Ciaran cleared his throat. "They're back, my lord."

"About damn time. Send them in."

The pilots trailed in. Cor noted that they were less on-edge than usual. That probably boded well for their kneecaps...and their necks.

"Is it done, gentlemen?" Pachnall asked.

"Yes, Boss. Blown to smithereens. It was a beautiful dust cloud."

"And you made sure that our merry band of Ardainians was not in the base when it exploded, correct?"

Each man in the line shook his head violently.

"Good. I still need that woman in one piece. I'm not quite finished with her yet."

Pachnall shooed the men away, and they scurried off like mice. The Aramach leader gave a contented sigh. He pulled open one of his desk drawers and took out a bottle of champagne and two glasses. "Cor, my friend, let's have a toast."

Cor paused. Something about Pachnall still rubbed him the wrong way. The man was a lot like himself—almost too like himself. Maybe that was why Cor now found himself as Pachnall's left-hand man behind Ciaran. Despite that similarity, something about Pachnall's tenacity, his drive to accomplish some mysterious goal ran far deeper than Cor's own. That mystery left Cor constantly tense around his so-called benefactor. And he was no fool; one wrong move and Pachnall would hand him poisoned wine.

However, it had been months since he'd last tasted good champagne. The offer was too tempting to refuse.

"A toast to what, Boss?"

"To secrets and deceptions, my friend. Worth far more than any gold. And far more effective."

Cor took a long swig of his drink, letting crispness of the bubbles stimulate his nostrils and tastebuds. "Why the bombing, Boss? I thought we were going after Mor Ardain, not Uraya. And you brought me in to distract the Inquisitor, but you haven't sent me out in weeks. What's really going on?"

"You're a curious man, Cor, which makes you such an asset to me. Tell me: how does a mouse manage to wound a cat?"

"I have no idea."

"By leading her to a dog. She might survive the encounter, but she'll be far too weak to fight back when the mouse returns with a swarm of his own kin." Pachnall's eyes glinted like steel.

"You're speaking cryptically again, Boss. I don't understand."

The Driver drained his glass before responding. He licked his lips. "Mor Ardain and Uraya will take the bait and try to rip out each other's throats. My man on the inside should send us word any day now. And when they do, I'm going to grow my own army."

"You mean, add new members to the Aramach? How?"

Pachnall grinned. "Simple. I'll let them out of their cages."


"Morning."

The quiet voice pulled Mòrag from the last vestiges of sleep—it was too unfamiliar to really ignore. She rubbed her eyes, not bothering to sit up. The motion left dark streaks on her fingers. "This is why I don't wear this infernal makeup."

Zeke laughed, his volume level brightening now that she was fully awake. "Well, it looked good. Until now, that is. Also, I never pegged you for a blanket hog."

Mòrag looked at the covers, still cocooned around her figure with hardly a corner left for him. "Sorry. I-I'm not used to sharing. Were you cold?"

"Nah, it's good. Once you cuddled up next to me and stole the blankets, you hardly ever moved, actually."

Awareness kicked in, and she realized that, at some point in the night, she nestled herself even closer to him, her arm slung completely across his torso. Her fingers tingled against Pandoria's core crystal fragment. She sat up, suddenly feeling guilty. That part of him, at least, would always be his Blade's. And there was something else, too…

Oh, you mean the fact that you got him all riled up last night and then cut him off just as he was starting to enjoy himself? Don't pretend you didn't see that he was into it. But you robbed him of that and then drove him mad all night by cuddling him. That's a mean way to tease him.

No. It wasn't wrong. It wasn't teasing. He'd been so understanding when he heard the truth. "You owe it to yourself to heal, no matter how long it takes." After hearing something so kind, so forgiving, falling asleep against him had just happened. She couldn't help it. For the first time, a man's arms felt safe. And she'd half expected that, after telling the tale, the night would be plagued by nightmares. But she didn't recall any. Was that because her subconscious knew she wasn't alone?

"...Did I say anything odd in my sleep?"

"Don't tell me you're a sleeptalker."

"Not really. I just, sometimes when I have a nightmare, Brighid says that I mumble. Or at least I used to."

"Nah, you were out like a light...So what do we do now?"

"Now we figure out married life, I suppose. Although—"

A loud knock on the door cut her off.

Zeke rolled his eyes. "You gotta be kidding me. Bugging us the day after our wedding? You're joking, right?" He raised his voice to be heard by whoever knocked. "Unless you're bringing room service, go away!"

Brighid's voice was muffled by the door, but her annoyance was still clear. "I'm afraid your breakfast will have to wait. You're both needed in the council chamber at once."

"Yeesh, thanks for the relaxing honeymoon," Zeke groaned.

"We'll be there in a moment, Brighid," Mòrag called. Niall explicitly promised them a few days off. He wouldn't go back on that promise without good reason. Whatever the reason was, it had to be urgent.

Zeke continued to grumble under his breath as they got ready, taking turns to shower hurriedly and dress in the bathroom. It seemed so foreign having him there and not Brighid; he was certainly more talkative than her Blade.

Once Mòrag finished her own shower and slipped back into her uniform, she felt a little more herself. Architect, it felt good to have on pants again. Even if yesterday's ceremony only lasted a day, the whole wearing a dress portion of it seemed to last ten times as long. And as she buttoned her blouse, she fell back into a rhythm. First the blouse, then the military jacket, then her boots with the pant legs tucked inside. Hair up in a ponytail, then pinned into a flat bun so it would fit underneath her hat. Everything as it should be.

Well, almost. When she pulled on her gloves to complete her routine ensemble, she quickly discovered that the left one no longer fit. The white gloves had been painstakingly tailored to fit each finger—no extra fabric to impede her movement while fighting, providing just the right amount of grip. But now, with Zeke's ring occupying one finger, the glove was uncomfortable and unwieldy. She'd need new ones; not wearing the ring wasn't an option. People would ask questions. But more importantly, every time she looked at it, she was reminded of Zeke's thoughtfulness and how sweet he'd been. Deep down, she feared that his kindness still might fade like a soon-forgotten daydream. But the ruby was a constant reminder otherwise. So the gloves stayed behind.

"You ready?" Zeke asked when she reemerged from the bathroom. He was back to normal, too with his wide open overshirt, leather belts, and all.

She nodded, unable to shake the feeling that they were about to be plunged into something chaotic. What she'd give for a simple moment's peace. And coffee. Or something to eat. But that would just have to wait.

"Let's go, then."

When they stepped back into the hallway, Brighid was still there, leaning against the opposite wall as she waited for them. There was a tense exchange of "good mornings"; no one quite knew what to say beyond that.

"Is Pandy already there?" Zeke asked.

Brighid shook her head. "I believe she's still in her chambers."

"I-I'll go get her," he volunteered awkwardly, turning to move down the hall.

"Zeke—" Mòrag began.

He understood her warning of secrecy before she even said it. "Yeah, yeah. I know. I'll catch up to you."

He trotted off, and Mòrag turned on her heel and headed in the opposite direction towards Niall's council chamber. Brighid fell in step directly beside her, not her normal position a pace or two behind.

"What's going on?" Mòrag asked, trying to fill the silence with something other than their footsteps.

"It's not something you should hear from me. I'll let the Emperor explain."

Even from her peripheral vision, Mòrag could see Brighid stealing sideways glances at her. More than once, the fire Blade opened her mouth to speak, thought better of it, and shut it again. Her brows furrowed in an odd way, too. The not-so-subtle attention made the hairs on the back of Mòrag's neck stand up.

"Please stop looking at me like that," Mòrag said at last, stopping short to face her companion. "If you have something to say, out with it."

Brighid raised a hand defensively. "I don't intend to pry, Lady Mòrag. But...I am curious about how things went last night."

"It went exactly as you expected it would. We tried. I panicked. It was awkward. Now if you intend to smother me in 'I-told-you-sos,' please get it over with."

Her Blade kept silent; her face froze in that impassive, sympathetic look that only she could manage. The conversation lulled stiffly.

"I told him everything. Zeke knows," Mòrag blurted.

Brighid nodded approvingly. "Good. I'm glad you opened up to him about it."

"Why? Now he just knows that he deserves so much better than me."

"You are an incredibly strong woman, Mòrag. You had to be to survive. I'm sure Zeke recognizes that strength. But you don't honestly think that I've been oblivious all these years, do you? I know that deep down, you feel guilty about hiding the truth from everyone. You've let it haunt you. I think by telling him, you may be able to step out from under that guilt. Granted, this marriage is not the fate I would have chosen for you myself. But now that it is a reality, I would love to see you enjoy a fulfilling relationship with him. And it's my belief that telling him might be a step in that direction."

"I hope you're right. But now's not the time for that."

In a matter of minutes, they were outside the council chamber; tense voices could be heard from within. The sound made her stomach curdle. But she and her Blade waited until Zeke and Pandoria joined them. Better to minimize disturbances now.

The moment they entered the room, Mòrag could tell the situation was as urgent as she'd feared. The officials in attendance proved it. From the Senate, there were the heads of all the major political parties: Carrow for Brionac, Birall for Gardic, and Byrne for Ceartas. Ceartas was moderate and much smaller than its Brionac and Gardic counterparts. For such a small portion of the Senate to be represented here meant that this was a council of dire importance. Furthermore, surrounding the Senators were several of the highest ranking officers in the military. And of course, all of Niall's personal advisors were present. A table of such influence could only mean…

Mòrag took her seat beside Niall, trying to ignore all the looks shot her way. Did everyone have to keep looking at her like she grew a second head? Yes, they were out in public the day after the wedding—but did they really have to stare at her for it?

She forced her thoughts to return to the situation at hand as Niall cleared his throat.

"Special Inquisitor. Prince Ozychlyrus," he began, "I regret that I had to disturb you so soon. You deserve some time away together, and for that, I cry you mercy. But regrettably, the circumstance demands it." Niall's voice faltered as he fought back tears. "As soon as the ceremony came to a close yesterday, Uraya declared war."

Damn. Not even two years in Elysium, and we're already at each other's throats again, she thought. But she forced her initial anger down. Right now, Niall needed her to be steady, calculating, resourceful. Not impetuous. "On what grounds?"

"They've cited a combination of several things: our refusal to halt the alliance between Mor Ardain and Tantal, the Aegis's presence in the demilitarized zone, and of course, our recent raid on their base to recover the Aegis."

"All of those are legally sanctioned actions. And Raqura's still declaring war?" Zeke asked, his voice unusually calm.

"She claims that there was an unnecessary amount of force used in the rescue. Something about the fact that thirty casualties were caused by a single blast of lightning," Niall explained.

Mòrag hung her head. "The blame for those casualties is mine. I lost my cool attempting to rescue Brighid from the Urayans. My apologies, Your Majesty."

"If that were all," Niall sighed, "we could still convince them to accept reparations. But we've received reports that shortly after you all fled the Urayan garrison with the Aegis and her Driver, an Ardainian airship bombed it, reducing the entire area to ash. In retaliation, Urayan forces are marching on our borders."

"Impossible! No such order was issued. That wasn't us."

"Comparing Uraya's reports to the information Rex uncovered while he was gone," Brighid interjected, "it seems that the Aramach are to blame. They likely fired on the base from a pirated airship in hopes that a war between our countries would protect them from our investigations."

"Those bastards have Ardainian airships?" Pandoria gasped, ignoring the glares she got from a few courtiers for her word choice. "It's like Temperantia all over again."

Niall nodded. "According to Rex, they have several. While we don't have precise details yet, the reports indicate that they've acquired stolen vessels dating back more than a decade past to as recently as two years ago. The most notable among them is the Artigo, which, according to the records, was stolen from the state docks approximately fifteen years ago. It was one of my father's best warships."

"How on earth did anyone manage to steal such an important vessel?"

Brighid inhaled sharply. Mòrag shot her a questioning look, but the emperor's voice distracted them.

"The records do not give a name. They simply state that he was a convicted felon evading his sentence. But it seems he's at least partly to blame for our current predicament."

"Why am I the last to hear these reports?" Mòrag demanded. "Surely we aren't just finding out all of these details."

Brighid cleared her throat. "I've been spearheading the investigation on your behalf, my lady. You've been so busy lately that I hoped to lighten your load by handling the Aramach case myself. I'm deeply sorry that I did not tell you sooner."

"Just see to it that it doesn't happen again."

A lengthy discussion ensued, ranging from how to bolster defences at the border to whether Mor Ardain should take a defensive approach to the ensuing battles (which sparked a heated debate between Brionac and Gardic). Mòrag found it difficult to focus for much of it. Was this somehow her fault? Yes, Urayan tensions were historically strained. The marriage brought those tensions to a head. Could she have chosen someone else and avoided all of this? Uraya would not object to a union with one of her countrymen, would they? Senator Birall would have been a logical choice. But Zeke's proposal, unexpected though it was at the time, felt like the easy way out. And looking back on it, Zeke was probably the best choice...at least for her own personal well-being. No one else would have been so understanding after hearing last night's tale. Most Ardainian noblemen probably would have used it as an opportunity to gain control over the throne. But was Zeke the selfish choice? Had her desire to protect her past and shelter Niall thrown their country into an otherwise avoidable war?

And then came the matter of the Aramach; she neglected that investigation, choosing to focus on the pressing details of the alliance and the wedding. How could she let herself be so distracted? Maybe if she focused on tracking down Cor and his accomplices instead, she would have found them before they managed to further inflame international tensions. They were fortunate to have persuaded Uraya to maintain a shaky peace twice with the explanation that a third party was involved. First Jin's meddling at Temperantia, then the Aramach's scheme to pose as Ardainian military in the demilitarized zone; Niall would not be able to dissuade Uraya after a third instance. Even from their perspective, it was beginning to look like the boy who cried volff. And she'd gotten no closer to uncovering the spy in their midst, either.

"Your Majesty, the time for peace with Uraya is over!" Senator Carrow insisted, his voice louder than propriety demanded. "The crown must take decisive action."

"For once, I agree with the Brionac party. I doubt we will agree how to handle the aftermath of the conflict, but Mor Ardain must respond," Senator Birall added.

Mòrag bit back a rebuttal. The look in Niall's eyes—anyone at the table would say he looked brave, kingly, unfazed, but she could see the disappointment there. He fought so hard to maintain peace, and now it was all unraveling. Half of this was their fault, she realized. If the Senate hadn't been so intent on ousting Niall, then the entire arranged marriage would never have happened. Uraya wouldn't be declaring war. Now was not the time to openly criticize the Senate, however. But Architect, she wanted to.

"If the crown cannot be relied on to defend Mor Ardain from the Urayan menace, then it may be time for the Senate to take action," Carrow continued, thinly veiling his smile.

The entire table fell silent...except for Zeke. The prince slammed his palms against the table and stood, nearly toppling his chair in the process.

"I've had enough of your ardunshit, Senators," Zeke hissed, not even giving them the respect of eye contact. "We all know you want the throne, so you may as well stop hiding behind your dumb bill. Which is useless, by the way. Even if you did manage to pass your no-confidence vote, the throne would just fall to his sister. Do you honestly think you can vote your way through three heirs?"

"Lady Mòrag would not ascend—"

"Ardainian statute thirty-seven, article three, section six: in the event that there is a female heir, she may ascend the throne, provided she is married," Zeke recited, interrupting Carrow. "And section seven adds that her husband, if he is of royal blood, is her natural successor. So you're welcome to continue trying your petty little power play, but believe me, you'd have something to truly be upset about if you voted them both out. Because I'd put you ungrateful whelps in your place.

"You're familiar with our laws?" Senator Byrne asked.

"What do you think I did leading up to the wedding, eat waxed fruit? Of course I am. Seriously, chaps. How dare you imply that Emperor Niall is anything but a great leader?" Zeke continued. "It's easy to try to knock sense into other countries by simply blowing them out of the water. And yeah, I get it. Mor Ardain has the firepower to accomplish that. But that's the easy way out, the coward's choice. That's the path Amalthus took, and you lost your Titan thanks to him. Do you want to lose Elysium, too? Niall doesn't, I mean, His Majesty doesn't. That's why he's trying to keep conflict with Uraya to a minimum. Yeah, that approach is harder, but it's the right thing to do. Especially now. So if you're intent on voting him out of his office, just know that you'd be kicking out one of the best things to ever happen to this country."

For several agonizing seconds, Senators and courtiers alike gaped at the prince's outburst. Even Brighid's irises shone in her shock. Senator Carrow looked as though he'd been slapped.

"I knew I liked that guy," a commanding officer whispered.

Niall cleared his throat to hide the grateful little smile forming on his lips. "Is there anything else you wish to say, Prince Zeke?"

Zeke sat down. "No. Not for now, anyway."

Underneath the table, Morag gave his hand a single grateful squeeze.

"Well, then," Niall continued. "Gentlemen, I understand your concerns for decisive action. And I agree that Mor Ardain must be protected. We will take decisive action. But against whom we take those actions is paramount. Currently Uraya marches on our borders; we will do what we must to defend them. However, it behooves my station to remind the court that we are now fighting a war on two fronts: with Uraya and the Aramach. The latter is the crux of the conflict. We would be remiss to waste Urayan blood when the true foe lies within our borders already."

"What do you propose then, your Majesty?"

"We fortify our borders, focusing on the front facing Uraya, and hold that position as long as possible with as little bloodshed as we can manage. Meanwhile, we dedicate our best resources to finding and neutralizing the Aramach threat once and for all."

One of the commanding officers for the military's navy spoke up. "If I may, Your Majesty, we do not have adequate resources to defend ourselves against Urayan heavy artillery and go combing the wastes for these criminals. We'd be spread too thin. Uraya would penetrate our defenses immediately."

"By 'resources,' I was not referring to military resources. Rather, I was referring to some old friends of mine. In my opinion, they're the best team for the task." Here he nodded to Mòrag and Zeke. "Special Inquisitor, do you believe the Aegis and her Driver would be willing to assist us further in this affair? Can I rely on your team for this?"

"Your Majesty, I can't speak for Rex, but I do believe he would like to avoid involvement in a conflict with Uraya," Mòrag replied. "Impartiality is his preference. However—"

Zeke completed her thought. "If it means punching up some criminal scum, Rex will probably be down for that. That's justice, not politics."

"Excellent. Once their base has been located, I will authorize any military force necessary to dispatch them once and for all. Gentlemen, if you have any objections, I will hear them now."

"Your Majesty is in the right that the Aramach must be stopped," Senator Birall agreed, much to the chagrin of Carrow beside him. "And the Aegis, Master Rex, and their companions have saved us once before. Architect grant them the luck to do so again. I fear they'll need it."

No further objections were raised. Niall stood; the court rose with him.

"Well then, my lords, I leave the details of defending our borders in your capable hands. Architect protect us all. You are dismissed."

The military leaders were the quickest to leave, and Mòrag almost followed them. No doubt they'd be outside her office requesting final authorizations within the hour. But a meaningful glance from Niall held her back.

Even when the entire court had filtered out of the room, leaving them alone, Niall remained silent. He stared at the throne on the opposite end of the hall. Mòrag waited for him to speak, torn between the desire to hold him close while he cried—she could tell he fought back tears—and the duty of maintaining their respective positions. She hated these moments most of all. When he did cry, he looked so lonely, and it took all her self-control not to keep herself at arm's length.

The truth might only make the tears worse. And so she stayed his Inquisitor, his shield, his sister.

"I am truly sorry about this, Mòrag," Niall said at last. "I promise, when this is over, you may have as much leave time as you desire."

"You needn't apologize. As always, duty comes first."

He sighed. "Everything I've done until now, it was all for nothing. I tried so hard to avoid a war, yet here we are. My efforts were futile. Should I have even bothered? Or is it Mor Ardain's fate to stain the pages of history with blood?"

"We have always been a military state, Your Majesty," Mòrag pointed out. "Minds are not easily changed. It will take more than a few years of your reign to accomplish that."

Niall turned his attention to the portraits on the walls: his own, and those of the emperors before him. His image stood in sharp relief compared to the others—nearly childish innocence contrasted with war-hardened emperors, men of conquest and valor. The current ruler focused on the painting directly beside his. Emperor Nealon. A military ruler through and through, he'd been.

"Father would have done what the Senate wanted. He would have met Uraya with equal force," Niall sighed. "But...I don't want to be like my father, Mòrag. I want to do what's right for the world, not just Mor Ardain."

You're a better man than both of them, Niall, she thought. "It takes a lot of courage to forge your own path, especially when history pulls so strongly in the opposite direction. For that, you have my admiration, and as always, my full support."

"Thank you, sister. Please do everything in your power to locate and neutralize the Aramach as quickly as possible. I fear Mor Ardain's survival depends on it."


Meanwhile, Zeke had exited the council chamber and trotted through the halls to find Rex and the others. Doubtless Mòrag would scold him later for his outburst—even in Tantal's court, his tone would have been regarded as rude. But he couldn't help himself. Even before learning the truth about the young emperor, he fought down the urge to tell off the Senate. Pompous arses, the lot of them. So when Carrow's not-so-subtle mention of a no-confidence vote against Niall surfaced at the council, his frustration had come rushing out.

Not that he regretted it, either. Even if the Senate was clueless to all that Mòrag and Niall had endured, couldn't they see that now was not the time to overthrow the ruler? Selfish thinking like that had nearly buried Tantal. Mor Ardain couldn't afford it, either. And if strict social norms kept Mòrag from standing up for the kid emperor, he sure as hell would.

Maybe a trip with Rex and the others will be just what I need, he thought. It wasn't like him to lose his temper. But so much had changed in the last month. And Hardhaigh Palace, while elegant, just wasn't his style. After years sloughing it in the wild with Pandoria, he felt most at home around a campfire or crashing at an inn.

He made his way through the palace's residential quarter. Rex and the others were staying in one of the guest suites at the end of the hall, but even from here, he could hear them shouting and laughing. He almost dreaded telling them; Rex might cry over the news. And who could blame him? Rex sacrificed more than anyone else to get them here, where peace should have lasted indefinitely.

To his left, a door opened. Before he quite realized what was happening—that side had next to no peripheral vision—he found himself being yanked by the collar into the room. His captor was surprisingly strong, and he didn't manage to get a good look at the person until the door was slammed behind him, locked.

"Brighid?"

He took a look around. Brighid, who'd originally hated the idea of living separate from her Driver, had certainly taken to decorating her own apartments. Her style permeated the room, as did the scent of perfume. Whereas her Driver's decorating tastes were understated and traditional, Brighid's were showy but classy, with tasteful pops of color in the drapes and cushions. Not for the last time was he struck by the stark contrast in the two women's personalities. Although now he understood why one steered clear of an overtly feminine style. And honestly, he preferred it. Opulence drove him crazy.

Brighid hadn't let go of his collar. Her hand was uncomfortably warm against his chest, as if she was considering lighting him on fire if he said the wrong thing.

"You know, Brighid, some might consider this inappropriate behavior. I am a married man now," he joked.

The fires atop the Blade's head surged a moment as she scowled. He still hadn't decided who was more terrifying when angry: Driver or Blade. Regardless, that was a poor choice of words. But what was he supposed to do with Brighid cornering him like this?

The Blade cut to the chase. "Mòrag tells me you know the truth now."

Ah, so that was why she'd abducted him. Typical Brighid. "Yeah. She told me last night."

"Zeke, I swear on my core, if you ever breathe a word of what she told you to a single soul living or dead, I will—"

"Oi, I'm sure you've come up with a very creative death threat to scare me into silence, but just save it for someone else. You've got nothing to fear from me. I have no intention of betraying Mòrag's trust."

Brighid searched his expression. Then her eyebrows relaxed, as if her keen eye found no evidence of dishonesty. She released his collar. "Good. In truth, I'm glad she told you. But it must be confidential."

"I won't say a word."

The Blade nodded and looked away, as if she now regretted accosting him. "...Thank you for treating her with such respect, Zeke. A lesser man would not have been so understanding on his wedding night."

"Wait, a compliment from Brighid? Did hell freeze over?"

"I don't give them often. So savor it." Brighid unlocked the door and opened it to let him back into the hall.

"That's it?" he asked. "No blood oath to keep me quiet?"

She shook her head. "I just had to be sure. You understand, don't you?"

He nodded and exited the room, eager to get away from the overpowering scent. In the past, he'd always felt like there was something different about Brighid; she was one of the most Driver-protective Blades he ever met. It had almost bothered him; he'd steered clear of her for the most part. Only now did he appreciate just how deep Mòrag and Brighid's relationship was. No wonder Brighid didn't want her Driver to take on some of her own core.

"Oi, Brighid," he said, pausing a few paces away from her door. "Look, I don't know how often Mòrag tells you this, but you mean a lot to her. I guess what I'm trying to say is, thanks for being there for her through all of that shit. If she hadn't survived it, if Niall hadn't...I don't think any of us would still be here. So thanks."

Brighid gave a tense nod. "I could do no less."


"That will be all. You are dismissed," Mòrag sighed.

Finally, a chance to be alone. The afternoon had been nothing but an endless stream of meetings, heated discussions, and as many rejected plans as approved ones. It would have been better without the variations of "congratulations on your wedding" and the inquisitive glances she received from every officer lined up outside her office. She wished that everyone would just stop mentioning it; each time someone brought it up, the mixed feelings of guilt and relief resurfaced.

She glanced over the maps again, her eyes tracing the penned-in supply routes and garrisons she spent the afternoon setting up. Hopefully the lines of defence would hold. They had to. Without the bulk of their thermal industry, Mor Ardain still scrambled to invent new military technologies with the resources available on Alrest. As a result, much of their ground defense remained weak. On that front, Uraya doubtless had them outmatched. Thankfully, most of the Ardainian navy survived their Titan's collapse; Uraya had never managed to rival their might in the clouds. They had to hope, then, that the air superiority would hold them long enough.

In any other circumstance, Mòrag would pack a bag and depart for the front herself. But with the Aramach wreaking havoc, she was forced to entrust the leadership duties to General Haig. He was a good man and a great warrior, but she did not know whether his loyalties belonged to the military alone, to the Emperor, or to the Senate. It was so difficult to track the webs of power, influence, and allegiance anymore. She whispered a prayer or two that Haig would follow his orders to the letter. One wrong move and all their plans would shatter.

She debated going to the training grounds and burning away some of this anxious energy; it felt wrong to be sitting still when Uraya's vanguard inched closer by the hour. But she thought better of it; Brighid had finally handed over the Aramach case file, and if they were to have any luck in tomorrow's search, she needed to sift through the information.

The file itself sat, disappointingly thin, on her desk. Her fingers tingled as she opened it. Most of the pages held information she already knew: Cor's personnel records, the confirmed sightings of Aramach members in Ardainian uniforms, and a few of their previous identities. As far as she could tell, many were Ardainain, but they came from all walks of life: exiled merchant guild loyalists, Indoline who'd been kicked out for continued practice of flesh-fusing technologies, disenchanted Urayans, Gormotti who were discontent with the Ardainian occupation, and even some Flesh Eaters. If there was a common thread between them, she could not find it. They were mostly escaped criminals or simple folks down on their luck.

There has to be something here. Someone with a connection to the palace. Why can't I find it?

It felt like the answer was just beyond her nose, taunting her by hiding in plain sight.

"Hey, Special Inquisitor? I was wondering if you could help me find my wife. I'm told she's around here somewhere."

The voice pulled her out of focus and she looked up. Zeke, with two plates in hand. No Pandoria trailing him. For some reason, that made her feel more at ease.

"Zeke. Just how long have you been standing there?"

"Long enough to know that you make a really cute face when you're focused," Zeke commented, crossing over to her desk. "Now clear up your desk. It's high time we had dinner."

"There's no time for that," she protested. "I still have to prepare for tomorrow's expedition, and there's still a mountain of paperwork to file before we leave."

He pulled on one of the maps and set it aside. "And all that prep will go to waste if you collapse. You haven't eaten since the reception yesterday."

"Yes, I have."

He took a quick glance into the trash receptacle beside her desk. An apple core peaked out from underneath discarded paper.

"An apple? Seriously? That hardly even counts as a snack." He set a plate in front of her and brought over a spare chair to sit beside her.

She scowled. "Please don't start coddling me because of what I told you last night. I don't need pity. I can't stand it."

"This has nothing to do with last night. I'd do this for any of my friends, and you know it. Now quit being stubborn and eat."

She bit back her further protests. The smell of the plate in front of her had rekindled the hunger she buried during the day's meetings. What was this now, the second time he brought her food?

And all you've ever done to repay his kindness is lie to him.

They sat, chewing in silence for an uncomfortably long time. She choked down a few roasted carrots, and in a matter of minutes, her mood lifted a bit. But was that due to Zeke's presence or improved blood sugar after a hectic day without food?

"Thanks for this."

He waved it off. "No need. Just trying to avoid burying you a few days after marrying you. Talk about awkward. Honestly, it's a wonder you haven't worked yourself to death already."

"...I have a bad habit of burying myself in work when I'm stressed about something."

"Yeah. I know," Zeke sighed. "You know what? I think we should make a rule for ourselves now that we're married: no talking about work over dinner. Ever. Sound good?"

"Why would we do that?"

"So there's more to our relationship than just work. Unless you want us to always keep this professional."

"Fair point. Very well," she agreed, hoping her own inaptitude for small talk wouldn't be too obvious. "What exactly do you want to talk about instead?"

"Um, I dunno. You like reading, right? What's your favorite book?"

"Well—"

She never had the chance to finish her answer; Brighid burst into the room.

"Mòrag, we have another problem," the Blade said, not even bothering to take inventory of the room's occupants.

She pushed her half-finished plate away. Judging by Brighid's expression, she wouldn't want to finish it the moment she communicated her message. Architect, what else could possibly go wrong today?

"Let's hear it, then."

"There's been a spotting of the Artigo. We have a lead on the Aramach."

"That's a good thing, right?" Zeke asked hopefully.

"Yes and no," Brighid replied somberly. "The airship was firing on Ardainian territory. Mòrag, they attacked sector twenty-seven."

Her breath caught in her throat. Twenty-seven was the prison sector, and the highest security one at that.

"Phriosune Prison—it's completely empty. Every cell. The Aramach broke them all out."