There was an old Kemtryai saying of which Shirrin was quite fond: “One can only travel so far upon a road of rolling logs.” It referred to the ingenious means by which the people of Kemtry would transport massive blocks of stone to and from the barges, using hundreds of dry logs to roll them along with a minimum of force. Inevitably, however, the time would come when preparation reached its end, and the true work, the hardest work, would begin. It had been just over one week since she had arrived in Chrysopolis, and Shirrin had run out of logs.

  That was not to say, of course, that it had not been a productive week. Shirrin’s new servant staff had freed her from reliance upon sves, Hesperos waited in the wings for when they would be needed, various machinations and minor uses of her power had supplied Shirrin with a nigh-unlimited quantity of both silver and secrets, and best of all, Peleus remained almost completely blind as to the true extent of her power. That st part had gone more in Shirrin’s favor than she had expected; while it was true that she had deliberately kept much hidden, Peleus had also dispyed a remarkable ck of curiosity as to her capabilities. She had given him the use of her ring of invisibility, healed various potentates and officials of their sicknesses, on a couple of occasions scried the wisdom of various decisions, and that was the end of it.

  All of these things passed through Shirrin’s mind, seated upon one of the many verandas of the imperial pace, as she readied herself for the next step. It had been a beautiful week, truly, a time of easy effort and leisure compared to that which had come before and that which was yet to come. Then, with a heavy breath of determination, Shirrin rose to her feet, made a quick gesture with one hand, and performed a miracle.

  Transformation was the most primal use of magic, the magic from which all other magic arose. Thus, the transformation of the self was the core of all proper witchcraft, its most quintessential and necessary working. Shirrin’s clothing shredded as the body underneath swelled grotesquely, nearly doubling in breadth. As the fragments fell, they were suddenly taken up once more, slithering like smoke as they changed shape into the tunic of a career soldier, marked with veteran’s red along the colr. In a matter of seconds, Shirrin was cd in the skin and vestments of General Eteocles.

  Eteocles’s burly form much displeased Shirrin, as did the lumbering, straightforward stance which Shirrin would have to mimic in order to complete the disguise. It was only the knowledge of what she was going to do with that form which brought her any amount of relief: seducing the Empress in the body of the Emperor’s right-hand man would be quite the stunt.

  Firstly, though, Shirrin strode down from the veranda into the main thoroughfares of the building, where the sves and artisans moved about, maintaining the stocks of the Emperor’s wardrobe. A few reacted with surprise at her presence: she had made certain that the real Eteocles was away, managing his business holdings on the edge of the city. The more surprise the better: that way the story of what came next would spread a touch faster. And there was a secondary purpose: every second spent in her disguise was another second to practice Eteocles’s carriage.

  Then, finally, Shirrin pced herself in a specific hallway at the proper time, pretending to examine a bust of some long-dead general until such time as she heard gentle footsteps and a feminine voice approaching from around the corner. She began to move as though walking to a distant destination. When she rounded the corner, Shirrin feigned the slight twitch of Eteocles’s eyebrows that would indicate he was surprised at the sudden arrival of the Empress Athan and her daughter, Aissa.

  “Greetings, my Empress,” Shirrin said, giving a half-bow. “Have you any business to occupy you? Or might you be able to spare a moment of your time?”

  “Greetings, General,” Athan replied. “There is nothing so urgent. Speak; I assume you bring news?”

  “I bring some news, though I admit it is nothing urgent. But after so long away at war, I wished to know…” Shirrin paused, unsure of how Eteocles would phrase this next request. She went out on a limb. “Where we stand, and what has passed during the campaign.”

  At that, Athan’s pin expression sank into a confused frown. As Shirrin had expected, the request was not something she or anyone else would have expected from a man such as Eteocles.

  “And you wish to hear from me? I do not understand.”

  “You know, I assume, of the nature of the enemy which we fought in Far Trabakond?”

  “Indeed I do,” said Athan, still rather dubious, if understandably so. “My husband has spoken at great length about the barbarian host. Have you not seen their queen ensved within these very pace walls?”

  “And the queen is the very thing,” Shirrin said. She affected a distant look, with a furrowed brow and downturned lip, as though she were troubled by some great, wordless sorrow. “I cannot expect a woman to understand this, but battle, it brings out things in a man that he never would have expected to find. As my infantry held fast against the Trabakondai host, I found my thoughts turning to the fact that all of this had been set into motion by the vile machinations of a woman.”

  “And so, naturally, you thought of me,” Athan said. “But you forget that I know my pce well. I am a well-bred Macarian, not some Trabakondai she-cacodaemon.”

  Shirrin pced her hand against Eteocles’s broad chest, suppressing the natural disgust by disguising it as regret. “Apologies, my Empress, I meant to imply no such thing. And yet, when Peleus and I were at war, you were the highest magistrate of the realm. I am sure that an eye as well-formed as yours must also be quite keen.”

  “Do not ftter me too much, now,” said Athan, her face brightening as she finally pieced together Eteocles’s proposed purpose. “Perhaps we can speak of it at a ter time. As it is, I am on… other business.”

  Athan made a slight gesture, indicating the small figure clinging tight to her skirts. Aissa was a girl of seven, her birth unusually deyed from the day of Peleus and Athan’s wedding, and as far as Shirrin had been able to determine, she was the only child which that union had so far produced. In the days before the rise of the Empire, the ck of a male heir would have led to increasing instability. As it was, the position of Emperor could pass to any man of the present Emperor’s choosing, specifically Eteocles.

  And yet, despite her disconnection from the Imperial succession, Shirrin could not help but look at the little girl with an awful spite. She resembled her mother quite dearly, having her same dark hair and narrow, pale eyes. But her features were mingled with those of her father, Peleus’s pale complexion and aquiline nose serving as a very material reminder of how exactly this little girl had come to be. Aissa was a walking reminder of Athan’s complicity, her choice to flee to Peleus’s side as soon as he had cleared away all competition for the role of Emperor.

  But Eteocles was not a man who allowed his hatred to show; nor indeed was he a man who felt much deep hatred. Even against he who was his foe, he much preferred a sort of cool disdain. And above all else, Eteocles was a man who knew how to please. With children and the elderly he was always lead-sugar sweet.

  “Oh, my apologies, I had hardly noticed little Aissa. Yes, my Empress, taking care of your maternal duties will always hold priority over base politics. Please, go along your way.”

  “Perhaps we can speak again ter today,” Athan said. “Will you be attending the pace dinner?”

  Shirrin had no idea whether Eteocles would be attending, and moreover she did not intend to be present. “I have not decided. But either way I am quite busy; as it happens, this afternoon was one of the few opportunities I have for such social endeavors.”

  Athan raised a finger to her lips, brow furrowing a moment in thought. “Perhaps we can correspond, then?”

  That suited Shirrin quite nicely. The bureaucracy of the Empire was quite concerned with the potentiality of mail being intercepted or falsified, and to prevent exactly that had developed an eborate system of seals and checks. The task of infiltrating the mail system had been, for Shirrin, the work of a zy afternoon. Athan could correspond as long as she wanted without ever expecting that her letters were not reaching the real Eteocles.

  “Correspondence, yes, I think that shall work quite nicely for my purposes. And perhaps I will find times when we can speak candidly as well. But I must warn you, do not bother me when my mind is turned elsewhere, for I do not appreciate interruptions.”

  Athan took the condescension as she always had, with gentle words and a slight deflection. Shirrin stood aside and allowed them to pass. As soon as the Empress’s eyes were off her, Shirrin shoved her hand into a small pouch at the waist of Eteocles’s uniform, taking hold of a small magical working she had been preparing. With a quick exertion of will, it changed shape to suit her needs.

  “My Empress?”

  “Yes?” said Athan, stopping in her tracks.

  “I commissioned a small piece of jewelry for my ailing mother, but the craftsman erred, and the end product was entirely too small for her wrist. I know a secondhand gift is no wondrous thing, but I still wonder if perhaps it might fit Aissa instead.”

  She produced the object in question, a bracelet of gold wire and amber beads, formed by Shirrin’s magic but a few moments before. Athan smiled slightly, rolling her eyes at what was a transparent attempt at earning her favor.

  “Certainly. See if it will fit.”

  Shirrin took two long steps forward, dropping to one knee before the young Aissa. “May I, young dy?” she said.

  Aissa giggled, though whether because she thought it all very silly or because she recognized it as a parody of a suitor’s appeals Shirrin did not know. Either way, she extended her wrist and allowed Shirrin to pce the bracelet upon it. It was slightly rge for her, but would fit well enough.

  “Thank you, General Eteocles. I shall be sure to value this gift.”

  Shirrin stood, keeping her face carefully neutral. “It was a small expenditure from a coffer as deep as mine; but nevertheless, it is good to know that small acts are appreciated. Golden Lord’s grace, my Empress.”

  Athan continued along her path, and Shirrin pretended to continue along whatever business Eteocles would have in the pace. Within a minute, she was out of sight, and Shirrin reverted to her proper form with all haste.

  It was a miracle that she had maintained the mask of friendly neutrality for as long as she had, for all that Shirrin could think about were attempts to justify what she had just done. The bracelet was cursed; whosoever wore it would be stricken with a disease of the lungs, a disease which would soon spread far beyond its first victim, spreading chaos and disorder amidst Peleus’s court. The girl would die. Possibly. If she were unlucky.

  It had to be done. The chaos sewn by the outbreak would do much to undermine Peleus at a crucial moment. And as for the girl, once Peleus had died, and Eteocles, and Athan and all the others, the survivors of Chrysopolis would be desperate for a leader. Even if the Imperial succession was not based on blood, it was nevertheless the case that the people would remember that their st Emperor had an heir. If Aissa were not snuffed out, then the project would be at risk, and the Macarian Empire would rise once more around her.

  A death by disease was a far cry from the worst fate which Shirrin was prepared to dole out as part of her revenge. If Aissa died in the next few days, then she could not die of burning in a great and far-spreading fire, or impaled upon a hostile sword, or crushed to death when the pace was rendered into rubble. All the better that she exit stage an innocent than die in torment, the broken husk of a girl left as a remnant of the sins of her forefathers. And in so doing, she would be helping to destroy the vast engine of death and torment of which she was a part.

  Yes, that was it. Shirrin recovered her strength, no longer leaning against the wall for support. There was more work to be done. Peleus would pay.

  SaffronDragon