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Niirgol lay head, shivering under the snow. Warren was shivering too; the House transports were open-topped with nothing but a thick canvas awning to keep the worst of the wind and snow away. He had thick blankets wrapped around him, but the cold had seeped into his mind and wouldn't let him go. "Still alive?" Rehd asked. Warren nodded, or at least shivered vertically. Three days ago he'd been dragged out of his nice, warm bed, stripped naked and shackled to a post out in the courtyard of the House grounds. Nobody had explained why, but Jasat's sons, eight and seven years old respectively, had shared his fate. He'd barely escaped frostbite; he remembered blacking out and waking up in the doctor's surgery. Rehd had explained later it was one of the rites they performed on their young men to harden them into warrior folk. With the memory digging into his head like a toothache, he probed the subject again. "So am I likely to be left to freeze again? "Maybe," Rehd answered. "It depends on how well you took it." "I think Korgan cried most of the night." Korgan was Jasat's youngest son. "Then he's likely to be out there again sometime. Jurgan took it well, I hear." "So why me?" Warren asked, pulling his blanked tighter around him. "I don't want to be a warrior!" Rehd leaned over and tightened the binds keeping the rear flap in place, stopping the slight draft that had formed. "It was Jasat's idea; I'd mentioned in passing that you seem... alienated. He thought if you went through the ordeal as his sons did, as all the young men of Tu'ri do, then maybe you'd feel more like a part of our House." "Well it didn't work," he answered back.

The motorcade passed into the royal grounds as the snow turned to hail. Warren cried out in pain as he dropped out of the back of the truck and was exposed to the storm. "Get the luggage out quick!" Rehd barked. A female Kyyreni named Eyvels shot back a curse. "Fuck the luggage! Get inside; we'll come back for it!" The guest house was an impressive building, with an entrance hall that was large and ornate enough to put some Common Houses to shame. Four servants of the Royal House - two male, two female - plus a Royal Guard were waiting for them. "Is your Lord present?" The guard asked. On cue, an armoured transport skidded to a halt as close to the door as it could manage. Jasat emerged, bringing with him his wife, two sons, three daughters and his bodyguard, Ank. The guard made the Sign of the Gate in greeting. "Welcome, Noble Jasat. I am Taryyk." "Taryyk?" Jasat gave the man a quizzical look. "Named for your father?" "Indeed," Taryyk replied. "I will be your liaison for your stay. If there's anything you require, please let me know." "I was curious as to why the walls of your grounds are so heavily fortified; are you expecting trouble?" Taryyk shrugged. "With the recent civil unrest we always expect trouble." "It's hardly recent; Niirgol was in unrest when my grandfather was still at the teat." Jasat hesitated, as if regretting his casual insult. "I would appreciate it if you and your staff would help get us settled in." "Gladly, Noble Lord," Taryyk answered. If he was bothered by Jasat's words he did not show it.

Before the 'settling in', Jasat wanted the luggage brought in. That meant braving the hail, and Warren was not surprised that he was roped into it. It was becoming the norm that if there was a job nobody wanted to do, Warren was the one to do it; at least, if Jasat was around to make it so. By the time they'd finished he was freezing cold, soaked to the bone and aching all over from the relentless hail. He was certain he'd have bruises from some of the strikes, and his fears were proven right when he finally had a chance to settle into a hot bath. "It'll be worth it," Rehd said jovially. "A little pain in exchange for witnessing history sounds a good deal to me!" Communal bathing may have become a way of life for Warren, but today he felt particularly uncomfortable. He wasn't the only one; it seems that the eastern provinces were a lot less picky about keeping men and women apart, and unisex bathing was considered quite normal. Given that he wasn't particularly comfortable sharing a bath with anyone, he felt particularly out of sorts. "Do you know what this is about?" Warren asked. It was Taahl who answered. "No," the old House Guard spat, flicking his eye toward one of the Royal servants who was currently fetching soaps and shampoos. Warren took the hint. Rooms were prepared for Jasat, his family and his entourage. Most of the staff and hangers on were split between two rooms, one for men and the other for women. Though a little crowded, they were still more luxurious than what some had waiting back home; even slaves like Warren were sleeping beneath silk sheets tonight. They had little to do but wait for the morning, so most helped themselves to the free drink and games of cards and dice. Every so often someone would go check on Noble Jasat, though Warren noticed someone else always volunteered when it was his turn. He didn't question why. "I spy Senate flags," Rehd announced from his vantage point at the window. "Tzajii's rulers have come as well. This is big; bigger than I thought." Taahl looked up from his game for a moment. "Oraahnaj send anyone?" "I see a transport I think... I can't see any heraldry, but it's painted blue and green and silver." "Those are Noble House Hanfhr colours." Young Arkr, a slave like Warren, wandered over to peer at the window with Rehd. "Rulers of three of the most powerful city-states in the Dawn all gathered together... I think we've come to see a new king crowned." "We've come to see the old one killed," Taahl corrected. "Kings don't relinquish power without a fight. You mark my words, there'll be civil war!" "No..." Rehd pulled himself away from the window and pulled the curtains shut, shooing Arkr out of the way in the process. "They would not allow that. It would be a violation of High Law to plunge the nation into conflict over the crown." Taahl rolled his eyes and shook his head. "Blood and Iron, do you not study history? Royal Beigohor won the crown from Royal Ijyorko by way of conflict. Ijyorko was wiped out in that war, just as they wiped out the Royal House before them. The last three Royal Houses have all been unseated by bloodshed. Why do you think this city's such a shithole? It's because every four or five generations some madman burns it down for fear of letting its rule go to another line!" "It is because of that madness King Fin will not permit another war," Rehd replied calmly. "If it is time for his rule to end, and for another House to take the crown, then he will pass it with dignity." "Wishful dreams and full of crap the lot of them," Taahl spat back, excusing him from the table. "I'm going to bed. We've got an early start if I'm any judge, so I'd advise you all to do the same."

* * *

Since last year, word of the Winter Hall had spread. Vaahn was overjoyed when his parents said he could go again. The Johansson family wouldn't be joining him though; Jas was going to spend the night with Rebecca (it had taken all his willpower not to comment on that) and Lucy would take him instead. Jackie was coming as well, though she seemed strangely frightened by the prospect. "I... I called my mother a bitch the other day, and I know she heard me but she didn't do anything!" Jackie confessed. "Then maybe she didn't hear you?" "She was giving me daggers with her eyes; she heard me alright!" the girl replied. "I think I'm going to get spanked in front of everyone!" "Christmas is only a few days away," Vaahn said. "Maybe she'll wait to make that extra hellish." The idea gave Jackie no comfort; she sulked for the whole journey. They met Frost and Yuin at the Rough House, with Ban in tow. The place was packed wall to wall; Frost made the comment that they'd had to book tickets in advance to get in. Inside, the arrangement was as Vaahn remembered; the stage for story-telling, currently occupied by musicians, and many tables full of drinking, laughing patrons. At the bar five Kyyreni with southerner accents were trying to sing Might and Magic, but couldn't remember anything beyond the second verse and so were more or less making it up as they went. They settled down at the table and took off their winter clothing; it was hot inside the Rough House tonight. The group stripped down to pants and t-shirts, whilst Frost and Yuin went one better, going bare-chested. "There's a lot of Humans here, have you noticed?" Vaahn hadn't, but at Yuin's comment he looked around the room and saw a fair few dotted around. He caught sight of Davenport, his headmaster, at a table in the far corner. He was wearing his old military uniform and his medals, as were the people with him. Ex-soldiers, come to honour the dead. Vaahn couldn't help but smile at that.

It wasn't Wodka who got the proceedings going, but Frost. The children had assumed he'd gone for drinks, and were quite surprised to find him stood up on the stage. "[May I have your attention please? That means SHUT UP you at the back!]" The roar got the attention of the offending table, who made some light-hearted heckling comments in return. "[Welcome, one and all, to the Rough House's second annual Winter Hall!]" That resulted in a loud roar of approval, for general purposes. "[My name is Frost, and I would like to begin tonight by saying what an honour it is to see so many strangers here; you can understand me, right?]" His question was directed to the nearest human group, who nodded. "Don't worry; we'll be sharing some tales in Panglish. In fact, I'd like to keep Panglish for now, because it symbolises just what I see here tonight - acceptance. I am one of the few Kyyreni who has acquired a Penitatas Parenting Licence, and in so doing I learned all too well that we live on a divided world. My brothers and sisters are often outsiders on this world; I'd like to think that by sharing our culture with you, as you share yours with us, we will gain common ground and learn to embrace one another, not drive each other apart." "Now, where shall we begin? I understand last year we started with a tale of war upon this world; a story of the lives lost in the Battle of Icara. I would like to begin there again, and so I invite our first speaker to come forward." Vaahn was going to stand up, but he saw Frost wasn't looking his way. Instead, it was Mr Davenport who was taking the stage.

The old soldier spoke carefully, in the manner of someone who felt duty bound to do justice to the events he'd lived through. The teacher's war story was vivid and violent; to Vaahn, it encapsulated perfectly that special kind of horror that ship-to-ship combat entailed. The hall listened to it all in silence; no heckling or ill-feeling was voiced as Davenport described how he'd gunned down Kyyreni soldiers, or watched their ships blown to smithereens. They listened because there was no malice in his voice. There was pride though; pride in fighting for his home, and in risking all in the name of duty. There was pride for the dead as well - the dead of both sides. He spoke with sadness at just how young many of the dead had seemed to him; he recounted how hard it was to extinguish a life before it had truly begun.

When he had finished, he singled out Vaahn directly, asking him to share his account of the war as he had done the year before. Those who had heard it last year voiced their approval, and as Davenport stepped down a wave of sound washed over him; a roar of approval, mixed with the rumbling thunder of clapping hands and stamping feet. As Vaahn passed, he watched as men stopped the ex-marine and shared words with him. Some were to congratulate him for sharing his tale, or to thank him for it. One mentioned his grandfather who had died boarding the Carlisle; that man thanked the headmaster for remembering how his ancestor died.

For the second time, Vaahn took the stage and told his tale of the invasion. He tried to stay true to his previous account, though it didn't come out quite the same. That wasn't important; what mattered is the tale was told, and that those who'd died were remembered. As he stepped down, Lucy pointed him toward the back of the hall. "There's a young lady who was asking after you. Why don't you go find her? You'll know her when you spot her." A little puzzled by the comment, Vaahn did as advised. He was right at the back of the crowded bar when he realised he'd been left to wander alone. It was a little thing, perhaps, but little things mattered to a Penny. Lucy had been right about knowing who to look for; Vaahn spotted a Kyyreni female about a year older than he was sat with a Human couple. The man was a pale, scrawny man that resembled a wilting flower. His wife was a stark contrast; cocoa brown and possessing a chubbiness born of never skipping dessert. Vaahn found it hard to imagine what had brought the two of them together. Their daughter was much more normal, to Vaahn's eye at least. She was a grey-furred Kyyreni covered in spots, with brown 'socks' of fur that ran from feet to knees and hands to elbows. She also had a brown patch that enveloped her muzzle, forming a rough diamond from between the eyes to the base of her collar bone. It was rather cute, in its own way; endearing due to quirkiness. It was also oddly familiar... His eyes returned to what had brought the family to his attention in the first place; the silver 'P' symbol on the girl's hand, the loop of which was broken open to signify Soft Time. The girl caught him staring and called out. "Commander!"

Before he knew what was happening, the Kyyreni girl had grabbed him and dragged him to her table. "Mom, dad, let me introduce Commander Vaahn of House Taral." "Tu'ri, actually," Vaahn corrected, still on the back foot. "Taral, Tu'ri, who cares? You high-born set far too much score by old names!" Vaahn's mouth dropped open. "Who the hell are you to insult the Houses so flippantly?" The girl gave a wolfish grin, as only a Kyyreni could. "I'm your air support." The boy's mouth dropped a second time. "By Kalkar, you're Aki!" "I knew you'd remember me!" Aki laughed. The two Kyyreni had met a lifetime ago. Back then, Aki was known as 'The Arsonist' and commanded a Black-Flag raiding company. Under any other circumstances she would have been shot dead for her actions, but war made heroes of villains. The conversation invariably led to her parents asking questions, ones which she answered with a weariness Vaahn recognised all too well. Black Flags were honourless men. Or women, as the case may be. Their name came from the old times when armies would wait for the moon's light to strike their boldly-coloured banners, or ship sails in the case of the more nautical peoples, before committing to the fight. Some, however, preferred not to fight under colours; their flag was the moonless sky. They often preyed on coastal folk, burning and pillaging villages before escaping into the Night Ocean. In modern times, it referred to anyone who undertook covert and/or illegal actions - raids that were beyond the boundaries of Conflict Law. At least, that was Vaahn's interpretation. Aki went with something a little more basic. "Black Flags are ships or raider companies who don't follow the silly, stuffy old Houses and their let's-make-war-a-game rules." Vaahn scowled at the girl. "Now I remember why nobody liked you." Aki laughed off the comment. He decided to steer things onto a new subject. "How exactly did you get captured?" "I fell out of the sky, of course!" Aki's reply was, as ever, accompanied by laughter; rapid, gleeful and eager for more. If a fire could laugh, it would laugh like Aki. "I'd clocked up just over a dozen scrags when some f- darn lucky shot hit me up the tail end. Rear gunner popped off to see Kalkar there and then and left me to ride the wreck dirt-side. I couldn't bail, not with the shield below me, so I tried to steer down onto something softer. Almost cleared it too; the last thing I remember was clipping the edge of that big glowy umbrella and then seeing ground rushing to greet me." She flicked her tail up into her right hand and brushed it whilst her thoughts turned to that distant day. "I woke up again as a five year old. Turned out I'd been emergency rejuvenated. Didn't understand that at the time of course; didn't understand anything! There I was dumped into the life of a Hard Time Penitatas serving and I couldn't even speak the language! Well, they went easy on me at first... or they probably would have if I hadn't kept trying to bite people, or burn down their houses, or - what's so funny?" "You," Vaahn said, grinning for the first time since the two had encountered one another. "I honestly thought I was the only person to go through this kind of thing! I thought I was alone on this world for so long! Wait, if you were a Penny, how come I've never seen you at school? Where do you live?" "Lute Gardens," Aki answered. "I go to school at Henry Dudd Rejuve Elementary, always have." "Where's that?" "North-east of the city. Why, where are you?" "South end; I live within walking distance of ICRU." The girl threw a brief pout his way. "Kadec Kyiyn! That was going to be my school! The Headmistress visited my house to check my language skills!" "What happened?" Vaahn asked, feeling a sudden flash of anger at the mention of Miss Roughsedge. Triumphantly, Aki replied, "she grabbed me by the ear, planning to drag me over for some 'attitude adjustment', so I whacked her where she'd notice! Then I bit her hand and made a run for it. Of course, I wasn't so proud of that when they caught me... I had blisters on my bottom for a month straight, and my parents decided to send me somewhere else; a smaller school where it was easier to keep an eye on me." Aki's parents, having listened to the entire exchange, felt the need to wade in. "We will be sending you straight to bed with a well-spanked backside the way you're carrying on! You shouldn't be proud of hitting and biting a teacher!" "I'm not proud of it!" Aki answered quickly. Vaahn saw a twinkle of defiance in her eye as she added, "but I was proud of it at the time, and since you keep telling me it's wrong to lie you can't very well punish me for being honest." "There's such a thing as too much honesty," the father replied. The two Kyyreni children looked at each other and saw in each other's faces the exact same thought; parents, make up your gods-damned minds about what is right and what is wrong, and stick to it. "Wait, you went down during a military action. Surely you wouldn't have been Penitatas..." Aki shrugged the comment of as though it didn't matter. "I always figured the higher ups denied all knowledge of us 'Black Flags' and left us for dead. Besides, by the time I could speak the lingo I'd caused more than enough trouble to warrant the Big P." "I have no doubt," Vaahn said. "To be honest, I wasn't much better." They briefly turned their attention to the intermission. A band had decided to take the stage, and Vaahn's heart skipped a beat. "Hey, have you heard these guys?" "Nope," Aki replied, cocking a thumb to her parents and adding, "[They don't approve of 'violent music'. They seem to think it was made by demons or something.]" "Don't think we don't know you're talking about us young lady!" Her mother was quick to scold. "I just wanted to know if I could go and meet Vaahn's other friend. There was another Rejuve with him. Can I? Pleeeease?" Reluctantly, they agreed. The two Soft Timers rejoined Vaahn's little group just as the band kicked into one of their most popular songs; Might and Magic. "Funny how people assumed the Night was full of monsters and demons, yet never bothered to ask the locals." Frost chuckled, having heard their work before. "Still, I suppose that made life more exciting; the prospect that something strange and wondrous lurked on the horizon." "Who's to say it doesn't?" Lucy countered. She examined her empty glass and went to get a new one. On the way past she said, "There's plenty of worlds out there left to see."

* * *

The House of Tu'ri had always seemed to Warren, despite its location within Yvenik's urban sprawl, to be a country manor. It was a place of low, yet ornate structures with considerable time and effort put into the gardens and greenery that lay within its basalt coloured walls. It was, in its own way, a humble place. There was no humility here. The main structure was a medieval fortress converted to modern use. Shield pylons and anti-air batteries covered the upper ramparts, and sealed metal shutters allowed for commanding fields of fire. The outer walls were three stories high, with an armoured barbican to guard the main gate. There was none of the finery of Tu'ri; no statues, no gardens save for a smallish patch against the north-western wall. The Royal House wanted to make itself known as a military power. Within the building proper it was another matter entirely. Portraits sat in gilded frames studded with gemstones. Statues forged out of solid silver stared down at the visitors in lofty disdain. A chandelier, impossibly huge, illuminated an entrance hall that dwarfed the largest hall in Tu'ri by a considerable margin.

Dressed in fine clothes, and told in no uncertain terms to keep his mouth shut, Warren soaked up the atmosphere of the gathering. The entrance hall was full of people and noise. Music, conversation, the sound of footsteps on the marble floors; hundreds of little sounds all mixed up together and were amplified as they bounced off the high walls and vaulted ceiling. In the space, Warren began to appreciate the subtle differences between the cultures he had yet to see on Urokon. The men of Yvenik had not come in armour, but instead favoured bold outfits of silk and dyed leather. Some had dyed their hair to match, whilst others sported body scarves or stylish tailored cloaks. Stark contrast to them were the Kyyreni of Niirgol and its protectorate cities. They wore armour; mostly ceremonial stuff of bronze or silver, but every man had a suit. Even their lesser men, the servants, vassals and slaves wore outfits that had a decidedly militaristic feel to them. Their manes and facial hair was lop-sided, trimmed down as short as possible on the right hand side. Rehd called it a flash pan cut. The young man's gaze wandered to the people of Tzajii. They wore suits, or something approximating suits. Purple and blue was the colour scheme of choice, with rank presumably denoted by how it was applied; unlike the other Kyyreni there, Warren could not readily guess station just by clothing. They were also followed by stranger men and women; small, lithe Kyyreni with albino fur and black cloth wrapped over their eyes. They navigated by heat-sense, and never seemed to stray more than an arm's length from another of their group. "Last season's furs," Rehd noted under his breath, nodding ever so slightly to the Oraahnaj. They did indeed wear furs; so brown they were almost black, and shockingly thick. He imagined they must have been taken from some giant bear, or similarly fearsome creature. What wasn't fur was leather, not dyed fancy like that of Yvenik's people, but brown and black and tan, fading to green with age in some places. All of this, and plenty more besides, was on display in the hall. He'd always assumed the Kyyreni were a monoculture, until he realised that what he'd seen was simply the Dawn culture - the dominant power on Urokon and beyond. Now, he was seeing just how fractured that 'unified' kingdom really was. He was adrift in a sea of complex social protocol - what did the medals, badges and patches mean? Was there significance to who went barefoot and who didn't, or who wore weapons and who didn't? Some Kyyreni with hats and helmets took them off when they spoke to certain people, and put them on again when they spoke to others. What was the meaning behind that? Why did the Tzajii, supposedly representing half a dozen Noble Houses, all wear the same colours?

"Who are you?" The question caught Warren off guard. He turned around to face an old man of Tzajii who was being held upright by a pair of child slaves. The boys - they were naked, so that much was beyond question - wore soft leather hoods that denied them all vision. They trembled where they stood, focusing all their efforts into remaining perfectly still. "You speak Ruljic, boy?" The man asked. Warren nodded his head. "A little, sir." "Then answer my question." The man's tone was raspy, short of breath. His chest didn't move right. "Warren Phillips, sir." A thought flickered across the young man's mind. "I am a slave of the Noble House of Tu'ri." The slight curving of the man's lips suggested Warren had said something right, or at least something amusing. "You're Human, yes? What were you before you became a slave?" That was tricky ground. Jasat had been very clear that if Warren wanted to live, he had best not discuss his Rejuvenation. He settled on something close to the truth. "My father was a lawmaker." "Your father was a lawmaker, or you were?" The old man bared his teeth in what might have been amusement. "One hears rumours; funds diverted, resources purchased, items of technological interest suspiciously absent from ships dragged into the butcher yards, that sort of thing." Warren bit his lip tight. Across the room he caught a glimpse of his Lord and master talking with other Nobles. For a heart-stopping moment Jasat's gaze fell upon him. The Noble's expression was one of stern disapproval. Then the crowds moved and he was gone. "Did it work, lad? No ill effects? You didn't die like the others, but was there long-term harm?" Warren missed the last question; the word 'die' was more pressing. "What others? What happened?" The old man shrugged. "I don't rightly know, but it's been whispered into my ears that none of them died well, or quickly. You seem alright though." "I... I am fine, yes..." "I've upset you it seems. I'm sorry." The old man lifted his right arm off the shoulders of one of the child slaves, who bowed their head in submission. "My name is Jodin, Senator of Tzajii and Lord of the Nightward Barony." Warren accepted the handshake. It felt surreal, since no-one else on the planet used the custom. He placed his arm on the bowed boy's shoulder again, and the slave returned to his alert, attentive state. "You're wondering about them, aren't you?" Jodin glanced from one to the other. "They are my minders; I'm ashamed to say I am far beyond the means of taking care of myself. They fetch for me and do for me, and they do so with distinction." He made sure to raise his voice for that. "They're... naked." Warren said. "It's tradition. Hell if I know where from, of course, but they don't complain." He squeezed his left hand. "In fact, I think this one quite enj-" The comment was halted by a coughing fit. Another of Jodin's servants, rather more sensibly dressed, appeared out of nowhere to tend to the old man. Choking and spluttering, Jodin waved him off. "By the gods!" he coughed. "Can a-" he coughed again. "-a man not-" a long spluttering followed, "- a damn clearing of the throat without-" one last 'clearing of the throat' followed, "-a damn doctor rushing to him?" Warren remained carefully silent. He wondered if he would be dismissed now. He hoped he would be dismissed; he wasn't sure if he wanted to be around Jodin anymore. When he recovered, the Baron said, "You don't know when this Rejuvenation technology is going to be formally announced do you?" Warren shook his head. "Do the Kyyreni not use Rejuvenators at all?" "On the fringes, perhaps, but Urokon and the core colonies won't allow it - far too much in the way of legal complications. There's questions about titles, and inheriting them, and whether a man is still an adult or a child after Rejuvenation, and so on." One last cough, late to the party, forced its way out of his mouth. "I don't want to die, you see. I've had a fucking awful life." For the first time, Warren looked at Jodin properly. The man's chest did not rise and fall when he breathed, and the young boy thought he could hear something mechanical taking place under the Baron's clothing; a gentle hiss of pumps or pistons. "Are you alright?" Warren asked. "No, I am not." The Baron replied. "When I was eleven years old I got it into my head that I wanted to be a war hero. I rushed off to join a raiding company and went plundering to the north. I never so much as fired a gun - we ran afoul of another raider group and they blindsided us. An explosive went off right behind me at the start of the fighting... and I've been a cripple ever since." The Baron nodded down at his body. "I have to breathe via a machine. For five years I had to be fed via nutrient mixes pumped straight into the blood. I lost both legs - these are false - two kidneys and a lot of intestine. My boys..." he squeezed the slaves again, "they go through a lot for me. I wish they didn't have to, but the simple truth is I cannot do the most basic of things unaided. Oh, and now I'm going blind and deaf, just to add insult to injury." He let his words sink in. "I want to be young again, Warren Phillips. I don't care if I have to give up my Barony and my Senate seat and everything else. I would gladly be a poor man, or even a slave, if I could just go back to being eleven years old and not make such a damn stupid choice..." "Why are you telling me this?" Warren asked. "Because you were, unless I am mistaken, a member of the Correction Council on Icara." He saw in Warren's expression that he was right. "Jasat wants you close because he'll have a big say in what the new laws are. I need you to help me, Warren. I need you to pressure your Noble; get him to hurry the hell up and legalise this technology whilst there's still anything left of me to Rejuvenate!" Once more, Warren looked for Jasat in the crowd. He wasn't in sight. "I don't know if I can..." "I'll make it worth your while," Jodin said. "Even if I won't be Baron anymore, my sons will be. They will remember you helped me, and they will return the favour somehow. Whatever it is you want, for your House or yourself, they will do all they can to see it happen!" "I... I would like to go home," Warren confessed. "Then we'll get you home. Get me another chance and we'll get you home, I swear it." A flimsy, shaking hand was offered. "We shake on this deal, yes?" Warren shook.

As the crippled Baron drifted away, Jasat loomed out of the swirling sea of high society. "What was he after?" The young Human stared up at his Kyyreni master. "He... he knew about me. He knows I'm a Rejuve... and he wants you to legalise the technology." "He wants to be a Lord Eternal," Jasat sneered. "No, Lord. He said he doesn't care if he has to give up his position; he just wants another life." This seemed to catch Jasat off guard. "Perhaps I misjudged the man," he said idly, turning his head this way and that to try and catch sight of the Baron. "No matter; we'll be done here soon, and when we are you will go and seek Jodin out. I will give you documents to submit, all you have to do is get his approval." "You want me-" Warren stopped; Jasat wasn't listening. He'd already moved on, and by the looks of things others planned to do the same.

* * *

Aki was having the time of her life. The drink Frost gave her left her feeling loose and chatty, and she had an audience who seemed happy to listen. Wodka and his friends came over as the punch line to her latest tale was delivered, causing Ban and Vaahn to explode into laughter. "Hail, Noble Vaahn! Care to talk a little business?" "Is this really the time?" Vaahn asked jovially. "I've got plenty of people who'd like to speak to you. You remember my friends, yes?" He pointed out the table nearby. Vaahn saw some familiar faces there: Broot and his wife, Yvelja; Koskr, Kard and Fryyd. He didn't really know them as such, but he could at least spot them in a crowd. He looked to Frost, Yuin and Lucy. "Do you mind if I go see what they want?" "Go ahead," Lucy replied. Vaahn knew full well she'd have an eye on him at all times. "[A pleasure as always, Noble,]" Broot said, giving Vaahn a nod of respect. "I hear you want to talk business," Vaahn replied. Koskr smiled. "Indeed we do. I know you do not like the idea of being a 'figurehead', but we must insist on the founding of the House once more." "Why?" Vaahn asked. His face hardened now an unwelcome subject had been raised. "Because Urokon is shifting," Fryyd answered. "We've had many good years, but now all signs point to trouble. There's high level resistance to further growth in trade between our worlds; the King believes Icara will begin another war given the chance. Everything is adrift and at risk of being washed away, so we need something to anchor to." Vaahn sighed, "And so you come to me." Kard nodded. "Things have changed while you were gone. The Colonies are more powerful now, and the Free Admiralty is formally recognised as a sovereign nation, not just a band of lunatics; they've even taken governance of a world!" "This is why we need a House now," Yvelja added. "Even if the Dawn or the Night won't acknowledge us we can thrive, so long as we can get the Colonies and the Admiralty to back us." "And they will back us!" Wodka was quick to say.

Vaahn shook his head and ran a hand through his head fur. "Is this really all it's about? You want me to form a Noble House so you can carry on having trade?" "No, that isn't it at all." Kard answered. "This is about protecting our home. If we can get sovereignty then it will put a block on any direct aggression from Urokon; they wouldn't be able to strike Icara without starting a colony war." "Wait, are we talking about trade disputes here, or a full-scale war?" Fryyd sighed and said, "We hope for the former, but we're preparing for the latter." "There is a gathering in Niirgol in the coming days," Koskr added. "An audience with the king that we fear may be a war council. A lot of the Niir-Nobility actively fund raiding and piracy against Icaran trade courses, but lately we've seen an increase in planetary raids against Confederate worlds. Whatever is coming... it won't be pretty." Vaahn let out another weary sigh. "I'd hoped this would be a good day..." Wodka placed a hand on the boy's shoulder. "I'm sorry Vaahn, but you can see why this is important to us. Icara is our home, though not all of us chose it. We have to defend it however we can, and this simple action, the forming of a House, could do wonders for this world." Vaahn closed his eyes. It was hard to think of things he truly loved about this world. Icara was not a planet he felt particularly close to, and he certainly wouldn't shed any tears if war did come to claim it... and yet the images that surfaced in his mind over and over were the faces of friends and family, people who did care about Icara. He knew what they would want of him. His eyes slowly opened again. "I've made my choice," he said.

* * *

It was a tight squeeze fitting everyone into the hall. Those were not permitted direct involvement in the proceedings - the families, bodyguards and general hangers-on of the nobility, were forced to the sidelines along with countless members of the Thrall caste who had, by various means, gained access to watch history unfold. King Veihr of Royal House Beigohor was an old, old man. He was forty nine; a fine age for a Kyyreni, Warren was assured. His age meant that he was not long for this world, but a callous onlooker might have said he was dead already. His skin hung off his bones, with little muscle or fat left to speak of. His fur was rough and unkempt, and the bone structure of his face showed clearly through his wasting face. He oversaw the proceedings from a silver-plated throne. There was a matching throne beside his, which had been left vacant save for a thin circlet resting upon a lace cushion. Stood next to and slightly behind the King's throne was a young Kyyreni, proudly wearing the colours of the Royal House. "The Gathering of Nobles shall be brought to order!" His voice carried over the crowd, bringing silence to the hall. A round of formal introductions followed; a lengthy affair that smacked of old tradition. Jodin, it seemed, was a secondary player in the event, mentioned with the Common Lords. "Can we begin this please?" A lord from the north growled impatiently. "I'm tired of this matter already."

As the greetings and ceremonies ended, Jasat took centre stage. "Lords and Ladies; high born of the Dawn and all witnesses present, I stand before you now with a heavy heart..." He moved slowly around the semi-circle of Kyyreni, meeting the eye of certain men, who nodded or made slight hand signals to show support. "I come here because the law has been broken, and the guilty must be brought to account." "What law?" one Noble asked, as if on cue. "The law that states the weak may not hold power over other men!" Jasat declared, holding his tongue to let a ripple of whispered conversation pass through the assembled onlookers. "Weak men are unworthy of power, and so they will lie and cheat and violate all decency to cling to their power. Strength breeds honesty, and our people demand honest rule." The young man shadowing the King tensed at these words. "I do not like your tone, Noble of Tu'ri. You imply that my father is a dishonest man!" Jasat once again allowed the audience to calm themselves. This was a show, Warren realised; a pantomime performance done for reasons that he could not guess, but that many of the Nobles were a part of. "I should imply that," Jasat conceded. "Rather, I should say it aloud, for the truth does not need to be whispered!" That got a reaction. Nobles of Niirgol rose to their feet in outrage, and other men rose to shout them back down. "How dare you!" one man cried. He'd been crying it for almost a minute, but it had taken this long for everyone else to return to silence. "How dare you slander our king! Our sovereign led us through the Icaran War and you would call him weak?" It was not Jasat that spoke now, but another lord; the impatient northerner. "He led us, did he? What battlefields did he lead us on? What front line glory did he win?" "Imbecile! A King cannot risk his life on the killing line!" "But we can?" Jasat countered, suddenly cold. "My family were ever on the front lines, and we paid a terrible cost for that. We all did; all the houses of Yvenik and all who owe fealty to our city. In fact, I think my city bled more than most in that war. Tell me, Lords of Niirgol, how many of your fathers were sacrificed for the good of this world by your 'warrior king'?"

More outrage, more uproar. Any semblance of order and hierarchy was forgotten as the high men and women vocalised their anger as rage-filled incoherency. At last, his patience having run out, the King spoke. "I will have order in my hall!" His voice was raspy and weakened by age. Where his gaze fell, the lords fell back to their seats. All except for Jasat; he would not yield the stage so easily. The king scowled at him for some time before hissing, "You think I do not know you, son of Vaahn? You think I am ignorant as to your nature? You have prospered from war; it won your House glory and helped you solidify your station. With peace came new riches through trade, which you have pursued ruthlessly, crushing all who stand in the way of your insatiable greed." Jasat did not rise to the insult. "Now, here you stand the warmonger once more. You mock and belittle me in front of your peers, yet you beg and plead and grovel at my feet behind closed doors. What was it you said about weak men just now?" Jasat's eye twitched, and his hands slowly closed into fists. He bared his teeth, allowing a feral growl to rise in his throat. "How dare you speak to me in that tone you snivelling little bastard!" No uproar answered him. No-one cried out to defend their king. The entire hall was utterly stunned, watching in open-mouthed disbelief as Jasat began to tear into his ruler as though he were a wayward child. "You call me warmonger? We both know damn well that you used the Icaran War as an excuse to weaken your political rivals, whilst keeping your friends strong! Even then you knew we'd come for you! Even then you knew we could smell your fear! If I beg of you, Veihr of Beigohor, it is to beg for sanity; for you to surrender your crown to spare us the sorry task of burning this city to the ground!" The King's son stormed forward, a curse forming on his lips, but his father gripped his arm and pulled him back. "I am growing tired of your treasonous words, Jasat T'Rol." "Oh spare me your senile prattle!" Jasat barked back before Veihr could say anything else. He turned from the king to the rulers of the Dawn's cities, addressing them all with no less venom. "And you... all of you... I am disgusted! What were you doing whilst the House of Tu'ri licked its wounds and built its strength, replacing the irreplaceable losses taken in war? For years I have listened to you bemoan the sad state of Niirgol; the corruption, the lawlessness, the civil unrest that has infested the city since my great-grandfather's days. For years, I have listened as you cried out for a new king, yet dropped your voices when you feared someone might hear. It is not greed that has dictated my actions; it is duty. Tu'ri is rich enough now to buy armies, to fund campaigns, and to purchase political favours. Many up and coming Houses owe their rise to my support, and more than a few Nobles might not hold their titles now where it not for the aid I granted them." He turned back to the king, eyes aflame. "I have amassed a trade empire, and I have used a lifetime's wealth to steel my House and its allies for war. King Veihr, let me speak plainly; relinquish your crown, or I will take it by force." "You threaten me with war?" the king asked, rising from his throne and hobbling toward Jasat. He likely wished to sound enraged, but he couldn't find the strength for anything more than a dry croak of shock. "I threaten you with oblivion. If you bring war to this nation, if you force me to unleash hell upon this city and its people, I swear to the gods I will burn this place to the ground. I will slaughter your House and your line, and all lines that are bound by your banner, down to the last child. I will leave no stone upon stone and salt the ground on which your home once stood, and then I shall burn you from the pages of history. You will be destroyed in every way a man can be, and I would still not deem it punishment enough." With a backward glance to the assembly Jasat growled, "It is time to choose your side." One by one the lords and ladies rose, offering a salute, or drawing a ceremonial blade, or banging a fist upon their chest. One man, a Noble of Yvenik and trusted ally of Tu'ri, bowed his head and said, "We are loyal to you unto death, Noble Jasat."

Even from a distance, Warren saw the light in the king's eyes fade. He fell to his knees, stunned at the overwhelming support the upstart commanded. Nearly three quarters of the gathering had turned on him. "I am sorry, my King," one woman said. She was dressed as a lady of a Niirgol House. "It is time for your rule to end." "Come quietly," Jodin added, propped up by his blinded slaves. "Do not dishonour this fine hall with words of war." Veihr took a trembling breath, blinking tears from his eyes. "You cannot do this..." Jasat loomed over him as though he planned to deliver the killing blow right there. "Relinquish the throne, and we shall be merciful." For a moment, the king cast his rheumy eyes toward his son, who stood seething with rage by the throne where he had been left. "I always did what I believed was right..." Slowly, with shaking hands, he lifted his crown from his head. It was a thin circlet of metal, so simple that it had been all but lost in his shaggy fur, yet to the eyes of the Kyyreni it was more glorious than any jewel-studded headpiece of the Human monarchs of old. Jasat grasped the thing lightly in his hand and held it aloft. "Veihr has surrendered his rule; the House of Beigohor is stripped of its Royalty!" He span on his heel and tossed the circlet onto the ground, where it bounced and rolled to the foot of the throne. "A waste of metal; true kings show their merit by actions, not by trinkets!"

A growing pressure lifted from the hall as Jasat returned to his entourage. Lady Helna smiled at her husband, her eyes filled with pride. "You did well," she said. "Perhaps, but while I had plenty of support in removing the king, there's much less unity as to who will replace him; Niirgol has been the capital for nearly a thousand years, and they won't want to change that." "Then we'll just have to convince them all why our House is the one to back," Helna countered. Jasat smiled at her, reminded of just why they had married years before. "Someone get me a pad, I think I know where to begin." With practiced ease, Jasat tapped a brief message into the pad and handed it to Warren. "Take this to Jodin. Deliver it and get him to agree, whatever it takes."

* * *

Warren was taken to the guest house, an establishment outside of the walls of the Royal House, and instructed to wait. The entire building had been hired out for the Tzajii delegation, with Jodin's room being one of the nicer ones on the ground floor. Eventually, the door was opened and he was allowed inside. There was Jodin, sat on the bed with medical tubing up his nostrils. A compact machine at his side whirred quietly to itself, doing whatever it was required to do. There was a guard, well-armed and humourless, and the two boys. They had taken their hoods off now, revealing near-identical faces. They were clearly brothers, perhaps even twins. Warren's gaze lingered on them for longer than was polite. "Ah, the Rejuve!" Jodin coughed out the greeting. "Leave us, guard." With a nod the man obeyed. Warren was pointed to a seat, which he accepted. "My boys here are Tyyn and Tiron. Don't mind them." Warren offered the datapad. "I come with a message from my lord." "I guessed that," Jodin said, though not unkindly. He took the pad and idly read the contents. The boys looked at one another anxiously. They were still naked, though their body language suggested that was no concern to them. "Master, perhaps-" Without looking up from the pad Jodin answered, "Tiron, you may trust our guest. Carry on as you were." Another shared glance, followed by a shrug of acceptance as Tyyn reached for a shallow oak box. His hand came out with a scalpel blade. "What are you doing with that?" Warren asked, and then gasped in shock as he witnessed the answer. He watched in horror as Tiron raised an arm and, without any sign of pain or fear, allowed his twin to cut into his flesh. There was barely any blood, despite the blade being drawn down, across and back up a large area of the torso. "Hold it up," Tyyn instructed, and Tiron peeled back the cut flesh. Suddenly, it became very clear why the boy had no fear of being cut. In place of bone and muscle there was matt metalwork encased in a translucent, yellowish gel. "You're an android?" "Yes, we are both automata," Tiron confirmed. Tyyn drew some more, much more complex looking tools out of the box and began to work on his counterpart. Warren took a moment to remember how to breathe. "You could have said something!" "I'm a sadistic bastard," Jodin said. "So is your lord, it seems; less than I'd wanted, yet more than I'd hoped. He has a talent for making deals."

Jodin deleted the contents of the pad and handed it to Tyyrn and Tiron, who both read the contents with unnatural speed. He sat and watched in silence as the boys resumed maintaining one another, and sealed their cut flesh with more of the gel and a layer of spray-on skin. "They are masterworks," he announced, his voice filled with pride. "We won a lucrative contract to construct automata for an Icaran company, and produced these two as proof of our manufacturing capabilities. Of course, their design is based in no small part on the 'Annie Android' schematics we were loaned as part of the contract, but that's not the point. I'm proud to say that nobody has ever spotted they aren't real." Understanding dawned. "That's why they're kept naked - you want to give people every chance to spot they aren't real!" Jodin nodded. "The faces are the finest part. Nobody appreciates how hard it is to make a realistic face. You need just the right kind of imperfections in just the right quantities." Warren inclined his head in agreement. The two boys, now patched up, were once again more than enough to fool him. The only hint something was wrong was the faint cut-lines around their bodies, though even as he watched the two began to apply nano-lotions and follicle restorers to the wound to erase the evidence. "Do you have a reply for my lord, sir?" Warren asked. Jodin nodded. "Yes I do. I will support his venture, and I'll have a message sent to the hall at once." One of the boys headed for the door without having to be told. "Then I guess I should go." As Warren stood up, the remaining boy gripped him by the arm. The contact made Warren cry out, for the android's strength was much greater than his child-like frame suggested. "Stay a while, boy." Jodin said, removing the tubes from his face.

Tiron returned and packed away the medical device, whilst Tyyn's grip never loosened. Jodin simply sat and smiled, admiring his android as it moved about. "They do a lot for me," he said. "They do all I ask and they never complain or protest, unless I desire them to." Warren's heart froze in his chest. "Please... please let me go." "You were promised to me," the old man replied. "As a favour, to sweeten the deal, Jasat's note said you were to entertain me. I've never been 'entertained' by a Human before..." Before Warren could cry out, Tiron shoved a wad of cloth into his mouth as an ad-hoc gag. It did not take the androids long to render him helpless, and he began to cry freely as the machines stripped him of his clothes. Jodin watched the unwilling boy struggle with a lecherous grin on his face. "I doubt you'll be as talented as my boys here, but I'm sure you'll entertain me just fine..."

* * *

Ank was good at handling boredom, simply because he could find something to do anywhere. Since he'd been instructed not to leave the Royal Grounds, he'd spent his time walking around them. Niirgol was a very different place to Yvenik, and the more he took in of the grim, militant architecture the more he longed for home. Niirgol, in his opinion, was too close to the Day... His travels brought him back to the guest house, where he was accosted at once by Helna. "Have you seen the boy? Jasat sent him on an errand and he hasn't come back yet." Ank shrugged. "So he's running late?" "He was sent outside the grounds!" Helna replied. "Lad's probably lost, or worse he's done something to embarrass us! Go and find him, would you?" "Yes, Lady." Ank said. Free of the grounds, the rest of the city was not much of an improvement. Niirgol felt industrial; buildings were mass-produced affairs of dust-grey brick, black wood and lead slate. Flashes of colour were hinted at through kite shield windows or the gothic, arched doorways, but there was none of the extrovert styling of Yvenik. He found the guest house easily enough. It looked like a colander turned upside down; a trapezoid building with lots of tiny porthole windows. After a brief discussion with the doorman, who seemed to be resistant to the idea of him coming in, Ank was shown to Jodin's chambers. Warren was there. He was sat on the floor at the foot of the bed, naked and crying with his clothes discarded in the corner. Jodin was being dressed by his serving boys, who made a point of not meeting his gaze. "Can I help you?" The Baron asked. "I came for the boy," Ank replied, keeping his voice and features devoid of emotion as best he could. Jodin nodded. "As you wish, we're done here anyway. Tell your Noble he has my support... and send him my thanks for his gift." "I shall," Ank answered. He gathered up Warren's clothes and handed them to him. "Come, we need to go." He kept a gentle hand on Warren's shoulder as they walked back to the Royal House. When they returned he sent the boy to his room and confronted Helna. "We need to talk," he growled, and she had no intention of arguing; the champion's eyes burned with hellfire.

Jasat did not return until much later, and had much on his mind. As such, he was caught entirely off guard when Helna accosted him the moment he stepped across the threshold. "You damn fool!" she snapped, punctuating her insult with a slap across his muzzle. "What in Kalkar's name were you thinking?" With the noble momentarily stunned, Rehd chose to step in. "You sent Warren to Jodin and told the old man he could rape the boy!" "You don't know who he is," Jasat answered, hoping to get some breathing room, but Helna wasn't the kind to back down. "He is a member of this house, and legally still a child! If word of this got out you could be answering to the Arbiters, assuming the scandal didn't set the other Houses on us!" "He's not a child!" Jasat snapped back, moving away from his wife to get some breathing room. "Warren was rejuvenated; he's the man who tried to kill Ank and myself on Icara during our last visit." "Do you think I'm stupid, Jasat? We're well aware of that!" The look on Rehd's face suggested otherwise, but she carried on regardless. "What makes you think you can do that to him?" "He tried to have me killed!" "A lot of people do!" she countered. "You made him a member of our House, Jasat! Like him or not, you are obligated to him, and have been since the moment he joined us. He is not some thing to be tortured at will!" "The law may consider him an adult, but being physically a child... they would take exception to that. It's an ugly technicality they would want eliminating." Ank said to finally break his silence. Jasat look at his bodyguard. "You... he tried to kill you too, Ank. Are you really taking his side?" "I will follow the rightful Lord of Tu'ri in all matters," he replied, but his eyes radiated disapproval. One last time, Jasat looked to his wife and her bodyguard-lover. With a sigh, he relented. "I suppose... I was foolish. I allowed my desire for revenge to cloud my judgement. That... was a mistake." "Tell him that," Rehd said, seemingly taking confidence from his lover's open disgust.

Jasat nodded, but rather than heading for the door he sat himself upon the bed. "It will wait. For now, there is something you all should know. The Nobles have made their choice; the formal coronation ceremony will take place in two weeks time, though their judgement applies from today." Helna's anger, once burning fiercely, faded in an instant. "Jasat..." The Lord of Tu'ri nodded to his wife. "They chose me as King."

* * *

He was tired and ready for bed. Vaahn thanked Lucy for bringing him home and for minding him for the day, a day which had gone on longer than expected. This year, the Winter Hall was dragging itself over three days; it had gone past six before Vaahn's group had parted ways. He was given a bath and made ready for bed. Jas was already under the covers by then. "Straight to bed you two," Chloe said, turning off the light behind her. Vaahn waited a few minutes before whispering, "How was your day?" "Okay," Jas replied. "Doesn't sound it, Jas. What happened?" Jas rolled over, presenting his back to Vaahn. "Mom decided Becci and me are spending too much time together. They decided, and Becci's parents agreed, that we should be 'discouraged' from forming a relationship." "Tough break," Vaahn said. "I know you were getting fond of her." "It's not like we did anything physical... except for that one time, I mean. I just liked having her around." Gently, Vaahn wrapped his arm around the Aspatrian boy. "I know." Minutes passed, with Jas simply enjoying the close contact Vaahn offered him. He'd known the only reason he was allowed a relationship with Vaahn was because he was a Soft Timer, but it had been nice to be able to find someone else, even if it was just for a change of pace. "Have fun at the Hall?" Jas asked at last. "You have no idea," Vaahn said, stifling a giggle. "I've been named a Noble again, of a brand new House." Jas rolled back over. "Really?" "Yeah; from this day on, I'm Noble Lord of House T'Rol." "And what does that mean?" Vaahn ran a hand across Jas' cheek, gently guiding him in for a kiss. "It means things will get much more interesting in time..." Jas wanted to know what that meant, but Vaahn wasn't planning to explain. Both boys soon settled down together and drifted off to sleep. The future could wait for now.