Lysandra's Point of View

Lysandra had received his message soon afterwards and replied within hours. She was not planning on meeting with Lucifer yet. Not when her mother had changed the game so drastically with her proclamation of war towards valkyries and elves both.

She had known that the war would happen eventually. Her mother would not be content with merely the South when the valkyries and elves ruled the rich territories to the north. But she had always assumed that the war would happen later, when the empire they already had was more developed and the rebellion was more vanquished. Even then, she had presumed her mother would challenge the valkyries first and let the elves bicker whilst she crushed Miras and then rebuilt her forces.

If she managed to crush Miras at all.

Of course, as a student of war, history and politics, Lysandra understood the advantages that would come with facing both at once. It would be all too easy to play on the ancient grudges and feuds of the two races, and to poke at the weaknesses in enemies unused to fighting alongside each other and not against each other. Lysandra had debated it as well but had come to the conclusion that facing both at once would still be impossible. One was worrying enough.

Yet her mother had challenged them both, both of the 'God-Born.'

Lysandra found this as terrifying as she found it fascinating.

However, her Plan would not go entirely to ruin. In the long years that she had been scheming, she had also drafted a vague idea of what she would do in various disasters and successes. She had already had to alter her plan twice, once for when Aaron had transmuted lead, and again when he had distilled the Immortality Elixir.

She had ideas of what to do when the nation was crumbled by earthquakes or decimated by volcano eruptions. What to do if the rebels waxed or waned in strength. What to do if Medea's own court rebelled against her. Lysandra even had a vague idea of what to do if her mother lost the throne. What to do without Dark Mirrors or even the entire rebellion.

So of course, she knew how to reshape her Plan to fit this war. It just involved stretching things out over time, and a few setting adjustments.

And by setting adjustments, she meant that she was going to Crimsith.

Crimsith was an interesting word. It hadn't existed in the Pre-Crimson, or Warlord, Era, but now it could refer to a range of things: a soldier or officer in service to her mother, a member of the court, a child of the Empress herself or the capital of Kallias.

The location of the capital was once home to several warlords with varying degrees of success. It was right by the coast, making it one of the coolest places in the desert country. With Cobalt, her domain, established as the centre of commerce and the prime home of the share-markets, Crimsith had become the city of politics.

Despite their duties across the Kallian Empire, the nobles would always end up living in Crimsith, close to the royal family. The other politicians came to the capital as well, along with the various agents and spies of the Empress herself. With the noble, wealthy people of Crimsith came the entertainers who the poorer areas had not a coin for, the bodyguards who were only required for politicians, and the most rigorous security in all of the Empire, and perhaps in most of the continent. Many of the coastal cities were like this, but the capital was by far the worst.

Of course, this did not mean that here, rebellion had winked out completely. They just played by a different set of rules than all the others.

Like the rest of the coastal cities, Crimsith was easy for Lysandra to read, to sift through and to manipulate. She knew the profit that was the religion of Cobalt, knew the politics that Crimsith revolved around, knew the academics and rich heirs of Kazimiar and could navigate the streets if Karone, rife with thieves and scams and whatever else the people there had managed to cook up in the six months since her last visit.

If there was anything, she could trust Karone to do, it was to invent some very creative new form of skulduggery and illegal activity.

As Lysandra entered the red marble palace, pausing to admire the brilliance of her mother's evil lair. That was truly what it was, just like it was drawn from a storybook.

The huge palace with its jutting spires and decorations that were quite menacing was made entirely out of marble, ranging from red to black but always nefarious. The castle's towers were sharply pointed, seeming to cut through the sky, and on a moonless, starless night, the Crimson Palace was as intimidating as her mother in had intended it to be. Even her throne was kind of creepy.

Right now, the palace suited her mood. She was not particularly happy to return to Crimsith, after she had just escaped to Cobalt. There was a simple reason for this: it was where her family lived. She found most of her family disagreeable, excepting her brother, and Aaron had been struck by an idea and was spending all day locked up in his laboratory. Their mother struggled to get him to come to dinner, let alone continue utilising his previous discovery of the transmutation of gold. It made her quite frustrated, because her mother liked her gold.

Lysandra walked into the Marble Palace, dressed in absolute finery. Her current hair colour was a rich auburn and was wearing a cool dress of dark green to offset it. A long waving cloak of silver trailed behind her. A tasteful collection of emerald jewellery matched her eyes and dress.

Everyone had their comforts: for her mother, it was the suffering of others, for her brother, it was experiments, mechanical thinking and logic, and for her...it was luxury: fine clothing, exquisite furniture and restaurants that required dictionaries to read the menu. Also, it really, really frustrated her mother for her to be 'frivolous' and 'shallow'.

Lysandra was surprised to receive a message from her mother asking her to come to the throne room. For a moment, she worried if she had been caught, but calmed her frayed nerves. Her mother did not usually execute people in the throne room.

Her favourite carpet was there, and gods forbid it get stained.

She swiftly made her way to the room; the cool marble floors a relief after the heat of the outside world.

"I decided we may as well get the rant from you now, daughter. About all your problems about how I'm handling this war." Her mother smiled. Lysandra ignored the rude tone of her mother's voice, given this was generally safer.

"Everyone thinks we don't stand a chance of beating Miras and Asriel at the same time."

"And by everyone, you're including yourself." Her mother yawned. "And you're here to find out how on the Walled Continent we are going to win this war." Lysandra shrugged.

"Why didn't you challenge them one at a time?"

"They'll tear themselves to pieces. The infighting will give us a significant advantage. But of course, you know that. You're not asking how it helps us, you're questioning whether it was a good choice at all. You are worried that the Kallian Empire cannot face down Miras and Asriel." Lysandra shrugged.

"I know you would not declare war without being reasonably confident that should you only reach out your hand for it, victory will be in your grasp. I am not here to question you, mother. I am here to ask, if I may, what ace that you have stored in your sleeve, and when you might reveal it."

Her mother smiled, looking so much like her cat. Those laughing eyes were familiar; Lysandra saw them each she looked into a mirror. They were her eyes, even though they were black as opposed to a dark emerald green. Cold and laughing and slightly insane. Filled with a thirst for power.

She and her mother could have been twins, separated only be years. Every time she looked in the mirror, she saw her mother's black hair each time she gazed at her own reflection. Before she'd started dyeing it all colours of the rainbow.

"You were always the most curious of my children. The most suited to rule. Which is why, sweet daughter, I never wanted you to be my heir." Her mother was stretching this out for her, enjoying the tantalising effect this had on her that had driven her so swiftly from the thriving share-markets of Cobalt. Lysandra played along anyway.

"Because you want to go down in history as impossible to best?" She said innocently.

"Because you'd slip poison in my drink and take my throne." Her mother replied sharply. No, that wasn't how Lysandra planned to finally dispose of her mother. Her plan was far more original.

"Ah," she remarked. "But really, what is it that will bring the God-Born falling from the heavens?"

"Wouldn't you like to know," her mother smiled. "I have not told a soul but sweet Sabran, and my generals. Who have been instructed to tell no one else, even Princesses who wave their titles around and demand to be told at once."

"I could help you," Lysandra offered.

"I have been planning this war since I first swept in and conquered the Deserted Lands. I have thought through everything in this plan, know its every trick and turns and failures and victories. I do not need you to give me insight."

"You told the Generals to help them prepare. You do not tell me because you don't believe I can help. So, what is it exactly that you think your cat can help you with?"

"Do you still think Sabran is simply a cat?" Her mother laughed. The words echoed through Lysandra's head.

Do you still think Sabran is simply a cat?

What else could the elusive, mischievous creature be? Of course, she had found it strange that Sabran had received the immortality elixir. But her mother was strange. Listening to her cackle, Lysandra came to the conclusion that her mother was pulling her leg.

She did this quite a bit.

"Will you be fighting?" Lysandra asked.

"Yes, along with your brothers."

"You're not afraid to fall in battle?"

"No. Don't you know me? A valkyrie sword could pierce through my heart and I would not die."

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For as long as Lysandra could remember, the witch had written to her. Even when she was a baby, she would send her little pictures that made up 'letters.' As she grew older and started learning how to write, she would send real letters that appeared right in front of her. In her childish mind, the witch became like an invisible friend, a friend who would listen to her stupid, insignificant concerns and write back meaningfully.

It wasn't until she was much, much older that she realised, just as children realise the Chocolate Hunt Fox was not real, that they were simply lies, made to gain her trust.

Still, she had delighted in the letters, and loved the witch with all her child's heart. So when she was six, she never suspected when she started asking things that appeared so silly, so random that they couldn't possibly mean any harm. In return the witch would gladly shower her with whatever she wanted at the time.

The first letter, Lysandra had kept with all the rest, and went like this:

Dear Princess Lysandra, (Lysandra had liked this as her parents and brothers never called her 'princess'.)

I like to collect things. Interesting things and boring things and strange things. Little bits of information that nobody else knows is very nice to know, becausee it makes me feel very important. Would you mind, my dearest friend, telling me something about your castle? Because if I could collect secret information about your castle...I could make a book of these interesting things that no one knows about? If you would please tell me something unknown about your home, then I would give you anything you wanted.

Fondly, The Witch of WitchLand.

Lysandra only knew what her reply had been because she had written it out twice, one neatly, one not so neatly, and only sent the second through the magic mailbox the witch set up on her balcony.

Dear Wish of WishLand,

I also like to colect things! I colect shells...all kinds of shells...oringe shells, gren shells, white shells, blue shells, purpil shellls...but not reed shells. I don't like reed shells. They look so angry.I'd be hapy to help you collect things. In return, I own lee ask for a tiara. Not a real one, though, but a fake one...but a good fake one. Mummy won't let me borow hers, which is very mean of her. I'll tel you a secrit then: in maths class, the teecher told me to count all the wattowers in the castle from his secrit map. It took me an our, but I finaly figured it out. It's 102! He told me I was wright and I was so, so, so proud...but Mummy says I shouldn't keep shouting how many it is, and got very angry at the teecher for giving the map...I haven't seen him since. I don't mind. He was very grumpy . Very is a new word of mine, and I like to use it very much. See! I just used it.I think the watchtower thing is a secrit but I am not two sure, though. What do you think? (Information not refundabil)

Yours fonduely, Liesandra.

P.S. Refundabil is also a new word for me.

Lysandra did not reflect on these times with very much pride.

During her very young years, she had asked for a multitude of things: cakes and toys, more tiaras and even the illusion of a puppy or a playmate to spend time with, exchanging army and guard numbers and information about her mother's politics. The only condition was that her mother would never know.

The witch did not seem inclined to attack the palace. Over the years, she had begun to assume she was actually gathering information in case of her mother finding her, since winning against Medea was a long shot, and a bad decision unless the witch had no other choice.

There had been, however, two important requests of her younger years.

As a child, she had been afraid of her older brothers' training as they learnt the ways of their magic. She had asked the witch to conceal hers, keep it secret and wipe it from memory. She'd spent a week collecting secrets for that, but she had done it. It had become invaluable.

The other thing she had asked her that had been somewhat useful: what did her mother pay for her magic? The answer was lies. In exchange for magic, the witches had stolen her lies, making it impossible for her to ever utter a single one.

She still wrote to the witches, exchanging information for more important things. Like real tiaras.

----------------

Lysandra's childhood had been unusual. Like all her brothers before her, her mother had left her to her own devices, barely seeing here during her youngest years. She was raised by nursemaids and tutors and left to explore the palace. She would spend her days avoiding her brothers, who she regarded as stupid and entirely irrelevant. She played through the palace halls, earning the disdain of the various members of the court, and her mother.

Everyone had assumed she would eventually marry some lord or duke or baron, furthering politics and powers, becoming a helpless, useless little puppet because she did not have magic.

They were very, very wrong about that.

She had excelled in her classes, beating her brothers, and learnt politics and economics and history and whatever she could get her hands on. Her days had been spent reading: every type of book you might imagine, every genre-with the exception of moral philosophy. Lysandra found such philosophy, and generally morals, quite pointless.

Aaron, born a mere year after her, was prophesied to be even more useless, this time determined to...actually no one knew what he would do, because he was just so far back from the throne that they really could not see a purpose for him. Yet he too had excelled: with math and with sciences, with engineering and problem-solving.

Aaron had also been loved by his mother, a greater feat than any of six siblings had achieved.From the moment he was born, and their eyes met, and his crying subsided at the sight of her, Lysandra knew she would never be alone again. She had Aaron, and even if her mother ignored her and her brothers hated her, that was all she would ever need.They were known as the 'wild children' by everyone else. Running rampant through the castle, talking long past bedtime about the books they read, about the places they wanted to go, about games and imaginings and all the things that children think of. Swearing never to part and giving each other Names in a midnight ceremony by a moonlit river.

She still remembered their days in the courtyard, seeing shapes in the sky.

In the place of gods, Kallians used terms related to summer and sun for curses and idioms. The sun had been burning on their backs and before realising how stupid the statement the statement was she had said:

"Go to summer, sun." Usually the phrase 'go to summer' was a curse for human beings, elves and valkyries or particularly annoying cats, but Aaron had laughed, so she kept going. "Sun haunt the sun! The sun knows how much I hate you, sun, sun knows where the sun stops, may you live forever without shade, sun..."

You would think that Kallians would get used to the heat of the desert, but they were clearly still struggling to adjust, and would struggle from the day they were born until the day that they died.

They had kept on going all afternoon, laughing about the silliest phrases: Sun burn the sun! May the sun turn on the sun! Sun melt the sun! I curse you sun, to eternal sun. May you rot in burning sun, sun.

It was still a joke of theirs, and for a while, a secret password to their various lairs.

Sometimes, Lysandra would think of the wild children they had been and mourn. For now one had grown up to become a murderer, and the other had become the perfect tool of an Empress who ruled with fear and shadow.

Thanks to @Hannah-laine for an amazing cover.

Who's P.O.V do you prefer so far? Why?