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“One can always trust the elves to come up with something clever,” Koque said. She held a bottle between her fingers, the stopper lifted up to her nose. “They may not have the wealth of Krustau, but it is only because they are still so young.”

Prince Hallu nodded, frowning as he considered his words. “Do you believe that we should limit the amount of imports?”

“A good question,” Tallu said. He sat to the side, looking out the window. In his lap, an abandoned scroll fell over his legs. “Koque?”

“They have effectively cornered the market on luxury items,” she said. “If we limit the imports, then the only ones who will benefit are the merchants, who can charge a premium price to rich imperials, then claim to the elves that no one in the Imperium wants what they are producing, so they should offer it to the merchants at a discount.”

“But if we let these take over the economy, then all the wealth of the Imperium will flow south.” Hallu visibly bit his lip, glancing at Tallu.

I could see the smile on Tallu’s face as he turned to his brother. “Yes, some of the wealth will flow south, but while they are focused on creating these luxury goods—these perfumes and paints—we will rebuild the Imperium to something stronger, where our wealth is not determined by what any other nation does.”

“Unless someone declares war,” I pointed out.

“And if we are good rulers, and respect our allies, then we are even safe from that.” Tallu smiled at me, his eyes crinkling, and I couldn’t have imagined five years ago that he would be so open with his expression, even if it was just his family in the room.

“Good. That means I can wear this,” Koque said. She brushed the stopper across the underside of her wrist.

In the Ariphadeus, the story went like this: once a young warrior walked out into the desert. He traveled under the hot sun and the cold moon, because he could hear the song of the animalia.

Finally he reached the spot in the desert where the song was the loudest. But there was nothing there. It was simply more sand, another dune for him to cross.

He sank to his knees, his body nearly skeletal, because he had not thought to bring water or food on his journey. His story could have ended there, but instead, he began digging. He removed the sand dune, handful by handful of sand.

He worked until his fingers were bloody and there was no skin left on his bones. He worked even when the scorpions stung him, and he lost a leg and then an eye.

When the sand dune was gone, he saw a temple, the song echoing from behind its white pillars. He walked through it, and inside found the animalia who had been lost to the world.

“Why have you come for us?” Wise Owl asked.

“Because you called for me,” he said simply.

“Why would we need you?” Strong Ox demanded.

“Because you called for me,” the warrior said.

Clever Fox watched him, wanting to claim him for her own, but she knew that the only thing more dangerous than a man was a greedy one. “True, you have found us. What boon would you demand for freeing us from our captivity?”

“I desire nothing but to serve you. If I may listen once again to your song, I could want for nothing.” The warrior waited, knowing that in his weakened state, they could murder him and he could do nothing to stop them.

“Such loyalty should be rewarded,” Lethal Crane said.

So, starting with Compassionate Sea Serpent, the animalia gave him gifts. They gave him the workings of their magics, one by one, until his human body was full to bursting.

Then, the man cried out, and his human skin came loose, all the magic that boiled underneath revealing him for what he was. The animalia recognized him as the One Dragon.

One by one, they bowed in front of him, their guilt at having left the world making them finally want to see what they had missed.

They left their temple and returned to the world, which was how a great many other stories started.

I stepped onto the open field of Forsaith. The trees were heavy with fruit, and I reached up, plucking an apple from its twig and taking a bite. There was many a myth that started with a foolish mortal taking something that didn’t belong to him, and I was all the more foolish because I knew who it did belong to.

“You eat freely from the orchards that my people have worked so hard to tend to.” Ox spoke in a voice that rumbled through the earth.

“I came to speak with you,” I said. “The dwarves of Krustau complain that you carved a new river by plowing through their plains and up their mountains to their lakes to give Forsaith water.”

“So what if I did?” Ox said. “They have more than enough.”

“That may be,” I said, “but unless you want them to rise up against you, you must work with them.”