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“Four nights you’ve been gone, Sire,” Heb teases, setting himself down beside Xan with his own steaming bowl. “We were concerned you had been seduced into the glory of the empire.”

Xan scoffs. Between mouthfuls of stew, he says, “Seduced into that pit of oily food and so much gilding my head aches.”

“No? Then what have you been doing? Did they cut your cock off?” says Heb.

Xan isn’t sure how much of this Inga is following, but she snorts into her ale.

“They did not,” Xan says, amused. “It seems that rumour is not true. Not in my case. They’ve been sending me whores. A woman, a man, very comely both.”

Longwise laughs, a familiar booming sound as he sits down beside Heb. “Poor you. Suffering on your doomed quest, Versun.”

“I thought every Azurian was chaste because their God demands it,” says Heb, pouring himself more honeywine.

Longwise gives Heb a playful slap on the cheek. “You are very foolish, boy. How would they sire children?”

Heb shrugs as if he had never thought so far. Xan could believe it. Heb rarely cares to string more than one thought together.

“So what have you learned in your time in this city that has been drowning you in whores?” Longwise says.

Xan shrugs heavily. “They know we do not have Elric Underlia. I do not know how. But there is no negotiation."

“You cannot trade him for Trysta?” says Heb.

“I cannot trade him because they know we do not have him. And Atticul has told me that Selim’s plan was to take me hostage when I set foot in the Rose Palace and exchange me for Underlia.”

“Dogs,” Inga grunts.

“The elders will be pleased to hear then that they were correct,” says Longwise.

Xan only nods. He was told this was foolish, that he would likely die in Attar if he answered the Azurian demand to come to the palace

Inga sits back and claps her hands. “Very well. Then we must move on with the other plan. Perhaps it will still gain us the safe return of your sister. When should the Mortingales rise up and take the filthy city of Attar? Mortingales are not scared of a little snow and rain. We number two dozen in our safehouse.”

“You wish to attack before Lukas Darekul is executed?”

Inga’s expression is unreadable. “This is not about Lukas. I would rather he lives, but if my brother has to give his life for the freedom of Azuria so be it. I am certain he would agree.”

Xan is not sure who they speak of until Longwise leans close and says, “Lukas Darekul killed Selim with Trysta. He used to be a Mortingale Outlaw and he is one of Rafus’s bastards.”

“If he is the son of Prince Rafus,” Xan says, “How can he be your brother?”

Inga takes a sip of her ale. “Every Mortingale is my brother or my sister. Whether I wish it or not.”

“Very well,” says Xan. “If he killed Selim he is one of our own, even if he be a Darek. But there are many threads to this fabric. The city is uneasy and Atticul is a fool. I think it likely that even without the Mortingales causing unrest the people will rise up in anger at the Ascension. If you were to choose that moment to strike, the Ascension itself, we will have something quite beautiful.” He says it tightly. He knows there is much more to explain.

“The city guard in Attar is well-armed,” says Inga. “On Ascension Day things will be tightly secured. They may even call on the Imperial Army. Many will die.”

“Many die in Attar every day,” says Xan. “People are already hungry and cold. Soon they will be starving and freezing. But if we storm the Ascension decrying the Dareks, the people of Attar will surely heed our call for revolution. We will take the streets, then the palace, then the empire itself.”

“You would have us simply wait? We are ready,” says Inga, irritably.

“After the Ascension, Atticul plans to ride north. He has some business there. His bastard brothers who he fears will challenge him for the throne. If he does that, there is the best chance for the riots to become something truly devastating for Attar.”

“But,” says Longwise, “Atticul could still have the chance to take Lukas and Trysta’s heads if we plan to wait until they are on the block.”

“No matter,” says Inga sharply. “Many have given their lives. Many more will. We will free them or they will be glorious martyrs who will be figureheads for our cause.”

“Then we are agreed,” Xan holds out a hand to Inga.