A light breeze ruffled his hair as Eligon leaned against the parapets. Winter was fast fading and the wind was thick with the moisture of spring storms but, for now, the skies remained clear.

He felt a touch of pride as he surveyed Dūr-Ṣadê. The capital-in-exile had long ago outgrown its origins as the former emperor's hunting lodge, becoming a full-fledged city in its own right, but the transformation it had undergone in the last few weeks was nothing short of miraculous.

A sea of tents surrounded the capital, tens of thousands gathered at his summons with more arriving every day. Bright banners fluttered in the breeze, bearing insignias from half the noble Houses in the Empire. There were even some from the fallen southern houses, many of which had been completely destroyed beneath Zalancthian rule, and beside them, much to the chagrin of many in his court, were the banners of his newest lord - the former Zalancthian general and newly renamed Lord Narāmīl.

True to his promise, Eligon had helped Narāmīl defeat his Zalancthian rival and the general-cum-lord had brought his troops to aid in the fight for the capital. The man's very presence still grated on Eligon. They had lost so much - so many - to the stoneflesh's depredations, but he could not turn willing allies if he wanted to the war. Instead, he did his best to convince himself that there was a certain poetic justice in Zalancthians dying to restore what they had stolen.

And his army, as vast as it already was, was still far from complete. Letters had arrived this morning, informing him that the Djinn army had arrived in Abāya and would soon be joining his side. Their reinforcements were not the only ones he was expecting.

The elves had kept their agreement, pressuring the northern lords to troops and committing some of their own. Ten thousand elves marched from Onkodos Laos and twenty thousand Corsyths mustered from the northern provinces. Best of all, though, was the fleet the city-state of Yammaqom was sending for, though the empire had plenty of men, its navy had never recovered after it was completely destroyed during the Zalancthians' conquest of the south.

All in all, the expedition Eligon had assembled was the largest the Empire had mustered since the final days of the Fey Wars. He could only hope it would be enough.

"Why so grim, my lord?" A treacherous tickle tumbled through his stomach as the source of the lilting voice came to stand beside him.

"Lady Naklāti," Eligon replied a little stiltedly. Technically, there was nothing wrong with his aide standing beside him, but she was too close, so close he could almost feel the warmth radiating from her skin. He knew he ought to tell her to move, but Eligon couldn't quite bring himself to do so. For all his usual savviness, he'd failed to recognize Ittûl's plan when he'd sent his daughter south.

Or perhaps it was Naklāti's plan. In truth, Eligon had never considered the possibility that the flaxen-haired maiden was intended to ensnare him precisely because her father, the commander of the northern armies and second most important noble in the province of Celestia, was a stout supporter of House Nūrilī.

Like most of the north, they saw him and his family as usurpers, so while the Emperor had suspected she was there to spy on him, the notion that they might desire a marriage alliance hadn't even crossed his mind.

And yet…he stole a glance at the woman at his side, hating himself for the warm feeling that suffused his body. While he'd been spying on her letters to make sure she didn't steal any secrets, she'd been busy stealing his heart. He hadn't even realized how depressed he'd been after Vayyābī's betrayal until she'd shown up and brought him out of his stupor.

He could no longer deny that he wanted her, but he still wasn't sure if he'd made a mistake. Had this been her father's plan all along, or had she struck out on her own? And if her father hadn't intended for him to fall for, just how angry would he be when he learned the emperor he viewed as a usurper planned to marry his daughter?

She placed her hand on his, squeezing it softly as she looked up at him. "Lady Naklāti?" she asked with an amused smile. "Surely we're past such formalities now - unless you've changed your mind?" Though her smile didn't fade, Naklāti wasn't able to entirely hide the worry that flickered in her eyes.

"No," he said gruffly. After the night they'd shared, he wouldn't dishonor her like that. Nor did he wish to. As much as it pained him to admit it, Naklāti had proven herself to him time and time again over the past few months. A skilled fighter, a clever tactician, a silver-tongued diplomat, a beauty worthy of the bards - he had no doubts that she would make an excellent consort, even if it grated on him that he had fallen for her wiles. He just hoped Lord Ittûl had been in on the plan.

"Have you sent word to your father?"

"Not yet. As he's marching south with the elves, I'm not sure where to send it," she replied.

"But he will approve?"

"Even if he didn't, it would be too late," Naklāti laughed, "but have no fear, my father will not object."

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Eligon fell silent for a moment before the question he'd been longing to ask for months finally ripped its way out of him. "Why?"

"Why what?"

"Don't be glib," he rebuked her. "Your father's house and my own have never been allies. By some measures," he spoke carefully, "one could call them traitors."

"And there are many who would call your house usurpers," she pointed out.

"There's a bit of truth to both claims," Eligon grunted, "but that only proves my point. Your house is leal to House Nūrilī and now, thanks to the agreement the elves extorted out of me, it is likely they will return to the throne. Why ally with me now?"

"Because you are not your father, and the heir of House Nūrilī is not his father."

Eligon's brow scrunched up. "So what does that mean? Will you support me now?"

"My father will not waver from his support for House Nūrilī, but all but their most staunch proponents recognize that the current heir is…not suited for the throne. The deal the elves reached with you is almost a relief to them. It allows them to support you while still maintaining their loyalty to House Nūrilī once a better, more suitable heir appears."

"So they still expect my House to surrender the throne?" he sighed.

She shot him a curious look. "Is that not what you agreed to?"

"Aye. It seems I am the only willing to put aside my self-interest for the sake of Empire, but, yes, I will hold to my agreement," Eligon said bitterly. "But that is exactly why I fail to see your father's plan. Our children will not inherit the throne, thanks in large part to your own father. What does he get out of this?"

"The houses of the south have been devastated," she pointed out. "Many lines were extinguished entirely in the early days of the war, and those that remain have been soiled by intermarriage with the Stoneflesh and bastardy. The south will need leaders when reclaimed, and who better to lead them than the man who liberated them?"

Eligon snorted. "That's your plan? To have seize the southern provinces for myself? I can't imagine House Nūrilī will be content to allow my house to prosper once we leave the throne."

"The throne is not what it was," she said simply. "The crown belongs to House Nūrilī, but they have never been and never shall be absolute rulers."

That wasn't exactly true, Eligon thought cynically - the throne had certainly approached that level of power during the Desolyton and its aftermath - but she wasn't wrong that that authority had long since vanished.

"If you honor your agreement," she continued, "then the lords of the North and the elves are willing to support your claim over the southern territories."

"You intend for me to claim Sicya, then," Eligon grunted.

"No, my lord," she twined her fingers in his. "I intend for us to claim Sicya."

Footsteps echoed behind them, and Eligon hastily released her hand. "My lord, am I interrupting?"

Yes, you are, he thought grumpily, but Eligon held his tongue. Rumors were already flying around the court about his relationship with Naklāti; he hardly need to give them more fuel for the fire. "What do you want?"

"You said to notify you immediately if any messages arrived from the Strythani."

Eligon spun around quickly. "And?"

The guard offered him a letter. "This arrived this morning."

He shattered the wax seal with a flick of his fingers and tore the envelope open. Eligon had done his best to account for all the eventually that might derail his campaign. Anticipating the durgū's attack, he'd ordered the armies of Hadīn to remain in the North, counting on them to hold the dwarves off until the Empire could rally to them.

He'd surrendered his own throne to procure ships to blockade the harbor and elves to scale the capital's infamous walls and, never quick to trust, Eligon had also dragged the Djinn out of their province, just in case the elves in case got any funny ideas about seizing power for House Nūrilī earlier than had been agreed upon.

He'd accounted for nearly every variable that could wreck his campaign, but the one wild card he couldn't predict was the rumor that the Ilrabû, an incarnated god supposedly long dead, had reappeared. The Ilrabû wasn't quite on the same power scale as Selene or S̆ams̆a, but neither was he somebody the Empire wanted as an enemy. And therein lay the problem - Eligon had no idea where the Ilrabû's allegiances would lay.

Skimming the letter quickly, the emperor found both less and more than he'd hoped for. It seemed the new king, Ḫaḫḫuru, was in a more precarious position than Eligon had anticipated. Tēmānu felt that the realm was balanced on the brink of a civil war, and doubted the Strythani would be able to provide any aid against the durgū unless it could be stabilized. At least they won't be marching with the dwarves.

While it was a disappointing blow to his dreams for a renewed alliance, the other piece of news Tēmānu sent held more promise. Eligon read the description of the mysterious priest with interest, parsing every word of the conversation carefully. It was obvious the priest belonged to the faction supporting the Ilrabû, and the fact that he had sought the Empire's ambassador out on his very first day in the city boded well for them.

He's hostile to the current king but open to us, he decided. That was not enough for him to throw his support behind the priest, or whoever he represented. There were too many other factors to consider, after all.

It was always possible that it was an elaborate fraud, perpetrated by the new king's political enemies. It was also possible that the Ilrabû's apparent friendliness to the Empire was a ruse meant to keep them from taking sides and, once he was in power, he would turn against them. No, there were far too many possibilities for Eligon to choose a side now, but Tēmānu's investigation had given him much to consider.

In the end, it didn't really matter who ruled the Strythani, just so long as they helped him against the durgu. He leaned against the parapet, hastily scrawling a response to Tēmānu before returning it to the guard. "Send him everything he asked for," he commanded, "and double the gold. He'll need more than he thinks if he's to bind those clans to us."

He waited until the guard had left before turning back to the parapet, intent on counting the banners once again. But Naklāti had other plans. Her warm breath tickled his neck as she wrapped her arms around him. "You know, my lord," she said, her voice husky with passion. "If you're worried my father will reject your proposal, there's a simple way to fix that."

Eligon surrendered to her kisses.

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