“Would even Abrogail Thrune dare to try to unleash the greatest horror in the history of Avistan just to distract one of her many, many enemies? Is it possible someone in Cheliax did it without her knowledge, and if so, what does that say about the state of her regime?"

“And who manipulated the lesser seal?”
“Only a god can say, and only a fool pretends not to know. The dwarves of Kraggadon have always done their sacred duty, guarded their seal day and night, deep below ground and far from the influence of Avistan’s troubles and terrors. The people of Lastwall have stood their watch nine hundred years, and observed the trouble through close observance of their own seal. And the third seal is kept in Westcrown, in Cheliax, ruled by Hell and presently at war."

What the Hell are they thinking?

No, seriously, what?

There are things you do to win a war, and there are things you do to spite an enemy, and there are things you don't do because you like living in a reasonably-intact world.

She arranges for a wizard to make a copy of this transcript and then burn the original, and then bring the copy to the Lictor. Anonymously, on both ends. If they ask him to defend Cheliax against the invaders he deserves to know what the Crown and Church are willing to do to throw those invaders out, and she thinks Lictor Sabinius is the kind of man who cares.

This isn't the right time. The right time either already passed, or it's not yet here. But... getting close, now.

...She writes Sofia a letter. She goes.

For once she doesn't get the news from the radio. Her business scouts are mostly domestic, but she does have ones in Azir, and Almas, and Augustana and Absalom. And most of them have a single precious scroll of sending for anything of really pressing importance.

Azir is burning, and Almas is full of monsters.

And a few hours later she has confirmation from a contact who has their own contacts in Egorian that war's been declared against both Andoran and Lastwall.

It's barely past noon.

She takes a blank sheet from that stack, and signs it, fairly large.

She folds it up to place in an envelope. She addresses it to Rexus in her own handwriting, seals it, and hands it off to be sent by a horse messenger.

That's it. It's done. No turning back.

But there's something to be done before it's obvious. She visited Chuko's shop a few weeks ago, so she has what she needs.

She calls the demibishop of Kintargo to request aid and cooperation, as the Crown to the Church, with unrest in the city.

"Demibishop Serrat, Hello. I won't waste your time; unrest has been stirring the last few nights, and I expect tonight to be much worse. There's some reason to think even the Alabaster Academy is going to be out of control. I don't believe my available guard forces are sufficient to the task."

"And why should I grant you further power when you have been evidently failing with what you have?"

"Because a night of serious unrest fought without assistance will cause depletion of Kintargo's forces, necessitate drawing down the remaining army in Ravounel to reinforce them, and embolden the rebellious elements to continue to oppose Asmodeus's will. If you require some of the forces put under your command until the crisis has passed, I am willing to negotiate how much."

"A quarter of the standing guard, and you keep all the wall and gate guards. I'll take the Fists out to crush the idiot dissenters, and take noble house guards under writ of Church to Crown."

"You don't have the command capacity for all the noble houses. I request a writ of my own. And one for drafting wizard students, though you or your man can supervise which are chosen, of course."

"You can take the wizards, under that condition. If the nobles won't respect the Church's authority they are heretics and I will not put them at your disposal either."

"That's acceptable. I'll need a writ for the wizards."

"Yes, yes," he said, and took parchment and ink to write both.

Good enough. She fingered her rapier, sliding it up and down... Yes. Good enough.

"Here you are," he said with a scowl, and presented her the writ, "At least for once you're not soft on the tantrums and traitors of the city."

"This is no time for half measures," she said as she read it to confirm he hadn't introduced any extra terms. "Very good. Thank you, Demibishop, this will make my work much easier."

And then, in a moment he looked away, her rapier was out and through his throat.

He fell to the floor quickly, gurgling. He was fading - from one strike? From a weakling politician?

...Poison?

"I'm terribly thankful for the Church's choices of how to assign me priests," she remarked, "It made it much more convenient that the ones better at interpreting doublespeak got high posts in the capital instead of the restive backwater of Kintargo. Did you know, not a single thing I said to you today was a lie? Go to Hell, Romà Serrat, and may you enjoy its attentions as much as we did yours."

And then she stabbed him again, through the heart, to be sure it worked.

Open treason meant a great deal of things needed to work very quickly. The handful of Crown and Church plants among her mayoral and personal staff were assassinated by their loyal compatriots. A useful criminal gang with a grudge against Serrat's second in command were told that he was vulnerable and stood to get more power soon. All the House Bainilus guard retainers were summoned to the mayoral mansion with extra horses in tow.

And there was an hour of calm, before the whole Abyss broke loose.

For fifteen years Jilia's worn glamered mail showing her in proper Asmodean black and red, with only a little blue patch for her house heraldry. Frequently she sleeps in it, when she's nervous.

She stood at a mirror almost a quarter-hour waiting, before she tweaked the glamer in the way that changes how it looks.

Bainilus blue, trimmed with gold. Her family colors. She hasn't worn anything like this since she reached adulthood.

And now she's going to get on a horse and try to rally her city in it.

When she was younger she dreamed of that. Now's she's twice as old, twice as jaded, and, though she wasn't six months ago, four times as tired.

But she's led through worse. And at the end of the day... she will, still, do whatever she has to, for Kintargo.

And then she's on a high horse, in the streets, with a brave face and her personal guards and a half-dozen horses and whatever knot of citizens of Kintargo she's rallying at the moment.

And by nightfall, Kintargo is burning too.

And, the rapier having served the one purpose she expects it to before she dies, Jilia uses the weapon she actually knows. Her voice. A dozen times, thirty, fifty, she sees a man she remembers, a respected man, and she speaks to him and to everyone around him.

"Cesc Farre, do you think I've forgotten you? Have you forgotten what I did for your block when the sewers caved in and your fountain was fouled? I did terrible things, Cesc, and many people hated me for it, but I did those things so that the thrice-damned Thrunes and Chosen would let me help you. So I could use my title for you, and people like you. So you could live in peace, and think in freedom, and on good days dream of a better future. There's war, today, Cesc; war with Andoran and Lastwall and Rahadoum. There's an army of paladins traveling through the heart of Cheliax by magic not seen since before the Shining Crusade. The ships are stranded by archmages and Menador's best are already dead. The army has drawn off all its best to fight those wars, and they will lose. But we are free, Cesc. The better future is nearly here. I'm no legendary adventurer; I have only one sword and I'm no better than you at wielding it. But Kintargo has you. Today it needs you. Rally your neighbors. Find the leaders with the rose. Support them; follow them. We are free, tonight. Asmodeus is weak, and archmages will keep him weak. But Kintargo, Kintargo is strong! Seize the opportunity! Fight! For our future, and our city!"

And sometimes, she even believes it.

The Alabaster Academy is locked down, on her advice. The teachers either didn't prepare spells expecting riots, or lied to her and got away with it; the couple fourth-circle veterans not mobilized against the Reclamation, she thinks could probably get a lie past her if they tried. She stays away from the district anyway, after she stops by to use that writ (in black and red again) to recruit some of them to her authority, and then push them to switch sides.

And for that night, and the next day, it looks like they're winning. The Torrent are staying out of it. Priests of Milani are leading clusters of citizens and gangs. The city guard is losing and getting purged. The Academy has worked out that they were tricked, but for the time being they're fortifying and waiting for outside orders.

Someone's rigged a couple radios with big magic mouth effects that project over a whole city square, and the next night Freedom's broadcasting to the main plaza near the docks, and over the walls of the Academy.

She's waiting. Nervously. If Freedom's off the air again, or tells the story badly, that could be the ruin of the rebellion. But... she trusts Freedom's ability. And she has faith.

Maybe because she has to. But she does.