“On the contrary,” Queen Patra countered, “it seems to me that King Xander is more distracted by his own superstitious belief in the Prophecy.”

“Perhaps,” King Raza interjected. “But that hasn’t stopped him from refining his military capabilities.”

“I propose that is more of a response to our imperialism than a result of his own ambitions.”

King Raza paused diplomatically. Knowing his friend well, Giza could tell that he was avoiding escalation with his wife, at least publicly. Still, it was clear that his opinion remained firm. “Patra, I’m afraid I must agree with the Wisened,” Raza said at last. “I’m not willing to take that chance. The Prophecy is negligible. I don’t believe in it.”

“But King Xander does,” the elder observed incisively. “And that is your opening.”

It was what the Wisened always did. Distill the truth and administer the medicine. Patra was clearly not satisfied, but she acquiesced and did not pursue the point.

Commander Giza shifted uncomfortably. It was time. He swallowed hard, steeled his spine, and stared straight into the eyes of his king, his friend. “King Raza…I’m afraid that I must inform you of more unfortunate news. Everson was not among the soldiers who returned.”

He had barely choked out the words when Patra’s pained cry cut him to the core. Her hands flew to her mouth, too late to prevent the indignity of unfiltered emotion. Giza could not bear to look at her, remaining locked instead on the stunned face of Raza.

“I’m sorry,” he said simply. He had never meant anything more in his life. Conscripting Everson had been a favor, and he had given his word. Turn him into a soldier and then look out for him. He had failed on both counts.

Though he appeared gutted, Raza continued as if there had been no diversion. Giza marveled at the king’s composure. He himself felt on the verge of collapse.

“Commander Giza, prepare our full forces to attack Mist Tier on the night of the Aurora Constellation,” Raza said. “Now leave us to mourn. All of you.”

The Wisened receded like memory through a small door at the rear of the chamber. For only the second time in his life, Commander Giza retreated in defeat, leaving behind his pride and a past to which there was no returning. He had barely passed through the doorway when he heard Patra ferociously address her husband.

“Why must we persist in this violence?” she questioned. “Can you not consider the possibility that the Wisened are wrong?”

Giza could not help himself. He paused outside the open doors and looked back into the council chamber, empty now except for the king and queen. The emotional tension between them was palpable to him even at this distance.

“I cannot and will not question the wisdom of centuries,” Raza fought back. “The Wisened are the oracle of the Predeciders.”

Queen Patra rose, trembling, from her throne and approached Raza as near as her fury would allow. “And as such they advised your father and his father before him. Generation after generation of warring kings and their counsel has never changed. To what end? Now it has cost us our only son!”