"Deus above," Laczlo hissed, clutching at the wooden edge of the table as he fought the urge to yank away from the jabbing needle. Even the tightening of the silk threads hurt something fierce.

He was in a simple tunic without expensive silks, cloaks, or other investitures of wealth and authority—and more importantly, without his sword. Leaning against the trestle table in their hall after the past few hours of unconsciousness, brief orders, and communications via messengers with an angry, then shocked Iarek Kostuveski, he had finally acquiesced to letting Kapitalena sew up his wounds. It was, incidentally, the first time they were truly alone and in any state to speak since the fight. If one can call it that, he thought with a grimace. If I hadn't had my sword… Heh, what luck. His face and body were a battered mess of bruises and small cuts, but there was not much to be done for them. But his arms and hands had been lacerated by his own blade in the struggle, and the former needed stitches.

"Hold still," Kapitalena commanded, leaning over him, pressing her weight upon his left arm as she deftly closed the wound.

"I am trying. Gah! Believe me!"

After a few more stitches, she bandaged the wound, finishing up and soaking her hands in scented water, wiping them off thoroughly until they were as spotless as ever, though her dress was splattered with specks of blood. His or Ygon's, Laczlo wasn't sure. Her head wound was minor, though the bruise on her chin was angry and inflamed. Yet, she was beautiful, refined, and sharp as his memories. But unlike then, she did not look upon him with such thinly veiled pity and disdain. Laczlo wasn't sure exactly how she looked at him, for all his attempts to read her.

"I would like to see the children," he said after a moment, leaning back on the stool to rest against the table, breath finally steadying.

"You are not in a good state."

"Still."

"It might frighten them," she warned, arms crossed over her chest.

"I know."

Kapitalena pursed her lips, then her arms fell, and she clasped her hands in her lap. "Let us speak first. I am certain you have your questions, as do I."

"Mikha informed you of the journey, yes?" he asked, delaying.

"He did, though some parts were told reluctantly and with much vagueness. He was always too loyal a servant." She smiled, though her eyes were not in it. "This… Silene, for instance. Or Vida. Whatever her name is."

"Ah, yes."

"You would bring such a woman into our home?"

"She has nowhere to stay. She's risked all for this, for me. What should I do?"

"You will not bring her here."

He pushed himself up so he sat straight, scarcely bearing any weight upon the table. Any reason he could find in her words was overwhelmed by a flush of anger. "After what you've done, you have no right to make demands of me!"

She met his glare with her own. "Except I did not lie with him. I did not even entertain the notion. After I learned of the scheme, with you gone and with no word, I had to look out for the family. I had to protect us."

"Because I didn't, you mean."

"You were doing your duty, and I was doing mine, considering our vulnerable position. Blame me with what you wish, but I was not unfaithful." She stared at him, eyes fierce, almost glassy, though perhaps that was his imagination. "I understand a voivode is entitled to more… freedom in certain respects than a voivodess, and for my transgressions and disrespect, I will pay whatever price you deem justified. But I would never risk bearing a bastard. What about you?" she asked; when he did not respond, she nodded. "I will bear punishment for my near-infidelity, but not by harboring that woman."

"She saved my life, Kapitalena. She killed an assassin with a knife. She gave us this—" he pointed to the leather bag close at hand, full of documents, delivered by Mikha "—when she could have left with Mikha's coin. She should have left, by all logic."

"Mikha's coin? What do you mean?"

"She is not a Rodezian noble, but a courtesan. She lied to protect herself, and when Mikha found it out, he threatened her to flee unbeknownst to me, yet she came back anyway."

"I see. So your infidelity is with a spy who has tricked you, then? All the better. Send her off, Laczlo. Give her an estate. I don't care, but she won't live here."

He took a deep breath, closing his eyes, then nodded. "When the danger has been dealt with and the rebels eliminated, then I will do as you ask. But not before. I simply won't risk it."

"Is Vilsi not safer?"

"You know the extent of this," he replied. "She is a witness, too. The tsar will want to speak to her, I imagine."

She sighed. "Fine. I will bear it as long as you do not take her to your bed again."

"I have not since Delues, and I will not. I swear it."

"Very well."

His fingers strummed away at the table as he forced the following question out, "Who else knows about Ygon?"

"More than I would wish. The rumors have not been kind."

"No, I imagine not." He looked away. "I have a difficult time accepting that it was only for self-protection."

Her voice dropped into a kindly, understanding, but firm tone. "Let us not pretend our union has been one bound out of pleasure, Laczlo. Neither of us has been happy for some time. But happiness is not everything. It is far from everything. Ygon was a means to an end."

"I see," he said, swallowing his pride, shunting it away with no small degree of effort. "It will be as you say it is."

"And Vida? Was she merely a distraction?"

"No," Laczlo admitted.

Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

"Then what was she?"

He looked up to her, finding a gaze with certainty already set. "I would be lying if I didn't say she gave me what I lacked, and I held feelings towards her for it."

"For all that it wounds me, I will not blame you. And I will not hold it against you, Laczlo. It is done." She winced and asked, "But I must inquire… Was she the only one?"

"What do you mean?"

"Were there any before?"

"No! Deus, no. I promise you, Kapitalena."

She nodded, releasing a long breath. "Okay."

"And you?"

"Nothing intimate," she said, then paused. "Though there's something I should share. Hardly any kind of infidelity, but it shouldn't wait any longer, I think."

"What does that mean?"

"Early on…" She took another breath, collecting herself. "Early on in the succession conflict, I was approached with an offer. A demand. When we lacked allies, when all seemed so dire and the opposition so strong… I was desperate, Laczlo. Terribly desperate. We had Nanko and—"

"What happened?"

Her lips tightened. "We had Bora, and I was terrified of what might happen to our daughter should they win. And so when Iarek Kostuveski asked for my attendance, I went to him. When I discovered what he wished of me, I didn't know what to do. I was young, afraid, and he seemed to have our solution. And yet, before anything… happened, I left."

Laczlo stared at her, dumbfounded. "You left?"

She nodded. "I would not sell myself and betray you to win, not yet, at least. I was confident we could survive without that ugly step. So you can imagine how I felt when you dealt with him separately, and we relied upon him anyway, necessary as it was."

"He tried to… Oh. Oh god! Why didn't you tell me? Why lie?"

"Do you need to ask? I was ashamed!" she hissed, the word spat with all hate and disgust. Not at him, he understood, but at herself. This, he knew with perfect clarity. "And I am sorry for it. But that's how it was. That's how it is. I didn't want my legacy—our legacy—to be tainted by something so… foul. So weak."

"He will answer for this," Laczlo said.

"Not now. You will conclude your debts and be done with it. Perhaps when we are in a better position, a safer position. But until then, we will act with caution."

By the old gods and new, it took all he had to not storm out of the hall for the voivode's head. How often would he be embarrassed? Lied to? Used? "I will not let this go unanswered. One way or another, I will gut him."

"Be that as it may, Husband, I would beg of you to put the family first. Anything else is secondary. Can you promise me this?"

Through his anger, it took some effort, but he agreed.

They were silent for a long time, the crackling of the fire and wind upon the walls the only sound in the hall. Eventually, Kapitalena reached out, laying a hand on his. The motion was tentative, even as she wrapped her fingers around his. "Mikha told me many things. Some of which I couldn't quite believe." Her hand trailed up, touching the scar on his face. He pulled back unconsciously, but she kept her hand there reassuringly. "You left here, afraid of the hungry peasantry outside, absolved to following Iarek's orders with the bearing of a defeated man. And upon your return, you kill one of the most feared warriors in Vasia—"

"I had a sword. He didn't."

"And you are a voivode, not truly expected to fight your own battles, Laczlo," she replied, her expression grave, yet her firm touch reassuring. "And now I find a different man sitting before me. Tell me, what happened? What changed?"

Before he could reply and attempt an answer, Mikha's voice cut through the quiet of the hall, "Voivode, Voivodess, the children have been begging to see their father. May I permit them entry?"

Laczlo stood; he went to go to the doorway where his head servant stood, then paused and looked to his wife. She sighed but nodded and gave a weak smile, as if caught between pleasure at the reunion and trepidation at that which was left unsaid. She fears I have changed too much. That I am not the man she despised, yet far past one she could respect, he realized in sharp clarity. Deus, how I must have looked, beating Ygon to death. Beheading him. A monster, perhaps? Before he went to Mikha, he leaned down, held Kapitalena by the chin, and kissed her. At first, she was taken off-guard, perhaps shocked, yet it took only a moment for her to relax into him and kiss him back. It was not perfect, nor was it all he imagined it could be, somewhat clumsy, awkward, afraid… but above all else, it was honest.

Laczlo pulled back and looked into his wife's eyes. "I never truly knew myself, I think. Now, perhaps I am beginning to. I hope this is something you can accept."

"It is," she said with a smile.

"And of our transgressions against each other?"

"I am ready to move forward, if you are."

He relaxed. "I am."

"Good." She nodded past him. "Now go see the children."

As he went to the doorway, he thought of that look she gave him. What was it? How could it be described? He scarcely recognized it—perhaps, even, it was entirely unfamiliar. For the first time with Kapitalena, he felt truly seen. In the first days of the war, they were close—bound by fear and desperation, but it was a different kind of bond. One brought about by accident, almost, rife with its weaknesses and failings, as he had seen. This, in whatever initial stage it was, felt different.

"Okay, go on now," Mikha said.

Nanko was the first inside, in a tottering sort of run that seemed to barely avoid collapse. His cheeks, ruddy and split wide with a great smile, shook with each step. He slammed into Laczlo's legs and wrapped his arms around, squeezing with all his childish might. Laczlo reached down and heaved the boy high, eliciting giggles and excited screams as he flew into the air. After setting him down, he spotted Bora in the doorway, gazing in, hands squeezed to her chest, swaying back and forth.

"Bora," he called out, extending a hand, "come here, please."

After a hesitant moment, she complied, shuffling forward. Her eyes were large and dark and frightful; he worried she might run.

"I told you I would return," he said, smiling wide at the two of them, one arm wrapped around Nanko, the pain from the cuts present but dull beside his joy. "Were you good while I was gone?"

"Man of the hall!" Nanko shouted.

"Oh, were you? That's good to hear." He patted his boy's head, then looked to Bora. "And you looked after your brother, yes?"

She nodded.

"Speak to me, please."

"I did."

"Good girl. Come here." Laczlo gestured her forward.

She took a step, hesitated, then came to embrace him. "Are you okay?" she asked, gazing mournfully from his bandaged wounds to bruised and scarred face. "You look hurt."

He chuckled, wincing a bit as Nanko put too much weight on his arm, hanging over it like an ape. "Only a little. But yes, I am okay. A few good meals and rest, and I will heal right up, you see."

"Did you get rid of the mean man?"

"The mean man?" he asked, smile faltering. "What do you mean?"

"Mama would make us go away when he came."

"Scary scary," Nanko babbled on, adding something about horses Laczlo couldn't quite make out. Ah, likely his impressive warhorse, he thought, then amended, now my warhorse.

He glanced to Kapitalena, who looked down, her face twisted in shame. It was for the family, he reminded himself. "Well, yes, I did get rid of him. You won't be sent away because of him anymore." His head was upon Laczlo's outer wall. He'd need to take that down soon enough before the children were scarred by the sight.

Bora nodded, mollified with the answer, then cocked her head up at him. "How did you get this?" She gently prodded his face where the scar from the Sea Serpents arced across his cheek.

"I fought some pirates while away."

She smiled. "Nuh-uh."

"I did."

"Pirates!" Nanko shouted. "On ships? Cogs or longboats?"

"That's right. A cog out on the Kastalec. But I was safe, and I am okay."

"Voivode," a voice called from behind.

He went to stand, untangling Nanko and giving Bora one last hug before she pulled back. "I told you I would return, didn't I? It'll all be okay again."

Laczlo sighed and looked back. At the far doorway, past a smiling Kapitalena, stood Isak. "Yes?"

"Apologies, sir. Oiir has returned. Ah, the others too. Voivode Kostuveski agrees to your request of dual attendance to the tsar tonight, though he is not pleased."

The others. I see. "He will receive us so late?"

"So it seems."

"Very well then." He kissed the top of his children's heads and said, "I must go now to bring news to the tsar. I would stay if I could."

Nanko began to cry and tried to latch on to his leg, but Kapitalena came over and helped pry his son away, holding him steady. Bora, on the other hand, stepped back, always the dutiful daughter, lip quivering, looking at the floor. The sight made Laczlo want to cry himself. But, of course, he could not, and so he stood tall and gave his children one last smile, his wife a nod, and went to dress for a meeting with the tsar of Imperial Vasia. Proper or not, he would wear his sword, and, with thought to Iarek Kostuveski's presence, he'd carry a dagger too.

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