The narrator continued.

“By the third season, both states had committed reserves originally intended for internal security..”

Kimia blinked. The map changed.

“.. both Beletam and Dinnlan both used mercenaries from various surrounding powers to help sustain their..”

Another blink.

The chair was comfortable. Too comfortable.

Kimia shifted.

The kaftan tightened slightly at one shoulder.

She adjusted it.

The screen showed an preserved crude drawing of a skirmish. 

The narrator spoke about tactics used by both sides: “.. numerous tactics by Dinnlan's military used relied on fast, blunt weapons that could easily defeat armor, while Beletam..”

Then logistics. 

Garang would approve.

Kimia thought of Garang, then Tilmuhl, then Dinnlan, then Rimil.

No.

Those thoughts did not belong here at this hour.

Kimia frowned.

Sleep had begun mixing things.

The screen became bright, then dark.

A map. A dead lord.

Kimia’s head lowered.

She raised it.

Behind her the indrel stood.

Safe.

Nothing required her.

The narrator explained the first Beletan breakthrough.

Kimia heard approximately half.

“.. the collapse of the northern position held by Dinnlan was not itself decisive, but it altered the political assumptions under which subsequent negotiations...”

Her eyes closed.

Opened.

The documentary continued without concern.

Ten minutes vanished.

Kimia no longer knew which season they were discussing.

She masses of soldiers. Another old portrait, then Yira’s four-note phrase entered her head.

It did not belong to the documentary.

Kimia tried to remember it.

Could not.

Her head leaned against back of the chair.

This time she did not correct it.

The screen's light moved over her face.

Thirty minutes after beginning the program, Kimia fell asleep.

No ceremony. No decision.

One moment she was listening to a historian explain why two dead governments had believed themselves unable to yield.

The next she was gone.

The documentary continued.

Maps changed. Borders moved. Armies advanced. Retreated. People starved. Diplomacy failed. The seasons accumulated.

Behind Kimia, the indrel remained on duty.

Its mask clicked softly in the dark.

At some point, it looked toward the sleeping duchess.

Perhaps it detected her breathing slowing. Perhaps the change in body temperature. Perhaps nothing more complex than the fact that her head had fallen to one side.

It did not wake her.

On the screen, the Ten Seasons War entered its second year.

Kimia slept through it.