I cannot decide if I am amused or disappointed,” Magus said as he overcame his laughter. Smoke billowed across the belfry, thinned by the wind. The sounds of battle rang constant. “This entire rebellion, the masks, the cutting of bloody crowns, the outlandish stories of the Vagrant… it was all to put you back on your throne. Cheap theatrics for a deposed little boy angry about his parents. I hoped for something special from you, Vagrant, yet all I find is petty revenge and a desire for power.”

Cyrus fixed his hood and then pointed a blade Magus’s way.

“I fight for more than revenge,” he said. “I fight to overthrow your tyranny, and save Thanet from your evils.”

“Evils?” he asked. “What evils have we to our name that your own family has not committed?”

Cyrus tensed for another lunge. Whatever nonsense the Imperator was spouting, it had to be a trick to throw off his guard. Yet Magus showed no interest in attacking. His eyes widened, as did his smile.

“You don’t know? I thought royalty still whispered the stories, but alas, I must be the truth bearer. The history of this island is but a blink of the God-Incarnate’s eye, the centuries of your existence a mere nothing to an empire spanning thousands of years. Our spies have always lived here, and we have recorded the history your people sought to bury. Tell me, boy, have you ever wondered why your island was embargoed hundreds of years ago?”

“We accepted refugees fleeing the empire’s grasp,” Cyrus said. That history was well-known, for the economic hardships that followed were the reason for the ensuing War of Tides that established the Lythan family rule.

“They were no refugees,” Magus said. His disgust dripped off every word. “They were the wealthy and powerful upper strata from the nation of Mirli. They saw our march across Gadir and demanded the lower strata offer sword and coin in defense. Once collected, they fled, abandoning the people they swore to protect. They sailed the Crystal Sea, to a distant, unimportant island they thought far enough to escape our reach. They did not come to Thanet as refugees. They came as conquerors.”

Cyrus took a step toward one of the belfry windows. It couldn’t be true. Thanet was an island of unity and peace, and had been ever since the War of Tides.

“You lie,” he said, a childish defense against the Imperator’s words.

“I have no need of lies when the truth suffices. Your family sailed to Thanet with swords and spears, overthrew the crown, and declared themselves kings and queens. Who are you, son of conquerors, to wag your finger at the Everlorn Empire and call them evil?”