurehead?”

“Could be. Maybe her plan is to use us until there’s enough momentum, then crown herself empress after the dust has settled.”

Finn asked the most important question: “Do we care? So long as we get access to the library, I don’t think it really matters who Strix wants in charge. This is a city of ghosts. Everything here is dead. Gone. Ancient history.”

I toyed with my wineglass and considered that. “Hmm.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Hmm?”

“I’m not so sure we should just discount this place. There are a lot of ghosts here, and if we could really unite them, find a way to break them out of this malaise… there’s power in this city. If I can seize it.” I brooded.

Duncan slowly nodded. “That’s a fair point. If we raised an army of ghosts, it might prove useful. They could at the very least augment our defenses. Help us, when the enemy arrives.”

I started to become more animated. “Exactly. And imagine the kind of message it sends back home if we reclaim the very heart of the fallen empire. We’ll be legends. Fuck the Council, we can go right past them and inspire the whole of the island. We might not even need the palace library if this plan works.”

Fin chuckled. “I guess being crowned empress is a pretty good way to convince people you’re the chosen one.”

I grinned. “With an empire at my command, the Council wouldn’t dare stand in my way. We’ll have free reign to fulfill the prophecy. Morgan will be forced to acknowledge me as chosen one. As chosen empress.”

I realized they were both looking at me funny, though neither said anything.

“What? Relax, it’s just a harmless bit of speculation.” I tried to turn my hungry grin into a friendly smirk, and didn’t entirely succeed.

Duncan said, “Don’t let this city mislead you, Gwyn. This place looks pretty, but I feel a darkness inside it. Lurking behind every one of these ghosts. I’m beginning to understand why the empire fell, I think.”

“Besides the Gates malfunctioning, you mean.”

“Mm,” she grunted in response, “I’m still thinking about that particular aspect.”

We bickered a bit more until Strix returned, alone.

She rubbed her ethereal hands together and said, “Good news, everyone. The improper dead are waking up.”

I frowned. “Out of context that line does not sound like good news. In context, I’m still not convinced. I take it your conversation with the fop went well?”

“Extremely. I was able to make serious progress in discussing new topics. He has promised to get us that letter of invitation, and a small escort to safely reach Lord Pictor. This is a small victory, Valerian, but a meaningful one. This is the beginning of a grand partnership, I just know it.”

It vaguely annoyed me that she kept using my fake name even when we were alone, but it wasn’t worth bringing up. “Yes… speaking of that partnership, I think you let a detail pass unnoticed: the throne. You wanted the Marquis to think I was trying to become empress, didn’t you?”

She smiled. “Guilty as charged. I don’t know what it’s like in your part of the world, Valerian, but the imperials do things a certain way. This is a rebellion, not a revolution. The nobility would never back an attack on the status quo, but a shift in power, that they’ll support. You must convince them that you are a worthy empress to succeed Nero, one who will reward loyalty and punish her enemies.”

“And what then? What if we take the throne? Do you intend to let me keep it, or will you swoop in to claim the prize yourself?”

She laughed. “Oh, please. They would never tolerate me as empress. Besides, once the palace is yours, I hardly think I’d be able to take it from you. No, I’m not planning a second coup, not when one will suffice. My interest is in seeing the empire redeemed, and nothing more. I am your faithful adviser.” Strix winked at me, which mildly undercut her trust-building attempt.

Regardless of what her intentions might be, we’d taken the first step. “Alright. Are we going now, or will it take time for Asellio to draft an invitation?”

“An hour. Besides, it would be rude to leave early.”

“Well we can’t have that,” I muttered. I polished off my wineglass and looked around for more. A servant obliged.

Duncan frowned. “I thought the empire mostly used slaves for menial tasks. These servants look like kindred. Why?”

Strix adopted an amused expression. “The kine are good for brute labor, yes, but little more. Many Lords employ them as laborers and on estates with taskmasters, but most kine work in factories or off-world.”

Duncan’s frown deepened. “Then… how did they manage to threaten you? If most of your slaves were elsewhere, why does the city bear so many signs of riot?”

I noticed that Duncan kept saying slave, while Strix insisted on kine. It was a small detail, but one I filed away.

Strix said, “Because most of our legions were also elsewhere. The heartland was secure, full of powerful warlocks and elite imperial guard. We… we never anticipated that the kine here would become a threat. Well, the empire never anticipated. Another ignored warning.” A touch of bitterness crept into her tone.

I asked, “Did you warn the empire about many things, Strix?”

I reached for the cold again and sent feelers towards Strix, but this time her emotions were more distant, harder to grasp. She was resisting me. Our eyes met, and I knew that she knew.

She replied curtly, “I voiced concerns. The details aren’t relevant to our current position. If I feel they become relevant, I will share.”

“Of course.” I let the matter drop.

Eventually the Marquis returned with a sealed letter (don’t ask me how he did that – I wasn’t even sure it had anything written on it) and two footmen.

“These boys will escort you to Pictor’s estate, and stay with you for as long as needed. Can’t have any trouble popping up, yes?” He smiled jovially and Strix returned it, cat-like.

“We’ll take good care of them, old friend. I look forward to our next meeting.”

“Likewise.”

Then we left, which meant more walking. To pass the time, I interrogated Strix about our next move.

“So, Strix. What are we trying to get out of Lord Pictor? Another pledge of support? More troops?”

“Oh, nothing of the sort,” she said breezily. “In fact, Lord Pictor would stand by Nero with his dying breath – or, his undying breath, I suppose.”

“What?” I demanded. “Then why are we going right into his domain?”

“Because, protege, in his slavish loyalty to the emperor he has managed to vex me, and make our plans the slightest bit more difficult. First, another history lesson.”

I rolled my eyes.

“Long ago, the empire had a senate that presided over matters, wrote laws, the like. A prior empress abolished the senate and replaced them with the Triumvirate, three Consuls that manage imperial bureaucracy and wield great influence. Traditionally, the Triumvirate has been instrumental in selecting the next sovereign.”

There was an expectant pause, and I reluctantly said, “Okay, so if we get the backing of the Triumvirate it will force the nobility to acknowledge us. Does the Triumvirate have a grudge against the guy or something?”

“In a sense. A century back, Pictor’s goons captured a Consul. The man they captured, Cossus, had enough wit about him to prepare for death, and possesses most of his faculties. Freeing him will put you in his good graces, and secure an endorsement. With that, we can begin recruiting the nobility in earnest.”

“That’s something, at least.” I paused. “How, exactly, are we going to pull this off? We have three ghosts and three living. I don’t think we can storm the castle.”

She shook her head. “Of course not. Stealth is the key. You’ll make niceties with him, take a tour, and explain you’re new to the city and that Marquis Asellio recommended you to him. Don’t mention my involvement. Play nice until you can get out of sight, then bring the footmen with you to the dungeons. Cossus should be there, and the footmen should be able to deal with whatever guards are posted, if you act quickly and throw in some sorcery to help out.”

“Hold up. What about you? You’re not coming?”

“Pictor and I aren’t on good terms. Even hiding our bid for power from him, he still knows of my anti-Nero sentiment. My presence would only diminish your chances of slipping under his notice.”

“Fine. I’ll make do without you, I guess.”

“You’ll be fine.” She smiled. “Trust me.”

I didn’t, but I nodded anyways. Finn and Duncan looked as uneasy as I felt.

“Kaeso Asellio is a Marquis, which means he’s wealthier than the average citizen and gets invited to a great many parties, but holds little political sway. He only has half a dozen house guards in his employ, and the property we’re going to is the only dwelling he owns in the city. He is, to all appearances, an unremarkable man.”

Strix was giving us more background, and I was doing my best to remember it all.

“Of course, as I’m sure you’ve guessed, that appearance is inaccurate. Asellio’s family name gives him an in to the circles of high nobility, and his distance from court politics makes him an ideal go-between. The savvy aristocrat makes good use of his mediation. I’ve worked with him in the past.” She didn’t specify what kind of work.

I frowned. “Valeria wanted to be called by her title and first name. Why is this Marquis different?”

“Because he’s a Marquis, and descendant of a Lord. The family name denotes a proud lineage, but it is also a mark of privilege. Those who have earned their power will not take kindly to being reduced to family ties.” Her tone was warning, and I took extra care to memorize that detail.

“Got it. So why him first?” Duncan and Finn trailed behind us, and every so often I glanced back at them. They seemed to be adjusting about as well as I was.

Strix said, “Getting him to vouch for you will make getting access to various estates much easier. His retinue, small in number though it might be, will also be a helpful deterrent against any loyalists we encounter before our own army starts to build.

“He’s also a bit more whole than most of the ghosts in the city. He didn’t take the full rites, but he knew this was coming. He’s sympathetic to the cause.”

I nodded. “Alright. So what’s the plan, and what’s our story?”

“You are Valerian, a young warlock – magic user – with exceptional talent and high ambition. You’ve come from distant shores to Aurelion because our beloved emperor is neglecting his obligations, and wish to remind him of them. You have kept out of the public view until now because you were still honing your skills and assessing the situation, but now you are ready to act.”

I said, “That might be a hard sell, since there’s a whole kind of magic I’m not versed in, and I know almost nothing about the politics of the city.”

“Agreed. But we can spin it to our advantage. Valerian is fiery and driven, but she is also calm and calculating. Many have underestimated you in the past, taken your unassuming exterior for weakness or inadequacy, when in fact it is simply the style of one who does not need dramatic gestures to make their point. The backing of a few powerful figures will give weight to that idea; why would you gain such support so quickly if there wasn’t something of substance there? It will be a tricky game, but one I have full confidence in.”

I considered that, accepted it, and let Strix continue.

“We’re going to make our introductions to Asellio and see a bit of his estate and staff. Then, he’ll leave us to our rooms. I’ll teach you and Maia the basics of glamour, as much as I can in the span of a few hours. Asellio will invite us for brunch, and you’ll have an opportunity to practice your glamour as you, Asellio, and myself have a conversation determining the extent of his involvement in our little scheme, and what he gets out of it.

“I shall warn you now: Marquis Asellio is low nobility, but he is still noble. Never enter a noble’s domain unprepared, and never let your guard down among them. Every word, every gesture is part of the game. You will need to become trained in it, and quickly. Watch him carefully, and choose your words even more so. Just because he’s predisposed to our faction doesn’t mean this will be effortless.”

We approached Asellio’s estate, and Strix gave a final word of warning. “Maia, Felix, you won’t be expected to participate in this conversation unless prompted. As bodyguard, Maia is to remain by Valerian’s side at all times. Felix, you have a bit more freedom of movement, but don’t expect the staff to be very lucid.”

They both nodded, and we walked up the steps to the Marquis’s front door.

Strix reached out to knock it, then paused.

“Actually, you should probably do that. Knocking is easy for you, with your fleshy body.”

I almost detected a hint of humor in her tone, but chose to ignore it. I knocked on the door, and seconds later it creaked open. A plain-dressed ghost of a woman stood in the doorway, with a servile expression on her ethereal face.

“Guests?” the servant asked.

Strix nodded. “We’re expected. Tell Kaeso that Strix is here, and she’s brought a new arrival to the city.”

The servant nodded, eyes dull and unseeing, and led us inside to a small waiting room, tastefully decorated but covered in a truly potent layer of dust. “The Marquis will be with you in just a moment,” she assured us.

Strix was done expositing at us, so we spent the next minute in tense silence as we waited for the Marquis to show up. When he did, he was about as underwhelming as I’d been expecting. Which I suppose made him perfectly whelming.

“Ah, old friend, how are you? And who are these delightful visitors?” Asellio had a boring face and a sense of style that blended into the architecture, but his voice had a supplicating quality to it, as of someone used to placating the rich and powerful. “Oh, but forgive me, we haven’t been introduced. I am the Marquis of this humble estate, Kaeso of the house Asellio.” He gave a decent bow and smiled at us.

Strix dipped her head slightly, then gestured at each of us in turn. “This is a valued ally of mine, Valerian. She’s a warlock from distant shores, come here to help us with our sovereign situation. Those are her bodyguard, Maia of the house Bellicus, and her personal doctor, Felix of the house Ivmarus.”

“A pleasure to make your acquaintance, Valerian, and that of your staff. I am sure you will have a fascinating story to tell me, but I’m afraid I must tend to my estate. Please, make yourselves at home in the guest rooms. You’ll be joining me for brunch, I hope?”

I followed Strix’s lead and made a slight inclination of my head, hoping it came off as aloof rather than nervous. I smiled thinly, but not coldly, and stood there in a manner as least awkward as I could manage. To either side of me, I saw Maia scanning the room and Felix with his hands in his pockets.

Kaeso seemed to buy it, and Strix filled in for me verbally. “We’ll be delighted to do so, Marquis. Your hospitality is always appreciated.”

He offered some more meaningless pleasantries and then departed. The servant showed us to our rooms and we all crowded into one.

“Well,” Strix said, “that went decently. We don’t have much time, so let’s make this quick; time to start your training in glamour.”

Finn sat on a bed to watch us while Duncan and I arranged ourselves in front of Strix.

“Now, I can’t give you any example of glamour, owing to my distasteful state of unlife, but the principle is simple enough to convey. In fact, I believe you can explain the first half of it without my help. I shall ask you this: how does sorcery work?”

Duncan and I looked at each other, and I shrugged for her to go first. “Well, I guess I just reach inside myself for my anger and… shove it out.”

Strix nodded. “An accurate, if simple, description. The first path is about anger, and violence. It’s about harnessing the resonance of pain and applying it to your kindred energy. Anger, fury, hatred. Righteous indignation, fiery loathing, all these permutations of anger conjure the necessary resonance to empower your magic and unleash it.

“Sorcery is the easiest magic to learn because it has the most common emotional resonance and the simplest expression of power. Whether it is the swing of a sword or lightning from your fingertips, sorcery is really just pushed out from you in the general direction of whatever you want to torture.”

I ventured a guess. “So, glamour is different, then? More complex?”

She nodded. “Glamour is the art of deception. It is about reading your opponents and tricking their senses. With glamour, you need a bit more creativity, a bit more perception. Instead of pushing out your energy, you carefully direct it inward, altering your appearance or gaining an awareness of strong emotions near you. A useful tool for a spy.

“Obviously, glamour’s energy does not use anger. Have any ideas what it might be instead?”

It was a tricky question. “Um… malice? Guilt? Smugness?”

Strix smirked a little. “Not quite. Glamour uses cold. Callousness, detachment, the ability of a savvy politician to separate their emotions from their actions and words. Glamour uses the resonance of detachment, of separating yourself from your emotions and feelings and letting cold calculation guide your thoughts. Give it a try. Don’t worry if it doesn’t come immediately, I imagine it isn’t something as familiar as anger.”

I gave Duncan a skeptical glance, then flopped myself onto a bed and tried to do as Strix suggested. She was right; it wasn’t as easy as conjuring my anger. I was emotional. Strong feelings came naturally to me, and the instinct to act on them. Suppressing them was something I’d never had much luck with.

Still, I gave it a shot. I went through each emotion that was lingering in me, tasting each one. Anger at the council. Doubt in myself. Fear of failure. I found each subtle nuance of despair and fury and guilt, and I let them slip away from me. Breathing exercises helped, but it still took me many frustrated minutes before I could even approach that feeling of cold Strix had described.

The detachment wasn’t even the hard part, not really. I could do detached. I could do focus. But there was a frenetic energy under my skin that refused to calm down, refused to act coldly. I was a creature of impulse.

Every time I felt that cold serenity brush my skin, I lunged for it and it slipped away. It burned away at the slightest touch. It vexed me, but I wasn’t going to give up. I had to master this, just like I’d mastered sorcery.

So I tried something different: I stopped trying to let go, and instead brought all that emotion back inside me. I clung to my anger and fear and atavistic need and I embraced all of them. Slowly, carefully, individual sensations began to blur, and merge together into one overpowering feeling: determination.

Glamour would be mine. This noble would be mine. This city would be mine. I was the chosen one, and nothing could dare stand in my way. My anger was useful, but right then it served best refocused into determination and willpower. The fire in my veins started to burn cold, and all my concerns vanished.

I immersed myself in the cold, felt its crystalline clarity, and opened my eyes. Duncan was still sitting there. Finn had gotten bored of watching us. Strix monitored me closely, her face giving away nothing.

Almost nothing. I looked for details I never had before. The subtleties of her stance. The lines on her face. Tiny motions that meant nothing individually, but that together formed a profile. Many of them I’d been noticing instinctively, little details that told me when someone was happy or sad or furious. But, many of them weren’t so obvious. Tells, like a gambler looked for.

Strix didn’t have many, but she had a few. The light in her eyes. The stillness of her fingers. The mere item that she was watching me instead of watching both of us.

She was waiting for me to do something. Waiting for me to use my magic. She’d only told us to try and find detachment. She hadn’t said anything about using that power, about the intricacies of what glamour actually did. And yet, somehow, she expected me to know. Or… to figure it out.

I hated the idea of being tested by someone I barely knew. I’d spent far too many years being questioned and prodded and tested over and over again by Morgan and the chantry. I’d endured far too long being denied my place because there were other ‘potentials’.

But that hatred wasn’t useful, not in the moment. If I was to learn anything from my exile, it was that. Action born of anger, action without purpose, could only harm my aims. So I suffocated my irritation at Strix and started thinking through her test.

Sorcery was anger, transformed into magic, expressed forcefully. Glamour was detachment, transformed into magic, directed inward. Strix had said it was about altering one’s appearance and reading one’s enemies.

I closed my eyes again, and let my sense of self wander in search of a familiar friend: my anger. I felt that burning red font, always so close to the surface, always ready to become lightning at my fingertips. I reached deeper, through the well and out the other side, and I caught hold of the power within it; kindred magic.

That crackling, hungry energy burned red, but there was a coldness within it, too. Another well of power, one that I could only now begin to understand, begin to reach out to. I threw myself into that well, wrapped myself in its energy, and bent it to my will.

Cold fire coursed through my veins, and I shaped it into light. I opened my eyes, and looked at my hand, and imagined it cloaked in a velvet glove. With a pulse of cold energy, it took form.

There was something slimy about glamour. Something slithering. It felt like tendrils of mist curling around me. I could almost see them, almost feel their coldness in the air. I drew one of those tendrils towards Strix, and let it reach inside her in search of sensation.

I felt curiosity, and satisfaction, but both were at a distance, brought to me through a curtain of fog. These were Strix’s emotions, not mine. I could feel them. I could touch them. I could almost move them, change them. But that power eluded me, for the moment.

I drew back from Strix and let the cold magic fade. I didn’t feel as exhausted as I would after straining my sorcery, but there was still fatigue, just a more mental one.

Strix smiled. “Well done, Valerian. An excellent first outing. It would seem my assessment of your abilities was accurate.”

Duncan smiled at me, too. “Nice work, Gwyn.”

Out of curiosity, or perhaps something more, I reached for that cold well again and reached out towards Duncan. I felt… not entirely what I was expecting. There was disappointment, but it was internal, self-directed. And it was mixed with an odd shade of relief, as if her own failure somehow alleviated a fear.

Something must have showed on my face, because her own expression wavered and said, “Are you, um, still doing it?”

I relaxed my magic again and plastered something vaguely comforting onto my face. “Sorry, just exploring this new power. It’s very different from sorcery. I’m not entirely sure I have the hang of it yet.”

Duncan seemed to accept that, though Strix not so readily. She still wore a charming mask, but some of what I’d noticed before was still there. Curiosity, like she was watching a wild animal try to open a cage.

I moved to change the conversation. “So, Strix. What next? How does having this magic help me with Asellio?”

“Ah, glad you asked. As I said, he’s an easy sell, but there’s still a bit of risk. With glamour, you can tell when he’s unsure, when he’s doubtful, and change tactics to address his concerns. He’ll lie to your face and tell you his delight, but your magic will reveal the truth. Knowledge is a potent weapon when paired with a silver tongue.”

I gave her a skeptical look. “Right, well, I don’t a silver tongue is going to be as easy to unlock as glamour was. Unless that too is an area of kindred magic?”

“Sadly not. You’ll have to make do with your wits. You’ve done fine so far. Just keep up the brooding stranger aesthetic and it should be a breeze.”

The next hour or so was spent with Strix briefing me on little details I’d need to remember, the names of various Lords and the basic talking points of my argument. Then the door opened again, a servant ushered us out, and the meeting began.

We woke up in the early evening, as the sun slowly approached the horizon.

We packed, discussed our plans, repacked, looked through all the books I’d brought for any last clues, and finally worked up the nerve to stop procrastinating and find Strix.

She was waiting for us in the warehouse, just like she’d said. There were other ghosts too, mostly dock types, but they all seemed drowsy, lethargic. They ignored us, and we made our way over to Strix, who was sitting daintily on a crate.

She clapped her hands, once, then smiled. “So you decided to accept my offer.”

I tilted my eyebrow skeptically. “I decided to hear you out. Acceptance will rely on details. First detail: why me? What makes me the missing piece to your grand scheme of rebellion?”

Finn and Duncan found boxes and loose materials to sit on, but I stayed standing.

Strix shrugged and said, “Well, it isn’t you specifically, any more than it is your friends. The missing piece is a quality the three of you share, and I lack. Can you guess what it is?” She phrased it like a teacher would.

I gave her a look that showed her just how much I appreciated being treated like an errant student, but I obliged her prompt. “We’re alive? You need someone still breathing?”

She nodded. “That’s one half of it. You’re also outsiders; the three of you are the only new things to arrive in this city for three hundred years, discounting a bit of rain. Look around you, friend. Look at these sorry excuses for kindred.”

I looked. More of what I’d seen before; just shades of people reenacting the past. “What am I looking for, Strix? All I see are ghosts playing out memories.”

“Exactly. How much do you know of the death rites? Does your culture practice them?”

I frowned. “Depends on what you mean by that. We venerate the ancestors. Some of us, at least. We have a giant crystal where all the ancestor spirits are led after they rise from their corpses. We have funerals, sometimes. Any of that sound like death rites?”

She shook her head and clicked her tongue. “Sad to see culture fall away, especially something as important as this. The death rites are a ceremony performed for those about to die, to center them and keep their identity and will strong as they shed their flesh. If the rites are not performed before death, the ghost that results shall become but a pale remnant of the life that once burned brightly.

“It’s a function of our magic, the power that makes us kindred. Without these rites to keep us whole, the improper dead become immersed in false realities. All these you see are living in memory, stuck in an impenetrable stasis that has lasted for three centuries. Until now. Until your arrival.”

I wanted to ask a million different questions about the death rites, and about kindred magic, but I needed to stay focused. “So we’re living, and we’re outsiders. How does that change things? The ghosts I’ve met, with the exception of you and the emperor, haven’t broken any stasis.”

Strix grinned again. “Ah, but they have. You made quite the scene in Nero’s hall. The court will forget the details, but they won’t forget that a fiery girl challenged the emperor’s authority. Those guards will bear the trauma of your sorcery. You are something that can’t be easily fit into their preconceptions, their mental image of the city.

“Last night, before your arrival, the guards in Nero’s palace ignored my words. They were almost as insubstantial to me as they are to you. But then, you created an opportunity, one that allowed me to banish two of them. Well, they might not be entirely banished… but I wounded them. And I noticed other guards reacting to that, which is more than I’ve seen in a long, long time. Finally, I can start to influence things again. We can change things.”

She paused and gave me a moment to sink it in before continuing on with her monologue. “Of course, everything isn’t all lilies and wine. Just as I can now interact more solidly with the improper dead, so can our adversary. I have no doubt that Nero will begin sending his forces out on patrol, looking for the girl who defied him. He wasn’t expecting me this time, but next time he will. If he catches you… well, there are ways for a ghost to kill. Especially one as dangerous as our dearly departed emperor.”

The scorn with which she described Nero was intensely personal. I was suddenly very curious about her history, but I suspected it wasn’t the right time to ask.

Instead, I asked, “Okay, so what’s your plan? You said we’re going to… rally the nobility? Raise an army? How?”

“I’ll take care of the fine details, manage the minutiae of this task. You simply need to become a figurehead of rebellion, an icon for all those with a grudge against Nero and resources to levy against him. You need to awaken a fire in these forlorn ghosts, remind them what it really feels like to be alive. We’ll start with a lesser nobleman, Marquis Asellio. If you can convince him, we’ll have something to work with.”

I frowned. “I’m not very convincing without my sword.”

Strix smiled again. She did that a lot. “Not an unusual problem. Don’t worry, Asellio is the most sympathetic to our cause. I pinpointed him as the first step in a rebellion a long time ago. Besides which, I believe I can help you become more convincing. With a bit of practice, yes, but also with a bit of magic.”

That captured my attention. “I like magic. I like magic a great deal. I don’t really think blasting him with agony will do us much good, however.”

She waved a hand dismissively. “Of course not. I’m referring to the second path. You’re unskilled in it?”

“If by ‘unskilled’ you mean ‘never heard of it’, then yes.” I shrugged. “Like you said, our culture hasn’t exactly… survived. The island founders didn’t seem fond of it.”

She tossed her hair dramatically. “Dastardly. Glamour is vital to the success of any decent Lord. Very well, I suppose I shall have to teach you from scratch. You’re both fluent in sorcery, yes? The first path?”

Duncan and I looked at each other. I nodded at Strix. “We can turn anger into pain and shove it at others. Is there more to it?”

Strix chuckled at that. “Not really. It’s a good base; sorcery is much easier to learn than glamour, but there are similar principles between the two. How about the boy, is he trained?”

Finn shook his head. “I can heal people, but I can’t do anything like they can.”

She clicked her tongue. “Ah, an alchemist. Yes, your breed of magic is… mutually exclusive with theirs. I’m afraid I won’t be able to teach you anything, though we may find someone who can. But that’s for another time. As is glamour training. Did you have any more concerns?” She was addressing me once more.

“Uh, yeah. A couple. How did the empire die? How vast was it before it fell?” I hesitated, then asked the question burning a hole in my thoughts: “What do you know about fate?”

For a moment, her expression was guarded, but her careful mask immediately slid back into place. “Big questions, friend. I’ll start simple: the empire didn’t die, it was killed. Killed by kine and killed by our beloved emperor. Before that, it stretched across a dozen worlds, ruling benevolently.”

She tapped her chin a few times and furrowed her brow without looking at anything in particular. “As for fate… it’s not something I’ve paid much mind. There are plenty of charlatan doomsayers in the streets, of course. They were always there, though I imagine they felt quite vindicated when something tragic finally happened. As for other notions of fate… I suppose you will have to find your answers in the library.”

Her smile was charming and placid, but I understood the subtext; Strix wasn’t going to give us an easy way out.

Fine. I’d play her game. “To Marquis Asellio, then.”

“Excellent. He’ll make for good glamour practice, and I can begin teaching you the proper etiquette of the court.” She paused and pursed her lips. “Which reminds me… I never caught your names. Who are you, the three of you?”

I pointed at each of us in turn. “Gwyn, Finn, Duncan. Leader, healer, warrior.”

Strix shook her head. “No, no that won’t do at all. Those names are… well, no offense, but they’re not very imperial. I’ve read names like those in records of the world before the empire, and I’ve heard names like those on the lips of kine, but they’re not proper kindred names. You’ll have to think of better ones if we’re going to foster rebellion. Or I can simply give you new names, if you prefer.”

Again with her deceptive smile. I wasn’t going to give her the pleasure of naming me, so I said, “How’s Valerian sound?”

She actually seemed surprised by that. “Valerian? It… hmm. Yes, yes that will do nicely. Strong history, that name. Some very powerful people had names similar to that one. Welcome to the team, Valerian.” She looked to Finn and Duncan. “And you two? Have any ideas?”

They didn’t, which wasn’t that surprising; we’d heard more fallen names in the past day than in all the years beforehand.

“The boy can be Felix. An unassuming name is good for a healer. And for the girl, Maia. She was a great war hero.” Felix and Maia received their new names without protest, though Finn at least seemed amused.

I quirked an eyebrow. “Do any of us need second and third names like you have? Cause that’ll be a lot to keep track of.”

She shook her head. “Not necessary, but for your companions it might prove useful. Do you only ever use one name back home? How do you track lineage?” Her curiosity felt clinical, almost judgmental.

“We’re all from the chantry. We don’t really have a lineage. But, others just remember it, or write it down.”

“Hmm. Well, imperial lineage is both complicated and simple, like so much of the empire. A particularly successful aristocrat might establish a family name to create advantages for their children. Sometimes those bloodlines cross, and the child is given two line names, such as in my case.

“Of course, not all Lords have lineages. Nero is Nero, and Aurelius was Aurelius. It might pay to connect your bodyguard and doctor to lesser nobility, but framing yourself as simply Valerian will make your opposition to Nero all the more clear.”

With that settled, and with the sun finally dipping out of sight, we left the relative comfort of the warehouse and crept through the streets. On Strix’s urging we avoided any guards we saw, and took a circuitous route to our destination: a lavish mansion in a district of the city called Garden Row.

According to Strix, this was for those nobility with less wealth and standing. Marquis Asellio was quite poor, as evidenced by his only having one mansion to his name. Apparently all the Lords had private estates on the outskirts of the city. Marquises were stuck with opulent houses and iron fences.

We passed many such houses as we entered Garden Row. Strix knew the names of each and every resident, but I could barely remember all her names, let alone all I heard as we walked. But I recognized Vaulk when I heard it.

“Wait, who lived there?” We stopped outside the estate in question, a low-key mansion that incorporated a lot of reds and ridges.

Strix turned to it and repeated, “Laberia Vaulk.” She didn’t seem very impressed with Laberia. “A descendant of your namesake, Lord Valeria. Shame about that bloodline. None of them lived up to her legacy. You’re familiar with Valeria Vaulk, I take it? Some record of her has survived the centuries?”

I shook my head. “Not exactly. We met her, or rather her ghost, on our trip. We woke her up, convinced her we weren’t grave robbers, and she said something about getting her house in order. There was a whole estate on this little island.”

Strix nodded. “Common for nobility from the early days. That manor you saw was built before this city was.” Her tone turned nostalgic. “I visited Lord Valeria, once. Sharp mind, that one. She didn’t let death stop her from being very well-versed in imperial politics. In any case, the Vaulks of the capital are neither powerful enough nor motivated enough to be useful to us.”

That was the end of the conversation, at least for Strix. She turned from the house and kept walking. With one last lingering look at it, I followed.

I woke up in a cell.

I felt numb, but it wasn’t the magical cold of the ghosts. This was familiar. I’d felt it a few days ago, when another ghost ruined my life.

I was in shock.

The cell door was closed, the bars were metallic, and the stone floor was cold. Duncan was in a cell across from me, Finn was in the cell next to mine, and I didn’t see Gavin or Aislin. Stairs leading up, two guards at the top, and no other ghosts in this part of the dungeon.

Who am I?

I should have been thinking about escape, or my friends, or survival, but that was the only question I could focus on.

Seven years. Closing on eight. That’s how long I had been on this path. Seven years where my only goal was claiming the title of chosen one and all the accolades that went with it. Then I fucked it all up. The council, and the temple, and the empire. I wasn’t diplomatic enough. I wasn’t smart enough. I wasn’t strong enough.

The chosen one wouldn’t give up. The hero of prophecy would never accept defeat.

I looked at Duncan. She was still waking up. I’d never looked at her this closely before. Her body language was like a caged animal, which, at the moment, she was. She had nice arms. There was a fire in her eyes. She hadn’t given up.

Just like her to spite us, even here.

Was it? Had she ever done that? Could I trust my memory, when all I’d seen of her in the past week defied that interpretation?

Regardless, I wouldn’t let her outshine me. I shoved down my doubts and took a few breaths to steady myself.

“We need to get out of here,” I said.

She nodded. “How? And what do we do once we’re out?”

A cool, feminine voice interrupted us. “I believe I can answer that.”

A ghost drifted to the space between our cells and turned to smile at me. Her smile was thin, but playful. She had sun bleached hair, fancy eyeliner, and a silky white dress that bared her shoulders. There was a dagger on her belt.

“Hello there. My name is Bellistrix Avicus Augustine, but you may call me Strix. I’m here to help you, provided you help me in turn.”

I raised a cautious eyebrow. “Help you do what?”

Her grin widened. “Why, we’re going to kill the emperor, of course.”

Duncan muttered, “We just tried that. Didn’t go well.”

Strix glanced back at her. “You needn’t lurk in that cell, you know. The doors aren’t locked. Please, let’s have a proper conversation, all together.”

I looked at the door to my cell and hesitantly gave it a push. It creaked open. Duncan and Finn did the same, and then we were all huddled in the hallway facing the grinning ghost.

“We don’t have much time, so we should really get going. I’m sure you’ll all be much more receptive to my offer out in the open air, yes? Dawn is on its way, after all, and I’d hate to be caught out in it.”

Duncan just pointed at the two guards.

I folded my arms and said, “I appreciate the thought, I do. But I’ve got a hundred questions right now, and I’m still aching from getting beaten down by a dozen specters. The biggest, most obvious one: how are we supposed to kill the emperor if we couldn’t kill a single ghost?”

Strix drew her dagger with a flourish and turned on her heel. She walked up the stairs, slit one man’s throat, then plunged her dagger into the other’s back. They both slumped to the floor, groaning, and she turned around to face the three of us once more. “Like that.”

We slowly emerged from the dungeons, glancing around anxiously for more threats. I gave Strix a wary look.

She sheathed her dagger and said, “You can’t kill them, because you’re living. But a ghost can kill a ghost. And this city is just crawling with ghosts. Interested in my offer yet?”

She explained a little of her plan as we crept out of the palace and towards the harbor.

There were dozens of nobles in the city, many of them important enough to have personal militia. If the ghostly nobility could be persuaded to lend their forces to the task, the palace could be assaulted. Nero would be ousted from his throne and the library would be free to access, free to pillage for what we needed.

Of course, that required convincing a bunch of crazy ghosts who hated each other to work together towards a common goal. It would mean spending a lot of time working towards a goal that only indirectly helped us get into the library. And it was founded upon trusting Strix, another imperial ghost with unknown motivations.

We arrived at the ship with minutes to spare.

Strix spared a nervous glance at the horizon, then spread her hands and said, “Well, I’m sure you have lots to discuss amongst yourselves. I’d advise getting a bit of rest too; if you intend to stay here any length of time, you should adjust to the different sleep cycle. I’ll return at evening, or you can find me in that building over there.” She pointed to a nearby warehouse. “Please, do take my offer seriously. We can do great things together, I promise.”

Then she left, and the three of us walked onto the ship and sat in the map room.

It took a few minutes before any of us could speak. It was still all so much to take in. A city of ghosts, a palace filled with threats, and an utter inability to harm said ghosts. All our training, all our preparation, was worthless.

There were more immediate concerns though, and they were easier to think about.

“We have maybe a month of food that isn’t fish, and we won’t accomplish anything nutrient-starved. Options?”

Finn blinked a few times like he was waking up. “Um, right. Well, we can’t go back home. And I doubt any food stores in the city will still be good, even without the concern of mold and insects.”

I nodded. “Raiders have fruit. I hear they’ve managed to get a few farms going on their own little islands. Not much, but something.”

Duncan finally woke up as well and shook her head. “We don’t have anything to trade, and we don’t have the numbers to take it by force.”

I pointed in the general direction of the city. “This city looks way more preserved than any of the places we’ve found before. The salvage here would be more than worth some food, if we put in the effort.” Privately, I had my reservations; it would take days to make the trip, and the raiders might not put the same value on fallen trinkets as the islanders did. But we didn’t have much other choice.

Duncan hesitated, but agreed. “Probably our best bet.”

Finn tried to say something and cut himself off. I waved for him to speak. He slowly managed, “I… I’m just wondering how long we’re actually going to be here. Are we taking that ghost up on her offer?”

Ah. There was the part I didn’t want to think about.

Duncan and Finn both looked at me for an answer. I rested my face on my hands and sighed.

“I don’t know. We… we have to. No matter how crazy her plan sounds, no matter how long it takes, right now she’s my only option. I can’t get into the library. I can’t get past those guards. I can’t stand up to that dead emperor and his army. I need a ghost on my side, and she’s the only one offering.”

The next part terrified me to say, and I fought myself every syllable, but I said it. “I have to do this. But, you don’t. You can go back. They’ll take you in. They’ll forgive you. You don’t have to consign yourself to this fool’s errand. You can take the ship, too. If I open the library I’ll find my own way back.”

“How?” asked Duncan.

I laughed bitterly. “Same way I got into this mess; there’s a Gate in this city, and I’ll bet you anything I can activate it.”

They glanced at each other, communicating nonverbally.

“I’m serious. If you want out, this is your chance. I’m about to help a dead woman overthrow an emperor. That isn’t what you signed up for.”

Duncan looked me dead in the eyes and said, “I signed up to help the chosen one save the kindred, and that’s exactly what I’m going to do. You’re not going to scare me off that easily, Gwyn.” She winked at me.

Finn was a little less confident, but his resolve was firm. “I believe in you. I believe in the three of us. If anyone can do it, we can.”

I let out a sigh of relief. “Good. I wasn’t sure I could do this on my own. Okay, we need to start planning. Long days ahead of us. Long nights, rather. I’m not willing to trust everything on this ghost. I think we need to compile all we’ve learned from this little expedition.”

Duncan leaned back and made a thinking face. “Well, we’re starting to learn more about the old empire. Looks like they had more than just a few slaves. They must have conquered whole worlds.” She didn’t look very happy about that. “Whatever killed everyone, it spared the kindred from a kine revolt.”

“Maybe that was the point,” I conjectured.

That disturbed her even worse. “You’re saying they might have done it to themselves? That’s awful!”

I shrugged. “Better to die than be killed, right? I don’t necessarily agree, but I get the logic.”

Finn frowned. “But then, why would so many of them be… unprepared? It looks like almost every kindred in the city died ‘improperly’. I can’t imagine that being intentional.”

I drummed my fingers on the table and pondered that. “You’re right. Maybe it wasn’t a unanimous decision, then. I don’t know. Maybe Strix will have answers, tomorrow. Okay, next issue: our gear is useless. Armor doesn’t slow them, weapons don’t hurt them. Finn doesn’t even have sorcery, so our arsenal is pretty limited.”

Duncan looked at her blade and grimaced. “Hardly seems worth the trouble to even carry them around.”

I nodded. “We probably don’t need to bring much with us at all when we venture into the city. We can always come back here for whatever we’re missing, and it seems the ghosts can’t get onto the boat. This is our safehouse, for now.”

Finn gestured to the maps. “Should we bring any of these?”

“We don’t need any of the nautical ones, but it might be worth it to sketch a map of the city. Though, that’s also something we can ask Strix about.”

Duncan let out a deep breath, then said, “Okay, so, speaking of her, there’s something I’ve been thinking about. We’ve been focusing on the palace library because it’s the only place that would have physical evidence, books that are still whole, right?”

Finn and I nodded.

“Well, what if we don’t need physical evidence? What if we just bring a ghost with us, have someone who lived in the empire vouch for the prophecy?” Her tone was uncertain, but tentatively hopeful.

I leaned forward, steepled my fingers, and worked it over in my head.

Duncan continued, “The lady we met yesterday said something about it being hard for ghosts to cross water, but she didn’t say impossible. It might be easier than taking on an emperor and his military.”

I slowly shook my head. “Maybe, but I don’t think so. The council wanted hard proof, and it would be all too easy for them to dismiss anyone we brought. It would still be our word against theirs. They have ghosts from the fallen empire, lurking in that crystal formation. Besides, Valeria talked about fate like it was a stage trick or an idle curiosity. I doubt the average citizen will think much of it.”

Duncan deflated a little, but sighed and said, “Yeah, probably. It was worth a shot though.”

“Agreed. I’ll bring it up with Strix, she if see has any leads. If she does, we can try to negotiate a deal, a piece of help for a piece of help. For now, best to plan for the worse.”

I glanced at the hallway and saw a few rays of morning light slip in.

“We should get some rest. Tomorrow… or, I guess, tonight… we find the ghost and hear her out.” I managed a half-hearted smile. “Maybe this’ll only take a few days, and we can return home vindicated before the food stores even take a dent.” I didn’t believe that, but it was a nice thought.

We departed for our bunks and slept as the day broke.

I was having lunch with friends (Mal and Sam) when we saw the smoke.

Mal was the charming one, a rail-thin femme with messy black hair and eyes that always sparkled with amusement. She was pale, one of the palest people I’d ever met. It worked for her, though; she always dressed in black, with the occasional purple highlight, and carried around a sunlight-resistant parasol.

She’d just made a witty comment about something banal, and her girlfriend, Sam, was snickering over it. Sam was a tasteful contrast to Mal in nearly all the ways that mattered. Dark, almost mocha-toned skin, with a mane of brown hair and warm eyes. Her signature color was red, usually her red jacket.

I sipped some of my tea as I watched the two of them joke and flirt with each other. They had a natural rhythm that I found comforting, and I was content to let them fill conversational lulls whenever they pleased.

Sam stopped in the middle of a retort to stare off in the distance. I frowned, followed her gaze, and saw smoke on the horizon. Past the lush fields and rolling hills, towards the coast, a plume of smoke marred the scenic vista. Something was burning.

I ran through a list of locations in my head and identified it: “That’s Morgur. There shouldn’t be smoke coming from it, especially not smoke like that. Something’s wrong.”

Mal glanced at the smoke, then at Sam, then at me. “Is there a patrol near it?”

Once, Mal would have known the answer to that question without even thinking about it. Once, she and I had both competed, along with others, for the coveted title of chosen one. But Mal was wiser than me, and one day she decided she didn’t want to be the chosen one. So she left her role as a candidate, and left the chantry entirely. She seemed happy with her choices.

I envied that happiness. Especially when I considered her question. “Yes. Gavin is on patrol there… and Gwyn.”

Sam’s expression turned sympathetic, while Mal rolled her eyes and leaned back. She said, “Ah, great. Well, I’m sure little miss divinity can easily deal with whatever’s going on. Unless, you know, she caused it.” Mal grinned, just a touch.

I shifted in my chair uncomfortably. “I know you don’t like her, but she’s still the chosen one.”

Mal snorted. “Right. Sadly for her, I’m not into fate worship anymore. Or any worship. Besides, someone can be the chosen whoever and still be a dick.”

Sam lightly rested a hand on Mal’s and gave her a look.

Mal sighed. “Sorry, yes, that was insensitive of me. You’re still with the chantry, and I didn’t mean to insult you or your faith. I just have… bad associations with that place. And with her.”

That much I understood. Gwyn was… well, competitive was underselling it. Mal and I were the only two candidates to even come close to Gwyn’s magical skill (by which I mean, the only two to also learn magic), and so she paid us special attention during the years of training and trials.

I waved my hand. “It’s fine. Really. I’m also dealing with some of those associations.” I laughed nervously. “It’s still crazy to think that all the competition is finally over. It was such a relief, hearing that Gwyn was going to be the chosen one, and not me. I mean, I felt guilty about the relief, but not enough to impede my enjoyment of it all finally being over.”

Mal nodded. “Glad you got out of it, Duncan. You deserve better than being saddled with something that really isn’t you.”

“I still don’t think I’ve really sorted through all my feelings on it. A part of me is happy for Gwyn, but another part of me resents her reveling in her victory so much. But, she earned it, right? And I shouldn’t feel so bad about getting exactly what I wanted. Most of what I wanted.” I sighed. “It’s complicated.”

Sam raised the teapot. “More?”

I smiled at her gratefully. “Yes, please. I need the distraction.”

She poured me another cup and I drank it slowly. I tried to focus on our conversation, and the nice weather, and the lovely lunch, but the plume of smoke stayed in my thoughts. I brooded, and I could almost taste the ashen air.

After only a few minutes, Mal took in a deep breath and let it out dramatically. “Alright, go ahead.”

I blinked awake and looked at her.

“You want to go help. I know you, Duncan. If you don’t go now you’ll be obsessing over it all day. Go, help out, do some good work, and avoid Gwyn.” Mal stole one of my miniature sandwiches and said, “I’ll have to eat all your remaining snacks for you, of course, but that’s a sacrifice I’m willing to make.”

I laughed and nodded. “Thank you. I’ll make it up to you as soon as I can.”

Mal clicked her tongue and glanced at Sam. “Is it possible for a person to be too nice? There has to be a medical condition for that, right?”

Sam rolled her eyes and waved me goodbye. “Good luck, Duncan. I’m always happy to entertain.”

With that I gathered my things and swept out of their lovely hillside home. I vaulted onto my horse and set off in the direction of the smoke.

The air was nice against my skin as I rode, and the silence gave me space to doubt myself. Did they need my help? Was that arrogant of me to assume, or was I obligated to offer my help even if not needed?

Less importantly, how was I going to avoid Gwyn? Should I?

The day that Gwyn was named chosen one, I wanted to congratulate her. She just seemed so smug, so self-absorbed, that I didn’t bother. Months later, I hadn’t worked up the nerve to say anything. I didn’t want to feel like her rival anymore. I hate being at odds with people, even people who are consistently rude to me.

I suspected I wouldn’t have the courage that day, either. I kept riding.

Halfway to the village I caught sight of another procession, and recognized them as chantry folk. I joined them and saw that they must have also seen the smoke. A wagon with supplies was accompanied by the chantry leader, Morgan, and a few priests.

I gave a nervous, awkward wave to Finn (Gwyn’s only companion) and rode up next to Morgan.

“Going to Morgur? Mind if I help?”

He didn’t, and together our little caravan proceeded to the village. The smoke was starting to die, but there was still mass to it.

We arrived, and witnessed the carnage. Though many of the fires were starting to fade, the village had still been scarred by burning, and a few more fragile buildings had lost walls and fragments of roofing. I didn’t see any villagers dead, thank fate, but there were corpses of raiders scattered about the beach.

Everyone knew their job well, and went to work. The priests set up a medic tent, and those not actively healing helped the villagers and Gavin (Gwyn’s patrol partner for the day) clear rubble and put out the last few fires. I joined in as best I could.

Gwyn didn’t seem particularly motivated to help. I saw her looting one of the raiders, which made me shudder a little. I tried to keep my gaze away from her, though, and I focused on helping out those in need.

Then I slipped up. I looked her way again, as I was helping someone carry something, and at that moment she was looking back at me. Our eyes locked and I froze in terror, buried by the intensity of her gaze. I felt like a mouse being sized up for consumption by a lion.

With an immense expenditure of will, I turned away from her and threw myself into my work, driving all thoughts of Gwyn from my mind and focusing on what I could do to help the people of Morgur. I didn’t see Gwyn again for the rest of the day.

I didn’t see her the next day, either, but that wasn’t much of a surprise. Gwyn was due to appear before the island Council, to petition them for official recognition as chosen one and protector.

There was a nervous energy all throughout the chantry, a mixture of anxiety and excitement cloying the air and dulling sense. That, and the wine. Plenty of wine was passed around that night.

I spent the day on patrol, and in the evening I joined the festivities. Mal and Sam had been invited, but hadn’t showed, so I joined Gavin and Merill. They were brother and sister, and two of the chantry’s finest warriors.

We had a nice alcove to ourselves, and Gavin was sharing the tale of yesterday’s battle. “It was over in a flash. These raiders arrive, at least nine of them, and they cause a panic by starting a fire. Lucky they didn’t know which house had the militia’s gear, else things would have turned out worse. We were on patrol, just leaving the village, and the second we saw the smoke we circled back around and came charging in.”

“We?” asked Merrill.

“Gwyn was with me. Said she was spending her last day doing normal stuff as way of saying goodbye. Don’t know if it was her idea or Morgan’s.”

Merrill’s eyes sparkled. “What was it like, watching the chosen one fight?”

“Merill, you’ve seen her fight. You’ve sparred with her!”

She shook her head with exasperation. “Yes, yes, but that’s different from real combat. I’ve seen her fight to win, you saw her fight to kill. So?”

Gavin leaned back a little and stared at the ceiling in concentration. “It… it was something. I have to admit, much as the magpie can be obnoxious, she’s absolutely the strongest of us.” He flicked his gaze to me. “No offense, Duncan.”

I smiled weakly. “None taken. I’m happy to see her doing what she’s meant to.”

He nodded. “Right. Well, like I was saying, Gwyn was just terrifying in combat. It was like she wasn’t even trying. In sparring, she’s focused. She might give you a shit-eating grin, but she still treats you like a serious opponent. But against those raiders… she slaughtered three of them while cracking jokes. She threw lighting at a lass trying to retreat, then cut her down and death-stared the last of the raiders as they sailed away.”

I shivered, and Merill noticed. “Can’t you use magic like that, Duncan? You and that third one, the girl who left.”

“Mal. And… yeah, sort of. I can use sorcery, but I can’t make lightning like her, just an edge to my blade. Her magic is more powerful than mine, and more ruthless.”

Hearing Gavin’s description of the battle almost made me laugh at myself. How had I ever dreamed I could beat someone like her? I was like a cat thinking itself the equal of tiger because they both had claws. I could never have been the chosen one.

A voice in my head whispered that I hadn’t wanted to in the first place. I tried to ignore that voice and focus on the conversation.

Gavin had continued recounting the scene in the village, but stopped when he saw me tune in. “You okay, Duncan?” He leveraged an easy grin at me. “Story getting too graphic?”

“No, no, I’m fine. Just thinking about things. The chosen one. She’s… well, she’s definitely impressive.”

He must have seen through my attempts to hide how uncomfortable I was becoming, because he said, “Mm, right. Well, maybe let’s switch the topic. We’re going to be drowning in talk about her tomorrow, no reason to waste tonight doing the same.”

The topic turned to simpler pleasures, and time passed. Eventually I ended up in my room, alone, well fed on food and conversation.

I was miserable. And I couldn’t figure out why.

I hadn’t wanted to be chosen one, and now I wasn’t. I hadn’t wanted to be Gwyn’s rival, and now I wasn’t. So what was the matter with me?

A thought came to me, unbidden. A question: What do I want?

I wanted Gwyn to stop hating me. I wanted to laugh and smile and live. I wanted to be with my friends. I wanted all this drama and tension to be over, and quick.

Everyone looked at me like I was a failure. Like Gwyn had beaten me, and that was a shame. I could have been someone if I’d just stuck it out and been better than the prodigal champion. Sometimes, when they thought I wasn’t listening, they whispered that I should have been chosen one, not Gwyn. They questioned why I hadn’t fought harder, trained more.

I never asked for this. Sometimes, I wanted to follow in Mal’s footsteps and just abandon everything. But I couldn’t do that. I couldn’t forsake my responsibilities and gifts. Not when people depended on me.

I was tired, so I slept.

I wasn’t assigned anywhere the next day. I ate, took a walk, and ate again, then I took to the library and tried to find some solace in literature. I was absorbed in a novel about vampires and necromancers when Merill slipped into the library and headed straight for me.

“Duncan. Hey, Duncan.”

I looked up from my book and gave her a questioning glance. “Yes?”

Merill cast a few furtive glances behind her, then sat next to me and said in a low voice, “Something’s up. Gavin swears he saw Gwyn come riding back, without the others. She avoided everyone and is holed away in her room.”

“What? Why?” I marked my place and closed the necromancer book, setting it aside to listen more intently.

“I think the meeting went badly. Maybe the Council wouldn’t let Morgan have as much control as he wanted, or maybe they said something to insult Gwyn.” She paused, then leaned closer. “Gavin thinks they might have denied her entirely.”

I stared at Merill, shock creeping into me. That… was impossible. It had to be. I stammered, “But, that’s just what Gavin said, right? Did you see Gwyn? This sounds crazy.”

Merill shook her head. “I didn’t see her, but I lurked outside her door and heard rummaging. There’s a new horse in the stables, too, from the Council’s town. It’s the only explanation.”

I tried to clear my head. “I… why tell me? What do you think will happen?”

She shrugged. “I don’t know. Maybe it’ll pass, or maybe things will change.” Merill hesitated. “Look, don’t tell Gwyn this. I mean it, ever. But… I think you’d make a better leader. Don’t get me wrong, Gwyn is great in a fight, and she can be fun, but she’s also abrasive, headstrong. She’s not like you, she’s not nice like you are.”

I paled a little. “You’re not suggesting…” I couldn’t even say the words.

“I’m not saying it’s going to happen. Just… don’t be surprised if things get chaotic.” With that she slipped away, leaving the way she’d entered.

Leaving me alone with even more unease than the night before. They had to be wrong. They had to be. I couldn’t handle… that. Not when I was so close to letting go of that stupid competition and all the ways it drained me.

I wasn’t going to be able to focus on my reading. I put the book away and exited the library. I agonized over my options for a good few minutes before nervously taking a walk through the halls in search of Gwyn’s room. It wasn’t with the normal barracks, but rather in an alcove all to herself. As befitted the chosen.

I hesitated outside the last corridor before her room for another few minutes, maybe half a dozen, before rounding the corner. The door to her room was ajar, and inside was a mess. I crept inside and looked around. Nothing seemed missing, but Gwyn (hopefully her, and not an intruder) had moved things around quite a bit, and everything was uneven, from the bedsheets to her lockboxes.

Granted, I didn’t see her room often, but it didn’t strike me as the state Gwyn would have left it in on normal terms. I left it behind and nudged the door so it wasn’t so wide open.

I tried to think about where Gwyn would go, but part of me still wasn’t even sure what I was doing. Was I trying to follow her? Why? I wanted to leave it alone, but I needed to know what was happening. I went outside the chantry for a look at the stables and saw Morgan’s carriage arriving.

I hurried over to try and intercept, but the moment it had stopped Morgan pushed his way out and stormed off towards the nearby woods. Finn stepped out a few seconds later, looking very nervous, and after a slight delay he followed.

Gwyn liked to take walks in the wood whenever something was nagging at her. More evidence that something had gone wrong. I took a step to follow them, then stopped myself. It wasn’t my business. I’m sure none of them would appreciate being eavesdropped on. Reluctantly, I forced myself back inside, and sat in my room to brood.

That night, Morgan visited me.

He was waiting for me outside my room when dinner had ended. I gave him a questioning look and he motioned for me to follow him, which I did. He led me to his office, and we sat down.

Silence stretched between us. His face looked more lined than usual, wearier.

Eventually, he said, “I’m sure by now you’ve heard that the meeting did not go… smoothly.”

“Only rumors and hearsay. But, I did see you run into the forest, and I know that’s where Gwyn goes to meditate when she’s irritated at something.”

He nodded. “The simplest version is this: the Council rejected our proposal. Vehemently. The ancestor spirits deemed Gwyn a risk to order and stability, a dark reminder of the old days.” He sighed. “They convinced the Council that we were after power, and they labeled the prophecy as ‘baseless’. Gwyn didn’t take it well, and screamed at them. We were thrown out.”

I stared with wide eyes.

He sighed again, this time deeper. “This is a setback no matter how you spin it, but I have hope that something, at least, can be salvaged of all our years’ efforts. Councilor Ibis will never support us, but I have faith that, with the right case, Councilors Capra and Lupa will see our necessity.”

Nervously, dreading the answer, I asked, “And where do I come in?”

Morgan shuffled a few papers randomly, as if putting off the inevitable. “Next to her, you were always our brightest pupil. And with Mallory making it very clear that she’s never coming back… you are next in line. You are the next chosen one, Duncan.”

Shock and terror left me numb. I wasn’t ready for a responsibility like this. I wasn’t good enough. I couldn’t throw myself into it the way Gwyn did. How could succeed at a job I’d never wanted, never asked for?

I scrabbled for alternatives. “We – we can’t give up on Gwyn so easily. The Council is reasonable, they have to see that she is our strongest warrior. She won the trials. She’s the only one who can fight the invaders, when they come.”

Morgan kneaded his forehead. “I know. I know she’s the strongest. But she isn’t a leader. That’s been proven. Besides, the Council hates her now. She’s a hothead, and she’s insulted them. The ancestor spirits would never allow her any measure of power. If we’re to convince the Council that the chantry is needed, we need a more approachable figurehead. Someone like you.”

Merill had said the same thing. It was even more terrifying coming from Morgan.

“I understand if you need time to think it over, Duncan. Please, rest. Consider what I’ve said. But know that you may be our only chance. There is no one else within the chantry who has showed aptitude for the prophecy. And time is running out.”

“I… I’ll think about it. Thank you. Good night.”

I swept away from his office in a hurry and shut my door behind me, breathing heavy. I wasn’t going to get any sleep. Definitely not.

I threw together a small traveling kit and went to the stables. I saddled Moondash and rode off. I needed to talk to Mal and Sam. They might be the only ones who could understand, who I could share my woes to without expectation of judgment.

When I shared the news with her, Mal spent a solid minute trying not to laugh and only partially succeeding.

Sam rolled her eyes. “Excuse my worser half. She has no manners. Now, about this situation… is the issue that you don’t want to be chosen one, or that you don’t think you can? Or both?”

“Um, I think a little of both. I don’t know. It’s something I was okay letting go, and now… everything is just so chaotic and confusing, and I’m not sure how much time I even have. Morgan expects an answer, and I know what answer he expects.”

“Why do you feel beholden to him? What stops you from saying you need more time?”

I struggled to find the words. “He… it’s not about him. It’s about the chantry. They raised me. Provided for me. I can’t abandon them. I can’t just say no to my destiny because it scares me.”

Mal finally got her laughter under control and leaned towards me. “Listen, Duncan. You know I stopped believing in fate a long time ago. But I still paid attention. Let me ask you something: do you think Gwyn’s destiny is to be the chosen one?”

I had to think about it, but the answer wasn’t hard. “I do. There’s no one more devoted, no one more powerful. If anyone is the chosen warrior, it’s Gwyn.”

“Then, if she is destined for that, surely it will happen anyways, right? If her destiny is to be the great warrior, I don’t think the Council or anyone can stop her from that.”

It made a certain kind of sense. I still hesitated. “But if I’m wrong about that…”

Mal shrugged. “Then there’s no such as thing as fate and the prophecy is bogus, so you still don’t have to be chosen one. Easy.”

Sam cast her a shrewd look. “Despite her irreverence, I think Mal has a point. If you cannot envision yourself as the chantry’s hero, don’t try to become that figure. Trust that Gwyn will resolve her situation and take her rightful place.”

I thought it over. They were patient, and Sam poured me another cup of tea, which I direly needed. Eventually I sighed and said, “This is… it’s still just so crazy. And we don’t even have all the facts yet.”

Sam patted my hand. “Please, take your time. We’ll be here if you need us.” She stood up and pulled Mal with her, and they retreated to a neighboring room.

I could still hear them, but they weren’t trying very hard to mask their conversation.

“I called it, Sam. And I told him. I told Morgan that something like this would happen. Gwyn’s volatile.”

“Yes, that’s precisely why I’m worried. Now is not the time to gloat, but rather to be careful. Who knows what that woman is capable of unfettered? Nothing good.”

I tried to tune them out, and mostly succeeded. For the moment, I was alone with my thoughts. They weren’t happy thoughts. If anything, their tone was desperate. Desperate that Mal might be right about destiny. Desperate to believe that I could go back to living a nice, normal life.

I said my goodbyes, thanked them for their help, and went home.

All through my journey, I debated the matter. If Gwyn truly was the chosen one, everything should turn out fine. But what if it was me? How could it be me? The idea terrified me. But I had to be ready to accept that possibility. Ready to accept those burdens.

I crawled into bed and buried myself in sheets. I slept fitfully, but I slept.

In the morning, there was a knock on my door.

Confused, I opened it to see Finn. He looked even more tired than I felt, with dark bags under his eyes. He brushed past me into the room, paced for a few seconds, then turned to me.

“Something’s gone horribly wrong, and I need your help.”

It took me a moment to catch up. “Sorry, what? Is this… is this about Gwyn, and what happened with the Council?”

He stared at me. “What? No, this is about what happened last night.”

“Last night?”

“Yeah. Gwyn and I went down to the Gate and she opened it. She opened a portal to another world and something came through and she scared it off, and then the Council showed up and exiled her. They exiled Gwyn.”

I went numb. “I don’t understand.”

“Right now, Gwyn is sitting in her boat, with all her possessions in crates. She’s about to leave the island forever and do who knows what. She’s been exiled, because the Council thinks she’s too dangerous, too reckless.”

I shook my head like I was moving through quicksand. “What did you say about a portal?”

“The Gate. She opened the Gate, the one in the Council’s town. It works. It’s active. And they exiled her for it.” Finn’s gaze kept flitting about, never resting on a single spot for more than a few seconds. His hands were jittery and his foot kept shaking.

“Oh.”

Silence reigned. The immensity of a mere two days choked all language.

Finally, I managed, “What are you going to do?”

He stared at me blankly. “What do you mean?”

“I mean… why did you come here? What do you want? I… what can anyone do, now? What will you do when Gwyn is gone?”

“Nothing. I have nowhere to go. Nowhere but Gwyn.” He looked me in the eyes and said, “I’m going with her.”

And I found a lifeline to grab on to. A crazy, desperate plan.

I said, “I’m going with you.”

At night, the capital glowed just like the estate had, only a hundred times worse.

Duncan whistled appreciatively. “I see what you meant, Gwyn. That is… a lot of ghosts. Too many. How are we going to get past them and find the palace?”

I walked to the ship’s railing and leaned on it, carefully observing the harbor.

The capital city had been beautiful, once. So much of it had been built with purpose, built for beauty, built by the fallen to be their glorious throne. The harbor we were docked in was just one of many in a patchwork sprawl that stretched on and on, an entire district dedicated to shipyards and warehouses. Everything in it looked artificial; there were rough patches of dirt carrying tree husks, but they were too perfect, too neat.

Spires rose in the distance, but no building in the docks was taller than a few floors. It was like the whole city was looming over this one area, claiming it for the fallen.

We hadn’t dared travel near enough the Vaulk estate to see its residents, but our ship was docked in the harbor with a dozen wrecks and the ghosts of the fallen were merely yards away. Rough-looking kindred in shiny, ornate armor patrolled the streets. Refined kindred in luxurious garments pointed at ships or moved in and out of warehouses. Black-garbed kindred lashed whips at the air.

There were no kine ghosts, and none of the fallen noticed our presence.

“Gear up. The palace will be whatever building is the fanciest.” I descended and sorted through my things. I slid the old journal into my coat, adjusted my sword belt, put on my best boots, and threw together a few days worth of rations just in case, stuffing them into a satchel. I grabbed a compass too, and a matchbox.

We reconvened at the gangplank. Everyone except Finn carried weapons, and Gavin and Aislin wore light armor. They shouldered their supply packs and followed me down the ramp.

Almost immediately, a plain-dressed ghost waved at us cordially and said, “Welcome to Aurelion, heart of the empire! Enjoy your stay, and feel free to ask any of our proud imperial soldiers for help navigating the city. Hail the emperor, and have a lovely day.” The ghost smiled vacantly.

I glanced at my companions and raised an eyebrow. They had no input, so I turned back to the ghost and said, “Uh, hi. Who are you? And are you aware that your empire is dead?”

The ghost was not, in fact, aware of that, and he continued to be not aware of that. “Welcome to Aurelion,” he began, and I tuned him out.

To the others, I said, “Not exactly an auspicious start, but maybe it’ll make things easier.” I started walking away from the boat, and they followed.

Gavin and Aislin looked around with wonder. Duncan followed me on the right, and Finn frowned at me from the left.

He said, “It’s kind of creepy. They’re all just repeating the same actions, like they’re stuck in the same few seconds. In the moment they died, maybe?”

Duncan shook her head and pointed at some of the guards. “Those soldiers have traveled across the length of the docks and are still walking. I’ve seen some of the other ghosts move about, too. They don’t match the corpses, either. They should be clustered around the shoreline, but most of them are closer to the buildings.”

I stepped over one of the few corpses that wasn’t by the network of piers and nodded. “They’re reliving something, but without more knowledge about ghosts it’s hard to say what and why. Maybe the library will have answers on that too.”

We passed between a pair of squat, dilapidated warehouses and Finn asked, “Yeah, speaking of that, any plan to find that beyond wandering the city looking for the tallest towers?”

I shrugged. “Do we need one?”

“We could try asking for directions.”

I stared at him blankly.

“That’s what the ghost said. Might not work, but it’s worth a shot, right?”

I was suspicious of this “directions” idea, but I grudgingly admitted it probably couldn’t hurt. Probably.

We intercepted the nearest guard patrol and I gestured for Finn to say his piece.

He cleared his throat and said, “Excuse me, I’m a new visitor to the city and I’m looking for the palace. Could you help me out?”

The lead soldier, a woman with dark hair and a raven on her tunic, nodded. “Of course, citizen. The imperial palace or a palatial estate?”

Finn’s eyes flicked up in brief thought, then back down as he said, “The imperial palace.”

“Go down this road until you hit the canal bridge, cross over, then follow that canal north until you reach the bridge with the statue of Agrippa. Cross it, stay north, and you should be reach the palace district in a matter of minutes.”

“Many thanks, ma’am.”

“Have a good evening, citizen.” The ghostly soldier continued on her way, her patrol following.

Finn grinned at me. “See? Directions.”

I watched the guards leave, focusing more on them than Finn. “Interesting. I guess you just have to… ask the right questions? Hmm.” I shook my head to clear my thoughts and turned back to Finn. “Right, yes. Nice work, Finn. I’ll admit I didn’t actually catch all of that, so, mind navigating? I’ll keep up us on the right bearing.” I took out my compass and let it settle.

We followed the fallen soldier’s instructions and passed through the ruins of Aurelion.

Pockets of kine and kindred marred the city’s beauty with their corpse-smiles, but there was still a somber grace to the fallen capital. Ruined shops with cracked glass windows, decorated roads covered in dust. Everything was muted, the color drained by wind and rain. Grey-red brick and grey-brown timber and grey-purple tattered banners.

We passed through streets that bore the remnants of thriving marketplaces. We followed the canal and saw how eroded it had become. We walked between the worn columns of a gladiatorial arena. Every road was wide enough for an army to march through, and every building was crammed against its neighbors.

We reached the bridge with the statue and I stopped to admire it. The inscription labeled him Emperor Agrippa, Discoverer of the Gates. His image was stoic, but youthful. He wore a laurel crown and carried an ornate spear. For an emperor, his garb was more militant than regal. Agrippa looked closer to a general than a noble. And yet, something about his likeness made me question even that description. One hand grasped a spear, but the other hand held aloft a hefty tome.

That was four sovereigns, then, that I knew about. Aurelius was the first, Nero the last, while Agrippa and Tiberius were somewhere in the early days of the empire.

The history of my world felt like a puzzle box. Learning all the intricate details could unlock something useful, I felt that deeply, but I didn’t know what secret awaited inside this riddle. The library would hold the answers. Answers about Nero, answers about the dead world, and answers about the prophecy.

My destiny was inside that palace. I stopped looking at the statue and started walking again.

Two minutes later, the imperial palace towered above us.

The imperial palace was almost too grand to comprehend. It wasn’t so much a building as it was an expression of power; at least a hundred spires stabbed at the sky, and the palace itself had no consistent shape. It jutted at odd angles and caved in with no discernable pattern.

The palace had once been cast in gleaming gold, but the color had faded to a dull brass. Red cloth was everywhere on the lower tiers, hanging from balconies or strung across ramparts. The primary building material seemed to be stone, but there was plenty of marble and wood visible.

Statues were everywhere, and two lines of statues pressed against a painted brick road leading straight into the palace’s gaping maw. The front gate had once been menacing, surely; steel teeth in front of a timber door with a bar. Now it was in pieces and the palace was vulnerable.

Well, vulnerable with the exception of all the ghosts inside, and the two spectral guards standing watch. They wore fancier armor and taller epaulets, but otherwise seemed indistinguishable from the other soldiers we’d seen. Their corpses were sprawled with several others outside the gates.

I first tried for the easy route – just walking by – but they didn’t make it that simple for me. The guard on my left (his right, I guess) pushed out a hand.

“Halt, citizen. Do you have business in the imperial palace?”

I looked to my friends and they all just shrugged, so I said to the guard, “Yes.”

He apparently hadn’t been expecting such a simple answer, because it took him a few seconds and several awkward twitches to respond, “State your business. Palace security has been heightened because of disobedient kine.”

“Uh… I’m here for the library. I need to check out a book.”

“Do you have permission from Nero or the Royal Archivist?”

“Of course I do,” I lied inexpertly.

Either the ghost wasn’t expecting such a blatant bluff or his ethereal state kept him from noticing, because he said, “Very well, proceed,” and let us all pass.

We entered the palace proper and I marveled at the scenery. The inside of the palace was more impressive than it had any right to be for something so long abandoned. The palace exterior had been drained of color by time, proud gold and crimson turned to dull brass and rust. But without exposure to the elements, the imperial halls were just as resplendent as they had been centuries ago; each room was a tapestry of silver and purple carefully designed by the empire’s finest decorators and architects.

A silver chandelier, a painting of the city, a royal purple curtain, all beautiful. With the exception of the dozens of corpses littering the floor, it was a simply gorgeous foyer.

I hadn’t been paying the dead bodies much mind, but there was a sharp disparity here that made me give them a second look. Some of the bodies bore imperial regalia, but many more were in rags, and were most definitely not kindred.

When the world ended, had it been so sudden that a rebellion in the palace itself couldn’t be cleaned up? The corpses here were more whole than those outside, and while most bore wounds born of weapons, a few seemed dead of natural causes, like heart attack victims. At least half of the guards on the floor were that way.

My companions were beginning to notice that too, but none of us voiced our thoughts. I pointed at the nearest stairwell.

“According to the journal, the library should be three levels up, with a massive set of painted doors. I want to get there as quickly as possible, but don’t run; we don’t want to catch the attention of any more ghosts.”

They nodded, and we ascended through the palatial labyrinth.

And I do mean labyrinth. The palace was so confusingly laid out that each floor seemed twice as large as it should be. We passed through two ballrooms and an indoor theater before finding the stairs to the third floor, and had to creep our way past dozens of bewildered ghosts going through the motions as they wandered their silver and purple grave.

A pair of spectral noblewomen flirted with each other in a shadowy corner. Imperial guard patrolled through heart attack-corpse halls. Kine servants and kine rebels lay dead all throughout the second floor, but I saw not a single specter belonging to the fallen empire’s slave population.

The third floor was much the same as the second, maybe a few more bedrooms and kitchens and menial things. At the same time, the artwork was more resplendent on the third floor, and a few of the statues looked of superior craftsmanship to the ones outside.

It took us longer to reach the next set of stairs, owing to a more active guard presence and a more paranoid tone to our movements. There was a growing tension in the air, and I could see it in everyone’s faces; we were getting close to our goal, and it was making us all nervous of what might be waiting.

When we finally did reach the fourth floor we saw an immediate change. Things here were crisper, more orderly. There were fewer bodies here, too, and fewer ghosts. Everything on the fourth floor seemed to have a purpose. We passed by a few balconies and lesser rooms before reaching our goal: the palace library.

The doors to the palace library were covered in fancy illustration and calligraphy. The shape of a lock had been engraved into the doors, but there seemed no mechanism by which to actually lock them. Two imperial guards stood at attention in front of the library entrance, expressions resolute.

I took the lead once more. “Hello there, soldiers. We have business in the library.”

They crossed their very sharp-looking spears. “No one has business in the library today.”

I searched my brain for something clever to say in response, but subtlety wasn’t my strong suite. “Uh, the emperor said we could?”

“No he didn’t,” replied one of the guards. There was no quaver, no doubt. He knew his orders.

“Look, I think there’s been a misunderstanding. Why don’t you contact-”

“Leave, or be forced to leave.” Both imperial guards leveled their spears at me. They had that same distant look as all the other ghosts I’d seen, but there was a focus in them as well. Something – or someone – was keeping these guards more whole than the rabble in the city.

I rolled my eyes. “Fine, be that way.” Then I drew my sword and lunged.

The guardsman was ready for my blow, his shield raised in defense, but my blade passed right through his shield and carved into his spectral form, passing through cleanly and leaving watery disruptions like skipping a rock over a pond.

Unfortunately for me, those disruptions resolved themselves in seconds, and the guardsman’s face barely registered the sword slash. My blade hadn’t slowed, and the ghost hadn’t felt the wound. Being incorporeal had its benefits, it would seem.

I stood there, taking in the sight, as my friends rushed up next to me and assumed combat stances. I just tilted my head and kept examining the ghost. If my sword did nothing, how could I kill it? And how could it possibly fight back?

My answer came in the form of numbing cold shooting through my chest like someone had ripped out my heart and replaced it with a shard of ice. I gasped and doubled over, clutching at my chest, and when my hands started to go numb too I noticed the spectral spear currently impaling me.

The word ‘cold’ was insufficient to describe the ghost’s attack. Cold was falling onto a pile of snow in weather-inappropriate clothing. Cold was a sharp wind leaving little cuts on your hands. Cold was that slight annoyance that made a hot drink and a warm blanket all the more palatable.

This was oblivion’s edge. I felt like I’d been kicked in the lungs with steel-toed boots, then thrown into a frozen lake with my legs and arms tied up so I couldn’t swim out. It was so cold it felt warm again, sensation so overwhelming that it removed sensation entirely and left me unable to feel my chest beyond a vague notion of pain and alarm.

I wrapped my hands around the spear and felt it, felt something just barely physical. I pushed with every bit of strength I could muster and the spear came free with a howling sound like wind on ice. I stumbled back and took in a massive gulp of sweet, precious air.

My companions weren’t having much better luck. All their attacks did nothing, and I could see that numbing pain on all their faces. We couldn’t beat these ghosts with brute strength. All our skill wasn’t enough against these broken memories of a dead empire.

Our objective was right in front of us, beckoning to me, taunting me. What kind of chosen one gives up so easily? What kind of hero can’t deal with a few dead idiots?

You aren’t special. You aren’t anything. You deserve to fail.

I clenched my fists. No. No, that wasn’t going to happen.

My name is Gwyn, and I am the chosen one. I’m the hero. I have a destiny. These pathetic scraps of ectoplasm will not stand in my way!

I screamed my fury and thrust both hands at the shimmering warriors. Crimson lightning exploded from my fingertips and danced across their incorporeal forms. The ghosts fell to their knees and cried out in pain. One dropped his spear, and the other clutched it to his chest as he writhed in agony. I sifted through my memories and found more fuel, remembering Morgan, and the council, and all the unbelievers who dared stand against the chosen one.

I rose to my feet as the imperials crawled pitifully, aimlessly. I gave a sharp jerk of my head towards the doors. “Somebody get that thing open. I don’t know how long I can keep them restrained.”

Duncan was first to the library’s entrance. She pushed it lightly and nothing happened, so she gave it a shove with her shoulder. The doors didn’t even creak. She drew her weapon and slammed it against the twin doors, but a barrier of light sprang into existence, a glowing curtain flowing over the surface of the entrance.

I gritted my teeth as I started to feel the strain of pouring out this much power, and shouted to Duncan, “Sorcery! Try sorcery on it!”

Duncan nodded and took in a deep breath, then let it out. She raised her blade and it glowed with a deep red, closer to burgundy than crimson. She yelled a fierce battle cry and swung the blade down, red clashing against white and sparks flying everywhere.

The barrier rippled, but only slightly.

At Duncan’s feet, one of the guardsmen drew a horn and blew a pained warble into it. The off-note sound echoed through the halls, and in the distance I heard shouting.

Damn it. Damn it!

Finn grabbed my shoulder. “Gwyn, we have to leave. We can’t fight that many, we could barely take two.”

I was still staring at the door, as if I could pierce it with sheer will.

Finn shook me. “Gwyn! You can’t become the chosen one if you’re dead!”

That broke my spell. I shook my head to clear it and growled. “You’re right. I don’t like it, but you’re right. Come on, let’s get out of here.”

We raced for the stairs, leaving the two guardsmen behind. More shouts, from all angles, everywhere. We caught sight of one and Duncan cleaved through her with a sorcerous strike, leaving her gasping behind us as we drew closer to our escape route.

We rounded a corner and at least a dozen guards were waiting for us. We turned to flee back the way we came, but half a dozen more imperial guard marched up and leveled weapons at us. We were surrounded.

“Surrender!” shouted one of them.

We didn’t have much of a choice: we surrendered.

The imperial guard marched us up a flight of stairs and into the most heavily-defended and most richly-opulent floor of the palace. There was a growing presence, a prickling on the back of my neck. Something important was here. Something powerful. It called to me in siren song.

Our escort stopped at a pair of doors even taller and fancier than the library’s. These were gilded. Royal. Fit for an emperor. It took four ghosts more effort than it would have taken one of us, but they pushed the great doors open.

We stepped into the throne room and were surrounded by a hundred ghosts.

Spectral nobility prattled in clumps and gawked at the evening entertainment. At the edges of the room, stony-faced soldiers watched us enter suspiciously. If you ignored the way everyone was transparent, you could almost believe the empire had never fallen. Silver chandeliers, purple curtains shrouding the windows, and a crimson carpet leading to a golden throne.

Upon that throne sat the pristine corpse of a man who could not be anything but an emperor. He wore a laurel crown and imperious garb, and there was a curious silver bracer on his right arm that I had a hard time looking away from. When I finally tore my gaze from the strange armlet, I saw the emperor’s ghost: Nero, the last sovereign of the fallen empire.

Nero’s hair was perfect, his eyes manic, and his lip curled cruelly. With age, his hair had not turned gray but instead greasy. Instead of sagging, his cheeks had worn to the bone. He looked like a particularly venomous and malnourished teenager reveling in accidental and absolute power.

His voice was a trickster’s lilt, slithering and false-faced.

“What have we here? Intruders, in my palace? Fool kindred these be, or perhaps well-masked kine.” The crowd chortled at his words as if cued. “Fair guardsman, what tricks were these precious children playing?”

I didn’t let the guard say anything. “We need into your library. Since you’re dead, I figured it wouldn’t be a problem.” I gave him a smirk that was far more confident than I felt.

A few faces in the crowd flickered at the word ‘dead’, but Nero was unchanged. He raised an eyebrow at me. “Was that a threat, little girl? Threats and attempted theft. My, you’re just begging to be thrown in the dungeons. What’s your name, pet? I’m sure the guards have a report to write up.” He grinned at me thinly, and his eyes showed the spite he felt.

He was like Valeria. I didn’t know how, but he was. He knew exactly what was going on, and he was letting all his subjects believe a lie.

I spat at him. “I’m Gwyn. I’m the chosen one, too. And it’s not a threat if I back it up.”

I lurched away from the guards and thrust my hands at Nero, pouring lingering fury and frustration into a blast of lightning surging straight for his smug bastard face. I was the hero of this story, and no dead emperor would best me.

Nero held out a hand, gritted his immaterial teeth, and stayed standing. I stared in disbelief as my lightning ebbed, died, and left him almost completely unharmed.

The last emperor snapped, “To the dungeons! Let them starve. Let them rot. And when they are weak, they shall be brought before me and slaughtered. Thus is the will of the emperor. Thus is the will of the empire! Praise Nero!”

The entire court shouted, “Praise Nero!” and a dozen speartips lanced my flesh. Everything was cold, and then warm, and then black.

I tossed my crew a look and they returned it.

Duncan was confused, so Finn filled her in. “Ghost lights. They come out at night in every fallen settlement we’ve found. We try to avoid them; fallen ghosts aren’t like the ancestor spirits back home.”

She frowned. “Can they be reasoned with? Slain?”

Finn shrugged. “We don’t know.”

Aislin added, “We usually just avoid them. Never worth the trouble, and the ones we’ve seen didn’t look friendly. Spooky glowing creeps.”

I kept the ship on course approaching the glowing isle. Finn looked at me nervously, and the others followed suit shortly after.

I said, “We’re going to the biggest, grandest, and probably most populated city of a dead empire. It isn’t a stretch to assume the palace library is indoors; ghosts are afraid of sunlight, not daytime. Dealing with ghosts is an inevitability at this point.”

Duncan eyed me. “It pays to pick your battles. We can sail right past this isle, Gwyn.”

“We can. Or we can make sure our first encounter with ghosts isn’t in the place where they’ll be most plentiful. Consider it a trial run.”

She pursed her lips, but nodded and said, “I’ll grab my hammer.”

We all armed ourselves as the ship drew closer to the isle. Soon enough, indistinct shapes became the silhouettes of structures. There was a vast estate blanketing the isle, and a sandy peninsula jutted out from the main landmass. Smaller silhouettes squatted on the peninsula, looking less regal but also less ravaged by the elements.

I directed my boat to the peninsula, which bore no ethereal lights. It would make a good staging ground to plan our advance on the mansion. As we made our final approach, I made out more detail of the peninsula’s structures by the light of the setting sun.

They were stone edifices covered in statues and domes and twisting spires. Their purpose was unknown to me, but the architecture seemed familiar; I’d seen something like this before on a scavenging trip, I just couldn’t remember what it was.

I looked to my companions and asked, “Anyone remember what those things are? I’ve seen them before.”

Gavin and Aislin didn’t, but Finn said, “Tombs. We found bones in a structure like those.”

I frowned. “So why are the actual crypts the only place ghost-free?”

They didn’t have an answer, and we ran aground. We marched to the gangplank and took up formation.

I took point with my blade, Gavin’s sword and board to my right and Duncan’s maul to my left. A ways behind us, the unarmed Finn and Aislin with her bow. Despite her newness to our team, Duncan had trained in the same tactics at the same temple, so she fit into place naturally.

We approached the first tomb with caution. Up close, my memories of that other tomb returned. The fallen had peculiar burial habits, from what little we’d seen of it. Instead of scattering ashes and inviting ancestor spirits into the vault of souls, the fallen kept their dead in elaborate mausoleums and richly-decorated graveyards, and in at least one place we’d visited, mass graves.

These tombs looked excessively ornate, as if most of the structure was dedicated to looking pretty rather than sheltering corpses. The nearest had a plaque on it: Eris Vaulk, Spice Trader. A whole structure for a single corpse?

Another tomb bore the title of Buteo Vaulk, Patron of the Arts. The detail work on it was subtly different from Eris’s tomb; she had carven sailing ships and embedded coins, he had marble busts and mocking theater masks.

They were strange, but our concern for ghosts still outweighed our curiosity. At least, until I saw her tomb.

The structure was larger than all the others, and more colorful. Marble, basalt, strange stones that seemed almost otherworldly, and mosaics depicting dozens of scenes of regal figures. The inscription: Lord Valeria Vaulk, Warlock, Courtier to the Emperor, Sponsor of the Great Campaign, Forger of Chains.

I had no choice but to enter the tomb, ignoring the nervous looks and faint protestations of my allies. I walked through the open entryway and was greeted by a burst of cold blue light.

The ghost of Valeria Vaulk frowned at me and demanded, “You are not of my house. Why have you intruded upon my sanctum?”

Her voice was cold, curious, and smooth. There was a lilt to it that reminded me of Vesta, an accent forgotten by the living. She was dressed regally in a silken shift and glimmering jewelry, but a very functional-looking dagger hung at her decorated belt.

I hesitated, searching for words. I grasped onto, “Lord Vaulk-” but she cut me off before I could say another syllable.

“Lord Valeria,” she replied sharply. “Vaulk is my family name, as any of my blood would know.”

“Sorry. Um, we didn’t know you were here.”

She raised an eyebrow. “You don’t look like kine, but you seem inexcusably ignorant to be kindred. Why is a strange girl with a strange accent the first to wake me in years? I have felt the dark for a long span.”

I looked to my friends, huddled in the doorway and not daring to step further. Their faces showed no more surety than mine, so I returned to Lord Valeria and said, “Centuries, actually.”

Her eyes narrowed. “Centuries? What has befallen my brood to forsake me so dearly?”

“They’re dead. They’re all dead; everyone is. The empire fell.”

Her suspicion was replaced by horror. “That can’t be. We are glorious. We are kindred. What happened? When did this happen? How?”

I winced. “I was hoping you could tell us. We honestly don’t know much. But… I can try to fill in the details.”

I told her that the Gates fell dormant, and that according to our ancestor spirits the empire had died in a single moment, after the flight of Vesta and her followers. We had only survived by hiding on an island protected by a powerful Ancient shield. We didn’t know what had killed the world, but every living thing above water had died. Outside the island, there were no more birds or beasts or kindred. Only death and cold stone. Even the grass had withered and been ground to dust by the wind.

While I spoke, my companions mustered their courage and crowded behind me, examining the insides of the elaborate tomb. The ghost noted their passing but did not interrupt my tale.

When my story was done, Lord Valeria spat a single word: a name.

“Nero.”

It was my turn to be surprised. “Nero? You know who he is? I’ve heard his name from ancestor spirits but never who he was, just that he tried to stop the exodus.”

The fallen noble scowled and turned away from me. “Nero was Emperor when I last woke. A petulant, arrogant wretch who spent more time hosting bacchanals and torturing prisoners than he did managing his empire. If anyone could have squandered our glorious civilization so completely, it would have been him.”

I filed away that piece of the puzzle, and Finn stepped up beside me.

He said, “Please, we know so little about our history and culture. What was it like in the empire? What do you know about the Gates?”

Duncan shook her head and said, “We don’t have the time for this, Finn. We need to get to the capital. We can talk to ghosts later, but protecting our people has to be the priority.”

He reluctantly retreated to the doorway.

Something occurred to me and I said, “Lord Valeria, what do you know about prophecy, and fate?”

The ghost returned her attentions to me and tilted her head curiously. “Fate? What a strange query. I’ve known nobles who swore by their soothsayers and star-interpreters, but never paid it mind myself. Tell me of this prophecy. And your name, as well.”

“I’m Gwyn. The prophecy is… it’s everything to us, back home. My temple, we have a prophecy from long ago, maybe even from the time of the empire, that foretells the end of the world. The Gates that betrayed us by failing will betray us again by opening and letting through a horde of all the kine who resented the empire and want vengeance. Only the chosen one, the hero, can save the kindred from extinction. That’s me.”

Lord Valeria’s expression was morbid. “If I had heard a prophecy like that in my time, I would have dismissed it in an instance. But if I had heard tell that the empire would fall, I would have believed it even less. I cannot help you in this matter, Gwyn, but I wish you the best of luck.”

I hesitated, then said, “You can come with us, if you’d like. See what’s become of the capital city.”

She shook her head. “No, I must attend to my house. If the world’s death was as sudden as you say, they might have died improperly, and it is up to I and my resting descendants to set the estate in order. Besides, I doubt you have the equipment to transport a ghost across a large body of water.”

I didn’t have the slightest idea what kind of equipment that would be, so I just nodded. I turned to leave, and Duncan followed, but Finn lingered.

“I’m sorry,” he said.

“Hmm?” the ghost inquired.

“For your loss, I mean. It… it must be hard to lose everyone. Your whole family.”

She smiled somberly. “Yes, I suppose so. It was the first time, when I saw my children die. I hid my grief, then, because it is not the place of a Lord to mourn. Not my place to show weakness that might be exploited by a rival. I choked my grief and buried it. There were many more deaths I learned of, many more tombs to be raised.”

She drifted out of the tomb and looked up at the night sky. “I tried to build a legacy. I was there when Emperor Tiberius opened the Gates. I funded the first slavers, and my house received a bounty of kine for my efforts. The Vaulks would be cared for, kept in luxury by the fortunes I amassed, the structures of power I and the Emperor’s other confidantes established.

“I have often regretted my actions; I fear I coddled my children too much. I wished for them to have an easier upbringing, but it dulled their senses. None of my line have ever surpassed me, even with the advantages they were given from birth. I alone possessed the ruthlessness to excel.” The look in her eyes was faraway and bittersweet.

Finn said, “I don’t think empathy is a weakness. I don’t think it’s a weakness to feel grief, or to love your family.”

Lord Valeria laughed and smiled at him. “Oh, child. You have the eyes of one who has been shown mercy. Who protected you? Who stole your pain?”

Finn’s gaze flicked to me of its own accord, and Valeria nodded.

“Shouldering burdens will not always make you stronger, Gwyn. One day, if you keep that up, your back will break.”

Then the ghost began the trek to her estate, and we returned to the ship.

For the first half hour after departing the Vaulk estate, everyone was silent. We were all processing what we’d witnessed. My thoughts were aswirl with the ghost’s warnings. My understanding of the fallen empire had blossomed, but it was still incomplete.

The first concern raised was a practical one: Aislin asked, “Is Nero waiting for us in the capital?”

It took a few seconds for me to conjure a response. I said, “Maybe.”

Then Duncan asked, “Why was that ghost so calm and reasonable? I was expecting – well, you told me to expect – someone more dangerous and less composed.”

I nodded. “Yeah. Thinking about that myself. Thinking about our ancestors. How only the oldest ones ever really show up to talk.”

Finn frowned. “Only the oldest? I’ve never noticed that.”

“Every ancestor I’ve ever seen manifest, or heard of manifesting, was an older type, not someone we might have ever known. Their chosen voice in the council is the oldest of them all, the one who led them to the island. I think it’s about how they die. I think there’s a right way to die, and we’ve forgotten it.”

Duncan protested, “But how could the ancestor spirits let us forget something so important?”

“Our ancestors let us forget a great many important things.” My voice came out colder than I had intended, sharper.

There was no more discussion after that. My companions retired belowdecks, and I carried the ship towards its destination, alone with my conflicting thoughts and the sea breeze.

My name is Gwyn, and I am the chosen one.

That’s who I wanted to be. I detested the doubt that was crawling in my gut. I detested the fear and guilt clawing at my heels. I needed to channel that negativity into something. But there was only the ocean.

In the distance, a jagged claw tore at the sky.

We had found our destination; the ship drew closer and I saw the decrepit spires of the fallen empire’s once-glorious centerpiece. Shattered glass, crumbling marble, sky-piercing towers withered by the elements. A dead city; a city of the dead.

I called for my friends, and they hurried to the front of the ship, watching with wide eyes as we made the approach. The capital’s broken harbor beckoned, rotted vessels lounging next to unsteady piers. And there were bodies.

Dozens, hundreds of bodies slowly growing visible.

Imagine a world without insects. A world without scavenger beasts and carrion birds. Imagine a corpse, left to rot but cursed to know only the wind’s tender mercies. Wind-scarred skin and exposed flesh, hellish grimaces and broken bones. Snapped necks and frozen, artificial smiles.

At least two hundred bodies were scattered across the harbor in various states of distress. The lucky ones had reached the water, to be devoured by the fish. The not-so-lucky only made it halfway into the water, and clean bone jutted from otherwise whole cadavers.

Some of the bodies were kindred, but not all. I saw foreign skin colors, horns, pointed ears, a few tails. Kine, trying to escape their masters, and being cut down.

But cut down by what? Time’s brutality obscured a cause of death for any of the numerous wretched refuse.

Finn looked sick, Duncan grim. Gavin and Aislin looked away.

I kept the boat steady, and we arrived at the capital city of the dead empire.

The cerulean sea sparkled as we sailed; the water caught sunlight and beautified it, enriched what we otherwise took for granted. Fish swam beneath the waves, and the sky was a clear light blue. The air was filled with the scent of salt.

My sailing boat was a beautiful bit of woodwork with bright crimson sails. It had plenty of space for all us, and a raised platform at the back of the ship for me to pilot. It also gave me room to observe my crew mates on the deck.

Finn, Aislin, and Gavin all had camaraderie, but Duncan didn’t seem out of place among them. She laughed at the right jokes, weighed in at the right moments, and had an infectious charisma. She was better at it than I was after only a day of getting to know them all.

Everyone was dressing casually until we neared landfall; even if we encountered raiders, we’d have plenty of time to suit up before they boarded. Aislin had her hair down, Finn was wearing sandals, and Gavin had put together a green bandanna. Duncan’s clothing was plain, but she still wore her gauntlets and kept her rapier close at hand.

For my part, I’d traded my tunic for a coat and blouse. I also kept my sword at my side, though I don’t know if our reasons were the same.

The journey went quickly by boat. It would take us only a few days to reach the edge of explored territory. The talk turned to supplies.

We had enough preserved fruit (dried nectarines and brined olives) and long-lasting vegetables (nuts and potatoes) to last a week, two if rationed carefully. Outside of that, our only source of food would be fish until our quest was complete.

If we were lucky, we might encounter a colony of birds that had left the homeland, or some sprouts spread by travelers. But nothing grew naturally outside our island, and I wasn’t going to wager our food stores on random chance.

Fishing wouldn’t be a problem. We had a net and some rods, and a well-maintained stove for preparing the catch. Aislin, Gavin, and Duncan volunteered to fish while Finn took care of food prep. It was a familiar system, so I didn’t worry myself with supervising.

Our course was straightforward, so I found myself spending less time at the wheel and more time in the map room poring over my books and our charts. I was brooding, and I think the others could tell. They gave me space, and I set myself to the task of hunting for any hints as to what awaited us in the capital.

On the fourth day, exhausted from fruitless research and hungry for sunlight, I emerged onto the deck and resolved to participate just a bit more in whatever social interaction was going on.

Gavin and Aislin were practicing while Finn and Duncan watched. They used lightweight training swords, little more than wooden rods.

Every move they made was routine. Aislin lunged, Gavin parried, Aislin twirled, Gavin ducked. Even without a shield he played defensively, waiting for key moments to reach out and whack at her sides. Aislin was aggressive, but steady; she didn’t try to push her luck, just kept up the pressure.

They were both grinning, but Gavin’s eyes shone a little fiercer than Aislin’s. I knew that look from all the times it had been in my eyes; he wanted to win. He saw a reckless opportunity, took it, and the duel ended with a practice sword at each throat.

A good third of their duels ended with ties of some variety, so I just clapped and smirked. They turned and bowed to me, then flopped onto a bench someone had set up.

Aislin said, “Good duel.”

Gavin replied, “Same.”

“I had you dead in four moves.”

“If I’d been more patient you would have been on the floor in three.”

They bickered fondly and Finn tended to their bruises. His alchemy made short work of such minor marks and by the time his ministration was done their skin was almost unblemished again already.

Aislin was the first to break away from their argument, and tilted her head at me. “You up for a round, Gwyn? I haven’t seen you and Duncan go at it since the trials.”

Duncan’s hand drifted to the pommel of her sword, and I gripped the hilt of mine. We locked gazes.

I forced myself to relax my grip and gave a forced smile. “Let’s not reopen old feuds. I’m too competitive for my own good.”

Duncan nodded at me and slowly took her hand away. There was an awkward silence.

Gavin broke it with, “Well, I want to take another look at the charts, add a few details. Care to join me, Aislin?”

She nodded and they descended together into the ship’s innards, leaving me with Duncan and Finn.

With only the three of us on deck, there was a tension. I don’t think any of us yet felt comfortable with the new situation, even after days of travel.

My conscience urged me to say something to Duncan, but my pride silenced me. I wanted to apologize, but I couldn’t make myself understand what there was to apologize for. Duncan was the enemy, and I beat her. It should have been as simple as that, but my former rival didn’t seem to see it that way.

All I could say was, “Thank you. For coming on this journey, I mean. I… I appreciate your faith in me.”

Duncan shrugged. “Fate chose you when you conquered the trials. I stand with the hero of prophecy.”

It sounded so easy when she said it. I wouldn’t have been so calm if our roles were reversed. What did that say about my faith? I didn’t like that train of thought, so I left Finn and Duncan for the helm and made minor corrections in the ship’s course.

Duncan and Finn took up the free bench and looked out at the crystalline sea. The air of awkward tension slowly subsided into peaceful quiet and the sound of rolling waves against the ship’s wooden hull.

Eventually, I heard Duncan say to Finn, “This view makes me regret never sailing before.” Her voice was a bit faint, but I had good hearing.

“Never?”

“Never far, at least. I’ve been on one fishing expedition, I think, but it stayed in close waters.”

“I like the sea. There’s something calming about its vastness. I follow Gwyn around on scavenging trips all the time. Why were you with the fishers?”

Duncan turned her head away from Finn and more towards the sea. “Back when I still thought I had a chance of being a hero I tried to visit as many different places and people as I could, in between training. I wanted to know the island I would be protecting. How could I serve a fisher faithfully if I didn’t know their ways? Or a baker, or a mason. I had a duty. Would have… would have had a duty.”

It was almost a comfort to finally hear bitterness creep into Duncan’s tone. Almost. She didn’t sound angry, just sad.

I saw Finn’s hands twitch, which they always do when he’s hesitating to say something. Eventually he worked up the nerve. “I think we all have a purpose. Sometimes that purpose is to be the hero, sometimes it’s to help others. I’m okay with my purpose in life.”

Duncan nodded. “I should be okay with it too. I’ve spent months convincing myself I am okay with it. But… honestly, when Morgan told me I was the chosen one I desperately wanted to accept, no questions asked.” She sighed. “When you’re groomed from a young age to be something, your entire metric of happiness becomes tightly bound to that ideal. I know there are more ways to be a hero, more ways to help others, but I can’t escape this notion that I’ve abandoned my people and my destiny by going on this voyage. It hurts.”

Finn put an arm around Duncan’s shoulder. “I’m here for you, friend. I hear your pain. I think we all have doubts about who we are and what we do. It’s in our nature. Sometimes that doubt is healthy, but sometimes it drags us down. When you have good people by your side, it gets easier to tell the difference.”

She looked over at him and smiled. “You’re good at this. I can see why Gwyn likes you.”

He laughed and turned his head down shyly. “I just try my best. Every hero needs a companion, and Gwyn is responsible for the life I have. I’m doing my part.”

“Trying to repay her?”

“I wouldn’t phrase it like that. I mean, I guess I do feel indebted to her, but I don’t think you should build a life out of guilt or debt. It’s just the natural thing to do.”

She tilted her head. “Interesting thought. I’m going to catch a nap. This was nice.”

Duncan descended into the ship, and then Finn and I were alone.He joined me by the wheel. “I take it you heard everything?”

I nodded silently and made another slight adjustment.

“You should talk to her.”

I gave him a look that conveyed the entirety of my opinion on the matter.

“I mean it. Duncan’s a good person, and the two of you would work well together.”

I sighed. “You’re not going to give up on this, are you?”

He shook his head.

“Great. Listen, Finn. I don’t think she’s a bad person. We probably could make a powerful team. But I spent years thinking of her only as my mortal enemy, my sworn rival. She was what stood in the way of becoming chosen one. I can’t just forget that. I can’t just change all my instincts overnight.”

“I’m not asking you to. I’m saying give her a chance. I think you might like her.”

I sighed again, this time with more frustration. “You don’t get it. I do like her. Too much.”

He stared at me in confusion.

“The problem isn’t that Duncan is a bad person. The problem is that I’m a bad person.”

“Gwyn-”

“She is willing to sacrifice everything she has ever cared about because she genuinely believes that helping me is the best way to help our people. She was offered the world and acted with integrity, while I was denied a dream and threw a world-class tantrum. What does that say about me?”

He didn’t have an answer.

I turned away from him and muttered, “Some hero I turned out to be.”

Finn put a hand on my shoulder. “Gwyn. You’re still the chosen one. You’re still the hero. And once we get to the capital you can prove that. I believe in you.”

He wasn’t saying anything he hadn’t a hundred times before whenever I was feeling doubt, but it still helped. Everything hurt, and hiding wouldn’t keep the pain away forever. I needed to get to the palace library. I needed to fix the problem. I needed to be the chosen one again.

I said, “Thanks. I… I’ll try.”

We enjoyed comfortable silence for a few more hours. Eventually Duncan, Gavin, and Aislin rejoined us.

As night was falling, a landmass grew on the horizon. Duncan looked to me for confirmation and I shook my head.

“Too small to be the capital. We can investigate it, though; we won’t go off-course, and it might confirm that we’re on the right track.”

The sun set, we sailed closer to the island, and it began to glow with ethereal light.