Too Close to the Sun

**"Too Close to the Sun"**is the thirteenth episode of *War* and the 62nd episode overall.

The episode was published on March 21, 2021.

In the episode, a rivalry in the court of the Psittacorum threatens the monarchy's stability. In Porcinia, the faltering trenchlines force the King to issue evacuation orders for villages in the north.

## Appendix

Episode Title Card**A:** Map of the War, 717**B:** Psittancynesian Royal Family, 717**C:** Porcinian Royal Family, 717**D:** The Canopy, Mount Altum, Psittancyna
## The Episode

*—Diary of Lana Loudoun—*

*-January 1, 717-*

*Nine full years of war. Onto the tenth. The southern front has held well, and the Summer Sun is no closer to invading Simeone or Phantine than last summer when they announced their “inevitable” victory. I think back to the Vixen Queen’s execution of the Mus royal family and I am sickened. Thankfully, Queen Daisy continues to rule from Simeone, along with Queen Swan.*

*Unfortunately, the northern front—our front—is weakening. The parrots have pushed us to the border, bolstered with surprise support from Cervidium. They are expected this month to breach into Porcinia, and then we are truly in danger. Our village is in the north of the country. King Bacon has stated that parrots on Porcinian soil would warrant an evacuation to the safer regions.*

*Mother and I are preparing for such an instance, though I hope that it does not come that. Ripper is my home, and is where we have established our uniform repository to aid the army. It cannot travel with us.*

*Even though I know it is a long shot, and indeed a pipe dream, my wish for 717 is the same as every new year: may this war end. May this be the year that we defeat the Summer Sun.*

—Mount Altum, Psittancyna—

—Macawdom of the Parrots—

-April 5, 717-

The Majestic Family of the Psittacorum waved to the populace as the carriage traveled up the mountainside of Mount Altum. The roads were lined with exuberant parrots celebrating Macaw Day, a celebration of the institution of the monarchy and the current Macaw himself.

Macaw Arini was at the head of the carriage, his round head wrapped in the Psittancynesian crown. It was over a foot tall, higher than any Cartonian crown. He had to keep his head absolutely rigid or it would fall off, a horrid omen for any reigning Macaw.

Behind him in the carriage were the two eldest of his four children. The younger two were in a separate vehicle in the parade.

Croix, the Pserex and heir to the throne, was seated with his wife, Ruba. The Macaw’s oldest daughter, Lucia, was stolidly watching the crowds roll by. She hated pomp and ceremony. Macaw Day was a noble occasion, but should be celebrated privately. Every parrot should have to decide how they wanted to show their devotion to the crown and the Psittacorum. Standing at the side of the road and waving to a string of cars did not exactly cut it in Lucia’s eyes.

Pserex Croix, on the other wing, was enthusiastically greeting the assembled hordes of parrots. And everyone was going ballistic as he passed. He was extremely popular with the people. It helped that he was married and expected to succeed. Though Lucia was well-known as a Prencessa of the Psittacorum, she was nowhere near as favorable as Croix.

And that bothered Lucia. She wanted to be the Macaw. Croix was too soft, too weak. He would be an inept ruler, especially during this war. He had no stomach for it; he had told Lucia that himself. His interests lay with cultivating Psittancynesian culture and strengthening infrastructure. If Macaw Arini died, and Croix ascended to the throne, he may surrender and withdraw from the war.

And that Lucia could not allow.

For years, she had been formulating a plan to force Croix out of the Pserex role, eliminating him from the line of succession. Then, she could be dubbed the Pserex and succeed her father.

Lucia glanced at Ruba, Croix’s wife. If she was pregnant…

The carriages reached the summit of the mountain and rumbled through the open gates of the Canopy. The spiraling towers of the royal house stretched into the sky. Not only was Mount Altum the tallest mountain in Cartonia, but it was also the highest capital and the highest castle. From the Canopy, everything else was below them. Lucia believed that was more than symbolic. It was destiny.

The Psittacorum was a beautiful country. It was serene, majestic, formidable, and unique. Its culture was known all over Cartonia for being exceptionally different and in some cases, exotic. Everyone else knew the nation as Psittancyna, the rough Cartonian translation. But all parrots referred to it as the Psittacorum in their native Psittanine language.

Over the archway of the keep were three coats of arms. They were of the Psint, Annenburg, and Volta families. Over the Psittacorum’s seven centuries since the inception of the Harmony Crown, three Majestic Families had dominated the country. When the Psint family was nearly extinguished, its last member married into the Annenburg clan. The same incident occurred in 574 when the Psint-Annenburgs combined with the Voltas. Thus, the ruling dynasty of the Psittacorum was known as the House of Psint-Annenburg-Volta.

“That was wonderful!” Ruba exclaimed to Croix. Since they were only married ten months ago, this was her first time experiencing Macaw Day as a member of the Majestic Family.

“It truly was splendid!” Croix affirmed. Their enthusiasm was disgusting.

The Macaw removed the crown from his head.

“Alright. Let’s get inside. The festivities are done. Croix, you and I are wanted in the war chamber.”

The parade may be over, but there was still the lavish banquet this evening, and the fireworks display at night. Tomorrow there would be the gift giving, and the Macaw’s speech. Lucia thought she’d sooner abolish Macaw Day’s drivel and reform the holiday if she were ever Macaw.

“*Psou Magnivicanzso,”* Lucia said to her father in Psittanine, “might I also join you in the war chamber? You know how much I am interested by this conflict.”

“Of course,” Macaw Arini responded at once. “You are always welcome.”

“Well, you only addressed Croix,” Lucia snapped.

The Macaw glowered. He ignored Lucia’s remark and headed into the castle. Lucia and Croix followed him, while Ruba went off on her own. As the wife of the Pserex, she had no power and no influence. Not until she became Consort of the Macaw.

“As you were,” the Macaw ordered to the saluting soldiers gathered in the war chamber. They scattered at once, returning to their tasks. A large diagram of the trenches at the Psittancynesian souther border was projected on the wall. The Macaw frowned at it. “It’s a stalemate.”

“I thought we had the advantage,” Croix pointed out. “We’re no longer fighting on our own soil, but on the border.”

“How is that an advantage?” Lucia groaned. “That’s exactly what father described—a stalemate! We’ve been stuck there for months.”

“What is a matter of months in a war of years?” Croix retorted.

“Enough,” the Macaw hissed. “We must break into either Porcinia or Ursus before summertime or we’ll never make enough progress. The chipmunks hold Cape Alyaska in Ursus, but that’s barely a useful foothold for us.”

“Use the deer!” Croix cried. “They helped us get to the border. They can—“

“We don’t need deer,” Lucia scowled. She hated how her brother thought everything was so simple. “We are *parrots*. We are the Psittacorum! We fight our own battles!”

Croix lowered his eyebrows.

“Pride will be the death of the Psittacorum if we don’t ask for help when we need it.”

“I agree with Lucia,” the Macaw asserted. “We just need to determine the best strategic way to break the stalemate.”

“To me,” Lucia said, “it’s a matter of *where*. If we correctly choose the weakest part of their trench line, we’ve got our in.”

The Macaw turned to the map. He took a laser pointer from the table and shone it at various different parts of the trench line.

“Croix,” he muttered, “where do you think?”

Lucia watched as the Pserex squinted, trying his hardest to figure out what to say.

“Um,” he said after a full minute of silence, “the western shore. We can use ships and land in Ursus.”

The Macaw glanced at Lucia.

“And you?”

“I think the gap between trenches 70 and 71. That’s where the elephants had been stationed before they retreated to the southern front in Capricon. Pigs were sent in to fill the void, and one of them was Bake Hamleigh. He’s an idiot. Chances are the weakest link is right there. Geographically, it’s a weak spot as well. There aren’t any mountains, valleys, hills, or rivers to save them. I think that’s our best bet.”

The Macaw smiled.

“I think that could work.”

Lucia rounded on Pserex Croix.

“Why are you incapable of making a good decision? The western shore would be the worst place to strike! The Equestrian fleet could descend upon us in a heartbeat, and the bears are far superior in military strength to the pigs.”

“Lucia!” the Macaw snapped. “Mind your tongue.”

“*Psou Magnivicanzso*,” Lucia contended, “I ask you again if you really want Croix to be your successor. He clearly has no ability to lead a war.”

The Macaw rolled his eyes. This was not the first time Lucia had asked.

“Daughter, how many times must I tell you that the Psittancynesian succession is absolute and firm? Croix is here to learn from me, and I remind you that I am still a young and able Macaw. I am not on my death bed. That is where these conversations have their place. Not now.”

Croix was silent, his eyes averted. He too was used to Lucia putting pressure on the Macaw to remove him from the path to the throne.

“But—“

“Drop the subject, Lucia. I will not ask you again.”

Lucia clenched her teeth. The Macaw lifted his phone.

“General, please assemble a stratagem to attack at trenches 70 and 71 with the full force of what we can spare from the trenches, plus the national guard in Mount Altum. Divert the deer in the west over in that direction, taking care not to be spotted. We’ll invade by month’s end.”

Their meeting concluded, Lucia stormed from the chamber. She was frustrated above all. Her ideas were superior to Croix’s! Her resolve was stronger! She was a better candidate!

She stalked down the hall. A child was playing with a set of blocks in the center with his governess. He was probably one of the noble’s son. Ruba was nearby, holding her stomach.

“Are you ill?” Lucia asked. Ruba jumped.

“What? Oh, no. Hello, Lucia.”

Ruba was still holding her belly.

“Are you…pregnant?”

The question was tinged with venom. It was Lucia’s greatest fear, that Ruba would bear Croix a child and Lucia’s path to the throne would lengthen.

“No,” Ruba stated. She was staring at the young boy with longing. There was some sadness about her eyes.

“Are you…incapable of bearing children?”

Ruba shot a glare at Lucia.

“Of course not! I’m perfectly fertile, thank you.”

Lucia didn’t like her. She was entitled, and thought that her marriage to the Pserex meant that her life was so important. She came from a rich family, and that more than anything is what appealed to the Macaw when the match was struck.

“Okay,” Lucia replied. She turned to continue on her way, but Ruba stopped her.

“I can’t…conceive…if I don’t have the opportunity.”

Lucia lifted an eyebrow.

“The opportunity?”

Ruba’s face was flushed red, which was strange considering her yellow fur. She regarded the young boy and governess playing near them, and walked a bit down the hall so she was out of earshot. Lucia, intrigued, followed.

“The Pserex,” Ruba whispered, “rarely visits me. At night.”

“We can speak like adults,” Lucia said at full volume. “You don’t need to sugarcoat your phrases.”

“Fine!” Ruba hissed. “I don’t share a bedroom with Croix, and he hardly ever comes to mine. He refuses me when I knock on his door, and if he ever does come, he goes right to sleep.”

This was music to Lucia’s ears, but she tried to look concerned.

“Oh dear, what about your wedding night?”

“Well,” Ruba smiled, “there was no issue there. But I’m scared. Did I do something to offend him?”

Lucia snorted.

“Ruba, *he’s* the one offending you. No, this isn’t your fault. There’s something with him. Would you like me to speak to him?”

Ruba backed away, shaking her head.

“No, no! I…I think I just needed to confide in someone. I shouldn’t have said this to you. You’re his sister, after all.”

“I don’t mind,” Lucia replied. She paused for a second. “Actually, thank you for telling me. I think this is important. The Pserex must bear an heir. I’ll see if I can figure out why he’s ignoring you and his duty. I won’t give him any idea you told me.”

Ruba’s face lit up.

“Oh, thank you, Lucia! You’re a wonderful sister-in-law.”

“Don’t mention it,” Lucia said sweetly, the crown of the Psittacorum edging ever closer to her brow.

—Southern Porcinia—

—Kingdom of the Pigs—

-May 27, 717-

Lana Loudoun and her mother were on a bus driving south. It was packed with their neighbors from Ripper. Everyone was silent, watching out the tinted windows as the terrain slipped by. The overhead bins were overflowing with baggage and belongings, everything that they could carry.

Psittancyna had invaded Porcinia with alarming success. The villages nearest the border were razed, and the true number of casualties was unknown.

The Loudouns were in the process of stitching together banners for battle when King Bacon’s telecast was projected on the televisions without warning. He told of the parrot incursion, and the dire circumstances that resulted from it. The trench lines were retreating into Porcinia, meaning that the war would be fought on Porcinian land for the first time, and pigs would be forced from their communities.

To prevent a loss of life that was catastrophic and irrevocable, the King commanded that all pigs living north of a certain demarcation line would be forced to evacuate to camps in the south of the country, near the Canisian border.

Lana remembered her face going numb as she saw Ripper above that line. They were given less than 48 hours to pack, assemble affairs, and board a bus that would take them to their new homes. No one was to bring food, water, or other necessities as they would be provided by the government. Everyone was shocked to learn that King Bacon had twenty camps assembled in the south years ago in preparation for such an invasion from the parrots. Thousands of pigs were about to be displaced.

When Lana and Diana reached the bus terminal with their possessions, they were assigned to what was known as O Camp. Apparently none of the villages had names, and were simply A through T Camps. They were all identical, and all located within a few miles from Canis. It was no secret that Canis was perhaps the safest of all Granite Bloc nations for its mountainous borders, rough eastern sea, and buffers of allied nations on all sides—including Canisian-occupied Capricon.

Leaving Ripper was demoralizing, and Lana hoped she would never have to say such a hasty farewell again. Ripper was where she was born, where she grew up, where all of her friends and neighbors lived and thrived. Though she had always had aspirations to leave the country and move somewhere more urban, this was not what she had in mind. It was very likely they would never see their house again; it may be burned by the parrots. Ripper could turn into a town of trenches, the streets dug up to quarter soldiers.

Looking around the bus, Lana noticed she was one of the few that was of draft-eligible age. By now, nearly anyone who could be drafted into the war was already on the front lines. Sometimes Lana regretted her decision to reject the draft, but Mom did not at all. Diana Loudoun was unusually quiet as she calmly packed her clothes and walked with her daughter to the bus station.

The sun was setting out of Lana’s window, and in the distance she could see one of the camps. She wasn’t sure if that was O Camp, or if it was one of the others. Despite the moniker “camp,” the brochures everyone was given depicted an actual village with functioning utilities. When the government was compiling their population lists, they took consideration of family members, coworkers, and specialization of labor. Mom was going to be O Camp’s seamstress, with Lana as her assistant. They would make money just as they did in Ripper, and would be able to spend it on goods and services. It was a forced economy, but apparently A Camp—the test camp—was a success.

The bus veered left, away from the camp that Lana could see from the window. So that wasn’t theirs.

“I wanna go home,” a child whined to his mother. Lana glanced at him. He was a small piglet with big ears. His eyes were wet with tears.

“We’re going to a *new* home!” the mother cooed with feigned delight. “It’s going to be an adventure!”

Lana squeezed Mom’s trotter. The bus continued to drive into the night. After snaking along hilly roads, they arrived at the metal electrified gate of O Camp. The sinister electric wires scared Lana. It was obviously intended to keep people out, but there was the horrifying realization that they would be sealed within.

A team of army officers opened the gate and allowed the bus to travel inside. Lana saw through the bus’s windshield that several other vehicles had already delivered new residents to O Camp. The bus came to a final halt outside a large wooden building with a sign reading “Administration.” A pig in uniform was waiting for them.

“Villagers from Eddowes, Ripper, Yardland, and Whitechapel Fields, I bid you welcome to O Camp. This is your temporary resettlement community, and you are the remainder of its occupants. You have been pre-allocated cabins based on your family and known affiliations. These are not final, and you may request switches or mergers in the administration building behind me. Your cabins have been stocked with food so that you may enjoy dinner privately tonight. We know that everyone is tired and afraid so tomorrow and overmorrow’s workdays have been cancelled. Questions so far?”

Everyone just stared. Lana’s legs were about to collapse from exhaustion even though she’d been sitting all day. The thought of going to sleep vastly appealed to her.

“Uh, yes,” someone said finally. “Who are you?”

The woman slapped a trotter to her forehead.

“Oh, goodness! My apologies, everyone. My name is Sergeant Monica Oll. Easy to remember. O Camp. Sergeant O. I am in charge of supervising your safety while you’re here. I want to point out that you are *not* prisoners. You are being housed here for your own protection. The parrots have proven themselves to be violent invaders, and we cannot ensure your safety if you’re up north.”

This was surreal. Lana couldn’t believe she was standing where she was, listening to this speech. This was unprecedented, never done in Porcinian history. The concept of relocating citizens to safer regions was not new, however; many of the allies had done so as the Summer Sun encroached upon them.

Sergeant Oll read aloud from a clipboard the names of each person and their assigned cabin. Diana and Lana Loudoun were in cabin 606. They heaved their luggage in that direction.

All the cabins were independent structures, but extremely close together. They were of varying sizes, ostensibly to accommodate small and large families. Some had porches, others had patios, and the government had even taken care to plant trees. They were all saplings, but a few were flowering.

Cabin 606 was long and narrow. Their keys were stuck in the lock. Mom pushed open the door and tossed her bag inside. The lights came on automatically, illuminating a quaint living room with a sofa, chair, coffee table, and television set. A window overlooked their miniature front porch. Mom pulled the curtains shut.

The living room was adjacent to the kitchen, which was separated by only a granite countertop. Lana smirked at the symbolism. Their fridge was indeed stocked, and a water filter was embedded in the machine. They were allocated minimal utensils and cookware, but enough to live on.

“There’s no kitchen table,” Mom commented, looking around. Lana gestured at the countertop with two stools.

“That’ll do.”

Mom sighed. She carried her baggage down the short hallway to one of the bedrooms.

“They’re the same size,” she remarked. “Do you have a preference?”

Lana indicated vaguely at the one on the right. Mom took the other. They had a shared bathroom with what appeared to be hotel amenities. Tiny little bottles of shampoo, conditioner, and body wash were arranged in a rack on the sink.

“I’m spent,” Mom said with a large exhale. “I’m off to bed.”

“Alright,” Lana replied. “Me too.”

They locked their front door, turned off the lights, and changed into their pajamas. Mom closed her bedroom door, and Lana did the same. The room was tiny, probably a third of the size of hers back home. It had a bed, dresser, night stand, desk, and closet. She took the time to unpack her suitcases and arrange everything. It would make her feel better when she woke up. Carefully unwrapping a few valuable possessions from home, she laid them out on the desktop. Now it felt a little more like home. Or a home. Someplace homey.

*You are not prisoners*, said Sergeant O.

It was hard to shake that notion. They were here for their own protection, and therefore couldn’t leave. The war raged in the north, and the parrots would be pushing south. For the first time, Lana was afraid for her life. The war had always seemed at bay, in this far off distant realm of impossible warfare. Ten years of continuous carnage had still felt separated from her, at least in physical manifestation. Maybe her diary was convincing her that what she was writing was fiction. Everything she knew was from newspaper articles and television news coverage.

Only now she was part of the Porcinian Evacuation. She was a resident of O Camp. She was a refugee.

Lana removed her diary from her backpack and opened it to the bookmark. Her last entry was from the bus this morning. A single teardrop had fallen on the page when she wrote of her sadness to leave Ripper.

She closed closed the diary and held it tightly to her chest.

—The Pink Palace, Sowtown, Porcinia—

—Kingdom of the Pigs—

-One Month Later-

King Bacon IV was furious. His meeting with King Archibald of Ursus was interrupted by his wife, Roseanna Hamleigh, who had raced from the other side of the palace to inform Bacon that their son had returned from the front lines.

Well, not returned. Discharged. Bake Hamleigh had been dishonorably discharged by his superiors.

Bacon expressed his apologies to Archibald, then ran with Roseanna for the phone. Coughing incessantly from his pneumoswinoxia, he had Roseanna dial the General at the front immediately.

“My son has been discharged?!” Bacon hollered as soon as the line connected.

“Majesty! I…didn’t you receive my telegram?”

“*No*.”

A long pause.

“Oh…Majesty, please forgive me. I would never have acted if I did not have your knowledge of the event. Bake engaged in an illicit affair with one of his officers, an affair that has resulted in a pregnancy. The officer was discharged for her medical condition, and Bake for his conduct.”

Bacon’s grip on the phone was titanic.

“Pregnancy?”

Roseanna was staring, hungry for the details.

“Yes, sir.”

“That is all, General.”

Bacon was not surprised. Though Bake’s outward demeanor had improved since he was sent to the war, his inner lusts and temptations had remained.

“He’s had a bastard,” Bacon mumbled to Roseanna. She *tsk*ed.

“Don’t say that. It’s not a nice word. He’s had a child out of wedlock. Lots of people do that.”

“Not royalty,” Bacon retorted. He was reminded yet again of his family’s fragile state as head of the country. Bacon himself was quite popular, but Bake was not. He was the one due to succeed.

“I thought your cousin had a child out of wedlock,” Roseanna posited. “What’s her name? Dana?”

“Diana,” Bacon uttered. “She was different. She was nowhere near the top of the line of succession. My father threw her out of the capital, and she’s never returned. Bake can’t have an illegitimate child! He needs to marry strategically to secure the dynasty!”

Roseanna took a deep breath.

“Let’s…not lose our heads. We must given him the opportunity to explain himself, and be good parents and welcome him home.”

Bacon grimaced. Roseanna groaned and hauled him out of the study. They went together to the reception room, where Bake was standing in regular street clothes, having shed his army uniform. He was holding his arm. What was that? Shyness?

“Son,” Bacon managed through his frustration. Roseanna gave him a peck on the cheek.

“It’s so good to have you home.”

“Do you want to tell us why you’re home prematurely?” Bacon scowled, unable to mask his contempt.

Bake shrugged.

“I was discharged.”

“I heard *dishonorably* discharged. You know that is public knowledge, correct? Everyone will know that you did not admirably serve in the military.”

Bake was unfazed. He shrugged again.

“Did you want to be discharged?” Roseanna asked with more sweetness than Bacon could muster. Bake shook his head.

“No one likes the war, but I was doing my duty. I…know it’s important. But I was discharged. So now I’m here.”

“Tell us more,” Bacon demanded.

“You know why I was discharged, father. You got all your information before you even walked in here. You’ve come to your conclusion, and you’re ready to hand down your punishment.”

Bacon held back his ire.

“Where is the officer with whom you had your affair?”

Bake glanced at his feet.

“She lives in Uppria.”

Bacon started.

“*Uppria*? That’s in the north! That village has been evacuated to C and E Camps.”

The prince did not reply. Roseanna rubbed his arm with affection. Bacon took a deep breath.

“We will invite her—what’s her name?”

“Dorothea.”

“Dorothea…what?”

“Dorothea Clarence.”

The surname was not one of noble blood.

“We will invite Dorothea to court. The child will be acknowledged as yours; we have no choice of that matter. Do you love her?”

Bake blinked.

“Um. She’s nice and all—“

“Oh, save us…” Roseanna trailed off.

“Do you wish to marry her?” Bacon asked, his fists clenched. Bake shook his head.

“How could you be so reckless?” Roseanna demanded.

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Too bad!” Bacon howled. “You seem almost determined to undo all the work that me and my ancestors have done to protect this family and keep us safe! We will talk about it; we must decide what we are going to do. You need to marry strategically, into one of the noble houses of this country. We sent you to the war to mature and develop you, but this…will stain your record.”

“There’s no child. Not anymore.”

Bake’s comment threw Bacon. He and Roseanna stared at their son.

“What do you mean there’s no child?”

“Dorothea had an abortion.”

Bacon rubbed his head.

“We will invite her to court, and ensure she is properly taken care of. She will, of course, be *your* responsibility. Your conduct has not been spotless in the war, and I doubt they’ll take you back. You are still the Boar, and I have half a mind to send you to Boar’s Head so that you may learn to govern, but I actually have a question for you.”

The King stepped up to the prince, and lingered over him. “Do you even want to be King?”

Bake met his father’s gaze.

“I do.”

Bacon scoffed and retreated to the edge of the room.

“You have an odd way of demonstrating that want.”

“I am not the kind of person you are, father. I will not be the same kind of King as you.”

“And what kind of King will you be?” Bacon scowled.

“One who values fun, merriment, and optimism. You put too much of your energy into preserving the Hamleigh family on the throne. We have ruled since 625, nearly 100 years! Our legacy is secure.”

Bacon did not like the answer. Fun and merriment were pastimes, not domestic policies. He needed to learn how to govern. The war had helped in some regards; he was able to hold himself up in public without cracking vulgar jokes or harassing women. Nearly all his friends had enlisted in the war and were similarly hardened. Most negative influences were removed. He just needed to understand the heavy weight of the crown.

“You’re going to Boar’s Head,” Bacon decided. “You’ll spend a few months here first, and you’ll coordinate the arrival of Dorothea Clarence. Then you’re going to become the leader of the Boar’s Head community. I’ll work on the training plan. And once you’ve proven to be mature, professional, sophisticated, and a just leader, we will work on finding you a marriage match.”

It was almost as if Bacon and Roseanna had to build the next King themselves, brick by brick. How were some children precocious and naturally inclined to their duties? Queen Swan XXI was a teenager and ruling Mallardia in exile with aplomb.

“Okay,” Bake muttered. “That’s fine. How long will I be in Boar’s Head?”

“As long as it takes.”

Bacon left Roseanna to castigate Bake for his initial recklessness. He was depleted after the conversation with him. He thought of Dorothea Clarence, an officer in the war who had become embroiled with Bake, who probably viewed her as nothing more than a quick thrill. Now she traveling home to a village that had already been evacuated.

Terribly, Bacon was relieved Dorothea sought an abortion. If she had carried the child to term, they would have to acknowledge it as Bake’s, and that would have very likely resulted in marriage. Bake’s desirability as heir apparent was still dropping despite Bacon and Roseanna’s best efforts. There was no textbook on how to navigate unplanned royal pregnancies, though Bacon supposed he could learn a few things from Diana Loudoun’s story.

He slowed to a stop in the hallway. Diana lived in one of the northern villages. He hastened to the war chamber.

“Martial!” Bacon called to the top military authority. “The village of Ripper; was that evacuated?”

“It was,” the Martial responded. “Most have been sent to O, Q, and R Camps, though there are stragglers that have gone elsewhere.”

“Can you tell me where Diana Loudoun was sent?”

The Martial typed the name into his database.

“O Camp.”

—The Canopy, Mount Altum, Psittancyna—

—Macawdom of the Parrots—

-One Week Later-

The Pserex’s chambers occupied one of the towers of the Canopy. His offices and reception rooms were on the lower level, and his private areas were upstairs. He slept beneath the spire, usually with the windows open since it was warmer up there. He had always lived in the tower, which had been a source of jealousy for Lucia growing up. As the second-born, she had a mere three rooms on the third floor, next to her siblings.

Croix never had guards stationed outside his doors, but asked for them a few years back. It didn’t raise any alarms, as everyone had guards. Croix was the exception. Only now, looking back, did Lucia wonder if that was significant. Why had he suddenly asked for guards outside his rooms?

She approached his door, where two parrot soldiers were at attention outside.

“I wish to speak to my brother.”

“The Pserex is sleeping,” the guards said in unison.

“It’s 9:00.”

“The Pserex is sleeping.”

Lucia scowled. She removed a hefty purse from her jacket.

“Is he?”

The guards stared at the money, more than six months of wages.

“Yes,” one of them said finally. Lucia provided a second purse. Both readily opened the doors.

“Lips sealed, gentlemen,” she murmured.

Inside the chambers, all the lights were out. The windows were still open, so the moonlight provided some luminescence. Maybe he actually was asleep. Lucia activated a flashlight and shone it on his desk.

Papers, documents, war statements. All the stuff she had in her own study. The drawers yielded nothing, though she searched extensively. The desk was the place most likely to contain something hidden. She even got down on her back and opened the drawers one by one to see if something was taped or pinned underneath. She moved the furniture to see if anything was behind it.

Frustratingly, she didn’t know what she was looking for. Everyone had secrets, and Lucia was certain Croix had them too. Weeks of snooping after him, questioning servants, and playing the spy had yielded nothing concrete. If she was to get to the bottom of Ruba’s quandary, she’d have to investigate Croix’s personal lair. Something here must explain why he was not copulating with his wife. Did he have a lover?

If that was the secret, it wasn’t worth the coverup. Macaws frequently took lovers. At one point in history, it was expected to prove virility and fertility.

Lucia went upstairs to the Pserex’s private dining room. She scanned the room, then ascended to the private study. She searched this desk too until it was after midnight.

Nothing.

The last floor was the bedroom, and this door was locked. Not surprising. Lucia held her breath and pressed her ear to the door.

Noises. Breathing. Heavy breathing.

Moaning.

A sharp cry of ecstasy.

Lucia’s heart pounded. She listened longer, until she could convince herself she was hearing the Pserex getting hot and heavy.

With Ruba? Doubtful.

The keyhole was too small to see through, and the crack under the door showed that no lights were on. But Lucia had to see. She had to know.

The hall window was unlatched, and along the curved roof was the Pserex’s bedroom window. If Lucia could just get a quick peek…

*This is ludicrous*, she thought as she clambered onto the windowsill. They were four floors up! If she fell, she would pinball off the edge of Mount Altum and plummet to her death. Her plans to become Macaw would terminate in seconds.

But if she was successful…her accession would be guaranteed.

Lucia analyzed the roof. There was a slight edge where she could put her feet, and hold onto the roof shingles. She shimmied around the circular tower. She would have to keep her weight toward the castle, else she’d fall. The destination window had another thick ledge where she would actually be able to peer inside.

*A Macaw is brave*, Lucia told herself. She stepped out of the window.

Wind cut through her, and she gripped one of the panes for support. Even though it was summertime, it was always cold in Psittancyna, especially at the top of Mount Altum. She shivered, but removed her coat to make it easier to walk. She took her first step, and nearly slipped. She dug her wings into the roof shingles, and moved bit by bit around the tower.

She did not look down. She did not want to see the world spinning beneath her. She hoped that no one was walking in the courtyard, watching her. They would rush Croix’s tower and arrest her. How would she be able to explain this?

Finally, she reached the edge of the window. The sensual noises returned. Holding her breath, she pulled herself around the window’s edge and glanced inside.

Croix was lying flat in his bed and a figure was above him. Lucia resisted the nausea in her throat from watching her brother in the throes of passion. It was too dark to see who it was, but she could tell it was not Ruba. The Pserex’s window was directly over the cliff edge, and no one would ever be able to see inside unless they were doing what Lucia was doing right now. Shifting her footing, she moved closer to a better look.

When a beam of moonlight threw itself across Croix’s lover, Lucia nearly fell off the tower.

It was a chicken.

*A chicken!*

Lucia was frozen, unable to peel her eyes away. Her brain was trying to convince herself this was a trick of the light, that her eyes were not adjusted to the darkness, but the longer she looked, the more sure she was not mistaken. Her claws scraped along the roof as fury consumed her. In seconds, she was back across the roof and safely on the landing outside Croix’s door.

What should she do? Demand entrance? Catch him red-handed? Obviously he would hide her, and at this point it was her word against his. The Macaw would not take lightly to her sneaking around the exterior of the castle like a common cat burglar.

Bile surged into her throat, and Lucia puked out the window as silently as she could. Her vomit landed on the roof of one of the other buildings.

Croix was with a chicken. The only chicken in Mount Altum. She was a gift from Cervidium after the fall of Gallix. She had been King Poultrus’s private chef before her capture and shipment to the parrots. The Psittacorum now employed her as a cook and talented pastry chef, though technically she was a prisoner in the palace. She was never allowed to leave, and had spent the last eight years in relative obscurity.

Except…someone had clearly taken a shine to her.

It was absolutely disgusting. Unnatural, like Bentley Connelly and Victoria Vixen. The idiots who started this war in the first place. Lucia had to do something, but needed to do so in a way that would eliminate Croix as Pserex.

She silently descended the tower and exited without a word to the guards. She returned to her own bedroom, and began to plot.

—Two Days Later—

“Brother?” Lucia sang to Croix as he read a book in his reception room. “Might I have a word?”

Croix gestured her inside, and she closed the doors behind her.

“What is it?” Croix asked. So innocently.

“I was wondering what it would take for you to renounce your claim to the throne?”

Croix grumbled.

“Lucia, those who want the crown more than anything are those least suited to it. As long as Father supports my succession, then so do I.”

Lucia bit her tongue.

“I demand that you abscond your claim. Tell Father that you support me.”

“Why?” Croix inquired, crossing his wings. “Why are so hell bent on this?”

“I won’t be nothing,” Lucia spat. “I won’t be another *Prencessa* of the Psittacorum who does nothing but attend parties and conduct royal duties. I want the power, and the glory.”

Croix’s eyebrows went up.

“That sounds lovely. Unfortunately, I think you’ll find being Macaw is more parties and royal duties than power and glory.”

“Not in this war,” Lucia cajoled. “His Magnificence is going to go down in history as one of the greatest Macaws for leading us to victory over Porcinia!”

“I suppose,” Croix shrugged. “But there’s more to life than this war. I think most will want to forget it once it’s over.”

Lucia was taken aback.

“Forget it…?”

That was preposterous. The Great Cartonian War, the one that settled the Harmony Crown, was actively referenced, and never forgotten. How could this one be any different?

Croix was such a weakling, some romantic scholar, bewitched by optimism and chickens.

“Anything else, Lucia?”

“Yes.” The words were out of her mouth before she could stop them. “Who’s that chicken you’re fucking?”

Croix dropped his book. A quick gasp escaped his lips, and sweat appeared on his forehead. His red face blushed even redder.

“What?” he whispered. Lucia stood and paced the room. She explained to him what she saw the other night, in explicit detail. Croix kept waving his wings, begging her to stop, but she did not relent.

“You’re a monster,” she seethed. “If there was ever a reason to omit someone from the path to Macaw, this is it. You’re absolutely foul!”

Croix stood with alarming speed.

“I am not! You…you’re just bigoted. You don’t understand. Love is love.”

Lucia scoffed and gagged.

“Don’t try to defend your sacrilege! Here we are, fighting in the trenches and battlefields, dying by the hundreds to preserve speciesal purity; yet, the very thing we seek to crush is embodied right here in the capital.”

Croix was quiet for a few moments.

“What will you do to her? To us?”

Lucia smiled.

“Honestly, dear brother, I’m willing to make a deal with you. If you renounce your claim, and name me as rightful Pserex, I will not tell father about your misdeeds, nor will I snitch on your precious chicken. The two of you can continue to meet in secret in your bedroom while I reign as Macaw.”

Croix swallowed hard.

“And if I refuse?”

Lucia curtsied.

“Then I’ll cut off that chicken’s head and kick it off the mountain. The decision is yours.”

—O Camp, Southern Porcinia—

—Kingdom of the Pigs—

-One Week Later-

This summer was inordinately hotter than most. The coming of the season always carried a different connotation now that the enemy alliance had taken it for its namesake. Lana was always more of a winter person, but now detested summer. She imagined when this war was over, if the Granite Bloc won, they’d rename summer.

Lana wiped the sweat off her forehead as she fumbled with the key to the cabin. Her workday was over, but Mom was not expected home for at least another hour. While Mom was the village seamstress and fabric specialist, Lana applied for and received a post at the Administration offices. She was just the receptionist, but was grateful for the change of pace.

The door suddenly opened, and Mom walked out.

“Oh!” Lana exclaimed. “I thought you were at your workshop.”

“I was,” Diana said. “I came home for a meeting. I’ll be back in an hour!”

She hastened off the porch. Lana turned to see Sergeant Monica Oll sitting in the living room. She was reading her diary.

“Um,” Lana said loudly. “That’s my diary.”

Sergeant O dropped the book with alacrity.

“Oh my gosh! I am so sorry; I did not know.”

Lana regarded her wearily. Sergeant O lifted her trotters in defense.

“I merely saw the book on the table and opened it. There’s no title or name or anything. Please forgive me.”

Lana took a few steps into the living room and picked up the diary. It was burgundy leather without a single mark or indentation upon it. Sergeant O was right about it being nondescript, its 400 pages almost half-full.

“It’s alright,” Lana uttered. “What were you doing here with my mom?”

“Ah,” Sergeant O mused, “the King has announced he is visiting O Camp. He’ll be meeting with several of the villagers individually to gauge the success of the relocation program, and your mother is one of them.”

Lana gasped.

“King *Bacon*? Here?”

“Indeed,” Sergeant O said with a grin. “Will this be your first time meeting him?”

Lana nodded quietly.

“He’s a wonderful man,” Sergeant O testified. “Maybe you can sit with your mother during their interaction.”

Lana hoped so; she would love to meet the King! She had never even been to Sowtown, and Mom had no desire to go for some reason. She claimed to not like cities and that Sowtown was highly overrated.

“Your diary was very interesting,” Sergeant O commented. “Are you writing a history of the war?”

“Sort of,” Lana muttered. “It’s…well it’s depressing, isn’t it?”

“I wouldn’t say that,” Sergeant O replied. “I think it’s…poignant. A personal account of a world on fire.”

“Yeah,” Lana mumbled. It was strange to have someone inside the diary, as it was extremely private. Over the years the diary had become a significant part of Lana’s life, and it felt odd to share it with someone else, besides Mom of course. “I’m just writing what’s happening.”

“Do you mean to share it once the war is concluded? Or have it published?”

“I don’t know,” Lana said truthfully. “I waver back and forth on it. I don’t think anyone would really want to read it. I’ve spent the whole war on the homefront.”

Sergeant O gave a weak smile.

“And I have seen the atrocities of war, and some of them are too horrible to write down. There will be many who will tell their tales when this is all said and done, but few who will come forward with the homefront perspective.”

Lana didn’t say anything. Sergeant O put her trotters together in concession.

“I don’t mean to pressure you. I will leave you to your diary.”

As Sergeant O walked over the threshold, Lana stopped her.

“Do you really think people will want to read this?”

Sergeant O outstretched her arm.

“May I?”

Lana reluctantly handed her the diary. Sergeant O read the first page.

“I think you’re very articulate, and you express sentiments that many share. You’ve managed to consolidate ten years of war to a couple hundred pages, which I daresay other chroniclers will not have done. Let me ask you this: are you writing for yourself, or for others?”

“Myself.”

“Understandable. But do you feel as if you’re writing for an audience?”

Lana paused. She often did feel as if she was writing *to* someone. Sergeant O took the silence as a yes.

“If I may make a suggestion, you should write down the causes of the war, as convoluted as they are. I fear they may one day be forgotten.”

Sergeant O handed the diary back to Lana, and returned to her evening.

—The Canopy, Mount Altum, Psittancyna—

—Macawdom of the Parrots—

-The Next Morning-

“LUCIA!”

Macaw Arini’s voice reverberated across the war chamber. Lucia hurried inside, where the Macaw and Ruba were standing with a shaved parrot in a black cloak. An ascetic, one who devoted their life to extreme minimalism and silent prayer, meditation, and penitence. The Macaw was steaming, his wings pressed against the table with extreme anger.

“*Psou Magnivicanzso,”* Lucia said with a curtsy. The Macaw ran around the table and shoved a scrap of parchment against her chest. She stumbled backward.

“Read it,” the Macaw spat.

Lucia lifted the paper to her line of sight.

*Father,*

*Upon reflection, I have determined that the role of Macaw is not suited to my abilities. I am a sinful child of this earth, and must repent in order to preserve my soul. I have joined the Order of Silans at the Macaw Delta as an ascetic. I commit myself to a life of abstemiousness, and hope that you will accept Prencessa Lucia Psint-Annenburg-Volta as Pserex in my place.*

*Several members of our household have volunteered to join me and reset our livelihoods. I expect you will attempt to stop me, which is why I have left without your permission. I instead beg your forgiveness, and hope you will keep in touch. I am prohibited from speaking and from having visitors, but we may still communicate by occasional letters.*

*I bear you a great love and respect, Father, and hope you will forgive me.*

*Your son,*

*Croix Psint-Annenburg-Volta*

“This is your doing!” the Macaw howled at Lucia. “You wanted to be Pserex, and now you’ve forced him out!”

Lucia glanced at the ascetic, who was standing still with sangfroid. He was part of the Order of Silans, and could not speak.

Ruba approached Lucia.

“How could you,” she gasped. “I asked you to help my marriage, not end it!”

“End it…?”

“The marriage between Croix and Ruba has been invalidated,” the Macaw scowled. “His joining the Order makes that effective immediately. We can’t alter it. The Order has been around longer than the monarchy, and I won’t be the Macaw to impugn upon their jurisdiction. Unless Croix voluntarily leaves the Order, he cannot be Pserex.”

“And he cannot be my husband!” Ruba snarled.

Lucia crossed her arms.

“What makes you think *I* had anything to do with it?”

“Please,” Ruba hissed. “Where did this come from? Croix has always been proud of his duty, and his position as Pserex. Now he’s gone and *you* get to be Pserex.”

Lucia tried to look innocent, though inwardly she was screaming with joy.

“I am sorry about your marriage, Ruba.”

She huffed and turned to the Macaw.

“Your Magnificence, I am leaving Mount Altum. If I am not married to Croix, then I have no place in the capital. I will return to my family, and hope that one day he will return to his post as Pserex, and to me as his wife.”

The Macaw nodded regrettably.

“Blessings to you, Ruba. I am so sorry for the grief my son—and undoubtedly my daughter—has caused you.”

Ruba bowed to the Macaw, gave one last look of contempt to Lucia, and marched out of the war chamber. The Macaw dismissed the ascetic, leaving only Lucia.

“What did you do?” the Macaw asked with relative calmness. “Ruba is correct; Croix would not do what he did unless he was under duress.”

Lucia angled her head toward her father.

“I think you’ll find I rather did you a favor.”

“Oh really? Why’s that?”

“Croix was having an affair—“

“All Pserexes have affairs!”

“—with a chicken.”

The Macaw’s beak clapped shut. The blue spots on his face turned pale.

“A chicken? *Our* chicken? The cook?”

“That’s the one.”

Macaw lowered himself onto his throne.

“You’re certain?”

“I saw it with my own two eyes.”

Lucia quickly recounted her adventure along the rooftop of the Canopy.

“The cook is one of those that went with him,” the Macaw muttered. “The Order prohibits any sensual pleasures, so perhaps that’ll put a halt to it.”

“I told him to renounce his claim or else I’d expose his secret,” Lucia said proudly. The Macaw cleared his throat.

“While I do think that his behavior was repulsive, and that he needs psychological help, I do not think this was the way to go, Lucia. This is not a game, and you are flying way too close to the sun. Your meddling could have exposed a scandalous secret. Our Summer Sun allies could have turned against us for having such torridness near the throne.”

Lucia puffed out her chest.

“But it’s official? I’m Pserex?”

The Macaw glowered at her.

“You are Pserex *Presumptive*. If Croix ever leaves the Order of Silans and returns to Mount Altum before I die, he will be restored to his position. The constitution is firm on that, and you know how popular he is among the people of the Psittacorum.”

Seeing Lucia’s hungry eyes, the Macaw quickly added, “And before you get any illegal ideas, don’t forget the regicide clause in the constitution. If either me or Croix die by your hand, you will invalidate your own claim and the throne will pass to your younger sister.”

Lucia nodded. It would be idiotic to attempt it. Even if she knew she could get away with it, her lust for the throne stopped short of a want to murder her father or brother. Croix would stay at the Order with his precious little chicken, and Macaw Arini could groom her for the throne.

“We’ll make an announcement tomorrow about Croix,” the Macaw informed. “You’ll be proclaimed as Pserex Presumptive, as you’ve always wanted.”

Lucia grinned, but the Macaw nearly slapped it right off when he said, “Congratulations on dooming yourself.”

“What—?”

“There is much that I have shielded you from, and shared only with Croix. There are also things that I have kept to myself, as it is too horrible to bear the weight of my crown. And yet you have unseated your brother and left yourself unchallenged for the throne. This is what you wished for, and now you must live with the consequences.”

“I’m strong enough,” Lucia insisted. “This is my birthright.”

The Macaw cracked a grin.

“Alright. Fetch your coat. We’re going to the ports.”

“Huh? Why?”

“Because,” the Macaw deadpanned, “you are about to find out what it means to be the Macaw of the Psittacorum.”

—O Camp, Southern Porcinia—

King Bacon was sitting across from Diana Loudoun, who was shocked that he made a point of visiting her specifically. Since Diana was adamant that Lana never learned of her royal heritage, Bacon made a big show of making appointments with others in the village to draw attention away from Diana. For that she was grateful. Lana met the King and was absolutely exuberant the entire time. Then, Bacon and Diana excused themselves and went into the administration building where they could not be overheard.

“You don’t have to stay here,” Bacon said. “You are welcome at court, as always.”

“No, thank you,” Diana replied instantly. “I detest the royal court, and would not want that for my daughter. I respect you greatly, cousin, but I cannot bear life in that city again. Too many wretched memories.”

As usual when they met face-to-face, Bacon apologized for his father’s eviction of Diana from the capital following her pregnancy.

“Oh, Bacon,” Diana chuckled, “you don’t need to keep saying that. Lana and I have had a nice life in Ripper.”

“And are you okay…here?”

“Of course,” Diana gushed. “This is a beautiful little village! We’ll miss Ripper, but it is for our own safety that we remain here, and we’re growing accustomed to it.”

“Ripper has become a trench town,” Bacon whispered. “The new front line is just north of the marketplace.”

Diana sighed.

“That’s sad to hear…”

She quickly pulled herself together.

“How about your family? How’s Roseanna? Bake?”

Bacon feigned a smile.

“Ah. Roseanna is well. She sends her love. Bake is…a frustration. He had an affair with one of his officers and she became pregnant.”

“Oh!” Diana’s eyebrows went up. She looked shocked. “Are they keeping it?”

“No,” Bacon replied. “She already had an abortion. We’re employing her at the Pink Palace, since she was dishonorably discharged from the army. Bake is now in Boar’s Head learning how to govern.”

“Is that going well?”

“From first reports,” Bacon said, “no, they’re not. But we are being optimistic best we can.”

Diana took Bacon’s trotter.

“You’re already more compassionate than your father. Can you imagine his response if you were in Bake’s position?”

Bacon hated to even think of it. He would have been disowned, exiled, banished. Though doing the same to Bake would clear up the succession issue, it would weigh too heavily on Bacon and Roseanna’s hearts. They couldn’t do that to him.

“I am hoping that Bake will learn much from his time in Boar’s Head.”

“I’m sure he will,” Diana grinned. Suddenly, Bacon began to violently cough. Diana stared at him in concern.

“Are you alright?”

“Mm. I have pneumoswinoxia, but I’m receiving treatment. I’m fine.”

Diana nodded, but did not appear convinced.

“What did you think of Lana?”

Bacon laughed heartily, grateful for the change of subject.

“She’s so grown up! I can’t remember how old she was the last time I saw her.”

Diana guffawed.

“Wasn’t that when you dressed as a commoner and visited Ripper?”

“It was!” Bacon cried, remembering the memory fondly. “Right after I came to the throne.”

Bacon sighed, gazing at Diana. “I really wish you’d come to court.”

Diana frowned.

“How would I explain it to Lana?”

“Why do you keep it from her?”

“Because…”

Diana trailed off, thinking. “Because she’s not really royal, you know? She wasn’t raised into it, she never benefitted from the Hamleigh name. It’s just us, and I prefer it that way.”

Bacon did not ask her anything else about it. It was still a mystery who the father was, and Diana was not likely to tell him. Speaking to her was a refreshing breath of air; she was candid and genuine. She treated him like anybody else, not a King of Porcinia.

“If you need anything,” Bacon urged, “please write to me. I will personally take charge of your safety.”

Diana bowed her head.

“Thank you, Bacon.”

—Port of the Princes, Psittancyna—

It was getting dark, and Lucia was following the Macaw to the harbor. Ships from Cervidium were docked, rising and falling with the aggressive Psittancynesian waves. At the edge of the seaport, buses were unloading prisoners of war. Lines of prisoners were then shepherded toward the ships.

“What are the Cervidian ships doing here?” Lucia asked, bracing against the cold.

“I made a deal with them,” the Macaw stated. “The deer are conducting experiments on the POWs. I asked that they investigate something for me.”

Lucia shivered, and she wasn’t sure it was from the wind.

“What kind of experiments?”

“I don’t know,” the Macaw responded. “But I hear they can be deadly.”

“What did you want them to investigate?”

The prison guards were shackling the prisoners and ordering them to march in straight lines to the ships. They were of all species, including parrots. Traitors to the state. Negative treatment of international prisoners was illegal under the Harmony Crown, but there was no more Harmony Crown, and Lucia didn’t much care what happened to them.

“I asked the deer to experiment on captured parrots to test if our ability to fly can be restored.”

Lucia gasped. After the cats clipped the parrots before the last war, no parrot had ever been able to fly. That there was even a chance…

“Before you,” the Macaw explained as the prisoners boarded the ships, “you see the fruits of one of my labors. In order to make the Psittacorum magnificent as before, I had to sacrifice part of our sovereignty and my own citizens.”

“Traitors,” Lucia defended. The Macaw sniffed.

“Not all of them.”

—O Camp, Porcinia—

The excitement from meeting the King wore off by dinnertime. He said probably three sentences to Lana before taking Mom to the administration building for their interview. She was slightly jealous she wasn’t allowed to join her.

Instead, she hunched over her diary in O Camp’s library. Before, she was content in knowing that her diary would be read by her children and future generations of the Loudoun family. But now Sergeant O’s words were convincing her that she should write as if anyone could read it. Maybe one day she would publish it.

The thought of sharing these innermost thoughts terrified her, but it would be a very courageous act. She wasn’t a soldier, but this was a sacrifice she could make.

Lana logged into the library’s database and searched for information on Bentley Connelly and Victoria Vixen. Then she picked up her pen, opened the diary to page 202, and began to write of the Christmas Eve of 706.

The day that sowed the seeds of war.

—Occupied Felexa—

—November 30, 717—

-Months Later-

Deirdre Elkton, once the Doe of Cervidium, yelped as the train came to an abrupt halt. The other detainees glared at her. She muttered an apology and tried to get comfortable again on the hard, wooden bench. The seats of the train had been ripped out and replaced with benches to fit more people. Her train car probably contained upwards of fifty people.

She didn’t know where they were. After being kidnapped from Antlerstag, Deirdre was imprisoned at Ticker Palace on the coast of Cervidium. Then, two nights ago she was wrenched from her sleep and loaded onto the train.

The train car door slid open with a *clang*, and the handcuffed prisoners were dragged from the carriage into the night.

Deirdre nearly fell into a pit at the edge of the platform. She screamed. Corpses of all species were staring blankly up at her. A guard grabbed her and shoved her in line. Ahead, a familiar Felexan building was glowing in light.

“But…” she gasped, “that’s Talonclaw Castle!”

Her deer captors hit her on the back of the head for talking, and she yelped again. Someone aided her to her feet.

“What are those bodies?” a fellow train passenger bravely asked.

“The failures,” one of the deer guards laughed.

The same passenger scrunched his eyebrows.

“Where are the successes?”

The guard snorted.

“There aren’t any.” His mouth curved into a sinister smile. “Yet.”

## Production

### Continuity and Story Arcs

The calculated machinations of Lucia Psint-Annenburg-Volta pushed her brother from the line of succession and earned her the title of Pserex and heir to Psittancyna.

Ripper, Porcinia, and other northern Porcinian villages were evacuated. Lana and Diana Loudoun were moved to a resettlement community called O Camp.

On Sergeant O’s advice, Lana Loudoun began to document the causes of the War, beginning with Christmas Eve 706. These entries were later narrated in “Silent Night” as Eileen Irenic read from the Diary of War to her children on Christmas Eve.

Doe Deirdre, along with dozens of other prisoners, was taken to occupied Talonclaw Castle in former Felexa, where she was imprisoned for experimentation.

### References

Though elements of the Psittanine language are inspired by Latin and Haitian Creole, the culture and customs of the Psittacorum are uniquely original.

Bake Hamleigh’s lover, Dorothea Clarence, is named after Dorothea Jordan, mistress of King William IV of Great Britain. During the 20 years of his affair with Dorothea, William was the Duke of Clarence.

Port of the Princes, Psittancyna, is a reference to Port au Prince, the capital of Haiti.

## Trivia

* The title of this episode is named after the common idiom "don't fly **too close to the sun**." The idiom itself is inspired by the Greek mythological story of Icarus, whose father fashioned him a set of wings to fly. Icarus was warned not to fly too high, as the sun could melt the wax holding the wings together. Icarus ignored his father's advice, his hubris ultimately bringing him too high. The wax melted his wings, and Icarus fell into the ocean and drowned.
	+ The line was quoted by Macaw Arini to his daughter, Lucia Psint-Annenburg-Volta: "This is not a game, and you are flying way **too close to the sun**."
* The title of Pserex comes from the Latin “rex” for “monarch.”
* Lucia's name comes from St. Lucia, an island nation in the Caribbean.
* Croix’s name comes from St. Croix, another Caribbean isle.
* The surname of the Psittancynesian Royal Family, Psint-Annenburg-Volta, is inspired by the long names of German royal families, such as the House of Saxe-Coburg-Gotha which would rule the United Kingdom from 1901-present.
* Ruba Curacaire’s name is a combination of the ABC Islands: Aruba, Bonaire, and Curaçao.
* The concepts of O Camp and the Porcinian Evacuation were some of the first storylines conceived during the planning of Storytime in 2017.