Hey everyone, so I know it's been far too long since my last update. I've been really busy with school and searching for a job. Not gonna lie I'm actually still busy. My original plan was to build a stockpile of 10 chapters so that I can update weekly as I continue to work but I haven't had time to do that and I've had this chapter on hand for I don't know how many weeks now. I don't see any openings in my schedule in sight and I'm tired of waiting to upload just as I'm sure those of you who enjoy this story are also tired of waiting. So here is a chapter now, and also after this, the story will be on hiatus for another month or so but I'm not giving up. I will see this through to the end.

Indisposed

Meril awoke to a corrosive smell mixed with something sweet. While he struggled to open his eyes and shake the blurriness away his nose was at full attention. He caught whiffs of phenol, lye, aniseed, formaldehyde, and various alcohols that he couldn't place. All powerful disinfectants that told him he was in a place that took cleanliness far too seriously. As his vision came into focus he was able to confirm his suspicions. He found himself lying down in a bed that was backed against a wall and lined in a row with dozens of other beds, all of which were filled with people who were heavily bandaged and filled with tubes. A similar lineup of beds stood across from him on the opposite wall, all similarly filled with invalids. The room itself was one long hallway with a high vaulted ceiling. At the upper portions of the walls stained glass windows filtered colored light into the room lending a calming aura to a room filled with sickness.

He was in a hospital that much was plain to see. But where though? A quick glance at the stained glass windows answered his question. The windows depicted a scene of a great battle, of men in black armor against an army of men in differing colors. The defining piece of the glass, however, came in the form of a yellow sun with a face painted on it.

"Nilfgaard."

Meril began to prop himself up in the bed. As he did so he realized he was naked, covered only by the bedsheets. He saw that there was a needle and flexible tube lodged into his forearm, and at his waist, there was a bladder that appeared to be connected his abdomen, which he now realized had a large round puncture wound that was stitched up in the middle of his stomach. "What happened to me?" he groaned.

"You were stabbed in ze stomach, by some kind of object that has been described to me like a spike conjured from blood," answered a voice that was old and gravelly yet still distinctly Nilfgaardian.

Meril turned to the origin of the voice at his left and saw the familiar old face of the doctor he met in the princess's bedchamber. "I remember you, you're the one who stitched up that Halfling back in the palace."

"Ze very same, forgive me I don't believe we've been introduced. I am Giscard Valdier et Adiun, surgeon and personal physician to the Imperial Family, now officially in the service of Her Imperial Majesty, long may she reign."

The old man's face was clean shaven but wrinkled and covered in liver spots. He didn't show any baldness though despite his clear age, sporting a full head of frizzy white hair. As he registered the old man's face in his mind his recollection of events prior came back to him in full force. "Ah shit, the princess, I mean the Empress. What happened? Is she…"

"She's fine boy, in much better shape zan you as a matter of fact." The doctor approached to examine Meril up close.

Meril relaxed at hearing the doctors words, "that's good to hear. How long was I out for?"

"Three days, ze injuries you sustained would have undoubtedly killed you had ze sorceresses not acted as quickly as ze did."

Meril let that information sink in. "Three days, dammit, what happened? What was that thing? And why couldn't I hurt it? I read every book in the library at Szolka Smoka and not one of them described a creature like that." Just as he was about to get lost in thought he felt a sharp pushing sensation at his abdomen. He felt something exiting his body at his abdomen and took stock again of the bag at his waist.

"What is this thing?" Meril asked pulling on the bag at his waist.

"Careful, zere is three days vorth of ysgarthi in there."

"Ysgarthi?" Meril questioned.

"Excrement, shit boy."

"What the? Why do I have a bag of shit attached to my waist?"

"Technically, it is attached to your large intestine. The reason being your entrails were shredded by what I believe was some kind of spear. Your fortunate zat zere were sorceresses versed in medical magic on the scene, elsewise your guts would have spilled everywhere and become food for ze crows. Zey used magic to stitch your intestines back together, but you vill not be able to safely pass waste through zem until they have fully healed, hence ze need for ze bag."

"How long will it take to heal?" Meril asked.

"At ze rate, you're currently healing, I would guess two maybe three weeks."

"Three weeks!?" Meril shouted with his mouth hanging open in shock.

"Remarkable isn't it?" the doctor continued, plainly confusing Meril's shock with his own fascination. "A normal human would take several months to recover from the wounds you sustained, and even then would likely be attached to a colostomy bag for the rest of their lives."

Meril was about to protest, he didn't find being bedridden for three weeks to be in any way pleasing or 'remarkable' as the doctor put it. Three weeks in bed meant three weeks that he wasn't working and wasn't earning any money and he had to save up to buy a new horse and repair his broken equipment. His equipment…" shit my katana."

"Where is my gear?" he asked the surgeon.

"Your gear?" Giscard asked.

"My weapons and armor."

"Hmm, I'm afraid I cannot answer zat. You were already stripped down once you were placed under my care. However, it is likely zey were confiscated by ze Imperial Guard as we do not allow weapons other zen zose held by ze guardsmen into zis ward."

"My weapons are the tools of my trade doctor. Where are they?"

"Ah yes, your trade, hunting vampires isn't it?" the old doctor said with a chuckle.

"Is he laughing at me?" Meril thought.

"Surely wooden steaks and garlic are not difficult items to replace," he continued smirking.

"Are you making fun of me?" Meril asked offended.

"I wouldn't dream of it," the old doctor said in feigned apology, his smirk never faded.

Meril felt sour, clearly, this man found something about him amusing but he didn't know what. He decided not to press the issue however and decided to prioritize getting information. "So what happened exactly? After I passed out?"

"Honestly, I was hoping you could tell me. The crown is keeping a tight lid on what happened. All I know is that there was an attack at the coronation, and the attack was magical in some nature. The other survivors are mumbling about wraiths and a man who stole their skin. I presume they experienced some sort of mass hallucination caused by powerful illusion magic."

"That was no hallucination," Meril said.

Ciri groaned as she dipped her quill into the inkwell and affixed her signature to yet another royal decree. This one had something to do with increasing the toll on some road in Metina. Honestly, she didn't have the energy to look at it or any other paper critically anymore. This sheet must have been the hundredth or second-hundredth document she signed today. In all the preparation she had undergone to become empress, nothing had prepared her for the mountains of paperwork that ruling the largest empire in the world required.

The door to the cloistered study opened and another stack of papers on a pair of legs walked in.

The stack of papers spoke to her in Nilfgaardian. "Pardon the intrusion your Imperial Majesty, and forgive my inability to bow, my burden prevents me from doing so. I bring me the…"

"Bloody hell more?" Ciri responded.

"Quaesen?" the man responded confused, evidently he didn't speak the common tongue.

"Just put it on the desk," Ciri said in Nilfgaardian, her tone dejected.

The clerk did as he as she asked. With the stack of papers put down, she was able to observe him properly. She still hadn't learned the names and faces of all the people who worked in the palaces administration so she thought it would be worth her time to study him. He was middle-aged, with clear signs of advanced age beginning to set in. His face while not fully wrinkled just yet was beginning to fold in on itself like a mastiff, his hair was thin and black and was going gray in some places. Set on his low bridged nose was a pair of clerks spectacles, the left lens of which was cracked. His attire was typical of a Nilfgaardian courtier, namely a black and white doublet and pants, it seemed fairly standard fair for one who worked in the administration of the imperial palace but Ciri took a closer look and noticed several stitches in the man's clothes. The stitches were expertly laced, undoubtedly by very well practiced hands, and overall the man's clothes seemed immaculately well kept despite clearly being quite old.

"What's your name?" Ciri asked the man in Nilfgaardian. The language still felt strange in her mouth. The Nilfgaardian language was technically just a variant of the Elder Speech, of which she was well versed in, but the way certain words and vowels were pronounced required more twisting of her tongue then she was comfortable with. She noticed how other ladies of the court would stifle laughter whenever they heard her speak in their tongue, apparently, she had a thick accent when she spoke it.

"My name is Garconne your Imperial Majesty," the man answered formally.

"No surname?" Ciri asked.

"No, I'm afraid my blood is not quite blue enough for such privileges, your Imperial Majesty."

"You can drop the imperial Garconne, your Majesty is just fine," Ciri would have preferred the man call her by name but she knew that to do so would make him extremely uncomfortable. Nilfgaardian's in the heartland clung to protocol and formality the way the Tousaintoi clung to tradition and wine. Having him drop one of the titles would be her compromise.

"Very well your Majesty is there anything else I may do to be of service," Garconne said stiffly. Speaking to him gave Ciri the feeling of speaking to a wooden plank.

"Are you married Garconne?" Ciri asked.

"That I am, your Majesty," Garconne replied, still stiff.

"For how long?" Ciri asked she wanted to see if she could get this man to loosen up. She needed the distraction after three mind-numbing hours of paperwork.

Garconne was slow to reply, "finally he answered, thirty-two years your Majesty."

"That's nice, any children?" she asked.

"The Great Sun has seen fit to bless us with three, your Grace. Two girls and a boy," a slight smile began to form at the edge of his lips at the mention of his children.

"How old are they?"

"My eldest daughter is twenty-five, she just gave birth to my third grandson. My son is twenty-two and is currently studying in Vicovaro to become an alchemist, he's close to earning his adept title. And my youngest daughter is sixteen, and is newlywed, to one of your Majesty's soldiers. Fine young man, with your Majesty's blessings I'm certain he will be a fine servant for the Empire."

"Let your son-in-law know he has them. How did your son get into the academy? The tuition fee is five-thousand florins."

"Ah, yes, we had to take a rather substantial loan out to fund his education, your Majesty. Ordinarily, such pursuits would be well out of the grasp of common folk such as ourselves, however, I had saved up enough from my wages from working in the palace that I was able to make a large enough down payment to have the loan approved. Between mine and my wife's earnings we're able to make just enough to pay the loans in regular installments."

"You must have a lot of faith in your son, taking a risk like that."

"Yes, but I believe it will be worth it. Even as a child, my Marcione has had a talent for potions. My brother Bosco, sun bless his soul, was an apothecary, he taught my son everything he knew before he passed.

"Sorry to hear that? How did he die?" Ciri asked compassionately, expecting to hear a story about an alchemic experiment gone horrible wrong.

"He choked on a chicken bone."

Ciri chuckled involuntarily, "I'm so sorry, that was highly inappropriate of me."

"No need to apologize your Majesty. We thought it was funny too after a while. Bosco was a talented apothecary but he lacked a great deal in the way of common sense, he was the kind of man who would leave his door unlocked because fumbling with keys was too troublesome."

"What if someone robbed him while he was sleeping or out?"

"That's what I told him. He answered by keeping all his money on him at all times. I finally got him to start putting his money in the bank after the third time his purse was cut."

Ciri laughed, "you have an interesting family. How close is your son to graduate?"

"When last he wrote to me he said he was at most another year away from earning his adept papers."

"Let him know that if he proves himself there could very well be a place for him here at court. I have a great many projects planned for the near future, and I will need many skilled mages and alchemists to accomplish them."

The middle-aged clerk's eyes widened in surprise. "Thank you, your Imperial Majesty, thank you, I don't know what to say, thank you."

"There's no need for that. Talent and good service should always be rewarded. How much of the loans have you paid off?"

Including the downpayment, almost two-thousand florins."

"Oh, so you're almost a quarter of the way there."

"Well yes, but then there is the interest to consider and with a rate of ten-percent…I'm sorry your Majesty I should not be discussing such matters with you."

"How much do you still have to pay off?""

"About four-thousand five-hundred your Majesty," Garconne said sheepishly.

"What? That's a thousand and a half more than the actual tuition to Vicovaro."

"I'm aware your Majesty, but the usury fees must be paid, nothing to be done about it."

"Who is your lender?"

"Beg pardon?"

"Who is your lender?" she repeated slowly.

"The Assidiea Bank," Garconne answered nervously.

"Tomorrow bring your loan contract to me, I'll take care of it."

"Your Majesty I cannot accept, that is entirely too generous."

"How long have you been in the palace's service Garconne?"

"Thirty-nine years your Majesty. I started as a kitchen hand when I was twelve."

"So you've been in service to the Imperial Family for nearly your entire life?"

"That would be accurate to say yes," Garconne said sheepishly.

"The way I see it, the amount of time you've spent here is too generous. Talent and good service should always be rewarded Garconne. Bring me your loan contract tomorrow, that is an order, from your EMPRESS," she said firmly.

"Yes, your Imperial Majesty," Garconne gave her the traditional formal bow and departed from the office.

She watched him leave with a notable spring in his step that made her smile, it was good to be able to do nice things for people without thinking of the cost. "This is one part of the job I think I can get used to very easily."

As she began to sink back into her work she heard a pair of light footsteps enter the office. She didn't need to look up, she knew those particular footsteps quite well.

"I just passed a rather giddy looking clerk in the hall, did you say something to him?" Avallha'c asked.

"Nothing much just offered to pay off his debts."

"How much were they?" the elven sage asked.

"Forty-five hundred florins," Ciri answered as she nonchalantly continued her paperwork.

"That's entirely too generous."

Ciri chuckled, "he said the same exact thing."

"Because it's true," Avallha'c said in a tone that was halfway between amusement and boredom.

"It's no matter, an amount like that is a drop in the bucket for the imperial treasury. Besides, that money will just flow back to us anyway after we levy income taxes, the ministry of revenue is surprisingly efficient."

Avallha'c nodded before waving his hands, a brief flash of light passed and a comfortable mahogany chair cushioned with red velvet materialized out of thin air. Avallha'c sat in it.

"Did you conjure that or create it?" Ciri asked.

"If you were a fully fledged mage you would have been able to answer that question yourself," he said.

"Avallha'c we've been over this. I can't use normal magic, my elder blood won't allow it."

"From what Merigold and Yennifer told me, you were able to use it just fine in your childhood."

"I lit several cottages on fire, and never properly learned to control it, and that was all before the power of my blood kicked-in."

"From what I can diagnose you are suffering from a mental block, your blood has nothing to do with it."

"Maybe, but it doesn't matter, I'm powerful enough without it," Ciri said curtly.

"Oh, so your powers have come back in full force then?" Avallha'c questioned.

"I managed a few sparks this morning."

"Show me," Avallha'c ordered his tone becoming serious.

Ciri put her quill down and pointed her index fingers towards each other. She concentrated for a few seconds before a tiny current of green lightning zipped between her fingertips. "It's just a small amount but it's an improvement over the last couple of days."

"You should come to the lab, let Nial and I examine you properly. We need to know the full extent of what creature did to you."

"I know what it did to me!" Ciri snapped, "I felt it. It drained me, pulled the power right out of me like milk through a straw until nothing was left."

"All the more reason to examine you, we do not know whether or not this is permanent."

"It's not that much I know for sure. I can feel it, in my gut. It's as if three days ago my body contained a raging inferno that was suddenly quelled and left only embers."

"Interesting choice of words," Avallha'c noted.

Ciri blushed as the irony of her simile hit her, "but now slowly but surely those embers are picking up again."

"Let us hope that it is not too slowly," Avallha'c said quietly.

"It's not as if I'm lacking for power at the moment. Even without my magic, I'm still the Empress of Nilfgaard. I command the largest empire this world has ever known, and thankfully, I actually have a plan for what to do with it."

"Integrating magic at all levels of society," Avallha'c said, voice barely above a whisper, "are you sure this is wise Zireal?"

"You're having doubts now great sage? After we've already come this far?" Ciri asked mildly amused.

"We've not yet gone too far to turn back," he said.

"This is because of that creature that appeared during my coronation isn't it?"

"We still do not know for certain what it was. The only thing I can say for certain is that it was old, very old, I had to cast an alder curse on it just to ward it off, and that might have worsened the situation."

"The curse you cast, it was the same one that turned you into that mutated stump of a creature back then wasn't it?" Ciri asked concern slipping into her voice.

"Not exactly the same, but similar, in any case, I'm not certain if it even worked."

"What do you mean? You saw how it recoiled when the spell hit."

"It was not meant to make it recoil it was meant to warp and split every muscle fiber on its body."

"Which it did," Ciri noted.

"While it simultaneously reknit itself as my curse ran its course. It controlled individual strands of muscle tissue Zirael, I've never seen anything like it before. When word spreads of the foul monster that the Eternal Fire was containing not only will you be denounced as a blasphemer you will also be considered a fool for having been wrong and public opinion in regards to magic will decline even further. So I ask you again Zirael. Are you certain that the path you have chosen is the wisest course of action?"

Ciri slouched in her high backed chair for a moment. Her left arm slumped over the rest as her right hand pinched the bridge of her nose. She sat quietly for a moment thinking, before finally answering. "Magic is a part of this world Avallha'c. Maybe not a natural part, but a part. You and I both know for a fact that it can be a force for good when used responsibly. Magic is the best means this world has to progress but superstition and fear have ruled people for too long. The only way to get people used to the idea of magic is to make it so that they are exposed to it on a daily basis. That is the course I've decided would be in the best interest of this world."

The elven sage relaxed in his chair then waved his fingers into a formula. He pinched the air and the space around his fingers visible tensed as if he were pinching a stretched tarp. Then he pulled his hand back to pull out a dark green wine bottle followed by two goblets. Quietly he poured one glass passing it to Ciri before pouring another for himself.

"Beauclair red again?" Ciri asked. She took the wine but did not drink.

"It is the only vintage I find to be comparable in quality to wine from Tir Na` Lia," Avallha'c said as he sipped.

"You need to take it easy on the wine Avallha'c I don't think I've seen a day in the past year or so when you didn't have a goblet in your hand," she said.

"There's not much else for me to do Zireal."

"There is plenty for you to do. You have an apprentice to train, experiments to run, schemes to plot, projects to help me build, and anything else I happen to need an elven sage for."

"Bah, those things are all of 'this' world," he said with a hiss.

"And just what's so terrible about that?" she asked challengingly.

"I told you Zireal, this world does not matter to me as it does to you. While I do have many memories of this world, some fond, others not. In the end this is not my home. The people who live here are not 'my' people. And while I have no feelings of ill will towards this world, I have no reason to work to its benefit either. I am only here now because I have nowhere else to be for the moment," he took a big swig from his goblet as he finished.

"What about the elves of this world? The Aen Sheide? Are they not your people? Many of them pray every day that their Aen Elle cousins will come save them from the tyranny of men."

"They are naive, if the Aen Elle did come here they would come to conquer not to save."

"Still you're here anyway so you may as well help. By your own admission, you have nothing better to do. At the very least you can finish training Nial."

"He's already close to reaching the limits of his potential, there won't be much more I can do for him soon."

"You say that as if you're not proud of him."

Avallha'c shrugged, "he'll be a fine mage and a talented enchanter, but it has become increasingly clear to me that he is not fit to be an Aen Saevherne as I had initially hoped."

"Any particular reason why?" Ciri asked.

"It's difficult to explain, the simplest answer I can give is that he lacks the capacity for it. Nonetheless, I believe he will be of great use to you, especially with his talent for crafting trinkets and baubles."

"Those trinkets and baubles may end up revolutionizing the technology of this world."

"If a lantern filled with glowing crystal will be a revolution to your people then you truly would be doomed if the Aen Elle ever come."

"Fortunately, we know that is never going to happen," Ciri said, "now if you'll excuse me I have ruling to do."

Ciri returned to her paperwork, picking up another document that requested approval to build a new bridge across some river in Vicovoro.

"Why are you handling this?" Avallha'c asked.

Ciri looked up from her papers to see Avallha'c was reading one of the documents. "Approval to collect tributes from vassal states, requests for Imperial citizenship, tax deliberations, this is work for ministers and bureaucrats, not monarchs. Why is the imperial cabinet not handling all of this?" the elven sage asked.

"Because…" Ciri started, "actually that's a good question. Why am I doing this myself? We have hundreds of quill pushers in the government."

She removed herself from the desk and exited the well-furnished study. The guards outside the door faced her and bowed in the traditional manner with feet propped back and arms outstretched. "Do you require anything your Imperial Majesty? We'll be happy to send for a servant to fetch it."

"Get me the chief minister of finance," she demanded.

"Um, apologies your Imperial Highness, but his Lordship is indisposed at the moment," the guard answered nervously.

"Indisposed you say? Ok, how about the customs minister."

"Indisposed," the guard answered again.

"Treasury?"

"Indisposed."

"Is that so, what's your name soldier?" Ciri asked.

"Erval, your Imperial Majesty," the soldier answered.

"Who is your superior Erval?" Ciri asked.

"Why you, of course, your Imperial Majesty," Erval answered.

"I mean your direct superior. Who ordered you to stand guard here today."

"The…Grand Marshall your majesty," the nervous soldier finally let out.

"Moehoen ordered you here himself?" Ciri asked.

"That would be correct your Majesty."

"And out of curiosity where is the good Marshall?"

"He is…"

"Let me guess, indisposed."

"Yes, your Majesty."

"Take me to them," Ciri ordered.

"Your majesty we are under orders too…"

"NOW!"

Morvran Voorhis sat and listened intently as the Emperor or rather former Emperor addressed the Imperial Cabinet. Emhyr spoke in a voice that was deep, powerful, and commanded respect. With the way he carried himself it was easy to forget that he had technically abdicated his throne three days ago. No one in the room seemed to care about that technicality though, as far as the men at this table were concerned, this man was still their ruler.

Around the long dark oak table littered with documents and ink stains sat the most powerful men in the Empire. Directly opposite him was the Minister of Finance Ifir Myr'Riandran, a thin bespectacled man of average height, who wore a rather out of fashion black felt cap with a quill in its brim, undoubtedly to cover the rather embarrassing bald spot he had developed in recent years. He had connections to the various banks throughout the Empire and helped to ensure that the Empire's financial markets stayed stable enough to encourage investment.

To Ifir's right sat Miurdin Var Reven, Minister of Revenue and Customs. A brown haired jovial looking man who had grown obese from too many bribes in the form of cake. Despite his gluttony, he had a sharp eye for numbers and a mind for bureaucracy, without him the Empire's coffers would quickly run dry.

To Morvran's own right sat Havart var Moehoen, a man with a block-like face, wide bridged nose, and thick shortly cut black hair in the style of disciplined soldiers. Moehoen was Morvran's direct superior after Emhyr, he served as Field Marshal of the Army during the war after Menno Coehoorn died, and was promoted to Grand Marshal after successfully leading Nilfgaard to victory over the Northern Realms, thus making him the highest ranking military officer in the entirety of the Empire.

Close to the head of the table, next to Emhyr was Ifir and Miurdin's master, the man who controlled every coin that coursed through the Empire's veins, Peter Eversten. Peter seemed to be about the same age as himself, he seemed quiet and unassuming with no distinguishing features whatsoever. At first glance, he seemed like the kind of man who would just fade into the background of any given situation, but observed in isolation such as here in the council chamber and the intense manner in which he listened and observed became evident. He didn't move, didn't flinch, didn't blink, Morvran wasn't even sure if the man breathed. He simply sat and listened with hands folded under his chin as he meticulously took in Emhyr's every word.

Lastly, sitting to Morvran's left at the end of the table across from Miurdin was a man whose impact throughout the Empire was virtually unknown by most, much like Morvran's own influence. The man in question was young and handsome with hair the color of vibrant sunlight and eyes that shone like polished emeralds. At only twenty-seven years old Jan Calveit was the youngest general in the Nilfgaardian Army. He was the commander of the Vicovoro division and had led the Empire to victory in several key battles of the Northern War and various rebellions in the provinces. This was what most people in the court knew him for. What they did not know was that Calveit also sat on the board of chancellors at the Vicovoro Academy and was its chief patron. Though not a mage or scholar himself he had expanded and regimented the curriculum of the academy turning it from an institution that generated scholars of sporadic and inconsistent quality into the most frighteningly efficient manufactory of academics in the world. This effectively gave him control of the Empire's supply of physicians, surgeons, lawyers, clerks, alchemists, and most importantly mages.

In the Northern Realms, before the witch hunts began, mages were held in high esteem and given places of honor as advisors to King's and Queens. Here in Nilfgaard however mages were tools, and all of them were the property of the Emperor, not in name but in effect. Mages in Nilfgaard were forbidden to seek office or hold lands, they could not officially join the army's ranks though they were beholden to the commands of army officers and commanders if the Emperor willed it. Furthermore, all new experiments dealing with magic had to be designed and approved by the mages academy or university board before being conducted, and under no circumstances without express permission from an authority where they allowed to cast spells in public. The Empire recognized the utility and power of magic and knew that to ban it outright as the fools in Redania where hellbent on doing before their defeat was not only stupid but counterproductive and stifled the overall advancement of society. At the same time, they could not simply be left to their own devices, the Lodge of Sorceresses was a perfect example of what that path leads to. Therefore the best solution was to allow mages to ply their trade within specifically well-defined limits. Boring? Perhaps. But it was a stable system, a system that most of the men at this table liked and had become rich and powerful as a result of. The fact that their new Empress was not only the most powerful sorceress in the world but also intended to integrate magic at every level of society was a serious threat to that system.

"Morvran, where do we stand on tracking that beast?" Emhyr asked. Even the man's questions sounded like commands.

Answering succinctly in Nilfgaardian, Morvran answered, "the creature leaves no tracks in the traditional sense, however, several eye witness reports speak of an unidentified magical object flying through the sky heading west. Interestingly, it's sighting is also often followed by sudden windstorms with no rain nor thunder."

"Just wind?" Emhyr asked.

"Just wind," Morvran confirmed, "many of the eyewitness accounts especially the ones from peasant farmers believe that what they see is the Wild Hunt bored of constantly carrying frost and instead of bringing heavy wind."

"And the status of the temple?"

"Closed to the public, our forces in the city have quelled the riots for now, but the dark energies that the creature left behind are still interfering with our ability to investigate the area properly or reclaim the bodies of the dead. I suspect we will need to perform an exorcism on the grounds."

"Should we call in the priests of the sun?" Ifir asked mockingly.

"Don't be ridiculous Ifir," Calveit cut in with a voice that sliced like a knife, "this situation requires real power. I will assemble a team of mages specialized in the supernatural. And send them to Novigrad posthaste. We still have a working megascope in the Embassy yes?"

"Using magic to solve everything, perhaps you should try courting the princess Calveit," Miurdin snickered.

"The Empress," Morvran cut in, putting special emphasis on Ciri's new title, "should also be made aware of the situation. Should we not have also invited her to today's council?"

"That girl is not ready for the trappings of a crown and scepter," Ifir said venomously, "she's far too rash and idealistic. Her actions during the coronation are proof of this."

Morvran was about to respond when Emhyr spoke up, silencing everyone. "That girl," he said, "is my daughter and your Empress. You would do well to mind what you say about her Ifir."

Ifir's face turned red from embarrassment as he bowed his head in apology. "Forgive me my liege, I spoke too harshly. However, if I may say so, there is truth to my words harsh as they are. After all, is that not the reason why your majesty has opted not to invite her to today's council."

"Cirilla and I, have an understanding, let us leave it at that and focus on the task at hand. Now then, in regards to how to handle the Church."

"We'll need to rout them," Morvran said, "before we could have simply pressed them into suzerainity and left them to their own devices the way Redania did, but now there is no chance the Church and the Empire can come to an accord. I recommend deploying more troops to Novigrad and rounding up all high ranking members of the clergy and guard before they can mount a resistance."

"I second this," Calveit said, "with the gate in operation we will be able to mobilize a large force from the capital immediately."

"Once we're done with the stick we'll need to dangle some carrots," Eversten said suddenly, "General Voorhis, can you also deploy emissaries from the merchant's guild to connect with the guild in Novigrad?"

"I can certainly make such arrangements," Morvran answered, "what did you have in mind?"

"A merger," Eversten said, "the Novigrad Merchant's Guild has trade networks that spread across the entirety of the northern realms. We've been trading with them for years through Metina and Nazair so convincing them of the benefits of joining with us shouldn't be too difficult, and with his Majesty's permission we can offer them favorable terms in tax and tariff agreements."

Morvran was about to respond when suddenly the door to the council chamber flew open and a voice as furious as a flock of harpies shouted. "Don't you mean, HER Majesty Count Eversten!" said the furious ashen-haired women.

"Cirilla," Emhyr noted smoothly, the young woman's sudden outburst not phasing him in the least. "How long have you been standing there?"

"Long enough to know that I'm apparently not ready for the trappings of a crown and scepter," she said angrily as Ifir's face turned bright red.

She strode into the council chamber, fury marking her every step. She pointed a finger to Ifir, "You! You're finished, you have until tomorrow morning to be gone from the capital."

"Cirilla," Emhyr said his voice even and stoic.

"I will not have another detractor or naysayer in a position of power to cut me down," Ciri said firmly, "and before you say I'm acting rashly let me just remind you of the several dozen or so coups that you've stomped out over the years even if they were only…"

"You're right," Emhyr said simply.

"Eh?" Ciri said stopping short.

"In any other circumstance, you would be correct to remove Ifir from a position from which he could be a threat to you. In fact, in any other circumstance I might say that simply banishing him is far too generous."

As the exchange between the two rulers played out, Morvran watched in amusement as Ifir's face turned from beet red to ghostly pale.

"However," Emhyr continued, "as it stands he is far too valuable an asset to be simply disposed of. He keeps our financial markets stable and efficient, thus ensuring that our coins and banknotes retain their value as they spread throughout the world."

A tense silence formed in the room as the Emhyr and Ciri stared each other down. Finally it was broken when the Empress after taking a deep breath finally said to Ifir, "you got lucky today Ifir," she said before striding up to the end of the table.

"We'll discuss your failure to inform me of today's meeting later, but for now there is business to discuss. Someone fetch me a damn chair!" she ordered. Within moments guards dashed out from the council hall and returned with a padded wooden chair that was fetched from the drawing room next door.

She took a seat at the unoccupied foot of the table, directly across from Emhyr. The two rulers locked eyes while the other men at the table shook their heads back and forth between them, before finally settling on Emhyr. "Continue," the former Emperor said.

"I believe we were discussing deploying a large force to Novigrad," Calveit said.

"Don't we already have three full battalions holding the city?" Ciri asked.

Calveit turned to her, and answered politely, "I know after the events at the temple your Majesty was in convalescence from that creature's attack, so you may not yet be informed. In the wake of the events at the coronation, the city was consumed in riots. Several districts of the city were burnt to ash, the damage was particularly severe in the nonhuman quarters. The chaos lasted nearly two whole days. In addition to the property damages, we lost nearly three-hundred men attempting to restore order to the city. Furthermore, according to General Voorhis' reports, there remains various groups of citizens and gangs who are organizing into something of a quasi-militia, the temple guard, what's left of it at least, is also still an active threat. The situation calls for reinforcements."

"I see," Ciri said, "this presents us with an opportunity then."

"An opportunity your Majesty?" Calveit asked.

"Riots produce people who have been injured and robbed. No doubt there are many innocent bystanders looking desperately for relief. If I go with a team of physicians and food distributors we might be able to finally start building some goodwill with the people. Additionally, if we deploy our engineers and architects we should be able to quickly rebuild the damaged portions of the city. Rebuild them in a more, Nilfgaardian style, if you catch my meaning."

Calveit stroked his chin for a moment, considering the Empresses words. "Hmm, I see, yes, yes, I believe it is an excellent tactic, your Majesty."

"Would you care to enlighten the rest of the council?" Ifir asked.

Morvran answered, "Her Majesty wishes to begin the work of assimilating Novigrad into the Empire."

He answered in a manner that made it sound as if he'd just pieced it together there and then, though in truth the Empress had him hard at work on this plan for months now. His spy network had already penetrated deep into the city's underworld, what was left of it at least, and they already had points of contact with the various merchant and craftsman guilds. The riots had thrown a bit of a stone in the wheel but not enough to keep it from turning. The other men at this table assumed that she was new to the throne and new to power and thus could exploit her inexperience. What fools they would soon realize they were.

"Wouldn't that be a bit premature?" Miurdin asked, "will the Novigradi even be willing to accept Imperial Aid."

"A valid concern," Ciri answered, "I'm certain many will refuse at first, but I'm also certain many more will be desperate enough not to care. It's an easy thing to forget, especially for people working in politics, but the average man typically doesn't bite the hand that feeds him."

"I agree with Cirilla," Emhyr said, "our armies can hold the city but for as long as the people see us as invaders we will never be able to reap the benefits of having it. Grand Marshal!"

"Yes your Majesty!" Mooen said reflexively with a salute.

"Mobilize the ninth battalion to reinforce our troops in Novigrad."

"It will be done," the Grand Marshall said before standing up, bowing and exiting the chamber.

Emhyr continued to issue orders, "Calveit, you are to assemble a team of mages to clear the grounds at the temple. Voorhis, you shall establish contact with the merchants guild in Novigrad, Peter and I will pen a letter with some terms you can bring them shortly."

"Ehm," Ciri coughed. She looked at her father sternly, tapping a finger on the table in annoyance.

"Cirilla I will leave the relief and reconstruction efforts to your direction. That will no doubt be the most public aspect of this occupation and will give you a chance to become better recognized as the new face of the Empire."

"Very well," Ciri responded, "I shall have General Voorhis accompany me then. No doubt we will have to make arrangements with the merchants to purchase supplies. Come, General."

Morvran looked to Emhyr who nodded his ascent. "I will take my leave then," Morvran said as he bowed to the former Emperor and then following Ciri out.

They left the council hall silently, walking side by side until they were out of earshot of any guards. "What was that?" she whispered to him.

"What was what?" Morvran asked keeping his voice equally low.

"Asking his permission to leave, I rule now, not him," she said.

"That's not the way the others see it."

"They think me a mere puppet don't they? A target to point daggers away from Emhyr's back."

"Well, that is the excuse his Excellency gave them."

Ciri stopped and took note of what he had just said. Morvran had called Emhyr his Excellency rather than his Majesty. It was a small change, but Morvran noticed that it made the Empress smile ever so slightly.

"It can't be helped," she said, "after all the number of times that a ruler has been known to willingly abdicate their throne without deposition, coercion, or death can be counted on one hand. I shouldn't be getting petty about this, but still, I'd thought at least they'd treat me with a bit more respect."

"The men in that room where elevated to their status for their loyalty your Majesty. If they were the types to shift so easily Emhyr never would have allowed them so close. In addition, I believe they don't like what it is you represent."

"And just what do I represent to them?"

Morvran hesitated, trying to find the right words.

"You don't have to mince words with me Morvo," Ciri said.

Morvran breathed out, "I do despise that nickname."

"I don't care, Morvran is too much of a mouthful to keep saying all the time. And besides, you've already pledged your undying loyalty to me, surely you can put up with a little name-calling," she teased.

"Very well," he sighed.

"Anyway, you haven't answered my question."

"You represent a change to them. To them, you are something foreign and alien. Not only are you of foreign blood and temperament but you also possess magic of the highest caliber. Mages are seen as tools in Nilfgaard, servants to be made use of but nothing more. Seeing a sorceress on the throne, one who has publicly stated that her goal is to integrate magic at all levels of society represents a serious threat to the mechanism that has made them wealthy and powerful."

"So what you're saying is I can't win them over without changing my plans."

"Essentially yes."

"Well, I'm not doing that, and if they won't come to my side I'll find the people who will. What have we heard from the King of Beggars?"

"Nothing, guards report that Bedlam disappeared after being escorted out of the temple. After that no contact. It's possible he got caught in the riots."

"That old codger," Ciri shook her head, "not likely. He's probably hunkered down somewhere until the storm passes. We need to find him quickly though. Have your agents speak to the city beggars if anyone can pass a message to him they can. Also, we need to think about how we're going to inform the public about the monster that was hiding in the fire."

"No need, we're already implementing a plan as we speak."

"What do you mean?" Ciri asked.

Morvran grinned, "His Holiness Hierarch Hammelfart, has graciously confessed to his crimes, and is being kind enough to stand on a pyre for us."