The Changeling

31

A sennight passed since Ezren's proposal.

Cetlali worked nonstop for the populace within the Vassour Elect's Complex. Some of Ezren's guard had returned from voluntary service on the Propter too. Their clothing needed replacing, their scale armor required mending, and most assuredly, bellies must be filled.

They appreciated her work and requested enough to keep her away from Ezren. She had to be thankful for that, at least. She checked in with him often, anyway. He pulled back from her, though, allowing her a certain space and the illusion of freedom. He granted her some respect, acknowledging her prowess in asking her to care for their company in his absence.

Despite being quite busy conferring with the Emperor on the problem du jour, Ezren's gaze was a constant burden, hawkish and expectant.

The Empire had changed in the time. A cautious tension whispered through the streets.

Ovar was still off burning, raping, and pillaging his way across south-eastern Epoubodaz.

Court gossip was he gathered a bit of a following, combining his troops with local brigands. It seemed his ferocity emboldened some. The others, of course, were just assholes.

The Emperor had been put out at the news of Ovar going further rabid. A sense of disappointment often lingered on his features.

The hurt of a personal betrayal twisted his golden brow. Seething fury took its place when soldiers of the Municipal Army presented the leftovers from the forces sent out to monitor Ovar. All different visceral remnants of the seventeen fit in naught more than a crusty goat cart. The Empress had taken it upon herself to denounce Ovar to the entire court. The sullen Emperor sat by and said to send off a better set of soldiers to bring back Ovar's head.

Lovou was at some point approached to go and fetch his brother by Imperator Caran himself. There was a certain hesitancy in accepting such a feat. He did not doubt he would end up being the sole person capable of

bringing down Ovar. Yet he could not justify leaving the Citadel. There was a new vulnerability to Anidozja Palace, especially with a man such as Ovar possessing the knowledge of an Imperial Guard. He was party to intimate details about the patrols, training, weaknesses of the walls, and the private matters of the Sovereigns. Lovou couldn't consider the palace safe anymore.

Charging out into the wilderness to hunt Ovar down could also just prove fruitless. Ovar knew how to track and not to be tracked just about as well as Lovou did. Ovar had amassed a following which would be hard to hide, but not impossible. Lovou wouldn't risk being misled and lost out there with his brother returning to the keep in secret. There was far too much at stake in the palace. He trusted Xocthl and Loraeta. Even Merlo was less worthless than the rest of the gnats in scale armor around the Citadel. But three soldiers could not hold an entire Empire on their own against a determined and organized Ovar.

Lovou sat in the Indulgence Temple again.

A lively night rang on around him as he drank himself numb for another consecutive evening.

Loneliness and bitterness swirled with the liquor, all remnants from hours spent silent and trailing Cetlali. He did his best to keep his distance, to just focus on keeping her safe, whatever it would take. He needed a drink like he needed an axe to the head, but it was still a need all the same. It wouldn't get the point that he couldn't fight. And after years of testing his resilience, he discovered a unique attribute: he could always fight.

Xocthl was next to him, regaling an indulgent and the merchant across the table with a story from their time on the road as Rangers. They lost Zeger at a festival and didn't find him until well into the next morning.