Opulence was a matter of perspective; Williams had decided.

By any reasonable standard, the governor's mansion in Ashad-Vitri was opulent. Covering seventeen acres in the upper city, it had fifty-eight bedrooms, thirty-three bathrooms, and twelve fireplaces across three ballrooms. Some 36,000 Celesian tiles had been used in the entrance, patio, and cloisters, most taken from the ruins of the original Ashadi Royal Palace. It sported every modern convenience imaginable, and a vast array of warding spells to deter spying and intrusion.

But it might as well have been a squalid hovel when compared to the majesty of the Sunrise Palace.

The junior Imperator's seat of power dwarfed the home of any mere provisional governor. Its rooms numbered in the hundreds, its daily visitors in the thousands. On an island where space remained at a premium, the architects had arrogantly carved a courtyard in the building's center large enough to contain some families' entire estate.

And everything was perfect. The grass was soft and lush, the trees bountiful and green. Every fixture was clean, every window meticulously scrubbed. A small orchestra serenaded the proceedings from a raised dais, and a hundred beautiful servants, both men and women, weaved through the mingling guests. A drink, a meal, even a lustful touch, nothing was ever more than a reach away.

It was power. Genuine power, not the scraps thrown to the provinces.

The thousands in attendance represented the peak of Vitrian society. Political power, economic power, physical, and magical power. They were generals and judges, industrialists and politicians. Most were rank III, like he was, with others as high as rank IV or V. They were the guiding hand of the Empire, the Curia, and the branches that served them.

Williams had not known what he'd lost until he had it again.

Apart from his childhood induction, Williams had never left the island. The first son of a third seat, he was groomed from a young age for responsibility. He had trained in strategy and logistics, not the nitty-gritty of day-to-day warfare, but the bold, sweeping arcs of nations. He had served as a confidant and advisor; he'd drawn battle plans and fought war-games, always waiting for his chance. The opportunity his station demanded.

An opportunity that finally came at the incompetent hands of Imperator Gial during the First Ashadi War.

Williams' plans had been excellent. Flawless. A slow, circuitous push against Ashad-Mundi, coinciding with the lightning attack along the trade roads to Ashad-Veldi. The two attacks would pin the Ashadi forces in place, allowing a naval assault to capture a southeastern port. With Vitrians running amok in their rear, the Ashadi would have no choice but to sue for peace.

It would've worked. True, the Ashadi had shown themselves resilient in the second war, but Williams still believed that their resilience was the result of their tepid 'victory' during the first.

It would have worked, had Gial not been an imbecile.

The Trinity Isles were far from worthless, Williams understood that. The challenge dungeon was an inexhaustible national treasure, but it was not worth losing a war over. Williams had told the Imperator as much. He had stressed the dangers of assaulting the island, the risk that doing so could tip their hand, and that even a slight delay in their timing could be disastrous.

He had been proven right, of course. The Ashadi had gotten off a warning, and when the Navy arrived at Ilvan-Sayd, they found the port city garrisoned and supplied. What should have been a surprise attack turned into a weeks-long slog that cost hundreds of lives and achieved precisely nothing. They ought not to have attacked at all, not when the first thing the Ashadi did was burn the docks to ash.

That catastrophe had led to the Fate of the Imperators for Gial, and it had been the end of Williams' burgeoning career. No one cared the Imperator had diverted from Williams' plan. No one cared that Williams had tried to warn Gial of the danger, that he'd pointed out the absurdity. The Trinity Isles were in open ocean, in the midst of the Middle Sea. It would have been easy to take them at any point after the first wave. But Gial had insisted. The islands were her obsession.

He had not faced charges, for he had committed no crime, but he'd found his options dwindling. Lioric had dismissed him from his advisory position and his duties on the planning commission. Williams' star had fallen, and his finances dwindled. He took on a patron outside his house—a shameful position for a man who once boasted six clients of his own.

Williams spent the years since crawling his way back into relevance. He had taught at military academies, even the Secta in his darkest years, slowly rebuilding his credibility among his peers. Then his father died, and the obligations of his household fell on Williams' shoulders. What he once saw as a birthright, the third seat of the House of Longing—fell from his grasp in the ensuing negotiations. He barely clung to the seventh seat, out of respect for his father, not for himself.

Something had to change. He needed another opportunity.

So he enlisted.

His time in Ashad was meant to be a stepping stone, nothing more than a line item on his resume. He would do what a horde of unwanted children and uninspired cretins could not: he would bring the Ashadi in his district to heel. From there, he planned to leverage his success into greater appointments. Control over the Central Military District perhaps, or a theater command. Ashad was no more inherently rebellious than Imuria; it was simply mismanaged.

His most ambitious timelines would've had him as governor within a decade, perhaps less if the supposed curse on the office kept claiming new victims. In his wildest dreams, he had never imagined that it would take only months, or that it would be handed to him on a platter.

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And he had the Orphan to thank for it.

"Governor Williams!"

The woman calling his name was as young as she was beautiful. Were it not for their familiarity, and the expensive cut of her backless dress, he might have mistaken the girl for one of the servants. Youth was not uncommon in the Vitrian halls of power, for rank was a great equalizer, but her exotic looks certainly were. Her hair was so blonde that it nearly glowed amidst a sea of dark-haired Vitrians, her features softer than her peers, but no less insightful. She was short and slim, almost waifish in appearance despite being a grown woman.

"Lady Emmaline," Williams said, offering the back of his wrist.

She returned the gesture, her slender wrist pressing against his. "I am told congratulations are in order."

"You are, as usual, quick to the pulse. Imperator Seric will issue the proclamation in the morning. It is a year early, but Ashad has no need of a provisional governor in these trying times." He withdrew his arm and collected a fresh drink from a passing brunette. "Though I am not the only one deserving of acclaim. First seat of the House of Sorrow at nineteen is an accomplishment for the ages."

"Mm, if only I could take all the credit," she smiled, showing brilliant teeth. "In truth, my late sister laid much of the groundwork. The expectations remained after her passing, and I remain ever my father's daughter."

"And yet you did not offer him the nomination he craves?"

Emmaline tossed her hand as though swatting away the very idea. "An uncouth rumor. My father retains the second seat not because he expects the first to nominate him, but out of respect for my grandfather."

"Ah. Is that what held him back this time?"

She shook her head. "Ashad is in need of a militarist hand, not a conciliator. My father recognizes the need for the Empire to defend itself, but privately, I fear he would struggle to wield the tools of war as anything other than a last resort."

"You are being quite candid. Some would say that sounds like weakness."

"Is it weak to wish for peace?"

William snorted in derision and regretted it as soon as he did.

He disliked Emmaline, though he would struggle to explain why if pressed. She seemed a model Vitrian—intelligent, ambitious, and dutiful. She appeared forthright and honest, but Williams felt he could seldom trust her. Whether that was her adoptive father's cunning reputation, her late mother's rebellious streak, a touch of envy, or underlying bigotry toward her continental lineage, he could not tell. She simply rubbed him the wrong way—and he wasn't always subtle about it.

"I apologize," he said. "Touring the damage in Ashad-Veldi has left me bitter toward the idea of peace with these seditious elements."

"There is no need to apologize," Emmaline reassured him. "A difference of opinion is not worthy of a quarrel. My father lost a daughter in service of Empire. He stood in the well of the Curia and rent his clothes after my sister's death. This gives him pause and perspective in the pursuit of bloodshed."

Williams tipped his head in agreement. Losing a child during induction was the greatest sacrifice a citizen could make. Whatever his opinion of Emmaline or her father, he would not disparage the loss. Not that he believed her for a second.

It was possible that losing his prized daughter had taken the heart out of Syrus, but Williams doubted it. Syrus had been pushing for military expansion for decades. He had been a leading voice championing the war with Imuria, and he had played politics behind the scenes to make the Second Ashadi War a reality. Syrus was an Inheritor, a firm believer that the Vitrian Empire was the natural continuation of Celesian dominance. Syrus believed that they alone had inherited the will to power. They alone could shepherd the continent into a new age of prosperity.

Williams did not believe that Syrus Feln, of all people, would give up so easily. No, it was much more likely that he saw political advantage in appearing to have changed his ways.

"It was a loss for us all. If these Bones are responsible, or they know who was, I will bring them to justice. You have my word."

"My father would thank you." Emmaline took a gentle sip from her fluted glass, as if building up courage. When she spoke again, her voice was quiet. "Though… I have not been forthright."

Not a social call, then. Williams was unsurprised. "How can I assist the House of Sorrow?"

"Not the House, just my family." Emmaline clarified. She dug into the stylish handbag that hung from her left shoulder and produced a folded piece of newspaper, which she then handed to him.

The photo in the clipping was blurry and distant, a hastily captured black-and-white image. Williams had seen it so many times, he barely had to look. "The Orphan? What about him?"

Emmaline sighed heavily, as if she had been holding her breath. Then she straightened, her smile returning. "I wish to embed several members of our household staff within the new company you are forming."

"You wish to do so?"

"I do not wish to lie to you," she answered.

"Your father, then," William said. Emmaline stayed silent, neither confirming nor denying his allegation. "Do you intend him harm?"

"No."

"To abscond with him? To-"

"I want him to survive his induction," Emmaline told him. "To thrive, if at all possible."

Williams rocked back on his heels, considering the words and testing them for consistency. Emmaline would not lie outright; she was her father's daughter and a Vitrian besides. Even so, he struggled to see her angle.

"Given the rumors-"

"I will submit to a Geas, if necessary."

He raised an eyebrow. With the Vitrian tendency for wordplay and their distaste for direct confrontations, a Geas was often considered a healthy middle ground between parties that did not trust one another. However, that sort of arrangement existed most often between relative strangers, not at the upper echelon of society where reputation was everything. The fact that she was making the offer at all was a sign that it would not be needed.

"I assume you want their presence to be kept secret?" Williams finished off the remains of his drink while Emmaline nodded. "You understand that this will be difficult; it may be impossible."

"This is not the first time I have asked," she said. "Your predecessor was unwilling even to broach the subject. But he is gone, and you are here. As is my full private patronage and the backing of my house."

Her words altered the task from difficult to dangerous in Williams' mind. The House of Sorrow was arguably the most powerful of the Seventy-Seven. Their families were among the richest, the strongest, and most influential. And they had the backing of Ruin. That she was offering her private patronage alone was immense. With that, he could abandon his public patron and become ostensibly his own man once again.

The question was, why offer so much? To protect them from Ruin if someone tried to frame them for the boy's death? Or did they have some other plan in mind for the Orphan? If so, what did that mean for him? Williams had hitched his fate to that of the Orphan, a connection that could quickly go awry if the Felns sought to use the Orphan for their own purposes.

It was a gamble, possibly a massive gamble. But as Williams looked around the courtyard of the Sunset Palace, he knew he could not refuse.

He belonged here.

Without risk, there could be no reward.

"I can promise you one space in the company."

Emmaline cocked her head to one side, considering the offer, then nodded. "It will have to do. Though I have one more request..."

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