The air was tense and sharp. Her mother stood at the helm with the war-leaders beside her. Everyone seemed to be eying the others nervously, on the edge of speaking first before they remembered that Medea would not respond well to their questions. They were waiting for another, she had said. Whom that other was, Lysandra had no idea. Perhaps they were waiting for the valkyries to march in and slaughter them?

The Crimsith Court and Army (what was left of it) were not taking their doom very well at all. The news of Cobalt had shaken them to their core. For thirty years their reign had been almost entirely peaceful. The valkyries and elves had been so distracted with their own war when they took the empire that they had barely heard about the battle going on in the south. The rebels could hardly be counted as disturbing that peace.

Well, until now. Until the rebellion had miraculously acquired impossible numbers and strength and was now rallying with the valkyries against the Crimsiths. The others were puzzled, but she was not. Tarua Teris. They're behind all of this.

If only her tongue wasn't so tied. She had learnt more than all of Medea's spies had in mere weeks. The things she knew what rip the rebellions apart, though it wouldn't truly matter now that the Empire was about to fall to its knees. At best it was petty revenge, vindictive and pointless, and at worst it was a distraction that would destroy any hope of some terms of surrender that wouldn't end with the Crimson family dead.

When at last the unnamed guest arrived, everyone in the room turned to look at him. Who was it that the Empress cared about so much? She certainly wouldn't delay the meeting for anyone of them.

A gasp spread around the room.

General Hadlow walked through the door, his brown eyes so dark they looked black. They used to be hazel, she thought. The thought was chased out by another: Hadlow was meant to be dead.

"Y-you died." The stuttering was from a young warrior hoping to earn Hadlow's place. "The valkyries-Myra-"

"Myra burning Isidore didn't kill me, you oafs. Though she came a little close and is certainly going to be bleed for it later."

"All the reports-"

"The messengers-"

"The valkyries declared-"

"My cousin said he saw your body-" this speaker drew her mother's attention.

"Your cousin seems to have lied," her mother hissed at him. "Who is he?"
"L-lord E-Edmond, Your Imperial M-Majesty," he stuttered out.

"Has he told anybody else what he claims to have seen?"

"I-I-no, your Majesty."

"Very well then. Hadlow, I assure you, is not dead. He appears to be walking amongst us now, doesn't he?"

Edmond's cousin was silent.

"I asked you a question. Is General Hadlow walking amongst us now?"

"Yes, yes, Your Majesty."

"Thank you for clarifying that for us. Hadlow, are you well?"

"Quite well. Though it rains cats and dogs in the Isthmus."  Hadlow replied. The Empress laughed, like it was some private joke between them.

"Sit, General," she smiled, and he obeyed. "As you know the valkyries have taken Cobalt. Briefly, I can assure you." Medea did not bother to acknowledge the insurgence in her typical fashion. Derision was her main strategy of combatting the rebellion.

"With what army do we take it back?" Lysandra retorted, feeling bold. The others stared at her in open shock. Nobody questioned the Empress at all, let alone like she had. Not even Markus. Her mother had already caged her, and she couldn't get rid of her entirely, so what did she have to lose?

"Excuse me?" Medea asked.

"What. Army? Our forces were thrown into flames. The valkyries have fifty thousand of the greatest warriors on the continent. Our shield appears to have died with our army. How do we get Cobalt back? Burn it, how do we keep the sun-blasted capital? Or our lives?"

"Lysandra," her mother warned, but she wasn't interested in bowing again.

"Why are still here, pretending like the war isn't halfway into our living room? Why are we acting like nothing is wrong?"

"I am disappointed with our remaining generals as well," her mother said smoothly, reassigning the blame to the others in one perfect move. "But now Hadlow is returned we will find what happens when true strength pounds the valkyries on the head."  Lysandra wanted to laugh. True strength? Myra Isidore had killed three Elfin Lords. No human could ever be anything but laughed at by Miras.

"They will strike Kazimiar next. After that, they will come for Crimsith. We will be ready."

With that, her mother left the room and the court exploded into mutterings, wondering what on earth could make the Empress think she could worm her way out of this one.

               --------------

"Do you think we're going to die?" Lysandra asked Aaron when they returned to her room.

"Mother said she could handle it," her brother replied uncertainly.

"Right. Our army is gone, and they have taken Cobalt. The rebels, stronger than we thought possible, are with them in full force. Tell me, how does she handle it?"

"She's Mother. There must be something. No way would she plunge us into a war that we could lose."

"Is that just desperate thinking? If the valkyries take Crimsith, we're dead. Both of us. Maybe they keep you alive a while-torture the secrets of alchemy out of you, but it's the gallows for us both, and mother, too. For the magic in our blood, not to mention the royalty that runs in our veins too."

"You can't say that. You can't say-you know." Aaron protested weakly. Lysandra rolled her eyes. Her mother had made it illegal to talk about a Crimson dying.

"Of course, they'll kill me first. An opening act, before they execute Mother. I wonder who'll get to do it. Myra, Viktoria...maybe an elf. Who knows? Maybe the rebel leader will swing the blade."

"Stop it! Don't make things worse."
"When are you going to admit we're all going to die?"

"They might not kill us," he protested weakly. "And Mother said we would be ready, didn't she?"

"I suppose if you tell them about alchemy, you might live," she mused. "But I'll die. Mother will die."

"I'll never tell about alchemy!" he protested. She turned and fixed him with her harshest glare.

"You will. You'll tell them everything. They will get it anyway-the MindWeavers will come if torture doesn't break you. Aaron, are you listening to me? You have to tell them. Make it easier for yourself."

"I-I-" he mumbled. "Sandy, I'm afraid."

"I know," she whispered. "We all are."

I will get him out. I have to.

         ----------------

Kestra

The party was enough to make her nauseous, but she didn't say a word.

The city of Azul had erupted into perfect bloom, screaming their victory to the skies. All around the city, banners blew with the faces of her mother blazing in the sky. The whole world seemed to be chanting Myra Isidore's name. She was their hero, and their saviour. When she returned, they promised fireworks and parades, statues bearing her face and plaques with her name. But right now, she was far away, in unknown desert, so her daughter was the centre of all the attention.

No one knew she was the Keeper Heir. But everyone knew whose daughter she was: their hero's. Vera played the part of the perfect monarch, but no one cared for Keeper Queens when there were War Queens and Heirs at the front.

Kestra had never wanted the crown and the attention that came with it, an overflowing sea of royal duties and parades.

No, her sole and secret dream was a sweet little cottage in the Painter's Quarter, her mother there with her, Aunt Viktoria and Vera popping in for tea and to look at her most recent work. There would be a little shop sticking out of the house, and there people might come to buy her pieces: mockingbirds and dolphins and whatever she felt like painting at the time. Sometimes a girl with moon-white hair would sneak into the dreams, but she didn't think much about her. A friend, probably.

It was strange to be an Isidore in more ways than one. Like any other royals, they lived apart from the rest, leading a whole different life, walking in an entirely different world.

Where other children jumped in puddles and made mud pies, the Isidores would wear little gowns and play inside vast palace walls. Where others might think of the mortgage or the rent, the Isidores bathed in luxury and worried over the kingdom and the war.

But it was more than that. Any valkyrie child, rich or poor, noble or common, was raised to worship Lyra, Sarai and Belle, and any child learnt awe of the phoenix birthmark pressed on the necks of Keeper Heirs by the sea, and by Belle herself.

For some Isidores, it got into their head. For others, it was simply strange. Becoming a key figure in one's own religion had never really sunk in for Kestra, and she would get surprised whenever she realised statues of newborn Keeper Heirs actually depicted her as a baby. Learning about the ones who came before her was equally strange: Vera had told her to think of the past Keeper Queens and their Heirs as her ancestors, which made things unusual. Who could claim to be descended from the almost mythical founder of Azul? Who could say their great-grandmother had been one of the famous Queens in history?

Yes, it often got into the queens' heads. For Kestra, though, it was daunting.When people saw the phoenix birthmark, when that secret was exposed to the world, everyone would expect her to be glorious. Everyone would expect Belle's choice to have some reason behind it. That was another thing that caught her by surprise occasionally: she had supposedly met the goddess of the arts and sciences when she was just an infant, had supposedly been touched by her to gain her birthmark.

Vera had told her that she would get used to it, and not to think about it too much. But how could she not think about?

At least the truth of her title was not yet known to the rest of the world. At least now she could pretend to be just Myra Isidore's daughter, if that could ever really have a 'just' in front of it. Kestra Lluvia might not be a piece of cake, but she was always better than Kestra Isidore, a girl who didn't just have royalty in her veins but in a crown and a birthmark too.

Eventually Vera let her give up smiling and waving and let her start to eat. Not like that!the Keeper Queen's voice echoed in her head. You're a pig. Other children might be able to do with just holding forks right and keeping their mouths closed, but you have to be more. You have to know the difference between ladles and spoons. You have to nibble, nibble, nibble. Just a small desert, Kestra. Did anyone ever see a Keeper Queen have a second helping? Sweetheart, fat queens do not inspire armies. They do not captivate their people. They just look fat.

The last bit was Viktoria's impute, but Vera shared the sentiment.

Why me? Kestra asked the stars as the night wore on. Why do you choose me, Belle, out of all the thousands?