The governor’s study was a space that breathed control. Not ostentatious like the drawing rooms of Primus, but imposing all the same. Dominated by a desk of polished blackstone, its surface empty save for a single stack of parchment and a silver inkwell. Behind the governor, a map of Septentrion was pinned to the wall, each town and city marked according to relevance. One pin at the far north was different. Marked with a red “X”. Hellfrost.

  Aelia did not know the scribe seated by Governor Iraias to act as recorder for the proceedings. A man with a rather odd-looking mustache, waxed and curled up at the ends. Was that some sort of new fashion? Or just an idiosyncrasy? It was easier to fixate on the scribe’s facial hair than on the magnitude of the moment.

  On the other side of the governor’s desk sat Madame Truthteller, scarred eyes as unnerving as ever. She was not there to speak. She was there to listen. To know if any of them lied.

  At the edges of the room, Vestra vis Nightblood and Nadyar vis Valien flanked the door, each leaning against the door. Enforcers. Neither actually looked ready to intervene; if anything, they looked distinctly bored. Of course, if anyone was foolish enough to make an attempt on the governor’s life, that boredom could change to lethality faster than anyone else present could move.

  “Didn’t bring the Amaklos girl?” Vestra chuckled. “Aw, I was looking forward to hearing her again.

  They’d brought a lesser contingent for today’s proceedings. Aelia had decided that most of the others’ presences were unnecessary. Or potentially harmful. Both former Vulgares, herself, Aven, and Esharah were all that were necessary and helpful for this trial.

  “I believe she has made her feelings clear to everyone,” Aelia said. “We have taken steps to ensure she will not trouble the governor further.”

  She glanced to Aven as doubt rose. He...had taken care of that, right? Double reassurance from Aven’s smile and Esharah’s mental touch drove that doubt back down. She could focus on the task at hand.

  Without preamble, Governor Iraias spoke, “You may begin.”

  Just like that. Aelia had prepared for this moment for months. Even just last night, she’d practiced it thrice before her anxious mind relaxed enough to rest. And twice again this morning. Every word, every nuance, every potential rebuttal. Every number and date and provision in the treaty. She was ready.

  Aelia took a breath, “Lord Governor, the treaty presented to you from Hellfrost county details a new alignment of interests in the region, one that provides significant strategic, economic, and social benefits to the Empire.” Her own mind supplied the next thought, one that Madame Truthteller no doubt already knew. Especially compared to the previous state of affairs, which was a constant drain on imperial resources and lives.

  Madame Truthteller’s lips thinned almost imperceptibly.

  “The Hravast and Kvormskaja tribes, formerly outsiders to the imperial order, were taken over by a former prisoner of Hellfrost, Sergrud fel-Maies, who escaped under the authority of previous Executor Roman - an incident that I believe contributed to the sacking of Executor Roman and his replacement with Executor Yvris. Correct?”

  Governor Iraias nodded, “Yes. Executor Roman had other failures, but that proved the tipping point.”

  Which, of course, Aelia had known perfectly well, because she’d found the letter relieving Executor Roman of duties in Hellfrost’s records. Esharah confirmed through their mental connection, however, that the governor was receptive to the reminder. For reasons Aelia didn’t quite understand, people valued certain knowledge phrased more as a question than a statement. It made them feel intelligent, apparently, in ways that simple flattery did not.

  Aelia watched Governor Iraias’ reaction as she continued, using the words she and Esharah had practiced so much. Reminding the Governor of Sergrud’s aggression and what a threat he posed. Emphasizing the part that the Kvormskaja and Hravast played in defeating Sergrud. Painting a glowing picture of Hellfrost as it stood now, with the former Vulgares productive and dutiful members laboring for the empire’s glory.

  It was not a lie, Aelia told herself. It was an optimistic portrayal of the truth. She could only hope Madame Truthteller’s silence was agreement.

  “In conclusion, the Kvormskaja and Hravast have already proven critical assets to Hellfrost and the empire,” Aelia finished the recitation.

  “A short sample,” Governor Iraias noted, fingers steepled before him. “And they’ve been fed and sheltered by imperial supplies throughout. Your projections of the future strike me as...optimistic.”

  The mustached scribe spoke up, “And all of us present know how projections can be inflated to please superiors.”

  Aelia stopped, taking in the insinuation. Her entire career had been built on truth and integrity. To accuse her of lying-

  “He doesn’t know you,” Esharah whispered. “The Governor does. The truth is on our side. All you need to do is speak it.”

  Aelia sent a pulse of thanks and forced the anger down. She gathered her thoughts. “Past performance was depressed by numerous inefficiencies, directly the result of Executor Yvris’ mismanagement. We have extensively documented such failings.” And this was as good an opportunity as any. “Additionally, I have not yet had chance to report the greatest new asset. Do you have a sample of blackstone for a demonstration?”

  Governor Iraias’ eyebrows shot up. His lips pursed, but he gestured to Vestra. “I imagine the groundskeeper will have some broken bricks in the stockpile.”

  Before Vestra could move, Nadyar vis Velian shot off like an arrow loosed from a bow. The door opened and closed before the wind from his passage could stir the dust in the room. A fourth circle vis would complete the errand shortly. In the meantime, Aelia carefully withdrew an object she’d carried all the way from Hellfrost. A more dangerous object than she was used to bearing.

  She unsheathed the knife created by the union of Kvormskaja and Hellfrost crafters, “This knife is made of a material we call voidglass. It is a byproduct of scouring voidpits with Janaya of Amaklos’ hellfire. The result is a material capable of cutting blackstone. I present it as a sample of the potential resource.”

  She offered the knife to Governor Iraias, hilt-first. The man took it and held it up to the light. “You certainly did not mention this in your reports,” he murmured, turning it over and over in his hands. He glanced to Madame Truthteller, “You’ve been quite quiet thus far. Your thoughts?”

  Madame Truthteller chuckled, “I’ve little to say. Executor Etrani has been quite scrupulous with the truth. Everything she has said has been true, according to her beliefs.” Reading the scarred-shut eyes was difficult, but Aelia almost felt the Mindreader winked at her. “Though it seems she holds some information secret until a suitable time.”

  “I thought that the discovery of a material such as voidglass was best demonstrated in person,” Aelia replied.

  “Of all the lessons I’d thought leadership might teach you, drama was not one I anticipated,” Governor Iraias gave a small smile that might as well have been raucous laughter on his face.

  Nadyar vis Velian returned at that moment, sweeping into the room with another rush of wind and offering the blackstone brick with a bow. Governor Iraias accepted it without ceremony, set it upon his desk, and tested the knife’s edge against it. He did not put any strength into the gesture, yet still a line as fine as a hair appeared across the stone’s surface.

  “Previously, working blackstone required prohibitive time or else a vis of the second circle or higher,” Aelia explained. “Voidglass tools will make both the extraction and shaping of blackstone possible to degrees greater than before.”

  “An entire industry, born from burning pits,” Iraias mused. “An intriguing possibility.” He put the knife to the side.

  “But a distraction from the matter at hand, yes?” the scribe spoke up again. “The matter at hand is not Hellfrost’s industry but this specific treaty.”

  “On the contrary, it is relevant to the treaty,” Aelia corrected the man. “The Kvormskaja’s oral history holds some knowledge of this material and their techniques have been integral to our preliminary experiments in shaping it. The knife you hold is the product of Kvormskaja crafters working with Hellfrost smiths. This integration is not merely a matter of convenience or a temporary solution; it is a genuine synthesis of talents. By ratifying this treaty, you will not just be securing a temporary truce. You will be forging a new and powerful asset for the entire province. An asset built upon cooperation rather than subjugation.”

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  The governor’s gaze lingered on the knife. “Then I will take it under consideration. The issue before me is whether these two tribes can be trusted to honor the empire’s law. I have heard your testimony. Now I will hear theirs. Mensikhana of the Kvormskaja, step forward.”

  Just like that, Aelia was finished. She’d still had more to say. Further arguments, referencing the reports of increased agricultural yields projected due to Hravast labor. But the governor had moved on. Aelia had made her case. Now, the Kvormskaja and Hravast’s fate lay in their own hands.

  * * *

  “You may speak,” Governor Iraias said.

  Esharah felt the question from Mensikhana. The governor’s mind was an iron fortress, one closed to outsiders. Outsiders like Mindspeakers.

  “Pardon, Lord Governor,” Esharah interjected. “Mensikhana speaks through her mind domain. Could you give her permission to do so?”

  “No,” the governor said, eyebrows raising faintly. “You are unable to speak aloud?”

  “I...can,” Mensikhana rasped. “But...it hurts.”

  “I am happy to relay her thoughts aloud,” Esharah offered, wincing a bit as the pain in Mensikhana’s throat spread across their connection.

  “Madame Truthteller can provide that service.”

  Madame Truthteller smiled, and Mensikhana gasped as the fourth circle Mindreader opened her mind to allow access. Even with Esharah’s support, Mensikhana shrank back as if struck, clutching her head. If Governor Iraias’ mind was a fortress, Madame Truthteller’s was its own world. A garden, she called it when teaching Esharah. Esharah had always disagreed with that description. Gardens did not draw one into their center. Gardens did not peel away the secrets you tried to hide from yourself. Gardens did not trap their guests. More a witch’s forest, filled with traps, illusions, and hidden thorns. With only a single, clear path: the one Madame Truthteller wanted you to walk.

  “Speak your words,” Madame Truthteller’s permission rang out like thunder.

  Mensikhana took a breath. Then she began. Her thoughts, relayed through Madame Truthteller’s dispassionate voice, were as Esharah had heard them before.

  “Our people, the Kvormskaja, have fought voidspawn for centuries in service of our Goddess, Tarkkailija, the Watcher in the Darkness. We know the void. Better than any in the empire. We know how it corrupts. We know how it devours. Sergrud deceived us, claimed that he would lead us to fight the void, when he sought instead to sacrifice us in his vengeance against the Empire. With Aven’s aid, I spoke to the Watcher and learned of this deception-”

  “You spoke,” Governor Iraias interrupted, “to a goddess?”

  “She speaks true,” Madame Truthteller pronounced.

  “And you have as well, Arvanius?” Governor Iraias’ attention turned to Aven.

  “I have,” Aven answered as if it were an unimportant matter. “Four times now. In voidpits and on the verge of death.”

  “Our empire follows Ideals, not gods,” the scribe scoffed.

  Aelia interjected before the Governor could question Aven further. “But we do not deny their existence or forbid their worship. We only hold that one not neglect one’s duty in pursuit of them. My captain and the speaker have fulfilled their duties admirably.”

  “I shall be the judge of that,” Governor Iraias said, though with little heat. “I did not, however, take you for a devotee of gods, Captain Arvanius.”

  “I’m not,” Aven replied, earning a shocked look from Mensikhana. “But I’ve spoken with a goddess, so I’d be a damned fool if I didn’t listen to what she had to say.”

  “So long as your...experiences do not contradict the Ideals, Executor Etrani is correct.” The governor leaned back in his chair, giving Madame Truthteller a glance as if hoping her powers would confirm their words false. Madame Truthteller only smiled faintly.

  The governor gestured again to Madame Truthteller. “Continue.”

  Mensikhana had to take another moment, and Esharah had to help steady her mind against the turmoil. Shock at Aven’s blasphemy. Fear that this entire exchange would doom her people. At last, they managed to relay the words again to Madame Truthteller.

  “We know the voidspawn are coming, and we know that all other mortal conflicts are petty grievances before the abyss that waits. You needn’t fear the Kvormskaja’s commitment to fight the void.” Even with Esharah’s warning, the next words still came: “If anything, it is we who should doubt the Empire’s commitment given their attempts to use the void instead of fight it.” As before, Mensikhana’s thoughts were a mix of reverence and anger.

  Governor Iraias did not flinch at the implied accusation. “Yet you still signed the treaty.”

  “I extend my people’s trust in hopes that you will recognize the threat that awaits,” Madame Truthteller’s voice faithfully relayed Mensikhana’s words. “Our agreement stands. We will honor the treaty. We ask only that the Empire honor it as well.”

  “Governor Iraias leaned back, steepling his fingers again. He remained silent for a long while, and the scribe’s pen scratched furiously, trying to capture the nuance of the exchange.

  The scribe also added his own notes. Esharah felt the skepticism rolling off the man.

  Claims of contact with deities, the scribe wrote. Spurious.

  Esharah suppressed a sigh and forced her mind back to the Governor, where it needed to be.

  Finally, the governor addressed Hrolf. “The floor is yours, Hrolf of Clan Hravast.”

  Hrolf stepped forward, and despite Esharah’s attempts to soothe him, Esharah still felt a wave of anxiety from the large Kvormskaja chieftain.

  “Clan Hravast was led to its doom by the deceiver Sergrud,” Hrolf spoke gruffly, straight to the point. “Before his conquest of our tribe, we had one-hundred twenty strong warriors. Today, our warriors number less than thirty. Far too few to protect our wives and children. I do not hold delusions or pride. This is no sacred mission for us. This is survival. We will help rebuild the village of Frostwood because it is a small price for our lives. That is all I can say.”

  The scribe’s pen scratched away again. Uncomplicated leader. Driven by fear. Easily controlled asset.

  “Thank you, Chieftain Hrolf,” Governor Iraias nodded, and the chieftain stepped back.

  Then all that remained was the verdict.

  “Your testimony has been informative.” The governor’s gaze lingered on each of them. “And it aligns with previous reports...for the most part.” Iraias’ gaze flicked to Aven just a beat before moving on. “This treaty provides two conditions for peace: that the Kvormskaja assist in the fight against the voidspawn, and that Clan Hravast aid in restoration of Frostwood. I find those conditions insufficient.” The governor held up a hand to forestall Aelia’s gasp.

  “Thus, I am adding three conditions of my own. First,” the governor picked up the voidglass knife, “both tribes will dedicate a portion of their workforce to the production of voidglass and blackstone. Executor Etrani and I will work to determine an appropriate yearly quota. Second, the Kvormskaja warriors will place themselves under the authority of the standing military of Hellfrost, to be used however need is greatest. Finally, all members of both tribes will submit to tenant status for a period of thirty years.”

  “Tenant status?” Hrolf asked. “I do not know what that means.”

  “You will have the rent land and shelter from Hellfrost,” Etrani explained. “In return, you will pay imperial taxes at a higher rate than citizens. After the probationary period of thirty years, your people will be eligible for imperial citizenship.”

  “So we are to be slaves for thirty years,” Mensikhana’s mental voice pulsed so powerfully that it left Esharah’s lips as well as Madame Truthteller’s.

  “Slaves do not have the luxury of property ownership or the protection of imperial law,” Iraias retorted. “You will not be slaves. You will be subjects of the Empire learning its ways, and you will be compensated for your labor. Or you can refuse this offer, return to the north, and face the voidspawn on your own. That is your final offer. Know that it is mercy that you receive an offer at all. It would be lawful for the entirety of your tribes to be eradicated to ensure you are no longer threat to the empire. My executor has offered compelling evidence that your service to the empire is greater than the risks you pose. Your answer?”

  Hrolf stepped forward. “My people accept your terms.” The words came out heavy. Defeated.

  Mensikhana’s mind was a maelstrom of fury and shame. But beneath the storm, one thought shone clear: she could not let her people be exterminated.

  “...we accept,” Madame Truthteller relayed. “The Watcher’s work continues.”

  “Excellent,” Governor Iraias rose. He gestured to the scribe. “These new conditions will be added to the treaty, which both Chieftain Hrolf and Speaker Mensikhana will sign.”

  “Governor,” Etrani found her voice. “A request.”

  Iraias paused. “Speak.”

  “Allow the Kvormskaja some measure of spiritual autonomy. Let them maintain their religious observances to their goddess. Imposing the Imperial Faith upon them by force will only sow resentment.”

  The governor considered this. “Worship of deities is not forbidden. So long as your practices do not disrupt Hellfrost’s order or break imperial laws, you may do what you please. My magistrate will be the judge of that.”

  Surprise rippled through Etrani’s mind, “Your...magistrate?”

  Governor Iraias smiled and gestured to the scribe at his side, “Ah, yes, I neglected to mention that, didn’t I?” And the man mocked Etrani for being theatrical? “Allow me to introduce Camus lex Mercior. You noted, Executor, that a key flaw with Executor Yvris’ governance was taking too many roles into his authority. In keeping with that assessment, Magistrate Camus will be taking the role of Hellfrost’s magistrate from now on.”

  Magistrate Camus rose to his feet and bowed stiffly, “It will be an honor to work alongside you, Executor.”

  Uncertainty flickered through Etrani’s mind. “I am...grateful, Lord Governor. I am honored to work with you, Magistrate Camus.”

  Esharah saw the move for what it was. A check on Etrani’s power. While a magistrate handled civil disputes and legal matters, this man would also serve as the governor’s eyes and ears on the ground. A way to ensure that Etrani’s idealistic and unconventional approach didn’t stray too far from the imperial norm. A way to remind Etrani of who truly held the power in this province. Esharah could feel the new magistrate’s mind, all sharp edges and corners, and a sense of profound satisfaction that Esharah couldn’t quite decipher.

  “Excellent,” Iraias nodded, satisfied. “Signatures, please.”

  The scribe, Magistrate Camus, prepared the revised treaty, his pen moving with swift, sure strokes. He added the new clauses, the ink flowing as dark as the voidspawn’s blood. Hrolf and Mensikhana signed simple marks of people who knew no written language. The treaty was signed. Sealed. The future of their people marked in ink as it had been in blood.

  * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

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