Sovereign of Wrath

Interlude: Invasion

It’d been a long time since Lillith was in Edath, or Ordia for that matter. Zarenna’s territory was unfortunately close to her demesne, but needs must.

For now, at least, Mereneth and Aretan could keep things together in Navanaea. The war had shifted the past month: an allied force of lower-class Navanaeans and freed demons setting camp with the Formid. As per their usual benefits, the Turquoisers were playing off and supporting both sides.

But to turn down food aid would be a terrible mistake. A mistake on par with the Turquoiser assumption that just because the Formid didn’t need the ores they dug from their homes meant they didn’t understand their value to others.

What worried her immensely was the quiet of Baetnal, and the difficulty of getting spies inside the city. Either the ruling class had successfully clamped down and was planning something, or Envy’s forces had taken over and were planning something.

Either way, the fighting outside the city hadn’t ceased and Aretan’s forces hadn’t exactly the cohesion or numbers to lay siege to the walled city. Or the desire—it was no secret the Navanaean royalty would let the city die before they gave in, and it would take a second siege to breach the palace.

And so their time had been spent filtering out enemy agents and bridging cultural gaps. Until she’d gotten a frantic missive from her daughter about an angel moving against Zarenna. Which was highly unusual as they rarely did anything, content instead to be pampered and idolized by mortals.

And so, in mortal guise, Lilith found herself in a crowded tavern in the Edathan capital, listening to gossip and rumors before she finished the last leg of her trip. She wouldn’t have beaten an angel from Ordia here, even if he was the one she was thinking it must have been.

A little bit of gossip could go a long, long way to someone across isolating mountains. As she sat, she focused on two things in particular: a pair of city guards well past their shift and deep in their cups, and a very, very familiar kazzel.

Lillith had centuries of experience finding the places that blended class to create the perfect mixture of rumor and fact, where alcohol loosed lips more than daggers or purse strings. It seemed the mortal did as well, or perhaps the lack of open establishments simply aided serendipity.

All the better, she thought as she sipped at her awful ale and stared at her artfully-crafted, overtrimmed nails. She wasn’t used to being a little heavier, a little larger, but she’d slipped into the accent as easily as a euphemism she wouldn’t repeat in polite company. The kind of girl who’d stick out just enough to make her status as an outsider seem normal and irrelevant.

Taava snuck her a sidelong glance when she’d glanced away and Lillith winked. Good gambling face, she thought.

And then the conversation between the soldiers moved from one kind of perversion to another: war.

“...not drafted yet and half the shops are closed,” one said, the taller of the two with a rather sallow complexion.

The other slurred his words more, as if his unkempt mustache—and not the alcohol—were to blame. “Does it matter? They’re not gonna send us to the front.”

“You really think that?” Sallow countered.

Mustache took a swig. “We’ve got… training. ‘Sides, might not be war. There’s the treaty.”

“Piece of paper’s not gonna stop anything.”

Mustache paused, stared down into his drink, and burped. “Hmm. That Church priest, Yam or somethin’, said somethin’ about it.”

“I trust the king over some Church priest… What’d he say anyway?” Sallow leaned forward and Lillith pretended to look away, glad for her enhanced hearing.

“Don’t ‘member.” Mustache hiccuped, then continued on in a bad stage whisper. “But! But, there was that angel came over town just after. Said all that stuff.”

“You there for that?”

“Heard it from day watch.”

Sallow rolled his eyes. “Right, ‘cause hightown’s not got a reason to blow things outta proportion. I’d bet it was a bunch of big words and magic.”

“So no war!” Mustache slapped the table.

Sallow took a swig. “Yes war, but it’s not gonna be angels and demons or whatever. It’s gonna be guys like us, boots on the ground. Know what that means?” He gestured with the now-empty mug.

“...What?”

“We drink while we still can!” Sallow brought his mug up for a toast.

Mustache sloppily met the cheer and spilled his ale across the table.

While someone came over to clean up, Lillith took that cue to walk out. About a block away, she listened as quiet footsteps rushed to catch up.

“Heya!” Taava whispered. “Think I could get a walk home? With guys like that out tonight, s’probably best for us girls ta stick together, yeah?”

Lillith took a look around. The city was quiet in the cold winter evening, and she had to push down all the thoughts and ancient memories of the other side of this coin. 

“Alright,” she answered simply, “but I do need to get home. I’ve tea cakes to make for tomorrow.”

Taava’s green eyes lit up, even as her ears stayed stock still. “Ya know, I could help if ya want. I’m somethin’ of a baker myself.”

Lillith tittered “You might have a better oven then. Where’s your place?” 

As much as Lillith wanted to linger around the best gossip of Zarenna’s inner circle, time wasn’t something she had. The angel had been here and had moved on. In all likelihood, Lillith was far too late, but she couldn't let that stop her.

The kazzel just shrugged, which meant she’d been informed. Not a surprise.

“Ya can find me here.” She slipped Lillith a street and number, penned in flowing script.

The ancient demon furrowed her brow at it, recalling dimly that Baetnal was in the process of adopting a similar system of numbers to street names.

In that precious moment she spent thinking, it seemed serendipity was not finished for the day. Taava’s ears perked up first, the kazzel’s eyes going wide. Lillith focused next, and it wasn’t long before she heard the faint, hoarse shout of a crier.

“Daram has invaded Lofren! They’re marching to Norgath!”