I decided to take Kari of Mindelan's advice and actually turn this into a multi-chaptered fic; I'm much too fascinated by this universe, and I'll end up with too many one-shots that will make my profile unwieldy. Most chapters will be told from the POV of minor or "sideline" characters, to offer a different perspective of events.

- A mother tells her daughter the tale of Tortall's downfall, almost a decade past. But it is more than a mere bedtime story: it is a prophecy, a memory, and a promise.

"...but the combined might of Tusaine and Scanra proved to be too much, even for Tortall's great army, and in the end, they lost. Little heart, are you sure you want to hear this one again? You're too young for such dark stories."

The young girl nodded her head vigorously, eyes big and enthralled. She absentmindedly stroked one of her long, black sleeping-braids. She was only nine, but her face already possessed the promise of sharp-honed beauty.

"Please, Mama," she begged. "This one's my favorite."

"But it's so sad. Wouldn't you rather hear about the Giantkiller or the Copper Isles Rebellion?"

"You tell those all the time. I know 'em all by now. I want to hear more about Tortall."

The woman picked at a thread in her tattered, patched dress. She was only nearing thirty, but there was already a shot of gray in her hair. Crow's feet stretched out from the corners of her eyes, and a puckered, jagged scar split through an eyebrow and across her cheek to her jawline, marring whatever good looks she might have had.

"Are you sure? I can tell another one..."

"Yes, Mama," the girl said patiently.

The woman sighed. "Warriors fell one by one—soldiers, knights, and all the loyal citizens who took a stand. Eventually, it fell to only the select few who still lived to protect Corus, the capital, and the ruling family of Conté."

"And they were the most beautiful people in the world."

"Oh, yes. The queen was called 'the Peerless' because her beauty was unmatched throughout the lands, and the king was a man every woman would be proud to call her own. All their children were beautiful and black-haired, but the handsomest of all was the oldest prince and heir. He married a Yamani princess who was certainly a beautiful lady in her own right."

"And they had a baby."

"A pretty infant girl. No one doubted she would be as beautiful as her foremothers."

"But she disappeared."

"Don't jump ahead, dear. The men of Tusaine and Scanra had marched on Corus, and their battering rams and catapults were making quick work of its strong walls. The remaining knights and guards prepared to take one last stand. But first, the prince and heir had a favor to beg of his trusted knights."

"Because he loved his daughter."

"He loved his daughter more than anything, perhaps even his country. He could not bear to think what would happen to his infant princess should he be unable to protect her. So he picked two knights, out of the mere hundred or so that were left, and said to them, 'As long as there is a Conté left to rule, Tortall will never be subjugated. I won't abandon my people, but you have to save my daughter—I know you don't want to leave, but I won't risk her life, and I know I can entrust you with her safety.'"

"He must have really trusted them, if he'd give his baby to them."

"One would like to think so. The two knights certainly trusted him and would obey whatever he wished. So while the invading army slept that night, the two knights said goodbye to their prince and loved ones and escaped through a secret passageway."

The girl sat up straighter as the woman paused to take a drink of water. The rain outside was a steady, unnoticeable drone, but water leaked through the cracks in the ceiling to drip in a ting-ting-ting pattern in the tin pans placed throughout the room. In the next room, a mother was shouting at her bawling children. The lower city of Tyra's capital was a harsh and ugly place, but both of them considered it a step up from their previous brief residence in one of Galla's coastal towns.

"What happened to everyone in Corus?"

"They didn't all die. The royal family was, sadly, executed. Their deaths wasn't just a brutal blow to Tortall, it turned others against Scanra and Tusaine. The Yamani Isles have not forgotten that one of their own was killed. Carthak's empress is a daughter of Conté; it was said her grief brought her country to its knees. Assassins from the Copper Isles have struck down several of the enemy's leaders. Whatever they gained, I think they lost more."

"Did all the knights die?"

"No. Once the royal family was executed, they lost much of their will. Tusaine is craftier than Scanra, and they were able to maneuver so that they hold much of Tortall's power. It's a Tusaine prince that holds the throne now, and many of his friends have been ennobled with Tortallan fiefs, but there are several houses that still stand. The aging duke of Queenscove is prized for his healing skills, and the same with his son. Naxen, Cavall, Hannalof, and Tasride still stand strong. Fenrigh and Kennan stand only because they swore fealty to Tusaine."

"What about the two knights' houses?"

"Their fiefs were searched and torched until there was nothing left but crumbling stone. Their families were hanged, stoned, or burned. Even the daughters married into other houses were found and murdered."

"Do the people follow Tusaine?"

"As little as they can get away with. Their monarchs were much beloved to them. They await the day their true princess returns to them."

"The prince wanted to give hope to his people," the girl said wisely. "It's why he wanted to save her, isn't it? He wanted his people to know that there is always hope."

The woman touched a long finger to her cheek. "Yes," she said gravely. "The prince knew that as long as his daughter, the last true Conté heir, was alive, his people would never give up."

"Do they still wait?"

"They will always wait."

"Do you think she will return?"

"Yes. One day, she will go back to claim her crown. She will not shame her father."

"Aren't you Tortallan, Mama?"

"Yes."

"Will you follow her?"

"I will follow her to the ends of the earth."

"Would Papa follow her?"

"The gods could not keep him from her side."

"When's Papa coming home?"

"Soon, little heart."

"Does Papa beg?"

The woman said sharply, "Of course not. Don't ever think he doesn't earn an honest living."

"But we're poor."

"Yes."

"Why don't we have a real house?"

"It's getting late. I think it's time for bed."

The girl looked dejected, her mouth drooping sullenly. But she crawled under the thin blankets obediently, her undyed woolen night dress tangled in her skinny legs. "I'm not tired," she protested, smothering a yawn. "Can't you finish the story?"

"I can't finish a story that doesn't have an end. The people wait for the princess, while the knights who have her keep her safe and hidden."

"Every story has an end."

"This one doesn't."

"Maybe I should write it."

"That's a good idea."

After that, the girl went quiet. The woman smoothed the covers over her and got up from her perch on the edge of the bed, drifting toward the window. She hugged herself against the draft. She hoped he would come home soon; Tyran nights were strange and dark and lonely, but they always seemed better when he was by her side.

"Mama?"

"It's time to sleep."

"What was the princess' name?"

The woman glanced at her, vaguely surprised. "Why do you ask?"

"Maybe I can help find her one day."

"She probably has a different name now, to keep her safe and hidden."

"What's her real name?"

"She was called Lianokami."

"That's like my name!"

"I suppose it sounds a bit like Iliano, yes. Now go to sleep."

"Yes, Mama."

It did not take much persuasion this time. The girl accepted her bedtime kiss and rolled over, burrowing deep under her insubstantial covers. One day, the woman vowed, she will have goose-down pillows and silk sheets.

It was late when he finally returned.

She heard his heavy footsteps on the rickety wooden steps as he climbed. The rain had not abetted; he was probably soaked and chilled to the bone. When he opened the creaking door as quietly as he could, she had a towel ready for him. He ignored it and kissed her softly, one hand cupping the scarred half of her face.

It's ugly, she had whispered once, when the trials of nomadic poverty seemed crueler than usual. You don't have to keep up this charade all the time. There are plenty of pretty women out there, so you don't have to stay here out of pity.

You still think it's a charade? he had replied, his hands warm as they brought hers to his mouth. You think I stay with you out of duty? When every bell I'm away I'm terrified that somehow they've found you? They'd kill you if they did, and they'd take her. And without you—all these years, you're all I've had to remind me of what we lost and what there is to gain. Your scar reminds me. I don't care if you don't love me back. But don't you dare suggest that I stay with you just because of duty.

"Is she asleep?" he whispered.

"Yes."

They both glanced over at the girl. Her chest rose slow and steady and her eyes moved rapidly beneath her closed lids.

"She's beginning to look like her mother."

"I know. She has his chin and mouth, though."

"I've noticed that."

"She's asking questions."

"Good."

He began to strip, peeling off his drenched clothes that were as ragged as the dress she wore. He was just skin and bones and sinew now, when once he had been strong and broad. His face was heavily lined, his body striped with scars, and he walked with a slight limp that pained him when it was cold. But she only saw the dark and handsome youth he had once been. It never occurred to her that he, too, saw only a stoic dreamer.

He did not take the clothes she offered him. Instead, he pulled her close and swiftly unbuttoned her dress. It pooled around her dirty bare feet. Her hands traced the familiar contours of his gaunt body. His lips grazed her cheek. She did not realize she was crying until he brushed her tears away.

"It's been almost ten years," he whispered, "but it hurts like it was yesterday. I know."

"She asked to hear the story of Tortall's defeat. I couldn't refuse her."

"Is she suspicious?"

"Not yet. But she will be soon. And she asked about the families of the knights who spirited away the princess."

His face went taut with a pain that would never fade.

"My sisters," she began, "my—mother—"

He was on top of her, kissing her, stroking her, comforting her in the only way either of them really knew how. "One day," he promised, brushing her lank hair from her face. "One day, the princess will return—and so will we. When that happens, we will bring down Tusaine, we will kill its king and hang its prince and rip apart every soldier who follows them."

One day, she thought. One day, their fathers will burn like ours did, their brothers hanged and their sisters raped. When that happens, we can stop running.

And maybe then, King's Reach and Mindelan will finally be avenged.