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Prayer is odless country There are no temples in Archeon that I know of, and the shrine I delorified closet tucked away in my apartments Not that I need ods But in the heat of high summer, the little room croorn faces is hardly co cool h the air I try to pray elsewhere, or at least feel er I’m away from home If I can’t hear them, can they hear me?

Am I infinitely alone?

I suppose that is easier I want no connection to Norta Nothing to tie me to this place when Maven’s brother overthrows him, unless my mother does it first

My queenly duties are the only distraction froreat bridge spanning the Capital River, to the other side of the city As far away frolass walls of Archeon He appears outside the palace less and less, occupying hi hours alone

I hear the whispers of the servants His clothes end up burnedcontrol, or he doesn’t care to keep himself in check I think it could be both

East Archeonup froe to the cliff-like banks that roll off into gentle slopes Everything is green this tih little else does Even the water is wrong Salt, not fresh, and tainted with the whispers of pollution froet the le sniff

The buildings here are tall and oppressive, all coluranite and marble, their roofs crowned in sculpted birds with splayed wings and arched necks Swans, falcons, eagles Their feathers are copper and steel, polished to a blinding sheen

Even in the norant bliss Reds walk the streets, marked by their cri houses Silvers in their transports roll between their destinations Museualleries, the theater are all still in operation without change or delay

I suppose they’re used to war, as the Lakelands are Even within the borders of their own kingdom

Today I’ a memorial luncheon, to honor the soldiers lost when Maven’s brother and his rebels took Corviu robes Though I wear my usual colors, a nod to my native home, my blue blouse and jacket are triatidle conversation with the many lords and ladies ish to favor their new queen No one says anything of any real use It’s all for show, even with the families of those who died They clearly don’t want to be here, preferring to face their grief alone Instead they’re trotted out like actors in a performance, put on display One after the other explains how their loved ones died, all murdered by some Red terrorist or Montfort freak A few are barely able to finish their speeches

A clever tactic, one I’ht oppose this war, or even prefer Maven’s brother on the throne, would have a difficult ti to their convictions after such a show And I play h

"We are here today to e We will not be controlled by fear," I say as fir out at a chamber croith sharp-eyed lords and ladies They look on with rapt attention Either to be polite, or to look for cracks Hunt for weakness Many, I knoould abandon Maven’s Norta if they thought it was the right play for their houses