2407 Rab 6, Jyda

The meeting was being pointlessly long. Sera resisted the urge to roll his eyes or rest his chin on his palm. If not for Adviser Yerhon shooting down each and every suggestion the other Advisers made in fixing the transport systems through the desert, they would've been finished two hours ago.

As it was, Sera glared balefully at the afternoon sun coasting through the sky. Just doing its own business, just as he should be. Then again, his business was here, involving sitting on cushioned chairs for hours on end, keeping his spine rigidly straight for the same amount of time, and making sure none of his discomfort or any oppositional forces swirling in his gut make it out to his expression.

Calm. It's bound to be finished soon.

Currently, Adviser Khiral, a wiry man who wore his vest like it was the only clothing he owned, was talking. "We could provide a state-sanctioned ferry system to get tourists and other types of travelers through the desert," he said, looking at his fellow advisers. Some nodded along while some flashed visible frowns. "We will get local drivers, give them their own carts and aksaba, and have them trek across the desert, either with a passenger from Calca or back, bearing travelers from other cities or territories."

"If we go with this plan, we will be expected to earn an approximate of a million versallis at the end of two months," Adviser Khiral continued. At the mention of money, a couple of other Advisers perked up, suddenly interested. From underneath the table, Sera clenched his fists. "Compound that with the rest of the months of the year," Adviser flashed the Potentate a knowing look. "We would be gaining back our initial investment and earning more."

The Fire Potentate, who leaned against one of his armrests, ran a hand under his well-trimmed beard. "How about the operational costs?" he asked. A seemingly innocent and concerned question but Sera knew what his father was really looking for.

Adviser Khiral seemed to know as well since his grin turned wicked. "I say we will invest in carts made up of polished tirch wood and on year-old dagrinis," he said. "We will give them to the drivers. If repairs are to be made, we will have the drivers shoulder them. We will take seventy percent of their earnings and they will get the rest."

Sera could already see so many blotches in that plan. First, tirch wood, no matter how cheap, would not hold well against the heat of the desert and the harsh bumps of the roads the carts would be traveling on. Tirch wood was one of the weakest lumber circulating the market. It wouldn't gain that reputation if it wasn't tried and tested. Besides, the white sheen from the wood would give it away.

One adviser did ask about the whiteness, to which Adviser Khiral said, "Of course, we will paint over it. Make it look like some other type of wood," he said. "Weristen paint doesn't cost as much as commissioning rimmon or the bigger trees from Carleon. We'll make it work."

Layer upon layer of deception. The carts would break easily having cost so little and the driver would have to get it fixed more than necessary, all the while shouldering it. The palace would take most of their earnings and they would spend what little they have left in making sure they'd be able to earn tomorrow's wage. What kind of life would that give to their subjects?

Disgust roiled at the base of Sera's gut. These people didn't care about the drivers they're looking to hire. They were just concerned about the crates of versallis they'd be earning at the end of the day. Hell, if Sera had ever been to the inventory for longer, he was sure he'd find out some of that money would be ending up in these Advisers' individual and personal pockets.

And his father was letting it happen without batting an eye. Encouraging it, even.

Sera clenched his jaw. Adviser Khiral, knowing he had had the Potentate's attention, kept on rambling about how to best profit from the system they were creating. His wrists and palms hurt from clenching his fists too hard.

Adviser Khiral had cleared his throat during their discussion of how many initial carts they were supposed to commission as a test run. "Of course, we need to procure the initial report of travel demands—"

"I'll do it," Sera shot up from his seat, the legs grating against the stone floor in a loud noise. "We need it now, right?"

Adviser Khiral blinked. Heads whipped to him and even the Potentate raised his eyes at Sera. He, himself, was breathing hard. What in Umazure was he thinking to have done this? Well, whatever. He's here now. Might as well see it through.

"I'll get it," Sera repeated. "That way, we can move forward with other matters faster. It's in the inventory, right? I'll request it."

Before the Adviser could spout out a reply, Sera turned on his heels and walked out of the room, keeping the bounce in his strides. That way, they would think he was excited about this project to flourish. Or, if luck was against him all this time, they would think he was just eager to leave the room.

Which, in all honesty, he was.

All the political talk of increasing the territory's profit while burying the rest of their people in hardship didn't sit well with him. He needed air. He needed to clear his head. The corridors leading out of the court hall bled in the boring shades of sienna and dark orange. He tore through the hallway in hurried steps, aiming for the inventory. He contemplated staying there and peeking at more records but decided against it. It looked like he had enough to write about this evening.

This time, he'd make sure to incinerate every parchment before the wind could strike.

A bout of hushed talking reached his ears. He knitted his eyebrows. The servants were rarely this spirited, especially when they're on this floor. What's got them stirring? He stalked closer to the wall and strained his ears.

"...seen it this morning," one of the maids said. "I don't know if it's still there."

Sera knitted his eyebrows. What was?

"Come, let's see it," the other maid said. Two sets of steps peeled away from Sera. He bit his lip, mulling at about what he heard. Soon, his curiosity won over him and he peeled away from the wall and tackled the same direction the maids disappeared to. Thank the gods and they clacked about like aksaba indoors. Sera caught wind of them going to the servants' quarters after one of the maids met another on an opposite way. They exchanged pleasantries and the hushed topic crept up once more.

Servants' quarters, huh?

Sera turned the first corridor he came across, using it to throw anyone who might have been watching him. He wasn't following those maids, in case they noticed him. He was just going his own way to do his own business.

That's right. He's going to the servants' quarters.

A couple of corridors and a set of steps later, Sera came across the familiar arched entrance leading to the vast wing where the servants would go for their meals, rest shifts, and for their preparation to go home or to go to work when they come in. Benches hewn from hardened clay peppered the huge space. Shelves with silver plaques nailed into each niche lined the walls. The window nearest him showed him the fortress' walls. Well, that just defeated the purpose of windows. Who even designed this building?

The other window looked east, letting him watch more rows of rhenne trees waving at him with every breeze flowing through their fronds. Just seeing their movements reminded Sera of the unfortunate thing that still itched at the back of his mind since it happened.

He sighed. Now, where was the damned thing the servants were talking about?

Without much aim, he wandered inside the space, noting two or three more doorways leading to dark corridors beyond. Would these lead to the main wings of the Palace? Perhaps it'd be best for him to study these hallways too.

The sounds of scuffling and chatter signaled some sort of mayhem at the first doorway to Sera's left. He squinted at it and he caught a flash of orange. Something's burning there. Keeping his footsteps silent, he padded towards the opening and ducked into the dim space beyond. The mutterings and harsh whispers rose to a crescendo. His own heartbeat joined the chorus.

Another narrow doorway crept into view, a geometrical stream of light illuminating a spot in the corridor outside it. Sera clenched his jaw and strode towards it. There was no one with him in the hallway so being seen was the least of his worries. Slowly, he sidled close to the wall and edged closer to the edge of the doorway. Ever so carefully, he peeked.

Crimson and burgundy bodies clamored to get a spot in viewing something pinned to the rocky wall. Standing on the lone table in the middle of the room was a glass lantern. The smell of burning oil had never been this strong. Sera wrinkled his nose and continued his investigation. What in Nira's name were they dying to look at?

Sera got his luck when one burly man pushed a thinner man out of the way. "Ya've been lookin' at that long enough," the large man rasped. The thick accent of the northern dialect bled from his words. "My turn."

A chorus of complaints erupted from the people around him. Sera could understand their frustration. Their break times weren't that long and with the burly man reading, he'd block the view of others. But...their view to what?

A maid lurched and swiped at the large man's face. He dodged in time just for Sera to get a glimpse of a sheet of parchment strapped against the wall. It was creased and crumpled on odd sides, streaks of dirt and wet sand clinging into its surface. It looked like the parchment had been through hell but still managed to crawl into his place.

Then, Sera squinted. Wait a second. Was that—

A ball of dread dropped its weight against his gut as he flattened himself against the wall before any of the servants noticed him peeking in. Gods of Calaris. It was.

He dared another glance inside as if it could change the outcome. As expected, it didn't. Now, all of the Palace's servants clobbered each other just to get a glimpse of the neat handwriting detailing the ails of the government and its territory.

His handwriting. And as if fate wasn't done toying with him, his thoughts.

The fire we held would only be snuffed out if we let it.

That's one of the lines he wrote in that. And now, at least a hundred servants had read it, understood it, and spread it around. Rudik's jaw. He's doomed, wasn't he?

Then, something caught his attention. He turned back to the room once more, watching the people who had read and were reading what he wrote in the parchment. Some of them who have finished stood at the side, watching others scrunch their noses as they read. Smiles and something familiar was plastered on their faces. Even the burly man, as he edged away from the parchment, had the same look.

It took Sera a few moments but he figured out what it was.

Hope.

Here were the people who have been silenced for all their lives. None of them had the courage to open their mouths in defiance to the Potentate and the injustices happening in their territory. Now, having read one gutsy sentiment, light danced in their eyes. Shoulders squared, smiles widened, and backs straightened. A new kind of energy sparked in the room, even though none of the servants knew it. Sera could see it well.

Somehow, through some cruel twist of fate, he had given these people a little bit of hope. And what joy did it bring to his veins. It was even better than the warmth and comfort his magic brought him whenever it answered his call.

It sure as hell was something he wanted to experience again.

"Okay, that's enough," a hand tore through the small crowd and reached for the parchment. A ripping sound echoed in stringent rings, followed by a few grumbled complaints. The crowd parted to reveal a man who held authority in his small shoulders and his smart, brown eyes. He shooed the servants with a wave of his hand. "This has gone far enough. Forget you ever read this nonsense. The Potentate would have the hide of whoever dared to write this."

Yes, that's a good approximation of Sera's fate.

Then, the authoritative man crumpled the parchment and slotted it into the fire sputtering inside the lamp. The oil inside the basin splashed as the parchment hit it in its descent. Sera watched it soak in the oil. Soon, the fire ate it until the pool of oil turned murky with its ashes.

Just before the servants file out, Sera beat them to it and picked his way back to where he came from. He cleared the servants' quarters. Taking more twists and turns, the corridors spat him back out into the main wing.

He looked behind him, searching for anyone who might have seen him spying on the servants. There was no one apart from a sprite mopping the stone floor with dirty water. He cleared his throat, dislodging a few particles of sand that might have made their way down towards it, and went on his way. The inventory and the travel demand report have waited for too long.

As he tackled the stairs leading to the second floor, his mind already whirred with the scene he witnessed earlier. The fire we held would only be snuffed out if we let it. What would keep the fire burning? Stoking it. Prodding it. Feeding it.

A small smile pulled at the corner of Sera's lips as he stepped into the landing leading to yet another set of corridors in the second floor. He knew how to keep the fire burning.

Just like that, a plan brewed in his mind. By the time he trudged back to the council hall bearing the requested report, the plan only needed to be implemented.