For all the celebration in Solmere...
Not all of the continent shared in its joy.
In Alexandria, the mood was very different.
Locked down.
Controlled.
Watching.
The great gates of the Imperial capital had once been symbols of wealth.
Caravans entered from every corner of the continent. Wagons carrying grain, spices, cloth, metals, enchanted goods, livestock and luxuries moved through them from sunrise until well after dark.
Merchants complained about taxes.
Guards complained about merchants.
Everyone complained about the lines.
But the lines moved.
Now they barely did.
Every caravan entering Alexandria was stopped.
Every wagon searched.
Every crate opened.
Every traveler questioned.
And most importantly, every shadow inspected.
At the center of one of the largest checkpoints stood General Lysandra.
The Archmage.
Senior commander of the Imperial Battle Mage Corps.
One of the most powerful conventional mages on the continent.
And currently the greatest reason a merchant could spend half a day traveling the final hundred yards into Alexandria.
Her staff hummed softly in her grasp.
"Dispel."
Mana rolled outward.
Not violently.
Precisely.
Every unnatural pocket of darkness within range fractured beneath the spell.
Under wagons.
Inside crates.
Between barrels.
Beneath cloaks.
Nothing reacted.
Lysandra continued walking.
"Dispel."
Another wave.
Nothing.
Behind her, Imperial mages followed in formation.
A merchant watched helplessly as soldiers unloaded his wagon one crate at a time.
"Those are vegetables."
The soldier ignored him.
"They were harvested yesterday."
Still nothing.
"They're going to spoil."
The soldier finally looked at him.
"Then perhaps you should have arrived earlier."
The merchant stared at him.
"I arrived four hours ago."
"Then you should have arrived earlier."
The merchant's jaw tightened.
But he said nothing.
Nobody said much anymore.
Not where soldiers could hear.
Another wagon was waved forward.
Then stopped.
Then searched.
Again.
Alexandria had spent months hunting Jax Darquebane's Shadow network.
His assassins had already been discovered.
His observers hunted.
His remaining footholds systematically erased.
Lysandra intended to make certain none returned.
She raised her staff.
"Dispel."
Another ripple passed through the gate.
Another merchant waited.
Another shipment sat in the sun.
Another hour passed.
The consequences could be seen throughout Alexandria.
Markets that had once overflowed with goods now displayed empty spaces between stalls.
Some merchants still came.
Many didn't.
There were easier kingdoms to trade with.
Faster routes.
Lower taxes.
Fewer searches.
And increasingly, there was another market competing for nearly everything Alexandria once controlled.
The United Kingdoms.
A sack of flour that had cost one coin thirteen months earlier now cost two.
Sometimes three.
Cooking oil had doubled.
Salt had nearly tripled in some districts.
Imported fruit had become a luxury.
Meat cost enough that poorer families increasingly went without it.
Wages had not changed.
People noticed.
They always did.
They noticed the empty shelves.
They noticed the prices.
They noticed merchants disappearing from markets where their families had shopped for generations.
They noticed taxes remaining while services declined.
They noticed soldiers everywhere.
And they noticed that every explanation given by the Empire somehow ended with the same name.
Jax Darquebane.
He was responsible for the trade problems.
He was responsible for the shortages.
He was responsible for the lost territories.
He was responsible for the rebellion.
He was responsible for the newspapers.
He was responsible for the checkpoints.
He was responsible for the soldiers searching homes.
He was responsible for everything.
At least according to the palace.
The people of Alexandria were beginning to wonder.
A worker stood beneath a statue of the King with a brush in one hand and a bucket beside his feet.
Across the stone base, someone had painted a single word during the night.
MURDERER.
The worker scrubbed.
Another man approached carrying fresh water.
"Again?"
The first man didn't stop scrubbing.
"Third time this week."
"Fourth."
The brush stopped.
The worker looked at him.
"Fourth?"
"The one by the eastern market."
"Ah."
He returned to scrubbing.
"Forgot that one."
A patrol appeared at the end of the street.
Both men immediately fell silent.
The soldiers passed.
Neither worker looked up.
Only when they were gone did the second man speak again.
Quietly.
"They'll paint it again tonight."
The first man dipped his brush into the bucket.
"I know."
The newspapers were worse.
Officially, possession of a United Kingdom Chronicle inside Alexandria was illegal.
Printing one was treason.
Distributing one was treason.
Selling one was treason.
Depending upon the mood of the officer who found it, reading one could become treason as well.
The laws had not stopped them.
They had made them valuable.
Copies entered Alexandria hidden beneath cargo.
Inside false-bottom crates.
Sewn beneath wagon coverings.
Folded into clothing.
Some came through sewer tunnels.
Some arrived through bribed guards.
Others were copied by hand after a single original reached the city.
One newspaper might pass through twenty families.
A tavern owner would read it after closing.
Then give it to a baker.
The baker passed it to his sister.
She passed it to a neighbor whose son had been among the soldiers who returned from Crescent Moon Canyon.
A soldier might find a copy during a search.
Sometimes he confiscated it.
Sometimes he read it first.
Sometimes it disappeared beneath his armor and never reached his commanding officer.
The Empire called what happened months earlier the Suppression of the Traitor Riots.
The Chronicle called it something else.
The Massacre of Main Street.
That was the name the people remembered.
More than a thousand Imperial soldiers had survived Crescent Moon Canyon.
They had come home.
Their own kingdom killed them.
Some had wives.
Some had husbands.
Some had children.
Parents.
Brothers.
Sisters.
Friends.
The Empire had called them traitors.
Their families called them something else.
Sons.
Daughters.
Fathers.
Mothers.
And now Lisbeth had joined them.
Another city that had trusted Alexandria.
Another population that had believed Imperial banners meant protection.
Another graveyard.
The palace denied responsibility.
Fewer people believed it.
Alexandria was not rioting.
Not yet.
Shops still opened.
Workers still worked.
Taxes were still collected.
Soldiers still patrolled.
The King still ruled.
But conversations stopped when guards entered taverns.
People whispered behind closed doors.
Imperial notices disappeared from walls.
Graffiti appeared faster than workers could remove it.
Soldiers occasionally heard boos when the King's carriage passed.
They would turn.
People would scatter.
Doors would close.
Windows would shut.
And suddenly no one had seen anything.
The pot had not boiled over.
But everyone could feel the heat.
Inside the Imperial palace, eight people understood exactly how hot it had become.
They simply disagreed on what to do about it.
General Blackmoor stood with both enormous hands resting against the edge of the war table.
The Juggernaut.
Commander of heavy infantry.
Siege breaker.
Rebellion suppressor.
A man who considered overwhelming violence a perfectly reasonable answer to most political disagreements.
Beside him stood General Selvara.
The Grand Strategist.
Quiet.
Patient.
Her eyes moved constantly across the reports spread before her.
Food shipments.
Trade routes.
Tax revenue.
Military deployments.
Civil disturbances.
To Selvara, they were all pieces of the same battlefield.
General Malreth leaned casually against the wall.
The Viper.
Poisoner.
Alchemist.
Saboteur.
His pleasant expression looked almost inappropriate among the grim faces surrounding him.
General Tharos stood opposite Blackmoor.
The Beast Rider.
Commander of Imperial cavalry and the Empire's monstrous mounted forces.
He had spent most of the meeting looking increasingly annoyed.
General Lysandra had arrived only minutes earlier.
The Archmage placed her staff against the table and remained standing.
She had no intention of apologizing for the delays at the gates.
General Korvin sat near the end.
The Whisper.
Alexandria's master of intelligence, espionage and counterintelligence.
A stack of reports rested before him.
He had read every one.
He remembered nearly every word.
General Raithe stood alone near the wall.
The Executioner.
He said nothing.
That was normal.
Raithe's specialty was not discussion.
It was ending discussions permanently.
And finally there was General Veynor.
The Summoner.
Youngest of the remaining generals.
Ambitious.
Brilliant.
And increasingly irritated by every report involving Jax Darquebane's Shadow Army.
Eight generals.
Eight of the most dangerous people on the continent.
And none of them were smiling.
Korvin opened the meeting.
"Thirty-seven additional copies were confiscated yesterday."
Tharos frowned.
"Copies of what?"
Korvin looked at him.
"The Chronicle."
"Burn them."
"We did."
"Then why are we discussing it?"
"Because we confiscated thirty-seven."
Korvin slid a report across the table.
"We estimate several thousand are currently circulating inside the city."
Tharos stared at him.
"Then arrest whoever possesses them."
Blackmoor nodded.
"Agreed."
Selvara looked up from the table.
"That would require arresting a significant portion of the city."
Blackmoor shrugged.
"Then we build larger prisons."
Malreth smiled faintly.
"Efficient."
Selvara ignored him.
Korvin continued.
"Graffiti incidents have increased by forty percent in the last month. Vandalism against Imperial property has nearly doubled. We have identified seventeen underground groups distributing anti-Imperial material."
"Seventeen?" Veynor asked.
"That we know about."
Blackmoor's expression hardened.
"Crush them."
Selvara looked at him.
"We tried that."
Blackmoor's eyes shifted toward her.
"No. We crushed the last ones."
"And created these."
Blackmoor straightened.
"Careful."
Selvara showed no reaction.
"I am being careful."
She moved one of the reports toward the center of the table.
"That is why I am reading the numbers instead of pretending they are saying something else."
Silence settled briefly.
Korvin broke it.
"We have identified more organized domestic resistance in the last year than Alexandria faced in the previous twenty combined."
That landed.
Even Raithe looked toward him.
Distantly, somewhere outside the chamber, a bell sounded.
Tharos crossed his arms.
"Then Darquebane's agents are more effective than we believed."
"Some are his," Korvin said.
"Some?"
"Some are ours."
Tharos frowned.
Korvin continued.
"Former soldiers. Merchants. Laborers. Families of executed prisoners. Families of soldiers killed during the Suppression of the Traitor Riots."
Blackmoor's jaw tightened.
"They were traitors."
Malreth tilted his head.
"Technically, most were accused of cowardice."
Blackmoor looked toward him.
"Does the distinction matter?"
"Not to me."
Malreth smiled.
"But apparently it matters to their mothers."
Selvara's eyes remained on the reports.
"The citizens call it the Massacre of Main Street."
Blackmoor's fist tightened.
"Because Darquebane's newspapers told them to."
"No," Korvin said.
Everyone looked toward him.
"The newspaper gave them the name."
He tapped one finger against the table.
"The Empire gave them the bodies."
Nobody answered.
Not because anyone felt guilty.
That was not the problem.
The problem was that Korvin was correct.
Veynor exhaled.
"And now they think we attacked Lisbeth ourselves."
Malreth coughed lightly into his fist.
"We did."
Several eyes turned toward him.
Malreth looked around the table.
"What?"
His smile widened slightly.
"Are we lying to each other now?"
Tharos shook his head.
"Lisbeth was necessary."
"I didn't say it wasn't."
Malreth straightened from the wall.
"I merely object to wasting perfectly good lies on people who already know the truth."
Blackmoor grunted.
"Lisbeth should have reminded the continent what happens when Imperial authority is challenged."
Selvara finally looked up.
"It reminded them."
Blackmoor nodded.
"Good."
"That was not praise."
Selvara pushed another report toward him.
"Three additional settlements opened negotiations with the United Kingdoms within two weeks of Lisbeth."
Blackmoor stared at the page.
Selvara continued.
"Two others stopped paying full Imperial tribute."
Veynor frowned.
"Then collect it."
"With what?"
"Our army."
"Which army?"
That quieted him.
Selvara's voice remained calm.
"We lost approximately forty thousand soldiers killed or captured during the Five Fronts campaign. Several remaining divisions are rebuilding. Others are required here because our own population increasingly requires military supervision."
She moved another marker across the map.
"Every soldier we use collecting taxes is a soldier we cannot use protecting a border."
Another marker.
"Every soldier we use searching homes is a soldier we cannot deploy against the United Kingdoms."
Another.
"Every merchant we delay at the gates increases the price of goods inside Alexandria."
Lysandra's gaze sharpened.
"If you have a criticism, General, speak it."
Selvara looked at her.
"Your inspections are damaging trade."
"My inspections are eliminating Darquebane's Shadows."
"Are they?"
The room changed.
Lysandra's fingers tightened around her staff.
"Choose your next words carefully."
Selvara did.
"How many Shadows did you destroy today?"
Silence.
"Yesterday?"
Lysandra said nothing.
"The day before?"
"That is irrelevant."
"It is the only relevant question."
Lysandra stepped closer.
"If I stop searching because we have found nothing, then Darquebane learns that patience defeats us."
"And if you continue searching forever?"
"Then he never enters Alexandria unseen."
Selvara nodded.
"And neither does half our trade."
Lysandra's expression hardened.
"Then perhaps the merchants should complain to Darquebane."
Malreth chuckled.
Selvara didn't.
"That appears to be our answer to everything."
She pulled another report from the stack.
"Basic goods that cost one coin thirteen months ago now routinely cost two."
Another page.
"Some cost three."
Tharos waved a hand dismissively.
"Prices fluctuate."
"Wages haven't."
That stopped him.
Selvara continued.
"Trade revenue is falling. Tax revenue from territories outside Alexandria is falling. Several kingdoms that once paid the Empire now pay nothing because they have joined the United Kingdoms."
Veynor scoffed.
"They'll return once Darquebane is dead."
Selvara looked at him.
"Will they?"
"Of course."
"Why?"
Veynor stared at her.
"Because he's the reason they left."
"No."
Selvara's answer was immediate.
"He is the reason they believed they could."
Silence.
She looked around the table.
"Darquebane did not create every grievance against Alexandria."
Nobody interrupted her.
"He did not create every hungry family. He did not execute the survivors of Crescent Moon Canyon. He did not destroy Lisbeth. He did not raise the prices in our markets. He did not order our soldiers into homes. He did not paint murderer on statues of the King."
Blackmoor scowled.
"He gave them confidence."
"Yes."
Selvara nodded.
"That is the problem."
She looked down at the map.
"Darquebane is not creating all of this."
Her finger rested on Solmere.
"He is giving it somewhere to go."
The room became quiet again.
Not peaceful.
Never peaceful.
But thoughtful.
Veynor's eyes remained fixed on Solmere.
"Then remove him."
Raithe spoke for the first time.
"How?"
One word.
That was all.
But coming from the Executioner, it carried more weight than an entire speech.
Veynor looked toward him.
"You're the assassin."
"I kill targets."
Raithe's expression didn't change.
"I don't volunteer for suicide."
Malreth smiled.
"Refreshing honesty."
Raithe ignored him.
Veynor looked irritated.
"So we simply accept that he cannot be killed?"
"I didn't say that."
Raithe's eyes shifted toward the map.
"I said I cannot guarantee it."
That admission carried weight.
Raithe did not boast.
He did not posture.
If the Executioner said he could not guarantee Jax Darquebane's death, everyone in the room understood what that meant.
Blackmoor pushed away from the table.
"Then send an army."
Selvara looked at him.
"We sent five."
Blackmoor's jaw flexed.
"And we learned from it."
"We lost forty thousand soldiers learning."
"They lost soldiers too."
"Not enough."
Tharos leaned forward.
"Give me enough cavalry and I'll cut the roads between their cities. Let them see how well their trade survives when every wagon burns."
Korvin shook his head.
"They have too many routes now."
"Then we burn more."
"They have portals."
Tharos went silent.
Veynor stepped closer to the map.
"His Shadows can be countered."
Lysandra looked toward him.
"You sound confident."
"They are summons."
"They are not your summons."
"No."
Veynor's expression tightened.
"But everything summoned has rules."
Malreth smiled.
"And while our youngest colleague discovers them?"
Veynor glared at him.
Malreth continued.
"I could poison Darquebane."
"No," Korvin said.
Malreth's smile faded slightly.
"No?"
"We've reviewed the reports. Toxins are unreliable against him."
"Everything has a threshold."
"Find his."
"I intend to."
Lysandra tapped her staff against the floor.
"Or stop trying to attack the man and destroy what surrounds him."
Selvara looked toward her.
"His cities?"
"His barriers. His mages. His transportation network. His military concentrations."
"And the civilians?"
Lysandra looked almost confused by the question.
"What about them?"
Nobody objected.
A knock sounded at the chamber door.
Every voice stopped.
An Imperial aide entered.
He bowed deeply.
"Generals."
Blackmoor looked irritated.
"What?"
The aide hesitated.
"His Majesty has requested an immediate update regarding the unrest."
Korvin's expression remained neutral.
"Which unrest?"
The aide paused.
Malreth covered his mouth.
Poorly.
The aide continued.
"His Majesty is particularly displeased by the continued vandalism of his monuments."
Tharos rolled his eyes.
"He wants the graffiti stopped?"
"Immediately."
"Excellent," Malreth said. "I was worried about the war."
The aide pretended not to hear him.
"His Majesty also demands that the underground newspapers be eliminated, that market prices be stabilized, and that those responsible for booing his procession yesterday be identified and arrested."
Blackmoor frowned.
"They weren't identified?"
"The crowd dispersed before the soldiers could isolate the offenders."
"Arrest the crowd."
Selvara closed her eyes briefly.
The aide swallowed.
"There were approximately six hundred people present."
Blackmoor shrugged.
"And?"
Korvin spoke before the conversation could continue.
"Tell His Majesty that the situation is being handled."
The aide looked toward him.
"General, he specifically requested..."
"Tell him."
The aide bowed.
"Yes, General."
He turned.
Then stopped.
"There is one additional message."
The atmosphere changed before he even spoke.
"The Queen wishes to remind the council that all current instability originates from a single source."
Nobody moved.
The aide looked down at the message.
"Jax Darquebane."
Veynor's mouth tightened.
The aide continued.
"Her Majesty expects the source to be removed."
Silence.
"Those were her exact words."
Blackmoor nodded once.
"Understood."
The aide bowed and left.
The door closed behind him.
Malreth waited several seconds.
"Anything else?"
Nobody answered.
He looked toward the closed door.
"Perhaps His Majesty would like the sun to rise later tomorrow."
Tharos laughed.
Even Veynor smiled.
Selvara did not.
Neither did Korvin.
Because beneath the absurdity, the Queen's order remained.
Remove Darquebane.
Blackmoor looked around the table.
"You heard her."
Selvara's gaze returned to the map.
"And then what?"
Blackmoor frowned.
"What do you mean?"
"We kill Darquebane."
"Yes."
"Then what?"
"The United Kingdoms collapse."
"Why?"
Blackmoor stared at her.
Selvara continued before he could answer.
"The roads remain."
She touched one point on the map.
"The ports remain."
Another.
"The farms remain."
Another.
"The guilds remain."
Another.
"Their trade agreements remain."
Another.
"Their newspapers remain."
Korvin's eyes shifted toward her.
Selvara continued.
"Their armies have already demonstrated that they can operate without Darquebane personally commanding them."
Nobody mentioned the Five Fronts.
Nobody needed to.
"His death would hurt them," Selvara said. "Perhaps catastrophically."
Veynor nodded.
"Then we agree."
"No."
She looked at him.
"I said it would hurt them."
A pause.
"I did not say it would make them ours again."
That was harder to answer.
Because Jax had done something Alexandria did not understand.
The Empire used authority to remind others of its power.
Jax Darquebane used his power to give others authority.
Alexandria had spent generations teaching its subjects that everything came from the throne.
Protection.
Trade.
Law.
Military strength.
Permission.
Jax had spent a little more than a year teaching people they could build those things themselves.
Killing him might remove the man.
It would not remove what people had learned.
Hope was difficult to kill.
Infrastructure was worse.
The Queen's private war chamber opened later that evening.
The eight generals remained.
But they were no longer alone.
Someone new stood among them.
A mage.
Not one of the established generals.
Not one of the commanders normally invited into rooms like this.
Korvin knew the name provided in the records.
He knew where the mage claimed to have studied.
He knew which Imperial officials had approved access.
He knew which documents had been provided as proof.
He also knew that none of that meant he trusted them.
The mage stood calmly before eight people who could kill most ordinary opponents without effort.
No fear.
No nervousness.
Too confident.
That interested Korvin.
Blackmoor stood near the head of the table.
"The Queen wants Darquebane removed."
"That much is obvious," Veynor said.
Lysandra glanced toward him.
"We lack the means."
Veynor bristled.
"We lack certainty."
"Against Darquebane, those are increasingly the same thing."
Malreth turned his attention toward the newcomer.
"Which apparently brings us to our guest."
The mage smiled faintly.
"Perhaps."
Raithe watched from the wall.
Silent.
Still.
The mage looked around the chamber.
"You have tried soldiers."
Nobody answered.
"Assassins."
Raithe's expression didn't change.
"Poison."
Malreth smiled pleasantly.
"Magic."
Lysandra's eyes narrowed.
"Spies."
Korvin remained motionless.
"Summons."
Veynor's jaw tightened.
The mage allowed the silence to linger.
"All of you are trying to defeat Jax Darquebane."
Blackmoor frowned.
"That's generally how killing someone works."
The mage looked at him.
"What if none of you have to defeat him?"
That got everyone's attention.
Selvara leaned forward slightly.
"Explain."
The mage stepped toward the table.
"What is he without his senses?"
Nobody answered.
"What is he if he cannot see?"
Another step.
"What is he if he cannot move?"
Lysandra's fingers tightened around her staff.
"What is he if he cannot breathe?"
Malreth's smile disappeared.
The mage looked around the chamber.
"What is he if his own body becomes the prison?"
Veynor stared.
"Curse magic."
The mage smiled.
"Yes."
Lysandra studied them.
"Binding curses are unreliable against powerful targets."
"Crude ones are."
The mage's confidence did not waver.
"I am not suggesting crude magic."
Selvara spoke.
"Then what are you suggesting?"
"A layered binding."
The mage raised one finger.
"Sight."
A second.
"Movement."
A third.
"Breath."
A fourth.
"Voice."
Then a fifth.
"Blood."
Malreth's interest sharpened.
"Blood?"
"A poison that is not poison."
Malreth's eyes narrowed.
"That's a contradiction."
"Not if you think like an alchemist."
That earned the mage Malreth's complete attention.
"The body will experience it as poison. The veins will carry it as poison. The victim will suffer as though poisoned."
The mage lowered their hand.
"But there will be nothing to purge."
Malreth's smile slowly returned.
"Interesting."
Korvin spoke.
"Darquebane has survived magic that should have killed him."
"Then we do not kill him with magic."
The mage looked toward him.
"We use magic to make him incapable of stopping everything else."
Raithe finally moved away from the wall.
"If he is paralyzed?"
"He cannot fight."
"Blind?"
"He cannot see the attack."
"Silent?"
"He cannot call for help."
Veynor shook his head.
"He commands Shadows without speaking."
The mage looked toward him.
"Then remove more."
A pause.
"Every defense has a point beyond which it becomes irrelevant."
Selvara's expression remained unreadable.
"How long?"
"Two weeks."
"Why?"
"Preparation."
The mage began counting again.
"A circle capable of holding the required power."
Another finger.
"The remaining mages necessary to feed it."
Another.
"Preparation of the individual bindings."
Another.
"And an anchor."
Korvin's attention sharpened.
"What kind of anchor?"
The mage smiled faintly.
"Connection."
Nobody spoke.
The mage continued.
"Power like this cannot simply be thrown across the continent and expected to find one man."
Korvin nodded slowly.
"So you require something connected to him."
"Preferably."
"Blood?"
"Excellent."
"Hair?"
"Very good."
"Something he has carried?"
"Possible."
"Touched?"
The mage considered it.
"Depending upon the object and duration of contact."
Korvin absorbed that.
Of course he did.
Every word.
Every pause.
Every qualification.
Lysandra looked toward him.
"Can you obtain something?"
Korvin didn't answer immediately.
Jax Darquebane had touched thousands of objects.
Visited dozens of locations.
Fought across battlefields.
Stayed in buildings.
Handled Imperial property.
Interacted with merchants.
Soldiers.
Spies.
Prisoners.
Finding something was possible.
Verifying the connection would be harder.
"I can investigate."
The mage nodded.
"Then we have what we need."
"No."
Everyone looked toward Korvin.
He remained seated.
"We have the possibility of what you need."
The mage's smile sharpened.
"Do you doubt me?"
"I doubt everyone."
Malreth chuckled.
Korvin ignored him.
The mage stepped closer.
"You have seen what the Queen can do."
"I have."
"You have seen powers beyond anything ordinary magic can explain."
"I have."
"Then why is this difficult to believe?"
Korvin met their gaze.
"Because I have seen the Queen's power."
A pause.
"I have not seen yours."
The room went silent.
The mage didn't flinch.
"Then you will."
Korvin nodded.
"Good."
Blackmoor looked around the chamber.
"Two weeks."
Selvara frowned.
"And during those two weeks?"
"We prepare," Veynor said.
"We continue the purges," Lysandra added.
"We identify resistance leaders," Korvin said.
Blackmoor smiled.
"And then?"
Nobody needed him to finish.
Once Jax Darquebane fell, Alexandria would move.
The generals believed the rebellion would collapse.
The kingdoms would fracture.
Trade would return.
Fear would return.
Order would return.
The world would remember what the Empire was.
They believed Jax had created the fire consuming Alexandria.
None of them wanted to consider the possibility that he had merely shown people they no longer had to stand inside it.
The meeting ended not long after.
Blackmoor left first.
There were resistance reports he wanted addressed.
Drell might once have organized the response.
Now that responsibility increasingly fell to Blackmoor.
His solution would be predictable.
Tharos followed, already discussing patrol routes and mounted sweeps with one of his officers.
Veynor lingered near the map, staring at the marked locations where Jax's Shadows had been reported during the Five Fronts.
Competition had become fascination.
Fascination was becoming something else.
Lysandra retrieved her staff.
Tomorrow the purges would continue.
Selvara gathered several economic reports.
She was the only person in the room who seemed more interested in Alexandria's collapsing trade than the curse.
Malreth approached the unknown mage briefly.
"What you said about the blood."
The mage looked at him.
"What about it?"
"I'd like to hear more."
"I'm sure you would."
Malreth smiled.
"I think we're going to get along."
Raithe simply left.
No farewell.
No conversation.
He had heard what he needed.
That left Korvin.
Of course it did.
The Whisper was often the last person to leave a room.
Rooms became more informative after people believed the important conversations were over.
Korvin organized his papers slowly.
The mage moved toward a nearby table.
A glass of dark liquid had remained untouched throughout the meeting.
The mage picked it up.
Drank.
Set it down.
Korvin watched.
Not obviously.
Never obviously.
The mage spoke briefly with Malreth again.
Then turned toward the door.
Korvin waited.
One second.
Two.
Three.
The door closed.
Korvin walked toward the table.
He looked at the glass.
Connection.
Blood was excellent.
Hair was very good.
Possessions were possible.
Objects touched by the target could work depending upon the duration and strength of the connection.
Interesting.
Very interesting.
Korvin removed a handkerchief.
He picked up the glass without touching it directly.
Then wrapped it carefully.
Not because he intended to use it.
Not yet.
Because an unknown mage had just entered the most secure chamber in Alexandria and explained how to cripple one of the most powerful men alive without defeating him.
Korvin respected useful people.
He trusted almost none of them.
And if the mage could do what they claimed...
Korvin wanted insurance.
He slipped the wrapped glass into a small satchel.
Then left the chamber.
Outside the palace, another illegal Chronicle changed hands.
Another merchant decided Alexandria was no longer worth the journey.
Another mother stared at a portrait of a son who had survived Crescent Moon Canyon only to die on Main Street.
Another worker discovered fresh paint beneath a statue of the King.
MURDERER.
Another soldier pretended not to see it.
Another family counted coins and wondered whether they could afford bread tomorrow.
Another whisper passed through the city.
Then another.
Then another.
Alexandria was not in rebellion.
Not yet.
But the Empire had spent generations teaching the continent to fear its power.
Jax Darquebane had given people something far more dangerous.
Hope.
And unlike a man...
Hope was considerably harder to kill.