\hypertarget{chapter-31-fall-or-flight}{%
\chapter{Fall or Flight}\label{chapter-31-fall-or-flight}}



\epigraph{``In boldness find salvation, for stillness is the herald of
death.''}{Princess Beatriz of Salamans, most famous for turning her trial for
high treason by the Highest Assembly into election to the office of
First Princess}



``I need you to write three letters for me,'' I told Hakram.

Three letters: one was a knife, one was a bet and one was a lie.
Wielding those like the sword and board that had once been my favoured
armaments, I would win or lose before the week was out. Comfortably
settled in my perch atop the barrow of a people long scattered to the
winds, I poured myself a cup of wine and kept a steady eye on Hakram.
The writing desk I'd had hoisted up here had not been built with orcs in
mind, that much was evident. My second was broader than the wooden
frame, and could not lean his armoured elbows against it without the
whole thing starting to groan like a dying calf. It was a rather amusing
sight, the tall orc bent over the desk with a long quill in one hand and
looking for all the world like he could be lifting the whole thing with
the other. The oil lamp atop the frame was an island of tangible
flickering warmth in the surrounding glow of the magelights that had
been brought here and hung from the raised stones. The sight of the
Mavian prayer wreathed in that pale halo was an eerie one, a reminder
that once upon a time fae had tread these grounds and made bargains with
those who had raised this strange work. It felt fitting, in a way, for
like my old friends of Summer and Winter tonight I intended treachery.

``Which first?'' Adjutant asked.

I sipped at my cup, let the warmth of the wine pool in my belly.

``To the Tyrant,'' I said. ``As follows: Kairos, you misshapen
treacherous weasel, you should have been drowned at birth. I expect
whatever spawned you tried but already the Gods had grown gills on your
neck, foul monster. Sadly this must have allowed you to crawl out of the
refuse pile they tossed you in to come trouble me today.''

The sound of the quill dipping into the inkpot followed by the scratch
of it against parchment filled the silence that followed. Hakram's
admittedly superb calligraphy should lend a touch of elegance to the
whole tirade, I decided.

``Therefore,'' I continued, ``in the spirit of our close and cordial
alliance, I offer my support for the demand that will be made by the
League of Free Cities in exchange for its acquiescence to a peace
conference. That support will have the full weight of my force and
influence behind it.''

I drummed my fingers against the arm of my chair as I waited for
Hakram's hand to catch up to my words, only resuming when his scrawl
stilled.

``Naturally, this is contingent on your own support in extricating the
Army of Callow and its allies from their current difficulties,'' I said.
``Should you refuse, I will be forced to withdraw from Procer entirely
and begin preparing the east for the wars that will come in the wake of
the Principate's destruction.''

Adjutant finished writing before raising a hairless brow at me.

``You think he'll believe that?'' the orc asked.

``He will,'' I simply said.

After glancing at the certainty on my face Hakram did not argue the
point any further, simply conceding with a small dip of the head.

``And add one last thing,'' I mused. ``Lower down, like we're trying to
be discreet. `I have heard that recently you lost a great many horses,
which is a tragic happenstance. As I would not have such a dear and
noble friend without a mount, I offer you this purebred Liessen charger
to ride into battle instead. May he serve you well.'\,''

Adjutant looked at me oddly.

``We don't have any purebreds,'' he told me. ``They're too costly to
field. The Order uses mostly halfbloods and Vale breeds.''

``I'm aware,'' I said. ``I need you to find the shoddiest, sickliest
goat we have and paint it white. Not well, though, just kind of
half-heartedly. Try to make it a female one if you can. Send it along
with my letter, when the time comes.''

The orc cleared his throat a little too quickly for me to buy him
looking at me this disapprovingly.

``This is how you deal with Kairos, Hakram,'' I told him nonetheless.
``He's not like Malicia or the Dead King, he doesn't give a damn about
respect or rules or making deals that'll last longer than a moon's turn.
I offered him steel and honey and an elaborate insult -- it should do
the trick.''

``We're not made of goats, Catherine,'' Adjutant reproached.

``Fine,'' I sighed, disgruntled. ``If you can't find a suitable one just
find a stray dog and glue horns on. Diplomacy isn't cheap, Hakram, you
should know this by now.''

``As you say, my queen,'' the orc serenely replied.

I gestured obscenely at him before watching him blow the last lines of
my letter dry, fake my signature without missing a beat and finally roll
the parchment when it was all done. It went into a small leather sheath,
ad a red wax candle was lit from the lantern's flame before he dripped
it atop the scroll. The royal seal was pressed until it made its mark,
my sword and crown on a balance, and it was put away. His eyes returned
to me and I put down the cup I'd finally managed to empty.

``To the Pilgrim,'' I said.

``Full honorifics?'' Hakram asked.

I mulled over that a moment.

``No,'' I finally said. ``Grey Pilgrim will do, it's in that function
I'll be addressing him.''

The tall orc nodded, and began writing anew.

``I, Catherine Foundling, first anointed Queen of Callow of my name,'' I
said, ``formally offer the unconditional surrender of all forces under
my command to the Grey Pilgrim, Tariq of Levant, also known as the
Peregrine. Let there be no further bloodshed between your armies and
mine, and through that surrender peace be obtained for us all.''

It was with a low whistle that Adjutant finished writing the last
sentence, with a practiced hand adding signature and seal when I shook
my head to make it clear there would be no other addition.

``The third?'' he asked, afterwards.

``Addressed to the full war council of the Army of Callow, including
summons for Vivienne Dartwick,'' I said.

Hakram went still, for a moment, and when he moved it was to eye me
warily.

``In your formal capacity as queen?'' he asked.

``That's the one,'' I casually agreed. ``Put up the formalities, make
this an official decree with my seal, and take one of the larger
sheaths. I want to write to them about Theodosius' Dilemma, the whole
story.''

Adjutant cleared his throat.

``Those of us who went through the officer track at the War College have
already heard it,'' he said. ``There was a tactics class on the
subject.''

``Some of them won't know it,'' I said. ``So we'll be thorough, yes?''

``Yes,'' he gravelled in agreement.

For the longest time there was only my voice cast over the scratch of
quill against parchment, as I told the story mostly the same as I had
read it. There was, however, to be an addition afterward. Hakram's hand
stilled, and when he looked to me for instructions I have him one last
sentence.

``I grant to Vivienne Dartwick the title of Lady Dartwick, with all
assorted honours and privileges;'' I said, ``in addition I name Lady
Dartwick the heiress-designate to the crown of Callow.''

I hadn't gone as far as naming her a princess of the royal house as that
would mean, legally speaking, that she was either my adopted sister or
daughter. Both thoughts were rather unsettling for all sorts of reasons.
But by first granting her noble title, even if that title was landless,
I could make her my successor without breaking Callowan law. Didn't much
like the thought of expanding the aristocracy, even for Vivienne, but
the only two ways to make her heiress-designate without making a bloody
mess of feudal law had been that or bringing her into the royal house.
The two ways of doing that were adoption and marriage, neither of which
I believed to be palatable to us, so Lady Dartwick it was.

``It's a dangerous game, Cat,'' Hakram warned me.

``It's the only kind we ever play, Adjutant,'' I said. ``And the letters
are only to be sent when I say, so don't worry.''

``That would be a first,'' the orc drily replied, but his hand moved
nonetheless.

Three sheaths of leather were hidden away after he finished, bearing my
seal, letters awaiting within. \emph{A knife, a bet, a lie.} Instead of
crawling into bed afterwards I spent half the night gazing at the stones
where Robber had hung parchment for me. All the while silently feeding
Night to the staff in my lap that was not a staff but a sword, a sword
that was not a sword but a prayer.

When I finally fell into slumber I slept only fitfully, dreaming of
laughing crows.

---

Years ago I would have been in the thick of it. Tripping over every
discovery, blood going warm and cold with the twists and turns of Fate
as I struggled to bend it to my will. I was older now, though, and
though perhaps not all that much wiser I was at least more patient. I'd
learned the value of not tipping your hand too early when playing these
sorts of games. And so it was sitting in my stolen chair, pulling at a
mug of steaming tea, that the news found me. It was Vivienne who carried
them up the barrow, steps quick and alarmed.

``A breach had opened to the southeast,'' she told me. ``An army is
going through, its banners from Levant and Procer.''

I inhaled the fragrance of the tea and did not reply, letting her pace
back and forth. So it was finally starting.

``Who was the first out?'' I asked out loud.

``Our outriders weren't close enough to-'' she began.

I raised a hand.

``I wasn't asking you,'' I gently said.

Larat stepped out of the circle of stones with the languid grace of a
hunting cat. The huntsman who'd once been the Prince of Nightfall walked
against what I instinctively felt to be the cast of this circle, the way
its power had once been leaning. It was like watching a man stroke a cat
the wrong way, only I could almost feel it in my bones. Truly, my
treacherous lieutenant had taken to petty vexations the way fish took to
water. His long cape streamed behind him lazily, dark as night and sewn
with jewels. The furs and leather he wore were fastened at his waist by
a sash of scarlet cloth, from which hung that sheathless sword he
favoured.

``A hero, most tenebrous of queens,'' Larat smiled. ``Named and finder
of paths, strutting for the rest of the cacophony to follow.''

``His actual Name, Larat,'' I said, unimpressed.

``A sorcerer of roguish inclinations, my liege,'' the fae replied,
raising hands to appease me. ``Fleeing, then finding and now all
aflutter from the sight of us.''

``The Rogue Sorcerer,'' I grunted. ``Yeah, that sounds about right.
They'll need a mage for this, and last I heard the Witch was up north.''

``That's all you have to say?'' Vivienne said. ``Catherine, the
situations is getting grim. It's an army of nearly sixty thousand that
crossed, and already Malanza's own host is sending riders to make
contact.''

I sipped at my tea.

``How long before the pursuers come out, do you think?'' I asked Larat.

``Within the hour there will be a break,'' the huntsman grinned, a slice
of pale malice between red lips. ``And the parade of fools will merrily
stumble out.''

``Cat?'' Vivienne slowly said.

Her eyes were moving back and forth between us, like she couldn't quite
decide who to look at.

``Kairos is crazy enough to take a shortcut through a crumbling
half-realm likely run by Masego having a breakdown just to get here
earlier,'' I said. ``On the other hand, are the crusaders? Would they
take that risk just to go quicker? No, they wouldn't. But Kairos wants
them here as well, and he dictates the military strategies of the
League. Which means\ldots{}''

``He cornered them,'' Vivienne said, eyes alight with sudden
understanding. ``To give them the choice of a battle where they'd likely
be annihilated or taking a chance on a path through Arcadia.''

He'd been able to do this not because he was a peerless military genius,
I knew, or because he had some oracle at his side. It was simply that
the Tyrant of Helike had most likely been trading information with near
every other army out in Iserre, and so alone of all the commanding
generals he'd had the bird's eye view of what was happening in the
region. Given that, and the cadre of skilled warlocks that the Stygian
Magisterium was made up of, it was far from impossible to both corner
the other Grand Alliance army and ensure there was a breach nearby when
he did. Desperation would do the rest.

``And the crusaders got a guide for the journey, perhaps the only wizard
that could truly help them in all of Iserre,'' I said. ``That is Above's
due, the cast of providence. But that wizard also carries something I
want, because Below always gets its due. It all comes to a head here,
Vivienne.''

My friend rested her hand on the back of her neck, pressing back a few
curls of hair that'd not been brought into her crown-like braid. I'd
caught the twitch in her fingers with muted amusement, recognizing it as
Vivienne wanting to pass a hand through her hair before remembering it'd
been styled.

``What are you actually up to, Cat?'' she finally asked. ``Juniper's
been on edge.''

``Because I've left her to decide how an engagement should be fought, if
it happens,'' I said.

``Because you haven't been part of the planning,'' Vivienne frankly
said. ``Until now, you've been at the table for every campaign. That
you'd take a step back after chewing us out has us a little perplexed.''

Larat's lone eye was on us, the huntsman nonchalantly leaning against a
stone as he listened to our conversation. I debated dismissing him, but
I'd been the one to send for him in the first place and I still had a
conversation due with the unofficial captain of the Wild Hunt.

``If I didn't believe the two of you capable of discharging your
responsibilities, I would have demoted you,'' I replied. ``It's that
simple.''

Blue-grey eyes narrowed as I gave answer to only the least important
part of what she'd asked. I sighed and raised a calming hand.

``You can't be in the know for it,'' I said. ``It wouldn't work if you
were.''

``We don't have a great history with complicated plans,'' Vivienne
reminded me.

``It's not complicated,'' I said.

She looked skeptical, which only served to irritate me.

``It \emph{isn't},'' I sharply said. ``It's not a series of events
building on each other, it doesn't fail if there's a part that doesn't
happen. It's a set of counterweights that only move if there's a push.''

``I don't mean to question you,'' she delicately said.

Larat snorted, too loudly for him not have meant for the both of us to
hear it.

``That's exactly what you're doing,'' I flatly said. ``And in principle
I don't mind, but in this instance your having incomplete information is
part of the design. Which makes it all the more pointless when you press
for answers that I can't give you without making the plan irrelevant.''

``That is mildly polite way,'' Vivienne said after a moment, ``to tell
me to shut up and move along, isn't it?''

``I understand you're worried,'' I said. ``But I'm telling you this has
been accounted for.''

A mirthless smiled quirked her lips.

``So either I trust you or I don't,'' she said.

Part of me wanted to sharply point out that Hakram was almost as much in
the dark and he'd not needed this kind of coddling, but I held my
tongue. I did not mean Adjutant for the same kind of purposes that I
meant for Vivienne, and so it was unfair to both to try to expect the
same behaviours of them. I could not put the dark-haired woman in front
of me in positions of command and authority repeatedly and expect her
not to act like someone in them. She, and Callow itself, couldn't remain
under my shield forever. One day I would have to abdicate, and when that
day came I would not brook chaos and disorder in my wake. That meant
there had to be a worthy brow for the crown to be settled on, and that
brow would not belong to someone who feared to ask questions when it was
inconvenient. So I held my tongue, and let my irritation bleed out in
the silence that followed.

``The Everdark changed you, didn't?'' Vivienne finally said.

My brow rose, but she did not elaborate.

``I'll talk to Juniper, make sure she understands there's nothing to
worry about,'' she continued. ``Good hunting, Black Queen.''

``You'll know what to do, when the time comes,'' I said. ``I trust in
that.''

She sketched a bow before retiring, and it had my fingers clenching. How
was it, I wondered, that losing her Name had made her \emph{harder} to
read? Larat's lone eye had been watching us eagerly that entire time,
drinking in the complexities of the relationship hungrily. It was the
kind of thing Winter fae had delighted in, and my huntsman might no
longer claim any allegiance to that dead court but roots were not so
easily discarded. That vicious coldness would always be at the heart of
him.

``Larat,'' I said. ``Approach.''

``My queen,'' the fae replied, bowing after a flicker of a smirk.

The raven-haired huntsman stepped forward, light-footed and sure, and
smoothly knelt before me. I drummed my fingers against the staff in my
hand, idly wondering whether I'd gotten to the point where I should kill
him. Did he suspect my thoughts? I couldn't be sure, but it was with
interest he looked at my ebony staff.

``Curious?'' I asked.

``No threat to me, that softest of deaths,'' Larat said.

I leaned forward and smiled.

``Are you sure?''

The urge to deny me flickered across the fae's pale face, but a moment
pass and that denial never left his lips.

``You make sport of me, my queen,'' he said.

``Clever little fox, you are,'' I said. ``But not as clever as you
think. We made a bargain, and it's your way out, but we are bound by
more than that.''

``To my oaths I will remain true,'' Larat said.

``Of course you will,'' I said. ``You don't really have a choice, do
you? It took me a while to understand, but the details put it all into
place.''

``We gave our word willingly and without qualms, my queen,'' the
one-eyed fae reproached me. ``Why do you now remonstrate?''

``\emph{Remonstrate},'' I laughed. ``How offended you are, now that I
know I own you body and soul. Winter -- my Winter -- died and suddenly
your gates are a spinning wheel of destinations. Come now, did you think
I wouldn't learn of it? I am more than you liege, Larat, this entire
time I've been your patron. The source of your power. You took a chance
when you left Arcadia reforged, made yourself into a Wild Hunt that was
not matched to a Spring and Autumn. So to stay here in Creation, you
needed a little more than just calling yourself that. You needed an
anchor.''

``Have we not served you faithfully, O Queen of Night?'' Larat said.

``It must have been terrifying,'' I mused, ``to realize one day that
your oaths bound you to more than the Winter in my veins. That there was
an ocean of darkness, now, and that within it swam creatures in every
way your superior.''

``\emph{Superior}?'' Larat hissed, and the anger was bare and terrible.
``These-''

I smiled, inviting him to continue, but the former Prince of Nightfall
curbed his tongue. Too late to avoid confirming what I'd suspected yet
not known for certain. Ah, pride. Of all the weakness of the Fair Folk
it had always been my favourite.

``Seven crowns and one, laid at your feet,'' I said. ``That is what I
promised you, and that is what you will receive. Rise, Larat.''

I rose, and let a sliver of Night pulse through my veins. The Wild Hunt
was summoned, and my own mount with it.

``Don't worry, old friend,'' I told the fae with a warm smile. ``I'll
see to it that you get everything that you deserve.''

I wondered if it was a trick of the light, or if I was truly glimpsing
\emph{fear} in that sole eye. No matter. When night fell I would ride
with the Hunt, and the three of us -- Pilgrim, Tyrant, myself -- would
find out whose cunning would cut deepest.
