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“Sorry,” Ladislava, a common-born soldier, apologized to Randolph when she accidentally bumped into him on her way out of the Emperor’s tent. Before Randolph could reassure her that it was fine, he noticed the black eagle on Ladislava’s lapel.
“No, no. I’m the one that’s sorry, General.” Randolph saluted her. “Congratulations on your promotion.”
“Thank you,” Ladislava almost saluted back at him, before remembering that now she out-ranked him.
As she walked away, Randolph now knew that the Emperor was giving promotions. Which meant, that his thankless work as a private would be rewarded.
Randolph sauntered proudly into the Emperor’s tent.
She was sitting at her desk, ink-black feather quill on hand as she wrote down something. Behind her was her right-hand man and shadow: Marquis Vestra.
“Randolph von Bergliez, reporting for duty!” Randolph saluted.
“Von Bergliez…” Emperor Edelgard hummed, scratching her chin with the feather quill. “You are a nobleman, yes? From one of the Great Houses?”
“Not by blood. My mother was a young widow, and Roland von Bergliez married my mother to keep her from falling into destitution.”
“I see,” the Emperor pushed away the paper she had been writing on. “You are Count Bergliez’s stepbrother. You must have a good education, yes?”
“I know how to read and write.”
“That will be more than enough,” the Emperor turned to Marquis Vestra, who handed her a box.
“Your Majesty,” Randolph knelt in front of her, eager to earn his black wings—
“I, Emperor Edelgard von Hresvelg, name you as part of my Information Corps,” she opened the box and pulled out a pin that looked like a scroll of parchment with an eye in the center. “Your duty will be to the Empire’s moral and social integrity.”
“I am… honored,” Randolph had never heard of such a thing as the Information Corps before.
“You will now report to Marquis Vestra,” the Emperor said, fastening the pin on Randolph’s lapel. “Hubert, if you will?”
“Yes, your Majesty,” Marquis Vestra said. “Informant Bergliez, you are assigned to the 11th Regiment representing the Information Corps. You will not report to General Ladislava, but to me. Is that clear?”
“Yes, sir!” Randolph stood up and saluted him.
“You will examine every scrap of paper, every play performed, every sea shanty, any form of communication… and you will eradicate all misinformation that proves inconvenient to her Majesty.”
“You want me to… eradicate misinformation?” Randolph asked.
“It is a duty only someone with your skills can do,” Marquis Vestra’s eye seemed to glimmer with malice. “Any oaf can kill someone on a battlefield. But reading… reading is a rare privilege. You understand the importance of your task, yes?”
“Yes, sir!” Randolph saluted him again.
...
...
Although Randolph would have liked to work his way up the army, being part of the Information Corps had some nice benefits. Apart from a better salary and the right to take an annual leave, his coffer with his belongings was not opened when passing through checkpoints. He also had the right to bring a personal valet. Randolph had not hesitated in bringing Séamus along, as he was a good and loyal man.
“Look at this, Séamus,” Randolph said, gently tracing the illustration on the book he was reading. “This shade of blue can only be achieved by crushing up blue gemstones from Almyra. This technique stopped being used since the Faerghus Rebellion, when Loog von Blaiddyd’s army discovered a way to make a blue dye with a plant native to the north.”
“Is that so?” Séamus shrugged. “That must be an old book, Master Randolph.”
“And a rare one, too. The author is, allegedly, Apostle Aubin. Few people know of the four apostles, who were involved with the founding of Garreg Mach.”
“It’s a damn shame it must be destroyed because it’s a religious artifact.”
“Indeed… listen to this: ‘Should a ruler exert their power without mercy, there will be a point where the common folk will rise and depose them.’ Isn’t that an unusual idea? The thought that subjects could remove someone in power… utterly unprecedented!”
“It’s a good thing we came by this tome before anybody else did,” Séamus nodded. “If this fell into the wrong hands… the Emperor will be pleased when this is disposed of.”
“She will indeed…” Randolph said, looking down at the words that were so simple, so true, and so very dangerous. “Has my shipment arrived from Enbarr, Séamus?”
“Yes, Master Randolph. This month’s shipment of pornographic goods has arrived.”
“I could use some light reading,” Randolph said, gently closing the priceless tome in his hands before handing it to Séamus. “Well, you know the drill. We’ll dispose of it the usual way.”
“I’ll go get the kindling. After this burning, I’ll help you pack for your annual leave.”
“Thank you, Séamus. That is all.”
Randolph had at first been earnest at his post. However, the directives that he received from Marquis Vestra seemed a little restrictive. How many thankless hours had writers, scribes and thinkers spent, putting pen to paper; only for their masterpieces to end up as little more than ash? Perhaps Marquis Vestra or her Imperial Majesty would be able to determine which works of art were worthless and which were worth saving. But Randolph had no right to make such claims. He avoided burning all the materials he could get his hands on.
Of course, his post at the Information Corps had benchmarks, like a minimum of burned books or banned materials per year. Randolph made sure to aim for a middling performance by going over said minimum, but never standing amongst the most prolific agents in the Corps. He kept the priceless tomes safe in his coffer; and burned the mass-produced, dime-a-dozen pornographic prints sent from Enbarr to each member of the army as ‘motivation fodder’.
Though Randolph did feel some guilt over burning the porn, he could feel less guilty about sacrificing his copies to fulfill the requirements that his post demanded. One copy of the mass-printed porn that was lost to the flames wouldn’t affect its legacy nearly as much as burning the only remaining copy of ‘Ruminations on Rulership’ by Apostle Aubin.
Now that Randolph would take his annual leave, he would go back to his residence in Enbarr and put the ‘pornography’ safe in his library. Truly, it was all thanks to Séamus that Randolph managed to keep his little ruse going for as long as it had.
The only problem was that people tended to assume things about Randolph when they heard that he accumulated pornography.
“Informant Bergliez!” Private Leon saluted him. “Are you gonna watch too?”
“The burning? It’s tomo—”
“Huh? No! Well, the burning’s nice and all… but I meant the Blind Swan’s performance!”
“The Blind Swan?” Randolph asked.
“He’s a dancer! My brother who’s stationed at Arianrhod said that he’s very good! I’ve been saving my salary since I heard a rumor that he’d be coming to our camp. Maybe if I’m lucky I’ll get chosen for the personal dance!”
Randolph was dragged by the private to the main tent where the sound of fiddles, hollering and laughter joyfully rang out. The atmosphere was a mix between a low-class tavern and an exclusive gentleman’s club.
“Informant, is it true?” Private Leon asked, pushing him to a seat right next to the stage. “You’re going back to Enbarr?”
“Yes, it’s time for my annual leave,” Randolph said. “But it’s only for two weeks.”
“Man… the Information Corps have the best vacations! I wish I could get a week off to visit my grandma…”
“Your service is a great boon for the Empire,” Randolph said. “When we win, you’ll go back home.”
“Yeah, I guess that’s true,” Private Leon deflated a little. “Apologies, Informant Bergliez.”
Randolph was going to reassure him that there was nothing to apologize for, but right then, all chatter died down. A figure stepped out from behind a curtain. A man with blonde hair, dressed in flowing white robes. His build was tall and slim. He wore a white blindfold over his eyes. The mysterious man also carried a lance. A good silver lance, if Randolph had to hazard a guess.
The blindfolded man walked to the middle of the stage, and with a sudden and swift strike, he impaled his silver lance into the raised wooden platform. His form was impeccable. Almost as if he were a trained fighter—
The Blind Swan climbed onto the impaled silver lance. The music began to play. He danced and spun on the lance with ease.
...
...
“Professor, this is not ballroom dancing,” Dimitri could feel his face burning with embarrassment after finishing a spin. “Is it really okay for me to dance like this at the White Heron Cup?”
“Trust me, Dimitri,” Professor Byleth said with a slight upturn of his lips. “Nobles really like this type of dance. Back in my mercenary days, they would pay top coin to see us perform.”
Dimitri resisted the urge to ask where Professor Byleth performed, and why a mercenary moonlighted as a dancer. He didn’t want to think of what sort of brothels, taverns and other such dens of iniquity his stoic-faced professor must have performed in.
But it seemed that the professor had been right. Dimitri swept the competition, much to his shock and confusion. Apart from winning a certification to be a battle-dancer, Dimitri also won a couple of lascivious stares from his classmates and friends for the rest of the month.
On the days leading up to the Professor taking their revenge on Captain Jeralt’s murderers, Dimitri decided he would never again dance in his life.
...
...
Dimitri prepared himself before going onstage to dance. As he checked his lance’s condition, he could hear the whispers from the audience. Most of them, as usual, were excited whispers about how they had saved money to ‘get a personal dance’. The usual drivel as always.
But a couple of words from the chatter caught his attention.
“—going back to Enbarr?”
Dimitri stilled, honing his ears to listen in more.
“Annual leave…two weeks…”
“…Information Corps… Informant Bergliez.”
The Information Corps were allowed clearance without being searched at checkpoints. If Dimitri somehow managed to tag along with this informant, he could get to Enbarr in no time at all. Though his method of moving with the armies and bribing his way through the checkpoints with gold and his dances had been effective so far, it was also painfully slow. Despite trying to head down south as directly as possible, he had only just gotten into Varley territory.
Filled with purpose, Dimitri tied the white blindfold over his eyes. People tended to assume that he was completely blind, instead of just blind in one eye. He never bothered to correct them. The blindfold was yet another part of his act.
He just had to find the Informant, and butter him up…
...
...
When the Blind Swan climbed upon his lance, spreading his legs wide open, Randolph had the privileged view of his… he had a… the Blind Swan’s…
“You think his thing’s as big as the bulge looks? Or do you think he pads himself for performances?” Private Leon asked.
“I-I wouldn’t know,” Randolph stuttered, trying to make it seem as if he hadn’t been ogling.
“He’s swinging it around a lot… maybe he’s just half-hard?” The private hummed.
The Blind Swan might’ve been blind. But he wasn’t deaf. He easily pulled out his lance from the stage’s center and, with his lance on hand, walked towards where Randolph and the private were seated. For a second, Randolph was certain that he was going to get run through by that lance. He recognized the lingering bloodlust in the air. He was going to die.
“A dance,” The Blind Swan said… asked? It was hard to tell what his inflection was. His voice was raspy and deep. It was more intimidating than it should have been for some random camp follower.
“Oh!” One of the privates next to him pulled out a fat coin purse. “Yes, please!”
“I’ve got more!” Another private yelled, thrusting his coin purse forward.
Other people in the gathering started screaming and waving their money, begging for the honor. But the Blind Swan didn’t seem to pay them any heed. Instead, he turned his head towards Randolph. Probably waiting to hear how much money he had.
“I’m sorry… I don’t have anything,” Randolph squeaked, bending beneath the Blind Swan’s overpowering presence.
The Blind Sawn nodded and then turned around.
The crowd immediately started yelling, begging the Blind Swan not to leave. Others seemed to curse Randolph for not having anything to offer.
One of the privates next to Randolph shoved the coin purse into his hands. Then, he yelled above the hubbub: “He has coin now! Informant Bergliez has coin!”
The Blind Swan stopped. But didn’t turn.
The rest of the crowd shoved their money into Randolph’s hands.
“I-I can’t accept this!” Randolph tried to tell the crowd, but they were too busy screaming at the Blind Swan to not leave.
All the noise immediately died down when the Blind Swan finally turned back. He picked up his lance and pointed the tip just a hair away from Randolph’s face.
“A dance?” The Blind Swan asked. His displeasure was practically dripping from his voice. It felt as if he was asking Randolph if he wanted to live or die.
With everybody looking at him in anticipation and his hands heavy with their hard-earned wages, Randolph had no choice but to agree. As if he was offering a tribute to an angry God, Randolph offered up the coin purses in his hands.
“Y-yes, please.”
The lance in front of Randolph’s eyes was pulled back with a swoosh! Then, the dancer took all the money in Randolph’s hands, spearing each coin purse on his lance. Once the last of the coin purses were speared, the Blind Swan turned away from the crowd and thrust his lance to land somewhere behind the stage’s curtain.
“Two gold, ten silvers, and a hundred and four copper pieces,” the Blind Swan said, somehow able to tell how much money he had earned. “If even a single piece is missing after the dance, I will use everybody’s entrails as bowstrings.”
The crowd cheered.
Randolph was quite sure he had wet himself. After all, he could feel something wet and warm in his straining pants—
Oh.
No. It wasn’t piss.
Randolph’s face grew beet red. There were many things he did that he wasn’t proud of. But even killing children could not compare to the shame and guilt he felt right then.
“You’re all the same,” the Blind Swan’s lips were twisted into a cruel smirk. “Filthy animals, unable to even control yourselves.”
Randolph knew he had to be angry. His honor and his dignity were being stomped on. But the only thing he could think of was just how much he wanted to keep on hearing the Blind Swan demean and sneer at him.
The Blind Swan was right. He was an animal.
“Don’t worry, Informant!” A private next to Randolph said with a big grin. “Most of your porn stash is masochist fodder, we all knew you were a bottom.”
“That’s—” Randolph found himself at a dangerous crossroads. He had to play along. Even if it meant sacrificing his pride as a man. “I-I like all porn!”
“You like porn?” The Blind Swan sneered, straddling Randolph. The Blind Swan didn’t seem to care that Randolph was still too sensitive from his… release. Or perhaps, he seemed to enjoy watching him squirm. “You’re more pathetic than I thought! You needed everybody to pay for your dance, you soiled yourself before I even started… And now you tell me you’re some porn addict?”
“I-I… I am a porn addict,” Randolph lied. “I’ve always—ghk!”
The Blind Swan took Randolph by the neck. As his vision swam, he felt more warm wetness in his pants. Randolph didn’t want to think what that meant.
“How does it feel like,” the Blind Swan said the words with utter repulsion. “To know that your so-called noble lineage will be cut short by a failure like you?”
Randolph couldn’t answer. He could only focus on trying to take small gulps of air when he could.
“Filth like you should die,” the Blind Swan grumbled darkly. “But you’d like that too, wouldn’t you? ”
“N-no…?” Randolph managed to squeak out. His voice sounded a little too uncertain to his ears.
The Blind Swan humphed. He let go of Randolph’s neck. Then, he turned around and left.
Randolph finally felt the tightness in his pants ease up.
...
...
“My friends!” The informant yelled in front of a stack of books he was about to torch. “We continue our battle against misinformation and lies against…”
Dimitri tuned the rest of his speech out. It wasn’t important. Now that the bastard from the Information Corps and his valet were busy with the burning, Dimitri had to act. This was his best shot at getting into the Informant’s coffer.
The tent and the coffer were easy to find. However, a massive padlock cut Dimitri’s brilliant plan short.
Dimitri cursed under his breath. If only he had tried to learn lock-picking from Ashe instead of sewing with Mercedes, he would’ve had no problem with this. But of course, he wouldn’t have even thought about it back then.
“Glory to Emperor Edelgard von Hresvelg!” The crowd outside cheered. The bonfire was lit. “Glory to her Majesty!”
Dimitri cursed again. He had no more time to think. He took the lock and ripped it apart, the iron easily bending beneath his fingertips.
When he opened the coffer, it was filled with books, scrolls, and tomes. Was this all porn? That guy really had a problem… He had hoped to just make himself small in the space that remained, but there wasn’t enough for him. Dimitri took out a book to make space in the coffer—
Military History of Partholon, the spine of the book read.
Grief seized Dimitri, as sudden and unexpected as a winter storm in Faerghus. He had read this book back at the Officer’s Academy. It was a must-read for future Kings of Faerghus, with each new edition granting greater insight into that key strategic location that bordered the Margravate of Gautier and the people of Sreng. He remembered getting teary-eyed when he read his father’s name in the latest entry. The thought that such a tome was desecrated to reuse its covers for pornography angered him.
Dimitri opened the book. The entire tome was in excellent condition. All the contents were the same as he could recall.
What… was this?
He pulled another book from the coffer, then another and another. None were porn. All of them were important books that talked about the Kingdom or the Alliance or were made by people from those regions. This coffer… was filled with things that an Imperial Informant should be burning.
The tent opened.
Dimitri immediately braced himself for combat. When the Informant’s stupid face gawked at him, a brilliant plan came to Dimitri. He’d just have to threaten him with exposing his secret, and force him to take him to Enbarr—
“Blind Swan?” The Informant asked, his face turning red. “What are you doing here?”
“You are taking me to Enbarr,” Dimitri boldly declared. “You don’t have a choice—”
“Why do you want to go to Enbarr?”
“Silence!” Dimitri felt a headache split his head. “You will take me to Enbarr. I will hide in your coffer to cross the checkpoints.”
“No,” the Informant said.
“I’m not asking—”
“I need to get the contents of that coffer to my residence,” the Informant said. “But if we give you Séamus’s papers, you can travel with me as my valet.”
“Séamus?” Dimitri crossed his arms. “Who is that?”
“That… would be me, Master Blind Swan,” a brawny manservant spoke up from behind Randolph. “I am Master Randolph’s valet.”
“As a civilian, Séamus has papers to confirm his identity to get through the checkpoints,” Randolph said. “Blind Swan, you can come with me to Enbarr with Séamus’s papers. I’ll give Séamus enough gold to stay two weeks at an inn on the way to Enbarr. He can keep a low profile there.”
“Master Randolph,” the valet cleared his throat. “This plan is…”
“Treason,” Dimitri said. “If this gets out, your heads will be displayed at the nearest mile marker.”
The valet looked like he was about to faint. The Informant’s eyes were fixed on the book.
“I suppose some degenerate might want to masturbate to the Military History of Partholon,” Dimitri snarled, and rose the book he had in hand. It seemed that the informant knew where this was going. “I don’t care about some porn addict’s preferences… as long as I get to Enbarr.”
“Master Randolph, I beg you—” the valet turned to Randolph. “Let’s report him—”
“It’ll be fine,” Randolph said. “Just trust me, Séamus.”
...
...
Dimitri had hoped that once the valet was left behind at an inn, the way back to Enbarr would be quiet. He had no such luck.
“When did you decide to become a dancer?” Randolph asked, just as they passed the first mile-marker on the road.
“I didn’t have the luxury of choice,” Dimitri grumbled.
“Were you born into it?”
Dimitri tried to ignore him. He hoped that his silence would make it clear that he was not interested in conversation. Unfortunately, Randolph simply took his silence as permission to bombard him with more asinine questions. His questions ranged between dangerous (‘Where were you born?’) and inconsequential (‘What’s your favorite color?’). And after it seemed that Randolph had run out of questions to ask, he circled back to asking the questions he had already asked.
“Do you want me to eviscerate you?” Dimitri finally asked, putting down the coffer he was carrying and glaring at him.
“Not really,” Randolph said. “I just thought we should get to know each other since we’ll be traveling together.”
“I think you have misunderstood something: we are not friends.”
“Well…” Randolph shrugged. “All friends were once strangers.”
“We are better off as strangers,” Dimitri grumbled. He picked up the coffer and continued down the road.
Randolph spurred his horse to a little trot to catch up to Dimitri. Once they were close enough, he asked: “Why?”
“…”
“Is it related to the reason why you need to get to Enbarr?”
“If you keep bothering me with your questions, I will cut your tongue out.”
“Unfortunately, if you did that I’d probably die,” Randolph pointed out. “And the papers only allow you through the checkpoints if you’re accompanying me.”
“…”
“Why don’t you ask me something first? Maybe that will help us pass the time.”
“Alright,” Dimitri sneered. “Have you always been this annoying?”
“According to my sister, yes. But I think she’s more stubborn than me.”
Dimitri humphed in reply. For a blissful minute, there was only the sound of Randolph’s horse trotting on the road and Dimitri’s footfalls as he carried the coffer.
“Her name is Fleche. My sister, I mean.”
“I didn’t ask.”
“I know,” Randolph sighed. “I just miss her. She joined the army as a combat mage and is stationed at Myrddin. If I had become a General, we wouldn’t have been separated.”
“That’s what war does. Separate families,” Dimitri said before he could stop himself.
By the time they had to set up camp, Dimitri knew far too much about Randolph to truly call him a stranger. Randolph had a sister, he could still remember his birth father’s smile, his favorite color was yellow, he liked spicy food, he couldn’t afford to go to the Officer’s Academy but had enlisted in the army before the war to build his fortune, he liked drinking Fenja red wine…
“What’s your name?” Randolph asked, when he laid down on the bedroll in front of the fireplace.
“…I can’t say,” he admitted.
“Oh,” he said, but then turned around and closed his eyes. “Well, if you need a fake name, I can just call you Séamus. That’s what your papers say.”
...
...
The guard at Enbarr’s gate barely even glanced at Dimitri when he handed his identification papers. That wasn’t unexpected: the papers only stated his name (or rather, Séamus’s name) and that he was working as Randolph von Bergliez’s valet. Therefore, the only person worth looking at was Randolph.
“On your annual leave, Informant Bergliez?” The guard asked, pulling out a scroll.
“Yes,” Randolph said with a nod. “It’s been a while since I’ve been to the capital. I can’t wait to visit the Mittelfrank Opera. They always release a new production around this time of the year, don’t they?”
“Yes,” the guard mumbled. “The latest one’s Liora and the…”
The guard didn’t finish the title of the opera. Because he frowned slightly as he read something on that scroll. Dimitri had seen that look before. He had always seen it when whatever ruse he had planned to get him past a checkpoint had failed, and now he had to resort to trickery and bribes to get by. Fortunately, Dimitri was prepared for this. He pulled out a coin purse, heavy with all of his silver pieces. And just dropped it in the guard’s empty hand without a word.
The guard sighed. And discreetly put away the coin purse.
“All good, Informant,” the guard said. “Enjoy your trip abroad.”
Randolph seemed to be perplexed. But Dimitri knew better than to bring too much attention to them. He carried the coffer and walked right into the city, walking at a pace that was neither too slow nor too fast.
“My residence is—” Randolph started.
Dimitri didn’t allow him to finish. He pulled Randolph into a lonely alleyway. There, he put down the coffer, and whispered to him: “We’re going to the ports.”
“What?”
“You heard him. ‘Enjoy your trip abroad.’ He only let us through, but he can’t promise you’ll be safe in Enbarr. Your name must have been on that list he had.”
“But how could that be?” Randolph asked.
“The real Séamus must have reported you,” Dimitri said. “When we first made our travel plans, he seemed eager to report me to get me out of the way. If he were caught and tortured, he must’ve talked.”
“Séamus?!” Randolph seemed to be in shock.
But now wasn’t the time to be surprised. It was time to find a ship and leave. Dimitri picked up the coffer and pulled Randolph by the arm. Finding the docks was easy. Dimitri scanned the boats to find one that didn’t bear an imperial flag. When he saw one raising its anchor to set sail, he immediately ran towards it.
It was ridiculous, really. There was no reason for him to be so worried for Randolph’s fate. Now that Dimitri had passed Enbarr’s gates, he was just a few steps away from his goal, and satiating the cries for the dead. He didn’t have time to worry about some foolish informant that had kept a chest full of illicit books. He should have burned them and minded his own damn business.
And yet…
“Where are you going?” Dimitri asked the captain of the ship.
“Nowhere you can afford,” The captain grumbled, giving him a skeptical look.
“It’s not for me,” Dimitri turned around to look at Randolph. “Just him, and his coffer.”
The captain seemed to be skeptical. But even the most suspicious of people couldn’t resist the sweet sound of two gold pieces falling into their hand. The captain turned around, and ordered a couple of sailors to take the coffer from Dimitri’s hands. As they handled Randolph’s coffer, Dimitri shoved his last coin purse into Randolph’s hands.
“Séamus, what are you doing?” Randolph asked. “I can’t just take all of your money! Let me—”
“Dimitri,” he interrupted him.
“What?” Randolph asked.
“My name is Dimitri. I also have— had a sister. Stepsister. I will see her now, and deal with her.”
“What do you mean?”
Dimitri couldn’t answer Randolph. He didn’t even look at him in the eye. Because if he looked into his eyes and saw the concern in them, he knew he’d falter.
But he had no choice.
He had to do what he had set out to do, ever since he saw Edelgard unmasked in the Holy Tomb.
...
...
No matter the time of day, the outer ports of Morfis were always filled with lively chatter. Randolph always liked to wander the streets whenever he had to leave his room at the inn for the housekeeper to clean.
Merchants called out to him in cheery, sing-song tones. Some even shouted something that almost sounded like “very good, very nice, very cheap!” in Fódlan, though it was hard to tell with their accent. Amidst such a lively melody of voices, Randolph heard something he wasn’t expecting to hear, so far from home.
“…Emperor Edelgard…”
The source had been a group of Fódlans, covered in sweat and eating spiced meat in one of the food stalls.
“Excuse me,” Randolph spoke up to the travelers. “Are you from Fódlan too?”
After a rapid-fire round of cheerful introductions, Randolph learned that the merchants had just left Boromas two days ago. The latest news from Fódlan was that Emperor Edelgard von Hresvelg was killed in her throne room.
Randolph could only nod when he got the news. What else could he do? He had betrayed his Emperor, and now, she was dead… But instead of feeling guilt, he couldn’t help but feel worried for the Blind Swa— for Dimitri.
“Marquis Vestra’s also dead. He has to be. There’s no way the Emperor would get her head cut off in her own throne room if he were still around,” the freckled-faced Camille said, breaking Randolph out of his stupor. “People say that Faerghus and Leicester will join up and invade any moment now, but I doubt that. They never joined forces before, why do that now?”
“It doesn’t really matter,” Selwynn shrugged. “My ship is full of fine walnut furniture from Aegir. I won’t go back to Boromas until I’ve changed it all for aromatic oils, sugar and spices! Adrestians, Faerghans, Leicestermen… they’re all the same. As long as they pay, I don’t care.”
“I see,” Randolph didn’t know if Selwynn was right or not. Were the differences between the people of the three nations so insignificant? If they were, why was there a war in the first place?
“It’ll be a while, but when we finish our trading rounds, why don’t you come back home with us?” Camille asked.
“Home…” Randolph wondered how Fleche was doing. “Yes. I think I’d like that.”