There was a fenced terrace at the front of the Regal Hotel on Tower Square. It was a beautiful affair. The railing was hand-carved and immaculately preserved. It was said that the wooden sculpture that composed the balustrades and rails dated back to near the founding of the city. Despite being exposed to the elements, the wood remained pristine. Whether this was due to the proximity to the high Order of the Tower, or the layers of constantly replenished varnishes, was impossible to say.

The dark wood was sculpted with ornate patterns, but it also contained figures. Their meaning was lost to time, but staring at them provoked my imagination to perform feats of great stretching. I saw what looked like a man in a robe and imagined a time when the land around me was nothing but wilderness and the vague memories of ruins. I imagined a solitary figure, moving through a wilderness that was now a metropolis. I imagined him staggering back as the Tower erupted like Jack's beanstalk from the ground, staring with awe and confusion at the sudden appearance of the structure, not knowing that he was to be the founder of a new city, of a new dynasty of Griidlords.

Another shape spoke to me of demonic entities. I imagined the survivors of the Fall, already wrestling with the impossible task of surviving in a world fallen from Order. I could see them, barely more than savages, encountering the first of the Fiends that came to claim the earth in the time after man's dominant reign. I shuddered without meaning to. Even the least Fiend was such a terror and threat to a Griidlord such as me. I felt my head shake in involuntary wonder at the feat of surviving or defeating the things with nothing but flesh and spear.

All around me, the sounds and smells and sights of Tower Square filled every part of the air. The crowd's voice was huge and vague, a blur of drunken voices. Music tried to conquer the roaring masses, but the sounds of instruments were more of an undercurrent to the mass of humanity in its ecstasy. The smells of food wafted from within the hotel and from the streets. Every spice and meat I could imagine or dare to try and name reached my nose. But over all of it was the hoppy aroma of spilled beer.

For all the chaos and revelry, I sat unjostled. I was on the terrace of the finest hotel in the city, the entrance lined by armed guards, languid and undisturbed. It was a strange thing to be seated and at my leisure while the people jostled, danced, brawled, and roared the night away. I was an observer, apart from them. It felt good. It felt dangerously good. I felt like I was seated above them. I was the Sword of Boston. I was an important person. It felt so terribly validating to be seated here, above them, away from them. But it felt wrong as well. Why was I afforded this spot? Yes, I wore the suit. But I risked my life no more than the common soldier. I risked myself, worked myself no harder, than the farmer in the pen with the bull, or the fisherman guiding his vessel in the storm.

Another sip of my wine brought me back from those thoughts. My mind was dulled. I wasn't drunk, but I floated in that space between too much to drink and regretting my choices. My eyes drifted back to the figure across the table from me. He too held a glass of the burning red wine. But he seemed unaffected.

Baltizar said, "You know, that's twice now you've gambled everything on the Axe-break, and twice it's come back to bite you."

It took me a moment to process what he'd said and bring my memories back to understand. I remembered Jahefer, my sword an expression of madness, his axe coming for me, then nothingness…

I squirmed in my seat. Why did I feel like the pupil before the master? Baltizar had never worn the suit—he couldn't understand what it meant to be in the moment like that.

I said, "But it's at least twice we bet everything on Axe-break and came away the victors."

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Baltizar raised an eyebrow at my response. I had the sense he'd been expecting something more regretful from me. He let a silence fill the space between us, and I couldn't resist filling it.

"We were the underdogs too many times. I'm level 33 now, and maybe half respectable, but for most of the season I was the weakest link in our chain. If we wanted to win, we had to roll the dice—and we did. And we won more than we lost. We leaned on Axe-break, and we leaned on Vaelstrom. And it worked."

Baltizar nodded slowly. He supped from his glass, very slightly, then said, "That you did. And look at the people rejoicing in what you achieved. But it's important you realize that you can't count on the dice to roll twenty every time. You can't count on chance to reward you without end. Chance will always punish you—as it did to end the Falling."

I swallowed hard. I felt my lips clench into an involuntary grimace. My thoughts lashed me with the memory of Chowwick and how he died so we could face nothing more than two more battles. My thoughts tortured me again with what could have been, if we'd found a way to put Pittsburgh down.

Baltizar's face softened more than I was used to. He could see something of the pain in my expression, and he responded to it more gently than I had expected.

"No, no, Tiberius, you misunderstand me. I can't fault what you did in the Falling. Boston is bolstered by what you achieved. You're right—you had no choice but to take the chances you took. I'm proud of your bravery. I'm proud of your daring. I just want you to understand that it will be different in the future. Next season, you will be even stronger than you are now. Young Olaf will be bolstered by nearly a year of training. You won't need to gamble so hard. Yes, you'll still need to take your chances, but I'm only reminding you that it won't be so desperate, that you need to learn to manage those risks."

The hand that held his wineglass swept out, gesturing to the crowds that frolicked beneath us. He took them all in with the motion.

He said, "Look on them, Tiberius. See their joy. See their rapture. They are happy. More, they are delirious. We have Flows now—so many Flows, so many possibilities. I made this festival for you. I want the people to remember what you did. This wasn't your defeat, just the moment to breathe between your victories. Tonight is for you, not for losing against the bastard Hillsmen, but for winning, and winning so well and so often."

Again, as before, I was embarrassed by the rush of emotions his words brought to me. I knew I was feeding at the trough that my own father had never filled. I was fully aware that the approval of this old and distinguished lord was filling a void that Father had left. But I couldn't conquer my own appetite. His words and approval sated me, fed me, and I drank in his words.

Baltizar said, "It's tradition that the Griidlords enjoy a week of peace after the Falling ends for them, before they are required to ferry Griid-trains again. What will you do with your time, Tiberius?"

My head boiled at the question. The wine rolled my brain even more. I had been battling with the possibility of this question. I had been posing it to myself, amassing the answers, then retreating from it for days. So much pressed upon me. It was almost as though the Falling—the most demanding experience in a Griidlord's year—had been a holiday from the ocean of decisions that I had left undecided.

I simply shook my head. "I don't know… sitting here, with a glass of wine, that seems like enough for now."

Baltizar smiled and watched me. Those stony eyes seemed to peer deeper into me than I wanted. But there was no way to defend against them.

He said, "And when you resume your duties? The merchants will be queuing up for transport. We can facilitate your preferences if there's a port you most want to call to."

My thoughts went to Dodge. I thought of the small city I had left in smoking ruins. I thought of the huddled survivors. I thought of Cassius and the agreements we had made. But more than any of those, I thought of Montagnion, of the little space in the basement where I had found my father's body. I thought of that little crevice, where a note could be concealed. I dreaded him still, for all the power I possessed. But after what had happened—after Enki had exerted such power over me, after Enki had shown me how I could be controlled—after that, Montagnion held a greater mystique.

I said, "If I can choose my route, then I would go to Dodge. I have business to attend there."

I met Baltizar's gaze easily. Of course it would make sense to him that I had business to attend there. It was my city, my enterprise.

But the stony eyes that inspected me seemed to see deeper. I couldn't imagine that he could interpret my true intentions.

But those eyes seemed to see through everything.

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