*Estan*

Estan turned at the knock on his door. He placed the goblet of wine on a nearby table, covering some open letters with a tablecloth. There was just about time for a deep breath, then he opened the door to usher in his friend.

His co-conspirator.

Yander, the dark-skinned son of Sultan Tallow and heir to the sultanate, strode in before shutting the door behind himself with a quick glance out into the hallway. As usual, he was dressed impeccably with colourful silks on display. They were light blues and deep greens today, and Estan grimaced internally. Bad news then. Yander, despite his belief in the cause, was still deeply invested in the cultural practices of his homeland and chose to display his displeasure openly through his dress. Something Estan's venerable father would no doubt miss entirely.

"Yander," he greeted the man. "A pleasure. What is the issue?" He asked, cutting straight to the point.

The ebony man cast a brief glance around the room, lingering on the bulge beneath the tablecloth. His lips twitched in response.

"Estan, as always," he replied, returning the greeting with his usual grace. "The sultan has acquired the list of Crimson Lions that were sent after The Butcher a few weeks ago."

"And?" Estan asked blandly, pretending to pour over the report still on his desk. It was some meaningless drivel about grain and half-silver shipments between the Marchlands and the Riverlands that his father had left for him – no doubt a test of sorts – but he'd not got around to actually reading the damned thing yet.

"There were no 3rd tiers sent with the expedition," Yander replied. "It was a company of 2nd tiers fresh out of the academy for the most part. Two 2nd tier veterans were leading, but that is all."

Estan took a few moments to work through the news before his eyes widened. "Academy slop against The Butcher? Why would they ever think that could succeed?"

"Why indeed," the tall man agreed in his caramel-smooth voice. He held Estan's gaze unerringly for a few moments longer before Estan tired of the tension.

"Please," he gestured at the man, "tell me of your suspicions."

A swish of silks preceded the flow of dulcet words from Yander in response. "The sultan believes – as do I, I must admit – that the duke did not in fact send the Lions after The Butcher. We believe he has a different goal in mind, and The Butcher has been used as a cover in his schemes."

"But-"

"Please," Yander said, holding up a hand to forestall Estan's interruption. "Allow me to finish, my friend. We don't know what the duke is hunting for, but we suspect that whatever it is, it was found in the Unclaimed Peaks. The Lions will either return 'empty handed', or not at all. Either way, The Butcher will not be found."

Estan waited a beat or two until he was sure the man was finished, before asking his first question. "I agree that something is off – my father would not send chaff to face a scythe. He knows well her power, after all. But what makes you certain he is looking for something?"

"Nothing," came the quick reply. "Nothing is certain at this stage, my friend, but there is further evidence. Francis D'Sware is in Colchet, and we know how your father respects the man. I would not be surprised if he were aware of the plot, so to speak."

Estan hummed to himself, "Colchet, Colchet… remind me?"

Yander's reply was smooth and swift, as always. "A small city state within the Copper Canyons, the Lions have a presence there. It is their regional base, for lack of a better term. If their quarry were to escape the Unclaimed Peaks on the side of the Wandering States, it is from Colchet that the Lions would re-group and strike out."

Estan took a sip from his goblet as he thought it over. "Frustrating, but not catastrophic by any means. Besides, Francis is simply a brute – it is no surprise that my father approves of him. If he is the one involved in this conspiracy, I rather suspect we have nothing to worry about."

Yander only shook his head, though. "I disagree, my friend. Francis is a capable warrior – one of the Lions' finest outside of the Academy – but he is also a shrewd field operator. I do not believe we would be wise to write him off so quickly."

Estan found frustration curdling his guts once more. He was smart, he knew that, but Yander had a way of making him feel a fool. "So what do you suggest?" he asked irritably.

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"Easy, my friend. My father has a man in Colchet. I believe he works for Francis currently, assuming the D'Sware scion is in command, which seems likely. We will send a missive to instruct him to keep an ear out. It will not take long for us to hear of their plans, if any exist."

It was reassuring, and Estan found himself relaxing for a moment at the thought of a neat solution, before he narrowed his eyes. "The sultan would know of my father's plan in that case," he said. "I fail to see how that is better than the current state of play."

"Estan, you must understand," Yander began, hesitating a moment. "I hold the confidence of the sultan implicitly. He does not trust me in all things, but for something of this nature, I am confident I will be made aware of the outcome. Especially so if I propose the action."

The reminder of his favoured status was unwelcome. Estan knew he enjoyed privileges due to his position as his father's only heir, but he believed it was well earned. Yander may have fought amongst his siblings – political battles rather than physical, but no less vicious for it – and emerged as the preeminent prince of his kingdom, but that didn't make him superior to Estan. They were equal in rank, after all.

Still, it didn't always feel that way. Sometimes, he felt smaller. Like the silk-clad man had achieved something greater than he simply because he had fought for his position. It was likely an idea Estan's own father would agree with, and that, if nothing else, helped Estan push the thought away.

"Well then," he said, letting some of his frustration leak into his tone. If Yander noticed, he didn't comment on it. "That seems to conclude our business. Update me once you have an answer from Colchet. There is work I must complete still tonight, and you should be out of here sooner rather than later, besides."

It was unlikely that this meeting would be reported to his father, but Varice was a resourceful spymaster, and he would have to decide if he'd share the information voluntarily or hope it was ignored. More headaches for him later, then.

"There is one other problem," his confidant replied. He offered a sympathetic grimace along with the words, to soften the blow.

"Go on."

"The problem, Estan", the heir to the Sultanate explained blandly, "is that we still don't know how your father is getting his information on The Butcher's whereabouts. It conjures to my mind the possibility that the sultan may know something of his plan and is taking steps to counter it. Steps that may stand in contrast to our own desires."

And there he went, making Estan feel foolish once again.

"Leave it with me. I will sort it," he said shortly, giving a confident nod and standing, eager to show Yander to the door. The man simply stood, gaze boring deep into his eyes, as if he could peel back the layers of Estan's thoughts with nothing but a hard glance.

The silence stretched, and Estan was uncomfortably reminded of how his tutor would look upon him as a child when he answered a question wrong. Disappointed, and expecting more. Ugly rage built in his chest, starting from his belly and curling upwards, winding its way through his lungs and making his chest tight. He wanted to shout, to scream in the man's face and prove that he did not need his approval. But he wrestled back a semblance of control with a monumental effort of will.

"I need not explain every action to you, Yander. I have said that I will sort it, and so I shall. That is all the assurance you should require." His voice was tight with fury, and he was simply pleased he could get through the sentence without warbling.

Yander held his gaze a moment longer before bowing his head gracefully. "Of course, my friend. I do not doubt your commitment, nor ability. I simply wish to know if I can support you in this. You are the most pivotal part of this great undertaking of ours, and if anything were to happen to you, our bright future would grow dim."

The words mollified Estan somewhat, and he stood straighter. It was good that Yander remembered the way of things. He may have been the first to broach the subject to his peers, but Estan was the one upon whom the plan rested. A small voice, buried deep in the back of his mind, questioned if that was simply due to his position as Duke Ryonic's son, but he crushed that small voice before it could grow.

As Yander had said, he was the pivotal part of the plan, and it was due to his cunning, his foresight, that they would succeed. Only he saw the truth his father was so blind to. He was the one who made the grand speeches at their meetings. He was the one who enjoyed the support of the various heirs and shakers of the court's lower chamber. Estan would use his natural gifts to drive their great nation forwards, and take a position of prominence at its head, alongside a very select group of others.

"Thank you, Yander. Your support is appreciated" he said graciously. "But I must do this myself. I will discuss with my father and convince him to bring me in on his plans. I'll find out where he is getting his information from, and if it is likely that your father is interfering, we will plan around it."

Yander nodded slowly, "The sultan is unlikely to be entirely ignorant of your father's sources, but I shall endeavour to restrain his interest in them. Until next time then, my friend."

He strode calmly to the door and departed the room in an elegant swish of fine silk.

Estan waited until the footsteps receded, then closed the door and sighed. It was always unnerving dealing with his conspirators. They were united in purpose, but it was hard to pretend that he didn't have ulterior motives. Sometimes he suspected that Yander knew he was usurping his power and so was bitter and resentful of the outsized role that Estan now played in the coming coup. But he was a good judge of character. If Yander was planning something, Estan would know.

Now though, he had to confront his father. Persuade the hardest man in the Marchlands to bring him in on his plans to catch that jumped-up peasant bitch, or perhaps whatever secret he was searching for instead.

Despite the confidence he had projected only moments ago, that would be easier said than done.

He sighed deeply once more, and then went to fetch a servant. His father always responded better when he thought Estan had been training, so he'd need his fencing steels to hand.

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