The next morning, even Bors commented on my appetite as I filled myself with hearty grub. I found myself in desperate need of energy, trying to fill the hole that my lack of sleep had created. It also offered the significant benefit of stopping me from grinning like an idiot. Appearing calm, even as my wondrous mood set my very soul dancing a merry jig, was far more challenging than I had expected.

  It was bad enough that I was pleased Sephy wasn’t here. I don’t think I could have kept my face under control if she had been in the room. Part of the plan was that today we would stay separate. My ‘date’ with Maeve was nothing serious, just time spent publicly in each other’s company. We had decided on a subtle shift. While Sephy would be using the excuse of ‘family pressure’ to explain why she was restraining her own interests and more violent tendencies.

  I waved goodbye to Bors, who was off to train with Arthur, Gawain, and Sephy, who had got up early. That left me alone with Lance, Gaz, and Kay. Gaz was in a good mood, explaining how Tiff had managed to negotiate staying for a couple of weeks once her diplomatic duties were done.

  “We’re still working towards Iron. Lance is at the threshold, just needs to find her intent. I’ve got a few more treasures to consume. The witches are making some of the treasures into a brew for me, and I’ve got some Laughing Foxglove that I need to listen to.” I nodded as Gaz explained their plans for the day.

  “You keep putting it off. Why is that?” Lance nudged him, and Gaz scowled.

  “I know why. I was around to help collect those. I’d like to know the name of whatever bastard calls that ‘laughing’ so I can avoid their jokes.” Kay piped up. She was slowly getting better at becoming involved in our conversations.

  “The only laughter it reminds me of is the kind that gives me flashbacks to having to pal around with those creeps back in Fosburg. The kind of laughter you only get when someone else is the butt of the joke.” Gaz shuddered, clearly upset by the memory. “Once I can get past that and absorb the glamour, I should be ready to take the next step.”

  “At least you have your intent.” Lance crossed her arms.

  “You do?” Kay asked, looking surprised. Gaz just nodded happily.

  “It’s coming along. I’ve had an idea for a long time that’s only getting firmer.” Lance scowled and then tried to hide it. Far from unexpected from the competitive Squire. What did surprise me was that Kay did the same. I quietly tucked that observation away for later.

  “Congratulations. It’s not an easy task.” I reached across the table to slap Gaz on the shoulder.

  “Says Mr ‘I reached Iron in a month and a half.’” Lance growled. “I thought I might have an intent as well till I met that prissy blonde prick.”

  “Do I have to point out again that you should be the last one making fun of his looks?” Gaz asked.

  “His hair is always perfect!” she retorted. All of us stared at her shining, perfectly swept locks. Even Kay joined in. “Stop staring, my hair looked far better yesterday!”

  “That’s not the defence you think it is,” I replied, which brought out a wave of chuckles. Our good mood was interrupted as Tristan ran into the room, his face a picture of worry.

  Tristan was the resident of the Lodge I’d spent the least time with. I often caught him watching me, a kind of passive study that tickled the hairs on the back of my neck. He always flinched when I spotted him, surprised I’d caught him out.

  Today, he was in neutral colours. Not quite dressed like a servant, he could have passed instead for the kind of faceless court functionary who does sterling, unappreciated work for years, only to receive a commendation with his name misspelled. The image was helped by the fact he clutched a leather binder full of papers in his hands.

  Despite all the spying I’d done, I hesitated to call myself a spy, seeing myself more as a carefully placed agent of all sane, intelligent people. Tristan, who seemed to practically blend into the background even as I actively looked at him, was a different story.

  “Hmm, I expected more people here.” He looked around the room, and I struggled to believe he could ever be the same man as the one I’d heard about when it came to his public persona.

  “You look like you have news?” Lance asked.

  “Indeed, I do. I had hoped to relay it just the once, but I shall not leave you in suspense.” He opened the front page of the binder. His words were calm, even as they dragged behind them a howling storm.

  “Independent reports from the Order of Crimson Wall, the Coven of the Hunters of Herne, and House Gasparini confirm the Divine Cultivators have begun their invasion. They’ve been gathering their forces in Latium, but have covertly marched up through the mountains of the Hesperia peninsula to wage war on the Germania region. They march on Teutorarge, and several mortal cities have already fallen to them.”

  “Well, fuck.” Lance’s voice punctured the silence that followed. The room dissolved into chaos as we all started asking questions and talking over each other.

  “This was to be expected. They’re being pushed out of much of the rest of Euross. They’re sure to want to show some signs of success.”

  “I don’t believe any cultivator strongholds have fallen to them. That means they’ve yet to make significant gains.” Tristan was leafing through his papers.

  “Tell that to the mortals in the cities they’ve taken over,” Kay grumbled.

  “I’m having a hard time picturing this.” Lance muttered. I wasn’t surprised that she wasn’t the best on the geography of our world. I was struggling to picture the scale of it myself. A flash of inspiration struck me.

  “I’ve got the perfect place to continue this discussion.” I led the group to the study room I used with Marek. On our way, we bumped into Maeve and Rensleigh. I was a little nervous around the Governess, not least because I now had to put on an act in front of her. I could feel her watching me as Tristan explained the situation, her gaze predatory. Beneath those eyes, I knew what it was to be a hare aware of the circling shadow of the hawk.

  Then Maeve started talking, and it seemed the shadow was getting bigger, and all around me was nothing but flat grassland. “Umm, it’s good—pleasant to see you this morning.”

  Maeve was a terrible actress.

  “Good morning to you as well. No need to be so worried. The outbreak of war won’t derail our discussions today,” I smoothly replied, trying to give her an out. She seemed to at least recognise her fumbling and just nodded silently.

  Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

  Keen to not further stress her acting talents, I opened the door to the study room, and we all gathered around the maps. For the geographically challenged, I pointed out the Hesperia peninsula, a vaguely boot-shaped piece of land that reached down from the main body of northern Euross. In its centre, where the mountains had started to fall away, becoming little more than rolling hills, was the region of Latium, the centre of Divine Cultivators’ power.

  Following the mountain chain north led it to meet the very mountains we’d recently traversed, and which helped wall the peninsula off from the rest of Euross. The Artoss and Chox lands sat more to the west of the mountains, while Teutorarge was straight north.

  The map was no original and already pitted with holes. Tristan and I started to fill in what we knew, using scraps of paper to paint a picture of the war. We could see what had happened. The Divine Cultivators had surprised their opponents, marching through and claiming parts of previously neutral mountain territories. Focusing on paths with minimal cultivator presence, they’d blazed through the mountains rather than taking the longer route to the east.

  There was a lot of muttering around the room. As I labelled the third city they’d confirmed to have taken, I tried to picture the chaos of it all in my head. I shared a look with Maeve. We were both starting to understand what might have provoked her grandmother’s mood. Looking at it, I was not certain that it would be improving soon.

  I settled back, a sinking sensation lingering in my gut. I was not a grand strategist. My political knowledge outside of Albion and its immediate neighbours was mostly a matter of names in history books. Yet I felt certain that this was only the beginning of a grander problem.

  “How bad is it?”

  “It’s good that they’ve not destroyed any significant powers. However, the speed of this is shocking.” Tristan commented after stepping back to see the whole picture.

  “They’ll have had agents in those cities and towns, preparing for this. Probably for years,” I muttered.

  “Indeed. The losses aren’t too great though, and they don’t treat mortals too cruelly.” Maeve said, studying the pins.

  “Maeve, that’s half the reason you should care. Long term, this means more Divine Cultivators.” I replied, casually dropping her name without the honorific. She blinked but now we had a topic to talk about she seemed less stilted than in the corridor.

  “Could you explain how?”

  “They’re not ‘cruel’ to mortals because that’s where they get a lot of their recruits.” Kay sighed. She looked pallid, almost sick, as she examined the map.

  “But we do the same?” Gaz asked. I saw Kay begin to flounder and stepped in.

  “Most cultivators you’ll meet are from established families of cultivators. Yet any mortal can become a cultivator. Even with support, maybe one in a hundred will ever build a hearth. Of those, maybe one in three hundred break through to Iron.”

  “One in thirty thousand make Iron? Is it really so low among mortals?” Lance asked.

  “Academic texts will tell you it’s motivation. Surrounded by cultivators, being Bronze leaves you at the bottom. But if you were a peasant, even one of their Kings? That power doubles your lifespan, makes it so it’d take fifty skilled mortals to kill you. Do you need more than that? I’m not sure I believe that.”

  Kay spoke up. “My family was wealthy compared to average mortals, and paupers compared to you lot. They’re not wrong about motivation, but really, intent is the great barrier. You all talk about your intent like it’s no great thing. You are surrounded by people who can guide you. You grow up knowing of its importance, how you need to balance the body and mind. Peasants, even those born to other cultivators, are rarely so lucky.”

  “But surely, once you have it?” Lance continued. Her face was pinched. I could practically see her thinking about her unresolved intent.

  “My grandfather was one of the rare ones who found his own path. By some miracle, he made it to Steel but stalled there. Outside of House, Order, or Coven, it’s difficult to maintain the pressure. Tutors cost money. Brews and potions are worth ten times their weight in gold. My grandfather has seven children. Five of them became cultivators, and only three of them are Iron.” Kay’s voice was hard. She was resolved and firm, even as she stated numbers that any ‘House’ would have been sent into a panic over.

  “But with a cultivator as a parent?” Tristan spoke next. Kay’s attention came down on him, and I felt her aura for the first time. I felt like I was stuck next to a great oak tree as lightning flashed threateningly overhead.

  “It’s more than just parentage. To my knowledge, of the fifteen of us in my generation who sought cultivation, I am the only one to reach Iron, and I am far from the eldest.”

  “Can you seek no aid?” Gaz asked. I winced. Never had I so acutely felt a sense that we were spoiled as I did when Kay’s words rolled over us.

  “Like I did by joining the Verdant Grove? Where I was sold the moment it was convenient. Cultivators of ‘peasant’ stock are not well liked. We’re lucky to be discreetly married into lesser houses. It’s that or take our chances in the Orders, hoping to stand out despite always getting the least support and worst tasks. None of them want to see us succeed.” She sounded so bitter it left me empty.

  “But my father, his program with our guards—” Lance’s fists were balled up. She had taken particular offence at the last line.

  “Your father and his guards are noble exception to normal rules.” I headed off that argument, nodding at Lance. She still looked frustrated but stamped it down and pushed the conversation on.

  “Why does this mean more Divine Cultivators? I find it hard to believe they’d treat people better.” Gaz asked.

  “They do, at least initially. The Houses, Orders, and Covens all maintain the great divide. We do our best to stay out of mortal business, and they stay well out of cultivator business,” I said.

  The divide existed for a reason. Cultivators were terrible at ruling mortals. We limited ourselves to small towns and traded with the larger mortal nations. History had invariably proven that while a brief period of prosperity might be found, such arrangements ended invariably in strife.

  The problem was that even if one cultivator could be a good ruler, the cultivators nearby might not be. Then you ended up with wars and a lot of dead mortals.

  The only known example of it working came to us from Zhang Jinghua, our visitor from the Mystic East. Her vision of a singular monolithic empire that spread across her known world had captivated scholars for a while. Yet even her most ardent supporters highlighted that her idyllic interpretation might be a little bit biased.

  We’d tried empires. They had a tendency to eat themselves or break out in a bad case of warlords.

  I thought on this as I found the words to explain the threat as I saw it. “While I don’t believe that they are any better at getting people to Iron, they do get more people to build a hearth. It’s a big benefit of getting everyone together in their churches. They provide more than the Houses or Orders do to the common man.”

  “You’re wrong. I’ve seen them leave their towns to monster attacks. No Knight would do such a thing to a town under their protection.” Maeve shot me a look, angry, before remembering we were meant to be getting along. “What I mean is—umm… If they’re doing that, what’s the appeal?”

  Hesitation didn’t suit Maeve. It felt wrong, like she was fumbling her blade mid-strike, and I could practically feel the rest of the room blinking in confusion. I picked up the conversation and began to explain, hoping to make everyone forget.

  “I’m sorry. I should’ve been clearer. The church gives out bread, helps make simple repairs, sometimes sends their Squires to deal with small monsters. It gets closer than we do. They worm their way into the hearts and minds of the people, gathering a crop of people from those who have the talent for cultivation, sending them away to learn.”

  “Then when destruction comes, they blame it all on us. ‘The Knights have failed you, we can’t bring our Paladins here because of those damned cultivators!’ They don’t care for the mortals, letting them rebuild, even aiding them to deepen their hold.”

  “They even scoop up those who ignite their hearths in the chaos of battle and promise to train them up so they can ‘protect you’ in the future. It’s not just about getting more cultivators. It breaks their trust in us, makes them hide their talents from us, makes the mortals happier to aid and help them in the future.”

  “So the cities and towns are just the next recruiting ground,” Lance said, looking over the map and the ten new red dots.

  “If they hold them long enough, they won’t even care if you sweep back through and destroy them. It’ll feed them. They’re experts at this.”

  The mood of the room plummeted as I finished. All of us collected our thoughts.

  “I never realised that mortals were so important. Hey, you don’t need to look at me like that!” Tristan waved his hands as Kay glared at him.

  The argument only got worse from there. I avoided getting caught up, instead quietly examining the map. I had a question niggling at the back of my mind, demanding an answer.

  What did I want to do about it?

  No post on friday!