Anneliese sat in Rowe the Righteous’ tent. In classical Veidimen style, they were surrounded by woolen walls, and a small fire burned in the center that piped through the small hole in the top that functioned as a chimney. A kettle boiled slowly atop this flame. Indeed—this mighty man was brewing her tea. She herself could scarcely believe it. His whole behavior had been rather unlike his gruff and cynical persona.
The S-rank spellcaster had been asking her many questions before the teaching process began, likely to get a grasp on how much she knew. But the topic of conversation drifted away from magic to the more personal aspects of life. Anneliese knew that Rowe had come here at the behest of both Veid and Dras, and as time went on, she felt she was coming closer to the secret that they’d been hiding in their cooperation.
When the kettle started to boil, Rowe rose from his seat and walked over to it as it whistled. “I had this imported from this land… along with the tea leaves, you see. Castro recommended them to me. Our culture is becoming… well, it’s becoming rather like you.” Rowe took the kettle away, and the whistling died down before fading altogether.
Anneliese stared, puzzled. “Like me how?”
“It hasn’t eluded me that you’ve forsaken the vast majority of our traditions,” Rowe pointed out. Rather than retrieve cups, he melded them out of the earth with versatile magic. “You are not Anneliese of Veiden any longer. You are Anneliese, Queen of Vasquer. And that’s no slight on you. It might be said that this land has treated you altogether better than ours. I met your mother. She’s a twat, if you’ll forgive me for saying so.”
“Your respect makes me uneasy.” Anneliese watched as he poured tea, then conjured a small ice cube for his own cup. She took hers.
“You will grow used to it, I should think.” Rowe sat down opposite the fire so that it rested between them. “You have adapted to this culture easily, and its people have come to welcome you. My point in saying all this being, Argrave has created an apparatus that threatens to subsume our people. Dras and Veid view it as an inevitability. As we experience the fruitfulness of these green lands and the relative fairness we receive in all our dealings here, our people will have far fewer reasons to be as brutal as they currently are. They may come as settlers rather than as raiders or conquerors. Why risk life and limb when we will be welcomed? And as we are welcomed, we will change. We will not be Veidimen. We will be snow elves, living in Vasquer. Names are a very powerful thing. And if things should go on, we will lose ours.”
Anneliese considered that carefully. “Argrave told me…” she trailed off, hesitating to relay his words—they related to Earth, and Veiden’s parallel to a human culture in his world. “…that harsh lands give rise to people like ours. Those who leave, and who settle elsewhere by force. We might leave an impact as we are, but I cannot believe it will be an enduring legacy. I believe our way is better. And I cannot think of any way in which cooperation between our people will be negative.”
Rowe focused on her, white eyes glimmering with the dancing fire. “But you cannot deny that no great empire was ever born without tragedies to help it ascend. Even Argrave enjoys the fruits of his father’s conquests.”
“What are you actually trying to convince me of?” Anneliese pushed to the heart of the matter, not wishing to engage in this topic. “That I should twist my husband to Veiden’s way? Have him author tragedy to build an empire?”
Rowe swirled his cup, the cube already melted into the tea. He sipped it slightly, then set it against his leg to give her a firm stare. “Patriarch Dras intends to name you as his successor.”
It was not the words, but their sincerity that made Anneliese’s breath catch. It was such an overwhelming thing to say, and given the tenor of this conversation, made little sense to her.
“As you know, Dras has never had any children. He has…” Rowe clicked his tongue. “He has some hang-ups about women. Seeing you and Argrave together has only made them worse. There are women that he knows, that he would love to welcome to his bed… but his odd personality, his insistence on perfection… he sabotages himself. He wants the perfect queen. It’s… it’s a very complicated relationship, and he constantly frets about succession, to the point where he’s stagnated into inaction for many years. Rowe shook his head. “I’m tempted to say he’d push away even Veid herself. But your arrival, and your rise to your station, has alleviated all of those problems as adeptly it’s almost as though some divine fate planned it out.”
“How in the world can you think that?” Anneliese said, still somewhat in shock. Her mind worked, leading to conclusions. “Then, this… I can see it as only two things. You intend to force my hand to return to Veiden, or you intend to unite Vasquer and Veiden.”
“The latter,” nodded Rowe. “To be more accurate, your heir would inherit both of our nations. Given that you two are spellcasters, that may be some many hundred years from now, but your child of mixed heritages would be as much a symbolic as a legal heir. A union of Vasquer and Veiden.”
Anneliese had complicated thoughts after hearing that. She and Argrave had discussed children, of course—both agreed they did want to start a large family. Their hope was that, during their reign, the royal family would become a symbolic, if wealthy, family as they ceded more and more power to the parliament. But she dismissed her thoughts, becoming all-too-mired in details.
“…I see no reason to decline. And if Dras and Veid are of one mind about this, I cannot see how there would be much dissent. But I cannot grasp the reasoning behind the decision.” Anneliese finally remembered to drink her tea. Some enlightenment came to her. “Unless… when you spoke of tragedies…”
Rowe nodded. “Yes. You did catch on, good. I’ll get to the point. We’ve been vaguely aware of the Great Chu. Dras dismissed their lands early on because their empire was vast, their people and soldiers more numerous, and the landmass was much further away than Berendar. The voyage would be treacherous—nigh impossible for a large army. Yet the naval base that Argrave has allowed us to build will become the staging grounds for the invasion of their empire. And with Dras and Veid both as our leaders in this war, I cannot see failure as an option. Her divinity is so intrinsically tied to us that we are empowered beyond compare when she descends.”
“I certainly felt no such thing,” Anneliese noted. She had a feeling as soon as she mentioned it that this was the outcome they were leading to, and managed to keep her calm.
“And that is further proof that you are what is needed to transition our people,” Rowe emphasized, taking another sip of his tea. “You and Argrave strive to create a just kingdom. And when the time has come, our people will submit to it, joining the two nations for the best for all in the world. A tragedy will be penned by those willing to pen it, and Vasquer will be the heirs with clean hands able to caress and nurture the next generation.”
“Best for all in the world?” Anneliese decided to simply set the cup down, tired of fussing with the thing. She rose to her feet and stared at Rowe beyond the fire. “This was a matter ended years ago, Rowe. An invasion—”
“It’s different than it was years ago,” Rowe also rose to his feet, smoke from the fire concealing part of his figure. “The Qircassian Coalition, Erlebnis—Vasquer’s enemies have aligned themselves with the Great Chu. We fight to preserve our power for the true enemy. And when opportunity comes, we must seize it.”
Anneliese stepped around the fire. “Why do you insist on doing this? What is so horrible about the present world that you must migrate from Veiden to invade a land of people the same as you or I? Why can we not settle down as traders with Vasquer, and be welcome within this land as we already are?”
“I am neither Veid nor Dras. But I can say that I think the same as them. You are smart—you see it. You see what disunity does to the world. Petty kinglings warring over territory generation after generation. That was Vasquer before Felipe III. That was Veiden before Patriarch Dras. With him at the top, the constant needless wars have faded.” Rowe walked to the side of the tent, and retrieved his cane. He willed magic into it, and a seam appeared on the cane. He pulled the top, and then drew a slender, white blade from it. “Now, with only one more, we can unite both the lands of the Great Chu and Vasquer. One generation will remember us as foul raiders and conquerors. But countless generations will enjoy the peace and justice of the government you build.”
“Felipe III had his mind rotted by Gerechtigkeit’s influence,” Anneliese pointed out, though eyed the cane-sword uneasily.
“Even I know that he began his wars long before that,” Rowe planted the blade in the ground. It hummed with cold. She had become acquainted enough with divine weaponry to recognize that blade as one.
“If you tell me all of this so frankly, I presume you expect I cannot put a stop to it,” Anneliese walked closer. “Why tell me at all? And why draw your blade?”
“So that you might prepare. I did not come as your magic tutor alone—I came to prepare the integration of our nation into yours. I came to ensure this succession would be smooth and bloodless. With this blade, you would be my student. With Dras’ words, you will be his successor. And with Veid’s blessing, your reign will be uncontested.”
“Nothing has happened yet,” Anneliese rebutted.
“What will you do, Anneliese? Will you refuse to be named Dras’ heir? Will you turn against your allies, consigning countless of Vasquer to death in a futile bid to prevent us our fate? Or will you accept the will of the Veidimen, and create a great empire that leads people to peace, prosperity, and justice?”
