RE: Monarch

I paused near a blacksmith’s open forge, taking a moment to study the cheaply made weapons on display. I saw him through the muddy reflection of a sword—the man in the cowl, seeming considerably less drunk than he had before. “When did I draw his attention?” I asked blandly. “When I sat down at the bar?”

“He definitely clocked you then, but no. Towards the end,” Alten confirmed.

When I asked about Schism.

“Guessing you didn’t find your elf,” Alten said.

“No.” I shook my head and continued to walk. “But I’ve got a name. Schism. Mean anything to you?”

Alten tripped, and I caught him, laughing to cover the lapse. His expression had descended into the same stiff demeanor from the night I’d met him. “Really stuck my foot in my mouth, asking for more action.”

“Bad news?” I asked.

“Only know what I’ve heard. They rolled in a few years back. Took over every syndicate, gray guild, and small time group in a matter of months. Supposedly it was mostly non-violent buyouts and payoffs, but the degenerates who dug their heels in got hit. Hard.”

“Any guesses why the crown hasn’t intervened?” I asked. Gil had been methodical about cutting down any group that got to be enough to threaten the monarchy from within, and this definitely sounded like it qualified.

Alten’s brow furrowed. “Could be a few different reasons. Since that initial takeover, they haven’t done anything too flashy or eye-catching. Seem happy to run things from behind the scenes, and their consolidation has done a lot to keep the general order. They’re so low-key many doubt that they exist. Plus, they’re demi-friendly. Might be why your elf went to them. Common knowledge that they run most of the charity kitchens around these parts, and fucking with those is a quick ticket to an early grave, so they have the favor of the people as well.”

It lined up well. If Schism was running the Topside underworld in a mannerly fashion, and were as difficult to track down as Alten believed, they were exactly the sort of inconvenience the king would overlook. As far as Whitefall was concerned—and especially Topside—there would always be crime, in some form or another. The importance was delineating threats to the hierarchy from nuisances that would always exist. And from the sound of it, Schism had almost done the crown a favor.

But with their reputation, they have a unique pipeline of nonhumans.

It wasn’t a fight I wanted. I needed to focus on Thoth, and after her, Ragnarok. But seeing as Kieran himself was gone, and assuming he was telling the truth that his wife wasn’t the only nonhuman in Whitefall that had gone missing, I needed to have a sit-down with Schism.

Sooner, rather than later. But first, there was Alten to consider. A nearby horse pulling a wagon neighed, throwing up dust in our path. I squinted through it.

“Why don’t you head back?”

“The hells?”

I gave him a smile. “I’m about to light a fire and see what the smoke draws in. If they’re as connected as you say, they’ll figure me out soon enough. They won’t cross that line. But this is going to be incendiary. And depending on how vengeful they’re feeling, a favored bodyguard is a solid target.”

Alten stared at me. “Keeping you safe is literally my job. Why are you trying to protect me?”

I shook my head. “Avoiding unnecessary losses. Worst case, I get roughed up, sent packing.”

My bodyguard rounded on me, halting in my path. A vein pulsed in his neck. “This sounds like the stupid shit nobles always say right before they bite off more than they can chew. No.”

I sighed. I’d recruited Alten because I owed him. If I took a blunter, harsher tack, it might drive him away, but only at the cost of damaging our future relationship. But the reason I owed him so much was the same reason he refused to leave. Loyalty.

“Fine. But you need to do exactly as I say.”

“What’s the plan?” Alten asked.

“Take me to the nearest charity kitchen.” I smirked.

***

The establishment was less an establishment than a tent, on the lower south-end, skipping distance from a rundown Church of Elphion. It was uncommonly clean and clearly cared for despite the long line of needy. During the walk over, Alten had taken to muttering commentary laced with profanity in my general direction.

Once we arrived, I turned around to smirk at the follower in the cowl and waved. He stood still as a deer, then melted into the crowd.

“Think that did it?” I asked Alten, nonchalantly.

Alten—probably rethinking his prior decision—shook his head. “You’re mad. You know that, right?”

The clinking regalia of an Elphion priestess preceded her arrival. She took us both in warily, perceptive gaze scanning us up and down. “Those looking to be served should head to the back of the line, that way.” She pointed towards where the line wound around the corner.

I gave her my most charming smile. “My friend and I are devoted followers of the god of light, looking to do our part and volunteer.”

Relief flooded her features. “Thank the divine. We have plenty of help during the daytime hours, far less after the sun has set.” She watched a small group of day laborers circle towards the back, a couple of dwarves and several humans. “Which is unfortunately when it’s needed most.” The priestess straightened her spine. “Can either of you cook?”

My culinary expertise both started and ended with cooking hunks of meat over an open flame long enough to avoid the taste of blood. Alten, somewhat surprisingly, had far more experience. We were both whisked away to the kitchen proper—which was well-equipped enough to draw suspicion on its own. Alten was given a rundown of the ingredients for the potage recipe; I got an apron and a ladle.

What followed was a whirlwind. Men, women, and children scarfed down scalding stew without so much as a wince, consumed by the sustenance. It was all I could do to keep their bowls full. I’d known Topside was poor. Any passing noble who bothered to look outside of their gilded carriage could have known that. But I hadn’t realized how hungry they were.

I’d never known it was this bad. And in my previous life, this place didn’t even exist.

Ideas began to form in my head. Ways to make their lives better. Dipping into the treasury could help in the short term, but there were other ways. Food was always difficult to come by this time of year, with nobles buying up large quantities and hoarding it for the Winterscrest famine. If Eckor’s agricultural research bore fruit, that could be mitigated. But only if there were laws in place to ensure the hoarding didn’t just expand in scale. If I could get my father—hells, he was abdicating once we dealt with Thoth—if I gave the Crimson Brand an edict to reassign a portion of their earth and water magicians to crops rather than their often stagnant posts in the military, on top of everything else, yields could increase exponentially.

A little girl with shallow cheeks and sunken eyes caught the tail of my apron. She said nothing, but clung to me, and it took me a moment to realize why. She’d emptied her second bowl—the limit—and was obviously famished.

I glanced around to ensure there were no priestesses watching, then slipped her another refill.

“Thank you,” she said, her tiny voice barely audible over the din.

“What’s your name?” I crouched down next to her table.

“Brun,” she answered, looking up at me with familiar blue eyes.

Where had I—

“You can’t forget,” the girl said.

“Forget what?” I asked, poking her cheek.

“When the moon alights with silver flame, don’t cross the threshold. It will only lead to heartache.” As she spoke, her eyes dimmed, as if she was weary.

I’d heard that. Somewhere before. Even recalling the memory was painful, as if it’d been locked away. Hidden. Suddenly off balance, I stood and took a step backward, and bumped into something hard. A man as wide as he was tall stared me down. Muscle bulged beneath his dark leathers, and there was a bludgeon hanging openly from a loop on his waist. He pointed his thumb towards the exit. “Outside.”

Right.

I’d gotten so caught up in all this, I’d almost forgotten why I came here. Absentmindedly, I looked over my shoulder for the girl and found she was gone, her bowl of potage seized by another girl of a similar size who sat in her place and shoveled the stew into her mouth, hunched over it protectively.

Odd.

The new arrival followed me as I untied my apron and placed it on the counter, never straying far. Alten caught my eye over a boiling pot and mouthed the words “Two minutes.”

I nodded. But when I attempted to head towards the front, he caught my shoulder and redirected me towards the back.

“That way?” I asked.

No answer. Just another nudge. But it was not a particularly violent one. I’d guessed that if they spent so much time and resources maintaining this place, they wouldn’t start something in it, and it was a relief to see that I’d guessed correctly.

In a matter of moments, he guided me back into an alley that stank of grease and stagnant water. My follower wasn’t giving me guidance, so I assumed that we’d arrived. I held my hands out at my side as I turned. “I can explain—”

There was a flash of metal as the cestus-wrapped fist snapped toward me. I had a split second to tighten my stomach as it hit. It barely mattered. The man was extraordinarily strong, and it was all I could do not to vomit as I fell to a knee. I told myself, regardless of the significant pain, this was a good thing. They’d figured out who I was. He’d used something blunt, rather than a knife.

He leaned down and whispered in my ear. “This is your only warning. Fuck… off.”

“Before… or after?” I grunted.

“After what—”

The demonic gauntlet finished its transformation. I slammed my hardened left arm into his gut, lifting him almost an inch off his feet. He stayed up but staggered, grabbing at the wall. Which put me in a precarious position. The man was big enough that I needed to put him down, quickly. My normal strength likely wouldn’t do the job. But hitting him in the face with my gauntlet might kill him.

Whatever my suspicions were, so far all I’d seen of them was that they fed the needy and didn’t like outsiders.

An idea struck. It would require the use of my still-healing inscriptions, but it required little mana, and it wouldn’t kill him.

“After that,” I said, and lighting up the pathways, snapped my fingers next to his ear. A dome of air the size of a melon expanded around my fist. He yelped and fell to the ground, blood leaking from his ear. The inscriptions’ intended use was a quick way to expand the dantalion flame in an urban environment, where I didn’t have the luxury of grass. But this worked just as well.

I loomed over him, allowing the violet flame to overtake my hand. “Guessing you won’t talk to me. They wouldn’t have sent you, otherwise.”

The man closed his eyes and accepted his fate. A soldier to the end.

“Okay.”

I let the flame die and left him there. Then returned to the kitchens, washing the dirt and blood off my hands as I retied my apron and picked up my ladle from where I’d left it next to Alten. My bodyguard was sampling the new batch of potage. He wrinkled his nose. “They really need some salt.” His eyes slid to me. “Two minutes even. Cutting it close. This stew would have burned if I had to pull your ass out of the fire.” Then, after a second, “You really took down that guy that fast?”

I shrugged. “Cheated a little. Refill me.”

It was three hours, and two more incapacitated thugs piled up in the alley before the last person I expected to see walked through the front of the tent. The red-skinned infernal stared at me, seething despite his neutral gaze, before he tied on an apron and took a serving tray to Alten, serving the people alongside me.

Kilvius.

The infernal put a hand on my arm as our paths met. “We’ll talk once this place is cleaned and closed up for the night. Just like old times.”

I swallowed and nodded. I’d told myself I hadn’t had the time to see him before I left the enclave. But maybe that wasn’t it. Maybe I’d just lacked the courage.

Visit and read more novel to help us update chapter quickly. Thank you so much!