The slap echoes through the room. I'll be feeling it for hours. Allowing the blow to turn my head, I can avoid Giselle's glare. I can deal with the physical pain; it fades. But those eyes, that look of disappointment, it was like getting stabbed in the heart.

"Becka, go to your mother." Becka gives me a worried look, but when I gesture, it's okay. She does as she's told. Disappearing into the side room, she shares with her mother, leaving me alone with Hunter and my now furious foster mom. Hunching over the table, Giselle digs her nails into the wood. "I allowed you to help your friend on the condition you would return immediately."

"Things got…" I protest. 

With one finger, she silences my protests. "Not only did you break your promise, but you endangered Becka's life." She glares at me. "Going to the Silent Sin." Rubbing her head, fighting the migraine taking shape, her usually well-kept hair now in tatters. "What were you thinking?"

"Like I said…" I say

"Enough!" she reaches for her cup. "Colton, go to Livius's office. There are things we need to discuss." As she is about to grab the pitcher, Hunter walks past me, his hand over the cup.

"You've had enough." His words are calm yet firm. Though she doesn't like his gull, she relents. Those war-weary eyes land on me. He gestures to the door. "Go. I will join you shortly."

"If you'd just listen," I say.

Giselle throws her hair back, taking a deep breath. "Colton, for once in your life, do as you're told!" She barks, pointing to the door. "Go." She cuts me deep, and we glare at each other, but as always, it's a pointless endeavor. I look back, but the scowl is still there. "You had me going, Hunter." I wanted to believe Hunter's words, hoping she'd actually been worried about me, not her reputation. 

I throw the door open, a torrent of frustration racing through me. She demands answers but won't let me talk. Then she questions my every action and silences me when I try to explain. It's never good enough for her. Master one language, learn another. Become skilled with a weapon; learn another. I want to punch the wall but stop for fear of breaking a finger. 

I look outside, the training dummies tempting me, but my bruised cheek says otherwise, so I continue my journey. Lost in my thoughts, the voices of the house slaves are little more than hazy words at the back of my mind. Despite everything, Giselle's demand to learn other languages comes in handy. I always know when they're talking about me.

Something is off. Usually, two guards are standing watch over Livius's office. Peering in, Livius has his back to the entryway, his full attention on the map on the back wall. Cane in hand, he draws a path along the major roadways as if planning for war. I walk into the room, the desk littered with parchment and letters. The wax seals of Jarls and Trajan lay scattered amongst the papers.

"Tell me, Colton, why are natural barriers better than man-made ones?" He turns, his cane tapping the ground with a thud. Those grizzled features drilling into me like a commander expecting the troops. It's always a test with Livius, and if you screw up, we'll, I don't want to relive that.

"They're less costly to maintain. Allowing us to control where the enemy can attack." He nods but glares at me. "Sir." Satisfied with my answer, he gestures for me to sit. "What's this about Lord Livius?"

"I'd like to know myself." Aunt Iona's voice fills the room. She sits beside me, checking the bruise on my cheek. "Oh, I'm going to have a few words with Giselle about this." She growls but holds her tongue. Eyeing Livius, she crosses her arms, leaning back with her legs crossed, "It's rare for you to want to see either of us. What's going on?

"War is on the horizon." He sits, his weary bones making each move a challenge. "This Baer has raided our northern territories, and our Jarl allies are refusing to reinforce our lines along the Scar."

"You can't blame them." Hunter enters the room with Giselle, her hair back in its usual bun. "The Trajans and the Jarls have been at each other's throats for generations." He stands behind me while Giselle sits next to me, earning a glare from Iona. The ire she gives off, you could cut it with a knife. Hunter grabs my shoulder, but I shove him away. "Those years of mutual distrust have festered into hate." He looks at me with those icy blue eyes. "If it's left untreated, we'll all bleed for it."

Livius rubs his temples, his eyes narrowing as he reaches for one of the letters. His face contorting as he reads, "Our enemies rally in the south, and the Emperor expects me to handle the north in his absence." Tossing the slip of paper, he rubs his eyes.

Giselle clears her throat. "I understand that, as the Emperor's former teacher, he places great faith in you. But shouldn't this be handled by the Trajans and the tenth?"

Rising from his seat, Livius turns to the map. "Normally, yes, but these recent attacks have taken their toll." Cane in hand, he points to the Titos quarry. "The region is unstable, spreading the legion thin. They have no time to train new soldiers. So they must prioritize defending the quarry and Bloodcreast."

It makes sense. The quarry is known for producing the best ore on the continent, which has given the Empire an advantage for generations. Losing it would prevent them from making new weapons and armor.

Giselle looks at me apologetically, trying to reach for my hand. But I refuse to acknowledge her. She doesn't get off that easily. "Will another legion be sent?" I ask, desperate to avoid Giselle's gaze.

All Livius does is shake his head. Reaching into his sleeve, he pulls out a letter bearing his family's seal. "Livia has sent word. Cato was summoned to lead the imperial vanguard to the holy land. They have no men to spare." He turns his attention to Iona.

"You're planning on sending mercenaries?" Iona says.

"Yes. It would take Titus's people more than six  months to rebuild a local militia." He points to the Eastern mountains. "So the Trajans have two options. They can either recruit  eastern sellswords or southern mercs."

"I wasn't aware the east had sellswords?" Hunter asks.

Giselle turns with one arm on the back of the couch. "They're the largest military force the East can muster. Nearly ten thousand strong." She turns her attention back to me, but I refuse to meet her gaze. "Livius. Titus has had no love for you since the brothel incident with Livia." Giselle said, turning to Hunter, who nods in agreement. "He'll turn to the East before ever asking you for aid. They have as much to lose if Baer invades."

It makes sense. Melissa used to talk about how her people's strength came from trade. But does Lord Titus have the means to employ the Silverscales? They're the most well-renowned mercenary company on the continent and the pride of the Eastern military. Yet it's rare to see them outside the Eastern plains.

"True," Livius leans on his cane. "I'm sure Titus would stoop to that just to spite me. But the merchant princes won't risk such a valuable force without a heavy price." He turns, leaning on the desk, his eyes searching for something. "For the good of the Empire, we need seasoned men to be able to fight year-round." Finding his prize, he tosses it to Iona. "Thus, mercenaries."

Iona eyes the papers with a look of confusion. Whatever is in these documents vexes her. I try to sneak a peek but can't understand what she's looking at. They look like names; some are scratched out, while others are circled.

"Veteran soldiers don't come cheap," Giselle says, sitting back and crossing her arms and legs. "Just how do you plan to pay them?"

"With land, Giselle." He walks around the desk. "The Trajans will provide ample land for mercenaries to settle. They can act as a permanent line of defense. Don't you agree, Iona? That's what most of them want in the end."

"Most of these companies are inexperienced." She glares daggers. "These greenhorns won't get along and would run at the first sign of trouble." She throws the papers on the desk.

I grab the papers, trying to understand what she's saying. Names litter the sheets like drops of rain. None of them are familiar to me other than the Greyhawks. Names like the Imperial Line and the Heirs of Arios sound impressive, but it's their accomplishments, not their names, that make a company.

Unfazed by her venom, Livius stares her down like a father scolding a child, handing her some parchment. "Enlighten me. Who would you recruit?"

Taking a quill, she writes several names, Hahaku among them. When she returns the quill, I glance at about twenty names. After a moment for the ink to dry, she hands it to Livius, who looks through the names and finds a pattern in her choices.

"Iona, most of these men are well past their prime." He drops the parchment as he leans on the edge of the deck, rubbing the bridge of his nose. With a weary stare, he pushes himself to stand. "Have any of them been in a large-scale battle these past twenty years?"

"Some, others have been acting as private military to the regional lords; they have combat experience, and they know how to work together."

"But, they lack numbers, which companies like the Greyhawks can provide," Livius says.

The air in the room grows heavy, and neither one is willing to give the other an inch. I imagine the situation. The Empire needs veteran mercenaries. Aunt Iona's friends have experience, while the imperial mercs have numbers. But the Greyhawks will never back her after what happened at the Eagle Tavern. They may even turn on her, given the chance.

In the midst of it all, Hunter walks to the map. "It won't matter either way." His words are cold as ice. "Baer has been massing his forces for twenty years. They number in the thousands." His eyes dart around the map like a hawk stalking its prey. He taps a few spots on the map, ignoring everything else. With an icy stare, he turns. "You need more men."

Joining him, Livius stares at the map. "Numbers alone don't win wars." He points at the Scar with his cane. "We control every large access across the Scar. Their moments will be limited."

"There are other routes," Hunter said.

Turning to Hunter, Livius offers a stoic expression. "At worst, we will have small warbands raiding isolated farms and villages. It's an acceptable loss." He taps his cane in front of him. "Should a large enough force cross the Scar. Those stationed at Bloodcreast will outlast them."

I was expecting them to throw barbs, but it feels like the build-up before a bolt of lightning strikes. "You fought the Northmen, Livius. You know how they will fight." Crossing his arms, "But Baer knows how the Empire fights. He'll pick at the scab until it rots, sewing distrust along the border. 

Though I have little love for the Empire, is this Baer any better? I look over to Giselle, who rubs her hands together and tries to wipe away invisible filth. She doesn't talk about her life in the North, but this situation bothers her. Muttering under her breath, she closes her eyes, leans back, and focuses on the lines that make up the ceiling. "What about the poison?"

So, the rumors are true? Did the Northmen attack with a new weapon? I try to read the room, but it's a mixed bag. Hunter and Livius are stone-faced, while Aunt Iona hides scared memories behind a glare. But Giselle, those eyes scream hopelessness. Her confidence is a broken mask.

"It's hard to say." Hunter walks around the desk, kneeling to take Giselle by the hand. Her back straightens as they lock eyes. "From what I witnessed, the poison must be in large quantities and is most effective in a closed space." Resting his head against hers, Hunter says, "I have people working a countermeasure as we speak."

They start whispering in a northern dialect I can't fully understand. Through it all, the only words I can make out are family, home, promise, and amends. The glint of a tear starts to creep from Giselle's eyes, but she quickly whips it away once she sees me looking at her.

Hunter's words ignite a spark in her eyes. A smile starts to form but quickly fades. Even in this dire situation, she still forces herself to remain composed. With a deep sigh, she rises, rubbing the bridge of her nose with her index fingers. "I'll regret asking, but how did you convince the Trajans to part with a piece of their province, Livius?"

I'm curious. Livia and Tatanya have been thick as thieves since they were kids. But their fathers are a different breed. Livius is new money, a man who made his own house from nothing, while the Trajans have leeched off their ancestors' legacy for generations. 

"Through a marriage pack." Livius turns to Giselle, reaching for a black-edged letter among the clutter. "Titus's younger brother Dorian holds the northernmost part of their territory. He lost his wife to a fever, and his only son died young, he stands to lose his claim without an heir." Rummaging through the pile of paper, he offers Iona a scroll. "In light of this, I will offer him a new wife, offering mercenaries as her dowry."

How does he plan to do that? Livia is with Cato. He has no other daughters, no sisters, or extended family. His eyes dart to Iona, making me nervous. Livius has always found ways of outplaying his opponents despite the odds against him.

"You don't plan on breaking your pack with the Juliana?" Giselle says.

"Of course not," he looks to Giselle, stone-faced, a vain thumping on the side of his head. Such an alliance is necessary for the Empire to endure. "While I have only one daughter," his attention returns to Iona. "But the winds of Arios are never still, so we must change with them."