Because food in the Holy City had become scarce, Matei had called upon networks of supporters in the country to send aid to the hungry citizens. Supplies were slow to come, and it had become increasingly troublesome for those tasked with parsing out the food to do so safely, for the hungry people were given to unrest.

Mhera rode out one dreary morning after a breakfast of nothing but tea shared with Gella and Rhea. She had accompanied Captain Alban to meet a caravan, eager to do something other than sit in a padded chair and think. When they arrived, she was disheartened to see only three wagons at the gate, their beds covered in canvas.

The captain helped Mhera down from her horse. "Your Grace, you should keep your distance," he said.

But Mhera had no intention of waiting. She looked up at the city gates and then surveyed the carts that had arrived. "You're sending two to other parts of the city?"

"Yes, Your Grace."

"Good; I can help with the last one." 

Captain Alban stepped behind her, surveying the crowd of jostling citizens with his spear grasped tightly in his right hand. "It isn't safe; I do wish Your Grace would stay mounted and at a distance."

With a frown, Mhera picked up a basket of potatoes and skirted Alban. "Am I to live my life in fear of hungry children and worried mothers? Set aside your spear and help me, Captain; I cannot carry it all."

Mhera followed the trio of soldiers who had taken their own loads of food from the cart and approached the crowd that waited some distance away, kept at bay by more soldiers with their spears. As she scanned the faces, almost all of them marked, she saw fear and desperation. She set down her basket and picked up a few potatoes, holding them aloft. "Sir, please let them through."

One of the soldier nodded. "Your Grace." He turned to the citizens and called, "Orderly, now."

"There is a share for everyone," Mhera said. But her basket was soon empty, and then the next, and she began to realize how quickly the food would go. Near at hand, Captain Alban applied himself to rationing apples, and other soldiers scooped portions of grain into any vessel the citizens had ready—a basket, a sack, an apron.

"Thank you, Your Grace."

"Thank you, Your Grace!"

"Bless you."

Mhera smiled at each person, but her gladness was short lived. The cart had seemed full to bursting, but it was emptied within the hour, and still the people came. She ignored the angry twinge of her own empty stomach; they would keep nothing back. "Share what you can," she urged the last few people she could serve.

"What will we do?" demanded an anxious man. The dark circles beneath his eyes suggested sleepless nights; he held twin girls by the hands. "We're starving!"

"We are making every effort to restore order and replenish the city's supplies," Mhera said. "I promise you, we are doing all we can."

"While you sit up there in your palace and watch!" The man bent and scooped one of the girls up into his arms.

"As you see, Her Grace has come down to be with the people," said Captain Alban crisply. "Hold your tongue, citizen."

"No," Mhera admonished him gently. "No, Captain, he's right, and if there is one thing I shall not do when I wear the crown, it will be to silence the voice of a citizen in need. Sir," and here she addressed the father, "we are all of us hungry and frightened. I can assure you, we have as little as you up at the palace. Emperor Matei ordered the pantries turned out and shared among the people. And winter is coming. We are in dire straits—but you are not alone. We will not abandon you."

The man shook his head. "We should have fled to Tyrria when we had the chance." The girl still standing at his side began to weep, asking where her apple was, and he pulled her close to his side and said, "It's all right, Fiasin. We must just wait our turn."

"Here." Captain Alban produced half a loaf from somewhere and gave it to the girl. "Go under the gaze of the Goddess, man."

Mhera watched the father walk away with his daughters; the rest of the assembled citizens who had not been lucky enough to receive rations milled about, some of them weeping. But the man had given Mhera an idea. "Captain, will you ride with me back to the palace?"

"As you please, Your Grace." The captain smoothed his white whiskers and accompanied Mhera back to where their horses stood, tended by soldiers. He knelt and offered her his linked hands to help her up onto her horse.

Mhera was still a nervous rider; she had seldom had reason or opportunity to ride a horse. The stablemaster, Callin, had found her a docile, sweet-natured white mare who made the task of learning easy. Nevertheless, Mhera took a few minutes in silence until she felt at ease with the rhythm of the horse under her.

Captain Alban was much more experienced; he goaded his bay gelding into an easy walk and rode two paces behind Mhera, seemingly waiting for her to break the silence.

She did, after several minutes, with a question: "Captain, do you know much about affairs of state?" Turning her head to look at him, she caught the tail end of a perplexed expression on his face before he schooled his features into respectful reflection.

"Ah, forgive me, Your Grace, but that is a broad question. As they touch upon matters of security in the Holy City, yes, but beyond that, may I trouble you to be more specific?"

Mhera bit back the apology that came automatically to her lips. She was ignorant in many matters, but she had to do her best not to draw attention to it by saying I'm sorry at every turn. The captain and all of her other retainers and advisors must take her as she was—still learning. "The man back there, the one with the little girls...he said he should have gone to Tyrria when he had the chance. It made me wonder how our relations are with other nations."

"Ah. I am afraid I know little of such matters, Your Grace. Ambassador Joris..." The captain trailed off, a frown twitching at his lips.

"Of course," Mhera said. Her voice sounded hollow to her own ears. "My father. He would know."

"It is my understanding—limited though it may be—that my lord was entrusted with oversight of our relations with other nations."

Mhera had not heard any news of her father or her mother. Whether they knew she lived or suspected she was dead, she did not know. Whether they desired to return to the Holy City or intended to remain away, she did not know. Most confusing to her was the fact that she was not sure how she felt about it. "He alone was entrusted with all this knowledge?"

"Likely not, Your Grace, but I cannot say. If I may...what is on Your Grace's mind?"

She hesitated; her confidence was unequal to the task of proposing an idea when she did not have all the facts, but when she thought of all the trials facing her, she knew she had no time to keep her ideas to herself until she was certain. "Do you not think, Captain, that in a time such as this—when we are so challenged for food, medicines, and other necessary goods—that we might rely upon the friendship of other nations? If we have good relations with Tyrria and Myori, perhaps we might call upon them for aid."

"If I may be so bold as to offer Your Grace some advice?"

Mhera laughed. "My dear captain, I would not ask you such a question were I not receptive to your advice."

Alban smiled at her; for the first time, Mhera detected genuine warmth, almost fatherly, in his look. "Discuss the matter with Prince Kaori. I am confident His Highness knows enough of these matters to offer insight into what may be possible. Should you have need of messengers, I await Your Grace's pleasure."

I hope your week is going swimmingly, my friends! Thank you for reading along!

Here, we get a glimpse of how things are out there in the Holy City, and it's not great. Fingers crossed that Mhera and Matei can bring their people some stability and comfort soon...