Vasia was once the master of siege warfare, according to Laczlo's understanding. He'd seen the old documents of ancient types of engines with multiple varieties of catapults, bolt-throwers, rolling towers fit with massive lower rams… But somehow, over the centuries, those things were lost and forgotten. Now, he was simply working with what he had.

Their catapults weren't enough to break the walls, which were too thick and well-maintained. He thought they might have piled dirt on the other side to help absorb the impact of the stones, but wasn't sure. That was another issue. Ideally, he'd have Vida inside to work some plot into fruition—bribing guards to open the gates, destroying their food supply, poisoning wells—but the city was clamped down tight. So, he'd sent her with the raiding party to try to pull information from any captured villagers, but that yielded little besides giving her more time with the druzhina Makarii from Kolomsa.

Stop thinking about that. It's none of your concern, he told himself, shaking his head. Right. Better to focus on the important task at hand. He surveyed the construction of new ladders, rams with protective frames to be covered in wet animal skins for fire, and, most importantly, two sets of towers. The ancients might have made elegant, mechanical things with stairs or a drawbridge, but he just wanted a fighting platform. One of the greatest advantages of a tall wall was the ability to shoot down from cover, but if he negated that… Well, maybe they had a chance of taking them this time.

They couldn't starve the city out, for Sino Point had hoarded most of the surrounding land's available grain, and Laczlo's army would likely go hungry first. They couldn't undermine a wall to collapse it, for Laczlo lacked miners, and when he tried to do it once, they found the walls were sitting on granite; then the enemy counterattacked and killed half the men. He should have had a rolling platform built to protect them from arrow fire. But even so, he had the city surrounded, more or less, and they certainly weren't getting out without a hard fight. And without allies anymore, what were they holding for?

He asked Western Commander Voiakh the question as they walked through the camp, reviewing the construction progress after two days of work.

"It is a good question, Great Tsar," the commander mused, rubbing his chin. Laczlo still didn't know if his shows of deference and kindliness were constructed sentiments or honest. Likely both. "They either hope we will give up and leave if they hold out long enough, or they expect reinforcements."

"Azali and Fanes declared official neutrality, though. And we have Ermenik in hand."

"You are right, of course, but perhaps the eastern cities await weakness to strike."

Laczlo frowned at that. "We have scouts nearby. We'd see them coming."

"Even so," the commander replied. "They are a fiercely independent and prideful people. Foreign occupation is a dismal prospect to their kind."

"I should have had Oskar take hostages from them. They wouldn't dare resist us then."

"Yes, perhaps, but they might not have agreed to an end of hostilities if so, Great Tsar." He offered an understanding smile. "I think you played the delicate balancing act well, for what my opinion in such matters is worth."

"You're my preeminent commander, Voiakh; it's worth a great deal," Laczlo said, then glanced the man's way after a moment, considering. "You disagree with my decision to attack."

Voiakh slowed to a stop near a section of the camp where the logs were being split and carved into decent planks by a process of wedges, mallets, and axes. It seemed like hard, grueling work. The commander was rubbing his chin again, perhaps a habit used to stymy disagreement. "I acknowledge my lack of insight on external factors that may drive our strategy," he said, words spoken carefully and with much emphasis. Laczlo's gut sank. The man was playing the respectful subordinate because he still wanted to pursue his sustained bombardment and siege. "And, of course, the decision is yours, Great Tsar, but, as you say, I do have a different opinion on the situation."

"Time is not on our side."

He offered a small grin that flickered away, replaced by a begrudging neutrality. "Yes, of course, it is as you say. And still, I do worry. If you fall… If the tsar falls, we will be in a very precarious position. You don't have a certain successor, much less one who is present. Tsaverich Nanko is but a boy yet."

Laczlo sighed. "The knives would come out."

"Indeed, unfortunately, it is as you say."

"It's a great risk I'm taking, but a necessary one. The men need to be pushed, and however I feel about it all, my throne was earned with war. I cannot abandon my apparent roots and continue to sit back." He needed to legitimize his authority with true leadership. It was a lesson he'd come to learn since being sent off west by Iarek Kostuveski. Oskar helped reinforce it back in Vetera, when Laczlo decided to lift the old turncoat to the position of voivode. Perhaps an utterly foolish decision, but Oskar had done well so far. "If the men see me there, they'll fight harder. And if I'm in danger, they'll risk life and limb to push. We need that."

Voiakh hummed in agreement. "A wise strategy and point, but not without its dangers."

"If we fail here, I'm through either way." When the commander hesitated, clearly unconvinced, Laczlo turned to face him fully, placing a hand on the other man's shoulder. "Listen to me, Voiakh. I earned my title by force of arms and reputation, yes? You were in the room. You know."

"I understand, my Tsar."

"Yes, but do you understand that if we fail here, my weak claim of legitimacy, backed mainly by strength, is undermined? We need to win. Nova, and probably half of Vasia by now, is already simmering in unrest at what happened in the Column. But if we come home as victors…" He didn't need to continue the thought, for he saw understanding in the commander's eyes—he was, after all, quite the politician himself. "Maybe this whole business here was a poor decision forced on us by Varul, but we're here either way, and the deadline dawns on us."

Voiakh bowed in a show of respectful deference. "I made a fatal mistake, my Tsar. Tactics are subordinate to strategy, which is itself subordinate to politics. I see that your position, and thus, our stability, demands a hastier approach."

Laczlo nodded along, then forced himself to be the cunning statesman as the other man straightened with a natural ease and grace. "If I died, would you make a move?"

Voiakh's brow rose. "A… delicate question, Great Tsar."

"Still, I ask it."

"Well," he said, crossing his arms and staring Laczlo straight on, "in all fairness, we've been blunt with each other before, so I will indulge you with my honesty here, though it discomforts me. While I might consider such a move, I think it is politically untenable. You have a strong regent in Kapitalena, a clear, if young, heir, and loyal voivodes to support his claim. There is the question of Varul, but I think he would be disinclined to push for a new dynasty so quickly—Vasia needs a legitimate, stable transfer of power, lest all future inheritances be matters of war. But in this war, I would attempt to take control and direct matters. We need a single authority. Sanei is too conservative, the other voivodes too weak, and your druzhina Isak too low to claim rightful authority. There would be some difficulty once back in Vasia, as I would be seen as a threat, but I would accept that risk."

Laczlo tried to read the other man as he spoke. It was difficult, for Voiakh had a certain controlled neutrality and calculating reasonableness in his words and demeanor that masked any shows of emotion. Still, it was clear, at the very least, that the commander had thought of such things already. He likely didn't expect Laczlo to outright ask, for it was, to be frank, rude and indecent to be so blunt. Still, he seemed honest, and his assessment was sensible, even if he downplayed the importance of having an army behind you to support even the most hazy claim.

Laczlo rested a hand on the pommel of his sword and stared out over Sino Point, so close yet so far. "Do you know why I ask, Commander?"

"I hope it is not to determine if I am a threat…" he said with a small chuckle.

"It is to ensure you make the right decision and finish this siege for me. I want you to do exactly as you've said, Commander. I need this win here, but so does Vasia. Do you understand?"

"I do, my Tsar."

"Good." He faced Voiakh once again and smiled broadly, extending a hand in a sincere gesture, which the other man shook. "Besides, if you tried to make a claim against Nanko, Kapitalena would eat you up and spit you out. Trust me when I say that she'd be much more fearsome without me holding her back."

…

For the third day in a row, there were riots in the streets. It was famine brought on by the disease that started it, but Kapitalena would be an utter fool if she believed that was what fed the flames now. The people were furious, genuinely furious, and she couldn't blame them.

Alasa and her children died at Varul's hand.

She knew he'd discreetly exposed them to the plague through their food and clothing until it caught. She knew he did, but couldn't prove it, for the Column was difficult to infiltrate and extract information from. And oh, how she'd tried—in the past, before the civil war, but more recently with renewed vigor since Varul took power. He was part of the reason why it was locked up so thoroughly. Though how he managed to recruit new priests and priestesses, considering the thorough purge from Daecinus and the rebels, she could hardly say.

The day after Alasa and her children were killed, when she eventually found out, she'd accused the vicarr of intentionally undercutting their strategy and diplomatic reputation with his move. He argued that Vasia's moral authority rested with the Column, and so if no condemnations or accusations were officially made, then no fault or blame was to be laid with anyone other than fate. This was, of course, absurdly naïve for such an experienced and generally cunning man as Varul, and it left Kapitalena wanting to throttle him in frustration. But there was little progress to be made, for Varul denied any plot behind their deaths and waved away the people's concerns as if they were nothing of import.

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After all his scheming and conniving to get them here, it seemed almost impossible to believe such disregard for so serious a misstep, let alone the shame of the atrocity.

A family was murdered, and the crime was framed as almost accidental. It was not difficult to consider the implications, the threat. For as poor a friend as Kapitalena had been, she still cared for Alasa and had tried to do right by her. This was the worst kind of betrayal, and as cruelly useful as her permanent elimination from the political game might be, it was a step too far. She could only imagine the pain it put upon Laczlo upon hearing it. Oh, the guilt. He was such a self-blaming man, he'd bear the burden as if he'd done it himself.

It was for all these reasons and more that Kapitalena needed to take the initiative once again.

She could not let herself or her family be pawns in another's schemes. She had to retain the advantage, the indispensability, the power.

And so, with Laczlo away with war, once again, it was up to her to not just hold it all together, but advance their position. It was simply a question of how.

There were two primary problems as Kapitalena saw them: the unrest among the general populace over the suspicious demise of the former tsaritsa and tsarevich, and her lack of sway among the voivodeships. The former problem was perhaps more straightforward, but the latter? Well, most voivodes were away with Laczlo, leaving her with their wives, for the most part, who ruled in their stead. Two sets of recently subdued voivodeships lacked a proper voivode and regent—the most western two: Goroden and Kolomsa, where Laczlo and Commander Voiakh had besieged. Voivodess Kolomsky and her family were stripped of their titles and made prisoners in the Column. The same with the surviving Gorodenskis. Kapitalena considered empowering the voivodesses but decided against it, for such a play was too risky. Thus, two of the most frontier voivodeships were led by temporary councils of boyars, many of whom were, of course, on campaign. It was a messy situation ripe for corruption and sloppy rule.

So this is where Kapitelana decided to step in.

Power depended on two things: the apparent and the material. She was tsaritsa—that gave her some material power, but primarily, it was apparent. What people believed was what was real, and few outside some voivodes and the military cared much for the tsar these days. Therefore, she did what any good tsar ought to do and took control of the floundering border cities in the name of defending the imperial tsardom. This was a dangerous action bordering on overreach, so she made it clear it was a temporary measure, and substantiated that claim with efforts to find a proper replacement voivode. Technically, only the tsar could raise a new voivode, and things happened so fast and chaotically that it never came to pass. So, she began a vetting process, bringing stability to the confusion in a clear path forward for the two voivodeships while collecting rents and dues as was the tsar's right—and, in regency, hers. This bolstered their weak treasury well enough, which desperately needed it, considering the expense of war, which she still considered dubious in its necessity but nevertheless too late to look back upon.

Simultaneously, she needed to address the immediate issues of Nova's instability. The first step was obvious: sate their anger with food. It had all spawned out of a famine caused by the disease that ravaged the surrounding land, raising unrest. It was the tsardom's responsibility to provide aid in such times, and so she reached into the imperial treasury, alleviated somewhat with Goroden and Kolomsa's additional revenues, and imported grain from Agonia, an alleged Vasian vassal, though few there saw it that way. Regardless, they took her gold, and within a few weeks, she made a show of helping to unload multiple vessels at the docks. This would be insufficient without a deeper act of reconciliation. After weeks of cajoling Varul, she decided to pay the Column a visit in a show of respect, the day after the docks.

Kapitalena strode through the massive front doors in an ankle-length dress of vibrant sapphire-hued blue with fine golden threadwork at the hems and cuffs, particularly detailing a center strip of embroidery running the dress's entire length, filled with zig-zagging, twirling, golden vines. A long headdress covered her hair and arms, secured with a rounded crown set with small jewels and pearls, chains of which also hung beside her face, framing it. A mantle of similar design connected it all together, sitting high upon her throat. It was precisely the sort of attire designed for commanding awe and deference.

She was joined by a number of attendants, all of whom were boyaresses or voivodes' relatives. Many of the women were newly brought into the fold—another of Kapitalena's recent efforts to bind the nobility to their tsardom. Six druzhina escorted her inside the Column, though many more remained outside on account of Nova's unrest. Once inside the grand, expansive entrance, she was greeted by Varul and several priests and priestesses at his side, with many more lined up at the flanks of the room, as she'd requested. Perfect. All were dressed in their rather plain robes. Varul, naturally, had a variety of Artifacts adorning his figure, though they were ancient-looking, unpolished bronze, for the most part.

He could do better to improve his appearance, she thought, then took in his rather odd face. Strangely plain and unassuming with a touch of femininity there, scarred by damage from the fight with those people at the top of the Column, he made for an odd sight.

He bowed, the others following suit, and straightened, wearing a look of humble deference. "Our Just and Wise Tsaritsa Vilsky, it is a great honor to receive your personal visitation. We humbly welcome you to the Grand Column."

"And what a kind welcome it is," she said with a smile, continuing forward as her entourage smartly melted away, leaving her alone before Varul and the others in the center of this vast chamber. It felt like the gut of a god, though she was hardly a morsel to be consumed. "I have brought a small token of my gratitude for the good work done here: a sacrifice of the most fitting variety." She extended a hand to the side, and a large crate was wheeled inside. One could just barely hear the thrashing of the Dead beating against the reinforced walls.

Varul was restarting much of the Sorcerous efforts in research and advancement within the Column, mostly under his personal direction. Given that he had a particularly strict distaste for raising the Dead, they had to import the creatures.

Varul gave a rare smile, revealing his damaged teeth from the fight over a year ago, and bowed again. "Your generosity is a gift from Saem herself, Tsaritsa. We extend our thanks, insufficient though they may be. We shall utter prayers ourselves on your behalf."

They played the dance for a little while longer, with Kapitalena fulfilling her role of admiration and appreciation of the Column. Varul introduced her to a number of the priests and explained their exploits in Sorcery, research, transcriptions, art, or some other such work. She nodded, smiled, and said what she was expected to say, sounding genuine enough to elicit pride and joy among the priests there. It was important work, certainly, though not the kind she enjoyed. That came after.

When the official greeting and visitation were done, Varul led her to a large balcony room two stories up, overlooking the southern portion of the city and shore. Two priests and two of her attendants stood in silence near the door for propriety's sake, mostly, though they were too far to hear any conversation.

They stood in silence, she looking out over the distant ocean, he facing her with clasped hands and a watchful gaze. Kapitalena let the seconds pass at a slow crawl as she kept her breathing calm and steady.

Finally, she turned to face him and said, "This won't disappear because you want it to, Varul."

The reborn collection of Souls gave a very human sigh. "Ah, yes, we supposed this was the reason for your eventual visit. So, what shall it be, then, our tsaritsa?"

"You accept the need for action, finally?"

"We underestimated the population's… emotional condition. The citizens of our times knew their place. Such rioting would never have occurred."

"Well, your empire was just beginning to grow; ours has been collapsing for the last hundred years. They see the frailty and consistent failures in our government, much of which can be blamed on previous leaders' overreaching," she replied, eyebrow cocked. "Besides, this isn't just an issue of disruptive peasants, but a shifting in norms around appropriate political violence. This is not the olden days, where a poisoned dagger solves all problems."

He didn't miss the jab, frowning at her. "Your point is made, Good Tsaritsa. Now, what do you propose?"

"This burden rests on the Column. It can't be brushed away, not what happened. Not for the people, and not for the boyars and voivodes worried the same might happen to them." Kapitalena raised her chin and stared through him intently. "You need a scapegoat."

Varul stiffened. "I will not falsely betray my priests, even under such conditions."

"You said, 'I,' here. Why?" Kapitalena asked, cocking her head, looking at him curiously. "Are you split on this?"

Varul turned from her and placed his hands on the railing, leaning forward. "This is a difficult matter."

"Consider the stakes. This necessity should pale next to the others you've committed yourself to."

"Yes. Of course." He took a steadying breath and pulled his hands away, folding them before himself once more. "You are correct, our tsaritsa. We must progress forward for the sake of Vasia. You recommend a scapegoat, but none have any significant extent of independent authority or maneuverability under our supervision, so we believe such an excuse may be difficult to sell."

"I see… That does complicate things," she mused, studying him out of the corner of her eye. What a curious person. "You need someone dangerous. A man, likely, who could appear as an obvious, acceptable threat. Someone who could be in opposition to us, framing you, or perhaps someone with a vendetta against the old tsar." At first, she thought one of the voivodesses might work, but they wouldn't satisfy the public's desire for an easy villain. Obviously, Varul would work best, but he was a good partner and too entrenched to betray without losing the Column, and thus, a significant foundation for their legitimacy as new rulers. If only he used the Crown of the Column for more than himself, he would be an even greater ally. But the man was conservative with his power, to say the least. "Unfortunately, all we're left with are widowed voivodesses and foreign merchants. Going after the Targul again seems like a stretch…" Kapitlaena trailed off, noticing Varul's widening eyes. "What is it?"

"Daecinus Aspartes," he said, lip curling with the name. "He is to blame."

"The awakened Sorcerer? How?"

"Do you recall the recent shifts in Merkenia?"

"Of course. Novakrayu was taken by the Targul with the aid of outside forces, and then a pitched battle occurred some months later, including a horde of Dead." She pursed her lips in thought. "You said Daecinus was involved, though we could not corroborate that."

Varul's expression darkened in a manner she rarely saw of the rather unshakeable priest. "He is expanding his influence with the surviving Pethyans. They escaped, you understand? They fled to Merkenia—we saw it in his mind. He will have found them and attempt to invade us."

"That seems unlikely."

"If you have any trust in us as an ally of Vasia, then trust us when we say that Daecinus Aspartes will return in force to finish what he started," he said with such impassioned gravity that it gave her pause.

Kapitalena slowly nodded. "Very well. I will venture to believe you. So, you think you can sell this? It's been months since their deaths."

"We thought it was a plague but decided to launch an internal investigation, held in secret due to the delicate nature of the situation," he said, clearly thinking out loud. "What we found was concerning: signs of Sorcery. Spellwork made to look natural. Daecinus, or perhaps some follower of his, snuck inside with the traitorous priestess's assistance to finish his purge of the tsar started by his Targul allies, we can say. It can be told as a way to frame us or in simple revenge, regardless, it pins this on an enemy all now know: the half-human Sorcerer who nearly destroyed Nova."

"It may just work," she muttered, trying to consider how to deliver such a story. Town criers to disseminate bits and pieces, yes, but perhaps a delicate campaign of whispered intrigue. The ancient Pethyan menace… Still, they needed to get around the fact that it took months to reach this conclusion. Something convincing. Something visceral. And then she found it. "I have an idea we can initiate today. It will hurt the Column's reputation for some time, but I believe it will be worth it, considering the damage already done. Furthermore, it will require a sacrifice. Can you accept this?"

Varul's lips tightened, and his cheek muscle flexed in a slight twitch, but he gave a firm nod. "Yes. Please, explain."

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