The room was hazy and unfamiliar. As was the man who leaned over him. Gaba’ké tried to open his eyes and found they were already open, but he was simply having trouble seeing. He blinked rapidly and found it did little to help. The haze clouded his mind, not his eyes. Gaba’ké leaned forward, hoping to prop himself up and fell awkwardly to the right. He tried to speak but only a jumble of moaning sounds escaped his dry lips. Looking down, even through the fog of his mind, it was clear what had happened, or perhaps not happened. His right hand was missing, as was most of his right arm. The unfamiliar man’s face was suddenly very close to him, speaking words that sailed by like figures in the fog. Gaba’ké heard them, understood none, and yet followed the doctor’s direction. He drank deep. The water dribbled down his chin and into his beard. He fell back into sleep.  

It was the next day when Gaba’ké awoke. The haze over his mind had lessened, but persisted. He brought the bandaged stump of his arm up to his face and stared at it. He felt nothing. They had given him something and whatever it had been, it left him numb. He had expected the numbness to feel like absence. Instead, it was all consuming. It pressed down on him with its full weight.

Gaba’ké’s eyes wandered around the unfamiliar room. The doctor was gone, though for how long, he couldn’t recall. He couldn’t even tell how long he’d been in bed. His back ached but so did everything else. He looked over at the pair of windows on his left. They were familiar but the memory attached to them was ethereal, dancing away each time he tried to remember. A young man slept in the armchair across from the bed. Gaba’ké’s heart fluttered at the sight of his friend, King Golan.

But then the young man stirred and his features didn’t hold up to closer scrutiny. Instead, the young man reminded Gaba’ké of a princess he once knew and now missed dearly. As he slept, Ohacha Krimas looked more like his mother than his father. He had her long face and rounded chin along with her darker curly hair and thicker eyebrows.

Sadness hit him hard. It pierced through the fog of his mind and roused him into full consciousness. It wasn’t self pity, but regret over the irreversible choices in life. He began to cry softly. He wiped the right side of his face awkwardly with his left hand. His only hand. Gaba’ké’s eyes continued their journey around the unfamiliar room until they landed on the bowl of soup steaming on bedside table. Hunger joined sadness. He reached for the bowl awkwardly with his left hand and, unable to use the spoon, opted to drink straight from the rim. The door opened inward and Rolena entered the room with the doctor.

“You’re awake” Rolena said. It sounded a bit like a question but wasn’t.

“Good” Doctor Bol said, “Gaba’ké, can you understand me alright?”

Gaba’ké heard the words and understood their meaning but found it difficult to form words of his own. His response was slurred and unfamiliar, “I understand.” He moved the bowl from his left hand to his right only to spill the remnants of the soup down the side of his bed. The hand he intended to guide the bowl down had never materialised. “I’m sorry” Gaba’ké said, or at least that’s what he had attempted to say. Neither the doctor nor Rolena responded as they moved to clean and clear the mess.

“Gaba’ké” Doctor Bol said, gesturing in a manner that fixed the Aginjigaade’s attention. “I gave you medicine for the amputation and to help relieve the pain during your recovery. Do you understand me?” Gaba’ké nodded awkwardly. His lips felt funny and he chewed on them with his teeth. Doctor Bol reached over and grabbed him unexpectedly by the jaw to stop the chewing.

“Don’t do that” the doctor scolded. Gaba’ké looked up at the man, upset by the gesture. He liked chewing on his lips. At least, he liked it right now. Doctor Bol ignored the sour look he was given and continued, “the medicine will wear off within the next day or so. When it does, the pain will return. It doesn’t mean things are getting worse. Do not remove the bandage without Rolena, she knows how to do it right to ensure you don’t get sick. Do you understand?”

Gaba’ké couldn’t remember agreeing but realized that he must have since doctor Bol had tucked him back into bed and then turned away from him. He could hear the doctor speaking with Rolena. The haze in his mind felt turbulent. Almost as if he lay aboard a ship that rocked across the wide ocean waves. He looked at his right hand, or what used to be his right hand. There was pain there, distant and throbbing. It was his pain, and yet it was detached. It reminded him of the spirits he drew on. They felt much the same way as he channeled power through them; they were a part of him and yet distant. Those strange thoughts kept him company as his mind drifted back to sleep.

The room was dark the next time Gaba’ké awoke. The pain that had once felt distant now throbbed intrusively. Gaba’ké looked down, the fuzziness gone, and examined his stumped wrist. He turned it over, almost as if expecting the hand to be just out of view. He blinked and cleared the crustiness from his eyes with his left hand; his good hand now. Well, his only hand. Ohacha was no longer in the armchair across from the bed. Moonlight shone through the window and bathed the armchair and armoire behind in soft blue light. A spirit of light hovered softly above the armchair, its form round and ethereal in the moonlight. It phased out of sight as Gaba’ké rose awkwardly. Hunger rumbled within and he shifted out of bed towards the door. Peering out into the hallway, a warm candle illuminated the ground floor down the staircase and hushed voices echoed softly up to where Gaba’ké stood in his doorway. He could make out Rolena’s and Cask’s voices arguing.

“I don’t want to hear it” he heard Rolena say, a tinge of anger in her voice. “I’m not stupid, Cask.”

“I never said you were stupid” Cask said.

“Then stop acting like I am!” Rolena hissed. “You really expect me to believe that you didn’t do it? She just happened to be murdered the day after the assassin came?”

“Coincidences do not beget facts” Cask said dismissively.

“Spirits, I don’t understand why you’re lying to me. I’m on your side, Cask” Rolena scoffed. “I overheard you and Ohacha talking about it the night of the attack. You two talked about her being the one to send the assassins and so you went and killed her while I was away with the doctor. Worse, you left Ohacha unprotected. How could you two be so irresponsible?”

“You misheard us” Cask said dismissively “and I did no such thing.”

“What seems to be the commotion?” Gaba’ké asked, navigating the last few steps down the stairs. He emerged into the sitting room where Rolena stood over Cask, who sat in the arm chair. Both of them turned in surprise as he stepped down towards them.

“You’re up?” Cask said, rising from his chair. “Do you need anything?”

“No, no. Thank you, old friend” Gaba’ké said, waving off Cask’s worries. “The hand hurts but I’ll be okay, I’m sure. Still, it’s an odd thing” he added, lifting the wrist for them to see. “I would, however, like to know a little bit more about what it is you two are discussing.”

“It’s nothing–”

“Cask murdered the Careyago ambassador” Rolena blurted. “Her and her husband we’re found dead in the embassy this afternoon.”

“I did no such thing” Cask retorted. Rolena growled in frustration.

The lie was obvious. Cask had done it. Gaba’ké frowned in disappointment. He sighed audibly, “Was it Ohacha’s idea or yours?” Please tell me it wasn’t the boys idea. I have tried so hard to keep him off the path of vengeance.  Cask didn’t answer immediately. It was clear he was brainstorming a way to cut himself away from the conversation. “Should I go ask Ohacha?” Gaba’ké added. “He’ll tell me the truth.”

“It was my idea” Cask admitted briskly.

A shout rose in Rolena’s chest and Gaba’ké sent her a look to silence her forthcoming outburst. The look said, I’ll deal with this. She simmered in her anger. “But Ohacha knew? He approved it?” Gaba’ké asked.

“Of course,” Cask said. “Ohacha was the one who reasoned the assassin had been sent by the ambassador. I advised him that it was about time to ensure it wouldn’t happen again. That nobody else needed to get hurt.”

“You used what happened to me to manipulate him” Gaba’ké said calmly. It was an accusation.

“I reminded him that it is his prerogative to protect himself just as much as it is our job to protect him. You and Aramuk were always too passive. Had we sought to destroy Bartiin first, Aramuk would still be alive. You would still have your hand.”

“Had we acted against Bartiin, another would have taken his place and the threat of Ohacha’s continued existence would be heightened.”

“We’ve already been attacked by the emperor’s own assassins and a Mada’abi stone” Cask argued, raising his voice. “Killers hide around every street corner in every city. We’re already rank amongst our enemy’s highest threats. We need to properly defend ourselves, and striking back at our enemies serves as the best defence.”  

“For spirits’ sake Cask, striking at our enemies puts all of us in jeopardy” Gaba’ké said angrily.

“That’s a bit dramatic, even for you Gab” Cask said dismissively. “We eliminated an enemy. She was a threat to Ohacha’s safety. To yours and Rolena’s. The Ambassador’s assassin took your hand for spirits sake!”

“I don’t mourn her death, Cask” Gaba’ké said. “I mourn our future. There will be consequences, I assure you. You should know better. We’ve talked about this a hundred times. By acting, you’ve put Ohacha at risk. You’ve put all of us at risk. Even without the ambassador, the Careyago hold sway and power here.”

“How so?” Cask jeered.

“There are powerful Casoyans with ties to the Careyago. Even if the ambassador had died choking on a chicken bone, her death can be used as leverage against us, protected by the guise of justice. Even without proof, they will find reason to pin this act on us. We’ll be served up to the Careyago Emperor on a golden platter. We should leave Caso. Now, while we still have the chance.”

“Ohacha agreed with my plan” Cask argued. “He is my prince. Not you. He’s a man grown and can make his own decisions.”

“That’s easy to say when you’ve deliberately fed him ideas without Gaba’ké or myself present” Rolena countered. “You knew that neither of us would approve.” Cask waved off her concerns dismissively.

“It’s not just that you gave Ohacha council I disagree with,” Gaba’ké continued, “It’s that you did so in a way that avoided alternative input or critique. You pounced on your shared outrage and my injury to get what you felt was best and it was reckless.”

“Don’t lecture me on recklessness” Cask said. “I’ve always been Ohacha’s last line of defence. I’ve done what I always do: what is needed to keep him safe. Just as his father tasked me. How many people have I killed for that boy? I’ve lost count.”

“You think we don’t share your burden? I’m missing a damned hand!” Gaba’ké roared. The two men stared daggers at each other in the silence that followed. “You speak of Golan’s wishes and yet fail to recognise that Ohacha’s father would never have approved of what you’ve done.”

“Well, Golan is gone and dead,” Cask shouted, “and Ohacha’s not! So, I’m doing something right.”

Gaba’ké seethed. “You forget yourself.”

“Gaag is gone” Cask continued, “Everything I’ve ever known and loved is gone. All I’ve got left is the damned kid. All I can do now is protect him. Nothing else matters.”

“Everything else matters!” Gaba’ké shouted back. “We’re a sad fucking lot; I won’t deny it. But that doesn’t mean we should stop trying to be decent people.”

Gaba’ké brought up his hands to cover his face and was once again reminded of his missing hand. It throbbed painfully. Anger boiled over and he wished desperately to have something in hand with which he could smash with his full temper. The spirits around him pulled away instinctively but he wouldn’t reach for their power. Even in anger, he was stronger than that. Better than that.

“I can’t keep having this conversation” Gaba’ké grimaced. “You two can go on arguing about this bullshit if you want, but I’m going out for some air.” He stocked across the room and hurled open the front door, then disappeared into the night. Ohacha sat at the top of the stairs, listening. He felt he had done the right thing. Now he wasn’t so sure.

Outside the Hadashenta apartment, news of Hina Durali’s murder spread through the higher social circles like fire through parched fields. The murder of the Careyago Ambassador sent a shockwave through those politically connected to the distant empire and the ramifications were immediate. A powerful and vocal minority reeled at the Council of Patzau’s. An immediate inquiry into the ambassador’s death was issued. The council, preoccupied with the ongoing turmoil outside the city and the worsening shortages of goods and resources, deferred the issue to a single Patzau who elected to take on the task. The intention was to settle the issue swiftly and to appease the Careyago Emperor, who would demand answers once news reached his distant capital. As such, the inquisitors were instructed to launch their investigation into the most likely culprits. That group, when apprehended and removed, would serve as both a symbolic gesture of goodwill to the foreign emperor, but would also resolve a personal grievance with the lead inquisitor. The next morning, soldiers filed ranks and marched on Piitra Hadashenta’s apartment to arrest Prince Ohacha Krimas of Gaag for the murder of Hina Durali.

Ohacha sat on his bed and stared down into the street below. Soldiers, four abreast and six columns deep filled the cobbled street outside the apartment. Rolena stood next to him, one hand pulling her hair back in stress. Cask was down in the basement ensuring the dead assassin’s belongings remained hidden. The knife and the mask now joined the severed head inside a large sack of salt down in the basement’s pantry of supplies. “We can only hope the Casoyans aren’t thorough in their search” Rolena said. Ohacha didn’t reply. He stared down at the street below. The pounding on the door came. Ohacha descended the stairs with Rolena at his heels. They have no proof, Ohacha repeated to himself. They have no proof that you ordered it. You’re just the obvious suspect. Gaba’ké is overly cautious. They have no proof. Ohacha stopped in front of the door and waited to see Cask emerge from the basement. The knocking came a second time, louder and more urgent. Ohacha opened the door.

“Prince Ohacha Krimas?” a soldier asked. Ohacha eyed her. She was older than him by perhaps a decade. She had dark short hair that didn’t quite reach her shoulders and a face that narrowed into a sharp chin. The soldier also had an heir of confidence to her that seemed to almost dare him to try something. The fact that she wore a heavier armour and carried a sheathed sword added to her posture.

Ohacha stood in the doorway, his face unreadable, but his mind racing. His first instinct was to challenge them, to demand the grounds for their intrusion, but he knew the moment would come. To do so now would be too soon. “Aye” Ohacha said, “Is there something I can help you with today?”

“Yes” the soldier said, “My name is Captain Rozi. I am here on behalf of the council of Patzaus. You are to be taken into custody. You are accused of orchestrating the murder of Careyago Ambassador Hina Durali. You–”

“This is preposterous!” Ohacha interrupted, raising his voice. “I am insulted. I am a prince of Gaag, not some back-alley killer. Where did you get such a ridiculous idea?”

“Please, Ohacha” a voice said, stepping forward from the crowd. It was Patzau Yohati, dressed in his ceremonial robes. “This is simply a formality” Yohati said, stepping up to where the captain stood. “Two people have been murdered. Due to the nature of your relationship with the Careyago, and with your history–”

“What history?” Ohacha demanded.

Yohati’s nose crinkled in frustration. “Do not interrupt me” Yohati warned cooly. “Your vassal, Lord Yoliim Kulimas, killed a Careyago soldier by the harbour not far from here. There is known enmity between you and the Careyago and I will not have your petty squabbles bring any more disorder to my city.”

“I don’t recall you taking near as much effort when my uncle was murdered in your streets” Ohacha snapped back. “You were there. You saw what the Careyago did. Where is the justice for his murder? Or for all the Casoyan soldiers killed that day? Ohacha demanded. His tone oozed accusation and resentment.

“Take them” Yohati said, ignoring him. He gestured forward and Captain Rozi and her soldiers surged forward.

“Get your hands off me!” he demanded, struggling against the hands that were now laid on him. “We have had nothing to do with this nonsense. This is unlawful!” Ohacha glanced back to see Rolena behind him. Her face was cold as the Casoyan soldiers surged forward and placed her in chains. Cask still stood in the doorway, one hand on the sword at his hip. Ohacha glared at him, expecting the swordsman to protect him again, like he always had. Instead, Cask lifted his hands high and the soldiers disarmed him and placed him under arrest. Ohacha struggled as Rolena and Cask were pushed past him and led away from the house.

Ohacha watched other soldiers flood into the house as they restrained him. He prayed they wouldn’t comb through the sack of salt in the basement. He struggled as they bound his hands. To his relief, the soldiers returned empty handed after a quick sweep of the house. Yohati stood off to the side with captain Rozi and a third man that Ohacha didn’t recognize. The stranger wear neither the ceremonial robes of the Patzau, nor soldiers garb, yet stood among the group as an equal. He had dark hair that was braided tight to his scalp and foreign features; a tall face and wide ears with thin almost purple lips.

Yohati returned after a moment. “Where is the Aginjigaade?” he demanded. Ohacha looked closer and could see the concern written across the older man’s face.

“I don’t know” Ohacha said.

“I can’t sense him” the unfamiliar man said in a strange accent. Aginjigaade, Ohacha grasped.

“He’s somewhere in the city” Yohati ordered, “Find him!” The foreign man nodded and left.

“You have no proof. We didn’t do this” Ohacha shouted at Yohati. The older Patzau gave a quick look over to Rozi. She approached and Ohacha found the wind knocked from his lungs as she punched him hard in the gut. He wheezed and tears welled in the corner of his eyes. The soldiers restraining him held him up. Without them, he would have crumpled to his knees.

When Ohacha opened his eyes again, he found Yohati’s face very close to his. The old Patzau spoke so softly that to Ohacha, it was nearly a whisper, “What you don’t understand, little prince, is that I am the law. I don’t need proof that you did it. I say it happened and it did. At least your uncle was smart enough to understand that.”

“You can’t!” Ohacha said, but found his own words rang hollow.

Yohati’s face took on a cruel smile. “Who’s going to rally against me? You have no power here. You’re an unimportant dishonoured prince from a kingdom that no longer exists, accused of a crime I say you committed? Nobody. You have been a thorn in my side for far too long, and its time for you to disappear from my list of headaches.”

Ohacha railed, angry beyond belief, but couldn’t find words to express his dismay. So many thoughts and feelings bubbled to the surface but Yohati was already gone and the chance to say any of them vanished. Instead, Ohacha yelled. He bellowed in frustration as the soldiers hauled him to his feet.

“This is mistake!” Ohacha shouted as they led him away. “We’re innocent! You have no proof.” As he shouted, he noticed how the few people in the street stopped and stared. One woman leaned out a window and he met her gaze. She turned away and closed her windows. “We’re innocent!” He repeated one last time before a gag went over his mouth and a blindfold over his eyes. He struggled against the muzzle right until a hard open-handed blow took him unexpectedly across the cheek. The strike made his ears ring and blood began to fill his mouth from the place where his teeth had bit his cheek in the blow. You have no proof, he thought, ears still ringing.

They were escorted blindly through the streets like common criminals. The long and familiar climb made their final destination easily deduced. Without seeing where to step, Ohacha tripped constantly. The soldiers dragged and pushed at him to climb faster; a feat impossible for one stripped of sight. The heat sapped at his energy and sweat clung to his clothes. The blindfold collected his sweat and stung at his eyes. But worse than the sweat and heat was the cold that replaced it. The bowels of the fortress smelled of must and dank. Their footsteps echoed through the cold air. Chains rattled in the darkness. It all felt unreal.

Ohacha was separated from Cask and Rolena. The soldiers funneled him to his own cell. The blindfold was removed, but the darkness remained. The gag followed and Ohacha shouted into the darkness only once, only to have another fist steal the air from his lungs. He crumpled onto the cold ground. The door closed behind him with a hard thud and his jailors left him there. The anger set in immediately. He shouted into the darkness. When he was exhausted, then came the fear and guilt.

The cell was dim and stone blocks surrounded him on all sides. The room was long and narrow with a single reinforced wooden door on the one side. The door had only a small window, barely larger than Ohacha’s open palm. A shadowy face lit by a candle appeared at the window. It startled Ohacha, causing him to stumble backwards and fall.

“Best be quiet, boy” a hoarse voice warned. “If you start wailing, I’m going to come in there and break your jaw. You understand me?”

Ohacha nodded slowly. The light disappeared with the guard, leaving him in darkness. Hours passed in cold silence. It was broken only by the occasional soldier stalking the corridor and the echo of their footsteps on hard ground. The regular splash of water droplets falling from the ceiling became the rhythmic clock of time passing.

Ohacha stewed over Yohati’s words, “I say it happened and it did.” He churned the phrase over and over in his mind until all meaning was lost. Then it clicked, and he understood why those words in particular had stuck with him. Ohacha understood what Gaba’ké had meant. The Casoyans hadn’t known the ambassador’s death was his doing. What Yohati had needed was a reason to turn against him, and he had given him one. Gaba’ké had been right, again. And inside, Ohacha felt ashamed for ignoring the old Aginjigaade’s council and later his warning. Now they were doomed to hang and it was all his fault.

The guilt was soul-crushing. Ohacha felt worse than insignificant. He felt worse in this moment than he had after Aramuk’s death. For this time, failure came under his own direction. It was his hand that had led them here, to a Casoyan prison. Ohacha curled up into a ball and tried to sleep, praying for a miracle. Time slowly dripped past. But then a careful voice came from the void of darkness.

“Hello?” the voice said in a hissed whisper. Ohacha felt he was imagining things. But then, a slew of other words came. The trouble was, Ohacha didn’t understand them. Still, Ohacha perked up and walked to the small window at his cell door. He looked out but couldn’t distinguish shapes from the darkness.

“Hello?” Ohacha called out softly. “Who is there?” he asked, speaking the trader’s tongue.

“The rotation of guards slows at night” the voice said, “We have, perhaps, a half-hour before they come next to check on us. Tell me, what day is it?”

Ohacha frowned. He wasn’t sure himself. He hadn’t been tracking the calendar days. Not since Gaba’ké’s injury. “I think it’s the fourteenth or fifteenth day of the season” Ohacha admitted.

“Galiitral?” the man asked.

“I don’t know what that is” Ohacha admitted.

“You’re not Casoyan.”

“No” Ohacha admitted. “I am not.”

“You’re that foreign prince?” the voice said, contemplating. “Aren’t you?”

Ohacha furrowed his brows, “Yes,” he admitted. “But who are you that knows me?”

“You and I have met the day you arrived in Caso, though I never expected either of us to end up here of all places” the man said with lament.

“Who are you?” Ohacha repeated more earnestly.

“I’m disappointed, boy” the man said with a hollow joviality. “I was once Patzau, but now I languish in disgrace for a crime I didn’t commit. A crime against you, of all people. And it appears I am to die for it, just as you are to die for whatever crime they claim as yours.”

“Patzau Minoc?” Ohacha asked.

“Patzau no longer” Minoc lamented. “You may call me Mellen now.”

Ohacha felt confused and conflicted, “Why are you down here?” Ohacha asked. “I thought you ruled this city. What did you do?”

Mellen giggled in a strange way, “As did I” he answered. “As I said, it seems my opinions and actions in Casoyan politics created adversaries out of colleagues. I hoped to inspire progress and instead I have inspired envy and distrust. I have become a piece to be removed from the game for another’s gain. Now what did you do to end up down here?

“They claim I orchestrated the murder of the Careyago Ambassador” Ohacha said, careful with his words.

“Well, did you do it?” Mellen asked.

“It appears I was to end up here nonetheless” Ohacha said, avoiding the truth.

“Well, that makes us a perfect pair then…” Mellen said trailing off. “This unplanned and unaccompanied period has provided me plenty of opportunity to ponder. I’ve come to realize that what I did, and I mean the specific actions taken, never really mattered. My being here is the means to an end.”

Ohacha swallowed hard. “You sound almost okay with it?”

“No, no” Mellen said, “You misunderstand me. What I have come to realize is that my desire to improve things was not backed by the will to do so at any cost. I was unwilling to stoop as low as my rivals. And, for both being in the way and staying my hand, it seems I will lose my head.”

“Don’t you regret it?” Ohacha asked. The words were out of his mouth before he realized the judgement behind them.

“No,” Mellen said after a pause, “I don’t regret most of my choices. I am disappointed in the result, but not in my chosen path. To do as the other Patzau have done would have spared me this fate, but at the cost of my dignity. If I lied and cheated and corrupted to beat them, I’d have been no different. If I had prevailed using the same tactics brought against me, what moral ground would remain for me to stand on?”

“Even if it meant doing good and saving your own life in the process?”

“What I’ve come to learn, Ohacha, is that everyone believes they act in the name of what is good. Patzau Adagizhi believes what he did to me is for the greater good” Mellen added with a sigh. “Perhaps, I was wrong and he was right. Maybe this is the best path. Or perhaps, he is wrong and mine was the path. There is no knowing until the present is upon us. And even then sometimes, not until that moment has long passed.”

Ohacha chewed on Mellen’s words only to disagree with them, “That sounds a lot like doubt and regret in your actions.”

“My belief is that no act of evil can be made righteous. Even if the outcome is for someone’s idea of a greater good.”

“I must admit, I don’t see sense in your position” Ohacha said. “If the act is predetermined to be evil, then of course it remains evil. But what we are discussing are actions taken that exist between absolute good and evil. A leader must make hard decisions that will harm some for the greater good of all. Conscripting soldiers to fight back an invading army that has appeared to conquer your lands and pillage your cities is necessary, though individual families may be harmed by your action. Is the draft made evil because it condemns some to die?”

“Perhaps,” Mellen said cautiously, “the course of greatest good would be to raise no army and relinquish all to one’s invaders, for then perhaps none need die unnecessarily and no destruction need befalls one’s homeland.”

“That’s nonsense” Ohacha said dismissively. “Conquest is taking with force. Yielding all you possess to those willing to kill for it protects no one. There is no promise of mercy simply because none died in the transition of power or wealth or control. A land that submits will be stripped of its identity, value, and resources.”

“But perhaps, when compared to a war where hundreds or thousands die and these things happen anyway, this remains the greater good?” Mellen pondered. “Resources can be recollected and regrown. Identity can be reestablished in non-violent ways.”

“You speak of Gaag” Ohacha said bitterly. “You speak of my uncle’s betrayal and the death of my father during his counter-invasion. You see these as necessary for the greater good? I resent your choice of example. My uncle’s betrayal resulted in civil war. One every bit as destructive as the Careyago invasion.”

“But if your uncle had succeeded, and you and your father and your uncle Aramuk had died that night when the soldiers came, rather than escaping…” Mellen trailed off.

“I refuse to believe what my uncle did was good and just” Ohacha growled.

“Then you agree with me” Mellen said with a sad confidence. “No evil act can be made righteous, even if in the end it results in a greater good. There is a threshold for what means can justify an end.”

“I do not” Ohacha said, perplexed. “There is a flaw in your argument. Sometimes we must act in opposition to others. We must do horrible things in order to protect ourselves from threats against us. How many times have you stood opposite an enemy who seeks your life? Where you must kill or be killed.”

“Fewer than you, I suspect,” Mellen cooed, “but that does not change my point.”

“And what is your point, exactly?” Ohacha demanded.

Mellen hesitated a moment, and then spoke, “My point is that by becoming like our enemies, we degrade ourselves. We slowly corrupt our own morality. Justifying one atrocity makes it easier to justify the next until one day, we realize we have become the very thing we first sought to destroy. Or, more often and far worse, we never realize it at all.”

“It’s easy to hold to morals when they don’t have to be tested” Ohacha remarked.

“I ruled as Patzau for more than a decade” Mellen countered. “I would question your judgement if you truly believe that my morals have never been tested. My being down here in this very cell should be enough evidence to the contrary.”

Ohacha scowled. Mellen was right, at least on this count. “I apologize” he whispered. “You are right. That was naive of me. But at least you knew who your enemies were” Ohacha said coldly. “I was blindsided by Yohati’s betrayal today. I knew he cared little for me, but to learn he would eliminate me for political favour… that was difficult to accept. I feel so foolish.”

Mellen scoffed, “I told you the day we met that you should come to me if you have issues. Everyone in this city was your enemy from the moment you came ashore. The only person who didn’t grasp that was you. The powerful here are motivated by luxuries, money, and power. The Careyago have all three and their traders are among Caso’s largest clientele. The emperor is a regular bidder in our auction. I assumed you had a hidden connection to Patzau Yohati. Something that might shield you from the wolves. I warned you to be careful, after all.”

“The moment my uncle died, Yohati turned his back on us” Ohacha admitted sourly.

“Then it sounds like Yohati wanted something from your uncle” Mellen said plainly. “And then he either got it, or your uncle’s death meant he couldn’t have it anymore.”

“He’s a snake of a man” Ohacha cursed. “He seemed elated to be rid of me.”

“Yohati was always sensible, but ruthlessly so” Mellen murmured, “He’s the only one I trusted not to betray me… and yet, in sitting here, I am faced with the fact that he must have been the one to do it. The one to push Adagizhi and the other Patzau to turn on me.”

A silence hung heavy between them. After a long pause, Ohacha finally spoke, his voice quieter, more contemplative. “All my life, my enemies have been obvious. Killers, thugs, assassins. Easy to spot. A man with a knife. Direction confrontation. Kill or be killed. I wasn’t ready for the poisoned promises and knives hidden behind smiles.”

Mellen replied, “The true enemy is rarely the one you see before you.”

Ohacha’s expression softened, his mind swirling with the realization of how much he still had to learn. He thought of the Careyago Emperor. He was the one behind Belvaas’ betrayal, was he not? “I think I’ve been wrong about a lot of things,” Ohacha muttered, mostly to himself.

“Perhaps,” Mellen agreed, “but you’re learning. And that’s what matters.”

“It will matter very little when I’m dead.”

“But it will matter significantly if you survive.”