Interlude 1.
AN: No beta reader. My usual reader is exceptionally busy, and I'm drowning in papers due later this week, as such, errors may be found in this chapter.
Khalid felt a distant tremor as he raised his bow, pausing as he felt the tremor passed him. Below him, his horse took a hesitant step forward, as if to escape the direction of the tremor.
"Easy there," Khalid murmured to his horse, running his spare hand to calm his mount. It took a few seconds, but the majestic warhorse fell silent, allowing him to get back to his bow.
There were four separate targets in the distance, each of them a difficult shot, even for professional marksmen. But he was a prince of the Almyran Empire, and had hit harder shots in his sleep.
So he closed his eyes, remembering the targets in his mind's eye as he felt the wind rush around him. Then he fired the first shot.
Though he could only hear a distant thud, in his mind's eye, the shot landed just beyond the bullseye. The wind had picked up after he let the arrow fly, and thus made his shot go wide.
So he nocked a second arrow, waiting until the wind seemed to die entirely. Then he let his second arrow fly. This one was a bullseye. He was sure of that.
"Prince Khalid?"
The voice behind him spoke with a level of urgency. And an assassin wouldn't give him a chance to turn. So Khalid decided it was safe to look upon his visitor.
The woman behind him was dressed in the loose armour of an archer, and Khalid recognized her face from somewhere in his youth, though he could not remember her name. She stood by another warhorse, though this one was not of the quality of the royal stables, and apart from her unusual uniform, he caught a flash of her red eyes.
"Is something wrong?" Khalid asked as he climbed from his horse, taking a step forward.
"The Shah requires your presence," the woman replied, her head low as she sank to one knee, a scroll bearing his father's seal in her outstretched hands.
"Thank you," Khalid replied as he took the light scroll of parchment. "I will return to him once I have collected my arrows."
The woman said nothing as he broke the wax seal, reading the lines of text in the tongue of Fodlan. Indeed, the letter was from his father. Nobody else in Almyra would have both the language in Fodlan's tongue as well as the royal seal. Less than a dozen members of the royal court could read the language, and only his father had access to the royal seal.
And yet Khalid found his father's choice of words curious. For according to his father, something from Fodlan had followed him home. That was concerning.
"Do not speak of this to anyone," Khalid ordered the messenger, pausing as a feeling of suspicion rose within him when he noticed her eyes looking straight at him, rather than away from him, as most commoners did. "And one more thing."
"Yes, my prince?" The answer came without hesitation, and Khalid felt a nagging feeling the woman before him was more than just a simple archer.
"Collect my arrows for me," Khalid said, a nagging sense of suspicion rising inside him as he took a shot in the dark.
"As you wish," the woman replied, switching to the other tongue without even the slightest hint of an accent, her tone suddenly casual as she rose to her feet. "Will that be all?"
He paused as he wondered where the woman had learned to speak a second language as well as she did. She certainly didn't look like she was from Fodlan. "Who are you?"
The woman seemed to study him for a moment before she shook her head, her red eyes suddenly unwilling to meet his own. "I serve as one of your mother's handmaidens. She has not mastered our common tongue, and needs assistance from time to time, and that is where I come in."
"I see," Khalid said, pausing for a moment as he adjusted to his mount. "I'm glad she is getting good help."
"She is," the woman replied as she mounted her own horse, giving him only a quick bow before she left. "Safe travels, Prince Khalid."
The ride back to the royal palace was a short one, particularly given the clear, warm summer weather. If the issue was minor, or was simply a pretext for his father to speak with him in private, perhaps he could enjoy the afternoon outside.
But first the royal stables waited, as did his father's equerry, the tall, slender man feeding his father's favoured warhorse an apple.
"Bahram," Khalid called to the man, patient as he waited for the apple to disappear into the mouth of mighty warhorse before he spoke again, holding the scroll in his hand high. "My father has called for my presence."
"My prince-" Bahram started.
"Bahram," Khalid interjected, shaking his head as the other man hurried over to his horse. "You were busy with your duties. There is no need to seek forgiveness."
"That was not my intent," the tall horseman replied, his voice falling lower, his eyes darting across the room, as if paranoid about eavesdroppers. "I wished to warn you that your brothers are all here."
"All of them?" Khalid felt a slight chill as he remembered the rancorous pack of boys that had consisted of his brothers. There had been eight of them in the room when he last left for Fodlan for the first time, and he had not seen them since.
"Your father has considerable business today," Bahram replied, turning to Khalid's horse before speaking one last time. "Go. I will take care of your horse."
Khalid didn't need to be told twice, and he hurried from the room, giving the few guards who acknowledged him only brief nods as he moved through the corridors of the palace with a fast walk. It wasn't until he reached the final hallway before the throne room did he stop.
"Khalid," a voice called out, stopping him mid-step. "Or do you prefer Claude now?"
Khalid turned to the source of the voice, and blinked as he stared at the man walking up to him.
"Have you forgotten me?"
"No," Khalid managed, his mind straining as he tried to put a name to the man standing before him. Even amongst the dozen people he knew spoke both languages, he drew a blank.
"Are you surprised, Khalid?"
"Nasha?" Khalid finally managed, drawing the name from the list of people he had grown up with. Nasha hadn't spoken Fodlan's tongue when Khalid left for Fodlan, but he spoke it fluently, although unlike his mother's handmaiden, Nasha still had a slight accent.
He was also an occasional accomplice with some of the mischief he caused in his youngest days. But looking at the handsome man before him, Khalid wasn't sure how much of his brother he truly remembered. He had been away from Almyra for six long years.
"Correct," Nasha replied, amusement evident in his voice. "I was out serving along the western front when I was recalled."
"Even you were recalled?" Khalid found himself surprised. Nasha was notoriously disinterested in court politics. If the matter was only important to the Shah and his inner circle, then why was Nasha here?
"I wasn't recalled," Nasha interjected with a shake of his head. "I'm the messenger. I was the one who informed our father of our… problem."
"A problem?" Khalid asked. "What kind of problem are we talking about?"
"One that could shape the future of our empire," Nasha replied, his eyes darting from side to side, the switch from two different languages fluent and surprisingly smooth despite his accent. "I will explain more when we are in private."
"Right," Khalid muttered as he turned to follow his brother into the throne room, waiting for a moment as Nasha knocked firmly on the doors three times, followed by the doors pulling open.
The first thing Khalid saw when the heavy wooden doors parted was a blinding light, but he ignored the light and slid to one knee, waiting by the door until he heard his father's voice.
"Rise Khalid, Nasha," the Shah of Almyra said. "And someone shut the curtains already. I do not intend for my sons to be blinded."
In the distance, Khalid heard the sound of the curtains being drawn, and through his eyelids, he felt the immense pressure of the light fade. It was only then that he looked up at his father, Shah Darius the Younger, looking as regal as when he had last seen him.
Apart from a few wrinkles, his father had changed little, remaining strong and handsome, even though Khalid knew his father was close to fifty. But the change was not with his father, but rather the circle of brothers on the he left for Fodlan, he had seen a dozen in the room with him, but now, even counting Nasha, there were only five of his brothers in the room, all of them with their backs turned to him and Nasha.
With a long breath, he squared his shoulders before stepping to the side, kneeling beside Nasha and holding his head low, so low that he could not see anything apart from the cold tile of the floor and the dark trousers and riding boots of his half-brother.
"We are all here then," his father said, his voice smooth, like liquid gold. "Good. Nasha?"
"My Shah?"
"Stay here. Khalid, you too. The rest of you, step out for a moment."
Khalid swallowed as he heard his assembled half-brothers gasp. What could the information be?
"Father?" Another voice spoke out. "We must-"
"Enough." the order came, along with a heavy echo of his royal staff against the cold floor. "That is an order."
There was a murmur from the others as the door behind them swung open, followed by the sound of Khalid's brothers.
It was only when the door behind them shut and Nasha rose that Khalid stood up as well.
"Our scouts have-" Nasha started, falling silent as his father raised a hand.
"What was his name?"
Khalid blinked and glanced over to the equally confused face of Nasha. Why was his father speaking Fodlan's tongue?
His father must have seen the confused look on their faces, for he spoke again, his voice lowered. "It is always preferable that as few outsiders learn of important information as possible."
Khalid saw his brother turn his head to look at the men standing by the walls of the room. They were all hardened veterans, the results of years of campaigning with his father. If there were any souls in Fodlan his father trusted, his immortals should have been the first on the list. "You don't trust your own guard, father?"
"There are many things that will loosen tongues," his father replied, pausing for a moment. "Things like wine and more… exotic potions, but also torture."
Khalid swallowed heavily as he cast his eyes away from his father's.
"And I would rather keep my Immortals in the dark rather than deal with their grieving wives and children." his father continued, his tone one of a man commenting on a warm spring, betraying none of the cold logic that drove his heart.
"Father," Nasha continued. "I don't even know if this man is for sure or not. He could be just a common…"
Khalid heard his brother fall silent as he took a step away from him, and when he turned to look at Nasha again, his brother had a curious look in his eye.
"Ah," Nasha said with a nod before he turned back to their father. "So that is why you are here."
"Correct," the response came. "Now, the name."
Nasha spoke a single word. A name, one that Khalid knew very well.
"I know him," Khalid confirmed to his father and brother.
"You know of him then," his father said, his voice showing but a hint of pleasure. "Is it true that this man works for the master of the fortress?"
"Correct," Khalid turned to his brother. "What has he said?"
"Important things," Nasha said. "But not something I believe we can provide them."
"What does he seek?" Khalid heard his father say.
"A woman," Nasha said, pausing before he closed his eyes, a grimace on his face. "I did not get her name, and the other men at the outpost did not speak his tongue."
"Did you ask him?" Khalid heard his father ask.
"I tried," Nasha replied with a shake of his head. "But whereas the other men did not speak his tongue, their fists and knives did the talking. They thought he was a spy, and I barely got there in time to stop them from killing him."
"Regrettable," came the answer. "But not unexpected. Is he in stable condition?"
"He is," Nasha said. "I left him at a secure location before I sent the letter to you."
There was silence in the room as Khalid watched his father.
"My Satraps will have come in a few short days," Khalid watched his father rise from his throne. "They will bring tribute, but many of them have… excessive ambition. Given the return of Nader's expedition, I expect many of them will wish to get involved with this war."
"They have heard of the strength of the Imperial Army, have they not?" Nasha asked.
"But the Imperial Army has gone into battle against the Holy Kingdom," Khalid pointed out. "They would seek to launch a surprise attack on unprepared forces."
"The battle is over, as a matter of fact " Khalid's father sounded almost disappointed. "I am told that there were four major battles between the Holy Kingdom and the Adrestian Empire, all of which the Empire won."
Khalid blinked at the news. He hadn't heard that, but then again, he had promised to stay out of Fodlan.
"From what the survivors of my spy network tell me, it was a series of brutal battles, but despite everything the Holy Kingdom and the Church of Seiros tried, the Adrestian Empire was victorious."
"So the war is over then," Khalid muttered, surprised at how quickly Byleth had managed to end things. "Where do we go from here then?"
"I do not know," Khalid heard his father say, his hands folded as his eyes closed once again. "I would assume that the Imperial Army is well prepared to counter any attack by our forces."
"Your spies, right?" Khalid asked his father. "What have they told you?"
He replied with a sigh, his eyes wary and foreign as he shook his head slowly. "Nasha, please, a moment alone with your brother."
Unlike the rest of their brothers, Khalid noticed that Nasha merely bowed his head before backing out of the room, never turning his back to his father.
When the doors shut, Khalid noticed his father watching him closely, studying him.
"Tell me, my son," his father started. "Do you know where my spy network came from?"
The question caught Khalid off guard. Of all the questions he expected his father to ask, that certainly wasn't one. But he recovered quickly.
"I would have to assume mother had something to do with it," Khalid said, pausing for a moment to collect his thoughts. "I would assume you had loyal retainers, paid informants, whatever blackmail mother could have collected."
"Good," The smile that spread on the older man's face was genuine, but there was a cold malice in his eyes. "Your mother was chased after for many years. But even given how extensive her network was, it was still limited."
Khalid nodded. "The other nobles in the Leicester Alliance usually had something hidden up their sleeves."
"Not just them," The smile had faded, and Khalid noticed the cold malice in his eyes turned into irritation. "There were attempts to expand my network into both the Empire and the Holy Kingdom, both to… difficult results."
"I see," Khalid said. "But at least with the Holy Kingdom, you eventually succeeded, right?"
"Correct," his father closed his eyes. "But that was only after the incident in Duscur, and even so, only saw a small cell form in Fhirdiad. The remaining nobles of the Holy Kingdom were too insular, too hidebound, too paranoid to be infiltrated."
"That's how you found out about the war ending then," Khalid made the connection. It wasn't a hard one, but at least that was one mystery solved.
"But that's not all,"came the answer. "I once had an extensive network in the Empire."
"An extensive network?" Khalid repeated the words.
"One that stretched from the beggar gangs of Enbarr to the court of Ionius himself," his father confirmed. "It took many years to build. And it burned down overnight."
"Lord Arundel?" Khalid thought of the mysterious uncle to Edelgard, the man who had led the Insurrection of the Seven.
"It would have to be," the answer came with a nod. "And yet they were swept away seemingly overnight. One month their reports came as normal, but the next, over a dozen trained agents disappeared into the wind, never to be seen again. Had Arundel been behind it, why would he not strike sooner?"
"What happened to them?" Khalid asked. "If you know, of course."
"They were found out," his father said, pausing for a moment before he continued. "How, I do not know, but I lost many more men trying to find out."
Khalid swallowed as he watched his father grip his staff tighter.
"The last man I sent was my blood brother," his father's voice was hardly above a whisper. "I had fought alongside him, ever since I was a boy."
Khalid didn't say anything, but a morbid curiosity rose within him.
His father saw the look in his eyes, for he continued. "He was not harmed, but his letters were suddenly cut off. Someone had intercepted him. And yet, the letters still kept coming."
Khalid swallowed. "And?"
"I communicated with this other individual for many months, but I could not find a clue about who he was."
"Father, why didn't you tell me about this earlier?" Khalid asked. "If I knew, I would have-"
"Because Garreg Mach was always neutral ground," his father cut in. "And had you walked into Imperial territory, I feared you would never return, for that would break the pact I swore."
"Pact?"
"This other individual offered me a deal," his father explained, his eyes watching Khalid closely. "My blood brother returned alive, along with the bodies of the twelve men I had sent before him."
"And you would never send anyone else into the Empire," Khalid guessed.
"I led the exchange myself," Khalid heard his father say. "But by the time I sailed to the meeting place, only my brother and a dozen coffins awaited me, my brother with a black hood over his head."
"What did he say?"
"Very little," his father shook his head. "He had been imprisoned in a cellar for as long as he could remember. I suspect he never stepped foot in Enbarr, his jailers wearing faceless masks."
Khalid felt disappointment rise in him. "I see."
There was a moment of silence before Khalid heard the next sentence. "But there is something else that the trip revealed."
"Father?" Khalid asked, suddenly curious at the change in his father's voice. "What do you mean by that?"
There was no response from the Shah, but his head had tilted to the side, the look in his eyes telling Khalid he had missed something.
"Wait-" Khalid muttered to himself, his mind racing to find the one key word that had been said. "Sailed? I would believe they would smuggle him through the Goneril Mountains."
"And yet they had transported him to an abandoned fortress deep in Holy Kingdom territory."
"Holy Kingdom?" Khalid hissed, his mind crossing off possibilities one after another until only a single place remained. "They left him at Conand Tower?"
"Correct," the answer came.
"Surely someone at Garreg Mach would have seen him?" Khalid asked. "It's not easy to smuggle half a graveyard through the Knights of Seiros."
"I had the same idea," Khalid felt his heart skip a beat at the words, even as he sensed the inevitable but. "But my spies at Garreg Mach turned up with empty hands, as did my men stationed at Myrddin."
"Then-" Khalid started. "How?"
"Smugglers," the answer was swift, and Khalid narrowed his eyes. "While at Garreg Mach, one of my agents overheard a tale of a mountain path to the west of the monastery that led to an abandoned town in the Oghma Mountains."
"An abandoned town in the mountains?" Khalid muttered to himself. That certainly wasn't something he had heard about. "Are you certain?"
"I trust the words of my men," his father said, his tone firm. "But as I understand it, the path was, and likely still is, crawling with feral animals."
"Animals?" Khalid asked.
"Feral beasts," his father replied. "And of giant-"
Something heavy shuddered against the door, and Khalid spun around.
The door behind him was still closed, but there was no doubt that something had struck it.
The Immortals in the room heard it too, and Khalid noticed as three of the unspeaking guards took positions in front of him, long spears jutting out from behind heavy shields.
"Father?" Khalid continued as he glanced back at the regal throne behind him.
Shah Darius now was at his full height, his teeth clenched as he stood behind two more of the Immortals. "Nasha! Open the door!"
There was a moment of silence that followed, then a roar as the doors flew open, the prone form of Nasha landing in a heap in front of the first line of the Immortals.
"What is the meaning of this?" Khalid heard his father roar. It was a rare sight, especially since his father was well known for his stoic silence.
"Father," the nasal, nerve-grinding voice of one of Khalid's brothers. "This halfling insulted me."
Khalid grimaced at the face of his half-brother, though he hardly could put a name to the man. Then he felt the unmistakable stench of opium hit his nose.
Although Nader's reports on his father's court had mentioned that many of his brothers enjoyed smoking pipes, the fact of the matter was that only Milad, one of his most hated brothers, had smoked it so much that the smell could not be washed from his clothes. Evidently, one could also hear it in his voice.
"And you have insulted me," the anger in his father's voice was evident. "Your brothers have sheathed their swords, but you have not."
Khalid glanced over to his other brothers, all of them having wisely stayed out of the throne room, all of them having their swords hidden in their scabbards, all arrayed behind Milad, trapping him within the throne room.
Despite the fact that Khalid already knew what was going to happen, and felt disgust that his brothers had pulled something like this, he was also impressed. Whoever had come up with the idea had obviously coached the others into playing along.
There were few, if any rules around princes in the Almyran Empire. One of them was to never draw a weapon in the throne room unless authorized by the Shah. And yet there was still an unsheathed sword out in the open.
Milad, the fool, had broken the rule when he stepped into the room, so much so that his sword was still drawn, clear as running water in the midday sun.
And the brothers behind him had led him right to it, for they blocked his way out, trapping him between them and the spears of three advancing Immortals. There would be no way for Milad to escape this fate, unless his father was willing to do away with a thousand years of Imperial law.
"Father?" Milad sounded stunned, his body frozen in place, as if he was a master-crafted statue rather than a living man, the sword that doomed him still in one clenched fist.
Then Khalid's attention was drawn to Nasha as he pulled himself to his feet next to Khalid.
"It is done," he whispered, a grim smile on his face, seemingly to ignore the ugly cut across his brow. "I never liked him much anyways."
"Shapur," the voice of the Shah was stony. "Do what must be done."
Khalid clenched his teeth when he heard the name of the General of the Immortals and averted his eyes, but not in time to avoid seeing Shapur raise and throw his spear.
And certainly Khalid did not hear the agonized scream of his brother, nor could he avoid the smell of coppery blood overwhelming the smell of smoke.
It was done, and all it cost Nasha was a few drops of blood.
"We're finished here," Khalid heard his father say, his tone having returned to a calm, almost frigid disinterest. "Get the cleaners."
Khalid found himself by the field where he had been shooting earlier at sunset, having no interest in practicing his marksmanship, just enjoying the wind, standing next to his mount.
"So, Prince Khalid," a voice came.
Khalid turned over to the voice, and blinked when he saw the handmaiden from earlier.
"You," Khalid muttered. "I'd rather not have any company here."
"I will say my piece and be done with it," the woman replied, shrugging as she dismounted.
Something struck Khalid as odd when he turned back to the targets, and he turned back around to the woman.
"You dress like someone from Fodlan." Khalid muttered as he looked down at the woman's expensive riding boots. "The only woman in Almyra who owns boots like that is my mother."
"Your mother has introduced some… popular reforms in dress," the woman replied with a shrug. "And I prefer to dress like this when I'm not in service. It makes riding much more comfortable."
Khalid studied the woman again, and only when he reached her eyes did he understand.
"Nasha." Khalid muttered, his voice grim.
"My little brother," the woman confirmed with a slight scoff. "He has informed me of what has happened with the imbecile."
"He still was of royal blood. He was still your brother."
"The fool?" the woman sounded amused, red eyes flashing with triumphant cruelty. "No, Khalid. He was no brother to me."
"Milad was a son of our father," Khalid pointed out.
"Not mine," the woman said, her eyes gleaming in the night. "Our father is not His Highness."
The news caused Khalid to narrow his eyes. "And yet Nasha is still a prince."
"Your father sees something in Nasha that reminds him of a younger version of himself," the woman replied, pausing for a moment before she spoke again. "And, in a sense, perhaps he was still a prince, once."
"Really?" Khalid turned on the woman.
"My real father took the throne when the Shah went to Fodlan," the woman said with a shake of her head. " Seeing as our Shah had allegedly betrayed his people. He was cut down and our bloodline purged when the Shah returned."
Khalid didn't say anything to that. It must have been from before he had been born.
"I was six when it happened," the woman said softly, her red eyes betraying no emotion. "My mother was spared because Nasha was in her belly. They had tied the rope around my throat when your mother stopped them. I have served her since."
"You want Nasha to be Shah?" Khalid snarled.
"No," the woman said, shaking her head. "Nasha will not be Shah, not unless he wants to rule over an empire of ashes, but I refuse to hand the throne to the opium addict."
"You organized this?" Khalid asked.
"He was brash, a fool who chased married women through the streets." The woman protested. "It was only a matter of time."
"And yet he had lasted this long." Khalid continued pushing. "Are you suggesting my father was a fool?"
"His mother shielded him," a scowl on Nasha's sister's face deepened. "Lady Khayr. You know her."
Khalid did, and he connected the dots. Khayr was one of the women who always seemed to hate his mother, which raised a disturbing question. "Did my mother order this?"
"Your mother understands the nature of the court, but not the true players within it," Nasha spoke up from behind them. "Sanya provides your mother with that vision."
"Did she order what happened today?" Khalid repeated the question, shooting Nasha a glare.
"No," Sanya replied as Nasha demounted. "Abbas, Safi, and Ismail have been looking for a reason to dispose of him, and by extension, his mother."
"What will you do to her?" Khalid asked, already suspecting he wasn't going to like the answer.
"I kicked the stool out before I came to you," Sanya replied with a shrug. "She will no longer be an issue."
"You killed her," Khalid muttered, almost disturbed at how casually she spoke.
"She was dead the moment Shapur ran her son through." Sanya said, her red eyes rolling in a manner that reminded Khalid too much of his own mother. "I simply allowed her to leave life in a kinder way than what the others will allow. Abbas in particular likes his poison."
"And Ismail is cruel," Nasha added. "And Safi, well, the less we say about him the better."
"What is your own stake in all of this?" Khalid turned to Sanya and Nasha. "Why are you doing this?"
Sanya and Nasha exchanged a glance before Sanya spoke. "I have told you of the foolishness of our father."
"You did?" Nasha hissed.
Sanya did not say anything to Nasha's outburst, but she raised her head, baring her neck and a strip of red ribbon around her throat. "Every time I look into a mirror, I remember your mother for pulling me from that noose. If not for her, I would have died there and then."
"So this is just you repaying a debt?" Khalid muttered, his mind fluttering to Cyril. Sanya and Nasha were clearly more intelligent than Cyril, but also a thousand times more ruthless, and that made him uncomfortable. "Is there anything you want for yourself?"
Once again, Sanya and Nasha exchanged a glance. But this time, it was Nasha who spoke. "Yes, but that is something we intend to earn, not be handed."
"And you intend to earn this through loyalty to me?" Khalid snarled. "If I become Shah?"
There was no response from Sanya or Nasha, but Khalid could hear distant hoofsteps, and when he turned to look he saw a bobbing torch in the distance.
When the light came closer, Khalid saw Bahram, his face lined with worry.
"Bahram!" Khalid called, ignoring the two murdering siblings before him. "Over here!"
"My prince!" Bahram called. "There's been a murder!"
Khalid glanced back at the blank mask of Sanya. Ruthless. So much so that, in the moment, she resembled Hubert more than Cyril.
"Bahram," Khalid said as the equerry dismounted from his horse. "What has happened?"
"There's been a murder," Bahram gasped.
"Who?" The question was only a formality, for Sanya had confessed to killing Lady Khayr. He knew that already.
"Your brother," Bahram gasped. "Prince Abbas. He's dead."
AN: Whew. Chapter done. Essay time. Funfunfun.
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