Argrave sat on the windowsill of Margrave Reinhardt’s keep, peering out into Vasquer. Anneliese sat in a chair just before him while Galamon stood beside her, ever watchful. These two had been his main council through his most difficult moments, easing the transition from hothouse flower college boy to whatever he was now. And he felt glad they were both gathered again when this difficult situation had come up.

Anneliese turned her chair around so that she could lean forward against its back, then asked, “What are the implications of the Alchemist learning of you being from Earth?”

“Hell if I know,” Argrave shrugged. “Might give me a bargaining chip in the event that we do meet again. But he hates words, anyway—and who would he blab to? He lives in some spooky house in a jungle.”

“We kept it quiet because of the negative effect it might have on your legitimacy as king,” Galamon pointed out. “But with that… thing, I fear not rumor spreading. I fear you may have attracted some unwanted attention. I cannot protect you from the Alchemist.”

Argrave looked at the two of them. “I think you’re straying from the subject. The issue here is the bet Durran’s assumed. The man’s put a millstone around his neck to get a superpower—I don’t even know what he gained, but life is a lot to bet when we have a hand full of air.”

“There is only one thing we can do within the confines of bet: proving whether the cycle of judgment is eternal, and cannot be broken,” Anneliese gestured. “You cannot prove that something is impossible, that a possibility does not exist. You can only speculate. People become capable of more than they were yesterday every day, all around the world.”

Argrave tried to find a hole in her logic, thinking hard. “But if we find how the cycle began, and what it really is…”

“Still, if the cycle began, who can say it cannot end? You have to try every single possibility that ever was or could be, from now until the end of time. And that is truly impossible.” Anneliese crossed her arms over the back of the chair. “There is only one way Durran gets out of that bet with a victory. And that is finding a way to break the cycle.”

Argrave looked away from her, staring out across the vast plains of Vasquer. Her ironclad reasoning considerably dimmed his expectations for getting the man out of this without incident.

“You said thousands of others seek to break the cycle of judgment,” Anneliese continued. “I remember that Erlebnis asked you precisely that.”

Argrave didn’t look back as he said decisively, “Erlebnis was fishing. Toying with me, like he’s always been doing.”

“My point is that you can find a foundation to build off,” Anneliese said intently. “Not Erlebnis, perhaps, but you said yourself that thousands of others sought this very same thing. Mozzahr himself was looking into this. Our predicament in the Bloodwoods gave him ample time to research the subject further, I should think.”

Argrave looked at her, realizing she had a rather good point. As he thought of the implications, though, he looked away and said quietly, “Good lord. Going to war with that monster is bad enough, but that…?” he sighed. “What the hell did Durran even get for this bet? Better have been a peachy loan with low interest, seeing as the collateral’s so damned valuable. Not that I’d tell him that, the bastard…”

“For now, let’s lay out what we can do.” Anneliese rose to her feet. “When Durran returns, we can speak further.”

#####

Elenore clung to Durran tightly with nervous excitement as his wyvern soared through the sky. The scaled beast moved so adeptly that it felt like an extension of him. Given their druidic bond, perhaps there was some truth in that. To ride a horse was one thing, but to fly through the sky?

Elenore could not remember last when her heart had beat this fast. She held both her arms around Durran so firmly it was painful, and her legs clamped tightly against the beast beneath her. The thrill of this journey was amplified by Durran’s recklessness—she knew he was showing off, but when he turned upside down it nearly made her scream, and when he flew high up in the sky only to dive down she thought her stomach might empty.

But when Durran finally had his fill, and they glided calmly through the air… she had to admit that she had loved it.

“How was that?” he asked cheekily.

Terrifyingly lovely, Elenore thought. She half-wanted to say something to spur him to act even more dangerously, but knowing him he’d actually do it. She drifted back to the matters that concerned her.

“What is your position here, Durran? And what is the situation?” she focused on him.

She saw Durran grip the reins a little tighter. “Well… how much do you know about what happened last time I was here?”

“All,” Elenore answered. “Of how your party killed the Lords of Sethia, of how the southron elves aided you, and of how Titus came to usurp all goodwill you’d earned because of that. I learned it all.”

Durran flew wordlessly for a few moments, and she could see some hardship written in his face. “Well… the situation is good, honestly speaking. But I did some things that I’m not proud of. In killing Titus, exposing him… I got my father killed.” He chuckled quietly. “Felt like such a joke. I do something honest and good—liberate Sethia—and I’m outcast. I do something dishonest and bad—deceive people, get my father killed, and use the corpses of the dead for my own ends—and I’m hailed as a hero.”

Hearing his wild tale made her want to ask details, but she cut to the heart, asking, “Are you truly a king, then? Can you link these two lands?”

Durran looked down and pointed. “See those men?” She followed his finger, stomach lurching from the height and the speed. She saw countless wyvern riders. “They’re all loyal to me. Absolutely loyal. They’d die for me, each and every one. They’d crown me as king if I gave them the word. But the main point is this: we are the undisputed strongest throughout the entire desert. We’ve been roving, liberating towns and cities from Vessels.” He spared a glance back at her. “We’re more nomads than a true kingdom, like I’ve been telling you. But this nomadic force of mine is potent enough to inspire fear from all of Vasquer. But all of this… there are problems.”

“Such as?” Elenore indulged him.

“Everything I’ve been doing… it’s short-term,” Durran explained, looking out across the desert. “I kill the Vessels of Fellhorn lording over the populace, kill their loyalists, and my people get a nice big oasis as a consequence of that. They get enough water to last some months, but these towns were built by Vessels, for Vessels. Fact is, without management… without the Vessels, frankly, most of these settlements will dry out and die out.

“The desert is as harsh as it is beautiful, and it’s the heart of summer,” Durran explained, gaze wandering the dunes as though they were letters to read. “Hard to feel it up here with the winds on our face, but you can cook meat on the sand. It’s why we raided Vasquer. The land here is not meant to accommodate people, not really. The far south and far north are the only regions that can sustain themselves. Beyond that… the heat will cook you alive, and you’ll die with a dry mouth and an empty stomach. We’re talking tens of thousands, all dead, unless something is done.”

“So you’re proposing a strategic cooperation as much as a whimsical romantic proposition,” Elenore noted calmly. “I suppose you hoped to establish some façade of cooperation, where you came to me to provide for your people, and I married you to ward back your horde of wyvern riders? Some alliance of necessity, to spare both our people war? Is that your cover story?”

“That’s about it, yeah,” Durran nodded. “I’ve seen Vasquer. It has more than it needs. Spellcasters can provide water, even the worst of them. We cement ties, blend Vasquer and the Burnt Desert inseparably… and before long, they’re one nation. After the tribals and the kingdom fight together against Gerechtigkeit, it’s practically guaranteed.”

“But whether or not we get married, I know you wouldn’t raid Vasquer,” Elenore said. “And having my marriage open has been an important card. It’s kept the Duke of Birall loyal—obsequious, even—as he seeks marriage for his sons. And lesser lords in Atrus or the crownlands fall at their feet to please me. To throw all of that away…” she trailed off.

In truth, Elenore simply sought to give Durran some taste of his own medicine. And when he looked back, the panic on his eyes was priceless. She couldn’t help but laugh.

“The thought never even crossed your mind, did it? Rejection,” she said the word quietly, speaking directly into his ear. She continued in a provocative whisper, “Maybe my mind has changed, Durran.”

Durran looked back with desire on his face, plain as day. It made her feel warm inside to know she was wanted.

“Don’t send us crashing off, would-be-king,” Elenore continued. “With the gods coming down, I don’t need the aristocracy’s loyalty as steadfastly as before. All will be forced to fight our enemies. And I’ve not been idle in diminishing their authority throughout Vasquer.” She reached out and flicked his cheek. “But don’t push your luck. Foisting yet another kingdom upon me to manage? You ask a lot for someone who might become brainless. Not that much would change.”

Durran smiled at her. “Rejection? The thought never even crossed my mind.”

Elenore gripped him tighter as he turned his head. “And death… your death… that better not have been an empty platitude, Durran. I mean that. I couldn’t…” Elenore trailed off, the sentence completing in her head alone. Couldn’t go on.

“Hey, I’m planning to live forever. Gonna bring you along with me, too.” He put his hand on hers, and though it was cold from the wind it felt warm from its sentiment. “For now… let’s meet my guys. And let’s figure out how we factor into this Divine Feudalism that’s rearing its head.”