#mirya

“And how do you feel about the treaty for after the war we are currently working on?” Andromache asks between bites of her dessert.

Elmira shifts a bit in her seat, whether from a show of nerves or restlessness, Andromache cannot tell. Either way, diplomacy isn’t her greatest strength, as Andromache has been quick to notice. It isn’t necessarily a problem – Scythia’s main role within the human realms is traditionally a military one – but it is of concern to Andromache, whose country is far more involved in foreign relations. She needs to know how well she will be able to work with Elmira, especially since the younger woman seemed rather brash even if she tries to hide it.

“I am unsure,” Elmira says. “There are many good things about it, but I’m other parts worry me. For example, I am in favour of the freed humans being granted territories of their own, but I worry about them being so far away from each other. Our countries all border each other, but these new countries, while relatively big, will be scattered throughout Fae territory. Should they be attacked, getting help to them will be difficult.”

Andromache nods. That has been a common cause of worry amongst the human leadership, and it makes sense for someone as involved in the military as Elmira to bring it up. “And what would you propose instead?”

Elmira hesitates. Very clearly swallows the reply she had on the tip of her tongue and instead says, “I have no viable alternative, I am afraid. It’s just something we will have to keep in mind, but I don’t like how this leaves us at the mercy of the Fae.”

“A valid concern,” Andromache says. “Ideally, human and Fae countries are supposed to grow together more closely over the next years through trade and diplomatic relations.”

“I’ll believe that when I see it,” Elmira mutters. Nakia shoots her a disapproving look and she quickly adds, “I mean, it’s not necessarily a bad idea, just very optimistic? Don’t get me wrong, I have worked with Fae in the cavalry, and they aren’t all horrible, but it’s the Loyalists who worry me.”

“We’ll certainly have to remain on our guard,” Andromache concedes. Elmira makes good points, although Andromache probably wouldn’t take her along the Alliance meetings anytime soon. “What would you suggest as possible precautions we might take?”

From there on, the conversation continues in the same manner for about half an hour. Elmira does a good enough job. She raises many valid concerns, although she tends to miss out on nuances and the reasons why certain ideas are not viable, but she always listens when Andromache corrects her, which is the important thing here. Being wrong is no problem – insisting on an opinion after having been proven wrong would be.

As the dessert is being cleared away, Elmira takes her leave so that Andromache and Nakia can discuss the meeting in private. Mor is about to leave as well, but Nakia motions for her to remain seated.

“Stay,” she says. “I have another subject to discuss with Andromache, and your input might be needed.” Mor sits back down, and Nakia turns to Andromache. “What do you think?”

“She’s talented enough,” Andromache says. “A good leader, from what I hear, and she already seems to have more talent at military strategy than me.” Elmira spent the last few years of war leading one of the flanks of Nakia’s cavalry and made quite a name for herself doing it. “She’s a bit too brash, but given time, I’m sure she will grow out of it.”

Elmira is not necessarily the choice she would have expected Nakia to make – too wild, too young, for the other queen’s taste – but Andromache has no concerns that would be major enough to withhold consent.

“If you want to choose her, you have my blessing,” she says. “But Nakia, are you sure you want to leave your country to someone this young? She’s only twenty-five.”

“I don’t exactly plan on dying tomorrow,” Nakia replies dryly. “Besides, Elmira is fully qualified. She studied and served her time in the army.” She picks up a cup of tea and takes a sip before glancing at Andromache again. “And twenty-five is the age you were when the war began, Andromache.”

Andromache sighs. She knows this and certainly doesn’t want to imply that Elmira is incompetent, or that Nakia chose badly. It’s just that Elmira is so young. It might be that Andromache first met her when she was still a teenager, but she has a hard time imagining her as a ruler.

“The age Miryam is now,” Mor adds unhelpfully, making Andromache wince.

She generally tries to ignore the fact that Miryam is actually almost seven years younger than her. Miryam certainly doesn’t act like it, and thinking too hard about it only makes Andromache feel bad about… well, a few things, really.

“Now that you mentioned Miryam,” Nakia interjects, firmly shifting the subject away from her chosen successor’s age, “that was actually the other subject I wanted to discuss. You two wouldn’t happen to know what her plan for the Black Land is, would you?”

Andromache quietly shakes her head, Mor mirroring the movement. Miryam and Drakon announced their plan to march on the Black Land earlier today, causing no small amount of confusion in the council. It is no secret that Drakon won’t ever be able to muster enough soldiers to take the Black Land, yet they didn’t request aid from the Alliance, which was enough to raise alarms with Andromache.

“Great,” Nakia says. “And you have no idea why she’s refusing the Alliance’s help either, I assume?”

“I’m sure she has a plan,” Mor says.

“It doesn’t matter how good her plan is – she should still have enough soldiers with her, if only as back-up,” Nakia replies. “She spent nine years working for this. I simply don’t believe that she would start getting cocky and throw all caution to the wind this close to the end. There’s some reason behind this, and I want to know what it is.”

“You could ask her?” Mor suggest. Her tone is just light enough that Andromache can’t quite tell if she is being ironic or not. She decides to interpret it as irony and grins at her.

“Or we could try to track down a seer somewhere and see if they can tell us. Might be more likely to get us answers.”

Nakia snorts and Mor seems hesitant for a moment before smiling back at her.

Andromache grins as well, but quickly sobers up. “I’ve got a bad feeling about this,” she says. “I wish I could come along.”

Truth is, she doesn’t know why she is this worried. Maybe she shouldn’t be. Miryam is acting strange, yes, but it’s hardly the first time, and so far, she always got herself out of any trouble she landed in. Maybe it’s some lingering guilt for letting Miryam deal with so many parts of politics (mainly the ones Andromache doesn’t want to deal with).

Or maybe it’s because Miryam and Jurian are painfully similar, and if this story ended badly for Jurian, there’s no saying the same won’t happen to Miryam.

“You are needed in Hybern,” Nakia says. “We can’t have you running around on the other side of the Continent, and we can’t spare anyone else, either. At least not anyone Miryam would listen to.”

“I could go,” Mor says.

“You?” Nakia raises an eyebrow.

“Why not?” Mor shrugs. “I’m not really needed anywhere, Miryam and I are friends and I’m powerful enough to be able to protect her. I could make sure nothing happens to her.”

Nakia shrugs. “Good idea. Why not.”

“Yes. Thank you, Mor,” Andromache agrees.

And it is a good idea.  Mor is a brilliant fighter, more than capable of protecting Miryam if necessary, and on top of that, she’s trained enough in Continental politics to be able to possibly figure out what reasons Miryam has for not wanting anyone from the Alliance with her.

Still, Andromache is a bit uneasy about this idea. Part of it is worry for Mor, but the other part… She hates to admit it, but she doesn’t feel like Mor if best-suited to this task. The problem, she thinks, is that Mor tends to be fooled quite easily by any act Miryam puts on.

She doesn’t blame Mor, really. Miryam is very good at pretending that everything is fine and she is perfectly in control – what happened with the wall spell effectively shattered that illusion for Andromache, but it’s still easy to fall for. And anyways, it probably won’t matter at all. Chances are everything will go well and she’s just fretting needlessly.

----

The timeline for their invasion ends up being far tighter than Miryam would have liked. The spell she plans to cast (hopes she won’t have to cast) needs to be cast at a full moon, so by the time the preparations are done, they have exactly eleven days left to get to the centre of the Black Land, or at least close to it. Either that or wait another month, possibly losing their advantage in the process.

It is a right timeframe, but Sinna says that it is manageable, assuming that Ravenia will withdraw her soldiers to protect her capital instead of trying to defend the outer towns – which is likely, since the majority of Ravenia’s army is still in Erithia and she will likely want to wait for them to return before risking battle. So eleven days before the full moon, Miryam, Drakon and two thirds of the Seraphim army leave their hideout in the mountains.

They reach the border of the Black Land a day later. Mor joins them just as they set up camp, dressed in ornate golden armour and with a bag slung over her back. When she spots Miryam and Drakon, she waves.

“Nice armour,” Drakon calls out to her. It is indeed. With the breastplate inlaid with gold and the shimmering swords Drakon gave to her for her birthday, she looks truly luminescent.

Mor grins broadly and hurries over. “Thanks. My uncle gave it to me.”

Miryam arches an eyebrow. “Your uncle not only allowed you to come along to this, but also gave you this fancy armour?” She laughs. “Are you sure he wasn’t replaced by some shapeshifter?”

“Yes, well…” Mor blushes. “I may have implied that I would report back to him on… you know. Things that might interest him.”

“Ah.” Miryam tugs a strand of hair back behind her ear, smile fading. “So you’re here as his spy.”

Mor blushes an even deeper shade of red. “Sorry. Yes, kind of. But if there are things you don’t want him to know, I won’t tell him.”

Miryam looks around to see if anyone is close enough to listen. Fortunately, no one seems to be in hearing distance. What is Mor thinking to address this subject out in the open? On the other hand, her uncle’s spymaster is one of her best friends, so maybe she doesn’t need to worry about being overheard.

“It’s no problem,” she says. “I doubt you’ll stumble upon any secrets I don’t want your uncle to know during this trip, but we can still talk it over once everything is done. Just to be sure.”

Mor nods, a relieved smile spreading over her face. Fortunately, that is also the end of this rather absurd conversation as Mor turns to Drakon and begins to ask about how things are going back in Erithia.

They cross the borders that night and things go smoothly for the first couple of days. Like Sinna estimated, Ravenia decided against defending her borders with the few soldiers she has left and withdrew her army to the capital. She probably hopes that Miryam will be busy working her way through the countryside long enough for her to bring up the rest of her army from Erithia.

Unfortunately for Ravenia, the local governments of her cities don’t seem particularly happy to be serving as a distraction for an enemy army. Undoubtedly, they know what they stand to lose if they fight, and that Miryam has a reputation for being extremely lenient with anyone who agrees to let their human slaves go.

Most of the villages they reach appear to be abandoned, the citizens likely fled from the approaching army, but when they reach the first city, it already has white flags hanging from its walls. The delegation the city sends to negotiate with her is all bows and pleasantries and they nearly fall over themselves in their haste to accept Miryam’s offer.

There are well over eight thousand slaves living in the city and every single one of them makes it out unharmed.

Miryam stands and watches as they walk out of the main gate in a huge group, crowded tightly together like they hope their numbers will offer security. They look so scared. Miryam certainly can’t blame them. They may have been told that they are being freed, may have heard of Miryam, but they still see an army of Fae soldiers waiting for them when most of them have no reason to associate Fae with anything other than death and suffering.

Miryam did her best to instruct the Seraphim soldiers on how to behave around the humans in advance – unthreatening, careful, polite and respectful being the key terms. Don’t touch people without permission, make sure to be clear that requests are requests and can be refused, keep your power in check. She has faith that the Seraphim will try their best, but she certainly doesn’t expect it to work out without problems.

As it turns out, she was right. For all that she tries to help, to calm people down and mediate, she can’t be everywhere at once and wherever she looks, things aren’t quite working out. She can’t even blame the Seraphim for not doing everything quite right, even if she occasionally feels like snapping at them for speaking too loudly or not keeping enough distance. The only humans they ever spent any amount of time around are the human soldiers fighting for the Alliance – Jurian’s soldiers, for the most part - and they are anything but scared of Fae. Besides, the Seraphim are soldiers in the middle of a war being made to deal with a group of terrified civilians, which would be difficult even under normal circumstances.

She really should have found a way to bring some humans along. But all the human armies were otherwise occupied and she didn’t want to put any civilians at risk by asking them to accompany her to a war front.

The only solution, Miryam and Drakon decide after the first hour made it painfully clear that their current approach isn’t working, is to mostly split the two groups. The army camp stays an army camp, and they set up a second camp for the humans next to it to mostly run itself. Miryam lets the humans select their own leaders, and then helps them with setting up a way to run their own camp – distributing food, sewing tents, digging latrines.

From there on, things get easier. Really, Miryam should have figured out this would be the better approach right away. Of course, these humans would prefer to be able to run their own camp and organize their own lives than to be helped by a bunch of faeries they neither know nor trust. Miryam would certainly have preferred it that way if she had been in their situation.

Things continue the same way as they march on. Each new group of humans integrates itself more easily, mostly because there are other humans to help them along. Miryam meets with the leaders the humans elected thrice daily to see if any problems come up, but there are hardly any, and if there is anything, the humans usually deal with it without needing any assistance.

Miryam spends most of her time in the human camp now (usually without Drakon, who doesn’t want to intrude on the humans). There is always some fire where she can sit, some people who are happy to accept her into their company. In the beginning, they treat her with a strange almost-reverence, which is more than a little uncomfortable, but things quickly get easier. She is one of them, after all, no different than they are. She isn’t special, she just happened to be the one lucky enough to get out.

While she is with them, it is easy to forget what is about to come. She is so happy, so relieved and so proud that there are times when she finds herself forgetting entirely where they are. Now, here with her people, it is so very easy to imagine the world they will build once Ravenia is defeated, and the idea that they might lose seems outlandish. Besides, everything is going well and with each day that passes without problems, it seems more and more like this luck will last forever.

Reality rears its ugly head on the seventh day when they meet the first resistance. They reached another city, this one called Rahine, set up their camp a mile or so away from the city walls and send a messenger to the city heads.

After a bit of back-and-forth, they decide to meet in the middle ground between the army and Rahine. No guards, four people from each side meeting in the exact middle. Miryam and Drakon choose Sinna and Mor to accompany them (the decision made partially because together, they should easily be able to fend off any attackers). Rahine sends four members of the city council, all of them High Fae and all glowering even before the meeting begins.

The introductions are done quickly enough, and Miryam recites the usual terms of surrender. The members of the enemy delegation let her continue before one of them shakes their heads.

“We have no interest in your offer. We will not surrender.”

Miryam knew it had to happen sometime. Still, her stomach twists. From the first day, she was scared of what would happen when the first city resisted – of the danger it would put the humans trapped in the city in, and of what she would have to do after the battle.

“Allow me to be entirely frank,” she says, “you don’t stand a chance and we all know it. We have more soldiers than your city has people, you cannot expect to win this. The terms I offer are beyond generous. You’d be mad not to take them.”

“Better to die than to surrender to mortal scum,” one of the councilmembers hisses at her, and, as if to emphasize her words, spits at her feet.

Miryam sighs. “If this is your problem, you are free to surrender to Drakon instead. Or surrender to Mor, if a faerie isn’t acceptable either and you will only accept defeat from a fellow High Fae. I don’t particularly care as long as my demands are fulfilled.”

This is completely ridiculous and unnecessary. It doesn’t matter that Miryam knew it would have to happen – some city was bound to test her resolve before they reached Lako, the Black Land’s capital. Still, Miryam hates this, hates that she already knows that this will only ever lead to hundreds of unnecessary deaths.

“No.”

Nothing she could say will change their minds, but still, Miryam gives it one last try. “You realize,” she says, “that you are the first city to fight back, and once we’ve defeated you – which, I guarantee you, we will – we’ll have to make an example out of you.”

“We will fight,” one of the councilmembers simply says.

Miryam nods, turning back towards their camp. “Then you will die.”

----

The battle is over, the outcome as predictable as the casualties were unnecessary. Drakon’s army lost less than two hundred soldiers. Enemy casualties are at least six times as high, plus several civilian deaths. The city leaders refused to surrender far too long, way after it was already clear that they didn’t stand a chance and it caused hundreds of people to die needlessly. Even worse, their insistence to fight a hopeless battle now forces Miryam and Drakon to make an example out of them.

They sit together with Sinna in a tent outside of the city where Drakon’s soldiers are just busy securing their position. The city council is already in custody and has been brought into the Erithian camp for safety, the captured enemy soldiers have been tied up and are kept under guard. Now, all that’s left to decide is what to do with the city.

“There’s a number of options,” Sinna says. She sounds casual, but Drakon knows her well enough to see the tension in her stance. She doesn’t like this either. “You could torch the city.” Drakon flinches, and she lifts her hands. “Without the people in it, obviously. Just the buildings. Or at least get the people out and allow the soldiers to loot for a few hours if that’s what you’d prefer. The soldiers would like that, I think. Of course, executions are always an option as well, but I thought you’d rather avoid that.”

Miryam doesn’t even turn from where she is standing at the tent’s entrance, staring over at the city. Drakon can’t tell if she is listening.

Sighing, Drakon turns back to Sinna. He knows what’s expected of him: To pick one of the options and do so quickly, without a fuss, the way a good general, a good leader would. Not to flinch from a hard choice. What would you suggest? That’s what he should ask, that’s the question that won’t make him seem like a child unable to make the necessary decisions to Sinna.

But it feels so wrong. There is no practical reason why this city needs to be destroyed – it’s just punishment, a political show of power. And Drakon doesn’t think that’s a good enough reason at all. If it was necessary to save the humans living in the city, he’d do it without hesitation, but they are already freed. They aren’t facing enemies there – this is a city full of terrified civilians that completely at their mercy, and Drakon doesn’t want to be unnecessarily cruel.

Still, wouldn’t some sort of punishment be fitting? These people are slave owners, they have committed such atrocities and never once faced consequences for them. They would deserve punishment. But because there are so many of them, there is no way they can ever be punished, no way any justice can ever be just.

There just isn’t a good option. Their ideal outcome would be that no one gets hurt. They leave with the freed humans, the Fae in the Black Land get to continue on with their lives, Ravenia gets exiled. But even that isn’t just. The Fae will just get away with everything they have done. How can that be justice?

The other option though… Well, Drakon tries to tell himself that if all goes well, no one will die. They will be uncomfortable, sure, but they won’t die. (Unless something goes wrong. Unless Ravenia decides to be unreasonable. Unless the spell Miryam has planned doesn’t work the way she intended.)

There is no perfect outcome, that much is sure. But randomly punishing the people living in Rahine certainly won’t make anything better.

“Is there no other way?” He asks.

Sinna sighs through her nose. “If there isn’t some sort of retaliation for this, nothing will stop the other cities from trying to resist as well. After all, why wouldn’t they? And while I am fully aware that this war isn’t about us, many of the soldiers do feel that this is some sort of revenge for them losing their homes.” She glances at Miryam who still doesn’t seem to be listening. “I know it isn’t, of course,” he says, “but that won’t keep them from growing dissatisfied if they don’t see their enemies punished in some way.”

He knew this was pointless, of course, but still he had to ask. Now he has his answer, though, and he can’t push further. Asking once is forgivable, but doing so again, knowing he’s risking more death and mutiny, would not be a show of mercy but of stupidity.

Only what is he supposed to do next.

“I can deal with it in your stead if you’d prefer,” Sinna says. “It will bother me far less than it would bother you.”

“No, I – “

“I’ll do it,” Miryam says from her place at the tent’s entrance, finally turning to face them. She presses her lips together, face grave. “This is my war. It’s only fair that I should deal with the fallout.”

-

They hold judgement the next day, on the battlefield between the camp and the city walls. The captured soldiers have been herded into a group at the camp’s border, the other prisoners – including the members of the city council – stand a good distance away, all of them chained up. The civilians have been ordered to watch, some standing on the walls, others down below. Drakon’s soldiers are positioned throughout, making sure that no one gets any stupid ideas. (The freed humans aren’t in attendance, although many of them are watching from their own camp, a safe distance away from their former masters.)

Drakon stands at the front of the assembled crowd, flanked by Miryam and Sinna. His role in what is to come is minor – all he has to do is watch without letting on how uneasy this entire situation makes him. It should be manageable.

Miryam waits until everyone is assembled, then steps forward.

“I will not bore any of you with unnecessary introductions,” she says, “as I assume everyone knows what happened yesterday, and why we are here today. Hundreds of people died needlessly,” she says. “I assume it goes without saying that there needs to be some sort of repercussion.”

Rahine’s civilians seem to get more nervous with each word. By the time Miryam comes to the word repercussion, many of them seem downright terrified and Drakon really wishes Miryam would make it clear that she doesn’t intend to kill any of them.

“But I realize, of course, that most of the people here did not have a say in this.” She smiles in a way that can only be interpreted as mocking. “I am sure that many of you were in fact fiercely against the choice your city council made and would have ended slavery years ago already if it had been up to you.” She pauses before continuing, serious this time. “And considering that we did manage to liberate the humans living in this city, and the large majority of them is unharmed, I have chosen to be lenient.

“The only people who will be punished are those who actually made the decision to resist.” She turns to face the members of the city council. “My lords and ladies,” she says. “I believe that decision was yours. I also believe that you made it knowing fully well that you stood no chance, and thereby deliberately caused any deaths that followed. Youare therefore sentenced to death.”

Drakon had told himself that he wouldn’t look at Rahine’s nobility as their death sentence is spoken, but he still finds his eyes straying towards them. They look so shocked. Some of them manage to keep their faces blank, but most seem caught somewhere between disbelief and terror.

Most of them, this much is obvious, didn’t so much as consider this outcome. Understandably so. While it is common in the aftermath of a successful invasion to punish cities or territories that resisted, that punishment doesn’t usually hit the nobility. It is the general population that suffers, while nobles are often offered a second chance by whoever defeated them.

Drakon finds Miryam’s approach far more just. That way, at least, the punishment hits the people who actually made the choice instead of the hundreds or thousands of people who weren’t given a voice at all. Horrifying as the entire situation is, this is the most merciful option by far.

Many of Rahine’s citizens don’t seem to agree. Muttering rises amongst the people on the walls, amongst the captured soldiers. Then, one voice rings out over the rest.

“This is unjust!” Someone shouts.

The muttering dies down, heads turning, eyes searching the crowd of captured soldiers for the speaker. Hustling ensues, then, a young man steps forward. He is trembling so hard it’s visible even from where Drakon is standing, but keeps his head high.

“This is war. We were fighting for our freedom,” he says. “You don’t get to name us murders, execute us and call it justice.”

Drakon looks over to Miryam to see how she reacts. She is watching the young soldier, not a hint of anger on her face. If anything, she looks vaguely curious.

“No,” she says, shaking her head slightly. “You weren’t fighting for your freedom. You were fighting for your perceived right to own other people as property, to take away their freedom and their lives. You are murderers and deserve to be punished as such, and the fact that you don’t see that only goes to show that you refuse to acknowledge an entire group of people as people for your convenience.”

She tilts her head to the side ever so slightly. “I’m not surprised by this,” she says. “However, I still thought you might agree with my judgement, if not for the sake of what is right, then at least as some sort of retribution for what happened during the battle.” Stunned silence falls. Miryam lets a few moments pass before she abruptly turns to the chained members of the city council. “My lords,” she says with a mocking incline of her head. “Would one of you be so kind to inform these people of what terms I offered to you during our meeting yesterday?”

The lords remain silent for a moment. Most of them don’t even seem to hear her, too busy staring at the ground or looking around for some kind of help. But then, one of them lifts her head.

“You demanded we free all slaves living in and around our city,” she says. Drakon remembers her from the meeting – she was the one who spat at Miryam’s feet. “We were to allow them to take any goods they could carry as compensation and sign a contract to never own slaves again and to not offer Ravenia assistance against you.”

Miryam nods slowly. Around them, the enemy soldiers and defeated civilians begin to mutter amongst themselves. Drakon frowns slightly at them. Could they not have known what the terms for surrender were?”

“Yes,” Miryam says. “That would have been the terms.” She turns back to the soldier who first addressed her. “Far more pleasant, I think, then getting killed in battle. And you lost more than two thirds of your numbers, didn’t you?” She asks. “And over two hundred civilians on top of that. And yet, it looks to me like your city heads who sent you to die in a pointless battle, knowing you could not win, are all still alive. As are their families.”

The muttering grows louder, making it sound like Drakon is standing in the middle of an angry swarm of bees. Now, most of the people seem angrier with their own leaders than with Miryam.

“You don’t seriously mean for us to believe that you are doing this for our sakes,” the soldier says, but he sounds unsure.

“No, of course not,” Miryam says, voice hardening. “In fact, you may rest assured that I will never do anything for your sake, or that of any other slave owner. I do not wish to harm you, although that is more out of personal kindness than anything else, and you might want to thank the god of your choice for this. Still, I guarantee you that we wouldn’t be having this conversation, or any conversation at all, if you had harmed the humans living in your city.” She looks around the crowd. “You are alive because they are, and because I do not enjoy repaying suffering with suffering,” she says. “It’s simple as that.”

No one questions her this time. Drakon doesn’t know if it is because the people are angry enough at their leaders that they now agree to their deaths, or if they are scared that Miryam will have the next one to argue executed alongside them. Either way, chances are word of this will spread. If all goes well, the leaders of the next city they reach will think twice before refusing them.

The city leaders are brought up to the city walls, nooses tied around their necks. Drakon knows he should be watching – this is as much his order than it is Miryam’s – but he has little experience watching executions and isn’t sure if he’ll be able to hide his unease, so he instead keeps his eyes trained on a spot on the city walls slightly left from the soon-to-be-dead Fae.

Out of the corner of his eye, he sees the Fae be pushed forward. The bodies twitch for a while. Drakon very stubbornly does not look. Soon enough, they fall still.

Miryam is silent for a moment longer. Then, she raises her voice into the ensuing silence. “You may take them down and see to it that they get a proper funeral,” she says and turns away without waiting to see if anyone will follow her order. Drakon follows after her.

As soon as they are in their tent, Miryam rushes over to the bowl of water that has been set out on the table. She sprinkles a bit of water in her face, then starts rubbing at her hands like she is trying to wash off some invisible stain.

“I hate this,” she finally says, voice small. “I hate having to act like this.” She spins around, water splattering to the ground, and shakes her head. Strands of hair are coming loose from her braid. “I don’t want to act so indifferent, so cruel. These people deserve it, they do, but I…” She shakes her head. “Just because they deserve death doesn’t mean I want to play executioner. But if I don’t, they’ll think me weak, and then, things will just get worse and even more people will die.”

“I know,” Drakon says softly. He is well aware that Miryam needs to show resolve now so that later, when they negotiate with Ravenia, she will take any threats Miryam makes seriously. “But it’s almost over. We’re so close to winning.”

“I know, but I’m scared,” Miryam says softly. “Of what Ravenia might do, of what I will have to do if she refuses to surrender.”

Drakon doesn’t have a response to that – it scares him as well – so he just takes her hand.

----

The next cities all surrender without a fight, so what Miryam did in Rahine must have been enough to convince the leadership of the next cities that surrendering is the smarter option. (Miryam is glad. If another city had resisted, she would have taken more drastic measures, and she is certainly glad to have avoided it.) The further they advance, the bigger their group becomes, and the bigger it becomes, the slower they travel. They started out with a few thousand Seraphim soldiers plus a few hundred people working around the army camp. By the time they approach Lako, they have almost ten times as many people, far more civilians than soldiers by now.

Even better, the further the march, the more things seem to calm down between the humans and the Seraphim. The faeries are beginning to learn what they can and cannot do, while the humans grow more confident with each day that passes without incidents, and before long, the first mixed groups are sitting together by the fire, still tense but talking.

They move as fast as the size of their group will allow. There are other cities and villages to either side of their path, but they never try to take those. Much as leaving the humans there behind pains Miryam, they need to get to the centre of the country as quickly as possible. Then, things will either work out or they won’t, and no amount of fighting they do in advance will change anything.

They make it just in time. Having marched through the night, they set camp half a day’s march away from Lako on the morning before the full moon. While her tent is being erected, Miryam finds a messenger and hands him a letter he is to deliver to Ravenia.

Miryam already wrote it long before they ever got to the Black Land, but the rules demand that she only sends her request for a meeting now that battle between their two armies seems imminent. While Miryam was simply taking city after city, it would have been up to Ravenia to initiate negotiations, but now, Miryam is free to take the initiative.

Ravenia’s answer arrives within three hours. As expected, she agrees to hold the meeting and invites Miryam and Drakon to the palace come sunset.

Miryam nearly sags with relief. Had Ravenia decided to only receive them tomorrow, she would have had a problem. Holding the meeting before the full moon is vital to Miryam’s plan. Well, perhaps not vital, but it will make things easier in the long run if the assembled Black Land nobility heard the offer she made Ravenia as well as the queen’s refusal. Besides, she really wants to at least offer a surrender before having to resort to more drastic measures to get what she wants, even if she doesn’t truly believe Ravenia will take it.

There isn’t much left to do in preparation for the meeting, so Miryam and Drakon invite Sinna, Nephelle and Mor to their tent for a late lunch. It’s a light lunch, mostly vegetables and some corn bread to go with them. Still, Miryam only picks at her food, eats a few bites but hardly tastes it.

“So,” Mor says. “This is it.” She sits cross-legged on her pillow, golden hair tumbling loose over her back, and is currently wolfing down her second helping.

“Looks like it.” Miryam pushes a piece of paprika from one side of the plate to the other.

“Now that we are here, are you finally going to tell us what you have planned for when the negotiations go wrong?” Sinna asks.

Miryam shakes her head, even knowing that she isn’t being entirely reasonable. But she is nervous enough already, and having to talk her plan through with people who might not agree, possibly getting into an argument over it, will only make it worse. Besides, there is always the risk of being overheard.

Sinna must be thinking about that as well, because she rolls her eyes but doesn’t argue. Miryam returns to pushing her food around on her plate, leaving Mor, Nephelle and Drakon to hold the conversation, the latter evidently distracted as well.

After half an hour, Miryam gives up on her attempt to eat anything and pushes her plate towards Sinna who already finished her food. “Want mine?” She asks.

“Sure.” Sinna quickly switches their plates and starts wolfing down Miryam’s food as well.

“Are you sure you don’t want anyone to come along when you go to the meeting?” Mor asks. She had been eying Miryam’s uneaten food, worry drawing lines onto her face, and now looks up at Miryam.

“All the guards in the world won’t be able to protect us if Ravenia decides to attack us in the middle of her palace,” Miryam says. The words draw even deeper lines onto Mor’s face and she is quick to add, “She won’t, though. She’s far too attached to her particular brand of honour.”

Drakon nods. “We met with her before, and she never did anything.”

That settles the matter. Mor refills everyone’s glasses, then sits back down in her chair.

Sinna, Nephelle and Mor leave two hours before sunset, leaving Miryam and Drakon to get ready alone. They do so in silence, each occupied with their own thoughts. Miryam assumed she would be shaking with fear, but somehow, she is strangely calm, almost distant. She spent so long working towards this moment – it finally being there feels just as unreal as the idea of marching straight into Ravenia’s palace.

Drakon is quicker to finish dressing up, but his clothes are less complicated. Miryam chose a human dress, long-cut and with lots of layers, and she ends up needing his help to get into it. She vastly prefers the more modest human fashion to the revealing dresses the Fae tend to favour, although she usually wore Fae fashion to any political meetings. No longer, though. She is past the point of needing to play by their rules, and today, she doesn’t want to dress up as a faerie.

With half an hour to spare until sunset, they leave their tent. Both Seraphim and humans stop to stare as they walk towards the edge of the wards surrounding the camp. It seems like word of where they are going has already gotten around. Miryam takes Drakon’s arm and he winnows them both away.

They reappear one of the inner courtyards of Ravenia’s palace, one of the only places you can winnow into and reserved for foreign dignitaries. There are guards standing all around, hands on their weapons, but they make no move to intercept them. Still, just being back here is enough to make Miryam’s earlier calm evaporate. She grips Drakon’s arm a tad harder and can feel him tense as well.

One of the guards steps forward, their face obscured by a helmet, and inclines their head. “You may proceed to the throne room,” he says. No address. Chances are he isn’t sure which of them to address first, or how to address Miryam at all. “Her majesty says you know the way.”

Miryam gives him a curt nod and brushes past him towards the door leading into the palace. Ravenia likely meant to insult her by not sending an escort to bring her to the throne room, but she actually did her a favour. At least this allows Miryam a few moments to catch her footing before she faces the throne room.

The hallways they walk through are deserted, not a single Fae or human to be seen. Miryam glances over at Drakon who is walking next to her, wishing she could have kept holding his arm. She badly wants to say something to him, but she doesn’t doubt for one moment that they are being watched.

They pass the door leading down to the dungeon and Drakon’s steps falter. He pulls his wings closer to his body as he stares at the door. Miryam decides that she doesn’t particularly care if anyone watches and puts a light hand on his arm. Drakon tears his eyes away from the door.

“It’s fine,” he whispers, straightening. Miryam nods and they continue on towards the throne room.

There are two guards posted in front of the huge double doors. They do not stop Miryam and Drakon, merely reach for the doors, moving in perfect unison, and pushing them open.

Nervousness quickly shifting to fear, Miryam has to force herself to keep walking, to not pause in the doorway and take in the throne room she hasn’t seen in almost nine years. Back straight, pace unhurried, she walks through the doors and into the throne room, Drakon following half a step behind her.

She resists the urge to look around the throne room as she makes toward the dais, instead keeping her eyes trained on Ravenia. From what she can see from the corner of her eye, though, the room hasn’t changed much since she has last been here. The murals and carvings on walls and pillars are still the same, as are the courtiers. Fashion seems to have changed a bit, moving towards looser clothes, but the faces are familiar. Everything is just like she remembers.

She wishes it wasn’t. Maybe if everything looked different, this would be easier.

With each step she takes, her body seizes up further. Every instinct is screaming at her to cower, to duck her shoulders and bow her head. She manages to keep her back straight, but her posture ends up far too rigid and she doesn’t dare relax for fear of losing control of her body. Even her power seems to have disappeared, like it’s hiding from the woman sitting on the throne at the other side of the throne room.

This was a mistake. On neutral ground, she might be able to face Ravenia, but this is the heart of Ravenia’s territory. Here, Miryam doesn’t know how to be anything but a terrified slave girl.

She stops in front of the throne, just below the dais. Ravenia is lounging on her throne, absent-mindedly picking up dates from a plate a human slave holds out to her. All the while, though, her dark eyes remain focused on Miryam.

Drakon, who stopped half a step behind her, shifts a bit closer to her, either sensing her discomfort or feeling uncomfortable himself. His presence calms Miryam a bit – at least enough that she no longer feels like bolting.

“Go on, then,” Ravenia finally says, sounding almost bored. She crosses her legs at the ankle and rests her chin on her hand as if to show the entire world that she finds Miryam and Drakon only marginally more interesting than two bugs crawling at her feet. “Say what you have come to say.”

Miryam swallows. Her eyes travel away from Ravenia and towards the group of human children standing behind her throne. (Ti, the human boy they met when they were freeing Drakon, isn’t among them. Miryam didn’t expect him to be – she knows how quickly Ravenias slaves tend to die – but it still stings.)  All of them have their heads bowed, eyes downcast. Miryam could easily imagine herself standing there in their place.

The silence drags on too long. Miryam knows it is up to her to say something now, but the words won’t form. Behind her, the court begins to whisper, clearly wondering why she isn’t saying anything. She has to say something, but she just can’t –

“We’re here to accept your surrender,” Drakon says. Miryam makes to turn around to him, then stops herself.

Ravenia’s mouth twists into a smile and she lets out a soft laugh, her court quickly falling in. “Have you, now?”

It should have been Miryam answering Ravenia’s challenge, Miryam stating their demands. Damnit, this is not the time for her to start messing up. She breathes in. Breathes out and looks around the room, searching for something that might steady her.

What she finds is dozens of humans watching her. They are standing by the walls of the throne room, all of them dressed in servants’ clothes. And all of them are staring at Miryam, eyes wide and shining with hope.

They believe in her. They trust that she’s going to free them.

For them, Miryam can be brave.

Slowly, she looks back at Ravenia. “The terms the Alliance offers to you are favourable,” she says, actually managing to keep her voice even. “You will free every single slave living in your country and sign a contract that the Black Land will never again practice slavery. Every human will receive a certain amount of money or other goods as compensation, and a proportional part of the Black Land will be given to the humans to live in under sovereign human rulership. As for you…” Miryam falters, choking on the next words.

You will be allowed to live. Those are the terms she is to offer to Ravenia. She will be exiled, never to return to the Continent, but she will live, and this, Miryam isn’t sure she can bear.

She wants Ravenia to die. She wants her to die the way Clythia did, painful and slowly, and then, she wants her body burned, the ashes strewn into the wind, the bones dumped into the ocean. For what Ravenia has done, to her and so many others, she deserves that and worse. And Miryam cannot bear the idea that she will instead spend her time in exile on some pleasant little island, tended to by servants, while Miryam wakes up screaming every night for the rest of her life.

But this isn’t about revenge. It isn’t about Miryam at all. The reason she is here is to free her people, to get them out of this alive. That is the only thing that matters, the only goal she can consider. What does it matter if she will spend the rest of her life feeling Ravenia’s shadow looming as long as she manages that?

“You will abdicate,” Miryam continues. The words burn in her throat. “And you will be sent to exile. You will never again step foot on the Continent, but you will be allowed to live.”

If Ravenia is smart, she will take the offer. For a war like this, it’s highly unusual to allow the leader of the losing side to live. The only reason the exile is being offered is that Miryam knows that Ravenia would never take a deal that includes her own death.

“And you expect me to take this offer?” Ravenia asks lightly, as if she is amused by the mere idea. It seems her strategy for this meeting is to make it abundantly clear to the entire world that she doesn’t care what Miryam has to say, doesn’t take her seriously at all.

Not smart, then.

Some courtier behind Miryam snickers. She ignores it. Let them laugh. Should Ravenia refuse the surrender Miryam is offering, their laughter will die soon enough.

Today, they might mock Miryam, might laugh at the foolish mortal who dares challenge their leader. A few days from now, it will be Ravenia they think a fool for not taking the offer when she had the chance. Miryam gives them five days at most until they hate Ravenia for being too proud to surrender.

“You should,” Miryam says. “You won’t get a better one.” Slowly, she starts walking towards Ravenia. The guards standing in front of the throne tense but make no move to stop her. “You’ve lost, Ravenia,” she says softly. “I have beaten you at every turn. My Alliance has defeated your Loyalists, more of your allies surrender to me every day, your High Witcher is dead at my hands. I told you that you would lose, that you could only ever lose, that I would win against you, and I have. I also told you I would destroy you. I suggest you take my offer now, or I can guarantee you, I will do that as well.”

Now, no one is snickering anymore. Ravenia is still lounging on her throne, but her posture no longer seems relaxed. It’s more like she is frozen in place. After a moment, she stirs.

“A nice little speech,” she says. “I might even be impressed, if only you had the soldiers to back it up.” She offers a small smile. “Really, Miryam, if you were going to sell yourself for an army, you should have picked someone who at least has enough soldiers to pose a threat to me.”

Drakon tenses, but Miryam ignores the jab. It is a cheap attempt to get a rise out of her and as far as she is concerned, it isn’t worth a reply. Does Ravenia really think unfitting slavery-allusions will be enough to get her to snap.

“What makes you think I need an army at all?” She asks instead.

Now, Ravenia laughs outright. “You grossly overestimate how scared I am of you,” she says.

Miryam shrugs. Let her laugh. “This is over, Ravenia. You cannot be too blind to see it. Just take the offer while you still can.”

Not quite daring to breathe, she stares at Ravenia. Say no. The thought comes unbidden but all the stronger for it. Come on. Give me an excuse.

A heartbeat later, Miryam’s mind catches up and guilt rises, strong enough to drown out the anger. What is she thinking? She knows what will have to happen if Ravenia refuses, the lives that will be at risk and the ones that will be lost. No revenge in the world can ever be worth this. She didn’t mean that. She didn’t.

Ravenia rises. Slowly, she walks over the dais towards Miryam until there’s only a few feet separating them. Miryam resists the urge to take a step back and instead stares unflinchingly back at her.

“There seems to be some confusion on your part, so let me be entirely clear,” Ravenia says. Her voice is soft, but in the silent room, she might as well have shouted for how loud her voice rings. She takes another step towards Miryam who remains standing where she is – whether out of bravery or fear, she can’t say. “I will kill every single human under my rule before I let a single one of them walk free.”

“Is that your answer?” Miryam asks. Her voice is a tad breathless; her heart is thundering in her chest.

“Yes.” The word snaps through the room like a whip.

Miryam nods. “Then what comes next is on you.” With that, she turns around and walks back to Drakon. He nods to her and together, they walk back through the throne room. At the door, Miryam pauses and turns back to face the assembled crowd.

“Remember,” she says to no one in particular, “that I made the offer. Some of you might wish to reconsider your stance soon enough.”

----

The moon is full tonight. It hangs high in the sky as a silver orb, not a cloud to be seen, casting its cold light down on the sand below. It is the only one to watch as Miryam and Drakon walk away from the noise and activity of the army camp and out into the desert surrounding it. They’ve ordered their guards to stay behind, ignoring their complaints. For what’s about to come, it’s better if they are alone.

Miryam could have gone entirely alone, of course, but she wasn’t quite brave enough for it. She doesn’t want to be alone for this. Besides, should she lose control, Drakon is probably the only one who stands a chance of talking her down.

Miryam turns to him now. “You know what you’re going to do if things go badly?” She asks.

“I think it works best if I improvise,” Drakon says. The ghost of a smile flickers across his face. “A pity there aren’t any mountain goats around.”

Miryam laughs shakily. “If you’re lucky, you’ll find some antelopes.” She stops and looks around. They have reached a small river, branching off the bigger Klei river that supplies the entire Black Land with water. “Here, I think,” she says and lets the bag she packed slide off her shoulder.

She brought all of her spellcasting supplies, candles and bones, gemstones and salt. She takes care when setting up the circle, checking the position for each piece twice and drawing the symbols with steady hands. It takes twice as long as usual, and by the time she is done, her left arm is entirely stained in blood. Miryam double-checks everything one last time, then turns to Drakon. He has been sitting in the sand outside of the circle, watching, but now, he rises.

“Ready?” He asks.

Miryam nods, unable to speak. He nods back.

“You’ll manage,” he says. “I know you will.”

Miryam nods again. She has to manage. There is no other plan to fall back on.

A whispered word activates the circle. The flames flicker to life all at once, the gemstones start glowing. The moon has reached its zenith now, and Miryam can almost taste the power in the air.

She closes her eyes and thinks back to the throne room. Then, she pushed the memories away, locked them up. Now, she asks them in. For the first time, she truly allows herself to remember, remember each moment of pain and despair and suffering, all the death and blood. It hurts. It hurts so badly that she feels she might fall apart, but pain is fuel, as is the anger that comes next.

So Miryam lets herself burn, hotter and brighter. Only when she is so full of pain and anger that she feels she might combust right there, she opens her eyes and begins to speak.

The beginning of the spell is unusual. Normally, you start with a demand, some kind of declaration for what you want. This time, though, Miryam begins with a story. She begins with a feeling.

The strings quiver around her, shaken by the force of her emotions, waiting for her to tell them why she calls upon them. She bids them to listen. The story she tells isn’t a pleasant one. She speaks of death, of suffering and pain. Of injustice and slavery. Blood drips from her hand into the sand as she speaks, swallowed up far more quickly than natural; the words burn her throat.

Around her, the strings grow restless. Tell us what you want, they seem to ask, confused, but it isn’t them Miryam is talking to.

Under Miryam’s feet, a tremor seems to run through the ground. More and more strings manifest, glowing in the air around her, and Miryam feels like something is rising around her, watching, waiting. The power in the air increases until it feels like tons of stone are pressing down on her, until a frantic energy runs through her body.

Miryam barely dares to breathe. It’s working. It is truly working. She has called – and the land is answering.

The Fae might claim this land, this world, belongs to them, but it doesn’t. Maybe it belongs to the humans, or maybe it belongs to no one at all, but either way, it has a memory. And this land is drenched in human blood, its earth bursting with their suffering, the sand full of skeletons of humans. Their anger lingers, as does their pain, a restless energy that has never been let loose.

It remembers. It recognizes the story Miryam tells. And it answers.

She could have sworn there are eyes watching her. It is a comforting thought – that all these humans who came before her are here, watching her, helping her. Maybe finally getting their revenge.

The strings are still waiting, impatient. There are more of them than Miryam has ever seen, the air so full that Miryam can no longer make out her surroundings. Miryam pauses for a moment to look around, to take in the power thrumming through the air, the anger and pain cursing through her, echoed by the land.

Miryam draws her knife from her belt and runs it over her arm, causing fresh blood to well up. It drips into the sand, red on gold, and the earth that is so drenched in human blood already rumbles in answer. Miryam can’t tell if it’s truly the spirits of dead humans answering or the land itself, but whatever it is, it is angry. It has had enough.

When Miryam finally makes her demand, the strings jump to do her bidding. They move into place more easily than ever before. All it takes is for Miryam to nudge them and they move into the right direction, the land still rumbling under her feet.

It’s so easy. Miryam doesn’t need to turn the land against the Fae because it already hates them. Its anger overshadows even her own, the sum of millions of people, millennia of suffering. All she needs to do is point its anger into the right direction, tell it what to do, weave helpless fury into a plan.

The power around her surges. Miryam is vaguely aware that there is blood running out her nose, out of her eyes and ears. Power is thrumming through her, drenched in pain and anger and a revenge that never happened.

Again, blood runs down Miryam’s hand and drips into the sand. This time, it isn’t swallowed by the earth. Instead, more blood seems to well up from there, like a great wound is bleeding under Miryam’s feet. It runs over the sand in a small stream until it reaches the river below.

The water turns red. It spreads far more quickly than blood normally should. Miryam blinks once and the stream is entirely red, like the earth is spitting out all the blood it had to soak up over the years. It runs down the small river, turning it red as it goes, until it reaches the river Klei. From there, it continues to spread.

By the time the circle around Miryam flickers out and she slides to the ground, Drakon rushing over to catch her, every stream and river in the Black Land is already running red with blood.

----