Chapter 168. A Game Of Thrones

"Hah, you wanna play rough? Let's play rough."

Adom chuckled as Ragna decided playtime wasn't over.

The massive puma launched himself forward, trying to bowl Adom over with his considerable bulk. What followed was less a wrestling match and more like watching someone try to tackle a tree.

Behind them, Morgana had moved to a small drawer built into the wall that Adom hadn't noticed before. The sound of porcelain and metal told him she was preparing tea.

"Do you want sugar in yours?" she asked without turning around.

"Just one cube, please."

The familiar sounds of tea preparation filled the room—the clink of spoons, the soft whistle of steam, the gentle rattle of cups on saucers.

One would not expect a human to possess such strength, Ragna observed as Adom gently but firmly prevented the puma from pinning him to the floor.

Well, you saw how I got it, didn't you?

Indeed. Your trials have forged you well, young warrior.

Adom grinned and decided it was his turn to be the aggressor. He grabbed Ragna around the middle and lifted the surprised cat slightly off the ground, earning what could only be described as an indignant yowl.

"Tea's ready," Morgana announced, approaching with a tray. The cups were steaming, and he could smell something floral and warm. She was smiling as she watched their impromptu wrestling match. "Four years I've known Shadowpaw, and he's never been this close to anyone but me."

"Shadowpaw?" Adom asked, still holding the squirming puma. "His name is Ragna."

Ragna's head turned sharply toward Morgana when he heard the sound that corresponded to his true name.

"I named him Shadowpaw," Morgana said, setting the tray down on the table. "How did you know he was called something I didn't?"

"Druid thing," Adom said, finally releasing Ragna, who sat down with as much dignity as he could muster. "The names we give them aren't always what they're really called. This is his true name—Ragna. He probably answered to Shadowpaw because it meant you had treats."

Morgana looked genuinely surprised. "I thought you were a battle mage? Did you change your path?"

"Not really," Adom said, getting up to join her at the table. "But I've been learning a few things from different disciplines. Jack of all trades, you know."

Morgana chuckled. Ragna padded over to her, and she reached down to scratch behind his ears.

"Ragna," she murmured, testing the name. "So that's your real name."

The puma pushed his head against her hand, purring.

"I'll call you that from now on."

Adom took a sip of the tea. It was complex—floral notes with something earthy underneath, and a hint of spice that warmed his throat on the way down. The aroma reminded him of rain on dry soil and something he couldn't quite place.

Morgana smiled. "You like it?"

"It's very good."

"I bought it at the Baobab Islands, on Zhara, when I was there last year. Funny thing is, I bought it thinking of you and your love for tea. Thought it would be nice if you could taste it someday." She paused, swirling her own cup. "Fate is a strange thing, for you to now be sitting here drinking tea that was bought with you in mind."

Adom put the cup down. "It's really good. Maybe I'll need to buy some for the guild."

"Wangara?"

Adom looked at her in surprise.

Morgana smiled and took another sip. "Oh, come now. I know you. And Wangara expanded so fast and so far that I did my research on it. When I found out it was affiliated with the Sylla household, I knew you were behind it."

"Could have been my father or mother."

Morgana looked at him with raised eyebrows. "Really?"

Adom chuckled.

"For someone who knows you, it's quite evident. Plus, Commander Arthur was never the merchant type."

That was when Adom knew the politics talk had started. The warm reunion was shifting into something else entirely.

Well, it was nice while it lasted.

"Do you have a good memory of my father when he was under your father's command?"

"Yes. He was the kindest of all the other knights. Would let me ride his pegasus from time to time." Her expression softened slightly. "It was hard not to talk to him when he came to the Veyshari camp, back then."

"I realize that now."

Adom took another sip.

"He'd be happy to know you're alive. He doesn't speak about his time under General Soren much, but when he does, he always talks about his daughter."

"How are your parents, anyway?"

"Good. I have a little sister now. Ada. She's five."

Morgana's face lit up. "That's wonderful. I'd love to meet her someday. I could teach her to ride, show her how to braid flowers into crowns like we used to do. Does she like stories? I have so many good ones now, about distant lands and strange creatures and..."

She slowed down as she spoke.

"...And..."

Her voice became quieter with each word.

"Well."

She stopped entirely.

There was silence between them. Only Ragna's purring filled the space.

Adom could see exactly what she was thinking. The relative peace that Ada was growing up in would be shattered once Morgana started whatever it was she wanted to start. He still didn't know her actual intentions.

Was it conquest? Was it vengeance? Something else entirely?

"Morg," he said directly. "What exactly do you want to do?"

Adom saw her fall silent, contemplating something. He decided to wait. To give her time to gather her thoughts, to hope that at the end of this conversation, he wouldn't have to put her on his ever-growing list of enemies.

Adom saw her fall silent, contemplating something. He decided to wait. To give her time to gather her thoughts, to hope that at the end of this conversation, he wouldn't have to put her on his ever-growing list of enemies.

"I was actually being read stories that night," she said finally.

Adom stayed quiet.

"The night they came to kill my family." Her voice had changed. It was colder now, controlled like tempered steel. "I was with Brunhild, my father's personal mage. She was reading me stories about princesses and dragons and brave knights who saved kingdoms from darkness."

She set her teacup down.

"My father always told me that he and the Emperor would work things out eventually. They were brothers, after all. Family. He said blood meant something." Her lips curved into something that wasn't quite a smile. "That was how it ended."

Adom waited, knowing she needed to tell this story.

"The siege began three hours past midnight. I remember because the great clock had just finished chiming when the first horns sounded. Knights surrounded the castle—hundreds of them in full armor, carrying torches that turned the night into day. They moved like a tide of metal and fire, cutting off every road, every path, every hope of escape."

Her voice was steady, but her knuckles were white.

"They didn't announce themselves. Didn't demand surrender. Just surrounded us and waited like wolves around a wounded deer. The siege lasted from midnight until dawn—six hours of watching them position catapults, ballistas, siege towers. My father sent ravens, but they shot them down. Every last one."

She paused, staring at something Adom couldn't see.

"I was in the north tower with Brunhild because I'd had nightmares. Foolish dreams about shadows in the corridors. Because of that, I couldn't reach my family when it started. But Brunhild had her scrying bowl—black obsidian, filled with moonwater. I watched everything through that cursed thing."

Morgana's voice became sharper, each word carefully controlled.

"I watched my father try to negotiate. He stood on the battlements in his nightrobe, calling down to them. He offered gold, territory, himself as hostage—anything they wanted. He offered to abdicate his lands, to take holy vows, to disappear forever if they would just let his family live."

Her jaw tightened.

"Chancellor Mephtilem was there. That demon in silk robes, standing beside two hundred Hound Knights like death incarnate." She looked up at Adom. "Do you know what Hound Knights are?"

"The Emperor's elite."

"The Emperor's butchers." Her voice was flat. "They are his closest guard, and do everything he tells them, no question asked. That night, the chancellor told my father that the Emperor had decided Soren was a threat to the stability of the realm. That he was a traitor who had forgotten his place."

The temperature in the room seemed to drop.

"My father begged. The great General Soren, who had won a dozen battles for the crown, who had bled for that throne, got on his knees and begged for his children's lives. Mephtilem smiled. He agreed to terms."

Adom felt his stomach turn, knowing what was coming.

"They would arrest my father, take him to the capital for trial. The family would be spared, allowed to live in exile. My father wept with relief. He called for the gates to be opened, dismissed his personal guard, ordered everyone to stand down. He submitted to being bound with enchanted shackles, hands behind his back like a common criminal."

Morgana's voice became deadly quiet.

"The gates were opened and the Hounds poured in like a plague of locusts."

She stood up abruptly, began pacing.

"They brought my father to the great hall where my family waited. My stepmother Elara, my little brothers Kael and Daven. Eight and six years old, still in their sleeping clothes, confused and frightened." Morgana smiled bitterly, as she looked at Adom." They were just like you and Sam, you know? Kael was always causing trouble, and Daven was as shy as Sam. My little brothers."

To this, Adom was not sure what to say. Sorry felt to simple. Not saying a word too cold. He opened his mouth to speak, but Morgana was already talking again.

"My father tried to comfort them, told them everything would be fine, that this was just a misunderstanding."

Ragna bumped his head against her, and Morgana passed her hands on his midnight fur as she continued.

"Mephtilem had lied, of course. The moment my father's back was turned, the moment he thought his family was safe, they drew their swords. Twenty Hounds, as strong as Star Knights, against one bound, unarmed man."

She stopped pacing, her hands clenched into fists.

"They took his head from behind. Like the cowards they are. One clean stroke of a greatsword while he was whispering prayers of gratitude for his family's mercy. His head rolled across the stones and stopped at little Daven's feet."

Adom could barely breathe.

"But that wasn't enough for them. They needed it to look like rebellion, like he had resisted arrest. So they fell on his body like rabid dogs. Swords, maces, war hammers—they hacked and chopped and smashed until there was nothing left that resembled a man. Just meat and bone and blood splattered across the walls like some butcher's nightmare."

Ragna had gone completely still, as if sensing the darkness in the room.

"My stepmother tried to shield the boys. Sweet Elara, who had never raised her voice in anger, who spent her days tending gardens and teaching my brothers their letters. She threw herself over them and begged for mercy." Morgana's voice cracked slightly. "They stabbed her nineteen times. I counted every thrust through that scrying bowl. When she still wouldn't die, still kept moving to protect her sons, they grabbed her by the hair and cut her throat so deep I could see the bones of her spine."

The silence stretched like a blade.

"You know what they did to my brothers, Adom?" She had to stop, compose herself. "Kael tried to run. Six years old, still believing he could escape, still thinking someone would save him. They caught him before he reached the door. Daven never moved—just stood there staring at his mother's blood, too shocked to understand. They killed them both the same way. Grabbed them by their hair and drew blades across their throats so savagely they were nearly decapitated."

She turned to face Adom, and her eyes were like winter storms.

"All of it under Mephtilem's direct orders. He stood there watching, smiling, giving instructions on how to position the bodies for maximum effect. Making sure the blood patterns would tell the story he wanted told."

Adom wanted to speak, but there were no words in any language for this.

"Then after they executed the outer guards, they came looking for me. The castle was already burning by then—they'd set fires to erase evidence, to make it look like a siege that had turned into a sack. Brunhild cursed me as they climbed the tower stairs. Transformed me into a cat so small I could escape through the old mouse passages in the walls."

Her voice became hollow.

"She stayed behind to buy me time. I heard her fighting them as I crawled through those narrow stone tunnels—heard her screaming and weaving spells, heard their weapons striking her shields, heard her voice break as they overwhelmed her." She paused. "When I looked back from the forest edge, her head was already decorating a pike beside the main gates."

Morgana sat back down, suddenly looking exhausted.

"I had no idea how to change back. The only mage who could have taught me was dead, her knowledge burned with her body. I wandered for weeks as a cat, slowly starving, drinking from puddles, eating scraps when I could find them. Eventually I discovered I could become a puma when desperation drove me to hunt—Brunhild's final gift, I suppose."

She picked up her teacup again, though it was empty.

"But the larger form made me valuable. Exotic. I was captured by traders, caged, sold from one collector to another across kingdoms. Passed hand to hand like a curiosity, a conversation piece for rich men's dinner parties. Ten years of cages and chains and audiences pointing at the 'tame' predator."

She looked directly at Adom.

"Until the day I met you in that marketplace in Arkhos."

Adom sat in silence for a long moment, processing what she'd told him. The tea had gone cold in his hands.

"You've been through hell," he said finally. "More than anyone should have to endure. But you'll have justice, Morg. I promise you that."

Her head snapped up, and the look in her eyes made his breath catch. Tears had gathered there, but they weren't tears of sadness. They burned with rage.

"Justice?" Her voice was deadly quiet. "You want to know what my intentions are, Adom? You asked me what I want to do?" She stood up, her hands shaking. "I don't want justice. I don't care about justice. Justice is what weak people ask for when they can't take what they really want."

The temperature in the room seemed to drop ten degrees.

"I want blood for blood. I want to kill Emperor Rayhan. I want to kill Chancellor Mephtilem. I want Sir Bran Blackwood—the knight who held my father down. I want Commander Theon Voss—the one who laughed while they butchered my stepmother. I want Captain Marker Fell—the bastard who grabbed little Kael by the hair."

Her voice was rising, each name spat out like poison.

"These names live on my tongue, Adom. They whisper in my sleep. They echo in my thoughts every waking moment. Rayhan. Mephtilem. Blackwood. Voss. Fell. I taste them like blood in my mouth every single day."

She was pacing now, her movements sharp and predatory.

"I want their heads. I want to watch the light fade from their eyes. I want them to know, in their final moments, that this is for my family. For my father who trusted them. For Elara who never hurt a soul. For Kael and Daven who died afraid and alone."

Tears were streaming down her face, but her voice never wavered.

"I don't care who sits on the throne afterward. I'm not playing some game of thrones, trying to position myself for power. I don't want to rule anything. I want revenge, pure and simple. I want them all dead, and I want to be the one who kills them."

Adom got up from his chair and walked toward her.

"So you kill the Emperor," he said, his voice conversational. Almost casual. "You kill Mephtilem. You track down Blackwood, Voss, Fell, and whoever else is on that list of yours." He paused, studying her face. "Then what?"

Morgana's laugh was sharp and bitter. "Oh, don't tell me you're going to give me lessons on revenge as well. I've heard that many ti—"

"There's a fine line between justice and vengeance," Adom interrupted, his tone still calm.

She turned to face him fully, her eyes narrowing. "Is there now?"

"Most people think they're opposites. Natural enemies. But they're not." Adom leaned back in another chair, completely relaxed despite the tension radiating from her. "There's a frontier where they meet, Morg. A border territory where the distinction becomes meaningless."

"How philosophical of you."

"Sometimes they're the exact same thing."

Morgana crossed her arms, her stance defensive. "And you think my situation is one of those times?"

Adom didn't answer immediately. Instead, he picked up a teacup, realized it was empty, and set it back down with care. The small sound seemed unnaturally loud in the quiet room.

"What the Emperor did to your family wasn't just murder," he said finally. "It was fratricide. The killing of kin."

"He wasn't my kin."

"Your father was his brother. That makes it fratricide under imperial law." Adom leaned forward. "Law Borealis himself put that statute in the founding documents of the Empire. Did you know that?"

Morgana's expression shifted slightly, she didn't respond.

"The Founders were very specific about it." Adom stood up slowly, his movements deliberate. "The laws that the founders established aren't suggestions, Morg. They carry the penalty of death when transgressed, whether you're a peasant or an emperor."

"Pretty words." 

"Mephtilem orchestrated the murder of an imperial family member. That makes him guilty in regicide and complicit in fratricide." Adom took a single step toward her, noting how she didn't retreat. "The knights who carried it out were accessories to both crimes. Every single one of them committed capital offenses under the laws they swore to uphold."

Ragna, who had been silent throughout the exchange, lifted his head and watched them both.

"So what are you saying?" Morgana asked. "That I should march into the capital and demand a trial?"

"I'm saying that your killing them wouldn't be revenge." Adom's voice was steady. "It would be justice. You'd be carrying out the sentence that should have been pronounced fifteen years ago."

Morgana stared at him for a long moment. When she spoke again, her voice was quieter but no less intense. "You're trying to make me feel better about wanting them dead."

"No," Adom said. "I'm trying to make you understand that wanting them dead is rational. Logical. Right."

"Because they broke laws."

"Because they broke the most fundamental laws of the Empire. Laws that exist specifically to prevent what happened to your family from happening to anyone else's family."

Morgana resumed pacing, and her movements were different now. Less frantic, more thoughtful. "And you think that distinction matters?"

"I think it matters to you."

She stopped again, this time facing the window. "Why?"

"Because if it was just revenge, you would have done it already. You've had fifteen years, Morg. You're powerful enough now. Resourceful enough. If all you wanted was their blood, you could have spilled it a few years ago."

The silence that followed was different from the earlier ones. Less charged, more contemplative.

"Maybe I was building my strength," she said finally.

"Maybe. Or maybe part of you knows the difference between justice and revenge, even when you don't want to admit it."

Morgana turned back to him, and he could see something shifting in her expression. Not softening, exactly, but clarifying. "For that to work, I would have to prove what happened. And it was more than fifteen years ago, Adom. Who's going to believe the word of a shapeshifter with every reason to lie?"

Adom tilted his head slightly, his eyes focusing on something she'd said earlier. "Did you say there was a scrying crystal?"