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  "description": "The Fox Hunts So Persistently",
  "path": "/shackles-and-shards-shattered-chapter-8/",
  "publishedAt": "2026-06-05T01:08:53.000Z",
  "site": "https://dreaming.daxmurray.com",
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    "https://m.dax.ink/bttsb"
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  "textContent": "This is a draft chapter. Contents may change between now and final publication. These chapters are currently being made available for free as part of the \"Pride: Brighter than the Stars\" Bundle effort. For each $500 milestone we reach on the bundle, I will be releasing another chapter. If you want to see more chapters be available, please support and promote the bundle!\n\nhttps://m.dax.ink/bttsb\n\n$20 will get you 32 queer works of fiction and just a little bit closer to reading more of my WIP!\n\n* * *\n\nBreakfast is brought to her in the morning, but the door is locked again before she can even ask what is going on. Her only clue as to her location is the lack of thermolamps. She must be in the eastern wing; Petra's residence. She has no fire by which she can light the candles, and the hearth is empty. Outside, a late winter blizzard howls, and she can feel the draft no matter where she sits. She wraps herself in as many blankets as she can find, and wishes she could find a change of clothing.\n\nShe has lived her whole life in the cold, and yet she has never been more keenly aware of it, always having at least a home and hearth to return to.\n\n“No,” she says out loud as a strange thought crosses her mind. A young girl in rags sitting in the street as snow whirls around her… Her palm outstretched in front of her as a fire flickers to life in her palm. “Where did that come from?” She shakes her head, trying to clear that thought from her mind and forget she even imagined it.\n\nBut she holds out her own hand, wondering if…\n\n“No,” she says again. “It's illegal. I can get away with it at the Temple, but here…” But even as she says it, a small spark ignites and a flame springs to life.\n\n_Do not worry about it. You need to survive. You need to do what needs to be done to survive. Take the flame and light the hearth._ Zephyr is firm, but warmly reassuring.\n\n_Where have you been?_ She asks. _I needed your help last night._\n\n_You know that I cannot always be here to help you. I can support you, guide you, and help you learn how to survive on your own, but I cannot do the actual living for you._\n\n_I understand,_ she says, knowing that this isn't the first time they've had this conversation. _Why am I like this?_ she asks, more to herself than to Zephyr. _I have more than 30 winters; how am I so bad at just surviving life? What am I lacking?_\n\n_None of that, not now. Get a fire going. If you stay in the cold any longer, you will only get worse._\n\nShe knows he is right; she takes her flame and lights the candles before she sets to placing logs in the hearth—logs set in that pile who knows how many years ago?—and then finally gets a fire going.\n\nShe pulls back the heavy curtains, briefly letting in the draft but unable to even tell the time as the wind continues to fill the air with snow and hail and blot out the sun.\n\nAs the warmth from the long-cold hearthspreads across the room, her mind clears.\n\nThere is nothing in the room she could use even as a makeshift weapon to wield against whoever next brings her food. She is too high up to survive a jump from the window. She runs her hands along the wall, searching for seams that would reveal hidden servants doors or false walls. She even lifts the rugs and searches for hatches.\n\nBut she is trapped. No way to escape.\n\n_Unless you used my gift…_ Zephyr says, this time cold and aloof. _You have already created fire with the aclaere, but with my gift, you could become shadow itself and slip out unseen._\n\n_No. No, I do not want that. I cannot risk it; not here with so many people…_ She has been the instrument of Death many times. The Temple makes many sacrifices; she has slit many necks. But the vision of that day still haunts her… The life leaving the eyes of the goat as it's own shadow strangled it.\n\n_Then I have another option for you. Accept the offer._\n\n“So I can learn more?” She does not like the tone Zephyr is taking. His words are longer; there is more rasp in his voice but less breathy. It almost doesn’t even sound like him.\n\n_No. Be his queen. Be_ the _queen. We can exact our revenge._\n\n_What revenge? Against who?_ She closes her eyes, willing herself to the meadow, hoping to actually see Zephyr and ask him what he could possible mean. But instead of the meadow, she finds herself in a vast desert, sand and sun her only companions.\n\nA soft breeze carries the scent of salt and faint whispering.\n\n_Yes, I can help. Let me help._ Confident, excited.\n\n_I don't know what to do._ Scared, anxious. Hesitant.\n\n_You shall treat me with respect._ Proud, assured, almost regal.\n\n_I dream of a beautiful sunrise._ Hushed, wistful.\n\n_Please, stop. Please. I promise I won't do that again._ Plaintive, pleading. Despondent.\n\n_I order you to unhand me now._ Commanding, but frightened.\n\n_For tomorrow, for the dawn._ A promise, spoken hundreds of times.\n\n_We will have our revenge… Take the offer._\n\nNo. That last voice… It is not Zephyr's. It's too cold. But it's more than that. It’s one she has never heard before. All the rest she knows, somehow she knows them. She is used to their chattering in the background. But this one feels both old and new.\n\nBut regardless, she fears it is right. She collapses into the sand, pulling up fistfuls of it and watching it slip through her fingers as easily as water.\n\nShe wants to save the Republic, if not for herself, then for Yelena. Her sister has always admired the revolutionaries, even if she is not allowed to say so openly. She is always privately talking about how much better things are without the monarchy. For some reason, the Republic is almost as dear to her as Dana. She cannot allow it to fall.\n\n_I can help. Let me help._ Confident, commanding. Regal.\n\nShe has no idea what she is agreeing to, but the sand is warm and she is tired. Just as the world fades, she hears laughter on the wind.\n\n* * *\n\n“Sresca! Shit. Wake up, come on. Wake up.” Petra's voice cuts through the darkness and she opens her eyes to find the electrarch cupping the back of her head and staring at her, green eyes wide open, hir hair barely contained in a braid.\n\nShe sits up, trying to make sense of everything. This is not her rooms, and why is it so hot?\n\n“Oh my gosh, thank Dana you are awake.”\n\n“What happened?” She takes a deep breath, remembering all the times Zephyr had told her that breathing is important. But she immediately regrets it; the smell of smoke filling her nose. She coughs, but can’t get the acrid taste from her throat.\n\n“You tell me. I was coming to check on you and saw smoke coming out from under the door. I open it to find half the room engulfed in flames. Were you trying to burn the place down?”\n\nShe glances around again, this time taking in the burned tapestries and the bed missing its curtains. Her mind is sluggish still, but one thing stands out to her. Nothing is wet. “How did you extinguish the fire?”\n\n“Does not matter, what matters is that you are unharmed. Thank Dana for that. Let's get you changed and then we can meet with Leo-li.”\n\n“Leo-li?”\n\n“Volkov-lir.”\n\n _Li. An honorific for nobles of the same rank._ “So he thinks of himself as a merely temporarily displaced nobleand not an elected official.”\n\n“Yes, well.” Petra rubs a bead of sweat off hir forehead, looking away but leaving a blotch of soot behind. “Just. Please. Play along. I cannot explain everything right now. I do not mean this as a threat, but it will be easier if you go along with it.”\n\nThe easy swagger and charm Sresca is so accustomed to is gone, replaced with barely contained fear. “Are you going along with this unwillingly?”\n\n“It's complicated. Don't ask. Please. Just come with me.” Petra rises to hir feet and holds out a hand. For a moment, Sresca swears this has happened before. And then the moment is gone, forgotten. Locked away to never be examined again.\n\n“Very well.” She takes Petra's hand and rises to her feet, once again allowing herself to be lead.\n\nKiut Tshu is standing silently just outside the room—a sentinel waiting for the next order. She falls in line just two steps behind them. Sresca wants to turn around, just catch even a hint of reassurance in her eyes, but she knows all she will see is a mask.\n\nWithout another word, Sresca is taken to another room, given another dress, and taken once again to Petra's office, where Leo Volkov, former duke, sits at the desk as if it is his own. “Well, has our princess had the time she needs to think?” He says before the door closes behind them, Kiut Tshu once more being left outside, unable to help. Petra positions hirself behind Volkov, leaning against the wall, glancing occasionally out the window at the raging storm, arms crossed as if sie does not care one way or another.\n\n_Let me help._\n\nShe does not fight it this time, she lets go. She lets herself float to the back, allowing this confident voice to step forward.\n\n“I have given it some thought, Lord Volkov-los. And you were correct. I was scared. I did not want to get my hopes up. Not after so many years.” Sresca herself would be too afraid to even use the _los_ honorific; it was rarely used except by the royal family to speak to the nobles. But this confident presence that now inhabits her body says it without hesitation, without even thinking about it. As if it is natural.\n\nVolkov leans forward, steepling his fingers as Sresca spreads out her gown and settlings gracefully into the chair. “What are you saying?”\n\n“I am saying that I need a knight.”\n\n“You will join us? You will pretend to be the princess?”\n\n“No. I will not pretend to be the princess.” Her back is straight, head held high. She might be shorter than him, but she looks upon him as if she was looking down at him.\n\n“Then we have no use for you.”\n\n“I had forgotten how dense you can be. You always did have to have everything spelled out for you. Do you remember that time Lady Danalov had to explain the joke about the blacksmith three times before you understood it?”\n\nPetra raises an eyebrow, hir eyes searching Sresca's face, lips pressed together.\n\n“But I suppose I will have to make do with what I have. No one else has come forward to help me reclaim my throne.”\n\nSresca holds in her panic as this other-her speaks of things she cannot possibly know about. Or maybe she is just making up a story and getting lucky. Or maybe she had overheard the other former nobles tell this story at one of the many parties she had been forced to attend these past weeks. That must be it. She had heard else tell this story.\n\n_I believe it was one of the Danalov scions that had told the story, one of the earlier parties,_ Zephyr says. _Don't worry about it._\n\nShe stops worrying about it, continuing to watch.\n\n“You are saying that you _are_ Princess Kyra?” Volkov asks, a grin spreading slowly across his face.\n\n“Yes. Well done. I knew you would put the pieces together. Eventually. But why are you telling people that we were engaged? You know that I rejected you, no matter what my brother promised. I threw tea in your face, surely you remember that.” She leans forward and runs a finger under his chin. “And look, I can still make out a faint scar.”\n\n _Another story you overheard,_ Zephyr reassures her.\n\nPetra laughs. “Oh, and here you had told me that was an accident!” Sie claps Volkov on the shoulders, and throws hir head back.\n\n“Stop that,” Volkov says, a wolfish growl behind his words.\n\n“Fine, fine.” Petra leans back against the wall and glares at Sresca. “But this proves nothing. I am not convinced you are her. Tell me something that I would know. Only me.”\n\nShe rises to her feet, gliding around the desk and pressing a hand on Petra's chest. The smear of soot was still on hir forehead, and part of her wanted to wipe it away. Instead, she leans forward on her tip toes, lips nearly pressed against hir ear. “Did you ever finish writing the concerto? The one you were going to dedicate to me?”\n\nSresca smiles, lowering herself and winking.\n\n“It is you. All this time.” Sresca had expected the shock on Petra's face. But the shock twists into anger, betrayal. “And you didn't trust me. I gave you every opportunity, and you feigned ignorance every time. We were engaged. I loved you. I _mourned_ you. And you—” Sie leans in closer, her lips almost touching Sresca’s neck. “I can’t protect you if you lie to me.”\n\nPetra storms out of the room, the slam of the door jolting Sresca back to the front, her body hers to control again.\n\nShe spins around to Volkov, still grinning.\n\n“Do not worry about hir. Sie will be back. But in the meantime, we have much to discuss, little wren.”\n\nThe appellation sounds sickeningly familiar.\n\n* * *\n\n“No, I've stopped sending my children to school. It's too dangerous.”\n\n“I would keep mine home, too, but I just know they would tear apart the house while I was gone.”\n\n“But would you rather have a messy home or missing children?”\n\n“I know, I know. I just… I don't want to believe it, you know?”\n\nConversations flit past her as she waits for Petra by the main entrance to the former manor. But she does not need to pay attention, for she knows there is only one conversation being had.\n\nNo one knows if it's the blizzards stealing the children or if there is someone—or some _thing,_ some speculate—on the loose kidnapping them. But it's all anyone can speak of. No matter where Sresca goes, someone is talking about it.\n\nToday is no different. The doors open again, a gust of fierce wind pushes another government official inside, and they click their boots on the rug before hurrying further inside, ready to discuss the ongoing crisis.\n\nBut none of them are aware of the other crisis brewing under their noses. When the door opens again, it is Petra being blown inside, hir wild hair hidden under an oddly shaped hat and hir long fingers poking through hir gloves.\n\n“Goddess below, it's _cold.”_ Sie does not bother stomping the snow from the tracks of hir boots, rushing inside as if being chased by winter itself. “I know it's always bitingly cold, but this just feels _different_ somehow.” Sie scrunches her face, disgust and confusion in hir eyes. But then hir own mask settles into place, the one moment of honesty gone. “But it warms my heart to see you, Sresca-sol. You are the fire that heats me.”\n\nBut Sresca's own heart sinks. She still does not completely why Petra seems to hate her. Shouldn't Petra be glad that her former fiancée is still alive?\n\nShe cannot explain it, but she feels a strange desire to be closer to Petra; get to know hir better, spend time with hir. The feeling comes from within, but it doesn't feel like _her_ feelings. And yet, sometimes, it does. She cannot explain it, but she wonders if that matters.\n\nYet, despite her desire, Petra has closed hirself off. Sie playfully teases and flirts when others are around, but in private, sie barely acknowledges Sresca. But today, just for a second, they had an honest conversation. Yes, it was about the weather, but for a moment, Sresca had glimpsed _Petra._ Not the electrarch, not the Hohenov heir, not the would-be Duke of Novakov.\n\n“Shall we?” Petra holds out hir elbow, and Sresca takes it. Another day, another secret meeting in a secret room in the closed-off eastern wing.\n\n“Princess Kyra-lor,” Volkov says as they enter, paying her proper respect with a royal honorific. Some part of Sresca bristles, however, as he did not rise when they entered. “Hohenov-li. Thank you for joining us.”\n\nThe room has two occupants she does not recognize, and Sresca has to wonder how many people are involved in this plot, and how long it has been in the works. But absent from the meeting is Oksana; she does not have a seat at the table today.\n\n“Volkov-los, thank you for organizing. I am so humbled to have such loyal subjects still.” She addresses everyone at the table, taking the seat next to Volkov near the head. “I hope you will forgive me if I have forgotten names and faces in the last fifteen years of my exile.”\n\n“Do not fret, your Highness.” Volkov seems all too pleased with the situation. She is at a disadvantage, reliant on him for her information. “Here we have Ksenia Cheskov-li.” He gestures to a woman who seems to have more than twenty winters; old enough to have faint predecessors to wrinkles at the corners of her eyes, but young enough that she has no bags under them. “You may remember her mother, Daria-li?”\n\nSresca closes her eyes, hoping that whatever part of her knows what to say can just take over. “Ah, yes. Daria-los gifted me a beautiful orange cat one year. You had the sister to my cat, did you not?”\n\n“Oh, you do remember. Yes! Unfortunately, mine passed away just last year. I miss Percy still. I wish my mother were here today; she would be so happy to know you survived. She always thought it should have been you, not your brother, on the throne. Maybe, we would not be in this mess…”\n\n“Maybe not,” Sresca says. “But here we are.”\n\nKsenia smiles. “Here we are.”\n\nVolkov clears his throat and points to the person to Ksenia's right. “And this is Anatoly Danalov-li.”\n\n“You are the youngest grandchild of Polina-los, right? The one who enjoys racing horses?”\n\nThe man laughs. “She finally passed away, and I was, somehow, next in line. Shame about my elder siblings, but we were all getting up there in years by the time grandmother finally joined Dana. I must say, though, my grandmother loved you, probably more than she loved any of us. She is why I am here. I just know this is what she would want.”\n\nSresca bites her tongue. Anatoly is perhaps approaching fifty. She doubts his siblings met natural ends. And Sresca swears she hears a voice making a remark about Polina wanting nothing but chaos. “I am glad to have you here. Truly, I had no idea I still had such loyal supporters.”\n\n“We must thank Volkov-lor for bringing us all together.” Ksenia raises a glass. “It was he who approached us and brought us into the fold. All these years, he swore you were still alive and he would find you.”\n\n“And here I am.” Sresca raises her own glass and pretends to sip on it, but does not miss the fact that Ksenia addressed Volkov as if he were higher than her in rank, while he has been addressing everyone as equals.\n\n“I have to ask,” Anatoly says, holding an already empty glass. “Why have you stayed hidden so long? What have you been doing for the last fifteen years?”\n\nSresca glances at Volkov, fiddling with his cufflinks as he raises an eyebrow at her. She knows by now the answer he wants her to give. The light catches on the silver of his cufflinks, and she notices that they do not have the rose symbol of Dana, nor his own family herald. But before she can make out what exactly is etched into the metal, he pulls the sleeves of his overcoat down, hiding them away again. “I was too scared, at first. Distraught over the loss of my brother, so soon after we had lost our parents…” She looks away, wiping her eyes as if hiding a tear. “And then, when I heard of no plans to restore the monarchy, I gave up. I thought I had been abandoned, unwanted. But then, I heard the stories of suffering… of the people being oppressed. Corrupt electrarchs stealing from hardworking people and giving to the lazy…” She hates each word coming out of her mouth. Words that Volkov had rehearsed with her again and again the night before after he arrived back in Novakov with Petra. The Forum had resumed its duties, but both made trips back to Novakov every weekend.\n\n“I knew I had to do something. I could not remain in hiding. Not while my people suffered. They may have been misguided, led astray by false promises. But that does not mean I can simply abandon them. I started to plan quietly. But then, call it Fate or Chance, I crossed paths with Volkov-los. But I did not know at first if I could trust him, if he shared the same vision of a thriving Tsvetokrasa that I did.”\n\nShe smiles at him. Just as they practiced. “But to my great joy, we are perfectly aligned. And now, after years of planning, we are finally ready to make our next move. I could not do this without him.”\n\nThe whole time, Petra is silent. Sie stares stoically out the window, lost in thought. Sresca longs to reach her hand out and touch hir, connect with hir. But the rest of the meeting passes without Sresca even noticing, though much later in the day.\n\nThe meeting adjourns with nothing of substance accomplished. Volkov spoke of vague plans, giving nothing away while promising everything. The point of these meetings was merely to show off Sresca. Show the rest of the former nobles that Volkov held all the cards, just as he had before the fall of the monarchy.\n\n“Petra…” She says, half-whispered as she is escorted back to her rooms. “Why won't you speak with me?”\n\nSie shakes hir head. “Not here. Not now.”\n\n“Then when? Where?”\n\nSie sighs. “Fine. Your rooms.”\n\nThe hallways lengthen, time slowing. It takes an eternity to reach her rooms and she cannot close the door behind them fast enough.\n\nBut Petra just stares at her. Scrutinizing every inch of her. Looking for something. Her stomach is in knots, and for once, her mind has only one voice—her own.\n\n“You aren't her,” sie finally says, shrugging. “You talk like her, walk like her, even the way you hold your breath when you know someone is looking at you…”\n\n“But I am her.” She releases her breath, if only to prove to herself that she can. Sresca knows she should be honest with Petra; it may be the only way Petra can help her survive whatever mess she was being dragged into. But Sresca is pushed aside; that proud and regal presence pressing forward with lies. “Who else could I be? Do you remember the time you stole your father's sword and knelt before me? Promising that if you could not be at my side as a partner, you would be in front of me as my champion? My most loyal knight? Do you remember?” She doesn't remember that. She can't possibly. Yet the image is clear in her mind as she describes it. “I never told anyone about that day. Did you?”\n\n“No, I did not. But that is not the issue. Yes, maybe you are physically Princess Kyra. But you've changed… Or maybe I did. Maybe we both have. You aren't the same Kyra I was smitten with. I do not know you anymore. If I ever did.”\n\n* * *\n\n“Hmm?” Jolted back into the present, Sresca turns her attention to Petra, looking at her pointedly across the table. “I am sorry, my mind wandered.”\n\nAnother boring meeting with Volkov and Petra, another round of Volkov listing names of supporters and how much money they can contribute. Another meeting where he lists out the electrarchs he has in position, ready to vote when he gives the word to dissolve the republic. Sresca should have been paying attention, but an echo had caught her attention, lingering just at the edge of the fireplace. She has resisted collecting the echoes or even trying to use obscura let alone aclaere since she arrived in Novakov, too scared that someone here might realize what she is doing. Especially after the fire she accidentally caused.\n\nBut that doesn’t mean she hasn’t noticed the echoes, that she has not felt the talisman heat up under her dress as if it knows there are echoes nearby, ripe for harvesting.\n\nIt is getting harder to ignore them, to pretend she doesn’t see them. On the one hand, they are Death—pressing against her everywhere she goes, every moment of the day. They are proof of her connection to Dana, proof that event his far from the Temple, she can still feel the darkness and shadows. But they are _everywhere_ here. She wonders if it means something, if maybe she was sent here for multiple reasons. Maybe Dana _wants_ her to harvest the echoes and seal the cracks between the world of the living and the asphodaer. Maybe she is on the right path and if she can consume enough of the echoes, she can return and undertake the Trial of the Rose again.\n\nBut she had never imagined that Death could be so violent, so painful. Not when she knew it as a gift—the Mercy were swift and efficient, their marks feel no pain. But these are different. When she very briefly touches the echoes, she gets the flash of the death. All violent, all painful. Some drawn out, purposefully tortuous. Agonizing and slow.\n\nDeaths that were are not natural—not part of Dana's plan. Life taken without Dana granting permission first. The Mercies may kill on Dana's behalf, but the Goddess of Death forbids all others from doing so. No one else is granted the right to take life. It must come naturally, or at Dana's hand via her Mercy.\n\nBut these echoes all around the estate grounds—all of them are memories of deaths most unnatural. Her only relief is that once they have been contained in the crystal, her memory of their details is gone. She has only the lingering impression of pain and injustice. But she can’t take that risk here. She can’t harvest them, can’t show any signs that she even sees them. So the flashes she gets when she brushes up against them linger, replaying in her mind.\n\nBut there is one thing she feels is off. In her walks around the grounds of the former mansion and the temple, she has encountered deaths recent and ancient. She keeps a journal, writing down when she believes the deaths may have taken place. Some are so old she cannot place them—she knows they happened at this spot, and yet the terrain in the vision is so unfamiliar that she cannot believe it—Tsvetokrasa, green and full of forests? Impossible. And yet.\n\nHowever, in all the echoes she has come across, none of them are of children recently missing.\n\nOver two dozen children, ranging from having eight winters to having twenty winters, have gone missing in Novakov. Rumors flit through the streets that other regions have had their share of missing children, as well. Yet she can find no echoes matching any of the missing children.\n\nA small relief to know they are not being murdered, but one she cannot share with anyone else.\n\n“I said that the next election is in just a few months. We fear that revealing you too early will have a negative influence, giving pro-Republic candidates an edge. We need to get as many seats filled with our supporters as possible first, enough so that there will not even be a question of having enough votes to reach consensus on permitting your ascension to the throne.”\n\n“Can they even do that?” Sresca asks, still confused by how the Republic and its Forum work. They do not teach the novitiates or acolytes about politics, only that Dana gives her blessing to the Republic, but she could take it back. She knows the revolutionaries had tried to learn some of the hard lessons Fayn had learned in their first attempt—they came up with a system that allowed the people to rank their choices for electrarchs to represent them. Fayn's first attempt at democracy had failed terribly when the people began to feel like they only had two choices, neither of them good. But even with this system, it seems like the people still aren't truly represented. “How are you getting them to vote for candidates that are pro-monarchy?”\n\n“We are not doing that. None of our candidates are coming out and blatantly saying that they want to restore the monarchy, but in their private dealings with those who had once been rich and had their wealth seized and taxed?” Volkov shrugs. “They say what needs to be said depending on who they are speaking to. They promise what they need to promise to win the election.”\n\n“So the electrarch's do not have to actually follow through on their promises? They are not compelled to do as the people hope for them to do?”\n\nPetra laughs. “If they want to win re-election, sure, they should. But plenty of people have won re-election at this point despite doing nothing of what they promised.”\n\n“How can that be?”\n\n“They make up excuses, they make backroom deals, they make friends in the press, and if they cannot find the wealthy people in Tsvetokrasa to finance their campaigns, they find wealthy donors from other nations with promise to forge favorable trade deals or further the interests of the foreign nations they bargain with.”\n\n“But that is illegal, is it not?”\n\n“When you make the rules, you can break the rules. Always has been that way.” Volkov interjects.\n\n“So why do you need me back on the throne if you can just get all of your supporters into office and run the country that way?”\n\n“That was the plan,” Volkov says slowly, glancing at Petra as if asking hir to explain.\n\nPetra leans back and shrugs. “You only roped me into this recently. What do you want me to say?”\n\nVolkov waves his hand in dismissal and carries on. “In Fayn, it didn't take long for just two political parties to emerge, with barely any difference between them. They had deals to pass bills for one party's base and then the other, all with the illusion of fighting for the people. Of course, the people again revolted, and a new form of government emerged. But do you think that stops people from scheming?”\n\n“But you just explained that we have ranked voting here, we have several factions, not just two.”\n\n“Exactly,” Volkov says. “It is taking far too long to consolidate power again. Our plan was to capture each of the parties, one by one, planting our people within them to reshape their internal functioning and make their platforms more in line with our goals. Overtime, with all of the parties under our control, we could use the schools to teach only our philosophy, the media only our messages…”\n\n“But it was taking too long?”\n\n“Yes. But with you here, your Highness, we can galvanize our base and use the politicians we have already captured to force the issue _now._ We can be back in power _this year._ And this time, we will make sure that no future revolutions will ever take foothold.”\n\n“That sounds…” She wants to say _terrifying._ But that is too tame a word.\n\n“Perfect, yes?” Volkov smiles. “We will keep your throne safe, for you and for our children.”\n\n“Our children?”\n\n“Yes, of course. You may have rejected me all those years ago, but if you want your throne, this is the price.” He leers at her, his eyes wandering over her body like he owns it.\n\nShe rises to her feet. “Excuse me. I need some air.”\n\nShe knows Volkov will have his own eyes and ears following her, stalking her, and reporting back to him where she goes, who she talks to, and what she says. But the footsteps behind her are not quiet or stealthy. Someone grabs her shoulder and spins her around before she can even turn a corner.\n\n“You said you would play along,” Petra says under hir breath, holding Sresca firmly by the shoulders. “You are not doing a very good job of it.”\n\n“Play along for how long? Until we are wed? Until he has me locked away in his sobriye? Just a pretty face on a throne with nothing more to do or say?” She crosses her arms and blows a loose strand of hair out of her face.\n\n“Why did you just do that?”\n\n“Do what?”\n\n“The hair thing, blowing it.”\n\n“It was in my face. That is all.”\n\nPetra frowns. “It is not something a princess would do.”\n\n“Well, I have not been a princess for more than fifteen winters.”\n\n“I suppose.” But uncertainty is still written across hir face. “Anyway, I can understand if you do not want to do this. You never seemed to enjoy being a princess even before. But please. Trust me.”\n\n“Why? You brought me here because you recognized me. You discussed me, apparently multiple times, with Volkov. What are you getting out of this? Was your father not an informant for the revolutionaries? Is this what he would want?”\n\nPetra looks over hir should. “Later. I'll have Kiut Tshu let you know when and where. I'll tell him you are ill. I suggest you go to your quarters.”\n\nBut she doesn't want to go back to her quarters. She wants to examine the echo in Petra's office more. It felt not necessarily recent, but sometime in the last century. Maybe it has something to do with Petra's parents and siblings. Something in her knows she has to experience it—maybe it is Dana speaking to her. She sighs, even so, she won't be able to do anything further while Volkov is in there and in his current temperament.\n\nShe trudges across the sprawling corridors, replaying the conversations again, and wondering if there even is a form of government that can actually work for the people, or if governments only exist to control or be controlled. But if there is no government, who would make sure the people would have their needs met? Who would ensure no one goes hungry or cold? She is no politician, not even schooled in anything but the most recent history of Tsvetokraksa; she doesn’t have the knowledge to fix the problem at all. But even having learned from Fayn’s mistakes…\n\n“Priestess?” A woman is waiting for her at her rooms, scattering her train of thought. “Excuse me. But I was hoping we could plan a service. My son… they found him.”\n\n* * *\n\nHe leered at me again—possessive, calculating, and quick enough that no one else saw it. Standing next to my little brother, he leaned over and whispered something in his ear. I did not need to be near him to know what he asked; he was once again seeking my brother's permission to marry me. I had just sixteen winters—not even an adult!—and he was not willing to wait even four more years for me to be of age. \"The emperor can make exceptions to the law,\" he had told me more than once.\n\nI turn away from the sight of my brother and his top advisor, his uncle. This is supposed to be a celebration; this is supposed to be a happy occasion. The rebels have been squashed—wiped out. They had thought to use the years of civil war between the royal branches in the vacuum left by my grandfather's passing to stir up enough disillusionment that they could unseat the entire monarchy. That trick might have worked in Fayn and Sua, but Tsvetokrasa? Never. And this ball was proof of that.\n\nThere were many who still might have called for further upheaval to put _me_ on the throne over my brother. I was the elder, and I was the daughter of the previous empress, while my brother was the child of the third noble consort, a scion of the House of Khotov. But I was also stubborn, obstinate, and not willing to let people like Volkov-los or Danalov-los or even Hohenov-los rule for me. My brother was all to eager to accept a reagent—all the privileges but none of the responsibilities.\n\nAnd Volkov, despite being only twenty-five winters, was all to eager to manipulate my brother into making _him_ the reagent. Hohenov had at least proven his loyalty again and again by risking his life as head of the Royal Guard. I could respect him for that much at least—he might be the head of a Great House, but he did not shy away from taking action. He, at least, had trained hard for years, accepting no special privileges or perks, alongside the commoners and peasants who had signed up for the military. He rose through the ranks until he was the best soldier—the best _knight—_ in the kingdom. At forty-three winters, he was still the best fighter and would not hesitate to jump in front of a sword to save the emperor.\n\nI scanned the ballroom, looking for the aging knight. Instead, my eyes landed on his only child.\n\nHir bushy and wild hair was somewhat contained in a bun, but everything else about hir was neat and orderly. I guessed her daily routine was likely as disciplined and precise as hir fathers. Sie was attractive, and hir name had been floated more than once as a possible match for me. But so long as Volkov had my brother's ear, sie would never be the top contender. I glanced back at my brother, and Volkov caught my eye again. He mouthed two words. I don't even need to hear him to know what they are. _Little wren._ The name he had taken to calling me in private. A bird he wanted to cage.\n\n\"Your Highness. Good evening,\" Danalov said as she approached me with a flute of sparkling wine in each hand—a recent import from Janeuq that the entire court had been in a buzz about. She handed me one of them, winking. \"I won't tell if you don't.\"\n\nNodding, I took a sip. \"Have you been well, Danalov-los?\"\n\nSee was old enough to remember the war with Fayn, old enough to have watched after my grandparents, old enough to not care about appearances anymore. She should have been my brother's advisor. But she was more than happy to spend her remaining years dancing and drinking while her children waited impatiently for her to die so they could claim her wealth. But Dana refused to take her yet. \"Well enough, well enough. Why are you not joining the dancing?\"\n\nI shrugged. \"There is no one with whom I would like to dance.\"\n\n\"Ah. The problems of youth. There is time, my dear. There is still time. But do not forget,\" she tapped her chest above her heart, just below the emblem on her sash of the rearing deer. \"Sunrise will be here soon.\"\n\nShe spoke her words as if they carried many meanings, and maybe they did. There was always plotting and scheming at court. But I was just a pawn—whoever could claim me would be one step closer to the throne, and while my brother dallied in picking his noble consorts and taking an empress, anyone who married me was just one bad accident away from having their own scions crowned. We've had seven rulers and three would-be rulers in just the past decade; if my brother mysteriously passed, he would just be one more dead monarch in a string of them. Whatever this 'sunrise' was, I just hoped it didn't involve me. \"Maybe I should dance,\" I said.\n\nThe duchess smiled. \"I believe young Hohenov-li is watching you most studiously.\"\n\nSie was. Whenever Sir Hohenov passed away, it would be his strangest child that inherited the duchy—his eldest two children having passed away in a tragic accident only a handful of months before Sir Hohenov gave birth to Petra. No one had even known he was pregnant when his wife and children perished, and more than a few grumbled that they couldn't even be sure that Petra was legitimately the child of Sir Hohenov's late wife, and perhaps the duchy should be given to another.\n\nBut if Petra married a princess, none would question hir legitimacy and claim. I couldn't put aside the suspicion that that might be the only reason Petra was looking my way. Was I a potential partner or a means to an end?\n\nThe question must have been written across my face. \"You could do worse, you know. Sie is only a handful of winters older than you, and sie enjoys music. I do not know a single duplicitous musician.\"\n\nMaybe. Maybe Petra could see me not as a pawn, and not as a potential queen. Maybe sie could see _me._\n\nI drifted through the crowd, taking in snippets of conversation and and stowing them away for later. Eventually, I found myself at the dais again and took a seat next to my younger brother.\n\n“We must find you an empress. Once we have her, you can start making heirs. And I suggest you start pruning the tree, too.”\n\n“Pruning the tree?”\n\n“Yes, we cannot have anyone else trying to take the throne. You have plenty of half-cousins who could still claim it; your grandfather did not shy away from having more than just an empress and seven noble consorts; he had dozens of concubines. And while the children of his concubines might have a harder time claiming the throne than the scions of the seven noble consorts, they still could. If we don’t prune the royal tree, there will only be more strife. You catch a cold? Someone whispers the news to the wrong person and suddenly we have more than upstart rebels barking at our doors.”\n\n“They did nothing wrong. And we can buy their loyalty,” my brother says. “Give them a podzem and make them Niszki lords.”\n\n“No, giving them landed titles will only embolden them. They won’t see it as a gift, they will see it as a means to more wealth. And once they have more wealth, they will not be satisfied until they have it all. Just look at the way the merchants are treating us right now.”\n\nI rolled my eyes. My brother and Volkov had had this conversation so many times. My brother was still a child, he had no need of a wife and consorts. But to Volkov, the Imperial Sobriye was more than just a means of securing an heir. The consorts were hostages, too. Each of the Great Houses offered up one of their own to join the Imperial Sobriye as one of the Seven Noble Consorts. They could be offered for the purpose of bearing children, for the purpose of entertaining the Emperor, for the purpose of offering knowledge and wisdom. Most people assumed it was merely a means of making an heir. But even those unable to concieve for whatever reason were valuable hostages to keep the Great Houses in line.\n\nBut the empress was intended to be without affiliation or loyalty to anyone but the emperor—she was not to be from any of the houses, but rather a commoner. Without allegiance to anyone but the people of Tsvetokrasa. Each Emporer chose their Empress differently. But my father had been different. He wasn’t ever expected to ascend the throne, so he became a pawn in a political marriage, taking a younger royal woman from Garcelon, Princess Catalina, as his wife. When he did ascend, many objected to his ascension on the grounds that any offspring from the Empress would have an allegiance to Garcelon. And so, I could not possibly be his heir.\n\nHe did form an Imperial Sobriye, though, at the urging of the nobles. And so, I had a brother.\n\n“The merchants know their place now. We expanded market hours and they have their cash-houses across the major trade routes. We granted them their request for their coin-bills so they are less prone to being waylaid by rebels and robbed.”\n\n“Yes, but they still want more.”\n\n“Then they can get real jobs. They do not make anything, they do not provide anything. They merely leech off the labor of the farmers and the artisans. We gave them enough to prevent them from allying themselves with the rebels.”\n\n“It won’t be enough, my lord.”\n\n“You want me to get an empress? Why don’t I take one from a merchant’s family.”\n\nFor the first time in my memory, Volkov was speechless. He opened his mouth and then closed it again as if unable to even form the first word of a sentence.\n\n“It is settled then,” my brother said. “I leave to you the task of finding a suitable candidate from amid the four merchant families.”\n\n“But, your highness—”\n\n“No, you do not have leave to speak. Once I have an Empress, then we can move to discuss the Seven Noble Consorts. Do you understand, Volkov-los?”\n\nI had never seen my brother silence his top advisor.\n\n_We need this information,_ a voice in my head told me. _Remember everything._\n\n“Your Highness, I do not think you understand. In Fayn, they made a merchant’s daughter queen and she brought the whole monarchy—”\n\n“Fayn is Fayn. This is Tsvetokrasa. We are as immovable as the mountains. Have you not told me that yourself? You raised me to the throne, you told me I was the only one fit to rule, and now you act as if I cannot make my own decisions. Which is it, uncle? Am I a king or am I a child? You want me to have a wife and consorts, but I am not old enough to choose them?”\n\n“Not at all, your highness, it’s just that—”\n\n“What do you think of Petra Hohenov?”\n\n“You want hir for the Imperial Sobriye? I can see why. Sie would make a most suitable consort. And considering sie is the only child Sir Hohenov has remaining, I suppose sie would be your only choice for the Novakov Consort.”\n\n“No. I mean for my sister. Kyra can’t take her eyes of hir.” My brother glanced my direction and my cheeks burned.\n\n“I thought we had already discussed that I shall be taking the princess as my wife. Did you not agree to that just last night?”\n\nMy brother shakes his head and my jaw tightens. He didn’t, did he? He can’t have agreed to that.\n\n“I said I would consider it. And I have. Sir Hohenov has been a great ally. I think a royal marriage would be a suitable reward for his loyalty.”\n\n“Yes, and he shall have that when you take Petra as the Novakov Consort.”\n\n“I tired of these talks. I shall continue to think on it. You are dismissed.”\n\n“You wouldn’t,” I said as soon as Volkov is far enough away. “Please, Mikhail, you can’t marry me to Volkov.”\n\n“You are my sister, the choice is mine. But no, Petra is my first choice for you. But I fear Volkov is getting _ideas._ He thinks he is still reagent. But I still need his support. I don’t want to have to kill our cousins. But he could just as easily back someone else. I need to think on it.”\n\nI didn’t know what scared me more. The fact that my brother was far from the child-king people labeled him or that he was seriously considering forcing me to marry Volkov.\n\n* * *\n\n“I heard you agreed to be our princess.” The voice is chipper; far too energetic for the hour—the sun has not even risen above the horizon. But Sresca has her duties to the Temple, no matter what else she agreed to. But the person who has just thrown open the doors looks little like her usual morning visitors. No tears, no quivering voice, no trembling hands. No momento clutched deserately to her chest. No pleas from a sobbing parent to reassure them that their child is only missing; not dead. Sresca almost welcomes this deviation from her new normal. She is so tired of reaching into the asphodaer to search for a specific soul. It almost hurts more to tell the parents that their child is not dead; at least in death they are safe in Dana’s embrace.\n\nOksana bounces through the rows of pews and halts with a small jump in front of the altar that Sresca is trying to clean of ancient blood.\n\n“You are in on it, too?” Is all she can manage to ask.\n\n“Of course.”\n\n“Which noble house did you belong to?” She keeps scrubbing with her brush, starting to believe maybe the spot on the altar isn’t blood at all.\n\n“Oh, I wasn’t. I was born to commoners.”\n\nSresca freezes, not sure if she heard right.\n\nOksana holds out her hand and a pale fire sparks into existence. “But only nobles can use aclaere. If I help, I have been promised a title and therefore the right to use aclaere.”\n\n“But wouldn’t it be easier to just go to Sua? They have a whole school dedicated to aclaere; they have no restrictions on it.”\n\n“I could. But who’s to say they won’t change? I have the opportunity here to make sure I can always study it.”\n\n“You would undo the entire revolution just to use aclaere freely? But so many people suffered under the monarchy. I do not understand your rationale.” Sresca sets her scrub brush aside and crosses her arms.\n\n“It’s really simple, I suppose. Someone has to be on top. It’s just how things are. I might as well make sure I’m not at the bottom. I get a seat at the table this way.”\n\n“What? Someone has to be on top? What does that mean? No one has to be on top.”\n\n“It’s the natural order of things. Every time people have tried to have a more equal society, someone tries to get one top and the whole thing collapses. Look at what happened to Fayn within a few years of their revoltution.”\n\nSresca tries to remember what she knows about Fayn and Sua. Fayn’s first attempt at a democracy had failed; it had been corrupted quickly and they had to completely restructure their governing bodies in an attempt to stop the same thing from happening again. Those who had been elected valued power more than they valued the people after only a few election cycles. Sua had tried something completely different. It had been a struggle, and if she remembered correctly, several qatu claiming to be royal scions had attempted to take back their thrones by force.\n\n“But they fixed it. They have been fine since then.”\n\n“The patched up some of the weaknesses. And the Semejh Cervenrasa think they’ve thought through everything, thought they learned from Fayn and Sua’s failures. But Volkov still knows how to work this system, even with its ranked choice voting and term limits.” Oksana lets the fire escape her palm and it flies across the room, lighting all of the candalabras at once. “The people who want to be on top will find a way. And those who find a way deserve to be on top. I’m just making sure I’m one of them.”\n\nNow Volkov is seeking to exploit some of the weaknesses in Tsvetokrasa’s system to put himself on top. She makes it sound inevitable. Maybe Oksana has a point.\n\nOksana continues, though, before Sresca can ask any questions. “Right now, the people who believe in justice and fairness are the ones on top. The people like Volkov who believe in the natural order of things are the ones being suppressed. Him and I both had something precious taken from us by the revolution. And now, we are forced to play by their rules.”\n\n“But doesn’t he scare you? He speaks ill of anyone not a noble, and you think he will treat you better just because you are helping him right now?”\n\n“There’s a lot he says and does that I don’t agree with. But this my way of making sure I am on top, and my friends are, too. I’ll never be at the bottom again. Not if I can help it.”\n\n“But there has to be a way for everyone—”\n\n“What about the Temple?”\n\n“What about it?”\n\n“You know I spent most of my childhood there; ensconsed in its hierarchy. The High Priestess. Dark-caller; Priestess of the Long Night. The Shadow-Touched Priestesses of the Deep Sleep. Then there are the Enstarred, the Enfrosted, and the Enshrouded. But I never rose above Acolyte of Silver. I never had power. I never had a say.”\n\n“But that’s different—” Even as she says it, she can’t articulate how.\n\n“No, it’s not. And you don’t even vote on who is the High Priestess.”\n\n“No, she is chosen by Dana.”\n\n“And Dana used to choose monarchs.”\n\nSresca is overwhelmed, adrift at sea and she _knows_ what Oksana is saying is wrong. It _feels_ wrong. And she _knows_ there has to be a better way, a different way. But she feels beseiged on all sides and unable to come up with a response. Oksana’s entire view of the world is different than hers. How can she argue the smaller points with Oksana if they can’t even come to an agreement on how the world they both live in works?\n\n“But she doesn’t anymore.”\n\nOksana throws up her hands. “Listen, I did not come here to start an argument. You asked me why I am working with Volkov. I’m just trying to protect myself. I just want to live my life. And there must be something _you_ want to protect, too, if you’re agreeing to work with him.”\n\nSresca really has no reason to even quarel with Oksana. They should be sisters. Maybe they still are; Dana doesn’t let her followers break their vows. “I do not want to fight, either. I just hate—”\n\n“I know. He treated you badly. I heard about it, yes. You deserve so much better than how he is treating you. You’ve earned it. And eventually, if you prove that to him, too, he will treat you better.”\n\n“No. I earned nothing. I deserve better because everyone deserves better. You do not have to _earn_ respect, you do not have to _earn_ dignity. It’s inherent. It’s intrinsic. You deserve better, too.”\n\n“Huh. You aren’t the first person to tell me that.” Oksana glances at the floor, her foot tracing the center of the rose mosaic on the floor. “I’ll try to remember that. But I have business to attend to. Just wanted to welcome you to the team.” She balls both her hands into fists and the candles exinguish as she strides back out of the temple. But she halts at the door and turns back to face Sresca in the darkness. “I’ll help you. So it doesn’t get out of control again.”\n\n“What are you talking about?”\n\n“You used aclaere to start that fire in the east wing. Maybe you did it intentionally. But I think it just got out of control. But I can help you. If you’ll let me.”\n\n“No. It’s illegal.”\n\n“It won't be for long.”\n\n* * *\n\nThis is a draft chapter. Contents may change between now and final publication. These chapters are currently being made available for free as part of the \"Pride: Brighter than the Stars\" Bundle effort. For each $500 milestone we reach on the bundle, I will be releasing another chapter. If you want to see more chapters be available, please support and promote the bundle!\n\nhttps://m.dax.ink/bttsb\n\n$20 will get you 32 queer works of fiction and just a little bit closer to reading more of my WIP!",
  "title": "Shackles and Shards: Shattered - Chapter 8",
  "updatedAt": "2026-06-05T03:08:54.124Z"
}