“Only the finest for my most loyal customers,” the bartender said, a tubby man named Gilbi. His voice lowered. “What a sad day. Consider this on me tonight, Stasia, for what you and your family’ve done for our island.”

He left so they might have their privacy. Stasia tore into the cheese; food was one of her unfortunate vices when something troubled her.

“Leave some for me,” Clarissa said as she gently elbowed Stasia in the side. Clarissa used the motion to sink her weight farther into her, and one of her hands vanished underneath the table to settle atop Stasia’s upper thigh. Stasia kissed the woman’s forehead despite her mouthful of cheese so that she’d know she approved.

“So what happens now?” Clarissa asked after they’d eaten. Stasia drained a third of her ale, then stomped a foot to hold back a cough. Yes, it might be Gilbi’s finest, but that still didn’t mean it was high quality. They didn’t go to Underhill Tavern for the ale, but instead the knowledge that the owner was a loyal friend to the resistance.

“Now? I’m worried my father will ask us to leave Thanet.”

“Has he given up on us?”

“It always happens,” Stasia said, trying not to sound bitter. “We come, we bleed for a nation, and then we move on when it’s not enough. It’s never enough. Fuck if I know why we keep trying. But there’s no way to dress up what happened today. Our resistance is crushed. Saving Lycaena was our last best hope to keep the people inspired and instead… instead…”

She trailed off, unable to vocalize the thought. Instead they had thrown away countless lives in the attempt. Despite all the money, time, and training her father had poured into Thanet’s resistance, it had ended in spectacular failure. Lycaena had been publicly executed, and the last surviving member of the royal family, Prince Cyrus, was presumed dead. Just like all the other nations that the Everlorn Empire invaded, the populace would be converted to worshiping the God-Incarnate. Their customs, their beliefs, even their native language, would be steadily buried and replaced.

The raucous crowd near the bar continued to grow. The three imperial soldiers were lifting their cups above their heads while singing a song most certainly not native to Thanet. Stasia did her best to hide her glare. The bastards were celebrating Lycaena’s death, as if killing a divine being were worthy of praise instead of horror.

“Stasia… have you considered not going with him if he does leave?” Clarissa asked. Her body pressed tighter against her. “You don’t have to keep fighting his personal war. All the gods and goddesses know you’ve given your father more than enough of your life.”

Stasia leaned her cheek atop her lover’s red hair.