Page 28 of Our Satyr Prince
“Our peace corps may be small, but they are modeled on the Brotherhoods and Sisterhoods of Ardora—small, tight-knit teams that punch stronger than an opponent would expect. They hunt all manner of beasts across the greater polity and have done so for over twenty years. They would have held their own in battle. Enough to meet our honor-bound commitment, at the very least.”
“And instead you did nothing?”
“I? To preserve the Compact, I would have marched every sword-bearer we had to the island. But the senate was unmovable. They believed then, as they do now, that only through peaceful means do we honor the goddess of reason. Words, not war, they said at the time. So, I sent my herald, alongside a delegation from the senate, to negotiate a force of restraint from the other two commanders of Rinath. For them to intervene in Sama and stay their countrywoman’s hand.”
“You couldn’t be bothered to send them to the capital and talk to the war king?”
“No Mestibian has set foot in Rinath proper since the Third, Aurelius. The city is off limits to outsiders. Even the envoys only go as far as the forts.”
She turned her face to the citrus-tinged breeze. The air seemed to flow with an acidic bite.
“But even that was too little. The war for Sama finished before we’d even commenced the negotiations,” she continued, “and by that time, three hundred men had already died. Prince Calix was the sole survivor of his Brotherhood. The sole survivor of the entire Ardoran Brotherhood—most of the rest drowned in a storm on their approach to the island. At the time of the Third, their Brotherhoods were full of regular men. But after seventeen years of peace, at Sama, they were all first-born sons. Can you imagine such a thing, Aurelius? It would be like every patrician family in Mestibes losing their heir. All at once. All in a single night.”
Her eyes turned sad.
“In the end and by some miracle, the anti-Rinath forces won. Even you must know the story of the prince who defeated an entire army. But it was a victory we should have been part of. It was a victory that we were honor bound to take part in!”
Aurelius shuffled uncomfortably. He had never seen his mother look so vulnerable or emotional before, and he didn’t fully understand why this matter should hold such importance for her. “Urosina said in her cables that the royals refused to meet her? Even five years on?”
“And nor have they met with the envoys of the senate. Mestibes has been cut off. Our representation slashed. We are living off scraps of trade compared to what we used to get. Surpluses and leftovers. We have been fortunate for abundant harvests in recent years, but if Ardora were to have even one failed season, we would be the first polity cut off.”
“And so that was the intention of choosing me? Send me down to use unconventional methods on the prince to win back their favor and improve our trade?”
She gave a long exhale. There was a deep weight over her posture. “Yes. But not for reasons of trade.”
The archon opened a desk drawer, revealing an odd scroll of parchment—just a few inches wide and much longer than usual. She unrolled it, revealing a charcoal rubbing of strange symbols:
X → Λ
“What is this?” said Aurelius.
“This impression was taken from Urosina’s arm, wreathed in blood and scorch.” The archon’s voice turned brittle. “And it means that Xiber has returned.”
Aurelius cocked his head. “She survived Sama?”
“Apparently so. If not for a Rinathi pilgrim to the monastery at Zateniza a few months back sharing a little too much when drunk, we may have remained blind to it.”
Aurelius considered his wording carefully, not wishing to show his ignorance. “This information... is not yet well-known in Mestibes.”
“No. It was ears loyal to me within the monastery that gave the information. And my herald who was sent to investigate.” She paused, and Aurelius wondered if she was dwelling on her role in her sister’s demise. “Her final message, which I am sure you didn’t bother to read, told local gossip of Xiber’s return, albeit in extremely coded language. She was thriving. Tucked away in one of the more indomitable valleys of the Clawfeather Cliffs. And she was rebuilding her forces. Biding her time.”
And you ordered her to confirm those rumors, didn’t you? You ordered your sister to march right into the mouth of the beast.
Out loud, he said, “How could she thrive? I thought defeat was the ultimate weakness to a Rinathi.”
“Xiber is no fool. She has apparently turned her defeat into an advantage. Look how pathetic we have become, she tells the downtrodden tribes of northern Rinath. We once conquered all Dynosia. Now we can’t even conquer one little island.”
“But Rinath didn’t lose at Sama. She did.”
“She wouldn’t be the first leader to turn personal failure into patriotic grievance.”
Aurelius studied her, one part of the conversation still not making sense. “But why do you care? Some washed up warlord is making a comeback on the ass end of Rinath? One whose only past goal was to reclaim some rock from Ardora, a thousand miles from here. A rock that is currently controlled by a polity that won’t even meet with us. Why should you give a shit about any of this?”
The archon clicked her tongue softly. “Because she is different from the rest of them, Aurelius. For twenty-two years, Dynosia has been blessed with Rinathi warlords content to kill their own kind in some endless civil war. To keep their bloodshed to barren valleys and snowcapped peaks, while the rest of us could live. Could love. Could... leave dark thoughts in the past.”
She looked down at the parchment in his hands. Aurelius took the cue and traced the dusty marks, the ones that had previously adorned his aunt’s dead flesh.
There was something decidedly creepy about that.
