As much as it pained Alarion to admit it, he’d developed a grudging respect for Governor Williams over the last year.
Williams was a weak, conniving, coward of a man. He’d happily propped Alarion up as a figurehead in one breath, then sold him out to the Felns in the next. He was a man who would lie, cheat, and steal without the slightest pang of remorse, a man with almost no redeeming qualities.
Almost.
The key to Williams’ success was neither wealth, nor strength, nor charm. It was his ability to spin a story, to weave a narrative, and outwardly present the ephemeral appearance of all the things he did not have.
In short, Williams was a tremendous bullshitter.
The Governor had been as blindsided as Alarion by the imminent arrival of the 238th’s new commanding officer, but one would never know it by looking at the parade grounds. Bleachers had been set up in a matter of hours, then filled with palace staff, civic employees, and anyone else Williams could find or bribe on short notice. A small stage had been prepared, the media alerted, and the 238th supplemented by the Governor’s household guard to hide the fact that two-thirds of the unit remained at Ilvan-Trai, entirely unaware of the Change of Colors ceremony that had supposedly been prepared weeks in advance.
Being such a tremendously effective liar took skill. Not a skill Alarion was particularly interested in having, but he’d be lying to himself if he pretended to be anything less than amazed when the color guard marched onto the field under the 238th’s Company Standard. Alarion knew for a fact that ugly flag was stuffed into the bottom right drawer of his desk.
How in the world had Williams produced such a convincing fake in less than a day?
“Attention! Colors Marching!” Kali shouted, followed by the clatter of half a hundred boots stomping in relative unison.
Compared to a unit of Vitrian regulars, the 238th’s movements were sloppy and poorly timed, but they did the job. The field manual called for two hours a month of drill practice, or so Lily had often reminded him. Alarion would be surprised if they’d managed two hours in the last year, though he knew for a fact that their paperwork said otherwise.
It wasn’t that Alarion was against the idea of a little pomp and circumstance–he knew better than most the value of symbolism. In a world bound together by ties of sympathy, there was real power in ceremony. But like anything else, there were trade-offs.
And he simply didn’t have enough hours in the day.
As Ashad’s most prominent Auxilia company–and its strongest–the 238th were in perpetually high demand. First, they’d led the charge in the Eastern Military District, slowly tightening the noose of subjugation around the last of the three great infestations propagated by the Bones of Ashad. Then, after a winter spent carving through an ocean of the dead, they spent the spring racing from one district to another, putting down over a dozen boils that had been left barely contained while resources were needed elsewhere.
It was exhausting and dangerous work, but it was only a fraction of the horrors Williams had in store for them.
For every hour spent in the field, two were given over to documentation. Some of it was the usual bureaucratic residue: after-action reports, supply inventories, condolence letters–but the Grand Awakening had added heavily to their burden. The Vitrians were slavering for every drop of ink, every iota of data that might share some burden on what was happening in Ashad. Where once Status inspections were a quarterly affair, they were now conducted monthly at base and weekly in the field. Every soldier was required to document their kills, their notifications, and the circumstances thereof in the hope that statistics could provide an answer where other disciplines had failed.
Then there were the public appearances.
Some were better than others. Earlier that spring, they’d brought desperately needed supplies to a washed-out village. Along with a camera crew from public affairs, of course. Less than a month ago, they’d spent the night in Ashad-Tetri so that Alarion could officiate the wedding of Specialist Artisan after she completed her service with the 238th.
Most were the sort of affair that had brought them to Ashad-Vitri in the first place–dog and pony shows where Alarion and his staff were expected to smile and socialize with whomever Williams was trying to impress. He’d long since given up trying to keep track of the names and the faces, not that it mattered. They weren’t there to talk with him any more than they were there to talk with William’s newest sculpture. They’d talk to him–as much as necessary to be polite–but there was a reason Alarion had taken to drinking at the events.
“Present colors!”
The sharp snap of Kali’s voice brought Alarion back to the moment just as the marching column came to a stop a few feet away. Drums played their rhythm for a few seconds more, building to a crescendo as the square of honor guards opened on one side to reveal Governor Williams standing beneath the standard held by Color Sergeant Archer.
“Governor!” Alarion announced with a salute.
Williams met Alarion’s eyes with that same inauthentic grin he wore everywhere in public since first being elevated to Governor. The uniformity made Williams a hard man to read, but after so many encounters, Alarion had learned at least a few tells. That twitch in Williams’ left eye was one. Either he’d expected Alarion to be surprised by his arrival, or he thought that Alarion would be happy to see him.
The former was insulting. The latter was delusional.
“I believe these belong to you, Orphan?” Williams said, quietly enough not to be overheard by the small gaggle of journalists nearby. “Try not to lose them this time.”
“Step in!” Alarion ordered.
Unlike the rest of the 238th, Sergeant Archer moved with the crisp perfection of a true soldier. The eldest member of the 238th by over a decade, Archer was the cosmic ideal of a true soldier. He stood tall and proud in a well-fitted dress uniform, his boots polished to the same black sheen as his short cut hair. Each step he took was measured and precise, as was the sharp 180-degree turn he made as he reached Alarion’s side.
Alarion liked the man; he really did, but he found it hard to fight down the envy at moments such as this. He was stronger than Archer, he held a higher rank than Archer, but no casual observer would ever assume that Alarion was the one in charge. Even disregarding the significant gap in years and military experience, the former Ashadi Royal Guardsman looked like more of a soldier than Alarion ever would. Archer was tall, where Alarion was short; he was broad, where Alarion remained lithe.
He looked more like Bas-Rhin.
Alarion had always hoped to grow up to look like his father, but years of malnutrition had done more than damage his mana circuits. At nineteen, he wasn’t likely to have another growth spurt, nor would he ever be able to pack on muscle the way Bergman had.
“Something I said?” Williams asked as he stepped in on Alarion’s opposite side.
“Mm,” the young man shook his head. “Nothing that matters, Governor.”
“That is a relief. I was worried you might have thought I had something to do with this debacle.” Williams took care to meet Alarion’s eyes as he made the suggestion, then chuckled when he saw he’d had nothing to worry about. “Find me a reason. Any reason. And I will have her on a boat back to the homeland. Until then, be careful.”
“Thank you,” Alarion said, and the words were somewhat genuine. Yes, Williams stood only to lose from having such a high-profile young Vitrian associating with his prized possession, but Williams was still human. He played the games of power that the Empire demanded, the endless pull between Ambition and Obligation, but he’d grown at least slightly fond of the young man over the years. Enough for the occasional bit of casual conversation.
“So I hear you left the gala early last night?” Williams asked with all the grace of a drunk trying to shoplift an anvil, “With a woman.”
Blessedly, the renewed beat of parade drums smothered Alarion before his reply could get him in any trouble. The roar of the drums grew for several seconds, just long enough to build a measure of suspense before the blare of trumpets called forth their new overlords.
The first was a small contingent of household guard. They wore the same royal blue as the Governor’s guard, but the emblems on their cloth pauldrons were unfamiliar to Alarion–a violet and crimson pattern that he suspected belonged to the House of Guilt. Marching two abreast, they fanned out into parallel rows to provide a guard of honor for those who followed.
Next to emerge were... the giants.
Not that Alarion would ever call them that. While the word was commonly used to describe someone who was merely big, such as Kali, it had its origin in a particular species of violent, half-feral Systemborn who had occupied the northern reaches of Nostrum centuries earlier. While there were a dozen or more subspecies of Systemborn that looked like giants, few of them took kindly to being referred to as such. At best, it was an insult, at worst a slur.
But they still looked giant.
The woman was easily two feet taller than Kali, making her nearly twice Alarion’s meager height, and she had width to match. Her male companion was slightly shorter, but no less intimidating in frame or demeanor. The pair wore tight-fitting, informal grey and red garments that appeared neither practical nor appropriate for such a formal occasion. Skimpy would be the word Alarion would use to describe them if pressed, though that was hardly where his mind was focused.
[Systemborn - UCL ???] Strongest Equipped Item: Rank III. Rare.Expected Loot: Rank III. Exceptional.
The pair were dangerous, that much would have been clear, even without [Observation]. Dangerous and strange. It wasn’t normal to get the same result from two different people.
Though neither was especially muscular, they were both fit and capable, and both had scars covering their bodies. He’d seen bodies like that before, soldiers who had been veterans before they Awakened, or battle fanatics who took each new mark as a sign of pride. The pair struck him as the latter.
While nowhere near a hard and fast rule, it was common wisdom that truly talented Awakened were all a bit... odd in some form or another. Whether that strangeness was cause or effect of their success remained a mystery, but it was a phenomenon Alarion had seen too often to dismiss outright.
And those two looked very odd indeed, especially bowing down on one knee at either end of the guard line.
The drums cried out one final salvo, then fell silent.
“She does know how to make an entrance, does she not?” It was hard to tell if that was admiration or annoyance in Williams’ voice. Perhaps both?
Without so much as a photo attached to her dossier, Alarion had little in the way of expectations for his new commanding officer. Yet somehow she both met and defied them.
The woman who stepped out from behind the curtain was quintessentially Vitrian. Tall, trim, and impeccably maintained, she radiated an air of nobility both alluring and insulting. This was a woman who had never walked in the muck, who had never bled for her nation despite demanding others do so. He could all but feel each prim and proper footfall as she started toward them on booted heels.
Click-Click-Click.
She was the Empire incarnate. Someone had shined those boots for her. Someone had pressed that uniform and helped style her hair. She reached heights of dignity, beauty, and authority by climbing on the backs of others who were not born so lucky.
But she also didn’t look like a Vitrian.
As one might expect of an insular island of blood purists, the Vitrian ethnicity had a strong tendency toward certain features. They were taller on average than their continental counterparts, with strong jawlines, jet-black hair, and skin a good deal lighter than Alarion’s own. But if one wanted to pick a Vitrian out of a lineup, they need only look for ice blue eyes.
Anastasia Regethern bucked nearly every trend. She was tall, yes, but pale and freckled in a way he’d never seen among her ilk. Her features were soft and reassuring, her smile seemingly as genuine as it was warm. Long waves of silken auburn crowned her, a color he’d seldom seen on the continent, let alone a Vitrian.
But it was her eyes that captured his attention. These were not the pale orbs of an empty-souled Vitrian, but a sapphire blue so bright and clear that he wondered if some form of cosmetic magic was at play.
“Orphan,” Williams nudged, half a second before it might have become awkward.
“Step out!” Alarion ordered, tipping his chin up and staring into the middle distance like a proper soldier.
Archer stepped out of line at Alarion’s command, and Kali took over the remainder of the duties as the Company Standard was ceremonially passed into Anastacia’s hands, signifying her assumption of command, before being delegated back to the Color Sergeant.
It wasn’t until the ceremony was well and truly over that Anastacia finally spoke.
“Thank you all for coming,” she said, her voice melodic but strong—clearly familiar with the burdens of public speaking. “I admit, I did not expect quite so much of a show over a simple transfer of duties. I certainly didn’t prepare a speech.”
She let the words linger just long enough to sink in before she continued.
“I do, of course, thank Governor Williams for his hospitality. For those who do not know me, I am Anastacia Regethern of the House of Guilt. By grace and selection, I now command the 238th Company of the Ashad Minor provincial Auxilia. It is my intention to serve the remainder of my third Induction in this role, and I thank you all for the opportunity and for your trust in me.”
It was pablum of the worst kind. Alarion had heard the same empty ceremonial words a dozen times by as many different Vitrians before he’d come to the 238th. It was so familiar, in fact, that he nearly missed it when she went off script.
“Master Sergeant?”
“Hm?” Alarion straightened sharply as he met her eyes and said, “Madam?”
“It was my understanding that you and the local members of the 238th were intending to depart for Ilvan-Trai before my arrival derailed those plans?”
“That is correct.”
“We should still be able to make good time before dusk then, no?” she asked, before sweeping her gaze across the assembled soldiers. “You are to prepare for departure within the hour. Dismissed!”
A few men and women of the 238th cast uncertain gazes at one another, then toward Alarion and even the befuddled Governor Williams. Thankfully, any confusion over the chain of command was strangled by Sergeant Kali with a single shout of “What are you waiting around for?” long before Alarion needed to get involved.
“Madam Regethern—” Williams began with his most diplomatic tone. “—we have prepared quite a—”
“I am very sorry,” she assured him. “I am certain it would be a lovely party, but we have much to do. I am sure you understand?”
Though there was nothing unusual about her tone, nor anything obvious in her words, she somehow conveyed a message strong enough to quell any complaints, all the same.
“Of course, Madam Regethern,” Williams said with the smile of a man who had not just spent thousands rushing an event that no longer had a guest of honor. “My home is always open to you should you visit Ashad-Vitri.”
“Your hospitality is just as gracious as I was warned,” Anastacia replied with a polite laugh. “For now, could I steal your Orphan for a word in private?”
Your Orphan.
Had Anastacia Regethern intended to offend Alarion, she could scarcely have done so more thoroughly. And yet, if her words were meant as an insult, her face betrayed none of it—only warm smiles and an inquisitive gaze.
“I have to prepare for our departure, Lieutenant,” Alarion said, biting his tongue.
“Ana, please. Or Anastacia if you must. Let me walk with you.”
With no escape apart from rudeness, Alarion offered a curt nod, spun on his heels, and began to walk. “How can I be of assistance?”
“Well, to begin with, I wanted to apologize,” she answered as she hurried to keep pace.
If she’d grown a second head and begun breathing fire, it might have been less of a shock. Alarion could count the number of genuine apologies he’d received from a Vitrian on one hand and still have fingers to spare. Having a stranger lead with one felt like a ploy.
“For what, Madam?”
“Ana,” she reminded him. “None of this—” Anastacia waved a hand back toward the parade ground as they walked, “—was my intention. I heard you were in Ashad-Vitri, and I thought it would be easier to meet you here. It was never my goal to disrupt your schedule.”
If you did not mean to, then don’t. Alarion thought grimly, before settling for a more diplomatic response. “Ceremony matters. It keeps the chain of command unambiguous.”
“That is another thing,” Anastacia winced.
“Hmm?”
“It is my understanding that there may have been an... arrangement of sorts, with the Governor.” The words were tentative, as though she were afraid she might break something fragile by speaking them as an accusation. “One that my presence may have disrupted.”
“I do not know what you mean, Madam,” Alarion said, choosing his words carefully.
“Of course.”
Williams maintained the 238th under Alarion’s command through an uneasy legal fiction. The impropriety was obvious to those who cared to look, yet still lawful on paper unless someone could demonstrate mal-intent. Any accusation would be met with a denial, and to push further would mean branding Williams a liar—an accusation no Vitrian cared to make against a powerful, popular governor. Especially over something so insignificant as the leadership of an Auxilia company.
“What I meant to say is that I know that you have gone some time without a Vitrian officer,” Anastacia corrected, carefully dancing around the heart of the issue. “I understand that new oversight carries new burdens, and I want you to know that I will do my best to ease this transition. I think very highly of your successes, and the last thing I want to do—”
“You have said that twice now, Madam.” The words felt like acid on his tongue, something he had to spit out before they burned him down to his core. “If you are so concerned about our disrupting our readiness, why not volunteer?”
“I did. You rejected me. Four times, in fact.”
Alarion flinched. “I was not aware of that.”
In fairness, he was unaware of any Vitrian applicants; mostly because he had standing orders to throw their dossiers in the burn pit on receipt. Apart from Lily, the only Vitrians still on staff were those Williams forced upon him.
“The competition is fierce, I suspect.” There was a little glimmer in those bright eyes, like laughter was bouncing around behind them rather than spilling out from her lips. “I harbor no grudge.”
“Yet you still took the officer position,” noted Alarion.
She sighed.
“I meant what I said; this was never my intention. I needed to spend the last year of my third Induction in Ashad, and the 238th was the only real option.”
“Your third?” Alarion asked. He’d noted her multiple extensions while reviewing her file, and his curiosity overrode his annoyance.
“Mhmm. My family are firm originalists when it comes to the Induction,” she explained. “I know that provi— that people in the provinces sometimes consider Induction a punishment—and that it desperately needs reform, especially outside of the homeland—but the intent behind the practice was always to instill a sense of societal buy-in. Everyone contributes, everyone benefits. The state is not some abstract entity; it is you and your neighbors working together for the common good.”
She was so earnest in her words that he almost believed her. A younger Alarion—one who hadn’t been lied to by every Vitrian he could name—might have even fallen for it. Instead, he asked, “So you spend extra time to—”
“Set an example, yes!” she blushed slightly at her own excited outburst and looked away briefly as they passed through a checkpoint leading out of the government district toward the lower city, where the bulk of the 238th were quartered. “Three years, a full Induction in each major field. This will be my last.”
“So why not a posting with the Regulars? Or some honor guard?”
Anastasia chewed on the question before answering, rolling it around in her mind to find a version of the truth that would satisfy him. Or perhaps one that would make her look less conceited. She’d find neither, but tried all the same.
“I am too young and inexperienced for a command position in the garrison forces. Given my station, there were worries that it would be improper for me to be subordinate within my own command. And before you ask, the other Auxilia units are a bad fit. They are too weak.”
Alarion answered not with words, but with a sidelong look that demanded elaboration.
“It is your fault, really,” she scowled. “The 238th concentrated a considerable amount of the top talent in one location. Not just the strong, either, but the ambitious as well. There are a few other rank II Auxilia units I could have taken command of, but they are... subpar, and I am not. My talents would be wasted there. Doubly so, since your unit seems to be handling many of the most dangerous tasks.”
“And so your thought was to disrupt the unit handling those dangerous tasks?”
“Can we—” Anastacia took a few quick steps to get out in front of him and stopped. Her hands were up in front of her, balled fists tapping against one another out of nerves or perhaps frustration. “I get it. You had something that worked. I am intruding. I did not want to. CeeCee—my Ordinate—found a flaw in your agreement with Governor Williams and made arrangements without my knowledge. I have been voluntold to be here, and I am making the best of it.”
“Madam, you—”
“Ana,” she nearly growled.
Alarion took a deep breath through his nose and let it out through his mouth. More than a year as a celebrity had made him far more conscious of his public image than he had ever wanted to be. Shouting at a woman in the middle of the street was a bad look, even if she deserved it.
Even if she was a Vitrian.
“Anastacia,” he said, measuring his words carefully as he spoke them. “You do not need to justify your position. By grace and selection, you are my superior, and I will respect that. But please, do not expect me to feel pity for the poor little rich girl who just needed to end up in charge of the most prestigious unit of her choosing, because to do otherwise would have been embarrassing for her family.”
“I—” Her mouth hung open like a gawping fish, her knuckles tapping together a few more times until she seemed to realize she was doing it and thrust them down at her side. “Thank you for your candor, Master Sergeant.”
“Of course, Lieutenant.”
She stared down at him for a few more seconds, as though daring him to look away or to say something more. Then she heaved a heavy sigh, her body relaxing as she gestured down the street. “I do not know where we are going. The garrison?”
Alarion shook his head, “There are only thirty of us in Ashad-Vitri, so that wasn’t necessary. The state built a number of flophouses for the workers when Ashad-Vitri was being built, and the Governor has generously given a few over to the use of his guests.”
He left unsaid that the Governor’s palace could have easily accommodated all thirty of them with room to spare, instead of just Alarion and his command staff. The Governor had guests, and then he had guests.
“I am sure they are quite... charming,” said Anastacia. “And from there we leave for Ilvan-Trai?”
“Not quite,” Alarion answered with a grin she definitely didn’t trust.