“The Gaetane dynasty was established by Charles the Bold, leader of the coalition that won the Lotharin Independence War and the first sovereign of the Empire. A man trapped in political union his entire life, he was unable to marry his lover and close ally, Queen Gwendolen of Ceredigion. As a result, he decreed to his descendants that the Imperial family should never again marry for shortsighted political gains. Instead, priority was given to create secure and loving families which fostered the best conditions for raising healthy and capable heirs.
“This became known as the ‘Gaetane Legacy’.”
– Abbot Gregory Froissart de Saint-Hilaire, Geoffroi the Great: The Brilliance Who Ended in Tragedy
“How was the feast and dance last night?”
Kaede asked as she followed Pascal through the halls of Oriflamme Castle while Cecylia and Laetitia trailed behind her. The soothing melody of a harpsichord and a viol continued to resound through the air, which bestowed an atmosphere of serenity upon the castle that reminded her of a museum.
The fortress was fairly simple for being the residence of an imperial family. Its walls and floors were marbled and partially carpeted. However, its furnishings and chandeliers were by no means extravagant. Its hallways were mostly divided by simple mahogany doors that were occasionally guarded by pairs of armigers. Kaede had certainly visited plenty of other estates in Rhin-Lotharingie which showed more wealth and pomposity.
“There was not much dancing,” Pascal answered with a shrug. “Everyone was too anxious and mostly wanted to discuss wartime politics.”
“Still, Her Highness was disappointed that you couldn’t attend,” Cecylia giggled. “She even prepared matching dresses for you and Vivienne.”
That’s exactly why I didn’t come back early, Kaede almost groaned.
Well, one of the reasons, she admitted as she also simply didn’t want to attend a social gathering full of people she didn’t know — especially when many of them were likely to look down upon her.
The four then strode across one of the massive landscape-style paintings distributed across the marbled walls. It was these artworks which truly distinguished the Oriflamme Castle from other estates in Rhin-Lotharingie. Each canvas had a frame as wide as a dining room and ran from hip-high to near the ceiling. Almost every artwork depicted a scene with its focus on an individual with a blue-feathered phoenix. And they served to both romanticize and memorialize the heroes of Rhin-Lotharingie since the Empire’s founding.
The aura of nationalism here is almost stifling…
Kaede had always felt uneasy with the excessive glorification of the past. To her, history was meant to be studied with truthful and brutal honesty — to uncover its lessons and grasp the consequences of long-forgotten choices. Only then could individuals, cultures, and nations alike learn from past mistakes, refine their triumphs into wisdom, and shape a better tomorrow for their people. For history offered nothing less than the collective record of people succeeding and failing, with world-altering implications, for the past thousands of years.
But here, in the ‘grand cathedral’ of Lotharin nationalism, there were few nuances to how their heroes were illustrated and viewed.
Kaede did understand why, for the Empire and its Lotharin peoples paid dearly in blood for their independence and freedom. Identity was usually built upon narratives, and there were few stories as powerful and as inspiring as those of gallant and grandiose heroism. It was why every country, both in Hyperion and in her former life, had its ‘national myth’ — a romanticized legacy that was often more idealization than fact.
The problem, however, was that when legends took this ‘national myth’ too far, it often created distortions in people’s cultural values and ways of thinking — such as a certain superpower’s claims to its ‘indispensable moral righteousness’ to police the world.
“Hold up…”
Kaede slowed to a halt before another painting that she had looked upon many times before. Like most of the other artworks found in the Oriflamme Castle, its focus was another paladin — this time a lean-shouldered, handsome, if somewhat effeminate young man. Clad in mail armor, the paladin sprouted flame-feathered phoenix wings and glowed in a halo of white-blue flames. He flew above the ground with his armigers, leading far ahead of a massive charge of mixed cavalry and heavy, wagon-like chariots.
Meanwhile, displayed on the far side was the ‘enemy’ painted in ominous grey. The flanks were predominantly light cavalry, with many drawing their recurve bows. However, the center was mostly infantry carrying wooden planks with small iron tubes affixed to them. Interspersed among them were wheeled, wooden platforms that each carried a black, metallic tube. One of them even belched forth flames as the ancient bombard unleashed its shot.
“Is that Leslie the Paladin?” Laetitia asked as the energetic girl rushed up to examine the painting’s details with a look of childish wonder.
“Leslie Eachann Barclay of Tollaigh, Voivode of Dvina,” Kaede read the label inscribed onto the bottom of the art frame. “You’re familiar with Leslie’s story, I’m guessing?”
“Who isn’t?” Laetitia replied in an awestruck voice as her eyes remained glued to the artwork. “Leslie was a mercenary who journeyed to the Grand Republic of Samara and lent his services to them during the Great Northern War. The Grand Republic remembered his help three centuries later when they aided us during our Independence War. It’s a story taught to every Lotharin child through the rhyme Leslie’s Blessing, which my grandfather first told me when I was six.”
“That’s the simplified version, as Leslie actually aided the Grand Republic’s predecessor state, the Polisian Federation,” Kaede explained. “Nevertheless, this painting is a romanticization of the Second Battle of Desna River, where Leslie led a Polisian cavalry charge against their enemies, the Great Khanate’s ‘Divine Engine Division’. It’s also probably the first and last time a formation which relied on blast powder weapons was used to hold a battle line.”
“Why the last?” Laetitia asked as she finally peered at Kaede.
“What do you think happens when a phoenix’s aura, which burns the very air around them, makes contact with tightly packed infantry whose pockets are stuffed with blast powder ammunition?” Pascal responded in his typical aristocratic drawl, while the side of his mouth twisted into a lopsided smile.
Meanwhile, Kaede winced as she couldn’t help imagining the devastation and carnage inflicted upon those poor soldiers. It didn’t matter to her that they were clearly the villains in the painting.
Thus the battle altered not only Hyperion history, but the very trajectory of military technology in this world, the scholar within her thought.
It made her wonder: if the Princess sent her on a journey as she suspected, could she truly secure aid from their allies in the manner Leslie did?
— The bar seemed impossibly high from where she was standing.
“Speaking of, Laetitia, there’s a painting here I think you’d love,” Kaede put on another smile before she gestured for the others to follow.
She strolled down the hall and turned left. The four made their way through several more hallways before the petite girl stopped beside another landscape artwork.
“It’s whom your grandfather named you after,” Kaede beamed. “It’s also one of my favorite paintings in the castle.”
The artwork centered on a young woman whose long, mint-green hair streamed outward in the billowing breeze. A blue-feathered phoenix rested on her left shoulder, while a kingfisher perched delicately on the fingers of her outstretched right hand. The woman stood among crop fields that blanketed the rolling hills, their lots divided by rows of fruit trees. A clear stream and several ditches ran between the farmlands, feeding into a pond brimming with local wildlife. Meanwhile, several local farmers gathered around with baskets and carts full with harvest, all of them smiling towards her with their cornucopia.
“Laetitia Eulalia de Estrées, the Greenheart Paladin,” Pascal read from the label before turning to ask. “I thought she was a hero of the Independence War?”
“She was,” Laetitia and Kaede’s voices overlapped before the shorter girl gestured for the armiger to take the lead.
“Laetitia was not only an archmage known as the ‘River Witch’, but also a master of the spear,” the bodyguard explained with ecstatic pride. Yet her voice began to dull as she continued: “though her moniker comes from her actions after the war. She journeyed throughout Rhin-Lotharingie to spread the knowledge of Permaculture, which she had learned from the Druids of Ceredigion.”
“I have heard of that term before,” Pascal commented as his brows rose with curiosity. “Unfortunately, agriculture has never ranked high in my reading. What exactly does it mean?”
“It’s short for ‘permanent agriculture’,” Kaede responded this time. “Gerard is much better at explaining it as he had studied the subject back when you were both at Alisia Academy. But the gist is that agricultural land shouldn’t rely on laborious infrastructure, expensive magic, or chemical fertilizers to stay productive. Instead, farming communities should be designed in a synergistic manner that allows nature to sustain itself through its biological cycles. This includes the soil, the trees, the animals, the weather, the hydrology — everything must work together. And only through generational knowledge of the land can we manipulate the biome without disrupting it in a manner that’s harmful to our descendants.”
“As you can imagine, the Lotharins benefitted significantly from such low-maintenance farming after the Rhin-Lotharingie Independence War, when much of the Lotharin Heartlands lay depopulated,” Cecylia commented. “Though based on the data I’ve seen, even today the Lotharins’ permaculture practices have an efficiency almost matching Weichsel’s intensive farming methods.”
“That is impressive, when you consider that our homeland has always been blessed by its black soil,” Pascal praised as he exchanged a look with his fellow officer from Weichsel.
“It’s also an excellent example of nation-building that doesn’t have to rely on wars and conflicts,” Kaede beamed.
“There is definitely room for identity-building through creation alone,” Pascal nodded. “Though I would argue that the process is much slower compared to the unifying power of ethnic conflict. The Lotharins survived centuries of Imperial occupation through their inter-tribal unity against a common foe. Without it, I would not be surprised if their culture had gone extinct.”
“That’s true,” Kaede admitted as she thought about the fate of the Lotharins’ equivalent in her former life. They had been divided and conquered and left with only a few cultural holdouts.
Though the Lotharins have also adopted more Imperial practices than they’d like to admit, such as Trinitian religion, she considered.
“Regardless, I think we have delayed long enough,” Pascal said to Kaede. “Sylv is waiting for us on the northeast roof.”
“I need to meet with Ambassador Gerhard, so I’ll see you all later,” Cecylia gave a little wave before she walked off.
Meanwhile, as Pascal trotted ahead to lead the way, Kaede looked back at Laetitia who was still gazing upon her namesake. The Samaran girl didn’t understand why Laetitia’s earlier excitement had faded to a pensive, almost melancholic look.
“Is something wrong?”
“No, nothing,” Laetitia replied, perhaps a tad too quickly, before she also put on a forced smile.
Kaede certainly wasn’t convinced. But she also didn’t press the matter as she beckoned:
“Let’s be going then.”
She then scurried after Pascal. And she had just turned around a corner when she heard Laetitia mutter.
“Grandpa, are you sure you gave me the right name?” The armiger spoke in barely more than a whisper. It was difficult to hear even for Kaede’s familiar-enhanced senses.
“I’m a failure as a scribe, a village healer, and as an older sibling. Is there truly any worth to me beyond my physical abilities?”
…
“Give me… one moment…”
Kaede heard Pascal’s rough, breathy voice as they neared the top of the spiraling staircase that climbed up to the roof. The girl had intentionally kept close behind him in case he needed support. His leg hadn’t been the same ever since he almost died on the field of battle where he earned his notoriety as the Dusklord. Nevertheless, the fact Pascal was able to climb almost four stories by himself was quite an achievement compared to even two months ago.
“Take your time,” Kaede stroked his back beneath the skylight’s illumination before she briefly closed her eyes to enjoy the music.
The serene strains of harpsichord and viol continued to flow through the air. Their harmony resonated with refined notes as the previous song drew to a close. Hardly a moment then passed before an energetic flute began the music anew, with the new instrument taking the lead in a more lively ballad.
Lotharin music was renowned for its rich variety, wide palette of instruments, and intricate layering of simultaneous melodies. Listening closely to the aria, Kaede could tell that the harpsichordist had willingly dropped to a supportive role. Their graceful notes weaved a calming backdrop to the musical duet between an assertive flute and a hesitant viol.
It’s so unlike Vivi to be nervous on her viol, Kaede thought.
The melody had never stopped long enough for players to change instruments. This meant it should still be Lady Vivienne who played the viol as Kaede recognized her earlier music. The Samaran girl wasn’t sure who the keyboard player was, but it was most likely the Princess as she owned the castle’s harpsichord. The question was who could make an accomplished bard like Vivienne nervous, and Kaede’s only thought was that the flute player had to be a man.
“All right. I am good now,” Pascal said with a calm breath once more.
Meanwhile, Laetitia bounded up the spiral staircase by taking the almost impossibly steep steps near the center column. She quickly arrived at the landing and pushed open the heavy oaken door and held it.
“Thanks,” Pascal nodded appreciatively as he made his way out onto the castle’s roof.
By the time Kaede emerged, several armigers on the roof were already examining the new arrivals with an alert gaze. Most of them recognized Pascal and Kaede. However, they stared suspiciously at Laetitia with hands over hilts as the latter was fully equipped.
“Laetitia,” Kaede said as she pushed back her hair in the strong breeze. “Not to be rude, but please remain over here for now. We don’t want any misunderstandings.”
“Of course, Milady,” Laetitia nodded before she moved to a nearby crenel and leaned against it.
Pascal had walked ahead to a cushioned chair in the middle of the available seating and sat down upon it like he owned the castle. He was the only audience member sitting beneath the hexagonal, greenhouse-like pavilion which hosted the harpsichord.
As Kaede had surmised, it was Sylviane who sat playing the keyboard instrument. The Princess was in her early twenties and of moderate height. Her voluminous, dark-purple hair draped across both of her narrow shoulders, stopping short of her modest chest in front and reaching just beyond her slender waist in the back. Her eyes were large and caring as they carried the color of wisteria flowers. Below them lay a slender nose, fair cheeks, and a pair of peachy-pale lips.
Crowned by a silvery-cerulean tiara, the Princess wore what could best be described as a ‘battledress’. The outfit hugged her torso and ran down to a wide, sectioned skirt that reached down past her knees. Its fabric was dyed in a gradient from sky-blue to violet, but also came with purple padding and darker leather reinforcing key locations, which included fitting spots and buckles for strapping down armor.
The snowy-haired girl caught the Princess’ gaze and the two smiled at one another in greeting.
She seems to be in a pleasant mood today, political events notwithstanding.
Kaede considered the dozen sealed amphorae jugs of lithium spring water stored inside the extradimensional storage of her messenger bag. She had brought them from her village for the Princess, as consumed lithium was an effective mood stabilizer.
The petite familiar walked over to Pascal and looked at her master. The young general sat upright in his armchair with his good eye fixated upon his betrothed. His gaze followed her graceful movements on the keyboard with an enchanted look. And as Kaede focused on him, she could sense the faint echo of his adoration over their familiar bond.
It reminded Kaede of how Pascal had first told her about his betrothal to the Princess: “I do not believe a girl more beautiful than her could exist.”‘
Kaede had always thought that to be an exaggeration. Sylviane was pretty, of course, but it would be a gross exaggeration to call her one of the great beauties of the realm. Nevertheless, the relationship between the imperial couple went back to their childhoods. And without Pascal’s and his country of Weichsel’s military support, it was doubtful that Sylviane could have won the civil war against her uncle.
The familiar then looked back to the other two musicians who were performing the duet. They stood divided by the grand harpsichord and neither looked at one another as they seemed to communicate through only their notes. Their ballad was surprisingly normal in volume considering how the music could be heard with perfect clarity even from the castle’s far side entrance.
Kaede could only chalk this up to Vivienne’s magic, which always had the ability to carry sound further than it normally would have gone. She would not be surprised if even most of the city’s inhabitants could enjoy the melody.
To the right, King Alistair Aileas Mackay-Martel stood facing his country in the distant north as he led with a lively tune on his flute. The monarch from the Kingdom of Gleann Mòr wore a rich fur cloak draped over his dark-blue gambeson and padded chausses.
The King was youthful and tall, appearing in his late-twenties, but was sixty-four in reality. He had a towering height and broad, muscular shoulders. However, he wasn’t exactly a handsome man. His head leaned on the squarish side, his eyes faded blue, and his hair a dull brown. Apart from a rustic smile and a goatee-like fuzz, his face could easily blend in among the crowd.
Opposite him, Lady Vivienne Máiréad de Winter was almost an exact doppelganger of Kaede as she played a glowing viol of transparent crystal with her eyes held closed. The petite girl wore a silver-white long dress with black and lavender highlights and embroidered musical symbols. She had the same build, the same size, and would have had the same height as Kaede if she wasn’t always perched on exceptionally high heels. Almost every proportion of their bodies appeared identical, from their small noses, soft cheeks, and porcelain-pale cheeks, to their thin shoulders, narrow chests, and even the circumference of their corsets — as the Princess had ordered both of their clothes.
The only notable difference aside from their outfits was that whereas Kaede had snowy-white hair and rose-quartz eyes, Vivienne had a brilliant-blue gaze beneath her long, silver-white hair that, similar to Kaede’s, reached past her hips.
Between the three figures was Sylviane’s grand harpsichord with three phoenixes perched on top. Hauteclaire, Almace, and Olifant respectively belonged to the Princess, the King, and Lady Vivienne. The birds looked like lean falcons with blue feathers and magnificent, flowing tails decorated by tiny sapphire gems. The three phoenixes varied somewhat in size and their exact shade of blue, though their feathers always grew progressively lighter towards the wings and tail. Meanwhile, their bodies emitted white-blue flames that sent ripples of soothing heat through the surrounding air as though the pavilion was warmed by a bonfire.
I wonder if phoenixes also enjoy music? Kaede thought as two of the birds greeted her with chirps and she waved back.
It felt as though they were expressing solidarity as familiars.
The petite girl stood beside Pascal’s armchair, savoring the music as the ballad from the three performers drew to a gentle close.
“Thank you for accompanying me, Lady Vivienne,” King Alistair finally turned around to face the girl. However, his eyes only briefly met hers before he glanced down with a dejected smile.
“It was a beautiful song, Your Majesty,” the girl replied with a polite curtsy.
“Indeed. I did not know Your Majesty could play so well,” Pascal genuinely praised.
Meanwhile, Vivienne turned towards her lookalike with a beaming smile and almost ran up to hug the Samaran girl.
“Kaede!”
“It’s good seeing you again too, Vivi,” Kaede smiled as she squeezed back.
“Well, it is customary for every Lotharin man to learn a musical instrument,” Alistair answered Pascal with an odd smile. “It’s part of our courting ritual — a man offers serenades to his sweetheart, and is rewarded by her lovely voice in return should he succeed.
Is that why he looked disheartened? Kaede thought as she and her older ‘twin’ embraced for a long moment before breaking their hug.
After all, it had been clear from their duet that Alistair was performing to Vivienne. And while the latter played her viol back in support, the girl known as the ‘Winter Siren’ never opened her lips to sing in her angelic voice.
“Has Your Grace never tried to pluck Her Highness’ heartstrings?” The King asked in a teasing voice.
“Of course I have,” Pascal said with an annoyed scowl. “Just not very well.”
“Pascal tried, and I do give him credit,” Sylviane added agreeably as she stood up from her harpsichord seat. “But… let’s just say he doesn’t have a feel for music,” she said with an amused smile while her fiancé looked almost sheepish.
“I cannot be a prodigy in everything,” Pascal shrugged with a forced smile. “It only makes sense that there are some feats that even I am bad at.”
Humble as always, Kaede almost giggled at her sarcastic thought.
In the meantime, the Princess had walked over to a cushioned sofa and sat down in its middle. She then patted the seat on both sides as she beckoned to the two girls:
“Kaede, Vivi, come here.”
Vivienne’s smile remained sunny and infectious as she grabbed one of Kaede’s small hands and led her over to Sylviane. The silver-haired bard all but delivered the snowy-haired Samaran into the Princess’ hands before she sat down on the other side.
Kaede felt an assertive hand reach around her waist before she bowed to the inevitable and sat down.
“Welcome back, Kaede.”
Sylviane greeted as she wrapped one arm around each of the ‘twins’. She then pulled Kaede close to her side and leaned her cheek against the silky, snowy-white hair before giving the petite girl a kiss on the head.
“Thank you, Your Highness,” Kaede replied as warmly as she could.
It wasn’t that she disliked the Princess or felt nervous around her — at least not right now when Sylviane seemed to be in a good mood. However, it was a little hard to relax when the Princess held her tight and rubbed against her side, her cheeks, and her hair like she was a living hugging pillow.
It’s the price I pay for getting along with Pascal’s fiancée, Kaede thought. Though it’s not all bad. Sylviane does give really nice headpats.
“Dame Kaede, is it?” King Alistair said as he moved closer and leaned casually against one of the pavilion’s stone columns. “I don’t think this is the first time we’ve met.”
“Your Majesty.” Kaede bowed her head. “It’s the first time we’ve spoken though.”
“Yes, I believe so!” The King grinned playfully but without any pretense. “I first saw you in the previous war council several months ago, when you stood behind His Grace,” he nodded towards Pascal.
The young general had propped his head on one arm as he gazed leisurely at his betrothed, who stroked his petite familiar’s hair with gentle caresses.
“I almost mistook you for Lady Vivienne at first. But I never realized just how uncanny the resemblance was.” Alistair’s voice rang with astonishment as he stared between the two girls flanking the Princess. His eyes always fell upon her like she was a rare and exotic art piece.
Please don’t look at me like that, Kaede averted her eyes as she couldn’t help fidgeting in Sylviane’s embrace.
The fact she knew the King took a romantic interest in her ‘twin’ only made Kaede more uncomfortable.
“Alistair,” the Princess interjected for her. “You’re slobbering.”
“Wait, what?” The King broke out of his trance immediately. He wiped his lips to find nothing there, only to look back and see the Princess giggling at him.
“Please don’t make me sound like some lecher. Although I guess I was behaving a bit like one.” The King frowned before bowing his head slightly. “I apologize, dear ladies. I was momentarily possessed by my curiosity and admiration.”
“It’s alright,” Kaede smiled back. He sure is humble for a King.
“Dame Kaede, if you don’t mind me just asking,” Alistair tentatively spoke next. “Is it true what the rumors say — that you’re a familiar?”
“Yes, she is my familiar,” Pascal interjected with a proud and possessive grin.
Meanwhile, Kaede simply smiled and nodded.
“Your Grace certainly loves breaking conventions. I didn’t even know it was possible to have a person as a familiar,” the King frowned as he struggled to accept the reality before him. “But Dame Kaede, you and Vivienne aren’t actually twins as some rumors claim, are you?”
“No. We’re not even the same human subspecies,” Kaede replied. “Vivi is a Faekissed Winterborn. I’m a Samaran.”
Her explanation left the King only more slack-jawed and dumbfounded. Though perhaps the expression looked a little too natural for him.
“I have heard that you Samarans reincarnate across lives,” Alistair said after a long break. “So are you like… some version of Lady Vivienne from the past or something? Not an evil twin, I hope?” He added in a clear jest.
Both Vivienne and Sylviane giggled at his remark, while Kaede shook her head with a mirthful smile.
“We Samarans do reincarnate with memories from our past lives. But it’s impossible for me to be the reincarnation of someone currently alive,” she explained. “I do have memories of another life — it’s where my name Kaede comes from. But I do not share any memories with Vivienne. We’re certainly not some sort of timeline-offset copies.”
“Then… is the fact you two look alike just… complete coincidence?”
“Not exactly,” Pascal answered the King. “I had made some changes to the familiar summoning ritual spell so that I could give it some… specifications.”
“Is Your Grace saying… that you had altered the ritual to summon a person, and then cast it with her appearance in mind?” Alistair asked in disbelief as he didn’t think it was even possible.
Every pair of eyes around the pavilion had turned towards Pascal as well. Yet the young general remained tone-deaf as he declared with a proud grin while staring at Kaede:
“Yes. She is sublimely lovely, is she not?”
The bewildered King couldn’t even respond as he looked somewhere between being appalled and struggling to pick his jaw off the floor. Even all six of the armigers who stood guard around them looked at the future Prince Consort like he had grown two extra heads.
Meanwhile, Pascal’s fiancée sighed even as she pulled a comb from her dress pockets and began brushing Kaede’s long snowy-white hair.
“Pascal, you really lack even the most basic common sense sometimes,” the Princess reprimanded as she gently stroked the silky hair with her brush. “Just because I’ve forgiven you for summoning her, it doesn’t mean you should brag about your attraction to your familiar in front of your betrothed.”
“But you find her adorable as well,” he protested.
At the same time, Kaede kept her silence and closed her eyes as she basked in the soothing feeling of having her hair gently brushed.
She’s really good at this.
“I’m a girl. I’m allowed to cuddle other girls even after I’m engaged,” Sylviane answered with an entitled voice.
“I think your reputation for liking cute girls goes a little beyond cuddling,” Pascal retorted as he sent her a knowing look. “I have seen your spare wardrobe, after all.”
It made the King of the Glens snort before he hastily suppressed his laughter.
“Your Grace should be thankful that Her Highness, and the girls around her, bring such a pleasant atmosphere that’s a sight for sore eyes,” he said brightly. “Compared to the brawny clansmen who fight and argue around me all day, I must say that I’m a little envious.”
“Yet, those ‘brawny clansmen’ of yours may be the salvation of our realm,” Sylviane remarked as her expression turned serious, even as her hands continued to stroke the comb down Kaede’s hair. “I won’t lie to you, Alistair — the situation is desperate, and your kingdom represents the Empire’s greatest untapped reserve of strength.”
Since the Caliphate’s invasion came too late last year for the Glens to mobilize, Kaede thought.
After all, the Kingdom of Gleann Mòr was mostly situated on the slopes and valleys of the North Lotharingie Mountains and the continent’s northwestern coast beyond it. The early snow, which had sealed off the passes, meant the Kingdom had effectively been cut off from the rest of the Empire for several months.
“I only hope it is enough, Your Highness,” the King answered as he stood straight. “We have delayed mobilization due to our own needs to plant crops. But the north relies more on pasturing and fishing than farming, which has given us a headstart. The armies of the Glens are marching down the North Lotharingie Mountains in three columns as we speak.
“Nevertheless, it is important that we decide on a strategy tomorrow for the war at large,” the King expressed. “My forces have a long road ahead to the southern fronts. It’s imperative that they take the right route from the start.”
“I agree,” Pascal nodded. “Time is of the essence, and their march will take weeks.”
“However, before we can decide on a national war strategy tomorrow, I would like to decide on a course between us today,” Sylviane proposed. “That way, regardless of who supports what during the war council tomorrow, the five of us here can push the agenda in one unified direction. And Pascal already has a war plan that he’d like to propose.”
“Sanctum Veil.”
Pascal stood before his betrothed even finished and cast a spell over the nearby area. A wave of magic swept out to create an invisible barrier that would prevent any eavesdropping. Those outside its radius would hear nothing but inconspicuous conversation — like those about food, clothing, and the weather.
“Sounds swell to me!” Alistair said before he chuckled. “And I’ll be ready to bark and bite at our opponents as usual, so you can focus on settling a deal.”
It reminded Kaede of the many meanings behind Alistair’s nickname, the ‘Hound King’.
—– * * * —–
“Sylviane, I really appreciate you setting up the opportunity today for me to perform to Vivienne.”
The Princess heard the King speak in the salon room that the two had retreated to for a private conversation. Nevertheless, Sylviane could hear the discouragement in Alistair’s voice before he trailed off into a sigh.
“Don’t feel bad, Alistair,” she said as he sat down on an armchair facing her. “As I’ve told you before, Vivienne has androphobia due to what happened to her in the past. Her deeds in battle might make her seem a brave and outgoing girl, but she’s actually more cautious and skittish than most people realize. The fact her music stopped being nervous towards the end of today’s performance was a good sign that she’s warming up to you.
“I’ll arrange more chances for you two to spend time together in the future.” The Princess’ smile helped bring back a positive expression from the King.
“Thanks, I appreciate that. Though… are you sure you’re fine with the prospect of me taking such a cute girl off your hands?” He joked.
It brought a giggle to Sylviane’s lips before the Princess replied:
“I adore Vivienne. I don’t deny it — that it would sadden me if she moved away,” she answered. “But I’m also her dearest friend. I want her to live a bountiful life despite what fate has saddled her with. And I trust you,” she then looked intently at Alistair. “Not merely as a political ally, but also as a close friend and a sterling suitor for her.”
“I’m honored that you think so highly of me, given my reputation for visiting brothels and bathhouses,” the King responded with a chuckle as he picked up a cup of mint tea from the table between them.
“You might be a randy ex-mercenary captain. But I know you’re also loyal to your men, and they in turn to you,” the Princess remarked. “I have no doubt that would extend to a would-be wife as well.”
“And of course, you get to place a close friend of yours, an asset so to speak, to tie me as an ally to the Imperial crown.” The King raised his eyebrows before he playfully added: “Don’t think that I haven’t noticed that you’ve picked up your father’s playbook. I may be good at looking stupid, but even this old dog can still learn a thing or two.”
“Stop it, Alistair, you’re not even that old!” Sylviane giggled.
Sure, the King might be thrice her age, and more than double that of Vivienne’s. But most mages didn’t marry until at least their forties, which meant Alistair was still in his ‘late prime’.
“And I shan’t deny that I would like to replace myself with someone,” she then added.
The Princess thought back to how her late father had sent her twelve-year-old self to attend Alistair’s coronation. He even gave her a gift that she was to give Alistair in private, along with a lecture that she was to treat the ‘bastard king’ with genuine courtesy and respect. It had opened the door for conversation between the newly declared Crown Princess of the Empire and the newly crowned King of the Glens, both of whom had felt constantly manipulated by the court and unsuited to their new roles.
“Though, speaking of Vivienne,” Alistair said. “Does His Grace know about Vivienne’s curse?”
“No,” Sylviane shook her head. “You’re the only one whom I’ve ever told about the curse she bears. It’s not exactly information that should be openly shared. Though I think Vivi might have told Kaede about it.”
“Wouldn’t Kaede tell Pascal?” Alistair then asked. “She’s his familiar after all.”
“Kaede knows when to keep a secret,” Sylviane confidently replied. “And their familiar bond — Pascal told me he can feel her emotions just like a regular familiar. But he cannot actually read her thoughts. And while he can use her eyes and ears as a master could with normal familiars, he has to ask her for permission first.”
Though it’s more like he promised to ask her for permission first, Sylviane thought.
Nevertheless, she didn’t want to have to explain to Alistair that when it came to matters like these, she believed Pascal was as good as his word.
“Well, that’s… comforting,” the King exhaled a sigh before his voice only grew more sarcastic. “Because Holy Father knows I wasn’t at all disturbed by the fact he practically copied Vivienne…”
Sylviane’s smile turned wry as she thought back to her own initial reaction towards Pascal’s actions. She didn’t speak to him for a month after he first told her about Kaede.
“I do know what you mean,” she nodded with a faint sigh. “Nevertheless, I trust Pascal. His actions often come from a lack of consideration, but not a lack of loyalty.”
“No. And I certainly don’t mean to speak ill of him,” Alistair insisted. “Not when he has bet and paid so much to help you retake the throne from your traitorous uncle. Nevertheless, if he had known about the curse beforehand, it would have shifted his actions from… disturbingly creepy, to ‘someone please lock this man in the confessional’.”
Sylviane couldn’t help but laugh in response.
“Are you saying that there aren’t millions of men who would prefer an adorable girl like Vivi, who comes packaged with a curse that enforces her honesty and encourages her obedience?”
“Those men all need the confessional,” Alistair remarked in an exaggerated voice before he drank from his tea.
“I don’t even think it’s limited to men,” Sylviane then continued. “Kaede once told me a story from her world — I guess it would be the world of her past life — that when a certain famous monarch gathered representatives from all social classes and ethnicities and asked them all what right they would most like to have. The answer she received was ‘the right to own slaves’.”
Alistair almost sprayed the tea that he was drinking out at that moment. It led to a series of choking coughs instead.
“Is that what they mean…” he responded a moment later. “By ‘freedom for the pike is death for the minnows?'”
“It’s certainly a part of it,” Sylviane said as she gracefully reached down to her own tea and brought it elegantly to her chest. “We humans are simply obsessed with a desire to maintain control of our lives by controlling others. And it’s especially the case when we already find certain other people desirable — be it for their beauty, their traits, or just their labor — whom we then wish to include in our lives, for reasons both benign and exploitative.”
Just as I had sought to control Kaede since Pascal summoned her, the Princess thought to herself. Though she has turned out to be a really good girl.
Regardless, her words left Alistair silent and brooding for a minute as the King reflected with a deep scowl and a rather uncomfortable look.
“I do hope I’m not that way with Lady Vivienne,” he muttered in a quiet voice.
“I’ll be sure to remind you when you toe the line,” Sylviane smiled back.
“That’s reassuring to hear,” Alistair beamed before he changed the topic again. “And with that last story… Do Samarans really reincarnate then? And they remember everything from their past lives?” He asked with a still-incredulous gaze. “I had briefly conversed with a Samaran trade captain on the topic. But I wasn’t sure how much to believe him.”
“Well, I certainly believe Kaede,” Sylviane answered. “A Samaran doesn’t remember everything, at least according to what she has told me. But she does remember her life growing up in two countries called ‘Japan’ and ‘Russia’ on a world called ‘Earth’.”
“As in, the ground?” Alistair raised an eyebrow before he scoffed in good humor. “How original.”
Sylviane simply laughed.
“What would we call our world then, had Hyperion the Dragonlord not died for our sins?”
Her question made the King scratch his goatee-like fuzz for a long moment. He then looked at Sylviane in the eye as wagged his eyebrows as he declared:
“Primrose Path?”
It brought another round of soft laughter to the Princess’ lips.
Author’s History Notes
‘Indispensable moral righteousness’ to police the world – as the ending revelation about Kaede shows, this actually refers to ‘America World Police’ and the US national myths of the ‘City upon a Hill’ and the ‘indispensable nation’. The first is the 17th century Puritan religious belief that American colonies were founded to serve as moral exemplars to the world, thus justifying anything America did to convert others. The second is the post-WW2 nationalistic rhetoric that the world can’t manage itself without America doing it for them.
Leslie Eachann Barclay of Tollaigh – Based on Alexander Leslie of Auchintoul, a Scottish nobleman and mercenary who fought for the Russians during the 17th century, eventually rising to Voivode (warlord) of Smolensk. His surname is a reference to Barclay de Tolly, a branch of the Scottish Barclay Clan of Tollaigh who became members of the Russian nobility thanks to their services to Imperial Russia — most famously Prince Michael Andreas Barclay de Tolly, commander of Russian forces during the start of Napoleon’s invasion of Russia.
Divine Engine Division – One of the three elite Imperial divisions of Ming dynasty China in the late 14th century. The formation was created to specialize in gunpowder warfare and to experiment with new weapons and tactics. It pioneered the famous rotating ranks volley fire at least a century prior to the Dutch and Japanese.
Permaculture – Based on the modern Permaculture movement, which promotes ecological and self-sustaining agricultural management based on traditional wisdom and environmental understanding.
‘Lotharins’ equivalent in her world’ – Kaede is referring to the Celts here, who once dominated most of Western Europe but are today limited to only Brittany and half the British Isles. The lack of unity among ancient Celtic tribes allowed the Romans (esp. Caesar) to pursue an effective divide-and-conquer strategy. Subsequent genocides such as the Celtic Holocaust would depopulate many Celtic population centers and pave the way for Latinization.
‘They all asked for the ‘right to own slaves” – Sylviane is generalizing the story of when Catherine the Great of Russia wrote the Nakaz (lit: instruction), which expressed her beliefs on Enlightened Absolutism based on the principles of freedom of thought and speech and equality of all classes before the law. However, when she summoned delegates from various ethnicities and social classes (minus serfs/clergy) for her new legal reform based on it, the biggest item that they could all agree on wanting was the right to own serfs.
‘Freedom for the pike is death for the minnows’ – Quote by Isaiah Berlin in The Two Concepts of Liberty, which is used to describe the concept of Negative Liberty.