It was strange to be in my cups in the field.

  I hadn’t expected the drink to flow while we were still in the Wilds. But once our force had returned to base, it had seemed like a foregone conclusion. The garrison that had remained in the base while we battled for the Orb had erupted in cheers when the victory was communicated to them.

  Tara and Alya had led the way back to the five tents that served as the homes of Griidlords while far from the Tower. It was Alya who had started it. Her careful reservation and sensible regard had faded not at all as she produced brandy in her tent. She had poured for both of us without even asking if we cared to partake. Tara had taken the glass and drank deeply without question.

  I had accepted the glass but stood holding it, looking to Alya. “But… Is it wise to… what if we need to defend the camp?”

  Tara slapped my shoulder with the back of one of her clawed hands. “Oh, shut up and drink!”

  I still waited for Alya’s response. She looked at me, a vaguely pitiful smile on her lips. “Drink, Tiberius. We won a great battle today. When you’ve lived decades in the suit, you’ll learn to mark these days as best you can. They’re far enough between to be worth enjoying.”

  Still, I said, “but what if we’re attacked?”

  Alya said, “Who would attack us this night, Tiberius? To whose advantage would it be to burn the lives of their own soldiers trying to take this worthless hilltop? Relax and drink. Be merry with us. It’s our first win. And it’s you we have to thank for it.”

  I looked between the two of them and felt silly for having hesitated. A pressure settled on me not to spoil the mood any further than I already had. I tipped the glass against my lips and let the liquor pour down. It was hot and bracing like whiskey, but not so shuddering, sweeter and more fragrant.

  Beyond the tent, the sounds of celebration began to rise. The men were being rewarded with extra rations of ale. The strings of a guitar began to vibrate under the playful plucks of a happy hand. The hollow reedy notes of a flute began to weave between the notes of the guitar. A single voice started to sing—a good voice, deep and on key. Soon more voices, less skilled, joined the first. Alya poured our glasses full again, and we drank in silence while listening to the music of soldiers.

  As the first song ended, a voice barked, “To the Blood Butcher!”

  Another voice cried, “Fuck that! Way our young lord is going, he’ll be the Blood Prince!”

  There was a round of laughter. Regal titles like that were traditionally applied to Griidlords who had proven themselves with long careers, lists of victories, established empires. But for all of that, the first voice responded, “Fucking right you are! To the Blood Prince!”

  There was a booming chorus as hundreds of voices answered, “To the Blood Prince!”

  I looked sheepishly at Alya and Tara at this. I raised my glass to my lips and drank long to fill the awkward moment.

  Alya only smiled at me knowingly. “They might be right one day. Your job for now is to not let such talk go to your head. If today is any measure, then you may well do great things. You might really be the Blood Prince one day. But don’t let others use that aspiration to force your hand. A Griidlord is part of a team, yes, but with powers such as we wield, we each need to be an island, an army of one. Dark are the deeds a single Griidlord can do when tempted by the seductions of fame and power.”

  Tara said, “Alya! Stop it! We won today! Have another drink and just be merry!”

  Alya smiled shyly. Her decades of age and experience dissolved, and she did as her younger friend had told her. She drank deeply and poured again. Soon all three of us were floating on the warm tides of the drink, mellowed and easily forgetting the terrible pressures that would await on the morrow.

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  The soldiers sang and drank beyond the fabric barrier that stood between us. The sounds of their merrymaking fortified me. I felt good to have brought them this win, to have inspired such happiness. Every now and again, a fresh cry of “Blood Prince” would rise, each time a little more slurred and a little more ragged.

  We three sat in the tent, drinking. The women shared jokes and told tales, and soon I found myself easily joining in.

  Alya spoke fondly of her family. She spoke of her great-grandnieces and grandnephews, now the lords and ladies that ruled lands of the Vaelstroms. It was strange to think of how old she really was. She seemed a perfect beauty, a woman in her prime, but she had outlasted everyone she had grown up with, and another generation thereafter.

  As the night wore on, politics cast a brief shadow over the merriness.

  Alya was red-cheeked and relaxed. She spoke more easily and with less consideration than was her usual way. “Tara, such talk does no one any good. We have a system that has kept the city together and functioning for hundreds of years.”

  She was responding to a comment Tara had made, an off-the-cuff remark that had grown legs. Tara had started by taking a stab at the nobles who were probably even now gathered in their own tent, sharing their own drink, congratulating themselves on the battle they had won.

  I had made things worse without realizing it. Dulled and floating on the tides of the alcohol, I had simply mused, “I’d love to be out there, with the men, singing by the fire. We all won the day together. It feels strange to be separate now.”

  Tara had answered with a bitter quickness, “You might want to be out there, but don’t think for a second that that cunt Ironveil, or any of the rest of them, feel the same.”

  Alya said, “Tara!”

  Tara said, “What? It’s the truth! They think they’re a different species. They think they’re better than the common people that support them.”

  Alya said, “You’re a noble as well! So am I!”

  Tara said, “Yes! But do you think the Oracle set your blood aside from the others? Do you think your life is any more precious than theirs?”

  Alya had flushed. I said, “I didn’t mean…”

  Tara turned on me. The words that flowed out were lubricated by drink and devoid of any self-analysis. It was like a spigot to her inner thoughts had been opened, and her inner musings were flowing out for all to see. “Why do we do it, Ti? Why are we in here really, and the soldiers outside? Oh, they’ll tell you it’s because the officers need to be kept apart, the ruling class can’t mix with the grunts. We can’t be out there, we need to separate so we can send them to die. It wouldn’t do if we grew comfortable with the cannon fodder and hesitated to send them into danger. We need to be aloof, we need to be unattached to them or their lives or their peasant concerns. Fucking bullshit!”

  I had been startled. The intensity with which she spoke caught me off guard. I could see she even surprised herself. She seemed to realize what she had said. But, in the way only possible to those intoxicated, having realized she had said too much, she chose to double down.

  “When the Tower rose there were only so many families present. They wrote the constitution of the city and gave it to the Oracle. They set out to preserve their own rights as much as possible and used that moment to set their right to wealth and rule in stone. But by what virtue was that? The coincidence of being present at the moment the Tower rose? It makes no sense. Think about it, the only reason we observe some families as noble and others as commoner is because the great-great-great, however many greats, grandads of some people just so happened to be here when the Tower came out of the ground. They grabbed the land, grabbed the titles, grabbed the fucking power, and that’s why things are the way they are. We’ve been suffering ever since. Look at you! Your family’s name isn’t listed in the original constitution, but because of you we just won the greatest battle in years!”

  This was the moment that provoked Alya into gasping, “Tara, such talk does no one any good. We have a system that has kept the city together and functioning for hundreds of years.”

  Tara turned on her, “Functioning? Barely.”

  Alya said, “There are cities worse off. Look at Buffalo.”

  Tara sneered, “The Green Men will sort them out soon enough.”

  Alya shot, “Careful, you’re starting to sound like a Green Man yourself.”

  Tara recoiled, seeming disgusted at first. I only sat, awkward and confused, trying to understand when the mood had evaporated from us. But suddenly Tara was laughing, and a moment later Alya joined her, child-like giggles bubbling out of her in overlapping waves, denying the elder that lived inside her young flesh.

  And then I was laughing too. I didn’t know what had started them. I didn’t know what was so funny. But I was relieved that the tension had broken. And I was a little drunk myself.

  There was no more talk of Green Men or politics.

  Dawn was paling the darkness of the horizon before I made my way back to my own tent.