I was dismissed after a few more questions, though my father made it clear that he was not yet finished with Princess and reserved the right to summon us again if anything else came to mind.

  The meeting had been as enlightening for me as it was for him. I learned that he had been conducting an entire investigation into my death—not out of overt grief, perhaps, but more likely for his peace of mind or as a matter of diligence. He did not appear sorrowful when he spoke to me, yet I never doubted his love for me as his son.

  My father’s grasp on what transpired within his own household was tighter than I had initially given him credit for, and his knowledge extended further into certain subjects than I had previously imagined.

  “By Sabiens’s mantle… I know he’s your dad and all, but how in the world can you keep your cool when talking to him!?” asked a terrified Princess in the first window we could find in the west aisles. “I thought my heart would stop! A-and when you told him about Tirrha and about how I was not with you in your room for so long, I was sure he was going to order us to be beheaded! I think I… I think I peed a little…”

  “I noticed.” That trickle in our clothes was barely worth mentioning. I was quite the expert in being covered in filth; that much would evaporate soon, leaving no trace for others to discern. “Far more importantly, we have at last uncovered our next lead. The books we sought were far nearer than we ever imagined.”

  “You mean those you were reading in the Lord Duke’s office?”

  A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

  “Indeed. I need them, and I shall acquire them by any means necessary,” I avowed.

  “Have you gone completely insane!? What are you going to do? Ask for them nicely?”

  “I was contemplating a subtler approach—appropriating them without his knowledge. I need only transcribe the most pertinent details, which we can accomplish under cover of night.”

  “Are you trying to get me killed!? No! That would never work, Dubart! You hear me? No. Absolutely not. The Lord Duke’s stuff is the Lord Duke’s stuff. I’d rather face a hundred of the likes of Chelyo than risk crossing The Reaper of Tashinor.”

  “Princess, wars cannot be won without sacrifice. My father gave Tashinor a fair warning, were you aware? ‘Open the gates, or I shall take this city down,’ he advised, no falsehood in his demands. They did not listen. The alchemical compounds were a bit volatile when they collided with the debris, yes, and there were more casualties than anticipated, but all fell within the realm of expectation. Had he chosen to besiege the town, it would have taken months, during which time the people would have perished slowly—starving, diseased, and fatigued. It was a sound strategic decision. That title is entirely undeserved.”

  “I’m… going to be honest here, Dubart. I have no idea what you’re talking about. I don’t know the specifics; I only know he’s called The Reaper of Tashinor, and a lot of people died. Whatever. What I’m trying to say is that we’re not getting those books.”

  “Would you rather I slowly take over your life?” I reminded her what was at stake.

  “I would rather you speak sense! Now shut my mouth. I hear someone coming up the stairs. Let’s go to my room to change.”

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