Elsewhere in the world, other countries would be buried in snow. Or perhaps not. Was it spring now? Maleiku didn’t bother to keep track of that kind of stuff; in Ishara the weather was never anything less than balmy. Barring magical interference of course.

  No, Maleiku had more important issues to consider.

  Everything was in flux. New ideas and new inventions. New foods and farming innovations. New dungeons being discovered - some of which were very strange. New literature and philosophies. So much new, and he wasn’t sure Ishara would exist long to experience any of it.

  Rushing through verdant corridors, tree branches entwining overhead and filtering dappled green light, he shuffled the latest reports and hurried between the legs of a highstrider as it grazed on the topmost leaves with its long purple tongue.

  They weren’t good.

  The soft thud of his leather sandals began to echo as he moved into the older stone chambers until the growing hubbub ahead drowned out the sound of his passage all together.

  He dodged round one of the royal bull lions, tsking at it when it batted at his robe.

  Then he entered the throneroom and flinched as a hurled glass chalice shattered on a pillar beside his head.

  I wasn’t personal; he knew the risks when he entered the danger zone…which these days was anywhere within sight of his liege.

  Nayira was wild-eyed again, the cobra in her lap swaying, as agitated as she was. She really hadn’t been aiming at him; she hadn’t even looked. Lack of sleep and a surplus of stress were not a good combination. He winced as she shrieked, silencing the rest of the room.

  “Empty the vaults of every last coin and artifact. Hire any [Adventurers] that can be found. Lower the recruiting age to fourteen. Abolish the [Tamer]’s restrictions.”

  A hundred advisors looked on. At any other time they’d be judging the lapse of decorum, but right now they all felt the same bone-numbing terror rooting them to the spot.

  No. Not the same. None of them had the connection to Ishara that she had. She had to be feeling all of this in a physical way.

  “Your majesty, we’ve exhausted local options, and the monetary and political cost of-”

  “I don’t care what it costs, Bantalu. I don’t care what bridges we burn or if we’re left naked in the ashes at the end of it. I don’t care if we make deals with [Enchanters] and [Illusionists] or if we have to wake the last nymphs and dryads; if we don’t do something there won’t be enough of us left to care by the end of the month. There must be someone out there who can help.”

  “Your majesty, please don-”

  “Go! All of you! [Get Me a Name]!”

  And there it was. One of the last Skills the nation had been hoping would save them in their hour of need. Wasted - without consultation on the wording beforehand or checking to see if there were possible traitors in their midst.

  This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

  It didn’t sound like much at first. Indeed, when [Princess] - now [Queen] - Nayira had initially received the Skill she’d tried it out: ‘There will be something I need that I don’t know of yet; [Get Me a Name]’.

  She’d thought herself rather clever at that, then someone nearby had spoken up with the name of an [Alchemist] known for antidiarrheals. That had caused no end of amusement to her advisers, and no end of embarrassment to the [Princess]. Especially when she’d realised she wouldn’t be able to use it for another month.

  Still, she’d been grateful when a case of food poisoning had hit her that very evening and a thoughtful servant had already made the trip - discreetly - to buy the tonic.

  But a month? For that?

  Of course, it didn’t take long for the [Advisers] to work out its potential.

  ‘Is someone planning to try and assassinate one of the royal family of Ishara or one of its advisors? [Get Me a Name].’

  Or, even better,

  ‘An [Assassin] could end the life of someone vital to the defence or running of Ishara if I don’t act to stop it; I need a [Bodyguard] or other Class that’s affordable and loyal and discreet and up to the task of finding and killing killing the [Assassin] - [Get Me a Name].’

  Or, one that she’d used on many occasions since she’d taken the throne.

  ‘Someone I trust will betray me in a way that will be physically or economically or emotionally damning for myself and Ishara and I want to know who it is - [Get Me a Name].’

  Did you see? You had to be specific. And it wasn’t foolproof either; sometimes there was no one looking to assassinate you, or a lover’s betrayal would only hurt you emotionally. Hells, it was why they were in this mess in the first place; she'd asked for someone who could ‘make Ishara wealthy’ and hadn’t thought where that wealth might come from.

  But it was also one of the Skills the [Queen] had that made even other nations pause - for she could use it on herself, or on behalf of others.

  A powerful lure and deterrent in one.

  Which was probably why so few had rallied to her cause. For all they might petition to use her services and play at friendly politics, they were all secretly afraid of that one little Skill. Well, and a couple of others, but that one in particular.

  And now she’d used it - for everyone in the room to hear. And they might all be dead before she could use it again, because the request was too broad - too open ended. Anyone could help. One more level 5 [Fighter] could theoretically help, and when the Skill didn’t have a good option to call on they’d learned to their cost that it threw up something random, or nothing at all.

  Maleiku sighed. They could have blackmailed Talvera into helping them, or found out which [General] would turn the tide of the war against them, or hired their own [Assassin], or traded its use for a battalion of [Soldiers]. Now…

  Now someone spoke up.

  It was [Minister] Ayandrel. What was he even doing here? He was a nobody. A travelling scholar-mage of some sort who’d been given an honourary position for a lesson the then-princess had found endearing.

  “Orion.”

  And that was it. Some random name no one had ever heard of.

  Until Kaleya, the [Secretary of Foreign Intelligence] (though few besides himself and the [Queen] knew it) called out a few seconds after.

  “Orion.”

  Maleiku held his breath as he hurried over to the spymistress, and then a third voice called out and he let it go in an explosive cry of relief.

  “Orion.”

  He didn’t even see who’d called it the final time, but three instances was the benchmark they used for something that could actually work. That actually mattered.

  He shouldered through a pair of oryx and clusters of his colleagues until he stood panting in front of Kaleya. None of them minded, they were all letting out shouts of joy themselves. All that mattered now was getting to this Orion before their enemies learned of them and took measures to stop them.

  “Miss Suvani, Who is it? Someone in the Braxilion Academy? Some [Tactician] I’ve not met yet? A high-level [Mage] that’s been keeping their head down?”

  The woman stared at him with blank eyes. No, not blank. They were flickering in place as though she was reviewing invisible files. He waited impatiently until she stopped. Every second counted.

  Her mouth opened.

  “I…I have no idea.”

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