A Perverted Path to Victory

Sara Brown

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Sara’s eyes cracked open at some unknown hour, the crust of sleep trying to keep her lashes stuck together. When she finally worked them apart, she discovered that the outside world wasn’t brighter than the one beneath her eyelids. It was pitch black, musty, with a gentle rumble running its way through the stone she’d fallen asleep against.

She started to sit up, only to realize that she wasn’t actually as heavy as she’d first thought. There was just a body thrown across her stomach. Patting it blindly with her hands, she eventually felt out the familiar contours of her wife, face-down, their bellies laid across one another. She was utterly limp, completely unconscious, and snoring ever so slightly.

Sara slid herself out from under Evie, head throbbing. Fumbling around on her wife’s hips, she eventually found their bag, which she reached inside for a healing potion.

An icy rush flowed along with the next aching throb of her skull, taking with it the remnants of her hangover.

The moment it was gone, Sara realized she’d been asleep for far, far longer than she’d thought. She was wide awake right away, which, considering the late-night activity schedule she usually kept, was an almost forgotten sensation.

Blindly feeling around in their bag of holding once again, Sara brought out a light crystal, bringing the room into sudden, stark relief.

It wasn’t a pretty sight. Evie had indeed found them a locked room, but it clearly wasn’t fit for human habitation. The floor was sunken a few inches along the center, a thin bowl several feet long full of stagnant water. The walls were rougher even than the tunnels outside, jagged and misshapen in large chunks, and the floor was only marginally better. There were some scattered remnants of the room having been used for some purpose or another, chips of lacquered wood and the like, but nothing more than that. The only thing left laying on the floor besides herself and Evie was, unsurprisingly, Mui.

The catfolk man had stripped in the night. His shirt was balled up in a far corner of the room, half-dangling from a sharp bit of stone, and his pants were discarded just beneath his feet, like they’d been kicked off over the course of a fitful sleep. He still had underwear on, which she imagined he’d be incredibly thankful for. Like the rest of his clothes, it was loose, not unlike boxers, though even longer than their earthly equivalents.

Sara stood slowly, stretching her back out. She’d only taken a sip of the healing potion, not nearly enough to work out the knots of a night spent curled on slabs of merciless stone. And as she stretched, popping each joint in turn, she found her eyes wandering up Mui’s sprawled form.

Sara wasn’t a furry. She was very certain of that. She’d seen plenty of furry art back on Earth. Hell, she was active in leftist circles. She’d known plenty of furries. She was perfectly confident that they did nothing for her.

But look. When there was an actual, breathing cat person sprawled out in front of her? Not a catboy, but a catman? Things got complicated.

He had the physicality of a career soldier. Mui hadn’t told her how old he was directly, so she usually had to pretend not to know, but she knew he was a couple years younger than her. Just twenty-one. He’d been in the army for five years, though, and that meant his first Level had been in a combat Class. Between that and his hard living in the years since, his black fur hid an impressively beefy musculature. Not a strongman’s build, or even an athlete’s, but a soldier’s.

His shoulders were built up by swinging machetes through jungle foliage and thrusting spears in endless drills, while his backwards-bending legs were toned to fine marble by countless miles marching with his heavy breastplate. His forearms were even thicker than Sara’s had been back on earth, and he had solid biceps to complement them, running up into a thick-furred chest. His black coat, almost panther-esque in its sheen, hid what was underneath fairly well. Yet her mind’s eye could easily recall the times when rain had wet his fur down, revealing two thick slabs of pecs above solid, strong abs. As it currently was though, his fur simply puffed up even higher across his chest and stomach. There it was thick enough for her to sink her fingers into, her hands running up and down his body as she bent over him, pressing her face into the curve of his neck with an open mouth, tongue running out to snag his fur…

Sara shivered. Amarat’s Blessings had told her far too much about how catfolk got together. Some ingrained, undefinable instinct had told her all about how their muzzles didn’t lend themselves to kissing, and so they’d run their rough tongues over their partner’s entire body, lavishing them with attention, but moving one another’s necks most of all, sending shocks of groaning satisfaction through their partner as their lower halves ground against one another...

Her tongue grazed against the roof of her mouth as the images came to her. She could feel the tiny spines that had risen on it, neat rows of keratin readying themselves for whatever may come. Molding her body for Mui’s pleasure.

Sara stepped over the puddle in the middle of the room, reaching out with one hand to wake him. She still had a potion in her hand, enough to get rid of whatever hangover he was suffering. And more importantly, enough to make sure he was sober.

But as her hand descended, she found her eyes dragged back to his shoulder, where his yellow Sergeant’s petal so often sat. He was proud of that petal. He’d worked hard to earn it. He’d worked hard for an Empire, fighting its battles with all his heart, currying the favor of its elites. Not because he was selfish, but because he thought it was the right thing to do. He had a level of loyalty for the land he lived in that was almost forgotten in Sara’s old life. Mui Thom was consumed by a belief that it was deeply, fundamentally right to fight for his Emperor. That the faceless figure, a tyrant, had earned their place on the throne by some hazy interweaving of divine providence, fate, and sheer worthiness.

If Sara went into the meeting she had planned and found that his enemies were the better choice for Tulian, Mui wouldn’t follow her. He would stay loyal to his people. They would part ways, maybe amicably, maybe in a fury, but nothing would change the fact that she would soon be providing his enemies the weapons that might someday kill him. Sara would see it as just business, political maneuverings that were necessary to ensure Tulian didn’t get run under by the thrashing giants at its border, but Mui wouldn’t. He would be deeply, profoundly betrayed. He believed his Empire was just, and that if Sara was just, too, she would see reason and join their side.

Sara couldn’t promise him that.

“Mm?” Evie hummed. Sara glanced over her shoulder to find the feline having rolled onto her side, tail thumping the stone as she watched Sara. She’d already put her collar on, eager to feel what Sara did. “What are you waiting for, Master?”

“I…” Sara reached for the right words, licking her lips. Her tongue was no longer rough. “I can’t do that to him,” she whispered. “Not before we know whose side we’re on.”

“Our own, as always,” Evie murmured. She flicked her chin up at Mui, smirking. “He’s smart enough to see that. Eventually. You should indulge yourself, Master.”

Sara was tempted. She really was. Who could blame her? The dude was already one thin piece of cloth away from naked, and he was hot. But she shook her head.

“No. Sorry Evie, but no.”

Her wife’s smirk fell, but she nodded. “Of course. It’s your choice to make.”

“Yeah, well, here’s hoping I don’t regret it,” Sara muttered. “Don’t let me sabotage the talks just because I’m hungry for some cat dude’s dick, okay?”

Evie snickered. “You really desire him so much that you worry it might affect your political judgement?”

“I didn’t ask for you to make fun of me. Just to make sure I don’t get too horny to make a good decision, alright?”

“Keeping your libido sated has ever been my role in our lives, dear.”

Sara rolled her eyes, bending back down. She grabbed Mui by the shoulder, giving him a gentle shake. When there was no response, she shook harder, speaking up.

“Hey, big boy. Here’s a potion so your head stops feeling like it’s fucking exploding.”

Mui awoke with a groan that turned into a yawn, his muzzle stretching wide. Sara glanced away from his tongue, another shiver running through her.

“Gods,” he said, wincing. “What did you say?”

“Potion,” Sara said, thrusting it forward. “Take about half, then get dressed. Gods know how long we’ve been passed out in here.”

Mui took the potion with an awkward, unsteady hand, tipping it back with obvious relief. He shuddered, then opened his eyes wide, looking up at Sara.

“Wait. Did you tell me to get dressed?”

Sara chuckled. “Don’t worry. Your dick’s not out. Everything else is, though.”

Mui lunged upward in a panic, instinctively covering, of all things, his chest, only to realize how laughable that was, switching to his crotch. Sara outright laughed, taking a step back.

“Your shirt’s over there. And don’t worry man, it’s nothing I haven’t seen before.”

“Yes, but you haven’t seen mine,” he hissed, hauling his pants up his legs as quickly as possible.

“How do you know that?” Sara teased. “I’m the Champion of Amarat. Maybe I’ve got eyes in the back of my head, and I saw you get dressed every time you ever took off your clothes.”

“If that were the case, I would never want to know,” Mui said. “Please, throw me my shirt.”

Sara obliged, tossing it straight into his chest, then moved over to Evie, sitting back down while they waited for Mui to dress. The corridors around them were humming with the rumble of footsteps, but in this underground world, that meant little. Plenty of people who lived down here had given up on keeping in time with the sun above, moving and working whenever was most convenient for them.

“Alright,” Sara said as Mui finished dressing himself, “I’m guessing you don’t know the way to the Visya’s tower from here?”

“Of course not,” Mui said, clambering to his feet. Then he frowned, staring at Sara’s outfit. “Surely you’re not intending to meet them as you are…?”

“Mui. Buddy. Are you really asking me that? After how long you’ve known me?”

The catfolk stared at her.

“...Okay, no, I’m not,” Sara admitted. “We’re gonna go back to the barracks to get our armor. Whoever’s in charge of letting people in wouldn’t believe that I’m the Champion if I showed up like this, no matter how pretty I say please.”

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The Visya’s tower was, predictably, the most ornate in the entire city. Its gold-clad roof was just one of its many shameless displays of wealth, barely notable next to the gaudy collection that had been slapped on with heavy brushstrokes. The window frames were made of ivory, the glass itself often stained to depict fanciful renditions of some bit of Imperial history or another. These windows were inset into what would have been mundane brick, had it not been accented with fragile gold leafing.

As her eyes ran over the building, taking in more and more of its obscene lavishness, Sara felt her eyes start to glaze over. It was a palace of such excessive wealth that she could barely bring herself to pay it any attention at all. It was just too much, a tapestry of such miniscule detail that the greater whole became nothing more than a mess of ugly, splotchy colors. It was as much an insult to good taste as it was to the poor it towered over.

Mui didn’t seem to agree, of course. He stared at the tower in awe as they approached, cowed by its very presence. Even Evie seemed impressed by it, if only because of the sheer volume of material investment it represented.

Sara still couldn’t bring herself to give a shit.

The Visya’s tower was at the center of an elegant garden courtyard, as much a piece of art as it was practical. No one could get within fifty paces of the building without being spotted.

“Halt!” A helmeted woman called, holding up a hand.

The woman who had called out was at the head of a solid wall of guards, their armor so wrapped in enchantments that they glowed beneath the noonday sun. She stepped forward, lowering a long pike towards Sara’s chest. Behind her, crossbows rattled as they were brought to shoulders.

“Identify yourself!”

“Mui?”

The catfolk stepped forward, clearing his throat, and began his spiel. Sara waited impatiently, the click of her metal boots echoing across the courtyard as she tapped her foot.

When Mui’s recitation of the pompous welcome message had been completed, there were still more steps to be completed. First he was ushered forward to hand over the signed invitation, required to first disarm himself, and then the note was whisked away to be verified for authenticity. To her credit, the commander of the guards apologized to Sara for the delay, already convinced she was legit. She was just too well-trained to break protocol. Sara accepted her apology graciously enough, knowing it wasn’t her fault, but still didn’t bother to hide her irritation. After all, the guards almost certainly weren’t the only ones watching her, and it was always better to begin negotiations by convincing the other party they owed you an apology.

Sara was eventually let into the building with only two guards as an escort, ostensibly for her own protection. Considering the wealth contained in every room she passed through, she knew the reality was far different. No one who hoarded so many jeweled pieces of crap was capable of leaving anyone near them unattended, no matter how important they were.

She was ushered into an open-topped elevator, connected by enchanted steel cables to pulleys far, far above. She glanced up at the mechanisms as if she were curious, and asked her escorts how it worked. She listened to their prideful explanation for a few moments, until they confirmed for her that it was powered by sweating laborers in the floors below, then tuned out.

The Visya’s tower was pretty much what she’d expected. It was in dire need of an OSHA certification, for one, because the elevator had no doors at each level, just open-faced holes leading to a drop of hundreds of feet. Each floor they passed showed her another angle on the governance of the city, and, if she happened to be close enough to overhear, a snippet of the administrative duties being undertaken. Many of the floors were effectively bureaucratic offices wrapped in gold lilies, with mahogany desks and crystal chandeliers replacing gray cubicle walls. Abacuses clicked, reports were scribbled out, and watercooler gossip was shared, all so the city could lurch unsteadily on.

Her eavesdropping didn’t quite confirm several things for her, but they got close enough. To really hammer things home, Sara turned to one of her guards.

“Must be stressful doing this job, what with the Adjutant in town.”

The woman, another member of the lower section’s guards, stiffened.

“Your holiness?”

“You can just call me Sara,” she said reflexively. “And don’t worry, I already knew. It’s why I came to Tonlay, after all.”

“That’s… I cannot say, Your Holiness.”

“I mean, it can’t have made things any easier,” Sara pressed. “Even if you have enough people to do the job without pulling doubles, the paranoia’s gotta be crazy. And with an army heading to the city? Your captain’s probably breathing down your neck every chance they get.”

“We are the Visya Guards,” the woman stiffly said, maintaining a picturesque formality. “Our duties are too important to accept failure. Were the Emperor himself here, we would change nothing. If there exists a force capable of bringing harm to our charges, no mortal in existence could have hoped to resist it. We are the pinnacle of all mankind’s shields. The greatest of the defensive arms of the Empire’s forces. Should a creature be foolish enough to attempt to perpetrate the greatest of blasphemies against the Empire, we are the final, penultimate wall they must overcome.”

“Cool,” Sara said, turning back to watch the floors go past. “Hope they pay good. I’ve had a few buddies in security jobs, and their bosses loved to fuck ‘em over.”

The woman’s jaw tightened. Behind them, unseen, Sara felt a chastising tail flick against her leg. It could have been from either of her companions.

The elevator came to a stop somewhere on the thirtieth floor, the two guards stepping out ahead of them, hands on their swords as they glanced left and right to clear the room. Sara almost immediately became convinced that the tail flick had come from Mui, because Evie patiently waited for the two Imperials to approve the room’s safety, only to step out ahead of Sara, one hand on her revolver as she went about clearing the room for herself.

The jaws of the gaurds tightened further.

“You may wait in here,” Sara was instructed, one of the guards gesturing to a door. “As you did not announce your arrival beforehand, it may be some time yet until an appropriate representative is found.”

“Then my duty is done?” Mui asked.

The guardswoman’s eyes flicked over to him. “So it would seem, Sergeant. If you wish to remain to ensure no undue delays occur, as is your right, you may join us in our protection of the Chosen.”

“I thank you for the opportunity,” Mui said.

“See ya in a bit, big man,” Sara said, patting him on the shoulder as she and Evie went into the room. “Wish me luck.”

“I don’t believe you need it, ma’am,” he replied, not acknowledging her friendly pat. Back on duty once more.

The room they had been led to was jarringly spartan. Even before the door had shut behind them, Sara had finished taking in everything there was to be seen. The soft wooden flooring was covered by a woven reed mat in the center of the room, providing padding for whoever was sitting at the low, Japanese-style table on top. Four plain cushions were set out around the table, and there was a small potted flower as its only ornamentation. A clear glass window at the far side of the room gave an excellent view of the city beyond, its hinge cracked just enough to let a breeze flow through the room. Aside from the door Sara had entered through, there was one other, in the middle of the wall to her right.

“How long do you think they’re gonna make us wait?” Sara asked, moving to sit cross-legged at the table. “A bit of a dick move, showing up out of nowhere like I did, so I wouldn’t be surprised if they bite back a bit.”

“That depends on how desperate they are, Master,” Evie replied, taking her place behind Sara. She’d moved her revolver to dangle off her hip, rather than her chest, and she left her hand resting on its grip. Its fifteen inch length was far too cumbersome to wear in a traditional holster most of the time, but in such a tense situation, Evie had decided it was worth it. She kept a careful eye on both the room’s doors as she spoke. “Have you made any progress in determining how the war fares for either faction?”

“A bit,” Sara said noncommittally, careful not to reveal too much. She didn’t sense anyone listening in to their conversation, but if she was ever going to find someone capable of hiding from her Blessings, it was here. “Seems like lots of people are way too excited about the news that they won that skirmish on the Tulian border. Getting hyped about winning a minor battle doesn’t imply good things for how the important fights have been going.”

“But you don’t think they will be desperate enough to beg and plead, I assume?”

“No. I mean, they want the guns, don’t get me wrong. They’re not stupid. But they’re not going to bend over backwards for them.”

“I’ve met few people who are not willing to bend over for you, dear. I expect the Adjutant’s representative will be no different.”

Sara snorted. She’d managed to get Evie off on their way over, telling Mui they needed to stop for a bathroom break, but one little quickie wasn’t nearly enough to get her wife’s mind out of the gutter.

A knock sounded from the room’s other entrance, a quiet, cordial voice calling out.

“May I enter? I have brought tea for the Empire’s guests.”

“Sure, come on in,” Sara said.

The door swung open, admitting a human man dressed in the simple clothes of a bureaucratic servant. He was balancing a porcelain plate with two teacups in one hand, a steaming kettle grasped daintily in the other.

Evie watched the man approach the table with an eagle’s eye, never once taking her hand off her gun. The servant, to his credit, wasn’t bothered in the slightest, gliding gracefully to the table. He set out the teacups with stiff, regal posture.

“Do you take sugar in your tea?” The man asked, on hand upon the spout of the kettle to tip it forward, pouring the tea with unconscious ease.

“I’ll take some, thanks,” Sara said.

“No,” Evie said.

The servant produced a glass container of sugar from a pocket, shaking out a few spoonfuls into Sara’s cup, then set the kettle down on a padded piece of cloth.

Then, rolling up his sleeves, he pulled a stack of papers from within his shirt and set them on the table. He sat down on one of the cushions, legs folded beneath the table, and smiled.

“Well, then. Shall we begin?”

Sara’s Blessings flared to life, her mind leaping into overdrive.

The man- not a servant- held himself with the poise of endless practice. He was in his fifties, but his hair had not yet gone gray, and he was far healthier than the average Imperial citizen his age. He was appraising Sara and Evie with an expert’s eye, and, she realized, had been doing so since he entered the room. He was someone used to getting the better of whoever he spoke to, and his long years of experience in the ring of courtly politics had been honed into a confidence that thrived under pressure.

In short, this wasn’t the Adjutant’s representative.

This was the Adjutant himself.

Ah, goddammit, Sara silently groaned. He’s actually good at this, isn’t he?

The air in the room dropped several degrees as the realization wormed its way through Sara’s mind. The Adjutant himself had shown up. The head of an Empire which very well might dwarf anything Earth had ever seen, with all the duties and responsibilities such a title held, had made a personal trip to personally handle the negotiations.

This was no longer a casual, preliminary discussion, the tepid back-and-forth of proposals, counteroffers, and laborious approvals from powers on high that Sara had prepared herself for. What was said in this room over the next few hours would be binding. The Empire’s political system was still largely opaque to Sara, confusing as it was even to its citizens, but she knew enough to be certain the Adjutant’s word was, should he choose, as good as law. By the letter of the law, his authority was absolute, only able to be overturned by the enigmatic Emperor. The Adjutant was, as was true of every leader, tied by his need for his lessers to actually follow his commands, but in this case, that was all but a solved issue. From what she had heard on the streets, the current Adjutant was popular. He could afford to make controversial decisions, leaning upon the trust his years of solid administration had earned him.

She could see how it had been earned, too. He was already playing the game masterfully, appearing before her in a calculated, near perfect manner. He had heard of her distaste for pomp and circumstance and, knowing lesser nobility would be unable to circumnavigate the Empire’s onerous traditions, came to negotiate himself. He was the only one who could get away with ignoring the traditions of veneration his religion required to show a god’s Chosen, which accordingly meant he was the only one who could greet Sara in a way she might actually respect. Anyone else would have failed at step one.

But perhaps more problematically for Sara, his display of humility was not a falsehood. The mere fact that a man of his grandiose stature was willing to don servant’s clothing and pour tea for his guests was remarkable enough on its own, something Sara never would have seen in Sporatos, but it was intensified by the fact that he had been good at it. He had held a perfect servant’s posture, and he had clearly learned how to pour tea to the precise, exacting standards that his own staff were held to. That wasn’t something that could be taught on the spot; the Adjutant had, at some point, legitimately learned how to serve others. That was not something Sara had expected.

It was not an understatement to say that she had been blindsided. The man was good at what he did. For Sara to not recognize who he was on the spot was perhaps the most astonishing thing she’d ever seen. Unlike King Sporatos, this man clearly hadn’t split his life between that of a soldier and a leader. Whatever life he had lived, whatever Class he had earned, it was wholly dedicated to moments like these. For the first time in her new life, Sara was facing someone who might actually have a chance of getting the better of her.

Of course, no matter how shocked she was, her Blessings would never let it show. All this analysis flashed through her mind between the beats of her heart, long before any surprise could reach her face. Instead of recoiling, she smiled kindly.

“If you have nothing more pressing to attend to, of course,” Sara said. Behind her, Evie stiffened in shock as she belatedly gathered up the clues, showing more of a reaction than Sara had, but only just. She was a skilled Diplomat in her own right.

“You happened upon me at an excellent time, as a matter of fact,” the Adjutant replied. “I was between meetings, preparing for the next tiresome accounting of the city’s wellbeing. With an enemy army approaching, there is always much to be done.”

“I can imagine,” Sara said. “But from what I’ve seen, I’m surprised you’re even here. The force I saw heading for Tonlay isn’t one that this city is prepared to defend itself from.”

“Fortunately, I am in a position which affords me quite the number of options for traveling rapidly, should the need arise. If these negotiations draw themselves out until the enemy arrives, it will be a simple matter to have us transported beyond their reach, so that we may continue our discussions in peace.”

“Nothing peaceful about selling weapons,” Sara said. She leaned forward, resting her arms on the table, one folded over the other. “That is what you brought us here for, isn’t it? You want Tulian’s guns.”

“Among other things, yes,” the Adjutant said, tilting his head towards Evie’s revolver. “Training our troops in their use would be another obvious object of the exchange, of course. And as either you, your wives, or those under your command are the most experienced in the world with these weapons, there would be no substitute.”

“So what are you offering, then?” Sara asked. “You’ve probably got spies galore up in your enemy’s camps. Do you know what they’ve already offered me?”

“Of course,” the Adjutant said, smiling. “Quite the sum you managed to extract from them, even if the details are not yet finalized. I applaud your efforts.”

“If you know how much they offered Tulian, what are you going to give me to beat it?” Sara asked. Now that she had the Adjutant right in front of her, any desire to draw the negotiations out had withered and died. “You seem like the type that’s done your research. You know I don’t care who wins this war. The only reason I’m involved is because I don’t want the people of Tulian to get trampled by some runaway army. If you think I’ll play favorites just because you’ve got some kind of claim to legitimacy or something…”

“Of course not,” the Adjutant said, chuckling. “I have not had nearly the time I would have desired to gather information on you, Sara Brown, but thankfully, you are a refreshingly forthright woman. I am not foolish enough to think that you are interested in the cause or morality of our conflict.”

“On the contrary, I am interested.” Sara took a sip of her tea, building herself a dramatic pause. She set the teacup down with a little click. “But not because I’m using the information to pick sides. What I really want to know is what changed.”

“Oh?” The Adjutant’s eyebrows rose.

“Something had to have,” Sara said. “Two hundred and fifty years of on-and-off war, kept entirely within your borders, only suddenly spilling out now? Don’t think I haven’t heard of your envoys traveling to the Western Kingdoms and Sporatos, either. For your first diplomatic entreaties to occur after more than two centuries, alongside a sudden shift in both army’s tactics? Something’s gone wrong, somewhere. Before I commit Tulian to backing anyone in this clusterfuck, I want to know what.”

The Adjutant folded his hands on the table, carefully considering his next statement.

“How much do you know of our Empire’s true leaders?” The Adjutant asked.

“The Emperor and his buddies?” Sara clarified. The Adjutant nodded. “Not as much as I’d like,” she said honestly. “People don’t like talking about them. I know the Emperor’s an elf, and he’s old. Been in charge for over a thousand years, supposedly. And there are other elves his age that are in charge of other stuff, working for him.”

Sara tapped her fingers on the table, running through the list of information she had accrued, doing her best to sort out the endless contradictions. “But for all the way people basically worship the guy, I haven’t met anyone that had a thing to say about something the Emperor’s actually done. No one’s ever said anything about a law he’s passed, a speech he’s given, or even rumors of a public appearance. Frankly, if you told me he doesn’t actually exist, that he’s just some propaganda story to keep the peasants in line, I wouldn’t be surprised.”

The Adjutant chuckled, “Emperor Aydrion is quite real, I assure you. As are his elven kin, the rightful rulers of our Empire. I communicate with them regularly.”

“So what’s the deal, then?” Sara asked. “No one has even suggested I meet with the Emperor. Just you or one of your representatives. Also, both sides of this war claim to be loyal to the guy. How’s that work?”

“A regretfully simplistic explanation may be provided, I am afraid.” The corner of the Adjutant’s lips turned down, the tiniest twinge of distaste coloring his words. “Apathy, Sara Brown. Apathy is how our once-unified Empire has maintained this state of chaos for so long.” The Adjutant turned to the room’s lone window, looking out at the city. “Emperor Aydrion was born two thousand and five hundred years ago. He ascended to the throne one thousand, one hundred and eighty-six years ago, when his father, who lives still, stepped down at the five thousandth anniversary of his coronation. To the Emperor and his ilk, this war has simply been an… aberration. A mild disturbance, a minor irritation which may easily be ignored.”

“Really?” Sara asked doubtfully. “Sure, he’s old. I get that. Probably doesn’t give much of a shit about what happens year-to-year, especially if both sides are still paying him tribute. Two hundred and fifty years is still coming up on a quarter of this guy’s rule, though. He’s gotta start caring eventually, right?”

“Yes.” The Adjutant turned away from the window, focusing on Sara. “That is the disaster that is approaching. The Emperor is growing irritated with the civil war, and has begun to speak of Elven involvement.”

“So?” Sara shrugged. “Sounds good enough to me. If the Emperor comes and puts his foot down, this whole shitfest will be done and gone, right? Both sides are still claiming to be loyal to him, so they’ll have to listen, right?”

“But the crux of the question remains: who shall the Emperor side with?” The Adjutant shook his head sadly. “Whoever Emperor Aydrion chooses, be it myself or the rebellion, the other will not surrender. Too many lives have been lost, too many blood debts incurred. They will fight to the last.”

“An ideal situation,” Evie said, speaking for the first time. She kept her eyes forward, guarding the room’s doors with a soldier’s discipline, but her words were spoken with the quiet refinement of nobility. “I have heard tale of the prowess of elven warriors and mages. Singing blades which carve the landscape with every swing, magefire of a brillance which turns night to day, and enchantments which are beyond the comprehension of all but the greatest of mortal minds. The war’s conclusion will be swift and brutal. After a defeat so absolute is wrought upon them, those few who survive will never think of raising arms again.”

The Adjutant, of all things, smiled fondly at Evie.

“You truly are Master Graf’s protege, My Lady. And you are, of course, correct. Should Elven warriors take the field, none will be capable of standing against them.”

“So what, then?” Sara asked. “You’re trying to get guns from me so you can win back as much territory as possible before the Emperor gets involved? Try to convince him you’re the right side to back?”

“No. I am trying to end the war before the slaughter begins.”

Sara cocked her head. That was a neat, tidy explanation. It fit her morality well. Trying to save as many lives as possible by any means necessary.

That made it suspicious. The Adjutant had been in charge of this branch of the Empire for decades. If he’d really wanted to end the war, he could have surrendered years ago.

Sara studied him, picking apart his mannerisms. Running his words through her mind again and again, noting each microscopic twitch and tilt. She actually had to take her time. The man was almost unreadable.

But she did think there was a kernel of truth to his words. He didn’t want the war to escalate.

He had seen something before. Something horrifying. It was still with him, still haunting his dreams, and he didn’t want to see it again.

But whatever it was, it couldn’t change the fact the Adjutant was an ambitious man. He wouldn’t abandon his position for morality alone. He had given everything he had to climb to the ultimate heights of power, and if he gave it up, all his life would have been for nothing. Whether it was his hate for his enemies, the memory of whatever horrors he had seen, or his own pride, it didn’t matter. Surrender was not an option. No matter how hopeless the war, he would fight.

“How long do you have?” Sara asked. “You said the Emperor started talking about involving himself recently. If he’s as ancient as you say he is, it could be decades until he actually gets involved.”

“And I may need decades to conclude this war.” The Adjutant sighed deeply, allowing a mournful expression to spread across his face. Sara doubted it was genuine. “Even with your weapons in our hands, the Empire is simply too vast to be pacified in short order. Yes, the Emperor only began speaking of his prospective involvement within the past few years. But he is an impulsive man, at least as much as an Elf may be when viewed through the lense of humanity. Perhaps it will be another fifty years before he sees fit to solve the war himself. Perhaps it will be a mere five. Both I and my rival Adjutant are doing all we may to forestall his involvement, but we are nought but gnats buzzing in his ear. Our influence is precious little.”

“So you’re desperate,” Sara stated plainly, staring straight at the Adjutant. The man returned her attention evenly, unbothered. “Why are you telling me that? I can push you all the harder for it. You have to know I’ve heard the talk on the streets. You’re on the backfoot, defending instead of attacking. And now you tell me that you need the war to end as soon as possible? That’s not smart. So why the honesty?”

“For one, the Imperial records of ancient Chosen are comprehensive enough that I am well aware of the folly it would be to lie to Emotion’s Chosen. The abilities of your predecessors were renowned across the world, and documented extensively.”

Great, Sara thought, keeping her face stern. Evie’s going to be even more paranoid about keeping secrets now. Who knows what they already know about me.

“And for another point,” the Adjutant continued, “I am confident that I have already prepared a proposal that is more than enough to win your loyalty.”

“I’ll never be loyal to a tyrant,” Sara reflexively snapped. “You may win my business, but you’ll never win my loyalty. I’ve never been loyal to anything in my damn life.”

“Save your wives, of course-” The Adjutant began.

“Not really. I fuck other people all the time.”

“And we rather enjoy it,” Evie said. “I personally feel you’ve been exceptionally loyal.”

“Not helping, Evie.”

The Adjutant chuckled. To his credit, the tangent hadn’t flustered him in the slightest. He smiled apologetically. “In matters of personal loyalty, I will differ to your expertise. As for greater matters, I ask only for your forgiveness. I spoke the term as a mere figure of speech. I only intended to express my confidence that my offer will far exceed the rebellion’s.”

“I almost bankrupted them, and you’re not doing any better, economically. What have you got that they don’t?”

“An understanding of your desires, Governess.”

The Adjutant flipped over the stack of papers he had brought with him, sliding them across the table.

She rolled her eyes. “You know, I’m sure you’ve got spies into Tulian since I left, but if you think you actually understand me from just that–”

Sara looked down at the top of the paper stack.

She choked on her words.

Republic of Tulian Trade Agreement, Glossary

Section 1, Imperial Assurances

Article 1: Abolishment of Slavery, Unpaid Labor

Article 2: Abolishment of Hereditary Nobility

Article 3: Establishment of Parliamentary System

Article 4: Establishment of Universal Education

Article 5: Universal Suffrage, Multi-Stage Introduction

As Sara coughed out her shock, the Adjutant leaned back on his cushion, a wide, honest smile warming his face. Evie leaned over Sara, claws digging into her shoulder.

Section 2, Imperial Defense of Tulian Sovereignty

Article 1: Assurances Against Rebel Aggression

Article 2: Assurances Against Sporaton Aggression

Article 3: Assurances Against Other Aggression

Article 4: Invalidation Clauses

Section 3, Payment

Article 1: Muskets

Article 2: Cannons

Article 3: Immediate Summoning of Tulian Mercenaries

Article 3: Training of Imperial Forces

Article 4: Industrial Tutelage, Firearm Manufacturing Tutelage

Article 5: Imperial Provision of Raw Material

Article 6: Provisions for Circumstantial Modification of Section 3

After that first explosive cough, having inhaled what felt like a gallon of her own spit, Sara got herself under control, smoothing her expression back over. It was too late to have pretended she wasn’t astonished by the offer sitting before her. Even Evie was unable to maintain her stoicism, her lips split in silent astonishment.

“Bullshit,” Sara spat, the word springing unbidden from her mouth. She looked up at the Adjutant. “This is bullshit. You’re fucking with me.”

“I am not.”

“You’re affording guns to save your Empire by destroying it?”

The Adjutant raised an eyebrow. “Destroying it? What of these matters would necessitate the Empire’s destruction?”

Sara thumped her hand down on the papers, jostling the neat stack into a scattered mess.

“What doesn’t? Democracy? Abolishing the nobility? Hell, I already noticed when I got to this city that you were getting rid of the divine collars, but that’s just because you fucks are too cowardly to accept keeping slaves when you know they might get free some day. If you actually go through with these promises, you’re ruining everything that makes your Empire an empire.”

“The Emperor makes an empire,” he replied matter-of-factly. “So long as ultimate authority lies with the Emperor, the Empire shall have fulfilled its most holy purpose.”

“What about the nobility?” Sara countered. She searched for the glossary page to stab for emphasis, but it had been lost in the scattering of the pages. Evie began gathering up the papers, organizing them once more. “If you’re getting rid of the nobility, then it’s just peasants and the Emperor. There’s no way your upper class is going to accept that.”

“Only the lower nobility shall be stripped of their titles,” the Adjutant said, gesturing towards one of the various papers, presumably the one which detailed his claim. “The upper members of the peerage shall remain, but they will be organized into a House of Lords within the Parliament, who will have equal voting power to the House of Peasants. Those who will be losing their titles are barely nobility at all; minor landowners, provincial nothings who have a handful of villages under their sway. They couldn’t even afford the trip to the capital in order to protest their circumstances.”

“So you’re not becoming democratic, you’re just letting peasants vote on a few random laws here and there,” Sara snapped. “You’re compressing political power and land ownership into an even smaller fraction of the population than it was before. The Visyas will own everything.”

“But they will be beholden, at least in part, to the laws passed by their subjects,” the Adjutant calmly replied. He remained dispassionate, not rising to the heat in Sara’s growling words. “Should the peasantry’s representatives come to a sixty-five percent majority vote, they may overturn any edict of their Visya.”

“What does a staged introduction of universal suffrage mean, then?” Sara asked, pivoting to another point on the list. Evie set the papers back down in front of her, neat and organized, only for Sara to snatch the front page up and jam her finger onto the line. “Who gets to vote? Only landowners? Only elves? Only men?”

“Only the literate. Voting rights will be established once a citizen has demonstrated their ability to read and write Kemari at an acceptable level, proving their ability to comprehend the topics they are voting on.”

“Literacy tests are a tool of the elite.” The old argument came to her quickly, the depraved history of the United States flashing through her mind. “You can exclude any demographic from voting rights by creating biased, illegitimate, or outright impossible tests, and then require only certain groups to prove their literacy.”

“Truly?” The Adjutant reached into a pocket, retrieving a quill and inkwell. “Neither I nor my advisors had considered such an underhanded tactic. The history of your old world has afforded you incredible knowledge of the potential pitfalls of a system that is, to us, utterly untested. If you wish, I am willing to amend the terms of suffrage to anticipate whatever difficulties you foresee.”

Sara’s eyes flashed, her anger growing. She turned the paper around in her hand, reading down the list.

“The fuck is this, then?” She asked, twisting the crumpled paper around once more. “Tulian mercenaries? You want Tulian citizens to fight and die for your people?”

“If they are willing,” the Adjutant said, setting aside his quill when he saw Sara had no interest in discussing minor trivialities. “My sources indicate that your governance specifically assures Tulian citizens have the right for firearm ownership, in addition to a right to travel beyond their borders without governmental permission. To be hired to fight another’s wars is well within these limitations.”

“But you don’t want to hire random people,” Sara said. “You want to hire Tulian soldiers. Men and women that’re experienced with guns, who fought the Sporatons with them.”

“Of course. We are, as you so astutely noted, on the ‘back foot.’ In the time it would take for you to provide, arm, and train our troops with your weaponry, countless setbacks may be suffered. We need a force capable of bolstering our defenses immediately.”

“I’m not going to order people to fight some foreign dictator’s war,” Sara said. “I’m just not. There’s no way in hell.”

“I am not asking you to order them. I only ask that you allow us to make the request and, perhaps, to make a special dispensation allowing active-duty soldiers to breach their service contracts in order to pursue mercenary work. I do not worry about finding enough volunteers. We will pay handsomely, by the standards of the North.”

“You’ll pay handsomely by your own damn standards,” Sara snapped angrily, only to immediately regret it. The Adjutant smiled. She’d all but revealed she’d agree to allowing Tulian citizens to take up mercenary work.

Sara took a deep breath, calming herself. She looked to Evie, then patted the floor next to her, inviting her to abandon the pretenses of being a bodyguard. The Adjutant wasn’t intimidated by her presence anyway. Sara may have been gifted in all things diplomatic, but she wasn’t formally trained. Evie would notice things in the treaty that Sara couldn’t. Her wife sat down gracefully, setting her holstered gun on the table beside the stack of papers, and began to read.

“What about payment, then?” Sara demanded while Evie worked. “The ‘rebels’ were going to give us half a planet of raw materials, gold, enchantment work, everything we could ask for. What are you going to give us?”

“Whatever is required for you to manufacture the weapons we require, and not an ounce more.”

Sara barked out an ugly laugh. “Really? You’re going to try and counter two hundred tons of gold with that?”

“Let us not play games,” the Adjutant said. He leaned forward, putting both palms flat on the table, glittering eyes falling into the shadow of his brow. “This treaty, without a single drop of ink spent for corrections, is enough. I do not know you, Sara Brown. But I know your goals. You have stated them for all the world to hear.” He smiled cruelly, taking a savage delight in his impending victory. “The enemy was willing to sacrifice their economy upon the altar of your providence. Me? I have sacrificed my Empire’s fate. I have read the records of your speeches, that the world of equality you envision is inevitable, and I have found myself convinced. Not by your divine Charm, but by the soundness of your arguments. This is why I have thrown myself behind your cause, in as close a way as I dare, and you must understand I have done this at no small risk to myself. Shall your prophecy of an equal world not come to pass, I will be known as the greatest fool to ever claim the title of Imperial Adjutant.” He licked his lips, discarding his charade in a blaze of honesty, one that burned across his visage in the form of a deep, hungry greed. “Should it succeed? Should the world be altered as you desire? History will hail me as the first hero of the people. A conqueror and liberator both. He who ended the Last War of Tyrants not by killing, but by embracing the freedoms of the people.”

The expression vanished like flash paper, dissolving into the same impassive nothingness that had covered his face before. He leaned back, waving a vague gesture at the papers.

“So read as long as you please, Sara Brown. Find the flaws in my plans, inform me of them, and rectify them. You are a creature of Divine Providence. To ignore your advice would be the most foolhardy thing of all. But understand this, first and foremost: I will give you nothing more than the freedom of my people. All else? That will be paid at cost.”

Sara wanted to swear. She wanted to kick and curse and throw something at the man.

But she couldn’t.

Because he was right.

Sara joined Evie in reading through the treaty’s pages. It was thirty-two pages long, written in neat, dense Kemari script. Evie could thankfully read the language better than she could speak it, and together, with occasional input from the Adjutant, they teased out every hidden detail from the legalise.

The Adjutant?

The Adjutant stayed true to his word.

When Sara found a flaw in his proposed integration of democracy into his feudal society, he dipped his quill in fresh ink and began to scratch and scribble away, replacing the section of text with an amended version. When she clarified that buying weapons “at cost” included the cost of labor and material both, including the inordinately high wages that Tulian laws require workers to be paid, he accepted her terms without blinking. He did not even quibble at the fact the Tulian government would still be taxing this income, ostensibly circumnavigating the clause that the Empire would not be directly paying the Tulian government for the weapons. It was the cost of doing business, he explained. No treaty could be without loopholes.

And the governmental changes he proposed were… not awful. A House of Lords, composed of the uppermost ranks of the nobility, would act as one branch of a national parliament, given equal voting power (regardless of the population they controlled or represented) to their opposites, the House of Peasants, which Sara insisted be renamed to the House of Commoners. Working out how, exactly, a law could reach a successful voting percentage was somewhat complicated. Sara had to spend more time than she probably should have working out the hypotheticals, which Evie and the Adjutant seemed to comprehend as a matter of course. If sixty percent of the House of Lords voted ‘No’ on a proposal, but sixty percent of the House of Commoners voted ‘Yes’, would the law pass? Apparently that meant it was a tie, with fifty percent of the combined body voting for and against. That would require a re-vote, this time with the Houses allowing their members to vote anonymously, instead of on the public record to hopefully allow intra-party dissent. It was an awkward, ungainly system, but it actually seemed like it might work.

Ultimately, Sara was still disgusted by the concept of anyone being born into political power, but it was clear that there was no compromising on the point. The Adjutant already thought he was stretching his political authority as far as it could go, to the point that if his enemies developed their own firearms too soon, or if Sara’s weapons didn’t perform well enough, he feared a coup. To outright abolish the nobility was out of the question.

As for the final issue? The last one of the many things which Sara took exception to?

There was no surprise there.

“Of course, it would be a considerable boon to the popularity of the Tulian people within the Empire if you were to command the mercenaries yourself,” the Adjutant said. “As a Chosen of the Gods, you are more than welcome to refuse, but I find it difficult to imagine anyone who would be more appropriate for the position.”

“If the mercenary composition you want hasn’t changed, I think Artillery Lieutenant Shale would almost be better. Seems like you want a siege-breaking force more than you want field soldiers.”

“Ah, but she is overseeing the construction of fortifications in anticipation of the coming Sporaton invasion, is she not?”

Sara narrowed her eyes at the Adjutant. It was hours later, and the sinking sun had begun to send beams of glaring light through the window.

“You better get your spies out of my city before I get back,” she told him. “I won’t go easy on them just because we made this deal.”

“Of course,” the Adjutant replied noncommittally. “But as for the commander of the mercenary forces…?”

“The sitting Governess can’t be in charge of a paramilitary force,” Sara said. “I’m not going to establish that precedent. I just won’t.”

“Then-”

“So Evie will be the official commander,” Sara said.

Her wife, who had been going over yet another of the many amendments to the treaty, jerked upright.

“Master, I cannot possibly accept such a position of authority.”

“It’s just a political game,” Sara assured her. “I’ll actually be in charge, of course. But it has to be you, not the Governess, that’s in charge.”

The Adjutant cocked his head. “And how does allowing the governess’s wife to be in charge of this force meaningfully alter the precedent being established?”

Sara sighed, rubbing her face with open palms. “It barely does,” she admitted. “But at least it’s something. Some level of divorce between me and the mercenaries. It’ll at least show the history books that I thought this decision was fucked up.”

“But you will effectively be in charge of this force?” The Adjutant pressed.

“Yeah. Fuck me, I guess, but I will. Not like I’d want Tulian citizens killing and dying under anyone else’s watch.” She shook her head, disgusted. “Fucking hell. This is going to be a mess.”

“Yours will be a position of prominence in any army you join,” the Adjutant assured her. “So long as they do their duty when asked, your troops will be afforded every measure of safety possible.”

“No such thing as safe in the middle of a war,” Sara said. Looking over the scattered sheets one more time, the thirty page document having ballooned to well over two hundred, she groaned. “At least our parliament will be glad to hear you’re willing to back us against Sporatos.”

“Only in time,” the Adjutant reminded her. “We cannot spare any forces on such a distant march north until our own borders are more secure.”

“Yeah. But at least you’ll be able to help with the third Sporaton-Tulian war.” Sara shook her head yet again, a frustrated rumble building in her chest. “They’re going to invade again. Soon. The King has to prove my guns aren’t worth shit, or else everything comes crashing down around him.”

“That would be a foolish move, no?”

“King Sporatos is not a fool,” Evie said, speaking in Continental. The Adjutant had access to some form of translation magic, they had discovered. “But he is very close to one. His reign began with the crushing of potential rivals in the form of the coastal city states, and he was seemingly rewarded by the gods for this effort when Old Tulian was battered into collapse. He is not an anxious man, nor even a particularly paranoid one, but he does not tolerate threats. Tulian is something he could never ignore.”

“So you say,” the Adjutant said, bobbing his head in acknowledgment to Evie. “You know the man better than I do, of course.”

Sara tried to focus back on the papers, but her eyes began to glaze over, turning the table into a mess of white sheets and blurry brown. She spent a moment in silence, running through the long conversation in her mind.

Sara suddenly stood, grabbing her pen and pocketing it.

“Alright, we’re done. Anything else is just arguing over pointless details. I’ll inform Tulian tomorrow, and then I’ll let someone on your staff know what’s going to happen next.”

“Excellent,” the Adjutant said, standing as well. The edges of his writing hand was covered in ink from his quill, unlike Sara and Evie, who had benefited from their Hurlish-made fountain pens. Somewhat petulantly, Sara had refused to offer the Adjutant one, even though she knew they had spares.

Evie spent a moment longer on the ground, finishing reading one last amendment, then stood as well, stretching her arms out high, tail curling around Sara’s thigh. She finished her stretch with a satisfied smacking of her lips, then bent down and grabbed her gun, slotting it back into her chest holster.

“You will be providing us a completed copy of the treaty,” Evie said to the Adjutant. A statement, not a question. Very nearly an order.

“Of course,” the Adjutant gamely agreed, ignoring the minor insult. “And you will be directly informed of any changes, even if they are as small as a single word or re-ordering of certain paragraphs.”

“Excellent.”

“Let’s go, Evie,” Sara said tiredly, wrapping an arm around her wife’s shoulders. “I need something to eat.”

“If you’d like, I could have the Visya’s chefs prepare-”

“Abso-fucking-lutely not,” Sara snapped. “I’ve had enough rich people shit in the least six hours to make me puke. We’re leaving.”

The Adjutant bobbed his head politely, smiling. “Have a pleasant day, Sara.”

She exited without another word, barely biting back a reflexive fuck you. She didn’t even know why she was so mad at the man. It was something to pick apart later, when she wasn’t hungry and tired.

Honestly, she probably just hated the fact that he’d gotten the better of her. Turns out she was a sore loser. Who could have guessed?

As she stepped out into the previous room, Sara’s eyes widened in surprise. The two guards, the elite-of-the-elitiest or whatever the fuck they’d been, were still there. She’d expected that.

But somehow, unbelievably, she’d forgotten about Mui. For some reason, she’d assumed he’d stayed for an hour or two, gotten bored, then left to return to his squad. She didn’t know why she’d thought that; the man was nothing if not fanatical about his work.

That didn’t make her any less surprised to see him standing across the room, breastplate polished and shining, facing the elevator door in parade rest. Someone had already called up the elevator, which was waiting for Sara to enter.

“You have finished?” Mui asked, stepping forward eagerly. He crossed a sunbeam from the windows as he went, which crossed his fur in a shifting pattern. When it was caught in the evening sunlight, it seemed to gain a hypnotic, almost purple sheen. “You have come to an accommodation, I hope?”

“Yeah, we worked something out,” Sara said tiredly, jerking a thumb over her shoulder. “That was the real Adjutant, by the way. Came all the way here just to make sure I could finish the deal then and there–”

Sara’s words bit off as Mui approached, grinning widely. Something had just occurred to her.

“That is excellent news! I look forward greatly to seeing your people’s muskets in our hand, ma’am, I truly do. I knew you would see reason–”

“Yeah,” she said, eyes trailing up and down Mui’s body. She caught herself licking her lips, tongue rough as a cat’s, and pulled it back into her mouth. “Yeah, they’ll be pretty helpful for people, probably. Hey, by the way, are you off duty now?”

“Hm. I am not sure.” Mui turned around to the other guards. “I am unfamiliar with this portion of protocol. Now that the meeting I was charged with providing for has occurred, what am I to do?”

The woman, the captain or whatever her rank was, shifted in her armor.

“You are to return immediately to your assigned–”

“I’m pretty sure he’s off-duty,” Sara butted in.

The woman scowled. “He must–”

“Yeah, cool, whatever,” Sara said, grabbing Mui by the shoulder and dragging him to the elevator. “We’re leaving now, thanks for all your standing there.”

“I–”

“You’re being ignored,” Sara informed her, shoving Mui into the waiting elevator.

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