Chapter 282 – Tests

Negotiations among the Prophets continued in the dream for the rest of the cycle and well into the next one. The fundamental nature of their agreements hadn’t changed, nor had the challenges, but where before the meetings had felt like verbal battles, complete with maneuvering and probing attacks, now, it felt more like a strained business meeting.

Ibrahim met in the dream, but he otherwise took the cycle off to be with his wife. Mirian expected no less. He was happier now. Like Mirian, he’d lived with a deep furnace of rage burning in his chest, but now, those flames had cooled.

Mirian had rescued Arenthia early in the cycle and spent plenty of time with the Cult of Zomalator, reminiscing about her time in hiding with them as she’d learned soul magic. Lecne and Arenthia bickered as always. It was nostalgic. She wished, as she always did, that they could remember all the time they’d already spent together, but she didn’t need to let that yearning overwhelm her. It could simply exist; another piece of who she was. After all, without the loop, even if she’d been saved from execution, Arenthia would have likely passed on from old age by now. She had to weigh the advantages she was blessed with, not just the disadvantages.

She explored parts of the city she’d never visited, inviting strangers to eat at different restaurants, then inviting anyone who seemed interested to join her table. When she had seen the different neighborhoods, she found her way into Fort Aegrimere. She talked with General Hanaran, who no longer left until near the end of the cycle as the other Prophets grew better at delaying the war, and got to know Commander Hirte better. Mirian even reunited with the Westfellow Syndicate members. Ravatha was still loath to open up, but Mirian shared good conversation with Numo and some of the other career criminals.

One day, walking along the port market with no particular destination, she recognized a man. She stared at him, trying to place him. Then it came to her.

“I remember now! I learned your face well, but I don’t think I caught your name. You tried to rob me a few decades back. I think I was cursed at the time. It’s good to see you again!”

“I… what? I didn’t rob nobody, I’m as honest as they—”

“Oh, don’t worry, it didn’t happen in this continuum,” she said, patting him on the shoulder. “Can I buy you dinner?”

***

The loop after that, she spent most of her time in Palendurio. This time, she spent far less time in the stuffy rooms of joint stock companies and merchant guilds. She spent her days visiting the actual factories where steel was fabricated by furnaces and sorcerers, or the ones where artificers worked on the large spell engines needed for trains and construction. She spent time learning more about the work, talking across long tables over good food. The more she got to know them, the more she began to pick out natural leaders, well-respected workers, and specialists who had some key expertise. She met the editors and writers of her favorite broadsheets. She caught up with Rostal and the friendly folks of his neighborhood. She told him that Ibrahim was doing better now.

It was nice to talk to everyday people. Yes, there was greed and cruelty, but most of the time, most people were mostly pleasant.

Mirian revisited the Grand Sanctum, too. She had little patience for the corrupt bishops there, but she tried to understand why they were doing what they were doing all the same. Though they claimed it was for Baracuel’s renewal and their actions lined up with the holy texts, it seemed to her they had veiled their greed and ambition even from themselves. She spent long hours pondering what to do about some of the people and problems she knew about. She could easily order Pontiff Oculo to imprison Bishop Lancel for his corruption, but if she could turn Pontiff Oculo to her side, why not also turn Lancel? Or did imprisoning him create more benefits collectively for the Luminate Order than attempting to redeem him?

There were so many little decisions like that, and it was impossible to measure them.

Reconnecting with other parts of the Order was much more pleasant. Mirian invited Everad, the steadfast guard of the Grand Sanctum’s vault, a special feast. It brought warmth to her heart to see him happy.

As the cycle progressed, though, the politics of Baracuel became less and less easy for her to manipulate. Politicians and businessmen alike connived. The Department of Public Security squirmed about in the shadows. The logistics bottlenecks continued. Despite their leaders being imprisoned and Akana Praediar’s aggression being tempered, the Pure Blade and soldiers loyal to Corrmier moved about the city, attempting to reestablish their plan for dominating Baracuel. She let them skulk about while she took her notes.

Then Mirian sought out an old thorn that had been in her side for far too long.

***

General Kallin Corrmier was let out of his prison cell beneath Charlem Palace and brought to a large chamber overlooking Palendurio. Mirian sat in a comfortable chair and, having taken a page out of Gabriel’s book, was snacking on eclairs and sipping tea.

The general had a prominent chin and a back straight enough to be used as a ruler. She immediately saw the contempt in his eyes, and the poorly buried fury. She gestured for him to sit, but he remained standing.

“What?” he sneered. “Have you come to gloat?”

Charming, Mirian thought. “No. I’m giving you a chance to convince me.”

“Convince you what?”

“Anything you’d like. That your ‘restoration’ of Baracuel will work, perhaps. That you can be useful to me. That you can help save Enteria, or deliver me soldiers, or help with the construction of the project at Mayat Shadr—anything, really.”

Corrmier’s lip twitched slightly. “You should be the one convincing me,” he said, and turned back for the door. “Take me back to my cell,” he told the guards. “I don’t—”

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He walked straight into a force wall, his nose making a satisfying crunch as he did. Corrmier bit back a curse and turned, blood dripping onto his fancy shirt.

“I see the problem,” Mirian said. “You think I’m asking you this because you’re too valuable to kill. You think you have leverage. Maybe you think your supporters are putting pressure on me, or your political connections are important. That’s not the case at all. Right now, I’m letting your supporters run around so my informants can map them all. What they do this cycle doesn’t matter to me in the slightest. With your entire networked mapped out, I can destroy anyone in it before they even know I exist. When my priests debriefed you on the situation with the loops, it must not have sunken properly into your head. This isn’t the final cycle. It won’t be until I decide it is. This is a trial for your life in the future in which Enteria survives.”