“And I’m telling you,” argued Twila hotly, “the funds spent on the military industrial complex are largely wasted.”

Nate scoffed, tapping for another card. “How on earth could you call it wasted? You’re aware of all the marvels we have thanks to military money?” He started ticking off on his fingers. “Hand radio? All the medical advances? The internet, for crying out loud!” he cried, letting out an exasperated sigh.

“Sure, their R-and-D has plenty of potential for all manner of technologies to benefit society, but it’d be far more efficient to just establish a future-focused research initiative,” she explained, trying to stay patient. “Most of what regular people have gained from military research has been accidental. But if we could open up more focus than just combat application, think of the potential!”

Her opponent just grinned, shaking his head. He raised a hand in question, “And what? Just stop funding the military altogether? We don’t give enough attention to our national defense as it is. Most of Torani’s military is aging, trapped in a bygone age of tradition and honor. The Queens’ own guard still train in the use of swords and spears for crying out loud.”

“I’ve heard. My brother seemed to think it was an important part of his training, the traditions keeping them honest, focused on the importance of their responsibility to the crown and nation, not their own self-interest. Unlike the rogue military cult of the Somani, or the innumerable pirate crews of Kvaan.”

“Oh, sure,” Nate said, snorting, “talk about the negative effect military has had in other nations. Common defense. Still doesn’t stop countless corporations and research institutes--which would love to get homeland military contracts, by the way--from taking money from those very nations to develop all the modern tools of war. In fact, most advancement in military technology is from the private sector--and a good portion of that is from foreign investors! We provide them the very tools they use to attack us. And meanwhile, our own military lags behind terribly, unable to properly protect our shores.”

“I...” Twila faltered. She hadn’t known that. “But...even still, Queen Celestia’s open and friendly policies are vital to foster better international relations! We’ve known effective peace in the North for hundreds of years due to the royal family’s continued stance. Yes, there are still occasional pirate attacks. There’s a few independent islands that consider us to be ‘at war’... But overall, we’ve grown closer--and isn’t that worth almost anything?” Her tone was almost begging.

Frowning, Nate held up a hand. “Don’t get me wrong, I agree, international unity should be a priority,” Twila smiled, but he went on, “But firmly under Torani rule and guidance.” Twila’s grin fell again, as she looked a bit aghast. “What’s that look for? You said it yourself. Torani policy has helped keep the North in peace for centuries. Why change that? It’s already half true anyway.”

“They did it of their own free will, though!” Twila argued.

“Did they really?” Nate posited. “Think for a minute. The Somani, though intellectually developed when we found them, had little use for warfare except one small cult that was still using stone weapons. At the time, the knights of Torani were one of the fiercest, deadliest fighting forces in the North, having pushed back Elondrie only knows how many Kvaat pirate raids in the newly developing east.” He gave a mirthless laugh. “So what were their options, really?

Twila shrunk a bit, sinking into her cards, her mind going over everything she’d heard discussed on the subject. They played a few more hands in silence, Nate with a taciturn look and Twila with her brow furrowed in thought.

Finally, she spoke. “You’re right in that they couldn’t have resisted if they wanted to--but there was no need. Upon discovery of the Somani isles, the current monarch took it on himself to present a message of peace and cooperation, not unity or conquest. And he did so in person. The Somani leaders were so impressed to his dedication to wisdom and peace, they offered a return proposal that placed them as what would become a protectorate under Torani.” Twila’s voice took on a somber edge. “The Inner Tribes of Torani were met with a similar treaty. The Kvaat as well, though their fractured leadership has made the idea of a lasting peace all but impossible. For centuries, the royal family has not abandoned this ideal, only allowing the creation of a permanent military force for defensive purposes.”

Nate smiled again, but he sounded interested as he said, “And your point being?”

“Why jeopardize what we’ve built? My point being it has worked for us for this long, why change? Why...” Twila’s voice trembled slightly, cracking as she trailed off.

He gave her a sympathetic look, genuinely concerned. “Why is your queen doing just that?”

“She is not my queen,” she said through gritted teeth, giving him a hard look.

Shocked, Nate raised his hands in a defensive posture. “OK, OK, fine, fine. But see? You’re so emotional about the whole situation you’re willing to risk treason.” The young man clapped himself on the forehead. “Good God! Twila Shields committing treason! It’s almo--no, it’s completely unbelievable!”

Twila gave a look at the spectators around--since the game had slowed to allow their conversation, most had departed. The few remaining were paying only half-attention. Even still, she lowered her voice, “I’m no traitor to Torani or the royal family. I’d die defending them. Or to protect their ideals.”

“So the recent mobilization to pacify the Kvaat? The harder restrictions on the Inner Tribes? The blockade of trade to and from the Somani isles? The government is tightening its fist on this half of the globe. Spearheaded by its very leader,” he offered as he upped his bet on her hand.

Looking him in the eye, she replied, “I meant what I said.” The hand ended, and she pulled in a large pot. “For the true ideals of this nation, of her people and her leaders, I’ll do anything.”

“And what have you been doing so far, Miss Shields?” Nate asked, his tone a mix of curiosity and dismissal. “Your name has been all but unheard of for a few years now. Your friend Jack’s emotional outburst at court excepted, none of your friends have been active in current events. Just silence and an assumed retreat into the isolated Mansfield.” Taking a disappointing look at this cards, he muttered, “The court whispers say life must be perfectly normal there.”

The beginnings of tears welling at her eyes, Twila said, “You ask and accuse, but tell me, Nate--what do you think? What do you feel? Is any of this right? H-has anything been normal?” She pushed all her chips forward. “I’m tired of this game. There’s a bigger pot in need of playing for.”

Both eyebrows raising in shock, Nate stared at her, confusion beginning to grow. The dealer gave a polite cough and asked, “Your response, sir?”

“O-oh, right. One last hand?” His smile returned, though a little weaker than before. “Sure--the auction will probably start soon anyways. It’s been a great pleasure, Miss Shields,” he said, pushing in his chips and giving a little laugh. “It genuinely has.”

“Maybe...” Twila began, examining the past few hours again. Had they been fun? Certainly in the beginning...until they had devolved into arguing over every political issue they possibly could have. Yet. Yet even then, he had been intelligent, funny, well spoken... Even not entirely wrong.

It hit her then, that something had been off about the whole discussion. She hadn’t ever fully disagreed with him. Not really. It was more about how he seemed to see things. His opinions and beliefs were in the right place, just colored in a bad light.

And if that light isn’t blue, I’ll eat Chy’s work boots, she thought, gagging and laughing at such a terrible but ridiculous idea.

“Nate...?” she asked quietly.

“Mm?”

With a smile of her own, she replied, “I had a great time, too. And...well...” She wasn’t entirely sure on the proper protocol for a situation like this. Had she any time, she would’ve asked Rarity for her advice. The tailor was a bit of a romantic and would’ve probably enjoyed Twila’s nervousness.

“...and?” Nate asked, catching her attention again.

“Oh! Right. If you like--I mean, I’m sure you’re busy most of the time, not to mention I can’t really say what my schedule will be like anytime soon--oh! But maybe you’re uh...with someone else? And this is incredibly rude of me? Not that I’m specifically asking for that reason! Of course we’ve got to spend time as friend before--but that’s really pointless to think about when I don’t even know if I can, and that’s not fair to you, and--”

“Twila!” interrupted Nate. “If you’re trying to ask me if I would like to take you out sometime, then the answer is emphatically yes.”

She hunched her shoulders a bit, embarrassed at her rambling. “Sorry,” she said. “I think too much about simple things.”

“It’s OK,” he said, laughing. “I do too. I didn’t get to tell you, but I’m a musician, so I travel around a lot. My schedule is a bit weird and unpredictable. But I’d really like to see you again. Talk some more--maybe on less political topics next time?” His tone was a bit teasing.

“Definitely.” Twila beamed. “Shall we see who won?”

He returned her grin. “On three?” Twila nodded. “One. Two...three!”

The pair flipped their cards at the same time, Twila having shown an ace and Nate a jack. Nate’s other turned out to be another jack--while Twila flipped over a king.

The dealer declared, “Miss shows twenty-one, winning the hand.”

“Congratulations, Miss Shields,” Nate said, “you’ve won...” He looked the impressive pile of chips over, moving his lips as he tallied their worth. “Looks to be about sixty thousand dollars or so.”

Twila felt shocked. She’d felt confident she could win, but had never really stopped to imagine just how much she could make.

Though it’s hardly anything compared to the heist, she reminded herself.

With an annoyed clearing of his throat, the dealer said, “Provided Miss wins one final hand against the dealer, of course.”

“Of course,” Twila replied nervously, having completely forgotten that part.

Moving to a seat beside her--his bodyguard just behind him--Nate thumped the table with a fist. “No contest--you’ve got the pot for sure!”

“Thanks, I’ll try.”

“Final hand,” called the dealer, throwing out four cards between himself and Twila.

“You’re rather impressive, Miss Shields,” said Nate. “A real take charge sort. I can see why the queen took you on as her protege.”

“Really? Because I never could,” Twila said, her brow furrowing a bit.

“What?” Nate asked, bewildered. “How can you even say that?”

“I never understood why the queen chose me, not really. Perfect score on the Royal Academy’s entrance exam might be impressive, I suppose, but...anyone could do that with enough practice. The queen’s personal protege should be...” She hunted for the right word. “Special? No... Unique, maybe. Something along those lines, but much much...more, if that makes any sense.” She let out a small sigh. “Someone better than I could ever hope to be.”

Nate looked her over, choosing his next words carefully. “You’re right in that any protege of the queen’s should be impressive, a real one-of-a-kind person.” He gave her a serious look. “So if she chose you, doesn’t that mean you’re that person?”

“Oh nonononono!” cried Twila as she ran past confused servants and officials through the hallways of Orleith castle. Her arms held a motley collection of books and loose papers--some even took wind behind her as she ran, falling unheeded to the tiles below. The rapid click-click-click of her thick leather heels drove home her desperation with every step.

She was late.

She--Twila Shields, sixteen year old protege to Torani’s queen--was going to be late for the very first time in her life.

In her mind, an endless and terrifying number of possible punishments played out, one after the other, again and again. The majority she logically dismissed as impossible flights of fancy, though that hardly lessened the terror they imparted. The rest, however, were incredibly possible--a poor grade on her permanent record, a disappointing call to her parents, remedial courses...

Or...

Expulsion. The ending of her tutelage by Queen Celestia.

That was the true terror lurking in her subconscious. For six years, she had applied herself to doing no less than her absolute best, in being perfect. The queen had been a strict teacher--and occasionally unconventional--but Twila had met every challenge and succeeded with full marks.

Twila’s heart was beating faster than she’d ever known before.

Just...a...little farther... She was so exhausted, it was hard to keep a thought coherent. A couple of the palace maids had been teasing her on her increasingly-pudgy figure; she’d dismissed them but with how difficult she was finding it to run such a long distance, she suspected some time spent at the gymnasium would do her good.

Her thoughts wandered, preventing her from focusing on her fears of expulsion. Still her steps quickened. The queen was waiting in their private classroom--it had been disused for years, once being used to educate the servants’ children a little over a century ago. Now, along with her simple bedroom and the castle’s library, it was Twila’s entire life.

Down the west hall, past the servants’ quarters, two spiral staircases down, one short flight up, through the glass doors and...

“Ah!” cried Twila, forgetting to shield herself from the sudden glare of the sun. The palace was designed to allow natural sunlight almost anywhere, but she tended to avoid the brightest areas and the staircases had been lit by only token electric lights.

For a moment, she stood dumbstruck, her eyes closed, pained by the bright summer light. She felt where the running had started to make her sweat begin to dampen worse--but the crisp yet polite clearing of a throat worsened it further.

Slowly, she peeked open an eye. The sun was almost directly in front of her; in-between her and the bright star was an incredibly familiar silhouette.

The sun’s rays shining around her like some heavenly vision, Queen Celestia of Torani stood tall, her face an immaculate and impassive mask showing...impatience? Anger? Disappointment? All and none and feelings perhaps unknown to Twila seemed to fit. Even after six years, Twila had an incredibly difficult time reading her mentor.

“Your Highness, I c--”

“You’re aware of the time, Twila?” asked Celestia evenly.

The young woman’s face flushed with shame as she nodded slowly.

“You’re aware of how valuable my time is? Of just how many different things require my attention any given moment, every single day?”

Another slow nod.

“And you recall how I explained that my day is entirely built upon a rigid, precise schedule? Upon which any deviation in the slightest spoils the whole thing?”

Slow nod.

“Which, I should point out, has been completely spoiled now, leading me to, as they say, ‘wing it’ from here on.”

Nod.

“Come here, Twila,” directed the queen.

With reluctant, halting half-steps, Twila stepped out to the classroom proper. Calling it a classroom was somewhat misleading, however, as the ‘room’ was really an open air veranda, reaching out from the dropping cliffside that marked the castle’s west boundary. Fresh air and sunshine helped keep the students alert and attentive, not to mention healthier. It was perfectly situated for most of the day--though the sun could be bright and strong, the wind flowing over the veranda’s surface kept the temperature even and comfortable.

Though it had never been directed at her, Twila had seen the queen’s face when she was angry or disappointed. It was hard and honest and both reassuring but terrifying. Celestia was known far and wide for her wisdom, kindness, and fairness in all dealings--but less known was her response to those who broke their word or preyed upon Torani’s allies. Never would Twila have said that Celestia’s responses were unjustified--and the queen held back and forgave where she could. But neither could the woman ever be called weak.

Her eyes never leaving the floor, Twila had to rely on the queen’s command of, “Stop.” With shame and worry, Twila halted, her body itching to move to dispel her nervousness. She stood as still as she could, wondering, fearing, waiting for the queen’s next words.

The ensuing embrace and loving hug had been nowhere near anything the troubled teen’s imaginings. Celestia’s arms wrapped around her, as the woman leaned down to gently kiss Twila’s hair. She whispered, “Thank you, Twila.”

“W-w-what?” Twila stuttered out.

Releasing her hug but not her embrace, Celestia looked down into the confused teen’s face. She giggled--giggled!--and said, her tone somewhat mischievous, “It’s not often I get to make my own schedule. Now I have an excuse to do whatever I want for the rest of the day, when I want! That’s a great gift--so thank you, Twila.”

Twila was confused. Her being late...was a good thing? “But... But I was late!” she cried, tears breaking despite, or perhaps because of, her relief at not being punished.

Celestia gave a gentle smile. “Life is more than just a timetable, Twila--believe me, I know that all too well!” She laughed as she let Twila go. “While it is important to be punctual, much of life’s most enjoyable moments can be sporadic and unplanned.” Her tone became a bit more serious, as if this was one of her lessons. “As well, life itself is mostly unpredictable. One must always be aware and ready to react at a moment’s notice, abandoning ruined plans for new ones--or even working without one.”

Though she had her doubts, Twila nodded and listened carefully.

Gesturing for her to take a seat, Celestia took her own and continued, “For example. Why were you late, Twila?”

“Um...” She sniffed. “Spike was restless, so I didn’t get much sleep, your Highness.” Her face flushed as she rubbed an arm nervously. “I slept through about a dozen alarms...”

Laughing, Celestia asked, “And could you control that, Twila?”

“Not really, no.”

“In many ways, this is why I entrusted Spike’s care to you, Twila. Though you’re so young, the responsibility of caring for and raising a child will teach you much about life.” She raised a palm. “Try as we will, plan as carefully and diligently as you might, life will almost certainly find a way to derail them. And often in such a way to seem almost unfair--why should life be able to undo with a fraction of the time or care what took you hours, days, or even years of time and effort?”

Twila gulped. “Years? I couldn't even imagine years of planning going undone!”

The queen nodded. “Indeed. It happens all the time in my world. Countries and governments plan and scheme, maneuver and plot...and very little ever really happens.”

“But how does anything ever get done?” Twila asked.

“Well, even the longest term plans often have short term goals. In fact, it’s a requirement. Nothing can get done on the large scale if the smaller cogs aren't running. So don’t take the example the wrong way--planning is important and necessary. But.” Celestia’s tone had quickly changed to her usual lecture voice. “True intelligence--and proper leadership skill, as well--is also being able to react quickly and unpredictably at a moment’s notice.”

“I don’t think I can do that, your Highness,” Twila replied, uncertainty clear in her voice.

“My dearest student, you doubt yourself so often--do you not trust my own judgement? I chose you for a reason,” the queen said comfortingly. “But you will see someday--as long as you keep these words in mind: You possess unlimited potential for greatness, Twila Shields. That I promise you.”

Twila was speechless as she felt her eyes tear up again. What could she say but, “Thank you, your Highness.”

With her typical radiant and kind smile, Celestia said, “It is my duty as your instructor. And friend. Now, are you ready to begin?”

With great enthusiasm, Twila replied, “Yes, Highness!”

Twila was consumed with worry as she made her way to the west wing’s so-called dead-hall. For decades--though some pegged it as over a century--it had been completely unused. The palace maids only swept it about once a month, and that was more a punishment than anything else. The hall had a reputation for being unnerving. Many refused to step near the place.

So it was with guarded whisper that the palace grapevine often asked what possible business the nineteen-year old Twila Shields, court scribe and protege to the queen, could have in the lonely stretch of needless hallway. There were no rooms that far, no doors or windows or anything of interest--even the art had long since been removed.

The general consensus was that Miss Shields had found herself a young man, but was too shy to be seen with him. The tales of her myriad and torrid rendezvous were each more inconceivable than the last. She couldn’t understand how anyone could possibly come to that conclusion--what boys did she talk to? Ridiculous.

Pointless rumors aside, Twila stopped and looked carefully at the wall in front of her. The corridor looked no different than any other, for the most part. The plush pale gold and deep blue carpets were a little less worn down, the tapestries on the stone walls a more vibrant shade of the same.

Let’s see, she thought to herself. It was five from the right...and...

Moving the far wall’s tapestry aside, her hand traced the old stonework carefully as she mentally counted. She pushed in on one stone, slid a thin covering on another, then found the hidden notch that allowed her to completely shift a third down into a compartment. That served as both the unlocking mechanism and created the handle for the secret door that had been her destination. With the barest of pulls, the wall swung out almost effortlessly.

Inside was a bare corridor, just big enough for an average person to walk through, and a pull-chain that reset the door. Giving the chain a quick yank as she headed back towards the palace proper, Twila hurried her steps, almost running, now that no one could see her.

What on earth is she thinking?! That... That... Despite her near outrage, Twila couldn’t make herself finish that thought. What on earth was the queen thinking?

Twila only hoped she wasn’t too late. How long had it been since the conference? An hour? Two?

As fast as the close passage would allow, Twila rushed through the dusty back passages of Camelot castle. She had been shown the passages shortly after arriving as part of the history of the castle--though Twila had suspected the queen had had other reasons beyond a simple lesson. After a few years, that suspicion had grown, though Twila had no hard proof. The queen’s reputation for being incredibly shrewd was, if anything, downplayed from the reality.

So why was she so belligerently putting herself at potentially mortal risk? Wrack her brain as she might, Twila could see no wisdom in the decision. Just risk--monumental risk.

It had seemed so simple going in. Just another typical conference of political leaders from all over the North. There had been the usual sorts: tribal leaders from the Somini and Inner Tribes, representatives from the semi-independent corners of Torani such as the Crystal Territories--it had been so nice to see Cadence again--as well as a surprise turnout by the current lead warlord of Kvaan, a Kvaat named Dojte. Twila, as court scribe, was present to record the minutes or, though it was unlikely, draft any propositions or other such documents.

At her keyboard typing, Twila was noticing that the conference was going much as they always went--except for the Kvaat warlord, who was very uncharacteristically silent. His face was like stone, all hard edges and rough scars, made all the more pointed by his greased-slick beard. The only movement Twila ever caught was that of his eyes as they darted to each speaker in turn and the rhythmic flare of his nostrils, large in a sizeable, beakish nose that was so telling for Kvaan.

Concentrating as she was on her work, Twila couldn’t quite recall what had set the man off. One moment it was business as usual, the talk friendly and centered around an upcoming celebration of friendship and alliance, when a loud bang and crash echoed through the high-ceilinged dining room.

The man had slammed the table, leaping to his feet and throwing back his chair in a gracefully violent manner. He pointed to the queen then gestured at the other leaders gathered around, all the while spewing profanities and threats.

Shocked as she had been at the man’s lack of any respect or decency, she couldn’t recall exactly what he had said. Afterwards, she had found her notes just as blank.

The last thing she did remember, however, was the terrible rage in his eyes as he threw a hidden dagger towards the queen. There had been no time for the guards to move, no time for anyone to even properly react until after each head turned to see the quivering weapon embedded in the tall chair’s back, right next to her head.

The queen hadn’t moved. Stock still she sat, eyes closed, breathing even, silent.

All at once the room began to explode with the fury of a nation defending its leader; soldiers drew swords or lowered spears, bodyguards seemed to sprout between their targets and the warlord, at least two serving women began screaming. Twila had expected disaster. Killing the warlord would be an inescapable declaration of open war on all of Kvaan.

Instead there was a loud, near-singing cry of, “Remain still! Everyone!” The strong contralto of the queen filled the entire chamber, echoing and magnifying along the contours of the room to become something more than just a single voice. Laced with authority, her order was followed instantly, the entire room motionless as silence moved in.

Opening her eyes--which were firm, but not angry--Celestia turned her head slightly to see the knife embedded in her chair. “Is there something you require of me, Warlord Dojte?”

Again his nostrils flared as he fumed. “Something I require? I require?!” he cried. “The damned whole hemisphere requires your head, you inbred bitch!”

“Kvaan shows her foolishness very easily, it seems,” rumbled the giant Somani chieftain, Shatterstone. “A wise people would not send such an ignorant leader.”

Pointing an angry finger at the man, Dojte replied, “And a truly strong people would never scrape before their lessers.”

“Is that what my people are?” asked Celestia. “Lesser than yours, Warlord?”

“We have nary any say in Northern politics. Or trade or development. We are accused of being backward, harboring only criminals and pirates. Pushed to our lonely island chains, as Torani spreads farther and farther. Are your people lesser?” He spat on the ground. “As such we are treated. Even, by order of Torani treaty, forbidden to go South. Create our own destiny, away from this peace and politic shit. I was sent here to tell you as much, carved into your skull for reading if necessary.”

“So I ask again: is there something you require of me?” Celestia asked again, her tone still steady.

“Two hours I’ll give you, soon-dead queen. Then meet me for the duel that knife declares. Refusal to accept will mean war. Killing or capturing me beforehand? Will mean war.” He sneered at the nearby soldiers who lowered their weapons.

“Then I must accept,” Celestia said. Gasps and cries of refusal sprung from those around her but were silenced in moments by a hard stare. When all was quiet, she said, “You may return to your chambers, free to wait your two hours. A messenger will arrive to tell you where the duel will be held.”

With mock sincerity, the warlord bowed and flourished his cape. “To blood and battle, death and defeat or victory ever-sweet, soon-dead queen.” On his heels he turned and left, every eye following him but no word or action arose to stop him.

Before she could be questioned, Celestia rose and excused herself to her chambers to prepare. A pair of guards followed her, but the rest were asked to please return to their own rooms and wait for word that the situation had been dealt with.

Twila herself couldn’t believe it. The queen was accepting the duel? It was insanity! If the Kvaat wished for war, they had pushed Torani into it. That could hardly be helped. So why on earth would she allow herself to be killed?

After a half hour of fretting and wondering in her room, Twila had run out of patience. As quickly as she could, she’d made her way to Celestia’s chambers. They were guarded, as expected, and Twila was told the queen had not left. Nor would she be allowed, as they all agreed allowing her to die in a duel was madness.

But when she entered, she found the spacious quarters empty. Still bewildered as to the why, Twila at least knew the how. The queen had shown Twila the various secret paths throughout the castle, saying she often used them for some true peace or as shortcuts. Most were still completely unknown by the palace guard, only utilized by the royal family in case of emergencies.

In the queen’s room there were at least three different paths, but only one Twila suspected had been used. The quick escape behind the fireplace--revealed in a series of twisting stones upon the mantle--that led to the back courtyard. It would be empty, considered low risk as it was completely encircled by the castle and the cliff drop to the sea.

Her hunch had been right; she had found the queen, rapier in hand, apparently waiting for Dojte. Despite Twila’s pleading, she was determined to go through with the duel. She had used one of the other passages to message the warlord of her decision. Whatever Twila wanted or did, Celestia said, she was determined to meet her responsibility.

Frustrated and scared, Twila had retreated to find and alert the guard captain. After doing so, she’d come to the dead-hall, rushing to return to the courtyard.

The duel was just about to start.

On one end stood Celestia, changed from her formal dress into an old set of dueling clothes. The tight breeches and thick, woolen jerkin looked odd on Celestia. She had a halfcloak draped over her left arm, her rapier held firmly in the right. Twila knew the queen had some fencing training, but that had been years ago. She wasn’t even sure where the queen had found a weapon. It was well made, but lacked polish or the usual complicated handguard that most ‘royal’ weapons tended to have, being designed for look, not function. This was a fighting weapon, the point vicious, both edges sharpened expertly.

Across from her stood the warlord, unchanged though no less unarmed. Like most of his people, Warlord Dojte was wielding two weapons. In one hand was a simple short sword; the other a shorter, notched swordbreaker. The two were talking, but seemed poised on beginning the fight at any moment.

Twila was about to cry out, begging the queen to await the coming of the guard, when another, almost feral shout announced a new threat--a second Kvaat warrior, apparently hiding behind the tall shrubs of the garden.

He was dressed in Kvaat battle colors, bright blood red and rusty brown. A hood covered his face, a long, worn cloak his body. But his arms and legs were bare, showing bronzed skin and toned muscles. He charged Celestia, a curved dagger in both hands, and screamed.

The attacker lunged forward with the point of both weapons, which Celestia easily sidestepped. At the same time, she brought down her sword in a controlled downward slice. Cutting through most of it, the blade finally caught on the trailing cloak which allowed Celestia to pull it fast and taut. His head whipping back, the man gave a broken cry of pain as his throat was constricted and he fell down to his back.

Barely pausing, the man threw one dagger at the queen, which she caught in her halfcloak. Reversing the gesture, she flung the dagger away while pulling her own sword free as she retreated back. In a display of acrobatics so familiar to Kvaat, the man leapt to his feet, pulling a much smaller knife from a sheath on his calf. His cloak hung like a rough cut scarf, trailing from his right side.

He yelled again, beginning another charge which became a faint combined with another knife throw. It was thrown a bit too high, but caused Celestia to duck all the same, leaving her vulnerable as the man charged again.

It seemed over, the man’s dagger lunging for Celestia’s throat, and her rapier too long to defend against his encroach. But again, she threw out her halfcloak and, with a shrug, let it slide all the way off her shoulder. It hit the man square in the face, blinding him. Celestia dropped all the way down, avoiding the strike and becoming an obstacle for the attacker to trip and fall over.

She grabbed his trailing cloak then quickly encircled it around his head and arms. Then, with a quick thrust of her sword, Celestia pinned the man on the ground, tangled in both her and his cloaks. From her own sheath at her waist she drew a knife, leaned down and placed it against the cloak where Twila assumed the man’s throat was. The man seemed to understand, for he stopped struggling immediately.

Twila watched in horror-turned-admiration, ending with a whooping shout. At the same time, Dojte began applauding, though his face was dark red with anger.

“Excellent, excellent!” he cried. Then, “But you foolish, shit-worthy, son of a blind man! You should be dead! Do it, then! Kill him as he so deserves.” This last to Celestia.

Sheathing both her knife and sword, Celestia replied, “An intruder in a personal duel? He is dead already, is he not?”

With a gruff laugh, Dojte said, “That he is, that he is.” He walked forward and offered a hand, which the queen took in the Kvaat fashion by gripping his forearm as he gave the same. “I admit I did not know you were so skilled.” He kicked the man lying on the ground. “You child, probably think you were barely bested, no? When she could have ended you several times.”

A slightly deafened cry of, “Bullshit!” came from under the cloak.

“You doubt me? Your father? I watched, very closely.” Another kick. “But she’s right--you intruded upon a closed duel. By all accounts you’re a dead man already.”

“But father--”

Another, harder, kick. “Don’t ‘but father’ me! You know the laws of Kvaan. Attacking like a spineless assassin.” He spat. “I may save you from the noose, but mark my words boy: You will be taught anew. And better.”

At this he leaned down, ripped the cloak from the man, and grabbed his arm, hoisting him to his feet. The man’s hood had fallen, allowing Twila to see the resemblance. There was no mistaking the attacker as Dojte’s son.

Celestia, on the other hand, had turned to watch the slowly approaching Twila. Twila stopped, unsure exactly what was happening.

“I apologize again for my son’s insolence,” Dojte said, bowing low. Twila was shocked at his changed demeanor. He truly seemed upset with his son’s actions and pleased with Celestia’s. “He’ll be under careful watch until our departure. Thank you, Queen, for your stunning show of power and restraint. Until the next gathering.” Then, his son’s arm held in a clearly painful grip, he left.

Celestia, looking at Twila, said, “And so war is averted. And no blood spilled.”

Twila’s mind blanked. They both stood, silent and still, staring deeply into the other’s eyes as the young man’s cries of pain subsided into the distance. When the last echo could be heard no longer, Twila’s lips parted, her words, though short, emptying her feelings like a flood.

“But why?” Twila asked, clueless and horrified. “You could’ve been killed, your Highness!”

Still calm and firm, but with a warming smile that slowed Twila’s rapidly beating heart, Celestia replied, “And would that have been so bad, my student?”

Shaking her head, Twila blurted, “Yes!”

“Why?”

“W-why? Be-because!”

“Because...why?”

“You’re the queen!” Twila said, feeling she was stating the obvious.

“I’m a single woman in a nation of millions. Family name and title are details. If I was to be killed, another could--and would--take my place quite easily. My sister being the most logical choice.”

“But don’t you see?” Twila asked, confused. Did Celestia really not understand? Celestia, her teacher, her mentor, practically a second mother... So kind and gentle and wise, but firm and fearless and strong at the same time. “What would happen to the people’s resolve if something had happened to you? What about their morale!”

Closing her eyes, Celestia gave a small shake of her head. “Morale recovers. Death does not.”

“Death?”

“Yes, Twila. Death. Imagine if I had done it the way you think I should have. Dojte would be captured, tried, and executed at best. Killed during capture more likely. There would be casualties, as he is warrior born and bred. And then war.”

“But how does that change with what you did?”

“Twila, one of the largest lessons you can learn is personal responsibility. Especially where others are concerned. Don’t you see? By playing the rules set in this confrontation, I isolated the incident to only he and myself. No others would be hurt or killed. Neither was I ever intending to kill him, of course. I was the only one at risk.” Tears shone at the corner of the queen’s eyes. “Whenever possible, Twila, that is our responsibility to those that care and trust us. If by putting yourself at risk you can avoid it for others, why should we choose anything different? Why should anyone ever be sacrificed in our place?”

It was then Twila understood, as she felt her own tears begin to fall. The love and concern Celestia had for her subjects--guards, friends, servants, even Twila herself, for everyone--was so strong that she’d courted death with not even the hint of a second thought.

“I... I understand, your Highness,” was all she could say.

Resting a hand on Twila’s shoulder, Celestia leaned in and kissed her forehead. “I know you do, Twila. Your heart would have it no other way. Someday, if the choice is forced upon you, I know you’ll make the right decision.”

“Miss? Miss, are you alright?”

The voice of the dealer caused Twila to give a small jump. She noticed a few faces looking at her with some concern. Her cheeks warmed as she laughed, saying, “Sorry! Just sort of...wandered off for a moment there.” She gestured to the impressive pot stacked in the center of the table. “A bit distracting, you know?”

“Of course, miss. But the night’s activities are coming to a close in preparation for the auction--so if you will?”

“Right.”

The dealer asked, “Stay, hit, or fold, miss?”

Twila peaked at her turned down card--the ace of clubs. Counted with her upturned card, the ace of hearts, she had two, twelve, or a losing hand of twenty-two. The dealer showed the king of diamonds.

“Hit,” she said. Nate tapped the table next to her--she gave him a hard eye, but he merely grinned and shrugged in reply.

The dealer threw out another card. This time it was the ace of spades. Which put her at three or thirteen. Wracking her brain to recall the past few hands--she noted the dealer had forgotten to shuffle the full deck before this hand--she put her chances at busting fairly low. There were no more than two or three face cards left and, together with the nines, she couldn’t bust on any other single card. With the safety of the aces, she couldn’t bust at all.

Tapping the table, the dealer threw out a five. That put her at eight or eighteen. Not the safest hand she could play with, especially considering she only had the vaguest idea of what the count could be.

“Will miss stay, hit, or fold?”

“I...” she hesitated, though she wasn’t entirely sure why. She wanted to win. She hadn’t really realized that until now. The money was hardly important, though. Jack and Dash would be stealing over a hundred times more in artifacts, jewelry, and art--they probably were doing so at this very moment.

No, what made it important to her was the fact that Blueblood expected his house to win. At various times when she allowed herself to think about it, she could still hear his speech from the start of the night. How he had twisted and prodded every vulnerable spot he could to embarrass her and her friends. So this one small victory here was just a way to get him back. A drop to the ocean of the burglary they were committing, perhaps, but another drop that was hers and hers alone.

“Second thoughts, Miss Shields?” asked Nate in a whisper.

She shook her head, quietly replying, “Hardly. Just savoring victory.” Louder, she called, “Hit.”

Nodding politely, the dealer tossed out another card. To Twila’s immense delight, it was a three--putting her squarely at twenty-one.

“I’ll stay!” she cried, more eagerly than she wanted.

“As you say--dealer stays,” the dealer replied evenly. “Now the reveal!” Twila thought his words seemed a bit overly confident, his face giving a peculiar expectant look.

They both turned, revealing Twila’s twenty-one and the dealer’s hidden eight--putting him at eighteen and Twila the--

“Twila wins!” cried Nate, thumping the table a couple times for extra emphasis. “You did it, Miss Shields! You won!” A few other patrons gave a small cheer, but most just politely clapped.

Blushing, she sputtered, “L-luck, right? I mean... It’s just luck!”

Nate opened his mouth to argue but was interrupted by the dealer striking the table once, loudly.

“Miss has not won, pardon the table’s rude interruption.” He cleared his throat and straightened his tie before continuing. “It is the custom of this table for both parties to draw one more card before settling house debts.”

“You’re just making that up so you don’t lose!” spewed Nate, dumbfounded and angry.

Holding up a placating finger, the dealer replied, “Not so. It is marked clearly, on the back of your welcoming letter.”

“Bull it is!” said Nate, but Twila was already placing a hand on his arm to calm him down. He gestured feebly, saying, “But he’s cheating.”

I know that, but... “Rules are rules,” she said. Picking up her handbag from it’s place beside her, she found the little note. She flipped it over and, as the dealer had said, found the rule. It was tiny--she had to squint to read it, but it did clearly state that each table had it’s own singular rule of tradition. And all of them probably designed to give the dealer one last chance to turn the tide, she thought bitterly.

“One last card it is,” she said flatly. “Let’s see if my luck holds out, shall we?”

“Alright, fine,” declared Nate. “But,” he pointed a threatening finger at the dealer, “I’ll be watching you--no tricks. Just one lucky card for each of you.”

With a smug smile, the dealer took up the remaining cards and shuffled them together. Then, in an impressive single swipe, he cut the deck and spread it out along the table.

“One card for each of us, miss.” He placed his hand down, picking a card at random. She did the same. “And draw.”

Quickly, they both pulled their card and threw them face up with their respective hands--or it would have if Twila’s hadn’t knocked on an edge before falling off the table, face down on the floor.

“Sorry!” she cried at the same time Nate said, “No. No!” The dealer showed a two.

“Twenty, dealer wins,” the dealer said, satisfaction plain on his face.

“Not so fast!” cried Twila as she picked up the card and placed it on the table face down. Eyes closed, she evened her breathing and prayed. She’d never been much for religion beyond the usual practices--and she had her doubts that Elondrie had much care for gambling--but it seemed the thing to do.

Slowly she flipped the card over, covering it with her hand. With one final exhale, she slid her hand off.

There on the table sat the queen of diamonds.

“Twenty-one,” Twila said, almost unbelievingly.

The crowd, their attention redrawn at the sudden ‘final card’ rule, erupted into applause for Twila’s victory.

“Miss...” The dealer gulped noticeably. “Miss wins the pot. C-congratulations.” Twila wondered what sort of punishment Blueblood would mete out on the poor man. He was just doing his job after all...but she disregarded it almost immediately. Blueblood would have much worse to deal with before this night was out.

A hand on her shoulder brought her out of her reverie. It was Nate, his grin wider than ever, saying, “As expected! Never had a doubt.”

“Well that makes one of us,” replied Twila sheepishly. “Still--it feels good to win! Yes!” Thrusting a hand into the air, she gave a small whoop.

“Your winnings will be collected and exchanged to be presented to you shortly,” instructed the dealer as he began to step away. “Enjoy the rest of your evening, miss. And congratulations once again.”

“Uh, thank you--and good game?” she offered, giving a small smile.

With a small bow, he returned the smile then left, seeming not so pained as he was before at his loss.

“I suppose I just wait for my winnings, then?” she asked towards Nate.

“Then off to the auction room,” he added.

Letting out a long sigh, Twila felt her excitement at the win fade. Now that her distraction was over, the true test for the night was coming. Not to mention the danger for her friends--danger she was powerless to prevent at all.

She trusted Jack and Dash, however. The two were extraordinarily capable on their own. With the pair watching each others’ backs? Twila, though still worried, knew there could not be a better couple doing something so dangerous and important.

But still, it was up to her and the others to keep up on their end. The auction was soon, which would mean the discovery of the break in. They had to delay it, in any way possible. Then escape when the heist was over, preferably before any alarm could be gotten to Blueblood.

It occurred to her that, even factoring her call for relative radio silence, Spike had been unusually quiet. Excusing herself from Nate for a moment, she headed over to an isolated table and was about to check in on things when she saw Rarity--worry evident on her face and backed up by a slight disheveling of the woman’s normally immaculate hair--enter, her eyes going all about the room and lighting up when they found Twila.

She crossed the room to meet the tailor halfway, but before she could even begin to ask what was wrong, Rarity grabbed her arm and pulled in close.

Whispering, she said, “Twila--there’s a problem! What are we going to do, Twila?!” Her voice was a bit strained, as if she’d had some sort of shock.

Shocked herself, Twila asked, “W-what happened?!” As was her usual bad habit, her mind began supplying a plethora of terrible consequences.

Rarity was silent, nervously biting one lip as tears touched on the edges of her eyes. Twila knew that look quite well--it often led to an embarrassingly dramatic outburst. The tailor took in a deep breath, preparing her tirade of despair, but Twila clamped a hand over her mouth quickly.

“Rarity! Remember where we are!” She put extra emphasis on the ‘where’, rolling her eyes to the remaining hangers-on relatively near them. None were anyone she really knew, which likely meant they were closer to Blueblood’s camp than their own. “Calmly, OK?” She waited until Rarity gave a slight nod of her head, removed her hand, and asked, “Now from the beginning. What happened? Why aren’t you with Blueblood right now?”

“That’s just it,” she said, her voice carrying a wavering edge of panic, “I failed, Twila! I. Failed.”

“Failed? What do you mean?”

“He won’t...have me. Any trace of his, for lack of a better word, ‘affections’ from the Gala are gone.” Rarity recovered, her voice hardening defensively. “I hurt his pride too much by publicly refusing him.”

Rubbing her forehead to forestall the coming headache, Twila asked, mostly to herself, “What the hell do we do now?!”

“I’m sorry, Twila!” Rarity cried, encircling her arms around Twila’s neck and giving her a tight hug. “The one thing expected of me, one of the most necessary things of the night--all on my own shoulders. Oh I was so blind! So sure of myself! And I let you--no--I let all of you, the entire country, down!”

A slightly awkward clearing of the throat brought both women’s attention to the approach of Nate. He was standing a polite distance away, but still looked somewhat awkward. When they looked at him, he asked, “Anything I can help you with, ladies?”

“Twila! Are you with a man?!” Rarity asked scandalously. Then her face blanked. “Uh, I don’t think I know you...? Mr....?”

“Oh, just call me Nate!” he said pleasantly.

“Nate... I’m sure I’m very pleased to meet you--but for a better time...?” she asked, letting him fill in the blanks.

He gave a polite nod. “Of course.” Then to Twila, “If you’re sure I can’t be of help?”

She shook her head. “I appreciate it, Nate, but this isn’t something I think you can help with.”

“Very well. Miss Shields, Miss Belle. For a better time.” They watched as he left, his bodyguard taking a place just behind and to the right of him. The two left, most likely headed for the auction room.

“What are we going to do, Twila?” Rarity asked again.

“I...” Twila’s heart started beating faster. Her thoughts raced, but all the finish line showed was nothing. “I...”

What do we do? she thought. The plan--the List! It depended on Rarity sneaking into his room! Without that...without that, what will we do? What do I do?!

“True intelligence--and proper leadership skill, as well--is also being able to react quickly and unpredictably at a moment’s notice.”

Like a phantom breeze, the words tickled her ear. She almost turned, breath caught in her throat, expecting to see Celestia standing right behind her. Even so many years later, the power--the truth--in those words rang clear.

New plan... New plan... But what?

“If by putting yourself at risk you can avoid it for others, why should you choose anything different? Why should anyone ever be sacrificed in our place?”

Again, the memory was strong. Twila’s heart slowed, her breathing even. She closed her eyes and remembered the face of her mentor during those and many other times. The countless lessons her queen had instructed, so many of which only seemed like lessons long after the fact.

Sacrifice myself and myself alone. Something quick and unpredictable. Well, I can do unpredictable...

It wasn’t entirely unplanned, she reminded herself. She had one throwaway plan, done more as an exercise than literally considered. But she’d need someone to help legitimize it--someone who wasn’t one of the girls.

Nate!

“Twila, you’re being awfully quiet...but you’re grinning. Have you thought of something?” asked Rarity almost pleadingly.

“Maybe, but... I have to find Nate.” She said it quickly and flat, her attention still revolving around her developing backup plan.

“Wait, Twila! What is it?”

Turning for just a second, “I can’t tell you or it won’t work. Go find the others--stick together and don’t make a scene, OK? I’ve gotta go!”

With that she hurried her steps, leaving Rarity standing alone, confused and still worried. Confused by the fact that Twila seemed to have no time to reassure her. Worried that she might have ruined the entire night, upsetting Twila in the process.

Twila pressed on--upset she couldn’t tell Rarity, or comfort her. But the new plan required it. But it still hurt.

For if the new plan worked, she might not have the chance to ever tell Rarity or the others exactly what needed to happen now.