Leo

Following three days of dogged rain, the clouds parted and let the sun through on the day of Leo's weekly procession through Overlook. A good omen. Following the tradition set by Era herself, he brought no guards or advisors or retinue of any sort, simply wandering on his own along the neatly paved roads.

Starting from the Great Temple at the pinnacle of the city, he moved steadily downward, following the natural sloping of the land toward the docks along the coastline and the glittering sea beyond. The houses stood in orderly rows wherever he went, most built from pale sandstone with roof tiles of rich brown ceramic and blue-painted doors and shutters. Seagulls wheeled overhead and perched on rooftops, their cacophony of screams making an obnoxious but nostalgic backdrop to the ambient sounds of city life.

Everywhere he went, citizens crowded the sides of the road, though they made sure to leave a wide channel in the center for him to pass without difficulty. Wearing their finest and most colorful clothing, they cheered and waved and chanted. Every so often he stopped for a minute to hear out some grievance or heal a minor ailment.

Overlook was a fine city. More importantly, it was his home.

His people were happy. The rule of law was strong in his octant. Each person had a place, and each person performed their duties gladly. Nothing like the rest of the Frontier, with its vices and violence and moral decay. There were no slavers in Overlook. No murderers, or thieves, or backbiters, or prostitutes. Just good, honest people who followed the Tenets and sought every day to make up for the grave sins of their species.

But it wasn't enough.

It weighed on him, sometimes. The knowledge of what he must do. The fact that he needed to smile and lie to these people—his people.

It was for their own good. He knew that. It was nothing to feel guilty about, either. He knew that too. But that didn't make the crown rest any easier.

Not now. That time will come. Someday it will be time to set my people free, but for now, they are needed here.

Leo let the procession drag on to alleviate some of his guilt. It was refreshing and honest, tending to the simple problems of common folk. A broken leg. A quarrel between neighbors. A lame goat. A broken boat. Nothing like the duties of a king, where one decision might cost thousands their lives.

He could hear Mother's voice in his head at that, telling him not to think that way. She'd said it probably a thousand times. To send his subjects to their deaths was no loss except in the strategic sense. The ones who died were the lucky ones. They, the righteous dead, perished in service to the goddess, would ascend to a better world.

But, then…

The faces.

Leo didn't think he'd ever get used to seeing the faces of the dead. The silent accusation in their eyes. Why did they all look at him that way?

He zig-zagged his way through the city and eventually ended up at the docks, where he visited first the noisy shipyards where countless teams of men were busy producing his grand fleet amid lumber and sawdust and tar and rope. He blessed a few vessels and commended those Builders he saw working hardest, then migrated over to the quays and spoke with a few overawed merchants from Octant One. He broke off when they tried to entrap him in mundane business conversations, and took another route as he wended his way back west until he returned to the temple with its proud white arches and golden domes that shone like miniature suns.

Stopping in the Hall of Sacred Fire, his gaze lingered on the enormous sword thrust into the middle of the open floor space. It made up the center of a large eight-pointed star of rose quartz patterned into the white stone tiles.

The Kindred Blade.

His glorious birthright.

His manifest destiny.

His terrible burden.

It sat there as a reminder to all of the promised crusade that was coming, when he would pull the sword from the stone and lead his people into holy war to cleanse the Frontier of its depravity.

The seven names of those who had carried the sword before him had been etched into his mind at a young age. Willem the Least. Wu Mei. Fireheart. Wayfarer. Lightcaller. Bolverk of the Tome. And Leo himself, of course, as the eighth.

He knew if he touched it, he'd feel them there. They were part of it, and part of him. Lending their aid to the forces of good, even in death. Some great, some humble—heroes, all. Aside from Mother's wisdom, it was their example that inspired him to move forward each day.

Leo took the simple gold circlet off his brow with a heavy sigh and tossed it in his Inventory. He'd had more than his fill of duty for one day. Even a king deserved a few moments of leisure, didn't he?

You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.

I wonder where Brother is. Maybe I could convince him to spar with me. That lazybones could certainly use the exercise.

"And where do you think you're going, young man?"

Leo stiffened at the voice that rang like sweet music, and turned slowly to face its source. Prophet, king, and destined conqueror that he was, his mother still had the uncanny ability to make him feel like a little boy again with as little as a word or a glance.

Mother was radiant as always. Larger than life, she stood over six and a half feet tall, having at least a few inches on Leo even without the fact that she was poised up on her tiptoes, almost floating. Her hair was spun gold reaching all the way to her heels. Her skin was like marble, pale as milk, and her eyes shone silver. Her splendid nudity was covered only by wafts of her hair that floated about her like ribbons stirred by an invisible breeze that concealed her privates and twined lazily about her limbs without ever obstructing her movement.

Once, he had only known the vision before him as his mother and caretaker. Now, Leo found that he had to steel his resolve every time he laid eyes on her. Even her smell—an intoxicating mix of vanilla and honey and almonds—left him constantly aware of it and wanting more.

Ever since Leo's eighteenth birthday, Victor had been on his back constantly about him going out and finding himself a girl. Leo didn't think that would ever be an option for him. Compared to Mother, even the most sublime beauty might as well be a wart-covered hag.

He made a great effort to hide the way his mother made him feel. Not only was it wildly inappropriate and wrong, it was also demeaning to her station. She was a figure worthy of awe and respect, not to be the object of some immature manchild's debased fantasies.

"Well?" Mother asked; arms folded, tapping her forefinger against her bicep.

"I was just going to try and track down Victor."

She did not look impressed. "Why? So you can join him in trying to invent the most efficient way to waste time conceivable by man?"

"I wanted to spar with him, actually."

"Well, it would certainly benefit him to work off some of that baby fat." Her metallic gaze softened somewhat. "Maybe later, love. You have correspondences to go through."

"Ugh. Right now?"

"Right now."

"Yes, Mother."

They left the Hall of Sacred Fire and moved to the north wing of the temple. His study was located on the fourth floor, with a large, circular stained-glass window set into the back wall that left the every surface of the room awash with prismatic patterns of many pleasing colors.

Mother ambled around the room while he sat behind the large desk and painstakingly went through the heaping stacks of letters and official documentation that had accumulated throughout the day. Sometimes, she helped him formulate a response. The process was long and boring, not helped at all by the fact that Mother had closed the door, which was trapping her smell inside the room and making him uncomfortably aware of it. He struggled to keep his breathing normal.

He got so distracted that he made a mistake on one of the replies. Mother chided him sternly and replaced the ruined piece of paper for a blank one to start over with. While leaning over, her breast briefly grazed his shoulder, which left his face hot and something else stirring below.

The close encounter did nothing for his attention span. After he finished the new reply and sorted it away, he almost failed to notice that there was something odd about the next letter he reached for. Hand hovering above the innocent little letter on top of the stack, he struggled to figure out exactly what about it had set him off. It looked fine. Just an ordinary letter. Or, wait…

A small web of power was worked into the waterproof envelope. It was touched by the Concord, and not just the fading signature of the Message skill that lingered on most of the letters he went through. This was different. Something more obscure.

"This one's been laced with poison," Leo announced blandly, the danger not quite registering on an emotional level yet.

"What?" Mother hissed, all cold fury in an instant.

"I'd never have picked up on it if the poison hadn't been Prepared. Good thing for us in this case, but that might mean we're dealing with someone who knows their craft."

Mother opened the letter in his stead, since poison would not affect her, and read it over. "This was sent by one of our operatives in Octant Six—Sheerhome, to be precise."

"Did he betray us, then?"

"No. I believe this was tampered with. Some of the information in the report has been destroyed."

"By whom?"

"I don't know." Mother glided to the door, almost floating, and it came open without her even needing to touch it. Sticking her head into the hall, she ordered one of the guards standing there to go fetch Prince Victor. When he did not move fast enough for her liking, she barked at him to run, which produced an enthusiastic, "Yes, most luminous!" followed by the frantic pounding of boots.

"Wait!" Leo said with a sudden realization, looking up from the opened letter. "We need someone to go down to the clerks' office as well. If this letter made it all the way to my desk, that means someone else will have touched it earlier today. Hopefully it's not too late…"

Mother sent away a second guard on this task, who went running the opposite way as his comrade. The latter was quicker to return, informing them that two clerks had been afflicted by the poison. By the time the guard had made it to them, one was already dead, and the other was expected to expire within the hour, even with Physician care.

Victor wandered into the study somewhat later, bleary-eyed and unconcerned. "Good morning, Mother. Good morning, Brother."

"It's afternoon," Leo and his mother replied as one.

Victor yawned wide. "For—ahhhhhn—you, maybe."

After explaining the situation briefly to him, Mother held up the unfolded piece of paper and asked sternly: "Tell me, young man: who did this?"

"Oh, well, that's obvious. Is there anything to drink around here?"

"Speak, child."

Victor rolled his eyes. "William Greene. That's the name you're looking for. There, happy? Can I go now? Amira was making honey cakes for me, and I don't want to—"

"Who's William Greene?" Leo cut in, standing from the desk.

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