While Waiting to Wake

“You knew the Baron before, right?”

The youngest member of the table asked this. One of the rare few who still saw Madeline as someone too lofty to talk to without squeaking and sweating.

It was actually kinda cute.

“We’ve met, yes.”

“I heard you saw him battle, Princess,” the girl went on eagerly. “Was he just as handsome as in his portraits? He must’ve been dashing wielding his sword!”

Madeline frowned and picked up her teacup. Careful to cup it in her palm at the base instead of by the handle. She sipped it and watched the women, from oldest to youngest, wince at her improper etiquette.

Then she put the cup down with a clunk.

“There’s something I don’t understand,” she said icily.

“Wh-what?” squeaked youngest.

Madeline leaned forward. “Are all the women in this Empire some sort of blood-lusting fiends?”

“Excuse me!” Penelope jumped to her feet. Outraged by this upstart woman, who was Crown Princess in name only, defaming them.

Madeline didn’t flinch. Glaring at the woman until Penelope faltered and slowly sat down, shoulders unconsciously hunching under Madeline’s harsh glare.

“All of you seem to think the battlefield is some sort of playground for children. Where a man can flex is muscles and pose like he would for a portrait.”

Youngest flushed, opened her mouth, and closed it again as she looked around in confusion at the other women.

The others only looked angry.

“Isn’t that what it is?” asked the oldest woman, Marchioness Elantra. “A place for men to gain power and glory they then pass down to their children?”

“No.” Madeline said it as harshly and firmly as she could. “It’s a place where people suffer, bleed, and die. It smells like a rotting butcher farm and an outhouse. It’s filled with the screams and the sobs of the wounded and dying. Death orbs are everywhere, turning food rancid and making even the healthy sick.”

Madeline looked at Youngest. Who was fidgeting at looking back with wide, sincere eyes.

“As miserable as the battlefield is, it’s even worse when you leave it. Telling your colleague’s friends and family that they died, but not telling them how because it would make them throw up. Nightmares follow you, sometimes so bad you can no longer tell if you’re on the battlefield or in your own living room. Sometimes you must be committed to the Temple just so you don’t endanger normal people.”

Everyone was growing quiet now. Even people sitting at the other two ables were straining to listen. About twenty women twisted in their seats and leaned toward her.

Even more servants were edging closer.

“The wounded often come back to live lives where they can no longer do the things they used to love because they’re missing limbs. Some of them come back only to lose their loved ones because they can no longer cope with life, their insides mashed and destroyed by the horror they’ve witnessed. Turning them into human monsters.”

She lowered her voice and noticed nearly everyone lean in more to hear.

“Many come back victorious only to end their own lives out of shear despair. That, ladies, is what war is. War should never be your first answer and should never be idolized. War should only be used as a necessary tool to protect the lives of yourselves and your loved ones. Not to aggrandize yourself.”

Madeline was done with this conversation.

Not just this conversation, but with this petty group of silly aristocrats who didn’t even know what backbreaking work was.

Much less know what horrors could be in the world… and still found things to hope for.

She pushed away from the table. Her chair scraping on the garden cobblestones and against her nerves.

No one said anything about her rude departure.

In fact, no one who’d been listening to her passionate speech said anything at all.

She left the suddenly silent gathering and stomped deeper into the garden. As soon as she was out of sight, she stopped and covered her face with both hands.

Struggling against her boiling emotions.

Rage, despair… grief.

Her contact couldn’t come to her directly. It was too much of a risk that Thiago would notice.

Instead, while she was suffering at the party, he’d left her the message in her carriage.

As soon as the door closed and she pulled down the curtains, she could leisurely find where he’d stuck the package and pull it onto her lap for inspection.

First, the letter.

My lady, it started. She smiled. Grimly satisfied with being addressed correctly.

Business with the mine has been going well. We’ve expanded operations successfully and expect to see an increase in profit upwards of 20%.

The package contains the newest model of the item you commissioned, though, sadly we still haven’t found a mana stone and rune combination to make it work for non-magic users. We just found a lightning affinity mage who is willing to work with us and we’re hopeful they’ll have more success than fire did.

As for the item you wished us to find, we located it three weeks ago. But as we were unable to get your direct orders, we simply watched. It was sold to a third party and there are rumors of it soon being used as a spear. Do you wish us to interfere?

Madeline paused and looked at the window.

All there was to see was the closed curtain, but she wasn’t really seeing it, anyway.

Did she want them to interfere?

No.

She needed to keep that item as safe as possible. Unlike Flint Grimshaw, who could be ignored, this item was so essential to her plan that if she lost it…

She’d lose completely.

It was relatively safe as long as she didn’t draw attention to it. The current owner using it as a spear, though… that made her nervous.

In some ways, it would be better taken care of than if it were put in a corner and used by the unskilled.

But there was always the chance of it breaking…

It gave her a headache.

She’d send word to just keep an eye on it for now. Interfere only if it might be destroyed.

And not to interfere without her orders if there was plenty of time to do so.

But, first, she needed to establish a new communication link.

Ever since Thiago’s people had caught her messenger birds, it had been difficult to contact her people. Fortunately, Thiago didn’t seem to know the meaning behind the birds or the messages she’d sent.

It was the only grace the damn gods of this world had given her.

With a sigh, she opened a compartment and pulled out a fountain pen and writing tablet. Then painstakingly wrote out a cryptic message.

She threw the paper out the window at just the right place on the route back to the Palace.

A bum casually picked it up and wandered down the street.

It would take several days but her right-hand man would get the message. And get to work.

Meanwhile, she destroyed the other message with a burst of sorcery flames, then carefully unwrapped the package.

What lay on her lap was an L shaped contraption. One end was a handle and the other a tube.

She picked it up and aimed it at the opposite wall of the carriage. Sighting down the tube and enjoying the feel of it in her hands.

It wasn’t nearly as sophisticated as she would have liked, but it was much better than the other prototypes.

She smiled in grim satisfaction.

Imagining these guns in the hands of her friends.

***

“You are all Princes of Wyngarde.”

So far, the dreams had been chronological. She’d watched a few time skips and then Prince steadily became just one age. Fifteen.

This time, though, it went backward.

She stood in a training arena. The kind of place a page or a squire trained to become knights. Or where knights keep their skills sharp. The Grimshaw estate also had this kind of training ground.

Except it was much smaller.

And only a few feet in front of her, was a lineup.

Boys from ten to nineteen were standing shoulder to shoulder. All them silver haired and ruby-eyed. She easily spotted her prince in the line.

The youngest, smallest, and weakest of the six boys.

“Whether you become king, counselor, or knight, it is your duty to protect your country and your people. Your life will be a series of good and bad events and circumstances. You will be asked to do things you don’t enjoy doing. And you will be asked to do things you love.”

The man lecturing them paced slowly down the line. Meeting each boy’s eye with a firm gaze.

As though he was trying to pour power into them (or maybe intimidate them) with eye contact alone.

He was a tall man, taller than the oldest boy, with flaming red hair. But the same ruby eyes as the boys, making Em think they were somehow related.

“You’ll find that most people believe that the good times are what you want all the time. Because that is when you can shine. That is when it’s easiest to be happiest. That is when you can enjoy yourself.

“But the good times are only useful to you as a time to prepare for the bad times.

“It is the bad times that will test your character strength. The bad times are when you, and everyone around you, will know if you are men of honor or cowards.

“It is the bad times that tell you how far you can trust yourself. And how much more work you must do in the good times to stretch yourself further.”

The man turned around to go back up the line, starting at the eldest boy.

He met the boy’s eye and put a hand on his shoulder.

“It is during the good times that you decide what you must stand for. And the bad times when you must courageously stand.”

He moved down to the next boy.

“The good times you will relax. So when the bad times come you’ll be well rested and ready.”

The next boy.

“The good times you will get to know and serve your people, friends, and family. And whenever possible, make your enemies into your friends. So in the bad times your bonds will hold you up and hold you together.”

Down the line, each of them receiving a message.

Patience and humility, truth…

Until he stood before Prince.

The boy stood up straighter, waiting for his message, and wasn’t surprised at all when the man lowered himself to his knee to look the boy in the eye.

“And in every time, good and bad, it is always your choice who you will be. You choose your identity. And once you have chosen, you must remind yourself constantly who you are.”

Without getting up, the man looked down the line.

“Who are you!?”

“Princes of Wyngarde!” the boys shouted in chorus.

When Em opened her eyes, she expected to find herself in the Temple. Perhaps dozing against Tracy’s shoulder. Which would get her a scolding for falling asleep during the sermon.

Or if she was really lucky, she’d wake up in the hospital.