CHAPTER SEVEN◄CHAPTER EIGHT►CHAPTER NINE

Warlord’s Ascendancy had finally docked in the hangars of Shaleth, the royal capital of Siva, along with the entirety of Phaziah Ishigar’s fleet that had been on their visit to the Ibra system. A great show of ceremony was evident in the main bay, with the High King’s entire royal court and lifeguards there to receive him, along with his wife, a consort shrew of a Sivathi by the name of Zoba. There she stood at the head of the reception as she watched the power systems of the mighty battleship shut down, holding her brat of a pet—a yappy, petite, scaly species known as a Sila, which hailed from the jungle moon Namyet, of the gas giant Sagathra. Flanking her were a pair of slaves with fans, doing their best to keep her cool from Siva’s heat that wafted in through the hangar doors, and behind them was a great host of noble dukes and duchesses, mingling with generals of the Crown Army. On either side of the whole reception, the striking yellow power armored household troops of the High King stood at attention, arms presented with their gauss and plasma weaponry held forward.

The High King’s consort looked nervous; at least, that was what Phaziah could tell from the viewport of the exit doors as he prepared to disembark with the officers of his flagship. Such a look could be from a multitude of reasons, ranging from that damned creature in her arms, her inability to conceive a child and heir, or the war raging on Siva. He’d also been told only hours ago of how poorly the offensive against Halaj Province had actually gone, how the troop transport had obliterated Zeshom Noor’s estate, and how it had fallen into the paws of the Confederacy. In his cockiness, he’d been so sure of the offensive’s success that he’d neglected to ask Teth Grisha then and there about it. Now, he regretted not pressing the issue.

Phaziah Ishigar scowled as the doors prepared to open, hating the pet Sila—which his wife had dubbed “Kruva”—more than anything. His wife practically treated that thing like a child of her own, practically insulting the fact that they could not bear an heir due to infertility. So Zoba compensated by pampering the scaly bundle of misery to her heart’s content. But Phaziah dared not say anything about it, lest he grievously offend the fragile nature of his wife. That was the last thing he wanted to do.

Zoba Ishigar was like so many of the female nobility of the Sivathi. Spoiled beyond belief, obsessed with appearances, and engaging in all sorts of lavish experiences and luxuries to showcase her status. Such was the case for noble Sivathi males, too, but women like her took it to the extreme, to the point that it was nearly comical. The consort of the High King even outdid Princess Aliya in all her behavior, and she was grown adult, unlike her. Her outfit screamed privilege and power; the sleeves and neckline of her dress decked out in all manner of feathers plucked from the birds of the same gas giant moon her pet came from, and the fabric encompassing her supple form made of the finest silk that the treasury could afford. Silver jewelry adorned much of her body, hammered by the finest smiths in Shaleth that still worked in the traditional craft who did not defer to the ease of technology for production.

Phaziah Ishigar still carried himself in a similar manner to his wife, though not quite to her extent of extravagance. He tucked his handpaws together beneath the folds of his fine crimson robe, trying to maintain a sense of class and composure about himself as he steeled himself for his presentation before the court. The stress of the war, and especially the news out of Lathga Province, where his bastard daughter was, had weighed heavily on him. Truly, there could be no telling for certain if she’d survived the battle in and around Zeshom Noor’s compound, and he had to tread carefully in trying to find her if she had. His loyal dukes and duchesses that had been witnesses to the execution order of the girl’s mother and his decree that her offspring was to be sold as a slave could surely keep the secret, as could those select few like Zeshom Noor and the tax officials assigned to grant him his breaks, but the rest of Siva? How would they ever react if they knew he’d let such an abomination—his own daughter that he had a paw in procreating—was alive? What if word got around to the Confederacy, and she became a symbol to rally around?

Worse yet, with Zeshom Noor likely dead, there was nobody to keep an iron grip on the girl from asking questions or seeking answers. The High King had to come up with a solution, or find out if she was even still alive in the wake of the battle, and fast. Maybe that was why his wife looked so distraught. She knew of his grave sin of sleeping with one of his slaves long before they had been married; as the whole debacle with Shiphra had happened long before they’d wedded. She, too, upheld the oath of secrecy, if only out of respect and honor for the supremacy of the High King of Siva. But she couldn’t bear the thought of having her own reputation—not to mention the luxuries of being consort to the High King—being ripped away from her in the event that word of Shiphra’s daughter got out.

Phaziah took a deep breath, practically in time with the hissing of the airlock disengaging as the main gangway of the battleship opened its ramp, descending to the floor of the hangar before the ceremony awaiting him. With several of his bodyguards in tow and many officers directly behind them, the High King began his descent downward.

At the first sight of him, all except the troops—who remained at attention—bowed deeply at bearing witness to the herald of the Zaket suns, eyes fixed atop the twin pronged crown atop his head in all its symbolism of the binary suns that illuminated Siva and its heavenly neighbors. The yapping Sila had to practically ruin the moment with its incessant noise, feeling unfamiliar with the sight of Phaziah even though he’d not been gone but for a few months. The queen consort awkwardly tried to shut him up as she tried to maintain her prostrating position.

“Your Highness, Shaleth is overjoyed to welcome the son of the Zaket stars home,” she said in a voice of lofty self-importance, doing her best to mask the anxieties about how the war was going in her husband’s absence. “Glory be to you, King of kings, Master of the Sivathi, and Father to the children of Siva and beyond.”

Just as he’d been dismissive of General Teth Grisha—with whom he had an axe to grind over how poorly things had gone in Lathga Province—High King Phaziah Ishigar lifted his paw up in an order for his wife to stand, along with all the others who bowed before him, as he was in little mood for ceremony. “Though it pleases me to see such adoration for my presence, I don’t seek to linger on it for long. I demand an answer for the disasters that have occurred as of late. General Grisha is here, is he not?”

The pudgy, portly Sivathi who was in question had been intentionally slinking towards the back of the crowd so as to not be seen by the High King, but there was little use in doing so when his presence was mandated. Teth Grisha, like all the other commanders of the various fronts on Siva, was expected to be in the presence of Phaziah Ishigar upon his return from such travels, and trying to blend in with the crowd was his only defense against being blamed for how poorly things had gone in Lathga Province. Even though he heard his name called, he didn’t speak up. The crowd simply parted like two opposing tides, showing him wringing his paws sheepishly and cowering in embarrassment as the High King’s eyes fell upon him.

“Your Majesty…” Teth Grisha squeaked out, his voice hoarse and barely above a whisper. “There’s a great many things that require your attention regarding Lathga Province.”

“Are there?” High King Phaziah Ishigar said, feigning ignorance doing his best to get General Grisha’s confidence back up before dashing it back into a million pieces. He reached out with his handpaw to take his wife’s in his, curling a lip upward in disgust that he quickly tried to hide away in seeing the snarling Sila yap at him. “I was under the impression that things had gone according to plan there, per your assurances. Against Halaj Province, however? I understand that our troops are in full retreat.”

“Things have gone awry in regards to the troop transport we were trying to intercept as well, High King,” he said, biting his lip in nervousness. He knew Phaziah was merely playing games with him; he had to have known what had transpired in Lathga Province. “Much of the 100th Mechanized Regiment and the 13th Tank Regiment were destroyed in a surprise attack near the manor of Zeshom Noor. The transport came down right on top of it, destroying the place and taking the visiting Princess Aliya with it—”

“Lathga Province is a backwater, as you well know,” the High King said, doing his best to appear resolute in the face of the hidden knowledge about his bastard daughter possibly having gained her freedom. He had to downplay such importance with the more pressing matter of a failed grand offensive against the seat of Confederate Power in Halaj Province. Walking with his wife beside him, her personal slaves and the members of the court behind her began to follow as he spoke to the commander at fault. “Do not worry yourself, General Grisha. Though you’ve made a mistake in letting the troop transport slip through your fingers, I do not wish to appear unreasonable. By the dual suns of Zaket, you have my forgiveness. You may atone for your failure by gathering all the retreating forces of the Crown Army that are making their way into Lathga Province, and then reorganize them for a renewed attack against the heart of the Confederacy; with the help of some fellow generals, of course..”

Teth Grisha was taken aback by the sudden show of leniency; the High King seldom tolerated any kind of failure. Perhaps he’d be singing a different tune if he’d known just how impactful the destruction of Zeshom Noor’s estate had actually been in potentially freeing his daughter, but then again, he had not been privy to any knowledge of his illegitimate daughter, unlike his trusted nobles and Zeshom Noor himself. “Your mercy knows no bounds, High King,” Teth Grisha said, kneeling beside Phaziah as he strode forward through the hangar. He grabbed his free handpaw, kissing the ring upon his finger that bore the symbol of the Ishigar Dynasty and those before it: A silhouette of a Sivathi’s face bearing the twin-pronged crown.

Phaziah Ishigar jerked his handpaw back away from the General, cringing a bit at the pathetic display of thanks even though he knew Teth Grisha was really at fault for not having combed the underground of Lathga Province more thoroughly for Confederate forces. The simple fact was that the High King was in no mood to worry himself with a secondary front like Lathga, nor did he want to show undue concern about it for fear of exposing the secret of his daughter. Nobody but his most trusted could know about it. And if others were to know, he had to spin things so that he washed his paws of anything to do with the girl.

“You are dismissed, General Grisha,” the High King said, waving his handpaw in a motion for him to be off. “I am weary from my journey, want to rest, and be in the company of my wife. Go forth and make arrangements to rally the retreating Crown Army and incorporate them into your command, then await my orders for a renewed offensive against the Confederacy.”

Phaziah’s underling took that as his cue to make a hasty retreat and melt away into the crowd of the hangar, though he still maintained a bowing posture as he slinked away, ever so careful to deliver the respect that was due to the High King. Shaking his head and rolling his eyes, he kept his gaze forward facing as he proceeded down the line of household troops that stood at attention on either side of him, saluting every so often with his free paw as he guided his wife along.

“Why did you let him off the hook, my King? He stands to answer for such a massive failure, especially considering what Lathga Province means for you,” Zoba whispered, squeezing her husband’s handpaw as if asking for his attention. She was trying to as subtly as possible to raise alarm about the possibility of Shiphra’s daughter having escaped without actually acknowledging her existence in the public setting of the hangar.

“Did you not hear me, woman?” Phaziah Ishigar snapped, breaking his composed manner if only for a second. He continued his stride towards the archway at the far end of the hangar, leading to the labyrinthine expanse of his palace. “He will answer by succeeding in a second chance when we strike again. Shall he fail in this, he dies, and with any luck, he dies on the battlefield, at that.”

The whole royal procession followed behind him and his wife at a respectful distance, knowing that they were both on edge. Moreover, they didn’t want to draw the High King’s ire at a time like this, knowing that the modicum of mercy he’d dispensed on Teth Grisha was the most generous he was going to be for the time being. Him snapping at his wife was just a shred of how his anger could escalate.

The dukes and duchesses loyal to him hadn’t just gathered in Shaleth that day to receive their High King on his momentous return, no. They had all arrived to discuss the matter at hand regarding Lathga Province and his daughter, for they knew the severity of the loss of Zeshom Noor; the only man that had kept her in line all these years. There would be much talk about it, no doubt, as they rounded the mazelike corners and passages of the palace towards the great hall; the same place where Phaziah Ishigar had sentenced Shiphra to death twenty years ago.

An awkward silence lingered as nobody dared say something that would upset the High King while the procession continued. Only quiet murmurs between those farther back were barely audible among the shuffling and tapping of footpaws upon the stone floors of the palace hallways as they all followed Phaziah and his wife towards the designated chamber where he so often conferred with his council of nobles. After finally traversing the labyrinth that was the palace, they all finally arrived at the main hallway that served as the central axis of the High King’s residence. It was several kilometers in length from the holo-gates that made up entryway to the front of the bastion, and ending at the two titanium sliding doors that towered almost four stories high.

Phaziah Ishigar took in a slight sense of calm as he gazed at the reliefs etched into the metal of the doors which, when parted, revealed the great hall; a massive domed structure. The left door held the figure of a towering Sivathi warlord, a scimitar in his handpaw and raised on high, clad in the ancient armor of the warriors of old as he looked down to the figures on the right. In his other paw, a coiled whip was held tight in the grasp of his fingers. A slew of kneeling Sivathi—representative of the slave class and all those beneath the nobles—clasped their handpaws together as they gazed up to their sovereign, begging him for mercy that they knew only he could provide. For it was the warlord that held the power over life and death. And in that fact, Phaziah Ishigar could take solace. This was the way Siva had existed for so very long, and everything in this palace—nay, on his planet and colonies—attested to the strength that he wielded and had to uphold. He’d exercised that right over Shiphra and still shown his compassion in letting her daughter live.

The yellow armored household troops that stood at either end of the doorway saluted their High King as the locking mechanism sealing the doorway opened, and the relief of master and the oppressed upon the titanium doors slid away into the stonework of the palace walls, revealing the great hall beyond. At its head was a throne for the monarch himself—not as regal as the one in his proper throne room, but still respectable in its own right. It sat facing the interior of the domed room for him to look out to all his nobles and any subjects that may have been in attendance, should the occasion to bring those of lesser classes arise. Above that, a faux starry sky painted the black dome overhead, and the holographic projections of the entire Zaket system shined above. The center held Zaket the Kindler and Zaket the Watcher—A and B respectively for everyday usage; the prongs of power atop Phaziah’s crown. Beyond that, the tiny Anak circled the binary pair up close in its chaotic dance of orbit. Then, his precious Siva and its moons, shimmering like an amber orb as Gefo and Magofa orbited the Sivathi homeworld. The gas giants—Shiya and Sagathra—orbited the stars beyond that, their many moons engaged in the cosmic dance of gravitational interaction. And finally, hugging the edge of the dome’s rim was the speck of Veketh, the guardian and gateway into the Zaket system.

The High King had to blink a few times to shake himself of the mesmerizing sight. Few things brought him more pleasure than being witness to the Zaket system that he ruled, conveniently presented to him in the comfort of his palace. Greater yet was the fact that his reach extended beyond there as well, into the colonies of nearby star systems. Truly, the power of the High King knew no limits.

He snapped his fingers in a motion for the ready and waiting slaves lining the perimeter of the chamber at various intervals to get moving and take up their positions of service for the nobles that were filing in. He wasn’t hesitant to discuss the matter about his daughter or the civil war with them in his presence, for they were never allowed to leave the palace grounds, and were servile enough and complacent with their status in serving in the High King’s residence that they’d never ask questions. The remainder of his officer corps, minus a select few, had gone their own ways to attend to other duties around the palace, or departed entirely to go about other business in Shaleth. Making his way to his throne, Phaziah tossed aside the flowing crimson folds and train of his robe as he took his seat, while his wife maintained a stoic appearance as she stood beside him in spite of her efforts to keep Kruva quiet and behaved. Very quickly, a brown furred Sivathi had rushed over to the side of his throne, bearing a tray of fruit as she knelt humbly and held it forward for the High King to pick from the offering at his convenience.

Phaziah absentmindedly plucked at the Kethra fruit and other sweets on the tray with a single paw, leaning a cheek against his fist as he looked on at his dukes and duchesses filing into semicircular fashion before the throne. Though teeming with nervousness, he couldn’t begin to show it in the face of his underlings, lest he appear weak. But maybe some of them secretly harbored such thoughts about him to begin with when he had spared the life of his bastard child many years ago in this very same place. If he didn’t do something about it now and fix the mistake of dispensing mercy upon Shiphra’s child, then they’d see him in an even worse light, and perhaps try to depose him. An aspiring duke or duchess eager to take the throne was perhaps an even more terrible outcome than losing the civil war!

The quiet murmurs of the nobility that had followed them into the chamber were the only sounds above the closing of the titanium doors as they slid back into position, concealing the meeting in secrecy for only those inside. As they finally met and clanged shut, all eyes fell to the High King as he sat upon his throne, with his queen consort standing behind him as he nibbled on the Kethra grasped between his fingers. The murmuring finally died down as they awaited his words, the stillness as real as the vast emptiness of outer space that the holograms in the domed ceiling depicted.

But Phaziah Ishigar still didn’t speak. He continued eyeing his dukes and duchesses, a sea of golden fur that projected itself like the suns themselves against the blackness of the obsidian floor. Who among them was hiding any thoughts of disloyalty? He’d been most careful in making sure that only those he trusted among the nobility had been there on the day he’d sentenced Shiphra and her daughter, but so much had changed between then and now. Perhaps they had more to gain by throwing their lot in with the Confederacy of Liberation, and were waiting for the right moment to stab him in the back.

If any of them felt that way, his divine power would strike them down, just as his ancestor had done to the rogue duke that had rebelled against him, and just as he did now against the Confederacy. To assure them of that strength, he had to send a loud and clear message. Plucking another Kethra off the tray that his slave held before him, he twiddled the thing between his fingers as he finally parted his lips to speak, starting with good news rather than the bad.

“The Ibra system flourishes,” he said, looking upward as he held a handpaw on high, as if looking past the Zaket system and into the galaxy beyond. “Their golden jubilee is but a testament to the reach of the Crown of Siva’s influence, and that it is not just limited to our own home system. And a quick detour to the ocean moon of Tirag around our gas giant neighbor Shiya continues to affirm their loyalty as their shipments to Siva continue flowing.”

A small applause emanated from the crowd of gathered dukes and duchesses, who knew very well that what the High King spoke was true, but that much had been unsaid. The colonies of the larger gas giant—Sagathra—and one or two other star systems were not loyal to the Crown and sympathized with the Confederacy.

“Yet you wonder why the civil war on our homeworld has not been brought to a successful conclusion,” he said, his eyes turning to the few high ranking officers of his army and navy that were in attendance and could be trusted with his secrets. They shrunk into themselves as his gaze fell upon them, ashamed for the debacle of having failed in their offensive against Halaj Province. “Perhaps I have been too merciful with our brethren and not exercised the strength of the Crown of Siva firmly enough, both on this planet and beyond. Perhaps I have been too merciful in… other ways as well,” he continued, alluding to the clemency he had granted Shiphra’s child.

“We have been too idle, your Highness!” an outspoken duke said aloud, finally being unable to tolerate remaining quiet any longer. It was Duke Abor of the equatorial Sutoza Province, who had a penchant for being the cruelest of all nobles towards slaves and commoners. “Your right to rule, granted to you and the kings and queens before you by the blessed Zaket suns, cannot be challenged! Our own troops and transports have been attacked and scattered by bold scouts of the Confederate Navy and have crashed into Lathga Province, and now several units have been mauled by rebel troops in provinces that we had thought were devoid of their presence! How much longer can we tolerate this lenient attitude, and not bring down our iron fist of retribution? If it continues, it will only be a matter of time before simple hit and run attacks like the one that grounded that troop transport are no longer the norm, and the Confederate Navy leaves its moorings and brings battle to our doorstep!”

Lesser Sivathi that spoke in such a way in the midst of the High King would have been taken out back and shot for such a tone, but the nobles had more rights and privileges to voice themselves in this manner. Even so, he was playing a dangerous game to tempt his anger. Yet, to everybody’s surprise, Phaziah Ishigar was amazingly calm, doing well in masking the anxieties that plagued his mind. “You are quite right, Duke Abor,” he said calmly, still leaning his cheek against his fist while plucking another piece of fruit from the tray his slave held. “Idleness on our part has let this rebellion fester and grow into the thorn in our sides it is today. We possess the overwhelming strength to crush the Confederate Navy at its moorings. We were wrong to sit back and trust our forces on the ground intercept the troop transport that fell into Lathga Province. We were ignorant to the fact that though they may not engage us in open and decisive battle, they still resort to ambushes on Siva and around the planet’s perimeter. And my absence during our offensive against the southern pole, I fear, may have played a large part in the operation’s failure.”

It was rare that the High King would shoulder any sort of blame when it was common knowledge that he was incapable of sinning or doing wrong, for his every action was dictated as righteous and as a necessity by the Zaket suns. It was why he had been absolved of the wrongdoing for sleeping with Shiphra and fathering a child by her. Hence, it was why even now, nobody spoke up at his comment, for they felt it conflicting with the divine authority he had been granted as ruler of the Sivathi.

“So, it seems that a new strategy will be required if we are to emerge victorious, just as my grandfather did against the rogue duke that threatened the Crown of Siva once before,” he said, snapping his fingers to summon over his scribe who stood ready and waiting at the far end of the room with his data-entry pad. “Let it be known that my dukes and duchesses are given all power to levy forces in their own provinces to supplement the Crown Army. Not only will they be needed to support a new offensive, but the remainder will be needed to quell any unrest that may arise as we pool many of our forces for a renewed attack of overwhelming strength against the southern pole. A lack of royal military presence in our own provinces while our forces are away could cause the common folk and slaves to challenge us. Nonetheless, some will make a worthwhile addition to our front lines as we advance.”

As Phaziah’s scribe rushed to his side and dutifully began entering his decree into his data-entry pad, another one of the nobles spoke up. It was Duchess Tamar Galliah, the ruler of Miak Province that sat in the shadow of the far larger royal and capital province of Shaleth. “Though it may be easy to accomplish this in provinces such as my own, and others that are near to your seat of power, your Majesty, I fear that it will be difficult to draw up the manpower necessary from our subjects that have not already been drawn into military service,” she said. “Most of the common folk that have loyalty to us—especially the ones further away from Shaleth—have already volunteered for the Crown Army, and few remain. It will prove difficult to muster such forces, lest we resort to forced conscription of the populace or, worse yet…”

“Worse yet?” Phaziah said, raising and eyebrow in curiosity and with a slight smirk on his lips. He knew what she was implying, but he wanted to hear such a proposition from the lips of the duchess.

“Arming the slaves,” she said, gritting her teeth and feeling her stomach turn over at the very thought of giving the slave class even a remote semblance of power. “Perhaps they could be incentivized to serve as security in those provinces where manpower is thin—”

“That is out of the question, Duchess!” the queen consort blurted out, practically dropping Kruva in her outburst, at which the reptilian creature yelped out fearfully. “Preposterous, to think of giving the Sivathi slaves weaponry to act as repression forces in the absence of our own army!”

“If they were to be used at all, they’d be mustered under threat of death for offensive purposes, in wave attacks to soften up resistance before our own troops do the real work,” the High King said, making the expression of the slave girl one of alarm at the idea of being thrown into battle with little to no training to be used as little more than a meat shield. “It’s a notion I can entertain, but I cannot take seriously as of yet, especially when the slaver guilds would be hesitant to have their investments killed off; they’d expect some kind of compensation. Moreover, very minute the slaves are given any kind of power to fight with, what is to stop them from defecting to the Confederacy? Why should they even fight for us when the liberation they crave is on the other side?”

“They would need to be incentivized in some way, your Majesty, as I said,” the Tamar Galliah explained, trying to come up with some kind of justification for such a crazy notion. “Freedom upon victory over the Confederacy, for example. And it’s not even a promise that we’d have to keep; we are the true wielders of Siva’s power, and can force them back into line if they won’t give up their arms willingly upon completion of our war.”

“That will be a last resort. Did I not say that we have been too lenient in this war?” Phaziah Ishigar proclaimed, putting a stop to the idea before it grew any further. Any empowering the slaves still in bondage—of which his daughter may still have likely been a part of—would only challenge his authority. He didn’t need that. Besides, if she had been freed in the aftermath of the destruction of Zeshom Noor’s estate, it was an even bigger problem for him. The next worst thing to arming the slaves was having a somebody like his daughter on the loose that, should word about her heritage get out, could act as a symbol for the Confederacy and other slaves to rally behind. “Our dukes and duchesses will squeeze every last ounce of manpower out of the citizenry that can still be recruited when the main Crown Army forces all gather for another attack against the south. Besides, there yet remains a bigger problem that could pose a more immediate doom for the Crown of Siva.”

Phaziah paused, looking down at the slave girl that still knelt obediently beside his throne and then to his scribe. He didn’t need their ears eavesdropping on any conversation regarding his bastard daughter. Only his dukes, duchesses, and the select few generals and admirals in attendance could be trusted. “Leave us,” he said, ordering the pair to make themselves scarce. Knowing that he had taken a visibly serious mood in contrast to him having to hide his anxieties, they made their way towards the smaller exit door at the far side of the room.

Both Phaziah and his wife looked at the two as the steps of the scribe and slave echoed throughout the hall, only daring to speak up when they had shut the door behind them. Now that he was sure he was devoid of their presence, he finally began to speak of the topic that he had dreaded for so long. “Those of you who were here with me many years ago remember the slave girl who gave birth to a child that I helped conceive,” he said, lowering his head shamefully as he stated the fact, even though he knew that the divine authority given to him by the suns relieved him of any guilt and blame. “And not all of you know the finer details beyond the death of the mother and the sparing of the child. She was, indeed, sold as a slave, like her mother before her, to Zeshom Noor, where he was granted privileges a businessman such as himself in Lathga Province could never have dreamed of in exchange for keeping her heritage a secret under a convenient lie. Now that he has been killed, his estate destroyed, the area overrun by a Confederate ambush, the fate of my offspring is now unknown.”

“What is to be done, your Majesty? Aliya, my daughter, was there when the troop transport crashed,” said Duke Beriah Bethagar, the ruler of Lathga Province itself. With his daughter having been lost in Zeshom Noor’s estate, he felt he had a personal stake in the matter at hand, even though he knew the High King would never permit him to pursue a vengeance on his own accord. “Let me take command of my own levy of troops to wreak havoc on the Confederates that may have captured my daughter, or worse! And I will find this bastard child of yours and make sure she suffers greatly, lest she be dead from the crash too! With all the prisoners we capture, we’ll enslave them too and finish the palace that was intended for Princess Aliya as a monument to you, High King!”

“No,” the High King said sternly and with a snarl, showing his fanged teeth. None of the dukes and duchesses were going to be involved in anything regarding the fate of his daughter. The mistake of letting her live in the first place was his, and his alone. If anybody was going to make things right, it was going to be by his direction, and not of others. He sat back in his throne in a more relaxed state, chuckling softly as he erased the aggression from his face. Though the High King still was doing well in masking his internal nervousness, did Duke Beriah really think he could be bought with promises to dedicate a palace to his greatness? “Only I will have retribution for what took place in Lathga Province, Duke Beriah. The challenge to my rule by the risk my offspring poses, should she live, is mine alone to bear and pursue a correction. You lot shall have your revenge by doing as I say in my instruction to contribute to our offensive and repression of our provinces.”

Though visibly upset that he would not have any say in avenging the death of Princess Aliya, Duke Beriah conceded as Duchess Tamar spoke up in his place. “Your loyal nobles will do your bidding, High King, and we will muster the numbers to fulfill your decree,” she said with a bow of her head, though she was curious to hear of the plan regarding the bastard daughter of Phaziah Ishigar. “But we are equally concerned for any challenge to your reign from your offspring. What is to be done, as Duke Beriah asked?”

Phaziah glanced up at his wife for only a moment, looking at her somber expression as she petted Kruva in silence to get some sense of comfort in the midst of the discussion about Shiphra’s daughter. The fact that his only offspring was of slave blood and that she, the queen consort, hadn’t produced an heir for him to challenge that in all this time cast crushing shame upon her shoulders. Was it infertility? A curse from the suns? She did not know, but she felt that she had failed her husband in this regard, and she hated that he was practically handcuffed to her in a marriage that he would dare not break out of the honor he wanted to uphold, perhaps to rectify the mistake of his sleeping with Shiphra so long ago, in addition to now seeking out and dealing with his only child.

“A detachment of my household troops will be sent to ascertain the truth about her fate,” he said, sighing quietly at the sight of his wife’s distress that he knew he could not remedy. “If she was killed, they will find it out. And if she yet lives, they will bring her to me so that I may rectify the mistake that I should never have made years ago. It shall be I that destroys the monstrosity that may still walk Siva, so that she will never become a symbol for the Confederacy to rally behind, nor challenge my rule. The Crown of Siva shall not be torn asunder by a single drop of Sivathi slave blood, mark my words!”

An unexpected applause erupted from the gathered nobles and officers present, who were hypocrites all the more for excusing their High King—the very incarnation of the will of the Zaket suns—from his sin for having helped conceive a child of slave and royal blood yet spared her to live. Yet they cheered for his will to be done in crushing the Confederacy and erasing the symbol that they could rally behind.

“And if she is not found?” Duke Abor pressed, his voice laced with skepticism. “A ghost is no less dangerous than a living pretender.”

“She will be found,” Phaziah Ishigar said, standing up from his throne as his eyes turned to the holographic projection of Siva in the domed ceiling above him. He looked over every detail of the mockup of his planet; there was nowhere this girl could go to elude him. Siva was his domain. “The Confederacy shall never have a chance to forge her into a weapon to be used against my reign.”

Like a heavy shroud, his decree settled over the nobles with a sense of finality. They all knew that the monarchs of Siva had never steered their race wrong in the entire history of the planet. Yet, some questioned silently in their minds if the mistake he’d made—yet they absolved him of—was not to be the first misstep What if he failed to find her? The Confederacy was already a thorn in the side of Phaziah Ishigar, and needed no further causes to fight for, and now the High King would divert his personal troops to hunt down a single slave girl?

All of these questions weighed heavy on the dukes, duchesses, and officers as the doors to the hall opened, signaling their dismissal as they began to file out back into the palace to carry out their leader’s commands and raise the armies of conscripts he had demanded. They knew their duty, but they also knew the immensity of the task given to them. The offensive against Halaj Province should have been a steamrolling of the Confederacy, yet had ended in disaster, even when numbers, equipment, and power were all on their side. What was to say it could not happen again? Was throwing everything in such an overwhelming show of force truly going to work, when it had already failed once?

Kruva whined, practically voicing the shame and anxiety of both she and the High King, as the nobles finished exiting, leaving only Phaziah, Zoba, and the Sila in the grand room. The queen consort put her handpaw on the shoulder of her husband, squeezing the crimson fabric of his robe gently and virtually begging him to lend her some comfort. Internally, the High King wished she would do that for him as he internalized his own nervousness, but he knew she couldn’t. He simply had to maintain the façade of being strong, incorruptible, and honorable even though he knew he’d failed these before.

“She will be found, my wife,” he said, halfheartedly assuring her as the enormity of having let the slave girl live weighed over him like an executioner’s axe over his neck. “All of the Confederacy’s claims over Siva shall burn before that bastard child lays claim to anything that is ours.”