His office seemed safe enough, but Ezerkal locked the door behind him. After the kicking Ra’ven had given him, he preferred not to have a repeat of his recent unexpected visit, regardless of how well it had gone. They could knock like everyone else this time.

  They had retreated to the third-floor office for a private discussion, bringing refreshments with them; a decanter of wine and a large bowl of caramelized fruits.

  Ezerkal lowered himself into his chair behind the desk, leaning back and settling himself against the cushion. Mavan and Aiur sat opposite, and the twins stood sentinel by the door. “So, your little duel went well then,” Ezerkal declared, after a long pause interrupted only by Aiur’s inability to keep his hands off the caramelized oranges.

  Mavan shrugged, nursing a cup of wine he was yet to take a sip from. “It stopped an all-out war, but your Archon’s demands are ridiculous.”

  “He will take as much as he thinks he can get,” Ezerkal said. Aiur grunted his own agreement through a mouthful of fruit.

  “I thought Ra’ven was joking earlier when he said the only way he’d be happy is by crippling my house. I see I was mistaken.”

  Ezerkal smiled mournfully. “If only.” He poured himself a glass of wine as he continued. “He is determined to; we all now know that. But through your little agreement, barely anyone fought and died. Thus, you are not crippled. Not yet, anyway.”

  “So, he finds another way through our finances. I understand that. But my Archon will never agree to surrender our assets.” Mavan said, finally sipping on his wine as he slumped in his seat.

  “We will write something that leaves House Krie standing,” Ezerkal explained, the chair groaning as he leaned forward. “But you have to make Ishmael agree.”

  “He won’t!” Mavan exclaimed, throwing his arms up and almost spilling his wine. “He’d sooner sell all the mines for ten legions of Ferrakarian mercenaries!”

  Aiur gave his counterpart a strange look. “Then what, march on Nerkai?”

  Mavan shrugged, sinking into his seat again. “More than likely.”

  “The march from Amexal is long and harsh. We’d be so prepared he would be marching to his death. Would he be so foolish?”

  “He would rather see himself ruined in battle than be left destitute.”

  Aiur leant back, casually tossing another slice of caramelized orange into his mouth. “So, both our Archons disapprove of our duel then.”

  “No, Ishmael simply expected me to win.”

  “Then you shouldn’t have brought pikes,” Ezerkal interrupted.

  Mavan sighed heavily, and turned to the diplomat. “We…we expected you to try and humiliate us with cavalry.”

  Aiur laughed, but it was hollow. “We struck when you had no cavalry, because if you had Drakkars we would have been slaughtered. Ra’vens penchant these days is exploiting weaknesses.”

  “We were convinced he wanted revenge for the battle at the Augon dunes,” Mavan said, alluding to the climactic battle that had left Ra’ven a cripple.

  “Regardless,” Ezerkal interrupted again, his tone stern this time. “We have important matters at hand. The peace agreement needs to be discussed in full once the first draft is ready.” He took a slow breath, chewing on his lower lip as he thought. How far could he trust them? They were both solid, dependable people, people she had asked for. But was now the right moment?

  “And? You clearly have something to add,” Aiur rumbled, a suspicion lacing his voice and sinking into his features.

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  “Yes…of a sort.” Ezerkal nodded. “I have discovered…” he paused, brow furrowing as he tried to word this diplomatically. “I have had an encounter with a curious woman who seeks to establish an…intriguing initiative.”

  “Caste?” Aiur asked, some of his suspicion being replaced with intrigue, as Mavan leaned back, disgruntled by the change in topic.

  “That would be the sticking point…as far as I can tell, none.” Ezerkal said.

  “You say it so casually as if it’s not disturbing. When was the last time you met a casteless person?” Aiur snarled. “Are you working with a Lyberai?”

  Ezerkal shook his head, offended by the mere prospect. “No, of course not. I simply think she’s hiding her caste, caste-marks on the body aren’t entirely unheard of... She’s not spouting any of the heresy you’d expect from them. Even if she is Lyberai, I think she’s trying to escape that past. Perhaps she’s simply from a lower caste and let’s be honest, none of us would listen to someone from the caste of sand with such an idea.”

  The caste of sand was the peasantry class, denoted by brown eyes and caste-marks. Above them lay the caste of the river; merchants, artisans and craftsmen, denoted by blue. Beyond that were the two ruling castes: caste of the sun for the priesthood, and caste of the sky for nobility, with green and red as their respective markers.

  “And this idea is?” Mavan asked.

  “I think this would be better explained with something to show,” Ezerkal said, pushing himself up out of his seat, and striding over to the map on the wall, wine in hand.

  “No,” Aiur said, his tone as hard as steel. He rose from his seat, its feet scraping across the floor, as he pressed both hands on the table.

  Ezerkal rocked on his heels, pausing mid-quaff of his wine.

  “No,” Aiur repeated, fixing Ezerkal with his glare. “It is clear you do not need me for the treaty. Thus, I have no reason to remain party to this.”

  “I feel it is of considerable importance that you at least listen,” Ezerkal started, stepping forward with a hand outstretched.

  “I will not,” Aiur snapped, stepping away from the desk. His body radiated disgust and Ezerkal feared he had gone too far. “Aten has ordained the structure in which we live. It exists for a reason. Those outside it are heretics.”

  “This woman is no Lyberai!”

  “And what proof do you have? She is outside the castes! That, for me, is enough to believe her to be one of those faithless heretics. I am disappointed in you, Ezerkal. I expected better.”

  “You misunderstand. This woman seeks a noble end, and great change.”

  Aiur shook his head and sighed. “I hope, for your sake, that she is as noble as you say. But I have earned where I stand and do not seek great change. We will speak when you require me for the treaty, and when my anger has ebbed.”

  Without providing pause for comment, Aiur swept from the room.

  “I had not taken him for such a traditionalist,” Ezerkal whispered, slowly placing his glass of wine on the desk.

  “Faith and loyalty have given him much,” Mavan said with a shrug, easing himself upright in his chair. “I, however, am desperate, and thus have open ears. So, please, go ahead. I would like to hear this. I sense you have put much thought into it.”

  Ezerkal smiled. He quickly smoothed the front of his robes and cleared his throat, moving back to the map on the wall. “I have, and I wish I could have shared it with both of you.”

  “Well, don’t leave me in suspense.” Mavan smiled.

  “The world,” Ezerkal began, gesturing to the map. “Or as much of it as we know.” He motioned up to a continent, shaped like a southward-facing arrowhead, an immense chunk torn out from its north-eastern apex. “And here we are, Kailai. Our home… It has been over a thousand years since we mapped it, since we declared it explored.” He took a breath, turning to the Consul.

  “And what has happened since then? One thousand years of conflict. An age of peace died with that declaration. Gone were the days where the conflict between houses was little more than ostentatious bids in the halls of the explorer’s guild. Gone were the days when Founding Houses would never fade into obscurity.” His voice became low, sorrowful, as he met Mavan’s eyes. “We expected common good to prevail, to preserve the unity that had been forged for us. Instead, we shattered it.”

  Mavan frowned, breaking eye contact and staring into nothingness as he considered Ezerkal’s words “This woman is suggesting a solution, then?” Mavan whispered, his head bowed.

  “She’s gathering intelligent, skilled people, not to push some agenda, but to find a solution! To answer the question of unity,” Ezerkal concluded.

  Mavan chuckled, his face cracking into an odd smile. In a way, it was a compliment to be considered for such a thing. “All in all, a very nice little speech. I must admit it has piqued my interest.”

  “Then I should arrange a meeting with her,” Ezerkal said, crossing the room to fill his glass again. He tried and failed to keep the excitement from his voice.

  “I’d like that,” Mavan said, his voice seeming small and hollow compared to Ezerkal’s energy.

  Ezerkal rose his glass in a toast. “Then you shall, this evening. I can have it arranged.”

  Mavan returned the toast, before sipping briefly at his wine. “So soon? It’s almost as though you had this whole thing planned.”

  “Oh, that would be patently ridiculous, wouldn’t it?” Ezerkal lied.