Storm and Steel by Jon Sprunk

group of men helped him stand beside the pit, Horace noticed their iron collars. He felt a twinge of sadness as he thanked them. The men, all of them covered in grime and sweat, bowed low before him, and that only made him feel worse. They deserved to be freed for their heroic service. He looked toward the queen, sitting on a low end table nearby, the slave woman kneeling beside her. “Excellence, I—”
    The words died in his throat as he gazed upon the devastation. Half the villa had collapsed, including the entire northern face. Huge piles of rubble, with jagged timbers jutting from the brick and stonework, spilled into the surrounding gardens. Much of the wreckage was scorched, some of it melted into black slag. A haze of dust hung above the grounds, catching in the early morning light. A handful of soldiers stood around the periphery, wide-eyed, with bared weapons in their hands. Yet there was no sign of the enemy who had caused this destruction.
    â€œFirst Sword.”
    Horace looked over to Byleth, who was now standing as a squad of guardsmen approached, carrying a dust-shrouded body. It was Captain Dyvim. His open eyes stared up at the night sky as he was brought forward.
    â€œAnd we found this, Majesty,” one of the guards said.
    He held up what appeared to be a long strip of black cloth. It was a piece from the skin-tight leather armor the two assassins in the corridor had been wearing. In the bright light, Horace could see the mottled scales, like the skin of a black snake.
    â€œScavian,” Lord Xantu said in a disgusted tone.
    â€œYes,” the queen said. “No doubt hired with Sun Cult gold.”
    She dismissed the soldiers with a flick of her fingers. “First Sword, my guard requires a new leader.” She pointed to the lieutenant. “He will do for the time being.”
    Horace bowed his head as the queen stalked away, with Lord Xantu and the new captain of her guard in tow. Then he went over to Alyra, who stood off by herself, surveying the damage. “Hey,” he said, not sure what else to say to her.
    â€œIt's horrible. It's just…beyond words.”
    â€œI know. I can't believe we survived. But don't worry. We'll find the people responsible for this.”
    Her eyes were moist as she turned toward him. “Find them? You're responsible, Horace. You and the queen, both.”
    Shocked, Horace glanced over at Byleth, but the queen was talking to Lord Xantu. No one was paying attention to Alyra and him. “Are you insane?” he hissed. “You saw what happened. We were attacked in the middle of the night. How is that my fault?”
    â€œYou push people, Horace. You started causing trouble the moment you stepped foot in this country, and you haven't once stopped long enough to consider how you're affecting the people around you.”
    â€œI don't think that's fair.” He tried to offer some proof that she was wrong, but all his excuses fell apart before they reached his lips. Was this his doing? He'd certainly managed to rack up a hefty list of enemies in his short time here, but he didn't believe that was entirely his fault. Some people, especially the zoanii in the queen's court and the priests of the Sun Cult, had decided to hate him from the start.
    He was about to ask if he could find her something to drink, but she walked away, picking her way through the rubble. He longed to call her back, to say something crucial that could convince her of his good intentions, but there was nothing he could do. The gulf between them had grown too wide to cross with just a few words. And growing wider every day.
    Byleth was giving orders as servants scurried about, trying to save what they could from the wreckage. Horace found a burnt cushion and sat down. He felt like if he closed his eyes, he could sleep for a hundred years.
    Then Mezim was beside him, helping him up. “Come along. We'll have that injury looked at and then find something