"I'd prefer to come with you."

There it was—the precise answer Brighid expected. Briefing her Driver about the Aramach in Mor Ardain—leaving out the uncertain details about Ciaran's identity—had been one thing. But convincing her Driver that she should travel back to the outpost alone was another matter altogether.

"We both know that's not a feasible option at the moment, Lady Mòrag," Brighid replied. Her response almost felt rehearsed. "You are needed here. This is not a trip you can handle personally, so please allow me to go in your stead."

Brighid couldn't shake her own sense of urgency; the more time they wasted, the more likely it was that the Aramach prisoner would be killed or rescued. And the distinct possibility loomed that he might try to kill himself to avoid giving away vital information. In the interest of expediency, she had been very tempted not to ask for Mòrag's permission. Mòrag hated sending her on solo missions. But since going off unauthorized would have caused her Driver additional stress, Brighid risked it.

"I'm not comfortable sending you off alone. Just think about what Aramach attempted last time," Mòrag said.

"I won't be going alone. Pandoria is coming with me."

Mòrag raised an eyebrow. "I didn't realize you two were close."

"Close isn't the word I'd use. But regardless, I won't be alone. You needn't fear for my safety."

"Fine," Mòrag relented. "But only if you promise to be back in time for my dress fitting. There is no way on Alrest I'm enduring that alone."

Brighid forced a small smile. "Of course."

Before long, Brighid and Pandoria had boarded a skimmer. The smallest ship in the Imperial fleet, it was not built for comfort but rather speed. As such, the ride jostled them uncomfortably. Journal writing was not an option, which meant that Brighid spent the entirety of the ride listening to Pandoria prattle on. Some of her chatter intrigued Brighid, though. For one thing, Pandoria cleared the air on her relationship with Zeke:

"Yeah, I love my prince. But not in that way, you know? Sure, we used to be, um, involved. But that was years ago. One day we just kinda woke up and realized that we were basically platonic. Like siblings almost."

"So you're at ease with this arrangement?" Brighid asked. The thought that Pandoria was less perturbed than she herself was just didn't sit right.

The lightbulb on Pandoria's hat flickered. "Sorta? I'm okay with the idea of them having kids together. Even if I did still have romantic feelings for my prince, which I don't, I can't give him heirs. And even though he comes across as a denser-than-an-Ardun oaf, that's a duty he takes really seriously." The electric Blade sighed and twiddled with her tail a moment. "What's really hard is the thought of having to share him with her. Up 'til now, it's been just us and Turters against the world. But once he's hitched, he won't be able to pay as much attention to me. Nothing against Mòrag, but I'm not sure I'm ready for that."

Brighid's eyes widened, briefly revealing the deep purple of her irises. She and Pandoria had something in common after all. "Agreed. But there is some consolation in knowing that the bond between Driver and Blade is irreplaceable. Not even a spouse can mimic it. That's especially true for you and Zeke, is it not? You both quite literally sustain each other."

Pandoria grinned. "Yeah. It's a cool feeling. And I guess we'll figure it out together, right?"

"Certainly."

Not for the last time did Brighid feel a twinge of jealousy for the unique bond the Tantalese pair shared. Brighid and Mòrag had always been close. But Brighid's protective instinct almost craved the knowledge that every second of the day, her core was keeping her Driver alive, and vice versa. But the thought of seeing Mòrag bleed to take in part of her core always deterred her from ever suggesting it again.

Pandoria started reminiscing about their delve into the Spirit Crucible, but before she had spoken much on the subject, the skimmer came to a screeching halt at the outpost dock. A flurry of activity quickly followed. Since Brighid had sent word ahead of their coming, everything moved smoothly. Captain Padraig and several other soldiers greeted them at the gangplank and led them to where the prisoner was being held.

A quick glance around the room told Brighid that her instructions had been followed to the letter. The prisoner, shirtless and clearly exhausted, stood in the center of the room. Perhaps dangled was the better word, though; his toes barely touched the floor, as a hook held his bound arms overhead. Not far away were several buckets of water.

"And he's said nothing so far?" Brighid asked.

"Afraid not, ma'am. We only know what the Driver of the Aegis told us yesterday," Padraig answered.

Brighid nodded. "Very well. Leave us."

The soldiers filed out of the room, but Pandoria lingered. "Wait, you're gonna torture him? Why?"

"If I must, then yes," Brighid said dryly. "If you'd rather not be party to it, then I suggest you leave as well."

"Surely there's a better way. Maybe cut a deal with him?"

"Mor Ardain does not make deals with criminals and petty terrorists. I do only what I have to."

" 'Kay. I'll be outside, then."

Brighid shook her head as the other Blade departed. Torturing prisoners was by far the most distasteful part of her job. But according to her journals, it was a responsibility she had shouldered for countless Emperors and Drivers over the years. Emperor Hugo had been an exception. Despite his youth, he had always possessed an uncanny ability for dealing with thieves and spies without violence. Her previous self admired him for that above all else.

Today, however, centuries later, the world was a much harsher place. Mòrag usually took the peaceful approach to questioning when she could. But rarely did interrogations go as smoothly as their initial encounter with Nia during the Flesh Eater's Torna days. When the welfare of the Empire demanded it, Brighid would gladly shoulder the burden of more aggressive questioning. And to her relief, most sessions did not last long. It took an iron will to repeatedly endure the threat of being burned alive.

"I'm not a patient woman, cur, so I'll keep this simple," Brighid announced. "You answer my questions. Refuse to answer or lie to me—and trust me, I'll know if you do—and you'll get a burn mark. Each time you give a dissatisfying answer, the heat worsens. Understood?"

The man spat. "I'm not telling you anything. Aramach forever."

Her index finger lit up like a candle as she ignited the hair around his belly button. "Wrong answer," she hissed.

Over the years, Brighid had perfected her questioning process. First, she asked minor questions that she didn't really need answers to. Nearly every subject had the will to resist answering those. But with each unanswered question, her flames grew hotter. Her victim's resistance fell in nearly perfect correlation. And each question posed was deeper, more important than the last. By the time Brighid asked the questions that truly mattered, the man hovered at the breaking point.

"The man you're working for. Who is he? Was he at any point a Driver for the Empire?"

The prisoner attempted to glare at her in response, but she could see the ember of resistance dying in his eyes. She clenched a hand around each of his arms. Flames licked around her fingers, lapping at his skin. His howls split the air. One, two, three, four, five seconds. Enough to blister and scar, but not enough to make him pass out.

Enough to break his silence.

"You...y-you're the bitch who maimed the Boss," he spluttered.

All the warmth rushed out of her as his words sunk in. So it was true. The Aramach's leader, Ciaran—they were the Blade and Driver she knew...But no. She had to be sure. She had burned and scarred a lot of scoundrels over the years.

"Where are his scars located?" Brighid summoned another small sphere of flame and let it hover beside the man's ear. "Answer me!"

"His neck. You tried to strangle him and burn him alive. What a brutal woman."

Bile rose in her throat. "And his name?" Not that she couldn't guess; the positioning of the scars gave her all the proof she needed. She only ever attempted to throttle one man.

"I don't know. We all call him the Boss."

"And what is he trying to accomplish?"

The man clenched his mouth shut. His eyes locked on a metal screw in the ceiling above him, trying his best to ignore the fireball by his head. Brighid touched it to his earlobe, but he bravely bit his tongue and refused to speak.

"Very well," Brighid said, pulling the nearby buckets of water into a circle around his feet. "If I can't burn the truth out of you, maybe this will loose your tongue."

She shot a burst of flame into the first bucket of water. It erupted into a cloud of steam that burst over the man's bare, burn-mottled skin. Patches of it shone bright pink, teeming with instant blisters. He howled.

"Steam burns can be some of the most painful known to man. And I'll explode as many buckets as it takes," Brighid warned. "What is Pachnall trying to do?" She spat the name. The syllables burned like poison on her tongue.

Tears gleamed in the man's clenched eyes. He shook his head. A second bucket. Then a third. She raised a hand for a fourth—

"Please, please stop. I'll tell you," he begged at last. "The Boss wants to destroy the Ardainian government. Especially the monarchy."

"And how does he intend to do that?" Brighid held her newest fireball perilously close to the surface of the fourth bucket. It hissed at her touch.

"I don't know, I don't know! Please, lady. I'm just a grunt. I do what I'm told. No one tells me the plans."

Her keen eyes search his; no lies hid there. He truly knew nothing about the Aramach's greater schemes. Which meant she had learned very little—she'd merely confirmed the leader's identity: Pachnall. He had survived after all.

By my core, this time I'm going to kill him.

With any luck, she would do so before Mòrag learned he was still alive. Hopefully, Rex would return soon with a location on the Aramach base. Then she could take care of it before returning to Alba Cavanich. Bad news quickly dashed her hopes, however. Pandoria and Padraig burst into the room, surprise gleaming in their eyes.

"Apologies for the interruption, ma'am," Padraig bowed. "But it's urgent. We need the Special Inquisitor here immediately."

"I'm acting on the Inquisitor's behalf. She cannot be away from the capitol at this time. Unless this is of the direst importance, she is not to be disturbed."

"I think 'direst importance' doesn't really cover it. Like this is worse news than Zeke falling off a cliff," Pandoria explained. "Mòrag needs to come out here."

The Electric Blade's light bulbs glowed so intensely that the glass looked on the verge of melting.

"Brighid, it's Uraya. They took Rex."


"Marriage contract negotiations—what the hell is this? I thought Dad and Niall had finished all this nonsense."

Zeke shook both his head and the paper; the latter looked suspiciously like a to-do list. Mòrag pulled it away from him and set it back on her desk, hoping her own frustration wasn't as outwardly visible. It was going to be a long afternoon.

"Their Majesties have finalized most of the terms. But they've listed a few decisions that only we can make," Mòrag explained. "To ensure that this alliance goes smoothly, every last detail must be accounted for, including these."

"A lot of these I understand. It's all politics. But how many children we're going to have? Seems a bit personal to include in a marriage contract, yeah?"

"It's rather important to discuss, contract or otherwise…" Mòrag sighed. These were not conversations she wanted to have just yet, either. But the politics of the circumstances demanded it. "Do you even know how many children you want?"

"Probably ten or so."

Mòrag choked on her water. "Ten?! Zeke, I don't want to be having children until I'm forty."

"I was an only child, okay? It was boring until I resonated with Pandy. I had no friends or playmates. I don't want my kids to go through that. How many do you want, then?"

"One or two. Maybe three if that's what it takes to have a male heir."

Zeke scoffed. "The male heir provision is stupid. I vote that our marriage changes that. If our first kid's a girl, then Mor Ardain can have an Empress. It's about damn time, anyway."

"I don't disagree with you. But Niall's council will."

"Just one kid, though? That's an empty house."

"This may shock you, but I don't lead a chaotic personal life. Ten would be chaos."

"Meet in the middle, then. Six."

"You won't be the one carrying them. And that's not the middle."

"...Ugh, why are we even talking about this? Why don't we just start with the first one and see how that goes? We might turn out to be lousy parents, anyway."

"That would be the logical approach, but they're going to want a number on this paper. Five? We do have the right to change it ourselves later."

"Whatever. Let's go with it and move on to the next one. We're never going to finish at this rate."

The list of decisions seemed endless. First came the discussion of how their Blades would pass onto the aforementioned children—Tantal in particular honored an age-old tradition that each of Pandoria's Drivers would declare the identity of her next Driver in a will and testament (Niall had agreed to allow Mòrag to do the same for Brighid out of respect for the custom). Then there was the rather awkward conversation of how their living arrangements would fall, including the layout of their apartments. The sovereigns had already negotiated that Mòrag and Zeke would stay in Mor Ardain at first. Naturally, their Blades had shared living space with their respective Drivers in the past, with Brighid taking an adjoining room to Mòrag's and Pandoria crashing anywhere near Zeke's vicinity, mattress or otherwise. Such an arrangement clearly would not work after the marriage was complete, and no solution readily presented itself. Pandy didn't like the thought of suddenly living and sleeping alone in her own apartments; Brighid hated the suggestion of sharing apartments with the other Blade. And while the thought of sharing a bed with Zeke made Mòrag's stomach twist in an odd way, the thought of Pandoria sauntering in and intruding on their privacy was truly embarrassing.

Once they finally managed to draw out an arrangement that would placate both Blades, they moved on to the rest of the list. It felt like hours as they both voiced their opinions for each decision. Occasionally, they agreed instantly, and no discussion was needed. But compromises came more frequently. At first, Mòrag disliked the process as much as Zeke did. After all, most normal couples worked through these issues after a year or two of marriage.

But this arrangement and "normal" did not fit neatly into the same sentence. And she'd read about more than one political marriage that fell apart for the same topics they discussed. A hundred years ago, an Ardainian prince married into the Urayan royal family in pursuit of an alliance. The ugly aftermath of the divorce still left bad blood between the nations even today. At the very least, the present-day contract would help prevent diplomatic tensions if the marriage ended in disaster.

And she almost felt grateful that Niall's counsellors had demanded they complete this process. For once, they had a say in matters. Granted, it was a small say, but for the first time in weeks, Mòrag felt like her own opinions mattered. Zeke's, too. And it surprised her how well they worked through the list. In fact, many of their collaborative solutions presented better outcomes than their original, individual preferences. If they hadn't been at these discussions so long, it might have been enjoyable.

At long last, the final item was penned.

"I'm ready to sign it if you are," Mòrag said.

Zeke nodded, took up a quill, and signed—awkwardly, since he rarely wrote his legal name on paper. Mòrag's signature was quicker, almost thoughtless. Both royals leaned back in their chairs and gave a long, unified sigh.

"Phew. I had no idea getting married could be so exhausting."

Mòrag laughed. "Imagine how much worse it would be if one of us was our nation's sovereign."

"No thanks. That was enough paperwork to last a lifetime. By the way, um…while we're on the subject of the whole wedding thing," Zeke stammered as he began, "because of my sad excuse for a proposal, I never gave you a ring. Now that we're...officially engaged and all, I should probably fix that, eh?"

Zeke pulled a ring from his pocket. It was fashioned in the traditional Tantalese style, with two braided bands of silver surrounding a square-cut ruby. It had been freshly cleaned and polished, but Mòrag could tell that the ring was rather old. How long had he been carrying it around?

"This was my mother's. It's the only thing I have of hers, actually...she meant a lot to me. I know that this is just an arranged marriage and it's hardly the right time. And I understand that we're just friends and all. But I still think you should have it."

Mòrag took a deep breath. "Zeke, I can't take this."

"It's fine. My mother would want you to have it. She always hoped I'd give it to my wife one day."

"No, that's—"

"Oh, you don't like it. Not your style? Should have known. You're not big on jewelry."

"Zeke, that's not it," Mòrag insisted. He looked so wounded, it was almost cute. "It's lovely. And I'll be honored to wear it when we're married. But not until then."

"What do you mean?"

"It's rather silly, actually," Mòrag smiled. "But in Ardainian culture, a woman doesn't take a ring until she weds. It's considered bad luck to do so."

"Weird. Then what the hell is a guy supposed to give a girl?"

"Well, three hundred years ago, you would have been expected to give me at least a hundred of your best cattle and your family's most treasured Blade core. But since removing Pandoria's core would probably kill you, I'll let you keep her."

"Cows?"

Mòrag nodded, stifling a laugh.

"I still think I ought to give you something, though. Feels wrong not to."

"Our contract is sufficient. And it's only a few weeks away."

Zeke nodded, but he looked dejected.

"But, I suppose...if you must give me something, I guess I could allow you to give me another kiss."

She hoped that her blush was not as visible as it felt. The first kiss hadn't been so bad, and if they were truly to produce an heir, then, well...she needed to learn to be comfortable with it. She wanted to learn to be at ease with it, at least. And his mother's ring was a sweet gesture. He treasured it. By giving it to her, he proved—better than he could with any contract or verbal agreement—that he stood by the arrangement, too. She almost wanted to thank him for that.

Zeke's mouth hung open. "Wait, you actually want to—"

"Don't get the wrong idea. We, um...well, I don't want us to look like fools when we kiss at the wedding."

"That's fair," Zeke whispered, leaning closer.

She licked her lips nervously as the distance between them shrank. Could he hear her heartbeat? And why was it hammering so? Nervousness never got the better of her in battle. It threatened to now. Part of her screamed to cut it short, say it was a joke. And yet, with his breath brushing her chin, mingling with her own, she couldn't bring herself to pull away, either. He reached up and traced a circle on her cheek with his thumb, urging her to close the remaining distance between them.

A loud buzz echoed through the office, the ethercom's noise much louder than it should have been. They jerked apart.

"I, ah, I-I should answer that," Mòrag stammered.

"Yeah, go for it. Probably important."

Mòrag pressed the appropriate button, wondering if her cheeks were as red as Zeke's. It wasn't as though they'd been caught doing anything wrong. But the embarrassment she felt when Pandoria and Brighid appeared on the opposite end of the ethercom confirmed that housing their Blades in separate apartments was the right call. If this was how she felt when they were caught—well, not even caught, really—almost kissing, then…

"Brighid, how goes the interrogation?" Her voice wavered. But if her Blade noticed the fluctuations, she hid it well.

"I am confident that the information I've gained will help us make some progress on our investigations. But that is not why I'm calling, Lady Mòrag." Brighid's tone was urgent. "We have a much bigger problem. It's Rex and the others. They've been captured by Uraya."

"What the hell?" Zeke gasped.

"Explain."

"First, I should apologize. I gave Rex permission to track the Aramach member without your consent, and—"

"Now is not the time for apologies, Brighid. What's happened to Rex? How did they capture him?"

"According to our scouts and messengers, the Aramach's trail led them into the demilitarized zone between our border and Uraya's. An Urayan patrol apprehended them and took them into custody."

"That's preposterous. On what grounds?"

"At first, they argued that armed civilians were prohibited in the zone. But when the patrol captain learned that Rex was out on an errand for the Inquisitor's office, the Urayans interpreted that as military force."

"But our treaty provides contingencies for such a circumstance! They have no right to—"

"I know that, and you know that," Pandoria chimed in, "but that's not how Uraya's spinning it. I think there's more to this."

Brighid nodded in agreement. "Something's not right here. The compensation they've demanded for this small breach of conduct is astronomically high. They're demanding that Mor Ardain dismantle all of our military outposts within fifteen titanpeds of our own borders."

"That's ardunshit," Zeke added. "Has Queen Raquara had too many Myman Stouts lately? She must know this'll never hold up. And kidnapping our lad Rex, of all people? That's practically an act of war."

"Right before we found Elysium, we were on the brink of war with Uraya. Those tensions don't disappear in a year alone," Mòrag explained. "Her Majesty's reactions may be drastic, but we can't condemn them outright. Mor Ardain would probably respond similarly if the roles were reversed."

"It is the Aegis we're talking about, after all," Pandoria said. "Mythra showing up in a strict no-military zone? That's bad news no matter how you look at it."

"We can't just leave our chum hanging out there, though. Rex did nothing wrong."

Mòrag took a deep breath. "I will brief the Emperor on the situation and set out for your location at once. Brighid, do what you can to soothe tempers. I will not have our men exacerbating the situation. And if you can set up a meeting with Urayan dignitaries, I will meet with them as soon as I arrive."

"Understood. I'll contact your airship if there are any additional developments."

Mòrag gave a tense nod before hanging up.

"We shouldn't waste any time, I guess," Zeke sighed. "Let's get going so Uraya can't turn this into a petty war."

"You're coming?"

"You bet. I mean, it won't be as pleasant as gardening, but we're a team now. And those Urayan bastards are holding my friends hostage, too."

Mòrag replaced her hat and returned her whipswords to their customary positions on her hips. She just hoped that this time she wouldn't need to use them. She swallowed hard, hoping to dispel the lump in her throat. Why was it that every time Rex volunteered to do a favor for her, he ended up headfirst in danger? She requested his help so rarely, but each time seemed more perilous than the last.

There was a bitter irony to the thought that Rex, the champion of their current peace and prosperity, might now become the spark of Elysium's first war.

In a matter of minutes, Mòrag stood in the throne room briefing the Emperor on the situation. The room went utterly silent at her report. And it was no surprise why: "delicate" was an inadequate description of the situation. Niall's self-sacrifice might have gained them some favor in Raqura's eyes, but Uraya still blamed the Ardainians for the Temperantia incident. And rightly so. Not even two years had passed; some of the reparations remained unpaid, some of the tombstones still uncarved. Urayan grieving customs endured more than a year. A few of Uraya's widows—whose husbands were identified long after the incident—still donned their black robes.

Uraya had every right to distrust Mor Ardain. But the latter had equal rights to retaliate for Rex's capture. Every nation regarded Rex as a hero, but to most Ardainians, he was something of a saint or god. After all, a day or two more without Elysium would have buried thousands of Mor Ardain's citizens in a murky tomb beneath the Cloud Sea. But would they be willing to go to war over an affront to Rex's honor and safety?

An official summit would have to take place, ideally before any blood spilt. Formal negotiations had worked once, seemingly against all odds. Mòrag didn't like praying to the Architect, especially now that she knew he perished with the Conduit. But she found herself whispering a small prayer that Uraya could be reasoned with. Things rarely happened the same way twice. And this time, there was no Indol to play at being a peacemaker between them.

"You may depart at once, Inquisitor. But I will accompany you," Niall announced. "Uraya must know that this threat will not go unanswered."

"Your Majesty, I respectfully object to that proposition. Notwithstanding the demilitarized zone between our countries, that area is unstable. I was ambushed by members of the Aramach there. I could not guarantee your safety," Mòrag countered.

"Special Inquisitor, I understand and appreciate your concern. But this dispute must be resolved quickly, for Rex's sake at least. The entirety of Alrest owes him their lives. Uraya's actions are egregious and must be answered with equal gravity. My presence will have that effect."

"Your Majesty, please consider what happened the last time we had an official summit with Uraya. And I have a bad feeling about this whole affair."

"Uraya was not responsible for the attempt on my life. And while I trust and respect your instincts, I will be going. There will be no further discussion on the matter."

If they had been alone, Mòrag would have spoken more openly, told him that his actions were reckless and nearly irresponsible, especially with Eulogimenos still a guest in the palace. But before the court, she had to swallow her pride and bury her concern beneath the mask of her office. Here their blood did not matter—only their offices. The Special Inquisitor could not object now that his command rang in her ears.

Zeke broke the silence.

"Listen Mòrag, if it makes you feel better, I'll guard Niall personally while we're out there," he volunteered. "That way you can focus on investigating and keeping the military in check. Between Aegeon and me, no one will get within five meters of him."

Niall brightened at the suggestion. His formal facade faded. "I for one would welcome the opportunity to better acquaint myself with my future brother-in-law. Does that arrangement ease your mind, sister?"

"Promise me you'll keep him safe," Mòrag said quietly.

"You've got my word. He'll come home without a scratch, or I'm not Thunderbolt Zeke."

"Very well."

A few hours later, for the first time since docking in Elysium, the Emperor's flagship departed Mor Ardain. Mòrag couldn't shake the sickening feeling that it would not return.