Ovek stood in a sea of bodies, standing or dead, slicing Rita's swords through the air, flesh, and arteries with practiced ease. His wife was away from him on this battlefield, unlike battles they'd fought together since they wed, standing by his side, through death, through victories, but he had a piece of her, woven from her hands, and that was enough for him. She was there in spirit. At least, that is what he told himself. Again and again. For Rita.

Despite his name, Ovek the Merciful, there was no mercy in his advances or deflections. His grip held tight to the deadly weapons at his disposal. His feet faded and lunged as if working from memory. This was what he was born into, an endless cycle of war and birth, and kingdoms and crumble. He'd been in many battles as a young lad; stood beside his father on his crusade to unify the lands under one Chymer flag. Those had not been simple days. And now that he was a king himself, he understood more than ever he was fighting to unify a torn land too, crown or no crown.

This was his legacy. This was where he was to make his stand. If final, then let it be.

He stepped across from soldiers, wearing the Chymer colours — a golden sphere, bright like the sun in a sea of cerulean blue. It ached his heart to strike at these men and women who had once been his. He hated striking them down, tearing through their flesh, hearing their cries – for mercy – yet he could not yield. He could not slow down his advances, his attacks and his lunges. To do so would be merciful, and he could not afford to be merciful. Not here, not now. His children were on that field with him. Their lives were at stake, as were those of many men and women who'd barely lived.

Amer to his right, dipped in and out of view, between soldiers far too many and too big. The soldiers assigned to him, to aid him and guard him, were dwindling with every hour, every day, but his boy was doing well, weaving words and realities that fell many Chymer soldiers. But words took time to speak, and occasionally, when Vanylla was nearby strategically being moved around the battlefield to where casualties were many, in a chariot protected by weaves and metals. Amer would not need words to leave his lips with her around. But these children were barely soldiers, barely trained, for what could they have possibly learnt of battlefare in a handful of days?

To his left, Attin blurred in and out, appearing here and there, moving soldiers around to give them better opportunities to take down an enemy or move them out of harm's way. Yet, every time Attin travelled with his weave, Ovek glimpsed exhaustion wash over the boy's face. He could not keep this up for long — they'd been battling for days on end, only calling a truce at sunsets, and beginning afresh at sunrise.

Fourteen days, it had gone on. Fourteen days, and with each day, Ovek saw how little advances they made. They were no closer to freeing Rita than winning this war. No closer to fulfilling his promise to ride the land of his brother's tyranny.

Ovek parried an attack without taking his eyes off Attin then, his heart lodged in his throat. For days, every time Attin blurred and reappeared, exhaustion dripping off his face, his eyes darkened and his cheeks gaunt, an uncomfortable fear had gripped Ovek's heart, for he could see just how easily the boy could reappear into an advanced blade, then away from it. And now, in that split moment, Attin appeared, straight in the pathway of a blade glistening red.

He screamed a blood-curdling scream as its sharped edges sliced into his side.

A soldier relieved Ovek of one of Rita's blades as he warned his son too late.

Anteri soldiers near Attin sprang to action, cutting down the soldier who dared harm the boy. Ovek felt a blade strike his own face, cutting his cheek. His blood spilled and his anger rippled. How could he let his son come to harm so easily? Rita would not forgive him if they lost her dearest boy today. So the father in him struck all those down around him with ease, with that same anger that had allowed him to weave upon Council Rock.

The surrounding soldiers were pinned to the bloodied ground as Ovek picked up the dropped blade and advanced through the immobilised troupe.

His weave extended around him as he passed, trapping new soldiers as they came within range and releasing those that he left behind.

Some tried to attack him as his weave released them, but they could no sooner penetrate Chymer's keep than pierce Ovek's weave.

"This is the moment, men. Attack Prince Amer, for the witch Vanylla isn't near, nor is the king standing in between."

Ovek heard the nearby commands and the holler of war cries. He glanced back to see the men, who regained control of their bodies, band together and advance upon Amer and the few guards that protected the young prince.

Amer was the name behind this campaign, their liege — since Ovek himself had renounced his right to the Chymer throne upon Council Rock. If the enemies captures Amer, or worst, killed him, the war was over. Lost.

Ovek felt torn as never before. Behind him, Amer too screamed to know that his brother was safe, alive, while his guards asked him to remain within their circle. Ovek briefly met Amer's gaze as the young prince tried to flee his protection bubble. "Papa! You save him, you hear! You save him or I'll never forgive you!"

Instead of giving reassurances to him, Ovek yelled, "Find your Commander, my liege! Stay alive, stay free! That is your duty, and I will do mine."

And though he felt torn between rescuing his injured son and whisking him to safety and aiding the Crown Prince to secure the future of their kingdom, he advanced towards Attin. Find Ursa, Amer.

Ovek focused on one thing after that. Attin. He advanced upon the diminishing circle still protecting his son, a son who was folded over, screaming in pain. Chymer soldiers continued to barrage their wilting defences of the outnumbered and exhausted, newly minted Anteri soldiers, almost at the ends of their tether. They would soon succumb to their burning limbs and fear of death. Thus, Ovek advanced, holding onto his anger, holding onto his shielding weave.

***

Ursa felt an icy air skim her neck and prickle the fine hairs on the back of her neck and arms. Something terrible has happened, her senses told her. She swung her ever-morphing weapon around her body, deflecting soldiers rather than ordering them to lay down their arms and surrender. She scanned the battlefield, trying to see far and wide, see if she could figure out what was going wrong and where. Perhaps she could wield Vanylla's chariot and their soldiers that way if she knew where the trouble was brewing, if she could locate it. Part of her still wished she could simply scream a command into the air and end the war, have all Chymer soldiers lay down their arms and surrender, but from the early days of the battle, she'd learned Chymer army was impervious to her weaves. It had taken them days of battle, for her to be covered in blood that was not her own; many nights talking strategies with Uncle Rea, Papa, and Granny; and an accidental discovery on the battlefield yesterday, to figure out the reason behind the army's imperviousness to her Voice.

***

"You need to see this." Ursa handed a small copper trinket she'd accidentally loosened from a Chymer soldier's neck during hand-to-hand combat earlier that day.

Ursa brought the soldier, a girl not too much older than herself, to the war council meeting that night. A girl she'd commanded to stand by the opening of the tent, in the light of many torches.

Her Uncle and Papa were cleaning their weapons on their divans. Whetstones gliding up and down their mighty swords. Attin and Amer tried to emulate the men, sharpening their own tools of war.

Granny sat on a large futon, with Vanylla's little head upon her lap — fast asleep, poor exhausted thing, her blindfold, intended to protect her innocence while moving through the murk of a filling field clutched in her small fist. Granny turned the trinket this way and that, holding it up to the light.

Uncle Rea glanced at the trinket as he slid a whetstone along his longsword. "I've seen these around the necks of many Chymer soldiers."

"What are they?" Attin nicked his thumb on the sharp edge, distracted.

"I've seen them too," Ursa stated, standing ramrod straight, unable to bring herself to lounge on divans just because the sun had set and by decree, all battles must pause until sunrise. In fact, since the beginning of this war, she hadn't relaxed. Her sleep was light among her soldiers — for she could not bring herself to sleep in luxury while they slept on cold grounds with the heaven above them or thin tarps. Her body was forever tense and alert. She chalked it down to her weave, her role. She was the commander of an army. Her powers would not let her rest until this was over. She wished it was over. No matter how many times she washed her hands, she could still see the blood that stained them. This was not what she had wanted to be, someone who could easily end life as help birth it. This was not her. It couldn't be.

"The moment that came off her, cut by my sword"—Ursa eyed the girl still in Chymer colour, standing by the entrance, as commanded—"she was compliant. I was practically talking with myself, that I wouldn't kill her if she just listened and stopped fighting me, and the next thing I know, she is at my feet, surrendering her weapon. I think these trinkets are the reason the Chymer soldiers are impervious to my commands."

Granny nodded. "Aye. It's a powerful witch's charm. Similar to the ones we gave our soldiers, woven with Vanylla's weaves. Effective, but only for a short while."

"We've been battling them nearly a fortnight, Granny. That is not a short while. I still cannot command them. So either you're a terrible witch, or they have better ones... We're losing. I need you to try harder."

"Ursa." Papa stopped his whetting and gave her a reproachful look.

She returned a piercing look. "A machine with a part missing, or misaligned, will seldom do a fine job, my lord. Mother taught me that when she explained what we were. You asked me to command this army, so allow me to do my job. Without hindrance. I stand before you, not as your daughter. My duties are not to you, or Granny's feelings. They are to my soldiers' lives." She glanced at Amer briefly. "And to my liege."

She dipped her head at the dumbfounded council and turned to Granny. "I need you to find a counterspell by the morning, or this war and mother are both lost and we may as well go back to Earth with our tails tucked between our legs, and live a simpleton's life."

Without further ado, she slipped out of the tent to join her soldiers.

***

Though she'd hated herself for the way she'd addressed Granny last night, Ursa cleared her throat to command Chymer soldiers to surrender for the umpteenth time. Granny had regretfully confessed this morning, prior to sunrise, that though she'd tried, she had not yet perfected the counterspell. She did not know if it would work or how long it would take, and all day, as the battle raged, Ursa attempted to command the Chymer army now and then, as instructed by Granny. And throughout the day she'd been testing it out, her voice, hoping Granny had found some success.

She tried yet again. "Soldiers of Chymer, lay down your weapons!"

A spear whizzed past her ear.

She whisked around to see a Chymer soldier smiling. "You lay down your weapon, Princess. It'd be too cruel to lose such a beauty to war."

It's still not working. Her heart sank, knowing full well that they did not have the numbers needed to keep battling on. By nightfall, this war was over. She hadn't the heart to tell her father thus. But it wasn't nightfall yet, and there was still life left in her.

"Disarm me if you can." Ursa sneered, enjoying the flash of terror wash over his face.

He lunged. She parried, then pivoted, and within a second, sliced his spine. She watched him crumble at her feet. Her weapon vibrated in her grip and her ears buzzed like those electric wires on wooden poles back on Earth. Energy. She knew what it was. The energy coursing through her veins as she'd never felt before, and without further ado, she bellowed, her voice booming louder than it ever had over the battlefield. "Soldiers of Chymer, lay down your weapons!" For she truly hated to kill another soul.

The men and women in cerulean blue with its golden sun began laying down their arms.

"It worked." Ursa looked around in amazement. "It actually worked?"

"No, Commander." The Anteri soldier, close by, pointed at a strange sight amid the battlefield. A white flag fluttered left and right high in the air. In fact, several such flags hoisted on tall poles swished left and right around the field and the deafening clang of metal on metal and the sickening squelch of flesh being ripped stopped until no sound disturbed the wind.

"You are surrendering. But why? You are winning..."

He shrugged, just as baffled as she was.

"Perhaps Rava has been captured from his camp, or even killed?" she asked.

A Chymer soldier scoffed. "He sits safely in Chymer Keep."

Ursa stared at the soldier. "Then who leads his army?"

The man did not answer.

"Come," she called her companion, Indusi, a young woman her age she'd trained with if they could even call their preparation of a few days' training. "Let us find my father, or uncle, and see what is happening." Ursa pulled Indusi closer, murmuring, "It could also be a trap. Do not lower your weapon and stay close."

By the time Ursa found her father, her uncle too had joined him, as well as Amer. She could see Vanylla's chariot being pulled up the hill towards the rest of her family. She wondered where Attin was. Besides her father, uncle, Amer and Lord Grisdon, stood another important-looking man in Chymer colour. He looked much older than others. The air around him felt charged, as if the man had momentous secrets to spill.

"What is going on, Papa? Why have they surrendered?" Ursa eyed the Chymer man.

"We received a message from my herald, at the Chymer Keep." The man acknowledged her presence with a nod. "King Rava prepares to marry this afternoon in a bonding ceremony." He glanced at the afternoon sun in the sky as if it was a moot point. "As we speak, I suppose."

"He's marrying at a time like this? Instead of being here with his soldiers, who are laying down their lives for him?" She stared at the man, baffled.

"He is marrying your mother, Ursa," Papa stated quietly, barely glancing her way. She was sure she spied moisture in his eyes.

"He what?"

"He's marrying mama." Amer shook his head. "I don't understand why..."

"And how do you know this?" She tried not to dwell on the disturbing news. It could be a lie, Rava's strategy to divide and conquer. Divide their minds and their loyalties, and hope that the disturbance will give them a win. It's what she'd do if she had the means.

The man said, "I received a message just now, revealing that the Queen has agreed to renounce her ties with you, and as we stand here, you fighting for her freedom, and us fighting for... King Rava—"

Ursa did not miss the hesitation in his words. How could she? She was tuned into these things since the beginning of the war, little deflections in voices, brief hesitations in body language. A shift in someone's gaze, or a wayward word. This lord did not like the man he served.

"—he and his bride, prepare to exchange vows. Thus, I do not see the benefit in more mon dying. Our instruction was to keep you distracted long enough for Lady Rita to accept his proposal, but he demanded no more beyond that." The man dipped his head at her Papa and Amer. "I apologise for deceiving you, my lords, but as an army bound to the Chymer throne, we could not disobey our liege's command. However, we will not wage a war with our kin beyond this. We shall return to Chymer Keep posthaste."

"You did what you had to, Lord Millen. I thank you for your honesty and your kindness now." Her father turned away from the huddle and she spied him swiping at the corner of his eye.

"If it is at all a consolation, my lord, I would have laid down my life for you if I could." Lord Millen bowed once more and headed off down the hill, his soldiers falling behind him as he did.

"How can Mama do this?" Amer asked. "How can she renounce us for him?"

Ursa observed her father, at his hunched shoulders and his hung head.

"Perhaps your mother has a reason to renounce me." He turned then, unable to meet their eyes. "I never told you, but I was weak once, on Earth. I broke—I broke my oath. I can't excuse myself, nor can I find the reason I broke her heart... but she has every right to leave me. She deserved better."

"You're right, Ovek. My sister deserved better, and she still does. You claim to love her, yet you're ready to let that monster have her. That she doesn't deserve." Uncle Rea sheathed his weapon and squared off with their father. "She deserves you to fight for her, for once! If you truly loved her, you would march into Chymer Keep and lay down your life for her."

"But she accepted his proposal, Rea. It is what she wants, or why accept it at all?"

"If you think she is doing this voluntarily, you've never understood her." Uncle Rea scoffed. "And if you think, because of your weakness, that you cannot explain away, Rita deserves a loyal husband – a husband like Rava? – then you are not the man I once knew. My sister would die a thousand deaths before she'd give up her family. She lives to keep them safe."

"Uncle is right, Papa," Ursa said suddenly, not knowing where she was going with this, but something inside told her to listen to Rea; call it instinct or a child's desperation, it did not matter. "All those days we waited for you three to join us at Castlegrave. Mama didn't even sleep, forever worrying and pining for your return. She would have stayed there and waited forever if we didn't have to keep the children safe. I don't think mama volunteered for this, papa. Did your Lady Euphim not send us a word that he keeps mama shackled like an animal, torturing her day in and day out? Perhaps he broke her will?"

"There is no way Rita would renounce you all and marry that man," Uncle Rea said again. "This is not her choice, to tie herself to him with an oath. My sister is in trouble, dear friend, and needs our help." He took their father by his shoulders and shook him as if to wake him. "You must fight for her. She deserves more, yes. I know you want her forgiveness, but right now, rather than your remorse, she deserves your drive, your love to come to her rescue."

"Children, please. Explain to your father!" Uncle turned to Ursa and Amer. "Your mother would renounce you no sooner than I could renounce my children. He's forced her hand, somehow. Whether or not your mama forgives him, your Papa must save her."

"Uncle is right, Papa," Amer finally said. "You and us, we need to fight for her, for her freedom. Lives did not perish for us to give up now. It is no longer about mama. We are not just rescuing her for our sake. We must rescue her if we are to rescue all of Chymer and Cerulean lands from what he could do with a commander such as her tied to his whim and will."

A chill coursed through Ursa's veins, for she had not even realised what someone like Rava could do with a beloved commander at his side. Unfettered power. "With Mama bound to him, he knows we will never go against him," she mumbled, for she knew that was the truth. That was the reason they had fought this war. For them, they'd fought with their hearts. Rava? He'd fought with the mind of a shrew tyrant who knew he was losing and had found another way to hold on to that power.

Without waiting for her father to decide, Ursa turned to the battlefield, to face soldiers dropping to their knees in exhaustion and relief, soldiers being carried away for aid, to even soldiers of Chymer gathering theirs and leaving.

"Wait!" she called, her voice booming.

All the mon stopped, to her surprise. Granny's spell must be working. She could feel the change in the air, the freedom her weave had to move, finally. "Wait!"

The men and women turned. All eyes on her, all listening, even Lord Millen.

"My mother, Lady Rita, was once your Queen. Beloved, if I am not mistaken. So let me ask you for your honesty. What does Rava want with her? Does he truly love her, and she, he?"

Another lord in Chymer clothes, closer than Lord Millen, replied, "He loves no one more than himself, my lady. He may love your mother, but she? I doubt — for he's kept her weak, and plied with many tortures."

"What does he want with her?" It surprised Ursa when her father stepped forth and asked.

"A strong queen? A strong commander, bound to him and no one else. And I dare say, heir, truly strong heir, such as yours, my lord. He once mumbled thusly to my daughter he bedded, and he was too drunk to watch his tongue."

"You once loved your queen—" Papa was saying.

"We still do." Lord Millen came forth to join them again.

"What will you do to ensure Chymer's safety? Chymer, not the throne," Ursa asked. "Speak honestly."

Lord Millen narrowed his eyes. "You are a commander, it's true, yet you allow us to speak freely. Why?"

"My mother told me once, to command true loyalty, one must do it with the heart. It is better won than by words. For they last longer."

"Aye." Lord Millen nodded. "Then, to answer your question, my lady. We will do anything to keep Chymer safe."

"Even from the one who sits on its throne — if needed?"

"It is tricky. Our oath-bound sword hands will not listen to our wishes, no matter how much we try." He bowed his head. "But, there are ways around it, my lady"—he smiled, meeting her gaze—"you could command us, with your heart or your words." He yanked the charm from his neck and threw it to the ground. "For Chymer."

Behind him, all Chymer soldiers did the same before going down on their knees. "For Chymer!"

Their trinkets met the ground.

"For Chymer!"