Page 49

“I can’t stop. If I do, I’ll think. And then I’ll go insane.” Cal sighed, plucking tufts of hair from Buttercup’s flank.

Roy frowned. “What’s on your mind?”

“Eiden. The people there. I didn’t heard back from the Emperor, if they even still watch over the justice system.” He bit into his lower lip. “Uros seems quite unhappy. He tells me every other day he can’t wait to leave for the Academia. But when he’s gone, who’ll watch over Addy?”

“Would you want to take her in?” Roy asked with a sliver of hope. “Maybe we could figure something out—some daycare, or maybe we could afford a nanny.”

“She still has her parents.” Cal shook his head, brushing out the last of Buttercup’s matting with quick, short strokes. “I can’t just take her. My only hope is that Auntie will protect her.” He collected the piles of fur from the floor and stuffed them into the trash bag he’d prepared, combing out the last chunks that clung to the carpet.

Wedunia’s market buzzed with life. It was midday, and their stall was already almost empty, the packs of seaweed chips gone first. Then people came for the few jars of honey left from the first trip to Meliora. They’d been receiving newsletters from Zrrn, inviting them to profit from the seasonal sale.

“Next week?” Roy mumbled, squinting at the calendar in his e-Scroll.

“Would you stop pretending you don’t need glasses?” Cal chuckled. “Yes, next week works. Will you ask Gwen to catsit?”

“I’ll drop her a message.” Roy closed the register and stacked empty crates. A few customers trickled through, sighing at the sight of the empty stall. While Cal talked to them about the next vending day and noted down their orders, Roy loaded the crates onto the truck. They had been up early, well before sunrise, and fatigue was setting in. Maybe he’d let Cal drive home and take a nap in the passenger seat.

Tugging on the ropes on the sides of their stall, he let the checkered cloth roof fall down. They always rolled it tight, in case a storm would sweep through the square.

“Ready?” Roy asked after a quick kiss.

“Yes—”

An alarm stole Cal’s words, screeching through the capital. It echoed from the streets, the loud sound bouncing off the narrow alleys and cobblestone pavement, but the message was still clear. Three long drawls of the bugle, followed by an emotionless voice.

“Citizens of Pyraxis, please stand by for a message from the Emperor.”

Blindly, Roy reached for Cal’s forearm, tethering himself to reality. The crowd around them fell silent; nobody dared to let out more than a shaky breath.

The bullhorns on the poles carried the Emperor’s short speech. “The Empire calls for your help. Our safety and our freedom of travel have been compromised. Our trade routes are disrupted. The Emperor Consort has paid in his blood and his suffering. Now, it’s time to strike back.”

Roy drew a sharp breath. A declaration of war didn’t mean a universal draft. After all, this wasn’t a local conflict—surely the Imperial army didn’t need untrained civilians.

“In this call to arms, all individuals of service age must enlist. All others are invited if they wish. Local authorities will announce the schedule soon. Thank you, people of the Empire. We will prevail.”

A line had formed before the conscription office. The crowd crept, snaking out into the street. Roy joined the queue, holding Cal’s hand, his thumb jumping across Cal’s knuckles. Whispers floated around them—conspiracies about the war spread like poison. Some speculated a rival empire was attacking. Others said it was a pocket of rebels, raiders that rejoiced in instability.

Whichever was true, Roy didn’t care much. All he needed was that blue stamp on their residence cards. He’d much rather be called unable to fight than dead in a trench on a distant planet.

As the murmur grew louder, Cal’s fingers tightened around Roy’s hand. A wrinkle formed on his forehead as his eyes narrowed. “What are they saying?”

“Just gossip,” Roy said while Cal focused on his lips. “About the war.”

For a cruel moment, the confusion on Cal’s face felt reassuring—proof that he’d never manage radio chatter through the intercoms, never be sent off to die.

To dissolve his guilt, Roy kissed Cal’s cheek, a moment longer than usual.

They finally reached the door. Cal entered first. The anticipation was torturous, and Roy didn’t want his lover to worry a second more than necessary. Besides, it surely wouldn’t take long—what was the point of a full physical exam? There was no denying Cal was deaf in one ear, and the other implant might malfunction too.

Time dragged. Cal had been there for at least half an hour. When he finally emerged, Roy’s heart froze.

Cal clutched a dark green backpack to his chest, his face pale. “Your turn, love. I’ll wait here.”

“But—”

“Next,” came a screech from the office. Roy stumbled in, and for a second, he was almost sure it was a nightmare.

Nobody sane should’ve given Thyrn any kind of authority again. Yet there he sat, emerald scales polished and oiled, now with a pair of clip-on glasses perched at the end of his snout.