NONE SO VILE

19: The Leper Affinity

Albedo, Rennaire, 1804.

Alabaster watched the leper across the square. The Undercity locals flittered back and forth, collecting their goods from the market stalls and hauling them off in small, two-wheeled barrows dragged around behind them. Makeshift torches circled the market square, and Alabaster absently wondered once again who was responsible for lighting them. His best guess so far was a shared communal effort – people simply started the fire when things got too dark. Adding to the light levels were strands of glowing creeper vines, wending up the sides of ancient statues and remnant walls, all left standing long after the building they'd been part of had collapsed. The air smelled less stale than it had the first time he'd come, and he wasn't sure if that was merely coincidence, of if Leon's new Undercity policies had begun to take effect.

Despite the communal good that the Undercity was becoming known for, the people who lived down here were no different to those above. Nobody saw the sick canine man, sprawled princess-style across a sodden blanket, his entire life wedged beneath a stone alcove that rose no taller than Alabaster's waist.

He didn't blame the people for ignoring the man. Leprosy was a vicious disease, and if Alabaster was being honest, allowing the man even this close to a place of public gathering was a mercy he wouldn't have given. The leper might have been a fox, though coyote or jackal were both likely options too – it was difficult to tell beneath the scars and bald patches of lost fur. His eyes were jaundiced yellow, sunken deep into his skull, thick pustules swollen up across his muzzle and down his neck. Alabaster could see the inflamed lymph nodes even from here. The leper did not reach out for anyone, instead only watched, not long for this world and likely knowing it.

You could help him. The thought rang in Alabaster's head like a bell. Why not? It would cost you nothing but time.

Be realistic. Are you going to take this man above ground, nurse him in the palace, and spend several weeks curing a disease only to leave him just as poor and homeless afterwards? Or will you relinquish all your mortal possessions to him as well? And then, will you do the same again for every other leper in the city, or are they ignored because they didn't happen to be lying where you could see them?

Leon was the idealist, and Alabaster knew it was better to leave that kind of thinking to him. He was simply too realistic to fool himself into thinking that it was worth it to help one man in a world of suffering.

Part of him wondered if his time spent on necromancy was a waste. There was so much forbidden knowledge in his mind, but what good was it if it only worked on the dead? With time and preparation, Alabaster could heal wounds and influence minds, but only on a very small scale. What if he'd grown up trying to be a healer? Or spent his years crafting sorcery that could prevent infection, or guard soldiers from the enemy weapons?

You turned yourself into poison. But then again you had no choice. You were moulded to kill, steal, to rob from the living and the dead alike. You're not built to be a saviour, Alabaster, that is Leon's job. You are the knife, not the bandage.

Kazmar the Great had said that men were a garden, and their life was spent planting seeds. Seeds of leadership, stoicism, envy, wrath… a person grew over time, pruning or weeding as they saw fit. Alabaster had been born barren, and he had planted nothing good for as long as he could remember. There was no redemption in his future. Not from Leon, nor from anyone else.

I know what I am. He wouldn't be ashamed of it, and he wouldn't waste time regretting it either. I did what I thought was best at the time. I did all I could. All that was left was to play his role as best he could, and trust Leon would make something useful out of all the hate and violence he'd cultivated.

It was a relief to leave the market square, putting the din of the mulling crowds behind him as he pressed deeper into the eastern alleys. Leon had expressed an interest in mapping the Undercity at one point, but even Alabaster had known that was a fool's errand. The pathways were wholly organic, formed by the use of people and nothing more. They trailed through abandoned ruins, dipping down steps and spiralling back up. There was no organisation to it, and one path you used today could very well be somebody's home tomorrow.

They like it that way. The world forgot about them and they decided to build for themselves. Alabaster admired that sentiment. Leon might dream of one day making it an 'official' district like the others, but Alabaster doubted it would happen anytime soon. The cultures were too different, the old wounds from neglect and scorn too deep. The new trade routes and passageways up had certainly aided in the Undercity's prosperity, but Alabaster knew the people would remain wary of any 'official' help for a long time. Kings had tried before to subjugate Albedo's Undercity, and it was always a losing battle.

They already had their revolution, he thought, laughing to himself. They were just smart enough to do it quietly.

Passing beneath a lonely archway, rippling with glowing moss, Alabaster finally closed in on the stained yellow door he was searching for. He slipped the key from his cloak, unlocking the door and brushing inside with one quick motion. The door clicked shut and silence engulfed him, dust settling in the air of the musty apartment. It was quiet, but not abandoned. The signs of life were evident – fingerprints in the dust, a clean coat hanging on the wall, and fresh soot stains in the fireplace.

Still, not a bad attempt.

“Alright, come out." Alabaster called, stepping into the small hovel and craning his neck. “It's only me, and you know it."

A figure slipped out of a crevice at the back, coming forward in the gloom.

Barely saw you, Alabaster thought approvingly.

The figure lowered the small crossbow held in one paw, visibly relaxing. He was young and lean, dressed in the kind of outfit which at first appeared loose and dishevelled, but was in reality perfectly secured where it needed to be. A practical garb, filled with hidden pockets that Alabaster knew were perfect for small knives and poisons.

His face was hidden beneath a flowing white veil, the long fabric secured atop his scalp and draping down, cascading over his shoulders like streams down a cliff face. A single, geometric eye sigil was brushed across the front with rich blue ink, the pattern split across the different strands of cloth. It definitely drew attention, but there was no better way around it.

“The new look suits you, Gabriel," said Alabaster, stepping past the young badger. “Growing tired of metal masks, I presume? Why not embrace your scars, as I've always suggested."

“Oh? And how many other leprosy survivors do you see walking around, Alabaster? What do you think they will say when word gets out a young badger, with leper's scars, is living down in the sewers beneath Albedo? Did you bring any other stupid suggestions back with you?" Gabriel was seventeen now, and he had a man's body but a child's impatience. “You left me down here for nearly a year, Alabaster. You said it was for my safety, but now I am not so sure."

Alabaster winced. He'd left money, and paid locals to keep an eye on the boy but… Gabriel wasn't wrong. He hadn't expected the war would take him away for so long.

“It is for your own safety. I understand it is not ideal, but you have to accept the reality of what will happen should anyone learn of you being alive. The world thinks you are dead, let them."

“I am well aware of the intentions of your new saviour."

“You're an idiot if you think any other ruler would be different." Alabaster shook his head, he could feel Gabriel teetering on the edge.

He's absolutely right. I should not have left him alone for this long.

“Look, boy," Alabaster said softly. “I am… sorry, for abandoning you down here. But I am back now, we can continue with your work. Hear me when I say there is no future for you as a monarch. Put those foolish notions to rest."

“Then why not take this off and let me decide for myself?" Gabriel snorted, tapping at his neck. Alabaster could sense the sorcery he'd worked there, a barbed coil of other ready to tighten the further the badger went from this hovel. It allowed him some movement about the Undercity, but no further. It felt wrong to leash the boy he'd watched grow up, but he had to be sure Gabriel would not leave.

The former prince's entire family was dead, and Leon's Rennaire was born the moment they were buried. He has nobody. Alabaster saw himself in that. A boy that the entire world would see as no more than a thing to be used.

“Go to Kiberland, or Danegard, or Yaravania," Alabaster said gently, stepping closer. If he stared hard, he could just make out the dark pits of Gabriel's eyes, hidden beneath the inked veil. “Tell them you are Rennaire's rightful heir and watch as they make you their puppet. This nation will be more oppressed than it was under your father, because whoever takes hold of you will use that to crush our country to dust. When they have what they want, they will kill you the same way Jules would have. You're a grown man now, Gabriel, don't try to tell me you truly believe Phillipe was better for these people than Leon's Triumvirate. Think, boy, I'm begging you."

If you are determined to go to the enemy, I would have no choice. Don't make me choose between you and Leon.

Alabaster's claw snaked closer to the grip of his dagger, just in case. Gabriel was still holding his crossbow, but the boy wouldn't be ready for such a sudden strike.

Kill him. Kill him right now. Alabaster tried to ignore that voice. Kill him and end the threat he poses. If the other nations learned he was still alive, Leon's dream would never flourish. Hell, if Leon learns you have him down here, what do you think he'll do? Still think he'll love you then? He abandoned you to Leutgard because it was the better strategy, why would this time be any different?

Sighing, Gabriel discarded his crossbow, falling into a chair. “He killed my father. My mother, my brother, he took away my entire life. Good for the people it might be, maybe I'm selfish I don't know. Weak, that I won't celebrate the murder of my family."

Alabaster sat down opposite the teenager, trying to meet his gaze through the veil. “I know. You aren't wrong for that, boy. And I am sorry." But it had to be done. He knew the words would be of little comfort.

“While you were gone, I watched this place. Watched the people here." Gabriel waved a gloved paw towards the window. “As a child, I never heard much of the Undercity. Jules told me stories of it when I was small, but all scary stories designed to frighten me, of Undercity abominations crawling up into my bedchamber. I was ignorant. The people here were left behind by my father's reign, and every reign before him. But I have felt their suffering, and there are wounds upon wounds here, they might as well be another country entirely. It will take a long time to heal, longer to assimilate the two people."

“If ever."

Gabriel nodded, staring down at his paws. “The new regime has done better. I can admit that much. With the new access points, tradespeople come and go easier, families can find work above ground and return here at night. Smugglers used to take advantage of anyone needing to travel, but now there is no need for them – coming and going is simple." He scoffed, again rubbing at the invisible collar around his neck. “Not that I should know."

“I am glad that you see the good intentions," Alabaster said slowly. “Leon means well, even if his methods have been violent."

“I hate him," Gabriel said, fingers curling to make a fist. “I think I shall always hate him, that isn't something I can just leave behind, and whatever good he might accomplish will never outweigh what he took. But the city is better now."

“It's not wrong to feel that way, but only children act purely on their emotions," Alabaster said firmly. They were Fayez's words, and he tried to forget the hypocrisy he felt uttering them. “We must strive to be better than that."

“So where do we go from here?" Gabriel's head snapped upright, the tassels on his veil jumping up along with him. “What comes next? Am I supposed to stay down here forever, playing practice assassin? What happens if you're killed on the next campaign, and this sorcery never comes off?"

Alabaster said nothing. The sorcery would collapse in the event of his death, but telling Gabriel that was practically begging the boy to try.

“I don't know," he admitted. “I only know that when I found you in that manor two years ago… I did not see a future tyrant, or any kind of threat or tool. I saw the little boy I saved from leprosy and I couldn't kill you. Perhaps that is my weakness."

“But you can't let me go either."

“Call me sentimental, boy, but never call me a fool."

Gabriel laughed, and suddenly the tension between them melted away. For a few minutes Gabriel was that little boy again, the one who had so few friends, alone in the palace just like Alabaster.

It makes no sense. He had always felt like he should despise the princeling. Born into the highest privilege through no effort of his own, given every rich bauble and toy he could ever want. He worked for nothing, and if Leon had not come along, he never would have. Alabaster should hate him, should resent him having a childhood he could have never even dreamt of.

And yet. Gabriel was kind. He was sweet, and innocent, and in Alabaster he had never seen an outsider. All he had seen was a friend trying to heal him of a disease. The rest of the palace, the city, they hated him no matter what he tried. But not Gabriel. He and Bellamy had been all that Alabaster had in the world.

It stung now, to realise just how horribly alone Alabaster had been for so long. I can't forget that anymore than you can forget your family's murder. That is why I could not hurt you.

“How are the knives going?" Alabaster asked, cocking his head. It had begun as a game – when Alabaster first saved him, Gabriel was only fifteen, and he'd needed something to occupy his days. Alabaster knew he could have gotten him books, or paint, or ink and quill… but he was a sangoma at heart, and a sangoma never discards anything that could be useful.

He was not certain that training Gabriel to be a killer was useful, but maybe one day it would be.

“I'm better at throwing them now, I suppose."

“And the poisons?" Alabaster began to quiz him, naming different herbs and their various regional nicknames. Gabriel answered most of the questions correctly, but he still stumbled over some of the more complex combinations.

“What is the point of this, Alabaster?" The young badger scoffed eventually. Alabaster wanted to laugh at how utterly teenager the sigh sounded. “You need someone to make more dead bodies for you, Alabaster?"

“Thank you, but I am perfectly capable of soliciting my own," he replied.

“Then why? I can't live down here forever. You want me to be your assistant?"

That struck a nerve inside Alabaster, and he flinched. Would it be so bad? He shook his head. It was a ridiculous idea and one he should know better than to nurse. The moment word got out he had a leper-cured badger for an apprentice, Leon (and others) would immediately put the pieces together. Midland had mostly forgotten about the disappearance of the Rennairan heir, but if he suddenly reappeared they'd quickly remember.

“I don't know," he admitted, through gritted teeth. “You are part of a bigger problem."

The monarchs see a vacuum in Rennaire. They see a nation with a big empty spot where a crown should be, and the turmoil will never end until they see it filled. The world was changing, too fast for the powers that be. The war was a reaction to that. How to make them see this as the new normal?

Surely that was Leon's problem. But he was too busy fighting the war to spare time thinking about how to properly diffuse it. The current fighting would end eventually, of course – one side would run out of bodies and give up, and peace would return.

For a time.

Whatever we build after that, it has to be stable. It has to last. When Leon first defeated Danegard and Losaile all those years ago, he left them with crippling peace terms. It had all but guaranteed another war, even if they hadn't executed the King. That cannot happen again.

Alabaster glanced up at the young badger, wondering what kind of expression he was making beneath that mask.

Can you help end that? Somehow? Put Gabriel back on the throne as their own puppet King? Leon would rather burn the entire country to the ground than accept that. Alabaster had no great desire to use the boy so blatantly either.

What about a public execution? Another show of intent, a nail in the coffin of Rennaire's monarchy? It was a darker thought, but one he had to confront if it had any chance of working.

It was an easy idea to dismiss. If the executions of Jules, his mother the queen, not to mention a thousand more former nobles had not been enough, how would one more teenager change that?

Suddenly Alabaster felt trapped. They were fighting a war against four other nations, built not on a conflict of territory or resource or anything tangible, but fear and ideology. Kiberland, Danegard, Yaravania, all of them were ruled by Kings. They had a vested interest in showing the people of Midland exactly what happened when you tried to push back against the 'rightful monarchs'.

“I could go away," Gabriel said, leaning forward. “You could undo this sorcery, and I could leave Rennaire forever. Go far enough east, to Urdo or even further, maybe south into Koringrad. Nobody would expect me there, I could live quietly."

But would you? Could you really resist being drawn back?

There was a greater question too, which nagged at Alabaster when he considered it. He'd helped raise this boy, it was only because of his sangoma sorcery that Gabriel had survived his leprosy. The one good thing he'd had in those times, before Leon had come. Even if Gabriel was true to his word, and left forever…

Could I truly stomach letting him go?

Alabaster was still grappling with his thoughts hours later as he made his way through the Rennairan palace. Leon was still busy reasserting himself into the daily runnings of Albedo; being on campaign had never quite stopped him from micromanaging the city via correspondence, but now he was likely dashing from point to point like a frenzied rabbit, making sure everything was exactly how he envisioned it.

The two of them had spent a lot of time together since their moment in Fort Endo, but Rennaire would always take her pound of flesh.

The sun was setting, and most of the Triumvirate's officials had left the palace for the day, with only the guards standing around as Alabaster's footsteps echoed in the empty halls. There was so much less opulence in the palace rooms now, he felt like he could actually half-stand being in the place.

Bellamy sat on his shoulder, the small vulture bobbing peacefully as Alabaster descended the steps to the cool rooms beneath the palace.

Time for the work to resume. His key let him into the brick morgue where he and Leon stored the remains of their dead Angels.

There were two. Lazare, and Hashan. The twenty-third and the fifth.

Another problem, Alabaster thought, looking across the scattered pieces of their remains. Their hearts were gone, chests caved open like shucked oysters. Half their entrails were missing too, along with large chunks of their flesh. The halos remained, a few arms, one leg from Lazare, some blood, a tail, teeth.

Useful pieces no doubt, all still crackling with that bizarre Angel sorcery and yet… not nearly enough for Alabaster to recreate his Ishim ritual. The thought nagged at him, and despite Leon's constant assurances that they would figure out something, he worried.

We have no answer for the Angels. The only silver lining was the fact that none of the other great powers knew that.

“What can I do with you?" He mused, looking down at Lazare's desiccated face. It was barely recognisable as a xolo, let alone as the person it had once been. He tried to think of some ritual he could craft, but this was all completely unknown territory. There were only so many tests he could do before it ended up destroying what little tissue they had left.

“So much power locked inside," he whispered, leaning closer towards Lazare's skull. “Why can't I take it?"

If Alabaster had hairs on the back of his neck, they would have stood up at that moment. A thread of other tripped in the stairs outside – a person, blindly triggering the incantation he'd left on the floor. He shot a look at the door, closed but unlocked, heart thundering in his chest.

Who even knows of this place? Leon did, but he wouldn't be coming down here at this time of night. Was I followed?

Alabaster was about to dash for the lock when the handle turned. A shadow passed over the mesh iron grate, and he sensed the presence of two bodies. Killers?

He drew his kriss blade, taking a step forward and raising it. The latch pushed down and the door swung inwards.

“Unlocked," said a crisp, aristocratic voice.

Joachim stepped into the room with the same confidence he would his own bedroom. Two things happened at once – Alabaster fell into a duelling stance as he proffered his dagger, and then a pattern of concentric circles lit up with radiant white light beneath Joachim's feet. The sorcery triggered and four spears of white shot up like spikes from the floor, locking the crane in place without harming him.

“Well now," the bird said, blue feathers spreading out as he raised his arms in surrender. “You caught me."

“What the fuck are you doing here?" Alabaster peered over the crane's shoulder and spied his lackey – the eccentric goat Bartolomé, dressed halfway like a circus clown as usual.

“You are threatening a Director of the Rennaire Triumvirate!" The goat said in a warbling voice, wagging a finger like an angry mother scolding a greedy child. “This amounts to treason, Alabaster, release him at once and lower your weapon!"

“Speak, Director," Alabaster hissed through his teeth. “Come here to kill me again, you have the stomach to do it yourself this time?"

“God's in his heaven, Alabaster, no," Joachim scoffed. He eyed the shards of light imprisoning him. “Clever magic trick, but I came to talk and nothing more. Come now, we're old friends, aren't we?"

“Release him!" Squawked Bartolomé.

“Shut up you damn fool," Joachim snapped over one shoulder. “This man is not a fool. He knows the right choice to make."

Alabaster clenched his jaw. He had hoped their confrontation in the bathhouse – even if Joachim did not remember it – would be the end of their interactions. This bird is like a bad smell that just won't wash out.

His body trembled, wanting nothing more to slit the man's slender neck and be done with it. But, painful as it was to admit, Bartolomé was right.

Alabaster sighed, pulling gently on the invisible threads of other and letting the ward dissolve around Joachim.

The crane brushed himself off, despite the fact nothing had actually touched him. “There, now we can speak like civilised men, that is if you can manage it, monsieur."

“What do you want, Joachim?"

A beak is not an appendage that lends itself to smiling in the traditional sense. Instead, Joachim cocked his head, brows curving suggestively. “I thought we could chat. I have tried to get your… better half alone, but it seems he is far too embedded in his nest of advisors, and this simply can't wait."

Alabaster simmered, fingers itching to thrust his dagger forward and watch the blood drain from the bird's thin neck. You could do it. You could gut him like a trout, and that fucking goat too, before either of them even realised in time to scream. Instead, he forced himself to sheath the dagger, scowling. “Better half."

“Please, you cannot begin to imagine how fast gossip spreads in this city," Joachim tutted. “Everyone has heard the rumours of what you two busied yourselves with on your way back to town… don't tell me you thought nobody would notice you rutting in the mud like that?"

Alabaster began to reconsider gutting him.

“Not that I care a whit," Joachim quickly added, attempting to step back from the ledge he had opened. “I merely listen. Due to my former position with our former regent in a former government, many see in me a more… trustworthy ear than the likes of Citizen Speaker. You think everything changes simply because Leon has declared it so? You two would have some discretion, if you knew what's good for you. The government may have changed paws, Alabaster, but people simply do not move so quickly."

“You came here to warn me of gossip?" Alabaster snorted. “Duly noted. Glad to see your concern extends to your enemies, would that I could be so noble."

“Leon's indulgence in you is not why I'm here, it is merely something an old bird amuses himself with." Joachim chuckled, and next to him Bartolomé snickered along dutifully. A self-proclaimed 'great thinker', once busy proselytising on the value of independence, now reduced to a cowering lackey. “And please, Alabaster, leave your childish grudges behind. You are my enemy no more than the weeds my gardener pulls from my flowerbed are." He paused, considering. “Not that I have a gardener anymore, thanks to the Speaker."

Alabaster turned away, sighing as he began reexamining the Angel's corpses before him. He wondered if Joachim was simply hiding his shock at seeing the basement full of dead Angels, or if he'd somehow been aware of it.

Leon and I have the only two keys, but that would hardly stop him if he were truly determined to learn what was inside. He wished for once Leon would actually listen to somebody else's opinion. Alabaster had tried to warn him of how dangerous Joachim was – getting into bed with him was worse than laying with a nest of freshly clutched viper mothers. But of course, he has to do things his own way.

Leon may have made Joachim part of his Triumvirate, but Alabaster trusted him less now than ever.

“So you killed me because I'm a weed, then?" Alabaster asked over a shoulder. “I'm hurt you couldn't have the decency to hate me." As I hate you. “Praytell you did not come here to beg a favour of me."

“I believe in trade and diplomacy, I would never ask something for nothing," the crane scoffed. “The Speaker. He is not the shining saviour you may have hoped for."

Now it was Alabaster's turn to scoff. “Oh? Hoping to get your gardener back?"

“The man is extreme, and he makes no secret of it. I am not blind to Leon's ploy, putting myself and the Speaker on his council to balance one another out. It's rather devious, always leaving himself as the tie-breaker, astounding how little say I actually have in the government I supposedly run."

“You want more influence," Alabaster snapped. He was growing tired of Joachim's relentless glibness. “I can't help you. Haven't you heard? I defile corpses, not politics. If you've something to say, Joachim, then stop dancing around it or get out of my morgue."

“The Speaker has built his own shadow-government inside this country, and inside Leon's army too. There are generals more loyal to him than Rennaire, and they are smart enough to be quiet about it too." Alabaster froze at that, a chill shooting down his spine. Slowly, he spun back around, crossing his arms. The crane was unreadable. “Leon would know with his little obsessions, but perhaps you need educating on Midland's own history, Alabaster. Let me tell you, when generals are loyal to men instead of nations then nobody wins – why do you think Kazmar's empire fell apart the moment he died? The Speaker is far more radical than you might be allowed to believe. There's a hatred of organised society in any form nestled deep within him, it's that fire that draws others to his cause, but make no mistake – he would burn this country down for his chance at a true utopia." Joachim stepped closer, smiling with his eyebrows again. His voice went very low. “He might even unlock the door for an enemy Angel."

Alabaster grabbed him before he could stop himself, slamming the crane into the wall and showing his teeth. Bartolomé cried out in protest, but a flick of Alabaster's kriss dagger warded him off.

“Tell me everything you know, you snivelling insect," Alabaster snarled into the bird's face.

“You want to kill another king, Alabaster?" Joachim chortled.

“You're not a king."

“And you're not one of us, yet here you are at the highest echelons of power. I daresay you have more influence over Leon than anyone alive. And right now, Leon is Rennaire."

“And you think I'd use that influence for you?"

“Not for me you imbecile," Joachim hissed back. “For once, pull your sense out of your own bloodthirsty emotions and think. For Rennaire. All I care about is the good of this country, and the balance of Midland which is essential to its survival. This country has been balanced between two spires of ideals, my own order, and the Speaker's chaos. If the Speaker has his way, Leon will die and his shadow-government will quickly overtake my own influence. There is only so much I can do alone! If you recall, your bedfellow had all of my allies executed."

Alabaster did not have the head for these kinds of politics. He had to speak with Leon, had to find out what the jaguar thought of all this.

But is that what Joachim wants? He knows if I say something, Leon will act on it. He tried to run through the scenarios, desperate to find out how the crane was playing him. Meeting his eyes, Alabaster wondered how much the crane could remember from his humiliation in the steam room. Alabaster's cock in his face, and Joachim's eagerness to jerk himself off, wet with the dragon's water. In his trousers, Alabaster felt his cock harden, and glancing down, he saw Joachim doing the same.

“Don't forget that you were the one to start this revolution, Joachim. You let it get out of control."

“My efforts," the crane said tersely, struggling beneath Alabaster's claws. “Were purely to help bring balance to Rennaire. I saw what was coming, and if Leon hadn't thrown powder onto my fire it would have forged us into a better nation. Better than what we had, at least." He finally shoved Alabaster back, brushing down his colourful suit. “How was I supposed to know he'd be so fucking effective? Leon was meant to be a sword."

“And now he's another weed, right?"

Joachim let out a long breath. “Alabaster I am begging you to stop seeing this in black and white. I am warning you, as plainly as I can. The Speaker is dangerous. I do not know which of Leon's marshals belong to his cause, but there is at least one, and it is they that are responsible for Leutgard's attack on that fort."

He could want control, Alabaster thought. He said it himself, the Speaker cancels out his own influence, but if the Speaker was removed then Joachim could act unopposed.

He tried to peel his anger back, smothering the memories he had of waking up buried in that grave. Two years had passed but he had never forgotten the pain and fear Joachim had inflicted.

“Rennaire must come first," Joachim hissed. “This isn't about you or me, or our petty grievances with one another."

“Petty? You murdered me."

“Love and war, my dear man, love and war. Ruling this country means making both."

Selfish, or ruthless? Shrewd or treasonous? Alabaster hated the man so much he could hardly think straight. I need Leon.

“What do you suggest?" Alabaster asked.

“Discredit," Joachim replied. “Much the same way we planned to remove Leon himself. We have no way of knowing the size of this faction. If the Speaker is assassinated or arrested or killed, it could fracture this country again. We only just put Rennaire back together, another break won't heal. This must be handled in a delicate way."

“Your way, I expect."

Joachim shrugged. “If Leon thinks it best." He turned to leave, pausing to let Bartolomé filter out first.

“Try to think about it like a grown-up, Alabaster," the crane said softly. “Stop playing with your dead things and do something that matters. Move past your own hatred and understand that I am no better than any man, doing only what I know is best for the country. Can you say the same?"

And with that, he left Alabaster alone.

As always, with more problems than solutions.