A day had passed, and yet, Emalia still found herself uneasy. She tried to distract herself with meetings, stopping by the timber temple once again. She asked for demonstrations of a priest's writing; Sovina and her suspicions were proven correct, for the resulting work was shoddy at best. The priest in charge apologized profusely but gave only excuses. So she asked about the gods, and in that, too, Emalia felt only her heart sink. Of the eleven gods, the priests of Novakrayu only knew five and only prayed to three. Her patron, Raizak, was entirely unknown to them. She tried teaching them but found only awkward resistance. As if they wished to appease her, yet didn't truly want to change. It was infuriating. After an hour of this runaround, she left.

She did learn one interesting thing, however, and it was that Ekhenists—Deus, or here, Daes worshipers—had a very peculiar belief, and it was that of patron Saints. According to the area one lived in within Merkenia, they typically followed one of the four Saints: Strife, Power, Reserve, and Hubris. Certainly not any saint's real name, but perhaps a reference to their representation?

Nothing was immune to the changes spawned by isolation, it seemed.

The day was late, and she was sitting against a tree, watching Sovina practice her sword forms, flowing from position to position, attacking, defending, and moving with elegant precision. She'd watched her do this many times, and it was always impressive.

What can we do when Vasia comes? she thought, gazing across the city's skyline lit by a descending sun. We could just run. Sovina suggested it before we left with Daecinus and Demetria. Was it such a terrible idea? She gave it some serious thought once more. The two were on the verge of finding their people. After that, was there anything left for Emalia to do? She wasn't sure, but something told her that all would not simply fall in place even when they were reunited. Besides, I have a responsibility to Vasia: if I can sway Daecinus and Demetria toward more peaceful resolutions, I should. On their own, they may err toward extremeness. She thought of Feia. Of her fate.

Did Emalia's responsibility to innocents begin here? In preventing this city from being betrayed and taken? To what extent?

What if the transfer of Novakrayu was a peaceful one? One in which the would-be defenders had no choice but to hand it over before a protracted siege? Where some sort of assurances could be made to prevent a sack of any kind? For such a thing, there would have to be an opening. An attack launched at the highest authority in the city, eliminating it before any formal resistance could be arranged. She didn't know what that might look like, but it was a good enough idea that she felt somewhat mollified. When Sovina finished her training, Emalia shared her idea. Sovina agreed with the intention, but how it was done mattered more. On that end, they should speak with Daecinus and Demetria.

So she did, sharing her desires for a bloodless—or near-bloodless—victory by some sort of ruse. They were all in their shared chamber, seated about at old wooden chairs around a few candles, Protis guarding the door on the exterior.

"I just don't know how it can be done," Emalia finished. "I've never planned this sort of thing before." She thought of the rebel attack on the Column, attempted by ruse, to steal away the documents proving priestly interference, forcing the voivodes to swear fealty to a tsar. "Maybe it is a small force that sneaks in and does it under everyone's noses?"

Daecinus nodded, mulling it all over. "A ruse is best achieved when the two sides share preexisting connections, elements of trust, and shared language. It was a gamble hoping someone of power in Kubalak even spoke Vasian." He stood and paced, hand held behind his back, other arm almost disappeared in the folds of his robe, shortened as it was. "We'll need it to occur when we've most of their soldiers aboard the fleet. That's when the city will be at its most vulnerable. But we cannot help directly in this, being on the ships… It might be possible to leave the mercenaries and perhaps even Protis. If they can take a gate and hold it, then the Targul can simply walk in. It would leave our party more vulnerable without their protection, and it would rely on perfect execution lest it all fail. Ensuring the Targul's compliance with a more peaceful takeover is another matter."

Demetria tapped the table, calling attention. She crossed her legs and leaned back, her rigid posture never quite fading; even in a casual pose, she was self-possessed and regal. "It's in their best interest to resolve it peacefully. Besides the benefits of looting for their soldiers, of course. A city rioting would cost men and resources they would rather save."

"How confident are you they will do so?" Emalia asked.

"Highly. Their response to my letter was a professional one. Their leader there is an experienced, trained one."

"How will they know of our plan? Will you send another letter? It may be risky since the Novakrayuans are certainly watching us. Even Protis might have a hard time sneaking away."

Demetria smiled. "There are new developments on that front. Earlier in the day, we made contact with a spy."

"Who's the spy?" Sovina asked.

"A servant in this very fortification. She informed me she was but one of many, and she reported details of my letter to confirm she was in touch with her Targul masters."

Emalia's heart was racing. There was so much danger in this, and yet, it seemed like exactly what she wished for: a mostly bloodless solution with quick resolution. If it could be pulled off… Well, that would remain to be seen. It all depended on Daecinus's hired men, with whom she'd only occasionally interacted and thus knew little. And Protis. She looked over at the door, where the Soulborne lingered on the other side. If there's anyone I would trust to execute on our instructions, it would be Protis. She remembered its recounting of the final moments in Nova. How it held off dozens of druzhina to allow Oskar to escape with a dying Feia. If Protis could do so, then surely it could pull this off, maybe even if the mercenaries failed their end.

"This can work," Emalia said. "I don't like it, but I can accept it given our constraints."

Daecinus shook his head. "This is too risky. We need greater reassurance of success. I won't pit my few men against a city's resistance. If we want this to succeed, we will have to secure the voivode. Use him as a hostage to negotiate open the gates. Protis can take him, and the men can seize the gates."

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Emalia balked. Take a voivode? That seemed heretical somehow. They weren't ordained by the gods in any way, but using one as a hostage of this sort did defy the natural order of things. Yet again, letting enemies into the city would do the same thing, even if she were a step separated from it. She looked at Sovina and found consternation painted across her partner's face.

"Won't the voivode join us at sea?" Emalia asked.

Demetria was gazing at Daecinus appreciatively as if he'd just complimented her on something meaningful. It was odd, but that was their relationship, she supposed. Opaque to outsiders, yet deep and sentimental as any could be. "It wouldn't take much to convince him to stay behind," she explained. "He fears the sea, as most do, and is far from possessing a warrior's spirit. We can convince him to stay here through Elizar—he can be the 'principal negotiator' in this. Yes, he would like that very much." She laughed, whether it was amusement at the dire situation or their mutual cleverness, Emalia wasn't certain. "This is even better. Can Protis snatch him and carry him away without being caught?"

Emalia recalled when she was unconscious and injured in the Kosican Range after nearly tumbling to her death. She answered for Daecinus, "Easily."

…

First, I spoke to Wendof and Bowyer alone.

I watched their faces as I gave them their orders. They were not entirely pleased. Compared to the rest of the mercenaries, these two were older, more experienced—Wendof as a soldier and mercenary, Bowyer in less formal matters. Regardless, they were both fonts of tested wisdom in planned, small-scale stratagems. I knew campaigns, organizing Dead and men alike to wage battle, but tactics and managing men were not my areas of expertise.

"It can be done," Wendof said hesitantly, scratching his whiskered chin with a look of grim distaste. "Bloody dangerous it is, though. Haven't seen anything major with this group. There's always problems with something like this for an untested band."

I looked to Bowyer. He shrugged. "It depends on Protis. The rest can be done."

"You're too optimistic," Wendof said.

"They have a dozen men at a gate at any one point. Usually hardly watchful. At night, we can take them by surprise. Most are soft. We outnumber them."

"Things still go wrong. It won't be easy."

"Perhaps." He didn't seem swayed by Wendof's concern, but then, he had less experience with a group. "I'm committed, regardless. But I cannot speak for the men. This may be more than they expected."

"I imagine so," I said. "It requires a great deal of independence. I will not be present."

"Meaning loyalty." Wendof was pacing. He rubbed his knuckles, scratched at his head, twisted lips back and forth in contemplation. He liked to assume responsibility for everyone. Something like their unofficial representative to me. He cared for them in a way I couldn't. Or wouldn't. He reminded me of Oskar, perhaps too much. "They'll need an incentive."

"I have coin to give. I understand it is a large ask."

"Good. Good. How will we get out when it's done? The men won't want to be stuck here forever. Some are excited to see this isle of yours. Daes knows why. Heh."

I'd put some thought into this already. "Once the fleet is dealt with, I can have a ship sent here to bring you to me. Or, if the situation allows it, I shall return myself. It depends on what we find on the isle."

Wendof took in one big, steadying breath. "Alright. We'll speak with the men. It'd be easier if we could take the gate with Protis and a captive voivode. Await Protis, clear it out, hold for the Targul."

"The details of this are up to you. Execute however optimally." I recalled Demetria's subsequent conversation with the spy. "Our travel on ship will take longer than a day to get close to the isle, let alone entice a significant response. We shall leave in the morning. Your attack must occur before the following sunrise. Light a fire atop the gatehouse when it is seized—the Targul will come after."

Bowyer asked, "How long till they arrive?"

"If all goes well, a matter of minutes."

He nodded, satisfied. I looked over the two of them once more, searching for hesitance. Wendof certainly wasn't enthusiastic, but he was not so gloomy anymore. He noticed my gaze and waved as if to brush aside my worry. "I am committed, sir. No problems here. Just a matter of deciding the details. We'll get it done."

I followed them back to the barracks and watched as they spoke to the men. I paid attention to how they took the news. A lot of surprised faces, some fear, some excitement. Aelle in particular was grinning like a child with a new toy. He raised up the morale of the others with whispers of good glory and an easy victory. I was not certain it would be so simple. I lingered for a little while longer, then left, somewhat contented with the reception of such news.

Next, I spoke to Protis.

My creation was crouched on the battlements of the curtain wall surrounding the voivode's castle. It afforded us a view of the city. Demetria was in our room, sleeping, protected by Sovina. Besides Protis and me, I trusted Sovina next, even beyond my own men.

It was almost night, and the setting sun turned the city orange. Old aqueducts, some collapsing and in disrepair, others barely trickling water, laced the city like Protis's blackened veins across its skin. It was an old city. One ever-degrading, perpetually fading from its glory days, lost in modernity quickly passing it by.

We were alone on the wall. A few guards patrolled, but they remained far away. I didn't know if it was my rank, Protis's presence, or the fact that I was a Sorcerer that kept them away. All, likely.

"I will need you to disappear," I said, looking down at my creation. It was sharpening its axe with a deft precision that would shock most. Even seated, Protis's head nearly reached my shoulder. "Before we depart, you'll remain hidden here."

Protis paused and looked up at me, dark eyes hinting concern. "Remain here?"

"That's right. I'll need you for something important."

Its face hardened. "Dangerous."

"I know." I leaned in, lowering my voice. "But you will have to secure the voivode after night falls and bring him to the south gate. My men will be there, ready for you to seize the gate. Together, you all will hold it for Targul entry, who shall take the city. After, I will return for you."

"Too distant. Weakness."

"No," I replied, shaking my head. "You are independent now, to some extent. You're no longer as you once were. I don't know how or why."

Protis grunted. "Dangerous," it repeated.

"Demetria will be alright. I will be alright."

Its hands gripped the axe tightly, wood handle creaking under its strength.

"Can you do this? It will be risky."

Protis grunted once more, its tone affirmative. Yet, it stared off, facial muscles taught under pallid, partially transparent flesh. "Difficult to ignore voice. Speaks of responsibility." It looked up at me. "Compelled to protect. Compelled to remain."

I considered this. My own emotions were seeping into my creation, shaping its mind in a way that was wholly new to me. I didn't know how to manage it or if I should even try. Regardless, it seemed every day that Protis had its own directives to follow rather than my own, even if it were still wholly loyal and subservient to my commands. Soon, I would have to consider the ethics of keeping an intelligent creature bound to my will. But for now, consideration for its instincts and desires was enough. "This gets us closer to our objective. It stymies Vasian interests in the long run, you see? It's important. This action protects us by securing a better future."

Protis did not reply but stared off like a man lost in thought.

I left it there with the mental instructions to return to the room when it was done. I would have my victory here. Novakrayu would fall, and a strong bond formed between the Targul and us. Then, when I moved on the offensive with the Pethyans of the isle, we would have an ally against Vasia.

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