Damian watched the capital from his chambers in its restlessness, simmering with fear since the riot three weeks back. He tasted the wine, dark and sharp, letting the flavor linger like smoke.

  Distant torches cut through the rain, drunks cursed one another in the thin alleys, and lightning engulfed the sky when it fancied. He smirked, savoring the chaos as if it had been in his cup.

  He was picking at a chip in the window frame when a knock sounded at his door.

  “Bird from the east, your lordship!” a guard yelled from beyond it.

  Damian’s eyes tightened in curiosity. He turned and propped himself against the window sill.

  “Enter.”

  The guard walked in and stood straight, a sealed scroll in hand.

  “A pigeon just flew in, my lord. Urgent.”

  Damian took it, setting aside his cup. The red seal bore no insignia—it was from the east, but its origin concealed.

  He assumed one of his eyes in the east had sent it.

  Damian tore at the seal, eager to reveal its contents, but paused and nodded toward the door.

  As soon as the guard had exited, the scroll was spread wide across his desk.

  “Tarasian banners have risen. Geoff has rallied the eastern nobles. In three weeks’ time, a small coalition marches for the capital. They claim not for battle, but to demand the safe turnover of afflicted in the capital.”

  “So, the east bares its teeth,” Damian whispered to himself. “Now, will they bark from beyond my gate or dare to bite my hand?”

  Damian lifted his head back and closed his eyes, thinking.

  Then, his eyes shot open. He hesitated for a moment, his mind finishing the calculations. He sprung up, left his room, and made for the western wing of the castle.

  He kept his mind busy as he walked, rerunning his predictions as his stare drifted over the vermillion carpet of the corridor.

  He came to the door, stepped past the guard before he could stop him, and shoved it open.

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  “Tell me, Lord Tisbiran. When did you plan to mention the east marching to the capital?” Damian said, wearing a sardonic tone.

  The guard raced in behind him, seizing Damian’s arm. “Sorry, my lord. Would you like him removed?” the guard asked Johnith, General of the Military of the Court of All.

  Damian didn’t shift his glare from Johnith, committing to the act of anger.

  “It’s fine.” Johnith waved at the guard to take his leave. “It sounds like me and Lord Damian have matters to discuss.”

  Johnith sat at a small table in his nightwear. He placed two cups out and poured.

  “I hope you enjoy sweet wine, for that is all I have to offer.”

  Damian hated sweet wine but took the offering anyway. Sweet wine was made for those of less distinction, and he didn’t converse in lower circles often.

  “When did you hear?”

  “Not long ago,” Damian answered. “The better question is, why has Steerard’s General of Military not made any preparations?”

  “Oh, please, Damian,” Johnith said, disinterested. “Don’t act as if your seat at court sits higher than the others. It’s just as uncomfy as the rest of ours.”

  “Strange that your kin comes to us, steel at their sides, and yet you sit idle. What if it were the western houses that formed a rebellion?” Damian asked.

  A laugh burst from Johnith, as though Damian had told a joke. “To call it a rebellion seems a bit dramatic. I am not behind the call if that is what you’re alluding to, nor does this matter affect the court.”

  “It does affect me. I’m the one who keeps this city from tearing itself apart,” Damian said, being careful to steer the argument.

  “It’s the Captain of the City Guard’s fault they feel the need to march here in the first place,” Johnith replied.

  “The court voted—”

  “For the amendment in punishment, not for holding them in a pen to be found and slaughtered. Just let the afflicted leave for The Shade or the east.”

  “The court shouldn’t negotiate with those who oppose our decisions, lest we’d have to answer to every tavern drunk who thinks the brothels should be free,” Damian said, trying to not scowl from the taste of the wine.

  “And it’s that same attitude that is to blame for their rallying. Come next court meeting, I’m sure you know, we will all demand you allow the afflicted to leave if they desire.” Johnith said.

  “So if they position themselves outside the city gates, you’ll take no action?”

  “They’re marching for words, not blood. If you allow the cursed to leave into their protection, I can assure you, there will be no problems.”

  Let them bark, then give them a treat to quell their rage. Damian translated in his mind.

  Damian let his glare fade and offered a small nod, as though he was conceding. In truth, he was hiding his excitement and hubris, hearing the words he needed Johnith to say.

  Damian stood, forced down the last of the torturous wine and set the cup aside.

  “Thank you for easing my concerns, Lord Tisbiran. I shall follow your wisdom and welcome them with open arms. The wine was as sweet as your counsel.”

  “I’m glad to be of help to you, Lord Damian,” Johnith said with a prideful smile. “May Nia watch over you.”