Do you know what today is?

Of all Reendeni rulers, the childless Dhouardhenhium the fifth of Paccadan was the one we got along with the best. Dhouard went as far as asking my father to give him my brother Caedmyr to raise as his son. This caused a rift between the Reendeni king and Uncle Caedmyr The Navigator.

My uncle and his wife Aunt Marissa were already raising my brother as their own. Aunt Marissa chased the king from the house with a large wooden stirring spoon while screaming, "Thief! Thief! He wants to steal our baby!"

- Sourced from Foreign Relations During The Reign Of The Subaephyr Daegan XIII, Volume II by Aemilia Daeganus Aemlilonus Rhexbhurg, Princess of Caedmyria.

"Stay," Allara said quietly. She knotted her fingers around Caedmyr's neck and trapped one of his legs between both of hers.

"I've got some reading to do," Caedmyr explained.

"Do it on the ship." Allara tightened her grip on him, mashing her body to his. Her body was tingling with desires. Desires that her lover, if she could even call him that, seemed to have no interest in.

Their affair involved cuddling and only cuddling. They slept together in the most literal sense of the term. Allara surreptitiously felt for his manhood with her thigh. He wasn't aroused. He never was.

Allara had been happy with snuggling initially but as the affair progressed, she craved more. She had never had the nerve to bring it up but she wanted to kiss and make love to her lover. She wanted him to stay in her bed until dawn instead of leaving three hours early to do gods knew what. She needed him to stay with her. 'Especially today.

"Do you know what today is?" she asked.

"Of course. The 25th of Aevardum," he answered.

"Haven't you forgotten something else about this day?" she asked him again.

"It's the date of the Battle of Salandport," he responded. "I killed Karikar II and Smandan Salandbhurg in single combat. How could I forget?"

That struck Allara like a sledgehammer. She had a different reason in mind, intimately connected to his yet different. "It's also the day we met," she whispered, her heart quickening.

"Ooh," he sighed and pulled her against him. "Our first anniversary. That's why you want me to stay."

"Yes," Allara snuggled even closer. Her heart was pounding with the realization.

It wasn't the first anniversary of their meeting but their eleventh. The first time had been in Salandport, 10 years ago. He had robbed her of a death she desired. The second time had been the previous year when he rode onto the yard of the Roost while she was on the verge of impaling her throat on Emil Kantbhurg's dagger.

She didn't think he remembered the first time. She had been a nine-year-old urchin, skinny, dressed in rags, and caked in filth. He had been a blood-drenched warrior. She had lived through the battle of Salandport but never bothered to note the date. She wanted to slap herself silly for that. She started worrying about what the two meetings, 10 years apart on the exact same day meant.

Why have I never told him about that first meeting? She and The Thunderbolt never talked much. Outside their den, he treated her like he would any other servant. Inside it, he came to bed at midnight, wrapped her in his arms, went to sleep, and left before dawn. This was one of those rare days when Allara caught him before he left.

She worried about Lady Ermina. No one had any idea why her husband shunned her so. Not even Allara who had spent every night with him. She thought of asking but always chickened out. Her lover was not the sharing type. He talked to her sometimes but it was never about anything personal or emotional.

Allara knew he was lonely and sad. He smiled at her sometimes. It was rare but it happened. Then he would go back to his usual sad self and she would feel crushed. She believed she could make him happy if he let her.

She had tried the easiest route: seduction. It hadn't worked. Either he was immune to her charms or she was completely incompetent. She had shared a bed with him for a whole summer and was still a virgin. That has to be a record, she thought sadly.

She tried every subtle maneuver to no avail. She considered being brazen but she was fearful of ruining what she already had. She shared his bed but still knew very little about him besides the fact that he liked to go sleep with her arms around him. I could just kiss him, climb naked into bed, or grab his manhood. Or just talk to him, she thought every day. But she never did any of those things. And now he's leaving.

This was her last day with him. She wanted to kiss him, make love to him, and tell him how much she loved him. But she was too afraid. She didn't know why. This would be the last time she would be seeing or touching him in a long time. Maybe ever. They had the conversation the previous week. "I will be going away," he had told her.

"Where?"

"To Paccadan, across the Khars Sea," he said.

"For how long?" Allara asked.

"I don't know," he said.

"Why?" Allara asked.

"Dhouardhenhium V is dead."

"Who is that?"

"The king of Paccadan. The former king now. I will need to reorganize his domains."

"Reorganize?" Allara didn't understand. He wasn't making sense. "Are you going to conquer Paccadan?"

"It wouldn't be a conquest. He left the kingdom to me in his will."

"The king of Paccadan left you his whole kingdom in his will? Why?"

"He had no heirs. And he owes me his crown."

"I don't understand," Allara said.

"Dhouard never sired any children. His only heir was his nephew. 10 years ago that nephew rebelled and overthrew him. Douard fled to Pharasandria disguised as a slave. Father sent me west with four regiments a year later. I crushed the usurper and put Douard back on the throne in three months. I only lost 126 men. One of my finest victories. I fought under my uncle in his Kwhefian and Chumbian Campaigns but the Paccadanite Campaign was the first time I led an army into the field as the sole commander. It was my success there that convinced father to send me north to deal with the Khwhefians once and for all. Douard died two weeks ago and willed me his entire kingdom."

"You're going to be the new king of Paccadan?" Allara asked.

"No. There can only be one king. And it would be improper for me to be crowned before Pharas. Even if it's in a smaller kingdom across the sea. Paccadan will be reorganized into provinces. There are enough people and territory for three or four provinces. I'll know when I get there."

"But Paccadan is a city," Allara pointed out. "How do you split a city?"

This made Caedmyr laugh. It was the first time Allara had heard him laugh. She would have been happy with that development if he hadn't been laughing at her.

"It's not merely a city. It's a full-on country dominated by one large city. All the mercantile cities across the Khars Sea are like that. We call them cities but they're countries in truth. The large cities conquer their hinterlands and continue calling themselves cities instead of countries. Even Trevantum is like that. The capital city and the country have the same name," he explained.

"Oh," Allara finally understood what the maps never showed. She would see tiny dots of mercantile cities up and down the Reendeni coast and Bhai Andium looking large and menacing across the sea to their east. Why did I think all that space was empty? she rebuked herself.

"Will you take me with you?" she asked him.

"No. I might be walking into a war. That's no place for you or Xaena." That devastated Allara. She had trouble falling asleep before he came to bed and got physically sick in the four days a month she spent away from him at the temple. Being parted from him for an indeterminate amount of time was inconceivable. But one phrase bothered her more: I might be walking into war.

"What war?" she asked. "I thought the dead king named you his heir in his will."

"What do you think will happen if my father died tomorrow and left the 100 Realms to the emperor's son?"

"The king would never do that. No one would accept it. Everyone will rebel."

"Exactly," Caedmyr said. "The Paccadanites don't hate us nearly as much as we hate the Maevites but it's still a country, not a horse or a plot of cabbages. There are three million people in Paccadan. All of them will have one opinion or another regarding the succession. They won't just accept a foreign ruler because their dead king said so. Paccadan's neighbors might also want to carve the territory between themselves. And then there are Dhouard's vassals. The dukes and counts and merchant princes. They would be fighting each other for the throne right now if Dhouard hadn't left it to me. They will need some placating or executing. I have to go prepared for war."

"But isn't the army fighting the Cod Wars?" Allara asked.

"Our army is large enough to fight multiple wars at once," he smiled at her. " We only sent three regiments to fight in the Cod Wars. The Trevantenes are providing the sailors. It is their fishermen who will benefit the most once we win anyway. And we already have an army in Paccadan."

"How do we have an army in Paccadan?"

"Dhouard was a puppet ruler. We let him rule as he pleased provided he sent tribute to Pharasandria. But it was still our Baenarites who have been maintaining order for the last nine years. I left 10,000 soldiers behind when I returned home."

"They've been there all this time?" Allara asked.

"It's not the same men," he said.

"How?"

"We rotate them out every year. It's bad for discipline to leave soldiers in the same non-combat posting for too long. Keep some of the commanders in place to show newbies the ropes but send the common soldiers somewhere else. Some fool in Caedmyria forgot to do that with the unit guarding the pass in The Drapes for six years and we earned ourselves a barbarian invasion. Those boys hadn't seen a woman in six months. When 100 walked up to their gates, they didn't think twice about letting them in. A quarter of a million people died because 300 men wanted to be touched by a girl."

"Did you do anything to the fool in Caedmyria?"

"Put him to death by whipping. It didn't make the dead any less dead."

"But will the 10,000 men in Paccadan be enough if there's a war?" Allara deflected, trying not to think about the whipping.

"They can hold the capital. And I will be sailing with two regiments. That brings my numbers up to 20,000. I can recruit locals to fill out the rest of my ranks from among the allies we already have there. That's what I did last time. It's cheaper than shipping 50,000 men across the Khars Sea at a go. Don't worry too much about my safety. The Paccadanites are traders, not warriors. It's the Maweonians you should be worried about."

"We are fighting Marmia over the Cod Islands, aren't we?"

"We are. I will be meeting with their ruling council to offer peace terms."

"Why?" Allara asked. "Bogdyr told me we were winning the cod wars."

"We have won two battles and lots of skirmishes on land and sea. We have captured half the major towns and all of the larger islands. But the Marmians are stubborn. They refuse to acknowledge defeat and just keep sending more men. Marmia is Paccadan's northern neighbor. Douard was fighting a border war with them which I'm set to inherit. Father wants me to explore the possibility of opening a second front in the war with Maweon through the hills of northern Paccadan if they refuse to relinquish the Cod Islands. They don't have the men to fight a two-front war. They've lost so many men fighting over the islands it's a miracle they still have an army."

"When are you ever going to come home with all these wars?" Allara nearly sobbed.

"If I don't face an organized rebellion in Paccadan and Maweon accepts peace terms I could be back home within two months."

"And if things don't go well?"

"It's almost autumn already. Pray that I pacify Paccadan before winter. If not, I'll have to winter there and resume campaigning in spring. Then I can march on Marmia from the south or the west while Karkbhurg sweeps in from the east. The Marmians are still doughty fighters with more courage than sense so we may be looking at a year or two of hard campaigning they're subdued."

"But if things go well, you will be home in two months, yes?" Allara asked hopefully, praying hard that nothing went wrong.

"It depends on how things go with Metosh and the League of 100," Caedmyr answered.

"What's with Metosh again?" Allara wanted to scream. "Isn't the League of 100 every major city of Rendeia? Are you going to war with them all?"

"We're not waging war on the League of 100. If I meet no resistance in Paccadan and get Marmia to lay down its arms, father wants me to negotiate a new trade agreement with the League of 100. Lower tariffs, the removal of import restrictions on certain goods, preferential treatment for our citizens, coordinating anti-piracy operations, that kind of stuff. There's no war on the table at the moment. With Metosh, it's a different story."

"What have the Metoshi done?"

"They're devaluing their currency and cheating our merchants on the exchange rate. Father has sent them a few letters but they keep doing it."

"I don't understand what that means,"

"They're adulterating their silver," he explained. "Our coins are pure silver. Metoshi coins used to be pure silver too but not anymore. The new ones are half silver and half copper. And they're still forcing our merchants to exchange their stallions at the old exchange rate of one-to-one. The real one should be two to one. Every time a merchant or a traveler hands over two stallions, he loses one of them. The situation is even worse with gold coins. They're robbing our subjects."

"They're counterfeiting money," Allara understood at last.

"It's only counterfeiting when you do it," Caedmyr told her. "When a ruler does it, it's called monetary policy."

"And you will go to war with them over that?"

"No," he said. "I just have to threaten war. Metosh is Paccadan's southern neighbor. There's only a river separating the two. They wouldn't dare defy us now that we can send an army into their heartland without too much trouble. We have no inclination to fight them now but they don't know that."

"What if they call your bluff?" Allara wasn't convinced.

"The Metoshi have far too many problems to make an enemy of us. They've been fighting a rebellion in their western territories for six years now. The war is at a stalemate and no side is winning. It's why they're devaluing their currency. They don't have enough money to pay their troops. They have to stretch their silver as far as they can. If they stop robbing our merchants, eliminate tariffs on our goods, and agree to pay an indemnity after their war, we will help them fight the rebellion."

"And if they don't?"

"We will fund the rebels."

"How does that work?"

"Both the Metoshi and the rebels are evenly matched, equally exhausted, equally broke, and overly reliant on foreign mercenaries. You don't need an army to change the balance of power. A chest of gold on either side of that divide can induce half the men on the opposing side to defect."

'We will fund the rebels' rang in Allara's head as she watched her lover climb the gangplank onto the deck of The Lord of Locusts, his flagship. The ship boasted of a blue hull decorated with locusts and purple sails with both the royal sigil of The House of the Smith, Siiruch breathing fire, and his personal sigil: the silver thunderbolt.

Lady Ermina ran up the gangplank and gave her husband one last squeeze. Allara felt a twinge of jealousy quickly followed by guilt. The Thunderbolt gave his wife a small pat on the ribs but his eyes were on Allara. Princess Xaena ran up and joined in the embrace of her parents.

The deck of the ship was packed. Many of the king's courtiers were accompanying The Thunderbolt. Hamyr and Sir Horax stood on either side of him as his principal protectors.

The Thunderbolt was also accompanied by two Purple Shields, Mukhluns Jonyr and Rykar. Mukhlun Gregory was sick with a fever. Allara had found herself praying against his recovery. The gods didn't answer such prayers, did they?

The passengers on the Lord of Locusts watched as The Thunderbolt embraced his family. They were an eclectic lot. Lords, merchants, priests, scholars, scribes, and soldiers. A lot of soldiers. Representatives of Pharasandria's many craftsmen's guilds were also present. As was Nicanor. He was the saddest passenger aboard. Amran was the happiest, grinning like a groom on his wedding day in his new Baenarite's cloak. This would be his first outing as a proper soldier instead of a mere squire.

Allara watched all this from the quayside of the North East Harbor. It was still crowded despite being closed to other ships. While The Lord of Locusts and its escorts were chock full of men with only a few women scattered here and there, women and children outnumbered men on the wharf almost five to one. They had all come to say goodbye to their husbands and fathers.

Nearly all of Landshield's staff had come to see their master off. Pharasandria's leading citizens were present as well. Those who weren't on the ships themselves had relatives and friends on board. This was a diplomatic mission as much as a potential military campaign. Allara prayed there would be no war.

The whole royal family had also made an appearance. Only Baeon The Bard was absent. He didn't spend much time in Pharasandria. They were all dignified except young Prince Daegan, who had to be restrained from running up the gangplank to say his goodbyes to his uncle.

The Thunderbolt sent his teary-eyed wife and daughter down the gangplank. Once they were on solid ground, he gave a signal and the gangplank was raised. Oars rose and fell and The Lord of Locusts pulled out of the harbor. It was escorted by six warships, all packed full of Baenarites, dignitaries, and their servants. They all waved at their loved ones on shore as the galleys pulled away.

Allara felt a tear roll down her cheek. She wasn't alone. There were a lot of teary eyes among the women and children on the wharf. The Thunderbolt kept his eyes on her until he was too small to be seen aboard the deck of his flagship.

She regretted never kissing him or being upfront about her feelings. What if he didn't return? Men died in wars. Even princes. She pushed such thoughts out of her mind and prayed for his safe return. She prayed for Bogdyr too who seemed to enjoy the battles too much. She often skipped entire sections of his letters because of the graphic descriptions of his kills.

The Thunderbolt's convoy was heading south. In a few minutes, it would transit the canal and enter the Khars Sea. The rest of his fleet, twenty war galleys and close to forty transport ships, would join him there. Allara had seen them all lined up at the North West Harbor. They carried soldiers, sailors, food, and horses. The horse transports were the largest ships Allara had ever seen. They were even larger than whalers.

Allara knew Metosh was The Thunderbolt's first destination. Getting there would take him anywhere from four days to a week across the open sea. She prayed that all his endeavors would go well so he could return home quickly. To my arms, she thought.

The Thunderbolt, his army, and his entourage had made sacrifices to all the gods, starting with Aemeia the previous day but Allara still worried about him. She said another prayer for his safety as the purple sails of The Lord of Locusts faded from sight. She swore to kiss him and tell him of all her desires when he returned.

"Do you think you think they'll be born on the same day?" Corvinia covertly pointed at the visibly pregnant Princess Caecilia with her chin. Corvinia's own baby bump was the same size.

"I don't know," Allara answered. "How far along is she?"

"Five months. Same as me," Corvinia said.

"Maybe," Allara responded. "Do you want them born on the same day?"

"Of course," Corvinia beamed and took Allara's hand. "What are you so sad about?" she asked.

"Nothing," Allara lied.

"Come on, Alla," Sylvia pressed. I saw your tears.

"I was just thinking of Petron. So many Baenarites together reminded me of him and Bogdyr," Allara surprised herself with the speed at which she came up with the lie. She idly wondered how Petron would react if he learned she was passing him off as her fiance. She had only met the man once. I'll tell Bogdyr to talk to him, she made a mental note. But she doubted anyone would follow up on her claims.

"Aww," Corvinia and Sylvia fawned over her. "How is he?" Sylvia asked.

"They're winning battles but the Maweonians are stubborn. They just keep sending more men," Allara repeated The Thunderbolt's words.

"The war will be over soon," Corvinia promised.

"How do you know?" Sylvia asked.

"His Highness will meet the Marmian rulers to issue them surrender terms. My husband told me. They'll give up those little islands or get destroyed," Corvinia asserted.

"Mmmh," Sylvia said. Allara played along. They walked Corvinia to her carriage and helped her inside then climbed in after her. She tired quickly these days.

The carriage was a gorgeous construction of polished pine with curvaceous edges, a sloping roof, and silk curtains. It resembled a flat-bottomed boathouse with wheels. It looked like it was slicing through the air instead of rolling along the ground.

Evan had built it and carved beautiful prancing horses on the sides. He had completely refused payment. "Nothing for you, m'lady. Or your friends," he insisted. "I owe you my life." Allara had never felt so flattered.

Things had worked out great for everyone. The carriage had caught Lady Ermina's eye and Evan landed himself another commission. Corvinia gifted Allara with her first silk gown in gratitude. It was a gorgeous baby blue gown embroidered with brocade in red and gold.

"This costs more than the carriage," Allara had protested.

"I won't tell Parnyrl if you don't," Corvinia had winked.

"We should go see the trials tomorrow. It's been too long since I last did my duty," Corvinia brought Allara back to the present. "Baxtyrn has received his first call up to sit as a magistrate. Parnyrl wants us to go," she added.

"I have to teach the children," Allara told her.

"Not tomorrow. It's Aephyr's day. The day of rest. And Judgment Day," Corvinia reminded her. Allara had never been to a trial. The last Aephyr's Day of every month was Judgement Day. As a free woman, she was obligated to attend one at least once a year and she realized she had been free for around the same time and hadn't performed one of her sacred duties yet: attending trials of lawbreakers and seeing that they were punished. Her sons might sit in judgment of an accused man someday. If I have them, she thought grimly.

"Alright," Allara agreed. 'I guess I'll go kill some criminals.'