I wait for Nicholas to tell me about the duties of an heir. His heir. So far Nicholas seems alright. He’s very closed-off – it’s hard to get a read on his emotions. But I think that Animal Empathy is already starting to help me – as our conversation goes on, I’m starting to get a better idea of what the minute twitches around his eyes or mouth might indicate.

  So far, the clearest emotion I’ve got from him was a hint of offence when we were talking about whether ‘willing’ actually meant willing or not. I was prepared to defend myself and run with my Bound – and fight our way out if necessary – if it turned out that my consent wasn’t required. But fortunately it seems that Nicholas recognises how important it is to have genuine cooperation from me – that bodes well for our future relationship.

  Now to see whether I can handle whatever it is a heir is supposed to do. It can’t be that bad, right? Or why would anyone want to be an heir at all?

  “As a quick summary, an heir’s duty is to aid their Lord – or Lady – to go where their Lord cannot, and to carry out actions in their Lord’s name,” Nicholas starts after taking a moment to gather his words. “Normally, that would mostly involve visiting other representatives, whether Great or Lesser Houses or representatives of guilds and merchants, taking over duties here while I must visit the Court for council meetings, and growing stronger in as many ways as possible to put yourself, and thereby the House, in a better position when I pass. There is some flexibility to these duties if they are too onerous for you. As it is, I have done without an heir ever since I took over from my father and I have succeeded where other lords might have failed thanks to being able to fully trust those I delegate to.

  “However, the situation has changed and it is for that reason that I need an heir. Aiding with this last is a requirement which is non-negotiable.” He seems to hesitate for a moment before continuing. “The King has proclaimed an important competition, one which I cannot take part in myself or risk failing in my duties to my territory and offering unforgivable weakness for my enemies to take advantage of. Yet, at the same time, not taking part of it risks the downfall of my House all the same. Without a good candidate to become my heir, I sought the advice of the Oracle as I cannot afford to make the wrong choice. She led me to you.”

  So that’s why Nicholas contacted me. Some sort of prophet. I’m not sure whether to feel flattered or disturbed. On the one hand, being the one prophesied to be the saviour of Nicholas’ House is more validation than I ever received back on Earth. On the other hand, what if this oracle just pulled a name out of a hat and it’s only Nicholas who believes that this actually means something?

  While I’d love to believe that there’s some sort of special quality to me that is the reason for the oracle choosing me of all people, I feel like that risks me becoming as arrogant as I used to be. I’ve learned from the lessons Lucy taught me – too late for my relationship with her. I don’t want to risk my sense of self-importance consuming me once more.

  “Did she tell you why?” I can’t help but ask. Nicholas gives me a sardonic look.

  “One does not ask the Oracle why. One asks a question, pays the price, and then accepts or does not accept the answer.”

  Figures.

  What do you guys think of this? I send to my Bound uncertainly. Fortunately, just as with the samurans, they understand Nicholas through my own understanding.

  What is an ‘oracle’? River asks curiously; several others second the question.

  I’m not entirely sure, I admit – maybe that’s why they didn’t understand the word to begin with. But where I come from, it’s someone who says things about the future which will come true. Though I think sometimes by hearing about the future, someone can change it so it doesn’t come true. Though in some stories, the prophecies were immutable and trying to avoid them just made them happen anyway, I add, feeling a grimace pull at my lips. I feel rather unprepared for this – if the samurans had had fortune-tellers or soothsayers, I might have needed to confront such possibilities earlier, but the fact is that they didn’t seem to. Not among those I came into contact with, at least. At this point, I don’t know whether to believe there are people capable of seeing the future, or not. Magic is one thing; prophecy is something else.

  My Bound react with a variety of emotions – River and Hunter are curious, the latter already wondering if there’s a rune for that. Catch and Iandee aren’t bothered – they only care if it’s something that will threaten the safety of me or the Pathwalkers. As for the rest, either they’re vaguely interested – Bastet and Lathani – or they’re completely disinterested. Kalanthia is the only one not projecting her emotions. Technically, I could press and feel them anyway with our Companion Bond, but I respect her desire for privacy.

  I decide to just push past this. The fact is that clearly Nicholas believes in it or he wouldn’t have gone to as much trouble as he has to get me here; he would have just chosen someone suitable from somewhere local. Or, if he had more time, he might just go the old-fashioned route of begetting an heir personally. But he didn’t. And that gives me some leverage, if I need to use it.

  “If you wish to converse privately with your Bonded during another conversation, I suggest you make it a little less obvious,” Nicholas suggests with a slight edge to his voice and a raised brow. I flush and focus fully on him. I can’t tell whether he’s irritated or amused, but I accept the rebuke nonetheless. It is rude to have a private conversation when I’m supposed to be talking to him.

  The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.

  “Ah, sorry,” I say, feeling a flush rise in my cheeks. At least the colour shouldn’t be so obvious with my armour on. “You mentioned a competition?” I ask, getting the conversation back on track.

  “I did.” Nicholas sighs and looks abruptly older. I suddenly realise that I have no idea how old he is. His face is only faintly lined, but his eyes look far older than my own late twenties. Is that the burden of responsibility showing, or has he stayed looking young for far longer than any Earth human would manage? “King Ionith, in keeping with the delicate balance of power between the Great Houses and the sovereign, informed the Great Houses of his intentions almost two months before he made the declaration public. As a result, I was able to consult the Oracle and set things in motion with you in advance of the competition beginning. It has started, but only by just over a tenday. There is still some time to prepare, though not much.”

  “Hang on, wait a moment,” I interrupt, frowning in confusion. While I’m very interested in what this competition is – especially as it seems to be the sole reason for me being made the offer – something else has caught my attention. “A tenday? Ten days? Two months? But I’ve been in the other world for a year.”

  “Indeed,” Nicholas agrees. “But in that time, only two months have passed here. Indeed, that was one of the reasons why you had to stay on that world in particular: the Oracle was very clear. You needed time to grow, to learn, to develop. If you came here immediately, you would never succeed. If you survived the year, you would be sure to come equipped with the tools which you will need to have the potential of success in the competition.”

  “And by success, you mean winning the competition?” I ask, focussing on the most important bit of what he said. I’ll need to untangle the rest of it later. On reflection, although it took me by a bit of surprise, I suppose that time flowing differently between two different worlds isn’t that unbelievable. There was that whole scene in Interstellar, after all, where time passed super-slowly on a planet – an hour there equaled years in the spaceship hanging above it. Though I’m not sure how scientific that was. And, thinking about it, even on Earth there were stories of the land of faerie whose magic meant someone could spend a night there and come out to find a hundred years had passed. At least I didn’t need to stay in the other world for a hundred years.

  “Not by winning necessarily, but by performing well enough that our House does not get wiped out as a result,” Nicholas answers my question heavily. I pause and eye him.

  “I think that I’m missing some context here,” I comment carefully. “How about you tell me more about what this competition is?”

  “It is nothing less than a contest to decide the next sovereign of Moriax.” Nicholas pauses after that heavy pronouncement, perhaps to let me get my head around that. And it takes some doing.

  “That’s where we are now?” I check.

  “Yes – the kingdom of Moriax on the continent of Iseria.”

  “Is the position of king not hereditary?” I ask him with confusion. Is it a bit like the Roman emperors who were not necessarily direct descendants from the previous emperor? Are they chosen by competition here?

  “Normally, it is. King Ionith is the eleventh of his line since the settling of Moriax – and the last. Unfortunately, King Ionith is unable to have children and his family, like the Great Houses and many of the Lesser ones too, is small. He could have chosen a distant cousin to take his place, but instead he has chosen to seek the best successor he can. To that end, he has declared a competition and will choose his successor from one of the most successful candidates.”

  “Not the winner?” I ask, my eyes narrowed.

  “Not necessarily.” Nicholas gives a thin smile. “He does not wish to allow matters to be so clear-cut as that.”

  I nod slowly. I kind of get it – I’ve seen it in the office. When everyone knows there’s a shoo-in for the position, others don’t even try. When it’s not so obvious, though, sometimes unexpected people put in a candidature. Occasionally, a dark horse is discovered and the previous favourite is finally disappointed in favour of the unexpected candidate. Perhaps it’s the same here. And for all I know, politics here are even more cut-throat – literally – than at home. The favourite might not even make it to the finish line.

  And if I agree to being Nicholas’ heir, I’ll have to deal with them. That’s something to carefully consider in my calculation of whether the headaches are worth the benefits. My head is already aching in a way it hasn’t since I travelled worlds for the first time – I’d forgotten how tiring being around other humans could be. The constant questioning of motivations, of wondering whether the smile was genuine or hiding a knife at my back. Samuran politics are simple in comparison, especially with their emotions so easily visible in their spikes.

  “And so, what exactly is the competition? And why is it important that your heir does well, even if he doesn’t win?” Not ‘I’. Not yet. I don’t want to give the impression that this is a done deal.

  “To understand, you need a little bit of context. Our ancestors were not originally from Iseria, but rather refugees who came here and founded what is now our kingdom. We came from a place we call the Lost Continent because all records of its original name or where it can be found have been lost.”

  “Intentionally or accidentally?” I can’t help asking. Nicholas raises his left hand to shoulder height with his palm facing the sky.

  “The records do not say. Recently, however, explorers from a reclusive Damayar clan-” He stops, perhaps noticing my confusion, “They are another people who live in the mountains far to the north of Iseria – they’re well known to be talented seafarers. It was news from one of their expeditions that gave our King his inspiration. It is a great opportunity for our country – and a worthy challenge for the competition.” He pauses for a moment, eyeing me to perhaps check that I’ve understood, and then continues, picking up again on where he left off about the competition itself.

  “The Damayar report that between the two continents lies a vast body of water, filled with treacherous currents and dangerous monsters. Yet traversing this is only the first of the challenges set before the king-candidates. After landing, candidates will be required to create a self-sufficient and profitable settlement in only five years. This settlement must be both capable of defending its conquered lands and provide resources for Moriax. Though scouts have not made any reports of human natives, there are significant numbers of Beasts present, several of them high-Tier. In addition, since there is no requirement for peace between candidates, there is a high threat of conflict where some seek to succeed by taking what others have. In just over five years’ time, the king will judge each of the candidates on their acheivements and will make his choice of successor.”

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