January 13, 9 ATC

City of Blacksnow, Prefecture of Lesser Monochrome, Principality of Monochrome

"What happened?" Coronam demanded.

Opifexa watched as Austin shifted in her seat. She pitied the poor girl. Austin had done fairly well during most of the battle, but her slip at the end had led her to be on the receiving end of Coronam's anger, a position few wanted to be in.

"I made an error," she responded calmly. A pause. Opifexa beckoned for her to continue, and she did. "When the Monochromians ambushed us from the south ridge, I ordered my forces to put up a defensive line there. This opened us up to an attack on the north ridge."

"Well, at least you know what you did wrong," Coronam said. He pursed his lips in disappointment. "I will grant that you are an effective battlefield commander. Your forces captured the enemy's defenses more quickly than I expected. But you are a poor strategist. You fell right into their trap.

"Let me make this clear," he continued. "You cannot commit errors like this. We are fighting an uphill war. Inferno has the legal, the economic and the military advantages. You are lucky that we arrived on time, but we cannot rely on luck to carry us to victory. We must perform at our best if we are to succeed. Am I understood?"

Austin grimaced. "Remember, King, that I am a commander as well. We are equals in rank."

Coronam laughed haughtily. "In name, perhaps. But until you prove your worth, you are just another jumped-up peasant surrounded by her betters."

"Nitesco was a "jumped-up peasant" at one point too, Coronam," Austin spat back. "And now he is the most respected man in all the Subreddit."

"One of him is quite enough," Coronam said coldly. "Speaking of, you should go check on him. I want at least one competent ally."

Austin growled but kept her peace, leaving the room without another word. Once she was out of an earshot, Coronam pinched the bridge of his nose.

"You mustn't be too harsh if you want to breed cooperation," Opifexa chided him.

"She must learn the way of things," Coronam replied. "We cannot tolerate failures or mistakes. We cannot allow weakness."

"Disunity is weakness!" Opifexa exclaimed. "We can't make ourselves stronger by creating a divide between you and the other commanders."

"Nitesco is out of the fight," Coronam countered. "It's just me and her for now. And she is clearly unqualified."

"She is responsible for holding the Mask and our allies in Villainia and Heroa together with us. And she is not as hopeless as you make her out to be. She is a crude weapon, but she can be honed into a fine one if we do it correctly. And if we properly limit Nitesco's influence on her. But that requires you to be a little more…" she hesitated. "More compromising."

Coronam sighed and rested his head on his fist. After a few moments, he closed his eyes and nodded.

"Fair enough. Fair enough. But I stand by what I said about mistakes. We cannot afford to make them, and I will make sure that she understands that before doing anything diplomatic." The sarcastic emphasis on the last word made Opifexa frown before she noticed that they were not alone.

"Did I miss something?" Zealander asked as he entered the room.

"General Zealander." Coronam stood to greet his visitor and life returned to his expression. "Finally, a competent officer. You haven't missed anything of note. How goes the war in Junipera?"

"Almost all pockets of resistance have been crushed," Zealander said. There are some holdouts on the coast, and Lancaster has fortified far beyond what we thought capable, but it is mostly ours."

Coronam stroked his chin and sat down in his chair. "And the blockade?"

"It remains strong. Nobody from Lancaster is getting in or out. Though Inferno insists on sending her river vessels to attack ours, we can hold out for long enough."

"Good," Coronam said. "With the river secured, we can cut off Inferno's reinforcements to the north and cross the river to attack Lancaster. If we keep this up, the war will be over within the year."

"That's what I'm afraid of," Zealander said. "What were our losses from the battle?"

"Not enough to cripple us," Opifexa said. "But we did lose a sizable number of soldiers. I advise caution in future battles."

"Well, look at that," Zealander laughed. "She knows more about the League than we do. We should put her in charge."

"Oh, I'm flattered," Opifexa chuckled. "But I know nothing about warfare or tactics. I'm a numbers woman, plain and simple."

"Well, you have to be good at what you do for Coronam to keep you around for so long. Now, if you'll excuse me, I must speak with Colonel Strike. If you have troop estimates, we can plot out how we'll approach an invasion of Lancaster."

Opifexa handed him a ledger, and Zealander politely smiled and exited the room. After he left, Coronam sighed.

"He's a good man. It's a shame he has to hide who he is from his people."

"Don't you, too?" Opifexa asked.

"We all do, to some extent. But I've always been Coronam. How long do you think he's lived as Zealander? Five years? He's still not used to it, I can tell."

Opifexa studied Coronam's face. There was something there, but she wasn't sure what.

"Are you concerned he'll slip up? That he'll reveal who you are?"

Coronam shook his head. "I've dealt with those rumors in the past. I'm more concerned about him. More importantly, I'm concerned about his fellow Oligarchs. All good folk, but zealously loyal to Arkos. I'm concerned that they might turn on him one day."

"He's smarter than that. If they wanted him gone, they would have done it already." Opifexa paused. "No, the Oligarchs are not a concern. I'm more concerned about Nitesco and Gwydion."

Coronam sat back down and began sifting through the desk for a liquor cabinet. "Why? They have no reason to suspect anything. Vulpix has hidden himself well. I didn't know who he was for five years."

"You barely had the chance to see him," Opifexa responded. "They have had prolonged exposure. How long do you think it'll be until they figure it out?"

"Hopefully a while," Coronam said as he gleefully opened the cabinet. "You give them too much credit. They're distracted by the war; they don't have the time to go around looking for ghosts. After the war is over, he'll probably never talk with them again. Would you like a glass?"

"You don't give them enough credit, I think," Opifexa said. "I wouldn't put it past either of them to bumble into some proof that you or he are not who you say you are. I'd be on my guard if I were you. And yes, I would like a glass. Anything will do."

Coronam uncorked a wine bottle and poured two glasses. "The gravity of the situation does not escape me. But if all we're counting on is those two fumbling their way to success, I think the odds are in our favor."

Opifexa considered the thought. "Fair enough, I guess." She picked up a glass. "But we should be on our guard."

"I always am," Coronam said, raising his glass. "Let's have a toast to our fortune: to our victory, and to our allies' obliviousness."

"I can drink to that," Opifexa said lightheartedly. As they threw back their glasses, it was they who remained oblivious to the man just on the other side of the wall.

Gwydion stood by Nitesco's side in his room, watching his battle-weary friend who had suddenly become a child again. Yesterday Nitesco's leg had been removed, and Gwydion had gone through the long, exhausting process of replacing it while keeping the risk of sepsis as low as could be expected. Nitesco stared at his leg in wonder, moving his leg up and down, enraptured.

"What did you say this was made from again?" He asked, tapping the metal on it.

"A special blend of iron and some rarer metals, to make it lighter. I made it some time ago, just in case you ever decided you wanted that hunk of scar tissue you called a leg removed. Cost a pretty penny, but I just put it under 'State Expenses'."

Nitesco gave him a wary glance. "That's embezzlement, Gwydion," he said, resignedly.

"With all the money we funnel into the sciences, nobody even batted an eyelash. And besides, it was for the Prime Minister." Gwydion couldn't help but let a small smirk attach itself to his face. "And let it be known, I am proud of my work."

"You always are." Nitesco smiled as Gwydion gave him a light punch on the shoulder.

A loud, melodramatic groan let them know that Austin was coming back from her meeting from Coronam. She shambled into the room, then stopped suddenly, staring.

"Nitesco," she said. "Are you doing okay?"

Nitesco nodded. "I'm fine, all things considered. Thank you for your concern."

Austin let herself relax. "I'm obviously going to be concerned. You got your leg chopped off!" she said, collapsing on the bed opposite Nitesco's. "I love the new one, by the way," she said, pointing at the metal replacement.

Nitesco chuckled. "I'm sure Gwydion is happy to hear that," he said.

Austin looked at Gwydion with awe, then looked down at the ground. "I'm glad at least something went well today," she groaned.

"What's the matter?" Gwydion asked. Austin clenched her fists.

"Dear me, Coronam is such a prick." She sat up and set her elbows on her knees, scoffing. "You know what he said? He had the nerve to say—"

"Easy, Austin. Easy." Nitesco raised his arms in a placating gesture. "I know he can be pompous, but unity is what we need right now, not petty grudges."

"Petty?" She prepared to go off on a rant, but stopped herself. "Fine." She took a deep breath. "Fine. I guess I've got some studying to do, though."

"Okay, well, I need to stretch my legs. Uh, no offense." Gwydion stood up and began making for the door. "I'm going for a walk. You guys can hang out for a while, do whatever you need to do. I'll see if anyone around knows how to play rummy."

"I can play rummy," Austin said, but Gwydion had already left. Being cooped up with Austin and Nitesco for the entire day, especially after the stress of putting an entirely new limb on Nitesco, didn't appeal to him as much as it might have the day before. Now, he just needed to relax.

Relax, yes. That's a good idea, Gwydion thought. Maybe just grab a bottle of brandy and sleep. Or play chess with someone other than Nitesco. Or maybe…

As Gwydion walked by an empty room, he heard a woman's voice. He turned into the room to investigate it. More importantly, he heard his name.

"No, the Oligarchs are not a concern. I'm more concerned about Nitesco or Gwydion."

It was a storage room, he saw, though most of the boxes in the room had been ransacked by the troops already. The walls of the room seemed dusty and dry, and there was a hole in one of them. Perfect for eavesdropping. Gwydion pressed his ear to the wall and listened.

"Why?" A man's voice asked. "They have no reason to suspect anything. Vulpix has hidden himself well. I didn't know who he was for five years."

Vulpix? Gwydion, to his own surprise, didn't feel shocked so much as curious. Where is he hidden? Could he be the Mask? Or perhaps he isn't in disguise, just operating behind the scenes.

"You barely had the chance to see him. They have had prolonged exposure. How long do you think it'll be until they figure it out?"

Figure it out? Gwydion thought. We've seen him, then. Why haven't we recognized him?

"Hopefully a while. You give them too much credit. They're distracted by the war; they don't have the time to go around looking for ghosts. After the war is over, he'll probably never talk with them again." A pause, and the sound of things being opened. Clinking. "Would you like a glass?"

Who am I listening to? Gwydion wondered.

If he had properly memorized the layout of this place, then he was directly adjacent to Prince Onyzyon's old office, which had been converted into the command meeting room for the time being. It would follow, then, that Coronam was in there. If he had to wager a guess, the woman was his steward.

"You don't give them enough credit, I think. I wouldn't put it past either of them to bumble into some proof that you or he are not who you say you are. I'd be on my guard if I were you. And yes, I would like a glass. Anything will do."

Bumble into some proof? Gwydion felt a wave of indignance, but that was, in fact, exactly what he'd done.

"The gravity of the situation does not escape me. But if all we're counting on is those two fumbling their way to success, I think the odds are in our favor."

Gwydion could not suppress a smug grin as he absorbed the irony of the situation. So much for the odds being in his favor.

"Fair enough, I guess," Opifexa said. "But we should be on our guard."

"I always am," Coronam replied, self-assurance in his voice. "Let's have a toast to our fortune: to our victory, and to our allies' obliviousness."

"I can drink to that."

Gwydion remained at the wall, hoping for more information, but their conversation quickly devolved into small talk about the weather in Monochrome and Cinder's latest escapade in Lancaster. He took the opportunity to leave and resume pacing the manor.

He had learned troubling information. Coronam knew something they didn't. Namely, that he had some sort of secret identity, and that Vulpix was somewhere close by. What was it? Where was Vulpix?

As Gwydion walked by the command room, he poked his head inside to see who was in there. Sure enough, it was Coronam and Opifexa, laughing and sipping their drinks. His suspicions were correct. Gwydion continued pacing, unsure of where to go.

The Oligarchs! Opifexa mentioned the Oligarchs. They must know something!

Gwydion headed down to the first floor, where General Zealander and Colonel Strike were discussing troop numbers. As he approached, they turned to face him.

"Gwydion," Colonel Strike said. "Good to see you. How's Nitesco?"

"He got a new leg. It was a harrowing procedure." Gwydion shuddered, and Strike's mouth fell agape.

"You put a new leg on him?" He said. "Most of my men would've just resigned their commission."

Gwydion smiled, a not-insignificant feeling of pride creeping into him. "He's upstairs if you want him. Go to the command center, then a right, then a left. Last room on the left."

Strike departed to go see Nitesco, leaving Zealander behind. Gwydion examined him closely. He was middle-aged, but his beard concealed most of his face and his hair was combed neat and straight. He didn't look much like Vulpix, but he was about the same age and hair color.

"General Zealander," he said, and the General nodded. "May I talk to you for a second?"

In his eyes, Gwydion didn't see much, but he saw enough. For the most fleeting moment of panic, his opponent gave up the illusion. He saw the familiarity in his expression. It was Vulpix. It had to be.

"What is it?" Vulpix asked. Gwydion pondered. It seemed so obvious now. The mannerisms, the voice, the way he almost seemed ashamed when he was around him and Nitesco. How could he not have noticed it?

"I need troop estimates," Gwydion said flatly. "For the invasion of Lancaster."

"Oh, yes," Vulpix said. "I've just received them from Opifexa. Once my quartermaster copies it down, I'll give you the ledger. Is that okay?"

"Of course," Gwydion smiled, and he moved to leave. "Oh, and Zealander?" Vulpix turned and nodded again. "Say hello to Nitesco. I'm sure he'll appreciate it."

A curt smile and a nod. "Very well. I'll do it right now." As Vulpix walked away, Gwydion stroked his chin and pondered. It was a delicate situation, but it would have to wait. Only the Goddesses knew what might happen if he exposed Vulpix now.

Patience, Gwydion thought. Patience is key. Soon enough, I'll understand everything.

He walked out the doors of the manor and resumed his walk.