《Fractured Magic》


 01 | The Kidnapping of a King

    Leandros Nochdvor had a secret: he loved ghost stories. Not just any ghost stories, but the trashy, serialized variety that sold on street corners for a penny. Losing himself in a cheap romance and dubious haunting beat confronting his own ghosts, the failures and losses that clung to him like cobwebs.


    As far as guilty pleasures went, this one was relatively harmless, but he¡¯d be the first to admit it had caused his current predicament. He¡¯d just wanted a new chapter to read. He hadn¡¯t counted on meeting a ghost of his own.


    He¡¯d been browsing market stalls with his cousin when he¡¯d spotted the latest installment of his favorite story, sitting in a newsstand across the street, taunting him. He¡¯d recognized the cover halfway down the block: the black and white illustration depicted a loosely dressed woman wrapped in her lover¡¯s arms, a dark-windowed house looming behind them. It was scandalous, as scandalous as the story itself tended to be, and Leandros couldn¡¯t possibly buy it in front of the Crown Princess of Alfheimr.


    Back home, he had a system. He had to. His favorite penny dreadfuls had limited print runs that sold fast, and while normal people could borrow copies off friends and neighbors when they missed a week, Leandros was a Prince of Alfheimr, the Hero of Histrios. No one could know about this guilty pleasure of his. So once a week, he donned a disguise and stole out of the palace, holing up in a dark cafe to catch up on the latest chapters of his favorite stories. It worked well back home, but now he was traveling with family. When they weren¡¯t on the road, they were guests in someone else¡¯s home. It left little opportunities for sneaking out.


    So, when Leandros saw that corner newsstand, of course he¡¯d looked over his shoulder to see if Rhea was watching. And she wasn¡¯t. All he saw was her parasol, her back to him as she perused a local jeweler¡¯s stall. It was the best chance he¡¯d get. Penny already in hand, he stepped off the sidewalk into the street, but before he could make it any further, a small body crashed into him with all the force of a freight train.


    He and his assailant both went stumbling: the assailant to the ground and Leandros into a florist. The florist, in turn, reeled and knocked a tub of wilted roses off her counter, dumping sickly sweet, freezing water all down Leandros¡¯ pants. He swore, jumped back, and tried to shake the water off, all his annoyance and anger ready on his tongue by the time he turned to his assailant.


    Finding her on the ground, the words died and instead, he offered her a hand. She hesitated before taking it, her face obscured by a heavy cloak and draping hood, but then she let Leandros pull her up, her pale hand clammy in his own. And as she straightened up, Leandros glimpsed beneath her hood.


    A chill ran down his spine.


    To him, the word ghost was only ever a metaphor. He didn¡¯t believe ghosts were real ¡ª he never had. But looking at this woman now, it was the only word that fit. A mask covered the lower half of her face, but Leandros could tell she was orinian , from across the valley. What skin he could see was bloated and mottled, torn open by wounds that cut across her pale forehead. Only her eyes had any life to them, feverish and bright beneath her hood.


    She met his eyes, and Leandros swore he heard her laugh. Then, without warning, she took off running. What could he do but give chase?


    ¡°Leandros!¡± Rhea called, her voice lost amidst the florist¡¯s shouts and the crowd¡¯s chatter.


    It was instinct that forced Leandros on. The crowd resisted him, pushed back against him, but he pushed harder. He elbowed his way through, to surprised exclamations and much grumbling, then finally shot free of the crowd like a bullet from the barrel of a pistol. Always, he kept the back of the woman¡¯s raggedy cloak in his sights. He didn¡¯t know why, but he felt that losing her now would be a mistake. Maybe he¡¯d been reading too much fiction, but he couldn¡¯t shake a sense of dread.


    Up ahead, he watched the edges of the woman¡¯s cloak disappear around a corner. He turned the corner himself only seconds later, but when he did, she was gone. Leandros skidded to a stop and looked up and down the street. It was empty. There were no side streets, no alleys. Nowhere to go.


    ¡°Shit,¡± Leandros said to the empty road, pushing his golden hair out of his face. He rested his hands on his ¡ªwet, cold ¡ª knees and paused to catch his breath. ¡°Shit.¡±


    He¡¯d followed the woman almost halfway across Illyon, he noted with distaste. It was a neighborhood he knew well, one he¡¯d visited often, in another life. It was quiet, mixed residential, not quite wealthy but not poor, either. The cobbled road was pock-marked and the dresses in the storefronts at least several seasons behind Alfheim, the capital city. Leandros ached with a nostalgia he had neither the time nor energy for, in that moment.


    He hated Illyon. It was a dingy, self-important little city, industrial and ¡°progressive¡± in a way that meant progress only for the rich and lucky. Factory smoke filled its skies and buried the suns, and beneath the smog was a smell so foul it hurt to breathe, the product of a sewage system that failed to fit the growing population. It had only gotten worse in the sixty years since Leandros'' last visit, and he was less than impressed. If Illyon was good for anything, it was this: ill omens, strange happenings. Ghostly women that appeared and disappeared in a miasma of bad timing and rotten luck. There would be no finding her, now.


    He needed to get back to Rhea, shouldn''t have left her in the first place. They had meetings and responsibilities to attend to. How could he run off chasing ghosts? Illyon was full of those; he should''ve known better. As he passed back through familiar streets, he passed a group of children playing skip rope, chanting an old rhyme to the beat of their jumps:


    Taurel, taurel, old stone and coral


    Where do you end your reign?


    Spread through the valley, down to the trees.


    You will be Egil''s bane.


    While Leandros slowed without thinking, watched them without seeing, the young girl holding one end of the ropes slowed, almost tripping her friend in the middle up. ¡°Ansel, what''s taurel?¡± she asked.


    The boy holding the other end, slightly older than his two companions, shrugged.


    Leandros answered without quite meaning to. ¡°It''s a flower. It grows north of here, on Unity''s island,¡± he said, the kids all turning to look at him. He cleared his throat, then added, awkwardly, ¡°The rhyme is about Unity.¡±


    ¡°Unity? But wasn''t it an alfar that killed Egil?¡± Ansel asked, regarding Leandros with suspicion. ¡°He went crazy and killed a bunch of people, and even Unity couldn''t stop him!¡±


    ¡°My teacher said Egil was a great hero,¡± said the girl in the middle, stopping her jumping to glare at Ansel. ¡°Heroes don''t kill people.¡±


    ¡°They do if they go crazy,¡± Ansel countered. Like Leandros, he was alfar, with pointed ears and catlike pupils. The girl turned to Leandros, the closest adult, for backup.


    ¡°There are conflicting accounts,¡± he said, feeling a little ill. He didn''t know how he''d expected to survive an outing in Illyon without hearing the name Egil.


    ¡°Egil used to live here, you know. He had a house, just down that way. It''s a museum now,¡± the girl with the ropes told Leandros, as if Leandros didn''t already know. As if you could spend ten minutes in this Atiuh-forsaken city without that knowledge being forced on you. As if, back when the museum was still a house, Leandros hadn''t had a guest bedroom made up specially for him, anytime he wanted it. ¡°I went with my class last week.¡±


    ¡°And how was it?¡± Leandros asked.


    The girl only shrugged. ¡°It was boring. Just a house. But I bought a little Egil toy with my allowance. Would you like to see?¡±


    ¡°No,¡± Leandros said, too quickly. ¡°I¡¯m in a bit of a hurry, I¡¯m afraid.¡±


    Illyon''s obsession with Egil was the worst thing about this city. They worshiped the ghost of a hero they had no claim to while Leandros, who had more cause than any to mourn, faced reminders of his lost friend everywhere: in museums and statues, on tacky restaurant menus and even in children''s rhymes. It left a bitter taste in his mouth. He couldn''t help but think that if Egil had been here, that cloaked woman wouldn''t have gotten away. Egil would have known what was wrong with her. Egil would have known how to help.


    ¡°Leandros!¡± a voice called, making Leandros curse under his breath. Slowly, he turned to face his cousin.


    Rheamaren Nochdvor wasn¡¯t like Leandros; though younger, she was the perfect alfar in a way Leandros had never managed to pull off, always utterly in control. She never ran, she only walked. She didn''t get waylaid by inquisitive children or mysterious strangers. She never even cursed, especially in front of kids, but Leandros could see in the irritated draw of her mouth how badly she wanted to in that moment.


    Rhea''s high fashion stood out in Illyon. They were supposed to be covert, sneaking around without an escort, but anyone could tell from a glance that Rhea was royalty. She was tall and elegant, in a rich red dress with a full skirt and puff sleeves, matching her parasol. As a symbol of her status, she wore her long, golden hair down, the pointed tips of her ears sticking out from beneath it. She stopped in front of Leandros, then glanced at the children behind him, her anger quickly replaced by puzzlement. ¡°Am I...interrupting?¡±


    The children, watching Rhea with wide eyes, kept quiet.


    ¡°We were just discussing Egil,¡± Leandros said with a wry smile that softened when he glanced back at the kids. He gave them a playful bow, and the two girls grinned and curtsied back. ¡°I''m sorry to have kept you from your game. Please, excuse me.¡±


    Rhea glanced over the children disinterestedly before turning to leave. Leandros hurried to catch up, and when he fell into step, she asked, ¡°Egil, really? I don''t know why you do this to yourself.¡±


    ¡°It wasn''t intentional.¡±


    ¡°I don''t believe you. And what¡¯s going on here?¡± Rhea asked, gesturing all around them. ¡°Are you going to explain what you were thinking, taking off like that?¡±


    Leandros scratched his chin, now embarrassed to say. ¡°It doesn''t matter anymore. I thought I saw something strange.¡±


    ¡°Strange? You ran all this way for strange? What kind of strange?¡±


    ¡°It''s hard to describe. That woman was orinian, but she¡ª¡±


    ¡°Orean is a day''s ride away, Leandros,¡± Rhea said. Her voice was flat and measured, flawless as cold stone. ¡°Of course there will be orinians here.¡±


    ¡°Yes, obviously,¡± Leandros snapped. Normally, he tried to be patient with Rhea, but it was hard with these ghosts all around him, hard when every breeze reminded him of his morning, freezing his still-wet clothes. Well, at least he was wearing all black. If he¡¯d been wearing one of those white linen suits that were trending in the north, there would¡¯ve been no preserving his dignity or his decency. Perhaps there were benefits to staying in mourning blacks, after all. ¡°Something was wrong with her, Rhea. Really wrong.¡±


    ¡°Not with her legs, given how fast she ran from you,¡± Rhea said. She paused, then examined her cousin''s expression more closely. His unease must have been obvious, given how quickly her tone changed. ¡°Well, where did she go? Should we keep looking for her?¡±


    ¡°When are we due back?¡±


    ¡°In ten minutes.¡±


    Leandros winced and checked his watch. She was right. ¡°There¡¯s no time,¡± he said. ¡°Besides, I have a feeling we won¡¯t find her even if we look. We¡¯re not far from Hampstead Hall; we can be back in twenty minutes if you don¡¯t dawdle,¡± he said, starting off down the street without waiting for Rhea to catch up.


    ¡°If I don¡¯t dawdle?¡± she hissed, hurrying after him. ¡°Why, you ¡ª Ugh, Leandros, why don¡¯t we just hail a cab?¡±


    ¡°Because this isn¡¯t Alfheim. We¡¯re not going to find any in a neighborhood like this; we¡¯ll have to get back to High Street before we even have a chance.¡±


    It wasn¡¯t even a bad neighborhood, in the way people liked to call neighborhoods inherently ¡°bad¡± ¡ª not unsafe or rowdy or even particularly lively, but Leandros never would''ve brought Rhea here under other circumstances. The problem wasn''t Rhea ¡ª she needed to expand her horizons, see more of the world. But if her father found out, he''d be disappointed in Leandros, and Leandros could never disappoint his King. Not intentionally, at least. But as long as they were already here¡­


    This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version.


    ¡°Look around. Commit this to memory,¡± he said, even while he himself looked under passersbys'' hoods and down alleys for his missing ghost. ¡°This is how most of your subjects live. It¡¯s important to leave home every now and then, see the world.¡±


    Rhea wrinkled her nose at getting orders from her cousin, older though he was. ¡°Rich, coming from you. How long has it been since you¡¯ve left the Palace grounds?¡±


    Of course, she didn¡¯t know about his sneaking out for cheap fiction. That was just as well. ¡°I¡¯m not going to be queen,¡± Leandros said.


    In the end, Rhea did as he asked, taking in the city with curious eyes until they managed to hail a cab on High Street. It rattled easily through the market, the crowd parting for it in a way it didn¡¯t for fellow pedestrians. Leandros kept checking his watch on the way, watching the smooth ride shave minutes off their arrival time. The watch''s front was dented, the metal tarnished, but it ticked steadily in Leandros'' hand. His eyes carefully avoided the initials engraved on the inner corner.


    ¡°Only five minutes late,¡± he said smugly.


    ¡°You''re the one who made us late, so why do you sound so proud?¡± Rhea asked. ¡°There are flower petals in your hair, by the way.¡±


    Leandros frowned and ran his hands through his hair. It was the same golden color as Rhea¡¯s and was cut fashionably at chin length, though a single, stubborn lock tended to fall rather unfashionably into his eyes. Sure enough, he shook out small petals and half of a leaf ¨C from his run-in with the florist, it seemed.


    ¡°I had to pay for all those roses you ruined,¡± Rhea said. ¡°I expect you to pay me back.¡±


    Leandros scoffed. ¡°Those roses were already as good as dead. Whatever you paid, it was too much.¡±


    ¡°And what was I supposed to do? You didn''t exactly give me time to barter!¡±


    ¡°I don''t believe that you even know how to barter,¡± Leandros countered. ¡°But fine. I''ll pay you back if your father doesn''t kill me for making you late, first.¡±


    ¡°He won¡¯t. You know how he always defends you. Besides, he¡¯s too glad you finally left the Palace to be very angry.¡± Rhea watched, unimpressed, as he continued to shake out his hair, then took pity and plucked the last bit of flower out for him. ¡°We should do this again, when we have more time. I want to see more of Illyon before we return to Alfheim.¡±


    ¡°Maybe,¡± Leandros agreed, looking out the window. ¡°I think I''d like to see the house.¡±


    A small furrow appeared between Rhea''s brows. All alfar expressions were subtle, Rhea''s more than most, but Leandros knew where to look. ¡°Egil''s? Are you serious? Whenever you so much as hear his name, you mope about the Palace for weeks.¡±


    Leandros¡¯ expressions were not subtle. Compared to his family, he wore his heart on his sleeve. It had always been this way. He looked out the window so Rhea couldn''t see his face. ¡°It''s been sixty years,¡± he said. To a human, Egil was history. To Leandros, the cut still ran deep. ¡°I know the time for mourning has passed. Maybe this will give me closure.¡±


    Rhea''s gaze on him was too heavy, so Leandros added, ¡°I just wish they hadn''t turned it into a fucking museum.¡±


    ¡°So buy the building. We''re here, by the way. Would you like to complain more, or shall we go?¡±


    ¡°By all means, let¡¯s go. I can complain on the way.¡±


    If the guards of Hampstead Hall were surprised at seeing their guests of honor on the wrong side of the gates, they didn¡¯t show it, letting Rhea and Leandros wordlessly through when they arrived. The two alfar passed into a wide courtyard, empty and echoing, and took a moment to brush the dust from their clothes. Leandros¡¯ trousers had mostly dried, at least, though they¡¯d dried stiff and crunchy.


    Around them, the unique silver brick of Hampstead¡¯s walls caught in the sunslight, making the place feel like a glittering mosaic. The courtyard was empty as they passed through, but now and then Leandros glimpsed servants scurrying along the upper corridors, disappearing and reappearing between ivy-covered columns and glancing over the edge to glimpse the princess and her infamous cousin. Leandros ignored them, more than used to being a subject of curiosity.


    He and Rhea climbed the stairs up to the reception hall, its gilded doors held open for them by Illyon guards. Rhea swept inside first, treating her arrival like a gift to everyone waiting within. Before he followed, Leandros wiped his smile from his face. In Illyon, as in all the Alfheimr province, expression was a weakness that would be used against him.


    The reception hall was a round room at the top of Hampstead¡¯s tallest tower, flooded in light and circled on all sides by arched windows. The suns outside blinded Leandros, but not as much as the nobles inside, their sparkling fabrics and bright jewelry refracting sunslight along the domed ceiling. Spaced evenly throughout, they circled a man at the room¡¯s center, planets circling a golden-bright sun. Nobles and lords and politicians, circling the King of Alfheimr.


    Amos Nochdvor turned when Rhea and Leandros swept in. He didn¡¯t smile ¡ª here, that would be boorish ¡ª but his eyebrows lifted slightly. It was a good sign. ¡°There you are,¡± he said.


    Rhea bowed and Leandros followed suit. When she straightened again, Rhea said, ¡°Apologies, father. I asked Leandros to show me the city.¡±


    Amos turned his attention to Leandros, his sharp blue eyes pinning Leandros in place. Leandros had the same eyes, as had his father before him. At the mention of Leandros¡¯ name, a ripple of whispers and scorn passed through the room, more than a few nobles tilting their heads to look down their noses at him. ¡°You couldn¡¯t have chosen a better time for your tour?¡± Amos asked.


    Leandros bowed again. ¡°The fault is mine.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s a beautiful day and you¡¯re both young. I suppose I cannot blame you,¡± Amos said, looking out the windows. When he again met Leandros¡¯ gaze, the ice in his gaze had thawed. ¡°Though we''ll discuss your leaving without an escort later.¡±


    With that, he returned to the conversation they¡¯d interrupted while Rhea tugged Leandros toward the windows, out of the way. He could feel eyes on him, so he turned to lean out the open window, his back to the room. Alfheimr prized stoicism: hide how you feel. Don¡¯t say what you mean. Be private, be discrete, and give your enemies nothing. Leandros had a history of breaking these rules ¡ª he¡¯d traveled too often and too far in his youth. He¡¯d been given too much independence and lost what made him alfar. It was Egil, they said, and all the adventures he¡¯d had with the earnestly human hero. They loved Egil in theory and held disdain for him in private, and everything Leandros had done in Egil¡¯s name made him something of an oddity.


    When Leandros gave them nothing worth gossiping about, they returned their attention to the glittering king. Leandros and Rhea hadn¡¯t missed much. Alfar meetings always started with circling small talk, court gossip, and pleasantries, moving slowly like new partners at the start of a dance. Leandros had no use for small talk or gossip, so he admired the view. All of Illyon sprawled below him like a map, from the plumes of factory smoke curling in the distance to the flat rooftops of Hampstead Hall just beneath him. Further out, little more than a spot on the horizon, sat the independent city-state of Orean. Orean fit between jagged mountains, past the Alfheimr province¡¯s borders and Unity¡¯s grasp. It was a kinder city than Illyon and Leandros dreamed of returning there someday. Maybe if a day came when Amos could no longer defend him.


    Someone knocked at the doors, and the captain of Hampstead¡¯s guard entered and kneeled before the king. ¡°A messenger from Orean has come to speak with His Majesty,¡± he said.


    Leandros wouldn¡¯t have thought it possible, but the nobles reacted even more disdainfully to the mention of Orean than they had to his name. Normally, Orean was the subject of empty grumbling, like bad weather or a horse losing at the tracks. Back home, they¡¯d been hearing about rising tensions, disputes over resources and pollution, heated exchanges, but Leandros hadn¡¯t taken them seriously. There were always rumors. The rumors were normal. But given how quickly the energy in the room had soured, Leandros started to wonder if this time they might be true.


    ¡°Were you expecting anyone?¡± Amos asked the woman beside him ¡ª Illyon¡¯s governor, Leandros remembered from the earlier introductions. ¡°Ah, no matter. We¡¯ll hear them out.¡±


    ¡°Yes, Your Majesty,¡± the captain said. He turned to leave, then hesitated. ¡°If you don¡¯t mind my saying, His Majesty should be careful. There¡¯s something off about this woman...something unnatural.¡±


    ¡°What do you mean?¡± Amos asked.


    Rhea and Leandros shared a look. Rhea shook her head, but Leandros was already stepping forward. ¡°Your Majesty, if I may. Did she have a black cloak and red hair, Captain?¡±


    Eyebrows raised, the captain nodded, and Leandros felt his stomach drop. The dread from before returned. ¡°I believe Princess Rheamaren and I ran into the same orinian on our way here.¡±


    Amos looked to Rhea, but Rhea again shook her head. ¡°I didn¡¯t see her face. Only Leandros did.¡±


    ¡°Explain,¡± Amos ordered.


    Leandros bowed. ¡°Yes, Your Majesty. I only saw her for a moment, but she seemed wounded, her face full of cuts from no weapon I¡¯ve ever seen. Before I could speak with her, she ran. I don¡¯t think she meant harm ¡ª at least, she bore no weapon, but Captain Nielson is right. There''s something strange about her. I think you should invite her up.¡±


    ¡°You would give your King orders?¡± the Governor asked.


    Amos silenced her with a look. ¡°I trust my nephew¡¯s judgment,¡± he said. He turned again to Captain Nielson, the flowing silks of his coats slithering across the cold marble. ¡°And I won¡¯t turn away a missive from Orean. Send her up.¡±


    Nielson hadn''t been gone long before the doors opened again.


    The smell hit first, like rancid meat and spoiled perfume, then out of the shadows stepped Leandros'' cloaked stranger. Shadows spread from her like magic, reaching along the walls and floor like grasping claws, snuffing out the dancing lights caused by all the glitter and gold. Since their meeting in the marketplace, the woman had unbuttoned her cloak and lowered her mask; Leandros could now see Orean''s insignia beneath, etched onto leather armor so old it belonged in a textbook.


    She stepped forward with a jerky sway, like a puppet guided by an inexperienced puppeteer. Only then did she lower her hood.


    It was worse than Leandros remembered. Her skin was gray, almost translucent, and framed by long curls as red as blood. Like all orinians, she had long, calf-like ears and a tail that swished beneath her cloak. The wounds Leandros saw before stretched across her skin in a mockery of orinians¡¯ pale birthmarks, and where muscle and bone should have been visible beneath instead flowed a strange liquid, orange and sluggish like magma. It pulsed beneath her skin with every beat of her heart and her eyes, alight with the same glow, fixed unblinkingly on the King.


    Leandros felt ill just looking at her. Near him, one of Illyon¡¯s nobles fainted in a heap of heavy skirts, her friends too entranced by their flyblown visitor to catch her. Just as before, when faced with everyone¡¯s horror, the woman only smiled. At least, Leandros thought it was supposed to be a smile ¡ª only half her face cooperated, the other cut through by wicked gashes.


    Beyond her appearance, beyond her smile, beyond even the smell of death that clung to her like perfume, something about her unsettled Leandros. Something bigger, something behind her eyes, a presence looking out. It felt like wandering alone through haunted ruins, like he was something very small facing something very large. It hid in the swirl of that strange glow on her skin, and it had Leandros'' hand going to the revolver he wore at his hip. He needed to get Amos away from her, and Amos seemed to have the same realization. ¡°Guards!¡± he shouted, the calm king¡¯s voice breaking on the word. ¡°Guards!¡±


    There was no answer from the hallway beyond, only fingers of blood flowing through the open doors. When the orinian woman took a step toward the King, the governor bravely moved to block her way.


    ¡°Don¡¯t!¡± Leandros warned, but too late. The orinian caught the governor by the throat, her graying fingers swollen, and lifted her off the ground like she weighed nothing.


    ¡°Release her,¡± the king commanded. ¡°Release her and tell us what you want.¡±


    The orinian tilted her head to one side, considering the command, then let the Governor drop. ¡°Very well,¡± she said, her voice unexpectedly sweet. Her accent felt as old as her clothing, as old as the strange presence behind her eyes that wore her like a shell. Beneath the cruor, she was tragically beautiful. ¡°I want you. Will you come with me?¡±


    Leandros drew his gun and aimed it at the woman. ¡°Don¡¯t move any closer,¡± he warned. ¡°He''s not going anywhere.¡±


    The woman only glanced at Leandros, seemingly ready to dismiss him, but then her gaze snapped back to his face. She blinked, almost seeming surprised. ¡°You again,¡± she observed. ¡°I¡¯m sorry, but I will have him.¡±


    When she took another step, Leandros fired.


    The shot echoed through the room. The bullet struck its target, tearing into the woman¡¯s shoulder. But while she stumbled, lost her stride, she didn¡¯t so much as glance at the wound before pressing forward again. So again, Leandros shot. Again, she barely even slowed. It was impossible. Inhuman. Leandros shot her again and again and again, shot until his gun ran out of bullets and the orinian reached her target. When she reached the king, she pressed a single finger to his chest.


    Leandros watched his uncle shudder and crumple like a broken doll.


    Beside him, Rhea screamed and surged forward, but Leandros caught her by the wrist. Others rushed to Amos¡¯ aid while Rhea struggled to break Leandros¡¯ grip. Before anyone could reach the king, the orinian swept her arm through the air and something erupted from her palm ¡ª something like lightning and something like fire, something glowing with the same crimson as the magma beneath her skin. It hung in a ring around herself and the fallen king, keeping everyone back. It cracked and sputtered and grew brighter, stronger, hotter while she hoisted Amos off the ground and threw him over her shoulder. It sparked and flared, singeing any who stood close enough.


    Despite Rhea¡¯s struggling, Leandros only dragged her further back, stopping when the backs of his thighs hit the windowsill. He tore his eyes from his uncle¡¯s limp form to watch the flames: they were losing their shape, flaring out further with each pop and sputter. When he risked a glance at the orinian again, what he saw turned his blood cold. Her eyes had changed, shadow eclipsing pupil, iris, and sclera and leaving her eyes entirely black. Leandros was frozen in place. He''d seen eyes like those before, pure blackeyes, just once. He''d seen them on the face of his best friend, on the day that Egil died.


    Then, before he could do anything to stop her, the woman disappeared into thin air, taking the king with her. Rhea sobbed and struggled harder against Leandros, but even though the orinian was gone, her flames were not. Molten sparks flew at them every few seconds, and Leandros could feel their heat even from the far wall. While the others only stared, he made a decision. He turned, caught Rhea by the waist, and launched them both out the open window.


    Rhea screamed as they fell, but a final, deafening pop from the tower drowned her out. An explosion followed, one that shook the earth and blew out every window in the high tower, and the alfar fell amidst a shower of glass and flame.


    They hit the flat rooftop a few fleeting seconds later, searing pain shooting up Leandros¡¯ shoulder at his awkward landing. He gasped but pushed himself up anyway, holding himself over Rhea to protect her from the falling glass. He felt it hitting his back and arms, cutting and slicing even as the smaller bits dug into his palms. Only then it stopped, after what felt like ages, did he collapse again beside his cousin, out of breath.


    He had a perfect view of the charred window above him, its bricks no longer sparkling. Then Rhea entered Leandros¡¯ field of vision, tears streaking down her cheeks. ¡°Leandros,¡± she said, voice hoarse. ¡°She has my father. What do we do?¡±


    Leandros shook his head. Past the ringing in his ears, he could hear shouting below, fire bells ringing in the distance. When he closed his eyes, he saw black eyes staring back. It took him a moment to process Rhea''s words. His answer, when it came, was simple: ¡°We get him back.¡±

 02 | The Magistrates Aid

    Inside a private telephone box, Gareth Ranulf spun on his stool, the phone''s receiver held to his ear. ¡°Wonderful. I''ll see you soon, dear,¡± he said, listening to the tinny reply before adding, ¡°Yes, ideally with Moira in tow, but you know how she can be. It seems there''s some sort of event happening on the island today. Knowing her, she''ll need to stay.¡±


    Through the phone box''s glossy windows, Gareth watched strangers hurry past ¡ª more than he would''ve expected from Unity on a Saturday. There were secretaries and politicians, socialites and more than the usual number of reporters. A group of the latter stopped in front of Gareth''s phone box, the dragon in their midst sitting her scaled bulk right in front of his door. Gareth frowned, rapped on the glass to get her attention, and nearly missed his wife''s reply.


    ¡°Say that again?¡± he asked, swiveling back around to face the transmitter. ¡°Yes, I''ll tell her. Isobel, I have to let you go. It seems I''m trapped in my phone box. No, no, it''s nothing to worry about. I''ll meet up with you and Ofelia on the hour, alright? I love you, Boop.¡±


    Honestly, what sort of person went around blocking phone boxes without first checking whether anyone was inside? Gareth knocked on the glass again, deciding to give this dragon a piece of his mind. But when that didn''t get her attention, he shoved the door open until it bumped her blue flank. Finally, she looked back, her eyes widening when she noticed Gareth. ¡°My apologies,¡± she rumbled, shuffling aside.


    Gareth''s bluster left him all at once. ¡°No, no, don''t even mention it! I should be the one apologizing ¡ª I didn''t mean to interrupt your conversation. Terribly sorry.¡±


    When the dragon turned her attention back to her companions, Gareth paused to listen in, hoping for clues to why the island was so busy. ¡°I¡¯m not surprised by any of this,¡± one reporter was saying. ¡°The royal family has another scandal every few decades. We were overdue.¡±


    Gareth pretended to tie his boot laces, intrigued. Which royal family could he mean? There were several options: of the six provinces under Unity''s banner, four of them had reigning monarchs. The Sheman royal family in the north dominated for petty drama, but Ejera in the west had seen the most recent political upheaval.


    ¡°Be serious, Albrecht,¡± said another. ¡°Whatever happened this time, it''s nothing to joke about. Both the princess and prince came here today in person.¡±


    ¡°Is that supposed to mean something?¡± the man called Albrecht asked.


    ¡°No one¡¯s seen the prince in sixty years,¡± said the alfar girl beside Gareth¡¯s dragon friend. She looked younger than the others, with piercings along her ears and strawberry-blonde hair that she¡¯d braided out of her face. Knowing how alfar biology worked, though, she may well have been the oldest of the group. ¡°Not since Histrios. It''s strange. You used to hear his name everywhere ¡ª he worked with the Oracle of Damael, negotiated the first ever trade agreements with the oanai, even uncovered the coup in Alfheim. But then he just vanished.¡±


    As much as he wished to, Gareth couldn¡¯t listen forever. His heart beat fast in his chest as he stepped out onto Unity''s cobbled footpaths. Leandros Nochdvor! Here! The questions Gareth would ask, if he caught a moment alone with the man. Maybe if Gareth asked nicely, his sister would arrange an introduction. His path led him between grand old buildings, with dahlias, taurel, and other late summer blooms lining the way. Above his head, reds and oranges crept along the edges of crisp green leaves, not quite ready to fall. Normally, Gareth hated this time of year, but he was so giddy now that he found he didn''t mind it ¡ª didn''t mind being dragged to Gallontea for the season, even.


    This was the time of year when people looked back on what they had, then forward to what they may yet get. It was a time of celebration and relief, but for Gareth, it was a season of responsibilities. Every fall, Unity hosted a series of conferences, all the world''s important people flocking to the capital city of Gallontea to attend, and every fall, Gareth''s sister Moira made him join them. If it were up to him, he'' d be back home working on his book, playing in the fallen leaves with his daughter or walking his estate grounds arm-in-arm with his wife. But this year, finally, his pilgrimage to Gallontea may have been worth it. Getting a firsthand account from Egil''s good friend ¡ª it was just what his book needed!


    He couldn''t reach his destination fast enough. Turning a final corner, he saw it: a massive courthouse that towered against the rocky coast, its pointed arches and stone spires reaching for the gray sky. Beside it stood Unity''s famous clock tower. As the salty ocean breeze washed over him, Gareth looked up at its glowing face and did some quick math: he had just under an hour to get inside, convince his sister to abandon her duties for the day, and meet up with Isobel across the bridge in Gallontea.


    He hurried up the stairs, between bronze statues of the gods Ellaes and Atuos, and into the courthouse. Normally, this place was reverent, almost oppressive in its silence. Today, Gareth was surprised when he opened the doors to a burst of sound. Remnants of a once-large crowd lingered in the doorway, whispering excitedly among themselves. Those nearest Gareth stopped when he entered, but started again as soon as they realized he was nobody special. Gareth self-consciously adjusted the strap of his writing bag and pushed past, straining to hear the whispers as he went.


    ¡°¡ªAll the way from Illyon,¡± one man said to his friends.


    At the next grouping, a nympherai whispered, ¡°It¡¯s the alfar king. I hear he¡¯s sick. That''s why he didn''t come today.¡±


    Passing a third group, Gareth caught only one word: ¡°Orinians.¡±


    By the time he reached the stairs, his curiosity blazed even brighter than before. He hurried up toward the representatives¡¯ offices, his eyes sliding over Unity¡¯s decadence ¡ª the oil paintings and velvet hangings, the wooden carvings and gilded railings. By now, he was used to it. At the top of the stairs, the hallway split in three directions, one for each of Calaidia¡¯s species.


    Gareth had always found the impossibly vaulted ceilings down the center hall excessive. It was built for the dragons, but only the draconic Magistrate herself excluded, they tended not to grow much taller than draft horses. They didn''t warrant this. But then, it was said that the red dragons had been monstrously large. The other two hallways were far more reasonable, by comparison, and Gareth took the one to the left, following it to the human representatives'' wing. Calaidia''s three species shared Unity''s power equally: each had seats on the Congregation of Representatives, which created and enforced laws, and each appointed one Magistrate to oversee them. The Magistrates were, by far, the most powerful people on the continent ¡ª more powerful than the representatives, and more powerful than the leaders of the individual provinces. They were also the busiest people on the continent, so Gareth wasn''t surprised to find Moira''s office empty.


    ¡°She''s in a meeting,¡± one of Moira''s clerks said. ¡°Would you like me to take a message for you, Mr. Ranulf?¡±


    Gareth waved the girl off. ¡°That¡¯s quite alright. I¡¯ll catch up with her later.¡± When he turned to leave, though, he hesitated. ¡°I say, is there something happening downstairs? There was quite a crowd when I passed through.¡±


    The clerk¡¯s face remained carefully neutral. ¡°I don¡¯t know anything about that, sir.¡±


    ¡°Really? I heard it has something to do with the Alfheimr royal family.¡±


    This time, the clerk only smiled. ¡°That''s a very interesting theory.¡±


    ¡°Right,¡± Gareth said, taking the hint. ¡°Well. It''s supposed to be your day off, isn''t it? Don''t let my sister overwork you.¡±


    ¡°Yes, Mr. Ranulf.¡±


    Gareth took the long way out, past the representatives'' offices. Almost everyone was in today, and Gareth suspected that if he performed a similar inspection in the other two wings, he''d find more of the same. It was odd. You rarely saw this level of turnout on actual conference days, let alone on a weekend. The conference season was for seeing and being seen, not for any serious political work. Whatever had brought the Nochdvors here must be serious.


    Moira wouldn¡¯t tell him anything even if he found her, but Gareth was a stubborn man with an insatiable curiosity, and he could be very annoying when he chose to be. That was why he thrived in academia. He could squeeze something interesting out of her, he was sure, so he decided to check one more place for his sister, heading down to the main courtroom. From there, he took the private hallway to the Magistrates'' Chambers. Before he could knock at the door, raised voices stilled his hand.


    Damn him, but he couldn¡¯t resist a mystery. He inched closer, stood on the tips of his toes, and peered through the door¡¯s narrow window. Inside, he saw four people ¡ª two familiar and two new.


    ¡°This was your idea, Moira?¡± asked Malong, one of the three Magistrates of the Congregation of Unity. She stood with her back to the wide windows, the sunslight catching on her diamond-clear scales and sending rainbows cascading along the walls. Gareth shrunk down, trying to hide as much of himself as possible. Between her prismatic hide, her low voice, and her size ¡ª she stood an unprecedented thirty-two hands tall ¡ª Malong was a fearsome sight, and knowing her all his life had only made Gareth fear her more. Fortunately, her gaze was fixed on Moira, who lounged comfortably on a leather sofa.


    ¡°Does it matter? Our esteemed guests vetoed this one, too,¡± Moira said, sounding bored. Gareth could only see the back of her head, but he''d grown up with that tone. He could imagine the matching expression perfectly.


    ¡°It will take too long,¡± said one of the strangers, a young alfar woman with hair like spun gold. Her catlike pupils had narrowed to slits in the sunslight. ¡°We don''t have time.¡±


    The Princess of Alfheimr, Rheamaren Nochdvor. If Gareth hadn''t heard the gossip, he might not have recognized her. She had little in common with her father aside from her hair, her eyes dark and her features soft. While Gareth had met Amos only once, as a child, he''d never forget. The alfar had been a vision, exactly what a young boy imagined a powerful king should be. While Rheamaren was arresting, she didn''t have Amos'' commanding presence. Not yet.


    When she stepped forward, revealing more of the man beside her, Gareth gasped. This one ¡ª this one had it. For a moment, Gareth thought it actually was Amos Nochdvor, here after all, but he was too young. Still, the resemblance was uncanny.


    Leandros Nochdvor was tall, strong, with a handsome face and the same golden hair as his cousin. And like his cousin, he wore a closely-tailored suit, ornate in a way only Alfheimr could produce. But while hers was green and gold, in line with Alfheimr''s love of bright colors and shiny things, his was all black, as if he was in mourning. He wore a gun at one hip, a sword at the other. What presence Rheamaren lacked, Leandros had; Gareth had not trouble fitting him into legends alongside Egil and the Oracle of Damael. While the others talked, Leandros¡¯ expression was a sheet of ice over a frozen lake. Every so often, Gareth glimpsed dark, dangerous shadows churning underneath.


    Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.


    ¡°I urge you to reconsider, Your Highness,¡± came a thin, rasping voice from a corner of the chambers Gareth couldn''t see. He recognized it, though: it belonged to Diomis, the third and final of Unity''s Magistrates. Diomis continued, ¡°We understand the need for urgency, but this situation must be handled delicately. We need to investigate, and we need to do so without escalating it.¡±


    Gareth held his breath. Situation?


    Leandros lifted his chin at Diomis'' words, the small gesture somehow dripping contempt, and Gareth noticed an old scar that stretched from his cheekbone to his jaw. Still, he didn¡¯t speak.


    ¡°With all due respect, Magistrate, Orean escalated the situation when they kidnapped my father,¡± said the princess, making Gareth gasp out in the quiet hallway. ¡°Leandros and I didn''t come here to be careful. We came to ask for Unity''s assistance ¡ª barring that, your permission ¡ª to do whatever it takes to get our king back. I fear your plan, tiptoeing around Orean, negotiating with them, won''t be enough.¡±


    ¡°We understand your fears, Your Highness,¡± Moira said. ¡°You¡¯ve expressed them several times over. But Unity won¡¯t sanction a war just because you are afraid.¡±


    Gareth winced at his sister''s harsh words. That was just like Moira, candid to a fault. In her defense, she had the power to be. Rheamaren didn''t react, but Leandros'' brows drew together. A bold expression, for an alfar. ¡°I never said anything about war,¡± the princess corrected. ¡°I only want to¡ª¡±


    ¡°To ride to Orean with an army and demand the king''s return?¡± Moira finished. ¡°Where do you think that will lead? Do you think they''ll fall over themselves apologizing and return him to you, as easy as that?¡±


    Rheamaren''s expression remained artfully impassive. It had always unsettled Gareth, on his research trips to Alfheimr, how masterfully its people could mask their emotions. ¡°Don''t sanction anything, then,¡± Rheamaren said. ¡°Just don''t get in our way.¡±


    ¡°Princess, try to understand,¡± Diomis said, still only a disembodied voice. ¡°The rest of the world would see our silence as permission, regardless of our intent. We cannot allow this violence until we know more.¡±


    ¡°Allow?¡±


    ¡°Yes, allow. Alfheim will not engage with Orean if we say it cannot,¡± Malong said.


    ¡°We can find with a different solution, then,¡± the princess said, glancing at her cousin ¨C for assistance, perhaps? For support? Gareth closely watched Leandros¡¯ face, catching another shadow flicker beneath the ice. Gareth couldn''t get a read on their relationship.


    ¡°No,¡± Moira said. ¡°We''ve done nothing all day but try to compromise. If you won''t see sense, then the discussion is over. Alfheimr is not to engage with Orean. Unity will investigate your father''s disappearance and negotiate his return, and that is that.¡±


    Rheamaren frowned, the thick mask of Alfheimr restraint cracking. ¡°Why won''t you just¡ª¡±


    ¡°Rhea,¡± Leandros warned. The single word silenced the princess instantly.


    Malong smiled, one corner of her lip curling up to reveal sharp fangs. ¡°Best listen to him. You''ve been very quiet all this time, Prince Nochdvor. How do you feel about your cousin''s instigating? If I recall, you used to be quite against violence, in your youth. Though perhaps that changed after Histrios?¡±


    Leandros'' jaw clenched; his hands curled into fists at his sides.


    ¡°We are not speaking of past affairs,¡± Rheamaren said, her voice like stone.


    ¡°Forgive Malong. We only want to help you, Your Highness,¡± Diomis soothed, finally stepping into Gareth¡¯s field of view. The two alfar were tall for humans, but the nympherai Magistrate stood heads taller than them both. Their legs tilted oddly as they stepped forward, enough to draw attention to their smooth gait and the hooves peeking out from beneath their skirts. Atop their head sat something like a crown made of kelp. ¡°We have people who are well-equipped to handle situations like these. His Majesty will be safe in our hands.¡±


    Moira picked up where Diomis left off: ¡°Think about it: whoever took your father took him for a reason ¡ª if not, why not kill him on the spot? If there''s a reason, then he''s still alive. And if our agents can learn the kidnapper¡¯s reason, they¡¯ll have a better chance of getting him back than if you charge in senselessly.¡±


    ¡°I already told you who took him. You just refuse to listen,¡± Rheamaren said, making the Magistrates exchange looks. ¡°What of that woman? Will your agents be prepared to handle her?¡±


    Diomis laid a bony hand on Rheamaren¡¯s shoulder. ¡°You are distressed. It is understandable. You witnessed something terrible, and your mind filled in a fantasy to make sense of it. Forget this orinian woman. If she exists, we will handle her.¡±


    ¡°Are you saying we lied?¡± Rheamaren asked. Words like those seemed strange coming from such a blank expression.


    ¡°Of course not,¡± Diomis replied. ¡°We just don¡¯t know what to think, not without an investigation.¡±


    ¡°What we do know is that Orean is ready and willing to use violence,¡± Moira said. ¡°Whether that violence was alchemical or something else entirely matters little to us. And we know that responding in kind could drive them to further extremes. While they have your father, that''s dangerous.¡±


    ¡°But¡ª¡±


    ¡°Rhea,¡± Leandros said again, so quietly this time that Gareth almost missed it. Rheamaren turned to look at him, and Gareth wished he could see her expression. What he did see was Leandros'' subtle nod and the way Rheamaren''s shoulders slumped in answer. Finally, Leandros turned to the Magistrates. While his words remained deferential, his voice soothing, shadows thrashed beneath his icy eyes. ¡°I hope you''ll forgive our hesitation, Magistrates. It''s been three days since my uncle''s abduction ¡ª three days of high tensions and little sleep on our end. You''ve not only conceived a plan that will keep the continent peaceful, but considered our king''s safety in making it. We should be thanking you.¡±


    Gareth could practically see Moira relax into the couch, relieved to be talking to someone with sense. He saw her perceived victory in the slow curve of her smile, but then Leandros continued.


    ¡°But you also know Alfheimr needs to be the one to bring him home ¡ª for our relationship with Orean, for our people''s confidence in their future queen, and for the rest of the world, looking on. If you force us out, it will not go well for you,¡± Leandros said.


    Moira sat up again. ¡°How do you figure?¡± she asked.


    Leandros smiled like a cat in the sun. Or perhaps, Gareth thought, like a chess master that just laid a trap. It was more expression than he¡¯d ever seen from an alfar, and Gareth found it even more unsettling than a blank stare.¡°Everyone knows how much Unity hates Orean, and they know how long you''ve been waiting for this chance. If they find out you banned Alfheimr from rescuing its own king, won''t they question your motives? If they learn the truth of what Rhea and I saw in the tower, what will they think then?¡±


    ¡°The truth,¡± Malong spat. ¡°You saw nothing in that tower that day. You were in shock. Going around and spouting nonsense about magic ¡ª no one would believe you, even if you tried to tell them.¡±


    Diomis shot her a warning look, but Leandros only shrugged. ¡°I suppose there''s only one way to find out. Suspicion spreads like poison, swift and lethal,¡± he said. It was a clear threat: if the Magistrates went forward with their own plan, cutting Alfheimr out of its own rescue mission, he would tell the world what he had seen. Silence fell as the possibilities settled over the Magistrates. As if he didn''t even feel the hostility, Leandros continued, ¡°There are other truths I could tell them, as well. Ones I have been silent to until now. Shall we see who they believe?¡±


    Moira¡¯s brows drew together, Diomis stared, their ichthyic eyes unblinking. Malong seemed to have the strongest reaction, her tail whipping angrily behind her. ¡°What do you want,¡± she ground out.


    Again, that smug smile. ¡°I¡¯m glad you asked. I¡¯ve thought of a compromise that I believe will satisfy us all.¡±


    ¡°Go on,¡± Diomis said.


    ¡°Unity wants a team to investigate and negotiate Amos¡¯ return,¡± Leandros summarized. ¡°Well, Alfheimr having a representative on the team that we trust, one with a personal stake in seeing Amos safely home, would go a long way in assuaging our people. Surely, that is not an unfair ask?¡±


    ¡°I suppose not,¡± Diomis said.


    ¡°Wonderful. Then I volunteer for the position,¡± Leandros said.


    The Magistrates considered this bold alfar. ¡°You want to join the team?¡± Diomis clarified.


    ¡°Not quite,¡± Leandros corrected. ¡°I want to lead it.¡±


    At that, Moira laughed. ¡°You have quite the pair on you, boy,¡± she said.


    ¡°Respectfully, Magistrate, I''m twice your age,¡± Leandros said pleasantly. ¡°And you know I¡¯m qualified for the position. I have experience leading similar missions for the Oracle of Damael, direct personal knowledge of Orean, and a dual degree in psychology and law. Not to mention, as Magistrate Malong kindly pointed out, a reputation for both peace and ruthlessness that will ensure Orean takes me seriously.¡±


    ¡°Absolutely not,¡± Malong hissed. ¡°With your history? Your father''s history? Your threats? All that, and you expect us to believe you''re impartial?¡±


    Leandros nodded as if he''d expected this. ¡°I''m from Alfheimr, aren''t I? Impartiality is what we do best,¡± he said. More earnestly, he continued, ¡°Magistrates, I''m asking to work with you to get him back. Alfheimr can''t do this alone, but neither can Unity.¡±


    Gareth didn''t understand the significance of any of this, of the references to magic and motives and secrets and histories, but he knew how his sister looked when she was genuinely considering something. And though Rheamaren stared at her cousin with wide eyes, she straightened her shoulders and joined in. ¡°My cousin''s compromise sounds reasonable to me. If he leads the team, then you''ll hear no more objections from me or Alfheimr. Leandros will report to you, and the team itself will still be of your choosing.¡±


    Moira twitched, crossing and uncrossing her legs. It was Diomis who finally spoke, a rueful smile on their thin lips. ¡°You make reasonable points.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re not actually considering this?¡± Malong hissed at them.


    Diomis shrugged. ¡°Having the Hero of Histrios join with Unity once more...it''s a compelling narrative.¡±


    It was only because Gareth watched Leandros so closely that he noticed Leandros react: he blinked twice, rapidly, his mouth twitching down into a frown. Gareth imagined it was the alfar equivalent of flinching.


    ¡°Do you use that law degree of yours, Prince Nochdvor?¡± Moira asked.


    ¡°Not currently.¡±


    Moira hummed. ¡°You should.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯ve given us much to think about,¡± Diomis said. ¡°Crown Princess Nochdvor, Prince Nochdvor, may we have a moment to discuss? I propose we meet here again in an hour.¡±


    Gareth scrambled back from the door before he was caught, but not fast enough. Rheamaren Nochdvor threw it open with such force that it nearly hit him, throwing off his balance. He landed on his backside, the contents of his bag spilling out over the hallway. The princess barely seemed to notice, storming off in a random direction, her expression still frighteningly neutral, and Gareth pushed himself up onto his elbows just in time for Leandros to follow. Unlike his cousin, his own expression was far from neutral: it was fiery, furious, though that fell away to surprise when he saw Gareth.


    Gareth blinked at him. Leandros blinked back. And then Leandros Nochdvor did the unthinkable: he crouched and started to gather Gareth''s scattered papers.


    ¡°Please don''t!¡± Gareth said in a mortified whisper. ¡°Really, that''s not necessary. You can just leave it.¡±


    ¡°Nonsense.¡± Leandros tapped a bundle of papers against the ground to straighten it. ¡°That was my cousin that crashed into you just now; if she won¡¯t take responsibility, I will. Forgive her, she¡¯s had a difficult week.¡± He glanced up at Gareth, his catlike pupils blown wide in the dim hallway. ¡°Were you on your way to see the Magistrates?¡±


    He seemed so...gentle, outside the tension of the Magistrates'' Chambers. It made his resemblance to his uncle even more uncanny. For a moment, Gareth could only stare, but he jumped when he realized Leandros was waiting for a response. ¡°Ah! Yes. Moira is¡­¡± he said, trailing off when the alfar¡¯s attention shifted to the small pamphlet he¡¯d found among Gareth¡¯s papers. Gareth made a grab for it. ¡°Please, pay that no mind!¡±


    Leandros held the pamphlet out of reach, however, and turned it so Gareth could see the scandalous black-and-white illustration on the cover. The alfar raised a questioning eyebrow at him while Gareth struggled to make an excuse. Then Leandros surprised Gareth once again by asking: ¡°Are you finished with this? I don¡¯t suppose you¡¯d let me borrow it?¡±


    Gareth¡¯s brain stuttered to a stop all at once. ¡°Are you¡­a fan of the story?¡±


    Leandros ran his thumb over the penny dreadful¡¯s cover. ¡°Something like that.¡±


    ¡°Then by all means, it''s yours. It¡¯s my wife¡¯s, but she¡¯ll be thrilled to have someone make good use of it.¡±


    Leandros almost smiled at Gareth, the expression barely there. ¡°You¡¯re sure?¡± he asked. He climbed to his feet, then offered a hand to help Gareth up as well. He was stronger, broader than he¡¯d seemed from a distance, and Gareth felt embarrassed at how easily he was pulled up.


    ¡°Quite,¡± Gareth managed.


    Leandros made a soft, pleased sound and tucked the pamphlet into an inner coat pocket. ¡°Thank you, sir. For what it¡¯s worth, you¡¯ve made one of the worst days of my life slightly more bearable.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m glad I could help,¡± Gareth said. Then, in the awkward silence that followed, he blurted, ¡°I¡¯m sorry for your loss.¡±


    It was an admission of guilt, he knew, a confession that he¡¯d been eavesdropping, but Leandros didn¡¯t seem bothered by it ¡ª or if he was, it didn¡¯t show. Instead, he simply said, ¡°I''ve heard that over and over, these last few days, but you''re the first one who''s said it and seemed genuine. Thank you.¡±


    Awkwardly, Gareth held out his hand. ¡°Gareth Ranulf,¡± he said. Seeing the recognition in Leandros¡¯ eyes when he said his last name, he added, ¡°And please forgive my sister. She cares more than she lets on.¡±


    ¡°Hm,¡± Leandros said, shaking Gareth''s hand. ¡°I should really go after my cousin, but thank you again for the chapter. I thought I¡¯d missed my chance to read it. Please...don''t tell anyone about this.¡±


    Gareth couldn''t tell whether he meant the kidnapping or the penny dreadful. ¡°Of course,¡± he said, moving out of Leandros'' way. ¡°Her Highness went that way.¡±


    Leandros bowed before following his cousin¡¯s stormy path. Gareth watched him go, waiting for him to round the corner, then snuck quietly away before anyone else found him there. He decided he had best leave Moira to her work, after all.

 03 | The Nochdvors Goodbyes

    Leandros followed his cousin''s trail out of the building, then down Unity''s paths to a bench overlooking the sea. Rhea didn''t look at him, even when his boots crunched on gravel and announced his approach, so he sat beside her and breathed in the salty air, heavy with the weight of an oncoming storm. It would be a thunderous end to a thunderous day.


    He didn¡¯t know what had come over him with the Magistrates. He¡¯d thought that part of him, the part that felt and fought, had died in Histrios. It was just a shame it took losing his uncle to find it again.


    Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Rhea''s expression shift, saw her jaw grind as she chewed on her anger. Animals in the wild often saw eye contact as a sign of aggression, and in Leandros¡¯ experience, his younger cousin was much the same; so he kept his eyes on the water, knowing she''d speak when she was ready.


    ¡°What were you thinking?!¡± she finally snapped, her voice cracking like a whip. It surprised Leandros so much that he broke his own rule and looked at her. He''d known she was angry ¡ª angry at him, even ¡ª but he''d never expected her to lose control over it. He''d never known her to lose control for anything. For just a moment, her expression was hot fury, but then she shut her eyes. When they opened again, it had cooled.


    ¡°I''m sorry if I surprised you,¡± Leandros said, choosing his words carefully, ¡°But that wasn''t going well. I had to make the gamble.¡±


    ¡°We''re Nochdvors. We do not gamble.¡± Rhea looked down her nose at him as she said this, lighting the kindling of Leandros'' own temper, which he''d fought so hard to hold back with the Magistrates.


    ¡°Did you have a better plan? Pray, enlighten me, because it looked like you were running out of chances. This may not be a perfect solution, Rhea, but it''s better than anything you came up with and it''s better than them cutting us out ¡ª and I know you know that, otherwise you wouldn''t have vouched for me.¡±


    Rhea hmphed and looked away.


    ¡°Rhea, please. You can''t fight with them.¡±


    ¡°Stop talking to me like I''m a child, Leandros. Until my father is back, I¡¯m your queen.¡±


    Leandros sighed. ¡°That¡¯s exactly why I¡¯m warning you. You can''t fight with them, Rhea. You. If we can¡¯t get Amos back and it falls on you to lead¡ª¡±


    ¡°Don''t say things like that.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry, but I must,¡± Leandros said, ¡°My point is that the Magistrates remember their grudges, and you need to stay on their good side. But me? I don¡¯t matter the way you do. I can be their villain, if it helps our people. You heard Magistrate Malong: they already have their grudges against me. What''s one more?¡±


    ¡°This is more than a grudge. Do you really think you can threaten them without consequences?¡± Rhea asked. She lowered her voice before adding, ¡°Unity is even more dangerous than Orean.¡±


    ¡°Only in the shadows,¡± Leandros said. ¡°I plan on sticking to the light.¡±


    ¡°Whatever that means,¡± Rhea murmured. ¡°Why did you stop me before? When we were talking about that woman?¡±


    That woman. She meant the orinian, of course. They still hadn''t found the words to describe her, and it didn''t help that everyone ¡ª Magistrates, Unity Representatives, even Alfheimr officials ¡ª kept telling them they were in shock, that they misunderstood what they saw. ¡°The Magistrates will never believe us. If we want their help, we have to play their game: hold the truth until the time is right, and in the meantime, use Unity''s resources to get Amos back.¡±


    Rhea made a complicated expression and wrapped her arms around herself. He¡¯d never seen her guard crumble so far, but that didn''t make her easy to read. ¡°I need a moment.¡±


    Leandros gave it to her. He turned away, watched a seagull drift down and land on the water. He knew how Rhea felt ¡ª he felt much the same. Grief, rage, frustration: they coiled inside him like a ring of magical flame, hot anger encircling his heart. It made it hard to think, hard to breathe. The truth was that every ounce of his energy, every second of every day, was spent keeping that anger in check. He had none left over for social niceties, and that was why he''d spoken to the Magistrates the way he had. He wished it was courage. Really, it was just exhaustion.


    It wasn''t until Rhea wiped her eyes that Leandros realized his cousin was crying. He reached a hand toward her, eyes wide, then let it drop. ¡°Rhea? Can I help?¡±


    Rhea laughed and shook her head, Leandros'' question only making the tears fall faster. She wiped at them with a frustrated groan. ¡°Don''t look at me,¡± she said. ¡°You''ve done enough. You''re right, by the way. I don''t know what I would have done if you hadn''t stepped in. It makes me so angry. You make me so angry.¡±


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    Leandros stared at his cousin, shocked. ¡°Me?¡±


    ¡°You''re supposed to be the one losing control! I''m supposed to be better at this than you.¡± She said supposed like it was law. She scrubbed at her eyes again before continuing, ¡°It''s silly, but I used to be so proud of it. Before everything happened with your father, you were the favorite. Everyone loved you best. Egil loved you. Even my father loved you. I hated you for it, I was so sick with envy. But at least I could restrain myself. I could do something you couldn''t and fit in somewhere you never would: home.¡± Rhea glanced at Leandros, her eyes and nose rimmed red. ¡°I wish I could''ve talked to the Magistrates the way you did. But Leandros, I don''t envy you what comes next. Are you sure you want to do this?¡±


    Leandros gave the question due consideration. Rhea deserved no less. The aftermath of the explosion had passed in a blur, as had the journey back to Alfheim. There, they''d been greeted with fear and anger disguised as pity, and they hadn''t had even a moment to grieve before they''d been forced on a train to Gallontea to beg Unity for help. They were both exhausted and numb, which left little room for surety. Still, Leandros was as sure as he could be.


    ¡°We grieve in different ways. For me, stillness is agony. I can¡¯t sit and wait for news; I have to do something to get him back. I owe him my life, and I have to be the one to bring him home.¡± Leandros looked back at the courthouse looming behind them. This place, this island, was civil and clean and quiet, unlike Illyon. The cobblestone paths were surrounded by fields of blue flowers, blue like shallow waters off a southern shore. The taurel swayed in the breeze, and Leandros nodded at them. ¡°You''ve heard the rhyme, haven''t you? Taurel, taurel, old stone and coral.¡±


    Rhea glanced dully at the flowers, unimpressed. She narrowed her eyes at Leandros. ¡°Is this going to be about Egil?¡±


    Leandros gave her an apologetic smile. ¡°Yes, sorry. It''s just...they make me think of him. This may not surprise you, but that''s something I do often. I find myself wondering what he''d do or say, how he''d approach a situation. For him, decisions like these were easy. He''d do what would help people, what was right. He never centered himself. I''m not so selfless, but I believe this path is right.¡±


    He didn''t voice his concerns: that this wasn''t right for Amos, but right for himself. That this whole scheme was selfish, that it was easier to take up some grand quest for revenge than return home without him.


    Rhea peeked at Leandros past her long bangs. For decades after Histrios, Leandros barely spoke to them ¡ª to Rhea and Amos. He regretted it now, regretted the distance it wedged between them. Something wavered in Rhea¡¯s expression and for a moment, Leandros worried she¡¯d cry again.


    ¡°I suppose I should let you go. But I don¡¯t like it.¡±


    ¡°I thank you for your sacrifice,¡± Leandros said, biting back a smile. ¡°I¡¯m sorry I¡¯m leaving you to face Alfheimr alone.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t care about that. It¡¯s what I was raised to do,¡± Rhea said. She studied Leandros like she wanted to dissect him, like she could see through him to the storm raging inside, darker than the sky. ¡°If you repeat what I''m about to say to anyone, as your new queen, I will have you executed.¡± She paused, took a deep breath. ¡°I''ve always looked up to you, even when I was angry with you. This doesn''t surprise you.¡± Leandros hid a smile and shook his head as Rhea continued: ¡°I lost my father, maybe for good, and next to him you''re the person I''m closest to in all the world. I don''t want to lose you, too.¡±


    ¡°You won''t,¡± Leandros said. He knew it may well be a lie. ¡°Trust me, Rhea. Trust that this is something I can do.¡±


    ¡°Only if you promise to be more careful with the Magistrates,¡± Rhea countered. As if afraid of being heard, she looked back at the island. There was no one there, just the courthouse blotting out the sky. ¡°Do you really think they have alternate motives, or was that a bluff?¡±


    ¡°It was only a bluff,¡± Leandros said. A much easier lie.


    Rhea nodded, her brow unknitting. ¡°And if you run into that woman...be doubly careful. Even Unity might be in over their heads, with her.¡±


    Neither of them had said it out loud, but they knew what the woman was. The word was at the front of their minds, heavy on their tongues: magic. Strange, fantastic things happened all the time, but nothing so impossible as what they saw that day in Illyon. That woman was magic, and magic wasn''t supposed to be real. Not even in Leandros'' world of folk heroes and oracles had he seen someone like her. Except...


    ¡°Rhea, back in Illyon...did you notice anything strange about that woman''s eyes?¡±


    He hadn''t been able to get the image out of his mind, the whites of her eyes eclipsed by black. Just like Egil''s.


    ¡°They were glowing,¡± Rhea said. ¡°Bright orange.¡±


    ¡°Not that,¡± Leandros said, though that was concerning in its own right. ¡°Did you notice anything else? Right at the end?¡±


    ¡°No,¡± Rhea said. When Leandros stayed thoughtfully silent, she asked, ¡°Leandros?¡±


    ¡°Nevermind. I must''ve imagined it,¡± he said. It was a lie, of course. He often doubted himself, but but he always trusted his memory. At his cousin''s pout, he smiled and leaned into her, just enough to knock shoulders. It was the most affection he''d shown her in decades; the most shocking part was that she allowed it, even leaned into it. ¡°Don''t worry, Rhea. Magistrates permitting, Unity and I will find that orinian and rescue your father, and I''ll be back in Alfheim before you even miss me.¡±


    ¡°Idiot,¡± Rhea said through a smile, ¡°I''ll miss you the moment I leave this place. Make sure you write with updates.¡±


    ¡°I will.¡±


    Leandros let Rhea lead the way back, back to the courthouse and back into the chambers where the Magistrates waited. And afterward, Leandros escorted Rhea to the train station as the new Captain of Unity''s rescue mission. They spoke little on the journey, and when they reached their destination there were no tearful farewells. Alfheim guards stood by to escort their Queen; it wouldn¡¯t do to show that sort of weakness in front of them, not so early into her reign.


    All she said was, ¡°Good luck, Captain Nochdvor. Bring my father back. Make Alfheimr proud.¡±


    Leandros responded with a low bow. As the train departed, he walked back to Unity¡¯s Island alone, the anger in his heart settling like silt at the bottom of a river.

 04 | The Rinehart Festival

    Halfway back to Gallontea, Gareth paused on Unity¡¯s bridge to lean as far as he could over its stone walls. Hungry black water churned below, but Gareth wasn''t worried about the old brick giving way. It had stood for two thousand years and would stand for two thousand more. To Gareth, this bridge was a passage between worlds. Above, below. Unity, Gallontea. The change started somewhere around the third set of lampposts, where Gallontea fell away behind and the bridge stretched ahead until all that remained was Unity, alone against an endless horizon. Gareth was always relieved to cross back over to Gallontea, to descend from these distant heavens.


    He¡¯d heard the two places referred to interchangeably: Gallontea meant Unity and Unity meant Gallontea. That was nothing short of offensive to Gallontea¡¯s bursting population. If you¡¯d seen both, if you¡¯d crossed this bridge and stood on Unity¡¯s cobbled paths, then you would know. You¡¯d know how different they were. Physically, ¡°Unity¡± referred only to the small island off the coast, set apart from the mainland to create an illusion of impartiality. Gallontea, by contrast, was just a city.


    Gareth ran his hands over the stone, the cold seeping up through his palms, and looked back at the island. From here, it looked peaceful, the clock tower ticking on while two alfar changed the world as they all knew it. Gareth¡¯s eyes were drawn habitually toward the clock¡¯s glowing face.


    ¡°Blast!¡± he suddenly swore. He took off down the bridge at a run. It was five minutes to the hour. He was going to be late.


    At least he didn''t have to pass through Unity¡¯s security gates on the way off the island. He hurried through the public square, weaving and murmuring litanies of ¡°Terribly sorry,¡± and ¡°Pardon me,¡± as he jostled bodies. From there, he turned onto a side street, then another. He reached his destination just as the clock struck the hour and began to chime.


    He stopped beneath a colorful archway to catch his breath, the words ¡°Rinehart Festival Grounds¡± painted on the fluttering canvas in friendly lettering. A ticket booth sat up ahead, a dryad girl with flowers in her hair and skin the texture of birch lounging behind the counter. A line trailed out from her counter, and Gareth had just started scanning the faces in the crowd for anyone familiar when a pair of small hands grabbed the leg of his trousers and piping voice yelled, ¡°Surprise!¡±


    Hand flying to his heart in a feint of shock, Gareth whirled to face the newcomer. ¡°Ofelia! By the Three, how sneaky you are!¡±


    A round-faced girl in a neat purple dress grinned up at him. She laughed as Gareth scooped her up. ¡°Momma said you wouldn¡¯t be fooled.¡±


    ¡°Your mother was wrong. You''ve grown so much since I left that I barely even recognized you!¡± Gareth said, looking up as Isobel joined them. ¡°Hi, Bel.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s only been a week, Gareth,¡± Isobel said with a fondly exasperated smile. She leaned up for a kiss, then hesitated, drawing back to study her husband more closely. ¡°Why are you out of breath? Darling, what¡¯s wrong?¡±


    ¡°Nothing, nothing. I just lost track of time on the island,¡± Gareth said. He wouldn''t say any more. He''d made up his mind not to say any more. It wasn''t his secret to share. But sharing secrets with his wife was like sharing secrets with himself, so surely she didn''t count? He glanced around, noticed there was no one within earshot, and blurted, ¡°Orean kidnapped Amos Nochdvor. Alfheimr wants to go to war.¡±


    Isobel¡¯s eyes widened. She clapped her hands over Ofelia¡¯s ears and also looked around. ¡°Are you supposed to be telling me this?¡± she hissed.


    ¡°I wasn¡¯t even meant to hear it! It was an accident! Ah, well¡­mostly an accident.¡±


    Isobel gasped. ¡°You were eavesdropping, weren¡¯t you? On who? Moira?¡±


    ¡°All three of them. And the alfar prince and princess,¡± Gareth said weakly.


    ¡°Oh dear,¡± Isobel said in a matching tone. ¡°Tell me more.¡±


    Quickly, quietly, Gareth brought Isobel to speed on everything he¡¯d heard. In his arms, Ofelia wiggled to be put down, so he put her down. The entire time he talked, Isobel fiddled with the ribbons on her sleeve. ¡°Something seems off about all this. Why are they so sure it was Orean?¡± she asked when he¡¯d finished.


    ¡°Well,¡± Gareth hedged, thinking back, ¡°It sounded like an orinian did it.¡±


    ¡°Just one? One orinian managed to kidnap a king?¡±


    ¡°Multiple orinians, must¡¯ve been,¡± Gareth guessed. The mention of magic didn''t seem worth repeating. It stuck with him, though ¡ª Leandros Nochdvor¡¯s threats about secrets and poison. There was definitely more to the story.


    ¡°Must have,¡± Isobel said, also sounding unsure. ¡°Leandros Nochdvor...isn''t he the one who¡ª¡±


    ¡°Yes. He''s the one who killed Egil in Histrios.¡±


    Isobel raised an eyebrow. ¡°Did you ask him about it?¡±


    ¡°Believe me, I wanted to. It didn¡¯t seem like the right time.¡±


    Tired of being ignored, Ofelia tugged on Gareth¡¯s sleeves. ¡°Do you think that man will be here?¡± she asked loudly. ¡°The one from last year? With the fire whip?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m sure he will be,¡± Gareth said. Smiling down at her, he felt himself begin to relax. Her presence ¡ª and Isobel¡¯s ¡ª always had a grounding effect on him. Leaving them for Gallontea was the thing he hated most about fall, which was why this year, Isobel suggested she and Ofelia join him.


    Ofelia nodded solemnly. She looked like her mother, with dark hair and round features, but she had Gareth¡¯s smile. ¡°Let¡¯s go find him.¡±


    ¡°We have to get inside first, dear,¡± Isobel said. She and Gareth each took one of Ofelia''s hands and they joined the short line curling out from the ticket booth. It was usually busier ¡ª maybe the darkening clouds had frightened away other would-be festival goers, but Gareth was willing to put up with a little rain for a break after the morning he had. He tried not to think about that, focusing on the present instead.


    ¡°You look beautiful today,¡± he said to his wife while they waited, leaning over to kiss her on the cheek. She wore an elegant blue day dress, recently altered to accommodate her pregnant belly, and an elegant hat to match. She smiled at the compliment and twined her free hand with Gareth¡¯s, and they stayed that way until they reached the ticket booth. While Gareth fished out his pocketbook, the nympherai ticket-girl leaned over the counter and waved at Ofelia. Ofelia waved back, staring with wide eyes at the pinks and purples of the girl¡¯s hair.


    ¡°You like them?¡± the girl asked.


    Ofelia nodded and the girl laughed, the flowers swaying with the movement. She passed three tickets to Gareth, then plucked one of the flowers from her hair and tucked it behind Ofelia¡¯s ear. Isobel thanked the girl as they continued through the archway, and there, the path widened and the cobblestone gave way to a dirt trail packed down by thousands of feet over hundreds of years. A wave of colors, sounds, noises and smells hit the Ranulfs at once. While Gareth and Isobel paused to adjust, Ofelia forged ahead, already pointing out all the things that caught her eye.


    Gallontea, an amalgam of all the peoples under Unity¡¯s banner, offered plenty of distractions, but none were so famous as the Rinehart Festival. It ran every fall, alongside Unity¡¯s conferences, and attracted performers and artisans from all corners of the continent.


    As they walked along, Ofelia tried to stop at every juggler, stilt-walker, and fire-breather that caught her fancy, only dissuaded by Gareth¡¯s entreaties of, ¡°Let¡¯s see what they¡¯ve got further along. The gentleman with the fire whip could be just around the corner.¡± Here, a maranet sat on the corner selling tapestries colored with vivid dyes. There, a pair of nympherai dancers whirled in tiered skirts on a platform, lending their hooves to the beat like a percussive force. Up ahead, a delicate half-alfar sold handmade lace and ribbon that fluttered into the path when the wind blew their way. Gareth even saw one orinian, though they were uncommon in Gallontea.


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    They played games, shopped, watched a puppet show, and bought toys and treats for Ofelia. After a while, when their feet started to drag and Gareth¡¯s pocketbook was feeling thin, Gareth bought them all meat pies and hunted for an open place for them to sit. They ended up awkwardly perched on the fence separating the lawn from the paths.


    ¡°Gather round, gather round! This is a show you won¡¯t want to miss!¡± a voice called. ¡°Hey, you three! We have benches open if you¡¯d like real seats, though far be it from me to critique where such a lovely family eats.¡± The speaker stepped into the Ranulfs¡¯ path, silhouetted against stormy gray clouds. He was a young, pretty-faced man, sapien like Gareth and Isobel and dressed in a showy red suit and feather-plumed hat. He knelt in front of Ofelia and flashed a boyish, dimpled smile. ¡°Do you like Egil stories, little one?¡±


    Isobel laughed and covered her mouth with her hand. ¡°Someone in this family certainly does,¡± she murmured, quiet enough so that only Gareth could hear ¡ª at least, it should have been quiet enough, but the hatted man looked up at the statement, then followed her gaze over to Gareth. He was striking beneath the hat, with tanned skin and large, thick-lashed dark eyes. But when those eyes settled on Gareth, Gareth felt a chill run down his spine. There was a weight in his gaze Gareth hadn¡¯t expected, hadn¡¯t prepared for. He was otherworldly in a way Gareth couldn¡¯t place. Gareth would have been less surprised to see him on the stage; he seemed out of place here among the mundane.


    ¡°I take it the lady means you, sir?¡±


    Gareth cleared his throat. ¡°Yes, I¡­study Egil folklore.¡±


    ¡°He''s writing a biography on him,¡± Isobel explained on Gareth''s behalf.


    Something in the young man''s smile dimmed, but he gestured to the outdoor auditorium on his right, off the main path. ¡°Then I can''t promise you haven''t heard the story before, but I can guarantee we''ll make it worth your while, all the same.¡± He leaned in as if to share a secret. ¡°The Webhon Players are rising stars in the world of theater. They''re performing for Unity itself next week.¡±


    ¡°Which story is it?¡± Gareth asked.


    ¡°The Castle of Eide.¡±


    ¡°Huh,¡± Gareth said. It was a lesser known Egil story ¡ª still common enough, but the version that was most often told these days was based off a novel that had taken significant creative liberties. The original story, the true story...well. Gareth couldn''t keep from saying aloud, ¡°How strange.¡±


    The young man hadn''t expected that answer. ¡°Strange?¡± he asked.


    ¡°Well, the story is originally based on the old coup in Alfheim, you know. Did you do that on purpose?¡±


    ¡°Do what?¡± the young man asked, still not following.


    ¡°He''s here today ¡ª Leandros Nochdvor. Left Alfheimr for the first time in over sixty years,¡± Gareth said.


    The young man looked like he''d been struck. For a moment, he simply stared at Gareth with wide, dark eyes, and then he drew an uneven breath. ¡°No, I didn''t realize,¡± he said, his voice too calm for all the emotions flickering across his face. ¡°We''ve been performing this show all season. It''s just a coincidence.¡±


    ¡°O-oh,¡± Gareth said, not sure what he''d said wrong.


    Isobel looked between them, eyebrows raised, then cut the tension. ¡°We may as well stay, Gareth; I¡¯d like to have some time off my feet before we go back.¡±


    The young man flashed a grateful smile, though it was a mere shadow of the one from before. ¡°A smart choice,¡± he said, ushering them toward the benches. ¡°Enjoy the show!¡±


    Gareth, Isobel, and Ofelia had only just settled in their seats when shadows shifted in the wings and fog crept onto the stage in thick tendrils. Paired with the overcast skies above and stone skene behind, it set a dreary mood. Silence stretched on, and as the crowd began to murmur and shift, the feather-hatted young man jumped onto the stage and bowed to the audience. He seemed slightly off-kilter as he waited for everyone to still: his eyes kept returning to Gareth in the crowd. But finally, when all was quiet, he stepped forward. It was like he cast a spell: when he breathed in, the audience leaned in with him. When he breathed out, they sat back again, dazed. The spell crested when he spoke, his voice solemn, soft in a way it hadn''t been before.


    ¡°Heroes rise and fall,¡± he simply said. ¡°In the years following the Great War, we saw the cycle again and again. Hope, then defeat. Determination, then corruption. And before his fall, Egil shone the brightest. But where did that fall begin?¡±


    The young man paused while the crowd cheered; Gareth found himself clapping with the rest, anticipation rising.


    ¡°Egil, as you seem to already know,¡± the man said with a twist of his lips, a little mischief making its way back onto his face, ¡°Became the world¡¯s guiding star after the Great War. He saved lives, ended wars, and made trouble as much as he made a name for himself. But like all heroes, he had doubts. Like heroes inevitably do, he grew tired of bearing the people¡¯s hope. He retired, settled in a golden city that has since passed into memory. The city was ruled by a king who had seen the rise and fall of the Great War, and Egil enjoyed peace there for a time. But when the King fell ill, the people turned on the ruler who made them what they were. Let us take you back in time and tell you how Egil saved a king and lost his peace.¡±


    The young man backed off the stage as he spoke, and from the other wing, two men walked on. The first was dressed in golden fabrics draped over and around him, secured by delicate fastenings. He was elegant and soft, in stark contrast with the man beside him.


    ¡°How fares thy father this evening?¡± the second asked. This one wore an archetypal hero¡¯s ensemble, stage armor with a sword at his side, and had a full beard and graying hair around the temples. He had to be Egil. The other was the King¡¯s ¡°son¡±, who appeared in many Egil stories, a steady friend. Having seen the real thing in person just that morning, the imitation paled in comparison.


    ¡°His state remains unchanged,¡± answered the Prince, ¡°And the Council grows restless. I fear what will happen should they take matters into their own hands.¡±


    ¡°He will improve before they do. I am certain of it,¡± Egil said. Then, both hero and prince stopped abruptly as a woman entered from upstage left. ¡°Ho! Who approaches at this late hour?¡±


    Lovely did not do the woman justice. While the hero and the genteel prince had very different looks, both were at least of this world ¨C the world of plots and subterfuge, of heroism and war. This woman was something wholly other, in the same way the young man in the feathered hat was other. The actress was small, dressed in an old gown, and had full dark curls that fell just below her chin. She moved toward Egil as if guided on a breeze, feet barely touching the ground.


    Anyone who knew Egil also knew her, the woman who flitted at the periphery of all the world¡¯s stories, heralding strange comings and foretelling calamities. The Oracle of Damael. Her path wound inextricably with Egil¡¯s, the Oracle warning of troubles and Egil preventing them.


    ¡°My Lady Oracle,¡± Egil said stiffly. ¡°What bringest thou to me?¡±


    ¡°My Lord Egil, a warning I must share with thee.¡±


    ¡°Then the sun shines and the wind blows, ev¡¯rything as ever it was. My friend, may I present to thee the Oracle of Damael? Whilst a dear friend she be, I suggest thou leavest ere she speaks her portents. They are never kind to those unfortunate enough to hear.¡±


    Before the Prince could leave, the Oracle stopped him. ¡°I bid thee stay. This concerns thee, young prince. There is one in the castle who would see thy father killed. Stop him before he sees it true.¡±


    They really were quite good, Gareth thought as the show continued. Being well versed in Egil folklore meant that he was picky; he hated when the stories were sensationalized, when they mixed up facts or mis-characterized Egil himself ¡ª and because of that, because of the poor novelization, this story was already at a disadvantage. Egil was a fascinating phenomenon, a folk hero across all three species, across all banners and cultures and provinces. Everyone had their own Egil stories, and there was a real man there, beneath the fiction, but the records and accounts were jumbled, contradictory, confused. Only the older races remembered him, and Gareth had met few willing to speak about him after his betrayal in Histrios. It made Egil an interesting puzzle.


    While Gareth¡¯s was predominantly an academic fascination, it was also an idolization that went back to his childhood. There was something about Egil: even when you knew the man from the stories didn''t exist, you wished he had. Even when the stories ended, when you had to step back and remember that magic isn''t real, Egil still taught you the value of hope, the strength to slay your monsters, and that magic is real and it''s in the small things. The man from the stories was hope, kindness, compassion incarnate. And that made the truth so much more jarring.


    Gareth looked around the crowd, curious to see their reactions. People seemed to be enjoying the show, but one stood out to Gareth: the young narrator again. He stood off to the side, watching Egil with an expression so dark it sent a chill down Gareth''s spine. But that gloom fell away in an instant when the Oracle''s actress turned in his direction. He smiled, then, and even went a step further: he made a funny face at the stage, the kind Gareth might pull to make Ofelia laugh. The actress quickly averted her eyes, mouth turned down at the corners like she was fighting a smile.


    Before Gareth could look away, the young man noticed him watching. He tipped his hat and bowed with a flourish, and Gareth quickly tore his eyes away. When he refocused on the play, trying to ignore the strange chill of the young man¡¯s eyes on him, he found he had missed a portion of it. That was no matter. He''d read the novel, much as he wished he could forget it: the Prince and Egil investigated the assassination plot and discovered the King¡¯s own brother conceived it. Though heartbroken over his uncle¡¯s betrayal, the Prince helped Egil stop him, laying a trap for the traitor.


    Egil fought the Uncle with choreography that danced magnificently across the stage. At the fight¡¯s climax, the Uncle stumbled; Egil held his hand out and a shower of sparks shot out from some contraption in the stage floor. Spectators in the front row jumped at the sudden light, then erupted into cheers; beside Gareth, Ofelia squealed in delight. Then, with the Uncle¡¯s defeat, the show was over. Gareth, Isobel, and Ofelia stayed for the curtain call, but by unspoken agreement, they had reached their limits for the day.


    ¡°I¡¯m guessing Moira won¡¯t make it for dinner?¡± Isobel asked as they circled back to the festival entrance.


    ¡°Nor for the indefinite future, I¡¯d imagine,¡± Gareth replied, ¡°Given everything. By the way, I''d meant to tell you: Prince Nochdvor likes your books.¡±


    Isobel blinked, then laughed. ¡°Oh! How¡¯d you find that out?¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s a rather long story.¡±


    ¡°Well, then, let¡¯s get this one home for a nap first. Would you mind carrying her for a while? I¡¯m afraid she¡¯s going to fall asleep on her feet if we continue on this way.¡±


    ¡°Of course, dear,¡± Gareth said, scooping up Ofelia and following his wife through the crowd.

 05 | Moira Ranulf

    Gareth''s cab rolled to a stop before a squat building off the public square. Though the rain had come and gone quickly, ending before they''d even made it home from the festival, he had to take care climbing out to avoid the mud pooling over the cobblestone. His shoes were new, after all, a gift from Isobel. But behind him, his cab driver didn''t give him the same courtesy: she cracked her whip, and when the wheels of her carriage spun, they spat mud and rainwater all up Gareth''s trousers.


    ¡°Confound it,¡± Gareth muttered, glaring at the retreating cab before twisting to survey the damage. The white suit had, perhaps, been a mistake. Moira would be furious to see him like this, but that''s what she deserved for summoning him at such a late hour, and with such short notice.


    Gareth eyed the building in front of him; it reminded him of the small correctional facility on Unity''s Island, windowless and bleak. But a helpful valet opened the door for him, gesturing him into a foyer that smelled of leather and cologne. It took him back to his father''s study, sitting in a corner and entertaining himself with a book while Moira and his father worked. There was no seaside view here, though, and the furniture was configured into some sort of waiting room, glossy, frosted-paneled doorways leading deeper into the building.


    A man stood behind a podium at one end; he took in the state of Gareth''s suit with a sour expression. ¡°Are you a member here, sir?¡± he asked. When Gareth peered over his shoulder, he could make out a hazily lit hall full of dust particles that danced in and out of the evening light. He heard a woman''s laugh drift from deeper inside.


    It gave him an idea of where he was, at least. ¡°This is a social club,¡± he guessed.


    ¡°Yes, sir. If you''re not already a member¡ª¡±


    ¡°My sister asked me to meet her here,¡± Gareth said. ¡°I imagine she''s on the list.¡±


    The host looked doubtful. He opened a leather-bound book. ¡°And your sister''s name?¡±


    ¡°Moira Ranulf.¡±


    The host stiffened. He didn''t bother to consult his book. ¡°May I see some identification?¡±


    Gareth fished it out, then waited patiently while the host scrutinized it. Finally, he handed it back with an apologetic grimace. ¡°I''m terribly sorry, Mr. Ranulf,¡± he said. ¡°I didn''t know to expect you. Would you, ah, like us to order a change of clothes for you?¡±


    ¡°That''s quite alright. I don''t expect to stay long.¡±


    ¡°Then please, follow me.¡±


    The host led Gareth down the hallway behind him. Narrow windows on one side overlooked the busy street, but the other was covered with portraits of serious-looking men ¡ª some sapien, some alfar, but all, Gareth noticed, human. He stopped short when they passed a jarringly familiar face. It was his own father, sneering down at them over the top of his glasses. Gareth gawked at the word ¡°Founder¡± beneath the name placard.


    ¡°He never told me about this place,¡± Gareth said to the host, who''d slowed when Gareth did. ¡°What is this?¡±


    ¡°The Metharow Club, founded by your father and several others as a place for humans with Unity connections to gather, unwind, and form social connections. Your sister has been a member since she was first appointed as a Representative. You would be eligible for membership too, sir.¡±


    Gareth frowned. ¡°I see.¡±


    The host led him down a few more hallways, then through a sunlit lounge, empty but for a well-dressed group playing billiards in the corner. As he passed, they shot Gareth and his muddy clothes confused looks that Gareth ignored. Finally, the host ushered Gareth through another door into a private dining room. There, Moira waited.


    ¡°Gareth!¡± she called, waving him over. ¡°Come in, come in.¡±


    Gareth dropped into the seat across from his sister, his place already set for him. Moira looked...normal. The meeting with the Nochdvors had seemed momentous, world-changing, with its talk of war and kidnappings, but Moira looked the same as always. She lounged in her seat, gestured at the host to fill Gareth''s glass with wine. Afterward, the host excused himself and left them alone.


    ¡°Your note came as a surprise,¡± Gareth said while his sister drank. ¡°I would''ve understood if you couldn''t make time for me. I know how busy you are.¡±


    Moira gave him a shrewd look. ¡°That''s unlike you, Gareth,¡± she observed. ¡°One of my clerks mentioned you stopped by my island today. That you''re not swarming me with questions tells me you already heard what happened.¡±


    ¡°I ¡ª Well, I¡ª,¡± Gareth stammered.


    ¡°¡ªOr rumors of it, anyway. So tell me, what have you heard?¡±


    Gareth took a deep breath. Moira didn''t seem to know about his eavesdropping. ¡°I''ve heard a few things,¡± he said, picking his words carefully. He paused to wet his lips with the wine. It tasted expensive. ¡°That the Prince and Princess of Alfheimr are in town, and that it might have to do with the king.¡±


    Moira hummed. Even on her best days, she looked far more than ten years Gareth''s senior, her hair already gray and exhaustion lining her features. ¡°I''m sure there''s more you''re not saying,¡± she said. ¡°Gareth¡­you¡¯re loyal to Unity, aren¡¯t you?¡±


    Gareth tensed again and drank more of the wine. ¡°Of course. Why do you ask?¡±


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    Moira ignored the question, instead asking another: ¡°And you''ve visited Orean before, haven''t you?¡±


    ¡°Um,¡± Gareth said, eloquently. He hated discussing Orean with Moira. While Moira shared Unity''s view on all things, Gareth was fond of the little city-state. He imagined this conversation would be even worse now that Moira had a perceived justification for her hatred. Under his sister''s intense stare, he conceded, ¡°We visit in the fall sometimes.¡±


    ¡°You know it well, then?¡±


    ¡°Not well, but I know it. Moira, why are you asking me this?¡±


    Before Moira could answer, a pair of servers entered the room carrying more wine and silver trays. Gareth belatedly realized that he¡¯d already drained his glass.


    ¡°I know what you like, Gareth, so I took the liberty of ordering for you,¡± Moira said while a server set a tray before him, lifting the lid to reveal a steaming steak topped with vegetables.


    ¡°Thanks,¡± Gareth said. He itched to get back to their conversation, but settled on a safer topic instead: ¡°Why didn''t you or father tell me about this place?¡±


    ¡°Don''t be ridiculous, Gareth. I''m sure I''ve invited you before.¡±


    ¡°You haven''t.¡±


    ¡°Hm. It must have slipped my mind. You''re here now, so what do you think? You''re eligible for membership, you know.¡±


    ¡°Humans only, Moira? It''s a bit old-fashioned.¡±


    Moira sighed, letting him know exactly what she thought of that nonsense. ¡°In a world that''s constantly changing and evolving, Gareth, it''s nice to have something that stays the same.¡±


    Yes, Gareth guessed this place hadn''t changed since its founding. He wasn''t sure that was a good thing. Everything about this club, this room, reminded him inextricably of his father, and that alone ensured he''d never step foot inside again. ¡°I don''t know, I like a bit of change.¡±


    ¡°Well, I don''t see why you put up such a fuss about not being invited if you had no intention of joining,¡± Moira huffed. She watched the servers leave, then said, ¡°But let''s not squabble. I have a favor to ask of you.¡±


    ¡°Does it have to do with Orean?¡± Gareth asked.


    ¡°Very clever, Gareth,¡± Moira said dryly. ¡°Would you like to hear what really happened to the Nochdvors?¡±


    Surprised, Gareth nodded. Of course, he''d heard the gist of it, but he''d love to hear it from Moira ¡ª she never told him things when she could just as easily keep them to herself.


    ¡°Three days ago, the King of Alfheimr was visiting Illyon when a team of orinians stole him out from under the noses of Illyon''s leaders.¡±


    Gareth put on a show of being surprised. ¡°What! That''s impossible!¡± he cried. Since Moira had said it outright, he took the chance to ask the questions that had been gnawing at him all day¡° ¡±Surely, Orean wouldn''t risk¡ª¡°


    ¡°And yet, surely they did. The Nochdvors'' eyewitness accounts were quite damning. Alfheimr is demanding war, of course,¡± Moira said, in the same tone she''d used to discuss their dinner plans. ¡°But fortunately, it''s not up to them. Malong, Diomis, and I came up with a solution: we''re going to send a team of diplomats to Orean to negotiate the King''s return, and the young Prince is going to lead it.¡±


    Gareth frowned. ¡°You came up with that?¡±


    ¡°Smart, isn''t it? If Orean has nothing to hide, then they will cooperate.¡±


    ¡°And if they don''t?¡±


    Moira shrugged. ¡°Then we''ll have war. Rheamaren Nochdvor won''t be appeased until she either has her father back or has shed enough blood to account for it.¡±


    Gareth tried to reconcile his sister''s account with the scared girl he''d seen that morning. ¡°Why are you telling me all of this?¡± he asked. ¡°What does this have to do with me?¡±


    ¡°We''d like you to be on the team, Gareth.¡±


    This time, Gareth didn''t have to pretend to be surprised. His hand slipped, his knife cutting across his plate with a loud screech. He stared dully at his sister. ¡°You''re joking.¡±


    ¡°I''m not.¡±


    ¡°I know it took you fifty years to develop a sense of humor, Moira, but you need to work on your delivery.¡±


    ¡°I mean it, Gareth. You should realize what an honor this is.¡±


    Gareth stood so fast his chair hit the ground behind him. ¡°Why me? I''m not a diplomat! I can barely even navigate Unity''s conferences, Moira, let alone hostage negotiations!¡±


    ¡°You won''t be doing the negotiations, of course. Everyone on the team will bring different experiences,¡± Moira said. ¡°You may not be the perfect politician, but you have your merits. Your knowledge of Orean and its customs will be invaluable, and that we''d send the brother of a Unity Magistrate on this mission tells Orean we have faith they will behave civilly.¡±


    ¡°So I''m a pawn.¡±


    ¡°Don''t be dramatic. We''re extending this invitation because we have faith in you.¡±


    ¡°If it''s really an invitation, I should be able to refuse.¡±


    Moira pursed her lips. ¡°Didn''t you say you were loyal to Unity?¡±


    ¡°But¡ª¡±


    ¡°We all have duties we must perform,¡± Moira said, not giving Gareth a chance to argue. ¡°I''ve been doing mine since father died, while you''ve been off chasing folktales. Now it''s your turn. Think of it this way: you''ll be a part of the story for once, instead of just reading them in books. I know it''ll be difficult leaving Ofelia, but think of the stories you''ll get to tell her ¡ª you''ll prevent a war, rescue a King. You can be just like Egil.¡±


    Gareth stared at his hands, braced on the table. That did tempt him, if just for a moment. He wanted to be someone Ofelia could look up to, and if he had a chance to stop a war and passed on it out of fear, he wouldn''t be. But the fear had merit, didn¡¯t it? If this was all true, if Orean really kidnapped a Unity king, would it be such a stretch to think they''d also find use for the brother of a Magistrate?


    ¡°And just think how much time you''d have with Prince Nochdvor ¡ª that could be useful for your little book, couldn''t it?¡± Moira asked. ¡°I know what you''re thinking, but I wouldn''t send you if there was any danger. We''ll have people to handle the difficult negotiations, and I can promise you the team will have heavy security. You''ll even have your own bodyguard. I need you for this, Gareth. The world needs to see how committed Unity is to saving its people.¡±


    Gareth bit his cheek. Was this just about optics? Was it because of Prince Nochdvor''s threats? He really would be a pawn ¡ª a ploy, a publicity stunt to obfuscate Unity''s motives. Gareth was loyal to Unity, yes. He had no other way to be. But that didn''t mean he was blind.


    ¡°You can think about it,¡± Moira said when Gareth remained silent. ¡°We still have the rest of the team to appoint, so there''s no immediate rush.¡±


    ¡°How gracious of you,¡± Gareth said. Mechanically, he picked up and righted his chair. ¡°Actually, I think I''ve lost my appetite.¡±


    Moira sighed. ¡°Gareth¡ª¡±


    ¡°If you want me to think about it, Moira, I need to not be looking at you. I''m going home to my wife and daughter. I''ll talk to you tomorrow.¡±


    ¡°Fine,¡± Moira said. ¡°Let me have the club ready a carriage.¡±


    Gareth drained the rest of his wine. It was a wine meant for sipping, and it burned his throat as it went down. ¡°No, I think I''ll walk. I need to clear my head.¡±


    ¡°Don''t be ridiculous. It''s getting dark, and it''s two miles to your hotel from here. Do you even know the way?¡± Moira called, even as Gareth backed through the door. The smell of Moira''s tobacco, the same as his father''s, was too sweet in here and he couldn''t bear it a moment longer.


    ¡°I''ll figure it out,¡± he said, turning and leaving without another word. The club''s long, hazy hallways passed in a blur, and soon Gareth was bursting through the doors and gasping in fresh air. The sun had set while he''d been inside, and Gareth gazed up at the purpling sky.

 06 | Greysdale

    Gareth left the place on foot, relieved to swap out the grand municipal buildings around him for homes and shops and normal people going about their normal days. He thought he remembered the way from the cab ride over, but as he continued to walk, the homes fell away to dull brick and broken windows, the neat shops to abandoned storefronts. Maybe he just needed to pass through a few unfashionable neighborhoods to reach Main Street. Maybe it was just the way. So he walked on, past wary glances, past grimy children yelling ¡°Sweep! Sweep!¡±, past boarded windows and a tawdry public house.


    After a while, he stopped noticing it, his mind busy circling around Unity, around his sister, around the Nochdvors. But finally, he paused and realized that none of this was familiar. It was when he saw a sign that said ¡°Now Entering Greysdale¡± that he really began to panic. This was not the way, and now he was sure of it.


    A small chimney sweep bumped into him and deposited a layer of soot onto his coat, the dusty ash standing out against the black wool. Gareth frowned at the boy, who cast too pitiable a figure to be angry with. ¡°Do you know the way to Kramer Street?¡± he asked, handing the boy a coin.


    The boy shook his head, then mumbled his thanks and ran off. As Gareth watched him go, he noticed two men huddled near a tavern door, one looking Gareth''s way. Perhaps they''d know. He worked his way over to them, but before he could say a word one hurriedly set off, knocking his shoulder into Gareth''s in his haste to get away.


    ¡°You''re gonna wanna check that you still have your purse,¡± the remaining man suggested.


    Gareth glanced over his shoulder to check that the man was speaking to him. There was no one else around. ¡°Me? Why wouldn''t I?¡±


    The man coughed, clearly covering a laugh. ¡°That fellow didn''t accidentally slam into you,¡± he said, holding up a hand and wriggling his finger. ¡°Light fingers.¡±


    Gareth checked the inner pocket of his coat and breathed a sigh of relief at finding his pocketbook intact. He inched closer to his new acquaintance. ¡°Thank you, I should''ve seen the trick for what it was. I was wondering ¡ª¡± He paused, here, to cough. The smells of bread and booze drifting out of the tavern only barely covered the stench of rot, smoke, and feces that permeated Greysdale. ¡°Could you help me? I''m afraid I''m lost.¡±


    The man raised an eyebrow. ¡°Are you, now?¡±


    ¡°I''m trying to get to Kramer Street?¡±


    The man thought for a moment, then pointed down the street. ¡°Go down that way and at your first chance, turn left. It''ll look like an alley, but don''t let that stop you. The other end opens up onto Main Street.¡±


    ¡°Wonderful, thank you!¡±


    Gareth followed the man''s instructions, hesitating when he reached the mouth of the alley described. It was exactly the sort of place common sense told him to avoid: dark, with large objects obscuring the view to the other end. When he looked up, though, he could see the spires of a church he knew to be on Main Street. So he held a handkerchief to his face to block the smell, so foul it brought tears to his eyes, then plowed into the alley.


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    He''d only made it about a third of the way through when a heavy hand landed on his shoulder, making him jump and hiss like a feral cat. He bit his own tongue to keep from shouting, but it was only the man from before, the one who''d given him directions.


    ¡°Sorry to scare you,¡± the man said, hiding another smile. ¡°You dropped this, I think.¡± He held out Gareth''s cigarette case. When Gareth reached to take it, the man only pulled it closer to himself. ¡°You should be careful walking around this place at night, sir. With your clothes and your fancy way of speaking, you¡¯re asking to get robbed.¡±


    ¡°Oh,¡± Gareth said, uncertain.


    He wanted to give the man the benefit of the doubt, but it was impossible not to hear the threat in his words. In the end, he decided to run. He could replace the cigarette case, but the same could not be said of his life. When he turned, though, he found another man behind him, this one carrying a knife that glittered in the moonlight. It was the other man from before, Gareth realized, the one that had bumped into him.


    He''d been played. He glanced toward the mouth of the alley, but he knew no one would see them. It had been so dark from the street, the street itself too empty.


    Gareth had always imagined that being well-educated and reasonably clever, he''d be quick-thinking in emergencies. He always hated books where the hero froze at a crucial moment. But he hadn''t understood the paralyzing effects of fear, the way powerlessness chilled your bones and whistled through your blood with every beat of your heart. He understood it now, as the stranger''s knife danced along the back of his neck.


    ¡°Call for help and Tag will slit your throat faster than you can piss yourself,¡± said the man with Gareth''s cigarette case.


    Before Gareth could feel a fresh wave of fear at that, Tag wrenched Gareth''s arms behind his back while the other slammed his knee into Gareth''s groin. Gareth grunted, the air leaving his lungs in a staccato burst, and he fell to the ground, barely registering the pain of his knees hitting the hard dirt.


    ¡°Take my money, just leave me be,¡± Gareth gasped when his breath finally returned to him. He wondered, briefly, what his father would think of him begging. This was not how Ranulfs behaved, even to save their lives. Before the thought could go further, his assailant slammed his fist into Gareth''s face. Gareth flew back at the blow, his head hitting alley brick. Lights burst before his eyes.


    No one would see him, no one would hear him, so with shaking hands, Gareth threw his pocketbook at his assailant''s feet. The man rifled through it, pulled out Gareth''s Unity identification, and held the laminated papers to the light. ¡°What''s this?¡±


    ¡°Looks like junk,¡± Tag suggested.


    ¡°What''s it say?¡± the other asked Gareth. He sneered when he saw Gareth trying to inch his way down the alley. ¡°Tag, stop him.¡±


    He studied the papers some more while Tag grabbed Gareth by the collar. ¡°That''s Unity''s seal, right there. I bet we can get a good price for whatever this is. Search him, see if he''s hiding anything else.¡±


    It was now or never.


    ¡°HELP!¡± Gareth shouted.


    He thought he saw a shadow hesitate at the mouth of the alley, but he knew it was wishful thinking. No one could see them. He looked back at Tag in time to see a fist speeding toward his face. It came so fast he couldn¡¯t even wince: he collapsed against the wall, pain radiating as his head hit the brick, and then everything faded to black.

 07 | The Hospital

    Gareth was out for only a moment, opening his eyes again to find Tag standing over him with the knife. He came to quickly after that, scrambling back and holding out a plaintive hand. ¡°Don¡¯t!¡± he slurred. ¡°Don¡¯t kill me. Please let me live.¡±


    ¡°Why should we?¡± the man with Gareth''s cigarette case asked.


    Gareth stared at the muddy ground, blinking back tears. ¡°My sister has money. She works for Unity. Spare me and she¡¯ll reward you, but if I die, there''ll be trouble.¡±


    ¡°How do we know you¡¯re even tellin¡¯ the tru¡ª¡±


    He cut off with a gasp, the glimmer of a blade protruding from his chest. As it retracted, a spreading stain took its place and the man''s gasp turned into a gurgle. His knees buckled, but before he could drop, a hand wrapped around his head from behind and slammed him sideways into the wall; skull hit brick, and Gareth winced at the sound it made. The man fell, leaving a stranger with a bloodied sword standing over his body.


    ¡°Knife,¡± Gareth mumbled from the ground. Somehow, the stranger understood his warning: when Tag charged him, he dropped his sword and easily sidestepped the other man''s smaller blade. He then caught Tag¡¯s forearm and twisted, graceful as a dancer, until Tag cried out and dropped the knife. He moved confidently, swiftly, only as needed to get the necessary leverage.


    The stranger grabbed Tag by the hair, yanked his head down, and brought his knee up until it met Tag¡¯s face. And just like that, Gareth¡¯s second assailant fell to the ground, motionless. Gareth squinted in the dark. ¡°Did you kill him?¡±


    ¡°No, I don¡¯t think so,¡± the stranger said in a gentler voice than Gareth expected. He glanced at the other''s body, where spindles of blood spread over cold cement. ¡°I only allow myself one murder a day.¡±


    Gareth stared at him.


    ¡°Just a joke,¡± he said when the silence stretched on. ¡°A poor one, maybe. Sorry. Are you alright?¡±


    His accent was soft, the vowels round. Northern, Gareth thought, though thinking was hard with the way the world tipped around him. ¡°I feel sick,¡± he said.


    Gareth shrank back when the stranger moved to approach, so the stranger stopped and held his hands up innocently. ¡°Come on, it''s alright. I only want to check your injuries.¡±


    ¡°Can I trust you?¡±


    ¡°Sorry, but you don''t really have a choice,¡± the stranger said, far too cheerfully.


    He was right, though. When the man kneeled beside him, Gareth allowed it, though he flinched at his gentle touch. ¡°I''m looking for Kramer Street,¡± he mumbled.


    The stranger tutted. ¡°Poor thing. You''re a long ways off, you know. It''s too dark to see here ¡ª let''s get out of this alley before your friend wakes,¡± the man said. He retrieved his sword, wiping it off before slipping it into a sheath at his hip, then helped Gareth to his feet. Gareth shrugged him off and took several stumbling steps on his own, but when he fell, the man was there to catch him.


    ¡°Woozy,¡± Gareth said.


    ¡°I bet.¡± The man bent to retrieve Gareth''s cigarette case and pocketbook.


    ¡°Are you going to rob me, too?¡± Gareth asked, watching.


    The man snorted and rifled through the pocketbook, slipping Gareth''s displaced ID back inside in the process. He then opened Gareth''s suit-coat and tucked it into the inner pocket, giving Gaeth''s chest a friendly pat when he''d finished. ¡°Nah. There''s not enough in there to make it worth my time.¡±


    ¡°Uh,¡± Gareth said, awkwardly. ¡°Thank¡­you?¡±


    ¡°Anytime.¡±


    Gareth squinted at the stranger. With one of his eyes beginning to swell shut, he couldn''t make out any features in the darkness. ¡°Should we, erm...alert the authorities? Surely we can''t just leave them here.¡±


    He could feel the stranger''s stare, even if he couldn''t see it. He fidgeted, uncomfortable, when the stranger let out a disbelieving laugh. ¡°The authorities? Really?¡±


    ¡°Is that so strange?¡±


    ¡°In this neighborhood, yes,¡± the stranger said. ¡°They''re not even guaranteed to come. Mind if I ask your name?¡±


    ¡°Gareth Ranulf.¡±


    After a pause, ¡°Not Ranulf as in the Magistrate of Unity Ranulf, I hope.¡± There was something strange in the man''s voice, but Gareth couldn''t place it.


    ¡°My sister,¡± Gareth said.


    ¡°Of all the rotten twists of fate,¡± the stranger sighed. ¡°Hold on.¡±


    And with that, the man turned on his heel and left Gareth alone in the dark. Immediately, he began to panic. He was alone and injured, what else was he to do? He held onto the wall, grimacing at the grime under his fingers. In this state, he wouldn¡¯t even make it to the end of the alley on his own, let alone home. What was he supposed to do now? Was he going to die in this reeking alley? While he was still deciding what to do, his stranger returned: he heard boots on gravel first, and then that soft voice again. ¡°I left a message with the shopkeep next door. They''ll call the cops, or they won''t. Now, come on.¡±


    Gareth gratefully leaned on the man for support as they hobbled to the end of the alley, where they emerged onto a sparsely crowded street, lit by rows of street lamps. The man pushed Gareth onto the closest bench. ¡°Sit. Let me look at you.¡± He knelt in front of Gareth, studied his face. Gareth shut his eyes, fighting another wave of nausea. ¡°Atiuh and the Three, you¡¯re lucky I was following you.¡±


    ¡°Pardon?¡± Gareth asked.


    ¡°I said you¡¯re lucky I found you,¡± the man said with an easy smile. ¡°I¡¯m Roman, by the way! Roman Hallisey. I¡¯d say it¡¯s a pleasure, Mr. Ranulf, but I¡¯m not sure the circumstances warrant it.¡±


    ¡°Have we met before? You seem terribly familiar.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t think so,¡± Roman said. ¡°How could I forget such a pretty face?¡±


    ¡°Is that some sort of jest?¡± Gareth reached up to touch his nose, but Roman batted his hand away.


    ¡°Don¡¯t touch. You''re swollen and battered. Looks like your nose has stopped bleeding, at least.¡±


    ¡°Is it broken?¡±


    ¡°I can¡¯t tell. I don¡¯t think so.¡±


    ¡°And my eye? Is it bad that it¡¯s swollen like this?¡±


    ¡°You have a strange idea of good if you even have to ask. But you¡¯ll live, if that¡¯s what you mean,¡± Roman said. ¡°It¡¯ll stay swollen a few days, then you''ll have a nasty bruise for a while.¡±


    ¡°You seem to know a lot about how this works.¡±


    ¡°I''ve seen a black eye or two in my time,¡± Roman said brightly.


    ¡°Right,¡± Gaeth said, unsure how to respond to that. ¡°Thank you for the help.¡±


    Roman patted Gareth¡¯s knee. ¡°Of course. Anywhere else hurt? They didn¡¯t stab you or anything, did they? I assume you would¡¯ve mentioned it already.¡±


    ¡°No, they just¡­hit me a few times.¡±


    ¡°Are you still dizzy?¡±


    ¡°No. Yes. Maybe a little,¡± Gareth admitted.


    ¡°You might have a concussion. Or be in shock.¡± Roman tilted his head to one side, his dark eyes wide. ¡°I don¡¯t know, I¡¯m not a doctor. How about we get you home so you can call one?¡±


    ¡°Please,¡± Gareth said. He hadn¡¯t been on his feet even ten seconds before he turned to the side and hurled.


    Roman wrinkled his nose. ¡°Strike that, we¡¯re going to a hospital now. There¡¯s one on the way.¡±


    Gareth nodded, the taste of bile too fresh on his tongue to argue, and let Roman lead him down the street. Walking helped clear the nausea some, letting him think again. He eyed the young man''s back. ¡°Roman¡¯s an interesting name. Where¡¯s it from?¡± he asked, to distract himself.


    ¡°Interesting,¡± Roman repeated. Gareth could hear the grin in his voice. ¡°Thanks, I think. Technically, it''s my middle name. My mother was a bit fanciful, with particular ideas about who she wanted me to be. Romanos is a spirit in Troasian mythology, Ro- meaning ''above'' and -manos meaning all personkind, or the like,¡± Roman said, waving his hand grandly. He seemed to do a lot of that. ¡°She thought ''Roman'' was a name for someone who''d do great things.¡±


    ¡°And have you done great things?¡±


    Roman''s smile fell. ¡°That depends on how you define great, I suppose.¡±


    ¡°I''d say saving a man''s life qualifies.¡±


    ¡°Those men wouldn''t have killed you,¡± Roman said. Despite his flippant tone, he looked away from Gareth, embarrassed. ¡°Probably.¡±


    They walked in silence a moment, until Gareth asked, ¡°Then why did you do it?¡±


    ¡°What, save you?¡±


    ¡°Yes. I doubt anyone else would have.¡±


    Roman shrugged. ¡°I was there; I heard you shout. I had time to investigate.¡± He looked over at Gareth, then laughed at the man''s affronted expression. ¡°Were you expecting something more storybook?¡±


    ¡°No,¡± Gaeth lied, feeling his cheeks flush. ¡°It''s just strange to know I''m only alive because a young man was bored.¡±


    Roman steered Gareth away from a hole in the pavement. ¡°Sorry, sorry! Let me try again.¡± Clearing his throat and deepening his voice, he said, ¡°And when the fearless hero Roman heard the man''s calls for succor, he could not help but render aid, slaying the wrongdoers and single-handedly snatching Gareth Ranulf from death''s icy grip! Such is a hero''s duty! There, how''s that? Better?¡±


    Gareth hid his face behind a hand. ¡°I''m sorry I asked,¡± he said, answered again by Roman''s bright, boyish laughter. ¡°But I''m glad you did it, anyhow.¡±


    ¡°Anytime, Gareth. Really,¡± Roman said. He stopped walking, and Gareth followed his gaze to a squat, prison-like building. ¡°Well, that''s it.¡±


    ¡°That''s the hospital?¡± Gareth asked. It looked dirty. ¡°Are you sure it''s safe?¡±


    ¡°In this part of Gallontea, Gareth, it''s the best you''re going to find.¡±


    Gareth wished he could see better. He reached up to touch his swollen eye, but Roman batted his hand away again. Gareth scowled at him.


    ¡°Are you touching just to touch, or do you need something?¡± Roman asked.


    ¡°I just...can''t read the signs. I can''t even tell what you look like.¡±


    ¡°Yeah, hence the hospital. If it makes you feel any better, Gareth, I can''t tell what you look like either. You look like you spilled a bucket of red paint on your head then ran into a beehive.¡±


    ¡°That really doesn''t make me feel better.¡±


    ¡°Then how about this: I''ll read the signs for you. Realistically, they¡¯ll probably just clean you up and give you something for the pain, and at the very least, we can have them call a cab to get you home,¡± Roman said, dragging Gareth slowly toward the doors.


    ¡°You won¡¯t¡ª,¡± Gareth began, only to bite his tongue.


    ¡°Won¡¯t what?¡±


    ¡°You won¡¯t leave me, will you?¡± Gareth said. Roman paused just long enough to make him self-conscious, so he continued, ¡°Though, if I¡¯m keeping you from anything, I understand if¡ª¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll stay,¡± Roman promised. Then, tone turning teasing, he asked, ¡°Do you need me to hold your hand, too?¡±


    ¡°Oh, stop. Just make sure they sterilize everything,¡± Gareth grumbled, pushing past Roman into the building.This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.


    ¡°Sure, but if you need stitches, I¡¯m waiting in the hallway,¡± Roman called, trailing behind as Gareth led the way into the surprisingly cheerful foyer. He squinted against the lights, wrinkled his nose at the sterile smell. While unpleasant, it seemed perfectly normal, as far as hospitals went. Gareth had expected worse. Seeing him relax, Roman said, ¡°And that''s why you don''t judge a dragon by the shine of their scales. Sit, I''ll talk to the nurse for you.¡±


    Gareth slid into the seat closest to the nurses'' desk, grimacing at the pain that raced up his side. He could see well enough in this new light that he watched Roman greet the nurses cheerfully, leaning against the desk like it belonged to him. Gareth couldn¡¯t make out what was being said, but he could hear the songlike cadence of Roman¡¯s accent. Roman Hallisey seemed one of those individuals whose age was hard to place. While he was old enough to be frighteningly competent, fighting like no one had Gareth had ever seen, he radiated an almost childlike exuberance. He was easily younger than Gareth''s forty-two, at least, and he was sapien with no signs of any longer-lived heritage. If Gareth was pressed, he¡¯d guess somewhere around thirty.


    Roman wore his waistcoat open, with tight-fitting trousers tucked into tall boots. His hair fell between the two currently popular styles¡ª too long to fit the close-cropped style of working men but not long enough to tuck behind his ears, a look currently sported by the upper classd. It was too messy to be fashionable, at any rate. His curls seemed permanently ruffled, and Gareth understood why when he watched Roman tangle a hand through them, pushing them out of his face. Nothing about Roman was fashionable or proper, but he had the charm and natural attraction to excuse it. The nurse nodded at something he said, then looked over to where Gareth sat. Roman beckoned him over.


    ¡°Mr. Ranulf?¡± the nurse asked as Gareth approached, pushing several forms and a pen across the desk toward him. ¡°Sign these for me, please. We can take you back right away, but your friend will have to wait here.¡±


    Gareth¡¯s hand hovered above the signature line. He glanced nervously at Roman. Seeming to guess at his anxieties, Roman said, ¡°I told you I¡¯d wait, Gareth.¡±


    ¡°Thank you. Of course, I''ll compensate you for your time.¡±


    Roman raised an eyebrow. ¡°If you¡¯re offering.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m insisting.¡±


    ¡°Even better. Now quit making the poor nurse wait on you; I¡¯ll be here when you get back. You can thank me more then, if you still feel the need.¡±


    Gareth followed the nurse through winding halls to a barren room. While she went to the old sink in the corner, its pipes banging and clanging as it ran, Gareth sat on the cold metal examining table. Swiftly, efficiently, she cleaned his wounds, brought him a pillow, and passed him a small canvas bag. ¡°Ice,¡± she explained, ¡°For the swelling. The doctor will be in soon; please lay back in the meantime. It''ll help the dizziness.¡±


    Gareth waited until she was gone to settle back and drape the ice over his swollen eye. Here, the lights were blessedly dim. The room, though, was too quiet ¡ª with the ice easing his pain, he had too much room to think. Funnily enough, his thoughts didn''t go to the attack, or to his rescue: they went to his conversation with Moira, to Orean, to this mission. He''d just watched a man die, but all he could do was worry about his own future.


    Someone knocked on the door. ¡°Mr. Ranulf?¡± a woman''s voice asked. Gareth started to push himself up as the doctor entered, but a firm hand on his shoulder stopped him. ¡°Please, relax. My name is Dr. Carthian. Can you tell me in your own words what happened tonight?¡±


    Once Gareth explained, Dr. Carthian asked a series of questions about how Gareth was feeling, where he had been hit, and how much he could remember. His face, his stomach, the back of his head. He felt fine, aside from some aches and pains. He could remember his name, the date, his address. He still felt very dizzy.


    ¡°I don''t think you''re in shock. May I?¡± the doctor asked, holding her hand near Gareth¡¯s face but not touching. When Gareth nodded, Dr. Carthian pressed her hand to Gareth''s forehead and stood for a long time with her eyes closed. ¡°You have a cracked rib, a mild concussion, and swelling around your eye and nose. Fortunately, nothing worse.¡±


    ¡°You can tell all that from just a few questions?¡±


    The doctor smiled pleasantly. ¡°I¡¯m rosanin.¡±


    Gareth raised an eyebrow. Rosanin were rare ¡ª a class of individuals born with small, inexplicable abilities. Little was known about them. If you asked the religious, they''d say rosanin were blessed by the Guardians, and even with all the advancements of the last century scientists had yet to come up with a better explanation. Species, race, sex, family history ¡ª none of it made a difference. It wasn''t hereditary, and it wasn''t testable. It seemed entirely random. Rosanins'' gifts varied from person to person. Some had knacks for gambling, others could always point north or see auras. As a child, Gareth had known a young man with an exceptional green thumb. He could plant anything and make it grow.


    ¡°Through touch, I can tell when a person''s body is not as it should be,¡± the doctor explained. ¡°Many hospitals in big cities have someone like me on staff. It speeds up the process, saves time and effort. Fortunately, Mr. Ranulf, you can treat your injuries at home. Get lots of rest, then reintroduce your normal activities slowly. If you have access to ice, ice your nose and eye at least four times a day. I''d also suggest ¡ª once you''ve healed ¡ª introducing more exercise into your routine. I''m sensing some buildup in your arteries.¡±


    Gareth blinked. ¡°Yes, Doctor.¡±


    ¡°For now, I''ll give you medication for the pain; just know it might impair your motor functions for a few hours. It''ll feel like being drunk,¡± the doctor explained, seeing Gareth''s wary expression. ¡°You should take it, Mr. Ranulf. I imagine you must be in a lot of pain right now. I''ll warn you, it smells awful,¡± she said as she retrieved a bottle from the locked cabinet and poured out a dose. ¡°If you experience pain at home, laudanum should do the trick.¡±


    Gareth almost hurled again at the smell, having to steel himself before draining the cup. Watching him cough, the Doctor winced sympathetically.


    ¡°I''ll have the nurse bring you fresh ice. Would you prefer to wait here or in the foyer?¡±


    ¡°The foyer,¡± Gareth answered easily. The sooner he could get home, the better. Isobel must be worried. He returned to the waiting room on his own, relieved to find that Roman had indeed waited. The young man sat near the door, picking at his nails, and didn¡¯t notice Gareth until he dropped into the seat next to him.


    ¡°Your face is clean!¡± was the first thing he said.


    ¡°Yes, apparently the doctor needs to see the injury in order to assess it,¡± Gareth said dryly.


    ¡°Ah, clean him up and suddenly he¡¯s a comedian. Good one, Mr. Ranulf. Why are you sitting?¡± he asked.


    ¡°A nurse is bringing me fresh ice,¡± Gareth said, pulling the current bag away from his eye and shaking it so Roman could hear the slosh of water.


    ¡°Ah. How¡¯d it go?¡±


    ¡°Better than I would¡¯ve expected. I¡¯ve been prescribed bedrest ¡ª and given medicine, thankfully.¡±


    ¡°Laudanum?¡±


    Gareth shook his head.


    ¡°No?¡± Roman asked, studying Gareth. His face fell. ¡°Tell me it wasn¡¯t Carujan Oil.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t¡ª¡±


    ¡°Clear liquid. Thick and sticky. Smells and tastes like piss.¡±


    ¡°That sounds right,¡± Gareth said. His nose wrinkled at the memory. ¡°Is that bad? She¡¯s the doctor, Mr. Hallisey. I believe she knows best.¡±


    ¡°Sure, but she didn¡¯t give much thought to the poor bastard stuck walking you home. Carrying you home, rather. They don''t have a phone here, so we''ll have to find a cab on Main Street. Are you concussed?¡±


    ¡°Mildly.¡±


    ¡°Well, we''ll have to walk a few blocks ¡ª hopefully before that oil takes effect.¡±


    Silence fell between them while they waited for the nurse. Gareth looked around and fidgeted with his clothes and eventually asked, ¡°Where are you from? Your accent is northern, right?¡±


    ¡°Good ear. I grew up in Troas.¡±


    That fit into what little Gareth knew about Roman, with his mother¡¯s Troasian mythology and his darker features. They neared the end of a bright summer, and while Gareth¡¯s skin had tanned beyond its usual pasty white, Roman¡¯s was still several shades darker. The only reason Gareth hadn¡¯t guessed Troas sooner was because of the way Roman¡¯s accent had diluted, like he¡¯d been away from home for a long time. ¡°I had a tutor from Troas,¡± he said, without quite meaning to.


    The nurse arrived, then, replacing Gareth¡¯s melted bag, and when Gareth finally stood to go, the world spun around him. He grabbed Roman¡¯s shoulder for support, but funnily enough, the young man didn¡¯t seem affected by the ground''s shifting. He just gave Gareth an amused look and gestured grandly toward the doors, saying, ¡°After you.¡±


    The gesture tickled at something in the back of Gareth''s mind. Roman felt strangely familiar. He mused over it as they left the hospital, but it wasn¡¯t until the next block over that it finally clicked. ¡°Wait!¡± he cried.


    Faster than Gareth had ever seen anyone move, Roman twirled to face him, his sword appearing in his hand between one moment and the next. He looked around, alert, then frowned at Gareth. ¡°Gareth, what?¡±


    ¡°It''s you! I know who you are!¡±


    Roman''s expression darkened, and he took a step toward Gareth. Suddenly, he was like a different person, a predator instead of a savior. Gareth nearly staggered under the weight of his gaze, of those black eyes fixed unblinkingly on him. Had he been in his right mind, it would have felled him. It would have terrified him. A chill raced up his spine, raising the hairs on the back of his neck, but under the medicine''s influence, he only let out a nervous giggle.


    The sound seemed to snap Roman out of whatever he''d fallen into. The young man blinked, then rolled his eyes, his sword disappearing as quickly as it had appeared. He grabbed Gareth''s arm and dragged him the rest of the way across the street.


    ¡°Atiuh¡¯s name, Gareth, I thought there was trouble.¡±


    ¡°Sorry,¡± Gareth said, too dazed to really feel it.


    ¡°Don''t apologize. Well?¡±


    ¡°Well what?¡±


    ¡°You said you know me. Who exactly do you think I am?¡±


    ¡°Oh! We¡¯ve met, sort of,¡± Gareth said, following Roman¡¯s lead when Roman turned down a dark side street. He didn¡¯t even question it, which worried a distant, sober part of his mind, but he was mostly focused on walking on ground that wouldn¡¯t stay still. ¡°This morning, actually. You convinced me to stop for a play. Do you remember?¡±


    Roman thought for a moment, then snapped his fingers and laughed, throwing his head back in delight. ¡°You¡¯re the Egil scholar!¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s me,¡± Gareth said proudly. ¡°I didn''t recognize you without your hat.¡±


    Roman laughed again. Even through his mind¡¯s haze, Gareth envied the joy in it. ¡°You have an excuse; I don''t. I should¡¯ve recognized you sooner.¡±


    ¡°It''s because I was painted red.¡±


    Roman bit his lip to keep from smiling. ¡°Maybe. Please walk faster, Gareth. Call it a hunch, but I think the medicine''s kicking in.¡±


    Gareth blinked up at the purple sky as he walked, putting one foot in front of the other. They turned onto Main Street as a carriage rattled past, its side lanterns making Gareth squint and avert his eyes. Beside him, Roman raised a hand to flag it down, but it sped past. Maybe the blood on Gareth''s clothing stopped it. ¡°Remarkably fast, this stuff. And strong. I hardly feel a thing,¡± he said. Suddenly remembering the thread of their earlier conversation, he asked, ¡°Are you one of the Webhon Players?¡±


    Roman looked back at Gareth, trying and failing to hide his amusement. ¡°I¡¯m an honorary player, I suppose. I help with the opening in exchange for a place in their camp.¡±


    ¡°I thought your opening was beautiful.¡±


    ¡°Maybe you should stop talking for a while, Gareth,¡± Roman suggested.


    ¡°Okay.¡± As they walked, Gareth had to rely on Roman more and more for balance. They hadn¡¯t made it another block before he started complaining. ¡°How far away are we? My boots are getting dirty.¡±


    Roman glanced at Gareth¡¯s shoes. ¡°Gareth, those boots were doomed the minute you set foot in Greysdale.¡±


    ¡°Set foot.¡± Gareth laughed. ¡°I get it. So? How long to Kramer Street?¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s ten minutes from here, but at the rate we¡¯re going, forty.¡±


    Gareth kicked a loose stone. To his credit, Roman managed to keep a straight face, even after looking over and seeing Gareth¡¯s rather undignified pout. He asked, ¡°What brought you to Greysdale, anyway? It¡¯s not the sort of place I¡¯d expect to find an upstanding gentleman.¡±


    ¡°Wasn¡¯t intentional. I just don¡¯t know the city, even after all my visits.¡±


    ¡°Visits? You¡¯re not from around here?¡±


    ¡°No, I live in Adriat. Just outside of it.¡±


    ¡°You came to visit your sister,¡± Roman guessed. ¡°For the conferences?¡±


    Gareth nodded, then paused to look in the window of a ladies¡¯ hat shop. He balked at how big some of them were. How did the ladies not fall over with those on their heads? When Roman stifled a laugh, Gareth realized he¡¯d said it out loud. He covered his mouth with a hand.


    ¡°Atiuh help me,¡± Roman muttered, though he was still smiling. ¡°How¡¯d you get so lost?¡±


    ¡°I was on my way back from a meeting and tried to walk.¡±


    ¡°A meeting?¡± Roman asked, watching Gareth out of the corner of his eye. Under different circumstances, Gareth might have noticed the sharp interest in the young man¡¯s voice. ¡°What kind of meeting?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m¡­not supposed to say.¡±


    ¡°Oh. Sure, I understand. I was just trying to keep some conversation going. It¡¯s not like I have anyone to tell, though,¡± Roman said, watching Gareth out of the corner of his eye, earnestness dripping from every word, ¡°If you did want to talk about it. No offense, but you seem like you''ve got something on your mind.¡± Gareth worried at his lower lip. Sensing weakness, Roman continued. ¡°It¡¯s something to do with Unity, right? And the visiting prince?¡±


    ¡°Yes,¡± Gareth admitted. Roman¡¯s dark eyes made him itch, just beneath the skin. ¡°I¡­overheard something I shouldn''t have, this morning. Unity¡¯s sending a diplomatic team to Orean to negotiate the return of a hostage. I¡¯ve been to Orean a few times, so Moira wants me on the team. That¡¯s what the meeting was about.¡±


    Roman¡¯s eyes widened. ¡°Diplomatic?¡± he said, tasting the word like he¡¯d never heard it before. ¡°Unity? You¡¯re sure they said ''diplomatic''? It''s just not Unity''s style.¡±


    ¡°And how would you know?¡± Gareth asked on reflex, sounding very much like his father. He could hear the condescension and hated himself for it, just a little.


    Roman blinked, expression shuttering. Whatever sharpness Gareth had seen behind his eyes disappeared, like a sheathed knife ¡ª hidden, but no less dangerous. ¡°I guess I wouldn¡¯t.¡±


    ¡°Sorry,¡± Gareth said.


    ¡°No need to apologize, Mr. Ranulf,¡± Roman said stiffly. Changing the subject, he asked, ¡°Was that your wife and daughter with you today?¡±


    ¡°Yes. Isobel and Ofelia. Isobel¡¯s the most beautiful woman in the world, Roman. You should see her! You should come up and see her! Then you¡¯ll know.¡±


    ¡°I already saw her,¡± Roman pointed out. ¡°This morning, remember?¡±


    ¡°Oh. Right.¡± Gareth sighed. ¡°She¡¯s pregnant right now. I really don¡¯t want to leave her.¡±


    Roman tugged Gareth on again. ¡°I¡¯m sure it¡¯s no great comfort, but it sounds like Unity has things well in hand. Hopefully it¡¯ll be a short trip. And Orean is beautiful in the fall.¡±


    ¡°Have you been?¡± Gareth asked.


    ¡°Several times.¡±


    ¡°You should be on the team, then, instead of me. You¡¯re much charminger than I, and you can fight, and you¡¯ve been to Orean.¡±


    ¡°You think I¡¯m charming, Gareth? I¡¯m flattered.¡±


    ¡°Would you go, if we could swap? Would you join the team? Hypo-hyperothetically.¡±


    ¡°Absolutely not.¡±


    ¡°Why not?¡±


    Roman half-laughed. He looked up at the sky, weighing his answer. ¡°Because I don¡¯t work with Unity, and I¡¯m sure they wouldn¡¯t want to work with me.¡±


    ¡°Why not?¡±


    Roman turned his considering look on Gareth. ¡°I don¡¯t trust them. Sorry if that¡¯s too blunt for you. I don¡¯t trust them to treat Orean fairly, and I don''t trust their motives, so keep an eye on them for me.¡± Roman sighed. ¡°I would''ve leapt at this sort of opportunity, once, when I was young. I did, in fact. I won¡¯t make the same mistake again.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t understand.¡±


    ¡°Let me put it this way: you always lose something of yourself on these kinds of journeys, and who I am is all I have anymore. I really wish you the best, Gareth; you seem like a nice guy. Hold onto that and don''t let anyone take it from you.¡±


    ¡°You talk older than you look,¡± Gareth observed, the most cogent thought he could form at the moment.


    ¡°I¡¯m fairly sure that doesn¡¯t make sense.¡±


    ¡°It does.¡±


    Roman smiled and shook his head. ¡°If you insist. Do you recognize where we are?¡±


    Gareth looked around. Past the slight blur, he recognized the lights and sights of Kramer Street. ¡°Oh!¡±


    ¡°Should I help you to your room, or can you handle it from here?¡±


    ¡°I can handle it. Thank you, Mr. Hallisey. I said I¡¯d pay you¡ª¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t worry about it, just promise you¡¯ll be more careful next time you wander around at night. Good luck with your trip, Mr. Ranulf.¡±


    With that, Roman was gone, strolling down the street and out of Gareth¡¯s life. Gareth lingered outside his flat, letting the crisp air slowly peel back the medicine¡¯s haze. He didn¡¯t want to be so out of it when he explained what happened to Isobel, so he stood and watched the¡ª few, given the late hour¡ª people pass by on the street.


    He noticed the trio of orinians that were staying across the hall from him as they returned to the hotel. One of them, a girl with curly blonde hair, met Gareth''s eye from across the street. Her smile fell ¡ª Gareth could only imagine how he must look ¡ª and hurried after her friends.


    ¡°Kieran! ¨ªde!¡± she called, catching up to them just as the hotel doors swung shut, blocking them from view. Gareth worried at his bottom lip, watching the doors long after the orinians disappeared. Unbidden, Roman¡¯s earlier words came to mind. I don¡¯t trust Unity to treat the orinians fairly. It echoed the prince''s threats, the hints of ulterior motives. Gareth hoped they were both wrong. They must be wrong.

 08 | Egil

    ¡°Any food for you, sir?¡± a voice asked, pulling Aleksir from his thoughts. He turned from the passing crowds to find a server standing over his table.


    ¡°Nah. I told you, I¡¯m waiting for someone.¡±


    The server shrugged. It was a doubtful motion, a ¡°suit yourself.¡± He probably thought Aleksir had been stood up, and Aleksir couldn¡¯t even blame him. Not when he''d been here for hours nursing the same suspicion, the same glass of cheap wine. If it had been a date, he would¡¯ve stormed off ages ago ¡ª but it was supposed to be a meeting, and standing up Aleksir¡¯s boss was something one simply didn¡¯t do. For it to happen, something must have gone wrong.


    As soon as he had the thought, he felt it: a strange chill, like the brush of a blade against the back of his neck. Aleksir had grown up on the streets: he knew how it felt to be watched.


    He didn¡¯t immediately react. Instead, he checked his watch, fiddled with the menu. Then, subtly as he could, he glanced around: first over the other veranda tables, then down the street. Thanks to Gallontea¡¯s vibrant nightlife, there were people everywhere ¡ª but when Aleksir looked, no heads turned quickly away, no shapes shrank back into shadows.


    Another thing Aleksir had learned early on: to trust his instincts. He stood and threw his napkin down, complaining loudly about being stood up, and tossed some bills onto the table for the server¡¯s troubles. Then he slumped away, hands in his pockets. Overall, he put on a good show. He wished Devikra could¡¯ve seen it.


    As soon as he hit the next intersection, he took off running. Maybe he was just being paranoid, but his boss had enemies in this city and paranoid was better than complacent. It was much better than dead. He wove through side streets and down back roads, and when he couldn¡¯t run any further, he ducked into an alley. It was a dark, dead end ¡ª his first mistake. While e studied the alley¡¯s back wall for an escape route, he spotted a windowsill he could haul himself onto, but the window itself was boarded shut and Aleksir hadn''t the leverage to pry it free. The balcony above it, though ¡ª that would do.


    Because he studied the shadows so closely, he noticed them shift right where roof met sky. He stared, hoping it had only been an animal, but he could make out a person-shaped patch of darkness outlined against the stars. Aleksir squared his shoulders.


    ¡°Come down and face me!¡± he called.


    A chuckle drifted out of the shadows. Aleksir glimpsed a ghostly face, barely illuminated by the street¡¯s pale lamplight. But just as quickly as it appeared, it sank back into darkness. Without taking his eyes off that spot, Aleksir inched over to a dumpster and wrenched the leg off an overturned chair. The wood gave with surprising ease, and Aleksir held it aloft like a bat.


    ¡°Coward!¡± he called.


    Pebbles fell in answer, clanging and clattering all the way to the ground. Aleksir watched them, almost missing the shadowy figure that followed them down, melting out of the shadows like he¡¯d been borne from them. As the stranger jumped from balcony to windowsill, from windowsill to ground, his easy grace reminded Aleksir of one of those slinky toys, ceaseless and certain: fall, drop. Fall, drop.


    He landed on the balls of his feet, his boots making only the softest of sounds when they hit the ground. He cut a tall figure, slender and lanky and sharp like a wolf. He moved like one, too, stalking toward Aleksir with a lazy, loping prowl. In that moment, it struck Aleksir that he was the prey. With all the bravado he could muster, he asked, ¡°Do you make a habit of running around on rooftops?¡±


    ¡°Sometimes it¡¯s the fastest way,¡± the stranger said, grin too wide.


    Aleksir waved his makeshift cudgel in warning. ¡°Don''t come any closer, wolf.¡±


    The man¡¯s grin remained. ¡°If I¡¯m a wolf, what does that make you?¡± He paced to the side, circling Aleksir slowly. Aleksir turned with him, protecting his back, and too late he realized he¡¯d cornered himself. At the look on his face, the man laughed. ¡°What¡¯s the matter, little rabbit? I mean you no harm.¡±


    The lamplight seemed to seek this stranger out, lighting on a handsome face ¡ª flawless, if not for the cold smile and colder eyes. It was the kind of face Aleksir had always been jealous of, arresting and unforgettable. He felt like he had seen it somewhere before, but when the man stepped closer, he didn''t pause to think about it: he swung his cudgel right at that familiar face.


    Only, the man dodged. He moved faster than Aleksir would''ve thought possible, faster than his eyes could even follow. He¡¯d thought his aim was perfect, but somehow he hit air and stumbled. When he tried again, the man simply stepped out of Aleksir''s range, his hands clasped casually behind his back. On Aleksir''s third attempt, the man caught his cudgel mid-swing, halting all of Aleksir''s momentum in one jarring instant. Aleksir had thrown all of his weight into the swing, so he stumbled when the wolf easily wrenched the wood from his hands and tossed it into the alley''s shadows.


    ¡°Stop it. I just said I''m not here to hurt you,¡± the man said.


    Aleksir was already looking around for another weapon. ¡°Yeah, right.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re Aleksir Bardon, aren¡¯t you? I have some questions, and word is you¡¯re usually someone with answers.¡±


    Aleksir paused at that, puffed up a little. He couldn¡¯t help himself. ¡°I might be,¡± he said. ¡°An¡¯ I might have.¡±


    ¡°Is it true you work for the Oracle of Damael?¡±


    Aleksir paused again, a little too long. ¡°Where¡¯d you hear that?¡±


    ¡°Ah,¡± said the man, something like pity entering his voice, ¡°Not a rabbit, then, but a little fly caught in Devikra¡¯s web. If you¡¯re close with her, then you must know about the commotion on Unity¡¯s island this morning. What can you tell me about it?¡±


    ¡°Why should I tell you anything? Who even are you?¡±


    The stranger stopped his pacing, his impatient back and forth. ¡°Someone who would see Unity fall.¡±


    Great. Aleksir was trapped with a lunatic and a radical ¡ª a dangerous one, at that. He eyed the gap in the alleyway the man''s pacing had created. Aleksir stood little chance in a fight, but he was unmatched in a race. If he could just squeeze past, he''d be free. ¡°Why? What did Unity do to you?¡± he asked, hoping to distract the man. But as if guessing Aleksir''s thoughts, the man took a neat step to the left, cutting off Aleksir''s escape route.


    ¡°How old are you, kid? Are you even eighteen?¡± he asked.


    ¡°I¡¯m nineteen.¡±


    ¡°And what did Devikra promise you for your service? Wealth? Power? Whatever it was, it¡¯s not worth it.¡±


    ¡°You don¡¯t know what you¡¯re talking about,¡± Aleksir snapped. He didn''t like this man, didn''t like the feverish gleam in his eyes or the way he showed all his teeth when he smiled. He didn''t like being cornered. ¡°You don¡¯t know anything about her!¡±


    ¡°On the contrary,¡± the man said, infuriatingly calm in the face of Aleksir''s anger. ¡°I know her better than anyone. We worked together for a long time, after all.¡±You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.


    When the man stepped forward, into the moonlight, recognition hit Aleksir like a broken chair leg to the head. He remembered where he''d seen this man''s face before: on Devikra''s desk, in a grainy tintype of a smiling man with dark eyes.


    ¡°No,¡± Aleksir breathed, his heart thudding wildly in his chest.


    The man tipped his head to one side, giving that too-wide smile again. It didn''t reach his eyes, not like it did in the photograph. ¡°I thought you¡¯d already recognized me, given your little nickname ¡ª in Adondai, they called me c¨´-s¨¬th. Among Unity, the Hound.¡±


    ¡°You''re supposed to be dead.¡±


    The man ¡ª the Northern Wolf, the hero of a thousand stories and villain of one ¡ª laughed. ¡°I might as well be.¡±


    It was Egil.


    Egil had sought Aleksir out. Egil knew his name. ¡°I can''t believe it,¡± Aleksir said, hoping the wolf wouldn''t notice the way his voice wobbled. But it was Egil, the star of the world''s greatest stories. Egil, who was known for his wit, who even Devikra called perfect. Of course he noticed.


    ¡°Still afraid of me?¡± he asked.


    ¡°Are you kidding?¡± Aleksir asked, louder than he''d intended. Egil took a surprised step back. In his excitement, Aleksir didn''t even notice. ¡°You''re my hero! As a kid, I lived off stories about you! I mean, I probably wouldn''t even be alive if not for you! See, I thought that if Egil could get off the streets and do some good, I could too. I begged Dev to take me in, just like she did with you, and look at me now.¡±


    ¡°Running errands for the Oracle, speaking with a dead man in an alley? Quite the step up.¡±


    Before Aleksir could respond, Egil shoved Aleksir into the alley wall. Aleksir squawked, nearly tripping over a pile of trash, but Egil caught him and helped him keep his balance. When he pressed a finger to his lips and pointed at the sky, Aleksir looked just in time to see a dragon fly low over the alley. It was probably blue, given its size, but the lantern strapped to its belly was blinding. While he blinked against it, Egil moved closer to avoid getting caught in the light. He even smelled powerful, like soft cologne and smoke. He was so cool.


    ¡°It¡¯s just a dragon,¡± Aleksir whispered.


    ¡°A police dragon,¡± Egil whispered back, watching the last of its spiked tail vanish from sight before releasing Aleksir and stepping away. ¡°Unity can¡¯t know I¡¯m here, and a secret meeting in a dark alley is cause for questions, don¡¯t you think?¡±


    ¡°Do they know you''re alive?¡± Aleksir asked, eyes wide. The accounts of Histrios were different, but they agreed on some basic tenets: that Egil had descended into differed, but they all agreed on one point: Egil ad died there. Aleksir hadn¡¯t believed it, of course. He¡¯d never believed any of the Histrios stories. ¡°Don¡¯t they know all that stuff about Histrios was just gossip? Devikra could talk to Unity for you, clear things up.¡±


    ¡°Gossip? You can¡¯t pick which stories to believe, Mr. Bardon,¡± Egil said, his lip curling. ¡°If you believe the ones that called me a hero, why not the one that calls me a monster?¡±


    ¡°Because you¡¯re here, aren¡¯t you? Alive? That means it can''t be true.¡±


    Egil¡¯s next words chilled Aleksir down to his bones. His voice was deceptively soft, his words poison. ¡°Don¡¯t be na?ve. Do you think the people of Histrios were lying when they said I slaughtered their families? Do you think that pain was just made up? Your Oracle ¡ª would she have put a bounty on my head over nothing? Ask her, if you still don''t believe it. She was there; she knows what happened. If it was really just gossip, don''t you think she would''ve cleared it up already?¡±


    Aleksir shook his head, blocking out his words.


    Egil only scoffed. ¡°Good riddance to her, anyway. I don¡¯t know what she told you about me, but we weren¡¯t nearly as efficient together as the stories suggest.¡±


    ¡°You''re a hero,¡± Aleksir said, stubbornly. Devikra''s photograph of the softly-smiling hero was proof that version of Egil had existed, that he had been what the stories said, once. That version might still exist, and Aleksir wouldn''t let him go so easily. ¡°Look me in the eyes and tell me you really did all those things they say you did. Until you do, I won¡¯t believe it.¡±


    Egil looked Aleksir in the eyes. ¡°Oh, I did it,¡± he said, but somehow, Aleksir still didn¡¯t believe it. ¡°Lost my mind, went on a rampage, all of it. Now tell me what happened at Unity today, Aleksir.¡±


    ¡°But ¡ª fine. I don¡¯t know the details. You scared off my Unity contact before I could talk to them. That¡¯s why I was at that restaurant. From what I hear, the King of Alfheimr¡¯s gone missing.¡±


    Egil''s eyes widened. It was the first time Aleksir had seen him not smiling, smirking, or sneering. ¡°Amos? How?¡±


    ¡°If you believe the gossips, Orean took him, and they did it with magic,¡± Aleksir said, wiggling his fingers on the word magic. It was meant to be a joke, but Egil didn''t laugh. Magic was a thing of stories ¡ª but then, he supposed, so was Egil. ¡°You don''t really have magic, do you?¡±


    ¡°Mm, I can call down Atiuh''s powers to smite annoying teenagers who ask too many questions. Do you want a demonstration?¡± Egil asked, his smirk back on his face.


    Aleksir gritted his teeth and didn''t respond. Egil was Egil, but he still didn''t like that smirk.


    ¡°Of course I don''t have magic,¡± Egil said. ¡°What else can you tell me?¡±


    Aleksir blew out a slow breath. ¡°The Prince and Princess Nochdvor visited the island to talk to the Magistrates. The princess left, but the prince stuck around. Does he know you''re alive? He''s the one who was supposed to have killed you, isn''t he? Leandros Nochdvor? Are you going to go after him? By the way, how are you even still alive?¡±


    ¡°Don''t say his name!¡± Egil snapped. His hands had clenched into fists at his sides, and maybe it was a trick of the light, but the shadows in the alley seemed to gather to him, hang off his shoulders like a cloak. ¡°Don¡¯t speak of him.¡±


    ¡°I''m sorry,¡± Aleksir said, eyes wide. For the first time, he allowed the thought: maybe it really was all true. ¡°I won''t talk about him. But you...¡±


    ¡°I what?¡± Egil asked, when Aleksir didn''t speak.


    ¡°Why are you here? Why do you even care about all this? Are you going to help the king?¡±


    ¡°Amos Nochdvor has nothing to do with me,¡± Egil said. ¡°I already told you why I''m here: I''m here to see Unity fall.¡±


    ¡°What does that even mean?¡±


    Egil tipped his head back, and for a moment his eyes changed, the whites eclipsed entirely by glittering darkness. His smile was a wicked, warped version of the one from Devikra''s photograph, and Aleksir gasped. But then Egil blinked, and his eyes were normal once more. It must¡¯ve just been a trick of the light. ¡°It means that Unity is a cancer, a blight on this world, and I intend to purge it,¡± Egil said. ¡°Even if that means tearing it apart myself, brick by brick. Even if it means destroying myself in the process. Either way, I''ll be doing the world a favor.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re wrong,¡± Aleksir said. He was surprised at himself, at the way his conviction echoed through the alley. It gave Egil pause; he blinked at Aleksir, his stare hard but his eyes still normal. Human.


    ¡°What makes you so sure?¡± Egil asked.


    ¡°Devikra,¡± Aleksir said. When Egil scoffed, Aleksir hurried to continue: ¡°I¡¯m not in Gallontea because of whatever¡¯s going on with Illyon. That was just a coincidence. I¡¯m here because the Oracle had a vision and told me to warn anyone who¡¯d listen.¡±


    Egil held up a hand. Around him, the shadows dispersed. ¡°I don¡¯t want to hear it.¡±


    ¡°Too bad!¡± Aleksir snapped. It stunned Egil into silence, his dark eyes wide again. ¡°I listened to you go on about Unity, so you can listen to this! Dev says big things are coming. Bad things. It didn¡¯t make sense before, but after today, I''m starting to get it: she saw Orean on fire.¡±


    Egil frowned, faltered. ¡°Because of Unity?¡± he asked.


    ¡°You know it doesn¡¯t work like that,¡± Aleksir said. ¡°She can¡¯t see the why, just the what. But there¡¯s more. She saw explosions in Histrios, riots in the North. She even saw red dragons in Lyryma.¡±


    Egil blinked as if coming out of a daze. ¡°Don¡¯t be ridiculous. The red dragons have been extinct for centuries,¡± he said. For the first time that night, he sounded unsure.


    ¡°The Oracle is never wrong! Weird things are happening in Calaidia, weirder than alfar kings disappearing into thin air, and I don¡¯t know what Unity did to you, but we¡¯re all about to have much bigger problems!¡±


    ¡°We,¡± Egil said softly. ¡°Don''t include me in your ''we.'' It sounds to me like Devikra will have her hands full.¡±


    ¡°And it sounds to me like if you don¡¯t help, you¡¯re going to make everything worse!¡± Aleksir snapped, making Egil flinch. He didn¡¯t know what possessed him to speak to Egil this way, but now that he¡¯d started he couldn¡¯t stop. ¡°I¡¯m no politician, and I know Unity has its problems, but if you think destroying it won¡¯t hurt everyone, everywhere, then you really are mad. People depend on Unity, like it or not. They could depend on you again, if you got over yourself and let them. I don¡¯t think you¡¯re crazy. I think you¡¯re just selfish.¡±


    Egil stared at Aleksir. The silence stretched between them, and Aleksir worried he¡¯d gone too far. But then Egil''s shoulders dropped, and the last of his cold arrogance drained out of him. ¡°What am I supposed to do with this?¡± he asked. ¡°If you¡¯re so close with Devikra, you know nothing can be done. Her visions can¡¯t be changed. It¡¯s already too late for me, for Orean.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s never too late,¡± Aleksir said. ¡°Not to stop Devikra¡¯s visions, and not for you.¡±


    ¡°I wish I had your faith, but I¡¯ve been down that path before. There¡¯s no fighting what the Oracle has seen.¡± He smiled again, and it raised the hair on the back of Aleksir''s neck. ¡°Orean is going to burn, so the least I can do is make sure Unity burns with it.¡±


    ¡°Egil, please¡ª¡±


    Egil didn''t wait to hear the rest, turning to leave. ¡°Find Leandros Nochdvor; tell him what Devikra saw. But please, if the name Egil ever meant anything to you, don''t tell him you saw me. Don¡¯t tell him what I''ve become.¡±

 EGIL: INTERLUDE I

    Present Day


    Year of Unity 1880


    A dead man sat on the roof of a crooked old building while the suns rose over the horizon. He paid no mind to the coming dawn, that gentle medley of gold and pink, and the only sign that he felt the morning chill was the rosy flush to his cheeks. All his focus was fixed on a point in the distance, where Unity''s clock tower cut into the pale sky. If he could cut it down with glares alone, it would have crumbled into the ocean by now.


    When the long hand struck the hour, bells rang out over the city, interrupting the night''s quiet. The sound made Egil wince and press a hand to his beating heart, as if trying to keep it still in his chest. With a soft hiss, magic flared out from his core ¡ª he''d fought hard to keep it from Aleksir Bardon, but now he was alone. The magic billowed owed from him like sickly green smog, obscuring him and his rooftop and making it so he could no longer see Unity''s island.


    Inside the cloud of smog, his eyes turned entirely black.


    He''d had years ¡ª decades ¡ª to prepare for this moment, for seeing the island again. It hadn''t been enough. He''d thought he was ready to face Unity, to face this vicious, bitter city again, but now all he wanted was to flee, to forget Unity, forget the Oracle, forget Amos Nochdvor. In his defense, he hadn''t expected Leandros to be here, too. That made things difficult.Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on Royal Road.


    But in all his time away, in all his adventures and failures and losses, he''d learned one simple truth: Unity had to fall. He''d meant what he said; he''d be doing the world a favor. Making a better future for people better than himself, people like Aleksir and Leandros. Unity had to fall, and if not by his hand, then whose?


    A tremor wracked Egil''s body, but he forced a deep breath. In, out, then again. Slowly, the smog dispersed and his eyes returned to normal. The magic at his core dimmed. Hand still pressed to his heart, he took another breath and felt it begin to beat again. He laughed, alone on that rooftop. He laughed, and even he could hear the edge of madness cutting through it like a blade. Aleksir was wrong about him, about all of it.


    The clocked quieted after the sixth bell and Egil realized how long he''d been sitting here, watching the minutes pass as night pressed into morning. Below him, the city stirred, and ahead, a dragon swept low over the city, red sunslight warm on her white scales. Twisting between church spires and weaving between buildings, she eventually made her descent toward the strip of green park along the coast and disappeared between the trees there.


    Egil did not look at the clock tower again. He would have his time. He would not run, he would stay and fight, do what he''d come to do. After all, Unity''s destruction was the only thing that could bring him back to life. It would fall, as would anyone that got in his way.

 09 | First Team Meeting

    During his first morning in Gallontea, Leandros was ambushed. This was not incongruous with the rest of the trip so far¨Cthe same ad happened on his way to his hotel yesterday, then again when he¡¯d tried to go out for dinner. Disappearing for sixty years and suddenly reappearing under the most dramatic circumstances possible apparently made one something of a celebrity. While Leandros could handle reporters, he couldn¡¯t handle them knowing where he slept, and this one had lain in wait for him in his hotel lobby. Leandros had taken one look at him, a plucky, precocious sort of boy with brownish hair and bright eyes, and walked in the other direction.


    ¡°Wait!¡± the boy called, running after Leandros. ¡°You¡¯re Leandros Nochdvor, aren¡¯t you?¡±


    The lobby was far from empty, and many curious eyes turned their way at Leandros¡¯ name. Leandros ducked his head and kept walking. When the boy followed him out, he asked, ¡°How did you find me?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m good at learning secrets,¡± the boy said. ¡°I have a message from the Oracle.¡±


    Leandros stopped abruptly, making the boy crash into his back. ¡°Devikra? I haven¡¯t heard from her since¡­¡± Since Histrios. He cleared his throat. ¡°Walk with me. Tell me everything.¡±


    By the time he reached Unity¡¯s island, Leandros was in a bad mood. Anyone would be, after they¡¯d had dire prophecies dumped on them and then been asked about their worst failure over and over. Leandros had quickly realized that Aleksir Bardon was worse than a reporter: he was a fanboy. He¡¯d apparently decided that he would single-handedly get to the bottom of Histrios, and he wouldn¡¯t take no for an answer. In the end, Leandros managed to shake him off at Unity bridge, and only because he¡¯d sicced Unity¡¯s security on the kid like glorified bouncers.


    Then there was a press conference with the Magistrates, which soured his mood further. He was clearly there as an ornament only, the Magistrates spending the entire conference reassuring reporters while managing not to give out a single detail of their plan. By the time Leandros reached the site of his next meeting, a half-timbered house in a quiet Gallontean neighborhood, he was tired enough for another sixty years of seclusion.


    ¡°Are you lost?¡± a quiet voice asked, when he lingered too long at the foot of the winding drive.


    Standing in the street behind Leandros was a short woman with bright red hair. When she saw his face, her eyebrows twitched, but she quickly schooled her expression behind a cold smile. ¡°Unless you¡¯re Prince Leandros Nochdvor,¡± she continued, ¡°In which case, you¡¯re exactly where you¡¯re meant to be.¡±


    When she spoke, Leandros glimpsed sharp canines and a feather-like texture webbed across her pale skin. She was maranet, the longest-lived of the human races. Given the gray streaks around her temples and the faint lines around her eyes, she must have been Amos¡¯ age.


    ¡°You have the advantage of me. You know my name, but I don¡¯t know yours,¡± Leandros said.


    Her smile eased ¨C Leandros still couldn¡¯t call it friendly, but it was at least polite. ¡°Evelyne Corscia,¡± she said with a bow, one leg forward in the formal Alfheimr style. Surprised at the courtesy, Leandros bowed back. When Evelyne straightened, she said, ¡°I¡¯ll be your Head of Security for the trip to Orean.¡±


    ¡°Pleasure,¡± Leandros said, eyeing her. She wore a sword a her back and a gun at her hip; excessive, for the city¡¯s customs. It was generally one or the other. She seemed, to Leandros, a contradiction: she was scarred and armed, but more than that, there was a detachment behind her deep-set eyes that unsettled him. At the same time, her voice was so gentle. He had a strange feeling about her, and he had to ask: ¡°Do you work for Unity?¡±


    ¡°Technically, yes,¡± she replied. ¡°We should go in, my Lord. Mr. Ochoa will wonder what¡¯s keeping us.¡±


    Leandros watched her start up the drive, blinking against the bright sunslight that crested the rooftops. Their destination stood alone on a slope, flowers and tall grasses spreading from its foundation all the way to the property¡¯s borders, and when Evelyne neared the front door, a head suddenly peeked over the second-story balcony railing. Leandros hadn¡¯t noticed the dryad up there until he moved, his mossy head of hair blending seamlessly in among the potted flowers he was tending. ¡°Good morning, Evelyne!¡± he called down. ¡°And you must be Prince Nochdvor! Come inside, let yourselves in. I¡¯ll be right down to meet you!¡±


    Evelyne didn¡¯t hesitate at the invitation. She held the door for Leandros, who had no choice but to step inside first. He was barely in before the dryad was breezing down the stairwell, stopping before him in a flurry. ¡°Prince Nochdvor, it¡¯s such an honor! I hope you had no trouble finding the place. I asked for accommodations on the island, of course, but what with the press conference and the news about the abduction hitting the papers this morning, the Magistrates suggested we meet somewhere quieter. The island¡¯s bound to be crawling with reporters,¡± he gushed, barely pausing to breathe. ¡°My name is Eresh Ochoa, by the by. I¡¯ll be your Unity Coordinator for the foreseeable future.¡±


    When he held his hand out for Leandros to shake, Leandros blinked at him, then down at his hand, and at the last moment, Eresh snatched it back. ¡°Oh! You don¡¯t do handshakes in Alfheimr, right? Something about it being too intimate, wasn¡¯t it? I¡¯m terribly sorry if I caused offense.¡±


    ¡°You didn¡¯t,¡± Leandros assured him.


    ¡°That¡¯s a relief. I really am a fan of you ¨C your work,¡± Eresh said. He cleared his throat awkwardly. ¡°Please, follow me.¡±


    Eresh led Leandros and Evelyne through the narrow hallways to a sitting room. The south-facing windows worked like a greenhouse, making the room hot and humid ¡ª better for the strange flowers and trailing vines that grew along the trellised walls. At the center of the room, instead of sofas, plush floor cushions circled a low table. It was covered in stacks of folders and papers, and Eresh immediately sat to sort through them.


    Leandros nodded at the flowers. ¡°You have quite the collection.¡±


    Eresh straightened like a flower given water. ¡°Kind of you to notice. I was born in Lyryma forest, you know, though I left when I was still a young thing. Most of the specimen you see here are from Home. They¡¯re difficult to maintain in this climate, but I can be quite stubborn about getting my way.¡±


    ¡°No one who¡¯s known you even five minutes could doubt that, Eresh,¡± Evelyne said.


    ¡°I¡¯ll choose to take that as a compliment, Evelyne,¡± said Eresh. The pair¡¯s informal use of given names didn¡¯t escape Leandros. ¡°I have paperwork for you both. The others might come to get theirs as well, but I don¡¯t expect they¡¯ll stay long. I mostly thought we three should talk.¡±


    When Eresh passed Leandros the thickest of the folders, he started paging through it. ¡°What others?¡± he asked.


    ¡°Our other teammates, of course! Unity¡¯s already got half the team filled. Fast, aren¡¯t they?¡±


    ¡°Faster than I¡¯d expected,¡± Leandros admitted. He wondered what had changed since yesterday, to make the Magistrates suddenly so keen on this mission.


    When a maid passed by the doorway, Eresh waved her down. ¡°Mary, if anyone comes to the door, will you show them in? Would either of you like wine? I can have Mary fetch some.¡±


    ¡°No, thank you,¡± Leandros said, claiming an empty cushion across from Eresh. Evelyne stayed standing.


    ¡°Suit yourself. Aren¡¯t they comfortable?¡± Eresh asked, missing the awkward way Leandros had to fold his long legs around the table in order to fit. ¡°I once had the privilege of being admitted to the Oracle of Damael¡¯s drawing room, and it was full of cushions just like these. I told myself I¡¯d have nothing else, from then on.¡±


    And just like that, at that name, Leandros¡¯ mood soured again. ¡°The Oracle? An honor indeed,¡± he said dryly.


    ¡°Quite so,¡± Eresh agreed, not noticing Leandros¡¯ tone. Behind Eresh, Evelyne raised an eyebrow at Leandros, her expression otherwise eerily blank. Leandros refused to meet her eye, grateful when Eresh continued: ¡°I suppose we should get on to business. My job for the next few weeks, Prince Nochdvor¡ªor should I say Captain¡ªis to handle the menial tasks associated with travel so that you are free to focus on bringing your uncle home. Leave the supplies, arrangements, and logistics to me. Inside your folder, you¡¯ll find Unity¡¯s code of conduct, safety protocols, budget breakdowns, and information on our known teammates. We¡¯ll be a small team, with five diplomats¨Cincluding you and I¨Cand a five-person security team led by Evelyne.¡±


    Leandros frowned at that, the expression stopping Eresh just as he drew in a breath to continue. ¡°That many?¡± he asked. ¡°Fifty percent of the team being designated security seems excessive for a diplomatic mission.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re a very important person, Prince Nochdvor,¡± Eresh said. ¡°Your safety on this mission is Unity¡¯s top priority.¡±


    Leandros snorted. Flattering, but he didn¡¯t believe it. Out of curiosity, he flipped to Evelyne¡¯s entry in the folder and found it practically empty. The next security member¡¯s entry was the same. It listed a name, an age, a brief rundown of skills, and that was all. Compared to the diplomats¡¯ entries, which were several pages long each, full of experience and references, the difference was telling. Keeping his expression neutral, he said, ¡°Unity¡¯s top priority should be rescuing the missing King. Relative to that, I mean little, and I¡¯m more than capable of fending for myself.¡±


    Eresh shot Evelyne an uncertain look. ¡°Well,¡± he said, ¡°We¡¯ll also have the brother of a Unity Magistrate on the team. I can only assume Unity is being cautious for both your sakes, but I can assure you, Lord Nochdvor, that Evelyne and her team are the very best Unity has to offer.¡±


    ¡°That, I don¡¯t doubt,¡± Leandros said, looking up at the woman in question. She met his gaze evenly, almost in challenge. Two things were clear: that Unity had selected Evelyne and her team for a reason, and that they were hiding that reason from Leandros. He asked, ¡°How long have you been doing this sort of thing, Ms. Corscia?¡±


    ¡°Longer than you¡¯ve been alive, my Lord,¡± Evelyne said evenly. Even with Leandros¡¯ experience dealing with rigid alfar, he couldn¡¯t read her at all.


    ¡°Are swords your weapon of choice?¡± he asked.


    ¡°I suppose.¡±


    ¡°Did you train formally? What was the name of the school?¡±


    ¡°It closed over a century ago, I¡¯m afraid.¡±


    Leandros smiled pleasantly. ¡°That doesn¡¯t mean I haven¡¯t heard of it. Come, what¡¯s the name?¡±


    Eresh watched the exchange with raised eyebrows. When the maid suddenly returned, a nympherai woman following behind her, he let out a relieved sigh. ¡°Ah!¡± he said, cutting the tension. ¡°Ms. Smith!¡±


    While the maid excused herself, the nympherai joined the small group by the table. ¡°Please, call me Trin,¡± she said. Compared to Evelyne, who felt to Leandros like the personification of nails on a chalkboard, Trin had a calming presence. Though short, she stood with her shoulders squared and her hands clasped behind her back, elongating the lines of her well-tailored suit. Her short hair was slicked back and her skin was spotted with opalescent scales. She didn¡¯t bow or offer to shake hands, but she gave Leandros a curt nod.The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.


    ¡°You¡¯ve met Evelyne already, right? And this is Leandros Nochdvor. Pr ¡ª Captain Nochdvor, this is Trinity Smith. She¡¯ll be our lead negotiator,¡± Eresh explained. ¡°She has decades of experience in the field and has handled dozens of hostage negotiations.¡±


    ¡°Only petty kidnappings. First time with something of this magnitude, isn¡¯t it, Trin?¡± Evelyne asked, the taunt strange in her gentle tone.


    ¡°How fortunate I am to have you as part of my tactical team again, Ms. Corscia,¡± Trin said in a dry tone. ¡°Of course I haven¡¯t negotiated anything of this magnitude, but if kings were disappearing often, that would be more of a failing on yours and Unity¡¯s parts than mine, don¡¯t you think?¡±


    Evelyne scowled in reply.


    ¡°So, you two know each other,¡± Leandros said. He was beginning to worry he was the only stranger in a team of old acquaintances. Wouldn¡¯t that just be typical. ¡°Do you work for Unity as well, Ms. Smith?¡±


    ¡°Only occasionally. It¡¯s nothing to your trade agreements with the oanai, Prince Nochdvor, but when two hikers went missing in Lyryma last year, Unity brought me in to negotiate with them. I had the privilege, then, of working with Ms. Corscia and her team. I hope you won¡¯t be so eager for blood this time, Evelyne.¡±


    ¡°Blood?¡± Leandros asked, eyeing Evelyne. Unbidden, Aleksir¡¯s warnings about Orean on fire came to mind.


    ¡°Only a figure of speech, my Lord,¡± Evelyne said smoothly.


    The reassurance didn¡¯t settle the uneasy prickling sensation at the back of Leandros¡¯ neck. ¡°Right. And what is a tactical team in this context, exactly?¡±


    ¡°A specialized unit trained in combat that¡¯s called in to handle high-risk, high-stakes situations. Evelyne¡¯s team may step in if negotiations with your uncle¡¯s kidnappers fail and we need another way to extract him,¡± Trin explained. ¡°Hopefully, it won¡¯t be necessary, though I¡¯m sure Evelyne would disagree. Hostile tactics are always a last resort.¡±


    ¡°So they¡¯re not just for security, after all,¡± Leandros said, raising an eyebrow at Eresh. He was beginning to see the shape of those ulterior motives he¡¯d questioned the Magistrates about. Unity was preparing for more than a diplomatic mission, for something Leandros couldn¡¯t quite identify. He wanted to believe it was as Trin said, a tactical angle to rescue his uncle, but he knew Unity too well. They didn¡¯t expend this kind of energy unless they had something to gain.


    ¡°I¡¯m not the one getting ahead of myself, Trin,¡± Evelyne pointed out. ¡°We don¡¯t even know who the kidnappers are, or if they have any demands to negotiate. All we have are two flawed accounts from the sole survivors. We need to launch an investigation in Illyon before we can even make contact with Orean.¡±


    It was only thanks to a lifetime of training that Leandros didn¡¯t flinch at the word flawed. How much of his and Rhea¡¯s account had Unity told her? All of it? He wasn¡¯t the only one who noticed Evelyne¡¯s wording, either. ¡°Flawed?¡± Trin asked. ¡°Flawed how?¡±


    ¡°Ask him,¡± Evelyne said, jutting her thumb at Leandros.


    ¡°I know it may be difficult to recount, Prince Nochdvor, but if you could,¡± Trin prompted.


    ¡°It¡¯s fine,¡± Leandros said. He¡¯d expected this, had prepared a version of the story slightly more plausible than the truth. Of course, that would mean nothing if the Magistrates had already told Evelyne everything. ¡°We were assembled at Hampstead Hall when an orinian woman broke in and used some sort of explosive device. In the chaos, she escaped with my uncle.¡±


    ¡°What kind of explosive device? And how did one woman carry off a grown alfar? How did she make it through all of Illyon like that?¡± Evelyne asked. The Magistrates had told her everything.


    Leandros bit back his irritation, but it came out on a sigh. ¡°I¡¯m only telling you what I saw, and I saw her lift him without trouble. After that, I was rather preoccupied with keeping myself and my cousin alive. If that makes my story flawed, then I supposed it¡¯s flawed.¡±


    The noise Evelyne made in response was doubtful at best.


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry for your loss. Were you and your uncle close?¡± Trin asked. While her tone was kinder than Evelyne¡¯s, it was analytic, not sympathetic. Leandros realized that to her¨Cto all of them¨Che was not just a stranger: he was a liability, a mystery to unravel. Part of the problem, not part of the solution, and certainly not someone they¡¯d recognize as a leader.


    ¡°As close as Alfheimr royalty can get,¡± he answered, intentionally evasive.


    ¡°You can trust me, Prince Nochdvor,¡± Trin said, and the condescension in it was a twist of the knife. ¡°I¡¯m here for you ¨C we all are. What can you tell me about Amos that might affect how we approach Orean? Do you think he would try to escape? Is he the type to reason with his kidnapper?¡±


    ¡°Yes to the latter, no to the former. He¡¯d know people were coming to help and wouldn¡¯t make things more difficult for them.¡±


    ¡°How is he under pressure? Does he have a temper?¡±


    ¡°If he does, I¡¯ve never seen it. He¡¯s the most patient man I know.¡±


    Some of his thoughts must¡¯ve made it into his voice, because Trin asked, ¡°And do you, Prince Nochdvor? Have a temper?¡±


    Leandros smiled at her. ¡°Only if I feel I¡¯m being talked down to.¡±


    ¡°My apologies, Captain. I almost forgot who I was talking to,¡± Trin said with a toothy grin. She addressed the gathered group: ¡°We¡¯ll need to be patient on this mission, build trust and rapport with the hostage taker¨Conce we identify them, as Ms. Corscia helpfully pointed out. We¡¯ll need to trust each other, too. All of us. Captain, if you remember anything else about that day, please tell us. We really are here to support you.¡±


    ¡°I will,¡± Leandros said, ignoring the feel of Evelyne¡¯s heavy gaze on him. He¡¯d seemed to earn some level of respect with Trin, at least. It was a start.


    Voices drifted down from the hallway, then, followed by a flurry of movement from the doorway. A tall man came in first, ahead of the maid, and threw his arm around Trin¡¯s shoulder. ¡°Well, if it isn¡¯t Trin! It¡¯s been too long,¡± he said. He had the pointed ears of an alfar, but the flat Gallontean accent. A patch covered one of his eyes, the other sleepy and half-lidded. It matched his wide, lazy smile. A stern man entered behind him, lingering in the doorway with his arms crossed. Leandros knew which team they belonged to even before Evelyne said it.


    ¡°Ivor Linde and Aaror Thomason, both my men,¡± she supplied while Trin shrugged off Ivor¡¯s arm.


    ¡°I have paperwork for you both,¡± Eresh said, digging through his stack. ¡°You too, Trin.¡±


    ¡°My favorite,¡± Ivor said with an eye roll. Still, he took the papers when Eresh offered them. While more expressive than the security lead, he had the same cold detachment in his eyes. So did Aaror. ¡°Aaror and I can¡¯t stay. We just came for the paperwork.¡±


    ¡°Take Will and Chia¡¯s, too,¡± Evelyne said. At Eresh¡¯s questioning look, she explained, ¡°Will can¡¯t make it today and Chia¡¯s out of town. She¡¯s expected back on Thursday; we can leave for Orean then.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s three days from now,¡± Leandros pointed out. ¡°That¡¯s a long time to wait, in hostage situations.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s not ideal,¡± Trin agreed.


    ¡°Eftychia is crucial to this mission. You should know that,¡± Evelyne said. ¡°Besides, Eresh still needs to prepare us for departure, which could take a couple days on its own.¡±


    Trin sighed and gave Leandros a shrug. ¡°If Amos is still alive, statistically, the hostage takers will keep him alive longer¨Cas long as needed for their demands to be heard.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll defer to your expertise on the matter,¡± Leandros said, the words sour in his mouth. He shifted uneasily on Eresh¡¯s overpriced floor cushion. ¡°If you don¡¯t mind, I¡¯m going to step out for some air.¡±


    As he stood, his bruises and cuts from the jump out Hampstead Hall¡¯s window ached. No one stopped him, but he felt curious eyes on his back all the way to the door. As he took the stairs two at a time up to the balcony. He told himself that it was the humidity in the house, not his teammates, that made it so hard to breathe. He took the stairs two at a time up to the balcony he¡¯d seen on the way in, but when fresh air didn¡¯t stop the feeling, didn¡¯t stop his heart from beating too quickly in his chest, Leandros sat cross-legged in the middle of the balcony floor.


    Not for the first time since this all began, he wondered what he¡¯d gotten himself into. And then, for the first time, he wondered what he¡¯d gotten Orean into. The unknowns were adding up, and the phrase eager for blood had stuck in Leandros¡¯ mind from the moment Trin uttered it. He should be grateful Evelyne and her tactical team were on his side. He should be grateful they wanted to help his uncle. But he wasn¡¯t and he still couldn¡¯t shake the suspicion that they didn¡¯t. Paired with Devikra¡¯s visions of riots and cities on fire¡­


    Leandros liked to think he had good instincts, and with every instinct in his body, he did not trust this security team. As he sat on the balcony and steadied his breathing, he lost track of time. Eventually, his sharp ears picked up the sound of the front door opening below him. ¡°Oh. He¡¯s not here,¡± said a quiet voice. Evelyne.


    ¡°With any luck, he ran home to Alfheimr,¡± came a second¨CIvor. There was a soft thump, then: ¡°Ow! It¡¯s a joke, Ev. What¡¯s with you? He¡¯s just a spoiled little princeling.¡±


    ¡°Quiet,¡± Evelyne snapped. ¡°Don¡¯t underestimate him. He knows more than you think.¡±


    There was a heavy pause, and then Ivor asked, ¡°About us?¡±


    ¡°Just keep your head down and do your job,¡± Evelyne warned.


    Leandros missed Ivor¡¯s reply under the crunch of three sets of boots passing onto gravel. Not wanting to be seen, he eased onto his back so he¡¯d be hidden behind the flowerpots that lined the balcony. He tucked his hands under his head and smiled bitterly up at the passing clouds, counting in his head and listening for the sound of crunching boots to fade. Finally satisfied they were gone, he sat up and peered over the railing¨Conly to find a new person picking their way up the drive. More strangers.


    On second glance, though, Leandros realized he recognized this person. He pushed himself to his feet, then called down, ¡°Mr. Ranulf!¡±


    Gareth Ranulf jumped, looking around before looking up, a sheepish grin spreading across his face when he spotted Leandros. It was, to Leandros¡¯ surprise, covered in ugly bruises. ¡°Prince Nochdvor! Yes, I¡¯m surprised you remembered!¡±


    ¡°After only a day?¡± Leandros leaned over the railing, resting his elbows on the painted wood. ¡°And after your kind gift, how could I forget? Thank you again for that; it helped me take my mind off things, if only for a little while. But don¡¯t tell me you¡¯ll be joining us in Illyon?¡±


    ¡°I will, in fact.¡±


    ¡°Hold on,¡± Leandros said, pushing away from the railing. ¡°Let me join you downstairs.¡±


    Downstairs, when Gareth held a hand out to Leandros, Leandros shook it happily. ¡°Pleasure to meet you again, sir,¡± Gareth said. Up close, his bruises looked even worse. Curiosity gnawed at Leandros, but he held his silence¨Che had no right to ask, and anyway, he doubted Gareth wanted to talk about it.


    ¡°Likewise. Though I must admit, I¡¯m surprised to see you here.¡±


    ¡°Surprised my sister would put me in this position, you mean,¡± Gareth guessed. ¡°I¡¯m sure I could have refused, but¡­ah. Well, never mind.¡±


    ¡°Tell me,¡± Leandros said. ¡°If you have reservations, Mr. Ranulf, I¡¯d like to hear them.¡±


    Gareth eyed Leandros like he didn¡¯t quite believe him, but explained, ¡°I was determined to turn Moira down, but last night, I ran into three orinians who are staying at my hotel. They¡¯re young, Prince Nochdvor, and so carefree. It made me worry¡­well, I¡¯d like to make sure Orean¡¯s treated fairly in all this.¡± At Leandros¡¯ thoughtful silence, he hurried to add, ¡°That¡¯s not to say you won¡¯t, but you have valid reasons for disliking Orean. I¡¯d just like to be there.¡±


    It echoed Leandros¡¯ own concerns. ¡°I appreciate your honesty.¡±


    Gareth nodded and rocked back on his heels. Like a peace offering, he withdrew his cigarette case and held it out to Leandros. ¡°Cigarette?¡±


    ¡°Please,¡± Leandros said. He didn¡¯t make a habit of smoking, but at this point, he¡¯d try anything to steady his nerves. He leaned in while Gareth lit the cigarette for him, then took a long drag before saying, ¡°To tell you the truth, I¡¯m grateful. I get tangled in my emotions easily; I¡¯d appreciate having you to keep me in check.¡±


    ¡°Of course.¡±


    ¡°You may want to warn your neighbors about what¡¯s coming, though,¡± Leandros added. ¡°If I know this city, things will get hard for them here¨Cand soon.¡±


    ¡°They¡¯re just tourists. Unity wouldn¡¯t do anything to them, would they?¡±


    ¡°It wouldn¡¯t be the first time,¡± Leandros said. At Gareth¡¯s blank look, he explained, ¡°Look at what happened to Egil. The aftermath of Histrios didn¡¯t end with him: Unity punished anyone even associated with his name. Lords and leaders, allies and associates. Even the Oracle of Damael didn¡¯t escape unscathed. Your orinians, to Unity, are even less than that. Anyone from Orean is the enemy, and they could be here for any number of reasons¨Cmaybe they¡¯re spies, maybe they¡¯re assassins. Maybe they¡¯re in league with the kidnappers.¡±


    ¡°They most certainly are not!¡±


    ¡°I believe you, but do you think Unity cares if it¡¯s true? If the police, whose salaries Unity pays, care? All they need is a plausible excuse, then they can arrest innocents and the people will praise them as heroes.¡± Leandros shook his head. ¡°Have them take the train to Adriat. News is always slow to reach there¨Cif they leave today, they might beat it. Then they can catch a ride on to Orean.¡±


    ¡°I¡­yes. Alright. I¡¯ll warn them as soon as I get home. Thank you, Prince Nochdvor. If you¡¯re right, you may have just saved their lives.¡±


    Leandros shrugged, biting back the guilt that rose on his tongue like bile. It was the least he could do, he thought, when he was the one leading Unity to their home, when he was the one seeking retribution and the return of his uncle at any cost. He had good intentions, peaceful intentions, but what use were those in matters like these?


    Changing the subject, he asked, ¡°Did you pass a maranet woman on your way up?¡±


    ¡°I did. Ms. Corscia, right?¡± Gareth asked. Leandros¡¯ heart sank, but then Gareth continued: ¡°I assumed she was part of our team, so I stopped and introduced myself.¡±


    ¡°You weren¡¯t already acquainted?¡± Leandros asked, relaxing again. ¡°I must say, I¡¯m relieved. The rest of them seem to know each other. What was your impression or her?¡±


    ¡°Hm,¡± Gareth said, a heavy sound. His sister voiced her disapproval in the same way¨Cit must have been a family trait.


    ¡°What is it?¡± Leandros asked.


    ¡°Well,¡± Gareth hedged. ¡°We didn¡¯t speak long, but there¡¯s something off about her, don¡¯t you think? About all of them. My father had a similar air about him.¡±


    ¡°And what sort of man was your father?¡±


    Gareth stomped out his cigarette and didn¡¯t look at Leandros. ¡°A cruel one.¡±


    It was no comfort to hear, even as it echoed Leandros¡¯ own impressions. He wanted to say more, to voice his theories about their tactical team, but Gareth was still the son of a Magistrate, the brother of a Magistrate. Despite the man¡¯s words about fairness, Leandros couldn¡¯t trust him. From the moment he¡¯d made his risky move with the Magistrates, asking to lead the team, he¡¯d known he would be alone in this. Still, knowledge didn¡¯t ease loneliness.


    Instead of voicing any of that, he simply said, ¡°We should get inside. Mr. Ochoa has paperwork for you.¡±

 10 | The Orinians

    Being an orinian in Unity''s capital city was a singular experience. While Maebhe gawped at the sights and sounds, the locals gawped back. Then, when she caught them staring, they cleared their throats and smiled and passive-aggressively asked if she spoke ellesian, or if she needed directions anywhere. It was annoying, but never harmful. Not until today, at least. Between yesterday and this morning, something had changed.


    It wasn''t just the man that had spat at Maebhe''s feet as she left the hotel, or the pair of Gallontean police officers that followed her from place to place and thought they were being subtle. People gave her a wider berth, unfriendlier stares. But maybe she was just paranoid. This cold city made her over-analyze and overthink, again and again in a constant loop. Having her companions close helped, but because she was a good sister ¡ª the best, really ¡ª she''d cleared out of the hotel to give her brother and his fianc¨¦e time to themselves. That meant keeping herself entertained, alone, at the caf¨¦ next door. It had salty pastries and weak coffee, weaker than anything you''d find in Orean, but it also had a private patio that kept strangers'' eyes off her tail and ears and birthmarks.


    She ripped her pastry in half and pretended to contemplate the flaky crust, but out of the corner of her eye, she watched the police officers lounge against the counter and whisper to the barista. Surely, she was just paranoid. Maybe they''d just wanted coffee. She was trying to read the barista''s lips with little luck when a man suddenly blocked them from view. Ears flattening to her head in annoyance, Maebhe looked up, ready to tell him off.


    ¡°Oh,¡± she said instead. ¡°It''s you again.¡±


    The man fidgeted with his bowler hat. He was less bloodied than he''d been when Maebhe saw him the night before, but the bruises left behind weren''t pretty. Beneath them, though, he had a kind face ¡ª middle aged, with a full salt-and-pepper mustache. ¡°Pardon the interruption,¡± he said awkwardly.


    ¡°No, it''s fine. Is your face okay? What happened?¡± Maebhe asked.


    Self-consciously, the man touched the bruise under his eye. ¡°It''s kind of you to ask. I''m alright, I just had a small accident. Fortunately, a kind soul stepped in to help.¡±


    ¡°Shit. I''m glad for that,¡± Maebhe said. ¡°Sorry I didn''t say anything last night, but you looked kind of scary with all that blood and I was very drunk,¡± Maebhe said. As soon as the words left her mouth, she regretted them. This man was religious, wasn''t he? That''s what the obelisk on his watch chain meant? She should probably keep her pastimes to herself.


    But the man was too polite to comment on it, instead fidgeting with his hat again. ¡°I understand. Is this seat taken?¡± he asked.


    Maebhe gestured for him to sit. ¡°I guess not. I''m Maebhe, by the way. Please no ''Ms. Cairn'' or anything like that. I can''t abide it.¡±


    ¡°Maebhe, then,¡± the man said, sitting. ¡°Informality for informality, I''m Gareth. I rent the rooms across from yours.¡±


    ¡°I remember. You''ve got the cute kid.¡±


    ¡°My daughter Ofelia,¡± Gareth said with a smile that fell away quickly. ¡°Maebhe...I''m sorry for bothering you if you''re already aware of the issue, and I realize it''s none of my business, but have you heard about Illyon?¡±


    Maebhe tilted her head to one side. ¡°Illyon? No, what did they do?¡±


    ¡°I was afraid you might say that,¡± Gareth said. He pulled a rolled-up newspaper out of his coat pocket and passed it to Maebhe. ¡°You''d better see this.¡±


    Maebhe read the big, blocky headline before she''d even fully unrolled the paper. ¡°What,¡± she said, voice falling flat. She looked up at Gareth, who only nodded at the paper for her to continue. In all caps, the headline read: AN ACT OF WAR? WHAT OREAN''S ATTACK ON ILLYON MEANS FOR THE TWO CITIES.


    Aloud, Maebhe read: ¡°Long-standing rivalries between Illyon and Orean came to a head earlier this week when King Nochdvor of Alfheimr was abducted by orinian soldiers. Several Illyon officials died in the altercation and parts of Illyon¡¯s famous Hampstead Hall destroyed.¡¯ Oh, gods.¡± Maebhe glanced up at Gareth in horror before continuing. ¡°It¡¯s unclear how Alfheimr will respond to the attack, but the King¡¯s nephew Leandros Nochdvor reported the event to Unity and remains in the city for reasons yet unknown. You may remember Prince Nochdvor from his father¡¯s scandal, blah, blah¡­¡± She skimmed the rest. ¡°Many believe the kidnapping was an act of defiance against Unity ¡ª oh, please! As if we''d be so stupid!¡±


    Her yelling drew the attention of nearby patrons, as well as of the barista and the police officers. She lowered her voice before asking, ¡°Do people actually believe this?¡±


    Gareth hemmed, then hawed, then eventually said, ¡°Everyone knows how the papers like to sensationalize, but this is rooted in some fact, I''m afraid. I''ve spoken to Prince Nochdvor myself on the matter.¡±


    Maebhe sat back in her chair, staring at her shredded pastry without really seeing it. ¡°Fuck,¡± she said.


    Gareth covered Maebhe''s hand on the table and gave it a comforting pat. Maebhe resisted the urge to pull away. ¡°I suspect there''s some misunderstanding, but until it''s sorted, it might be dangerous for you to remain in the city,¡± he said.


    Maebhe''s eyes widened. ¡°What do you mean, dangerous? We didn''t do anything! It says this week, right? ¨ªde, Kieran, and I have been here for over a week, so we couldn''t have had anything to do with it!¡±


    ¡°I believe you, I really do,¡± Gareth said, ¡°But the unfortunate truth is that people aren''t always reasonable or understanding, especially when they''re afraid.¡±


    Maebhe massaged her temples. ¡°Fuck. I have to go tell Kieran and ¨ªde. We''ll need to pack, and...and buy new train tickets, I guess. Is it even safe for us to go back to Orean? Is Orean safe?¡±


    ¡°I have full faith this will be resolved peacefully,¡± Gareth said, but his smile was troubled. ¡°You should be safe to return home. Please, allow me to help you with the tickets. You''ll have your hands full with packing, and it''s the least I can do.¡±


    Maebhe stopped massaging, instead watching Gareth with narrowed eyes. ¡°You''re being so kind. Why?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m only alive now because someone took the time to show me kindness,¡± he said, his hand twitching on the table as if to touch his eye again. He followed Maebhe¡¯s gaze to the police officers at the counter. ¡°Would you like an escort back to the hotel?¡±


    Ears pressed flat to her head, Maebhe nodded and clutched the damning newspaper to her chest. Before following Gareth out, she tied her jacket around her waist to hide her tail. She hoped she only imagined the way the cops pushed off from the counter as she walked past, as if to follow. With Gareth at her side, they didn''t bother her, at least, and they made it all the way to the hotel elevator without trouble.


    ¡°Here we are,¡± Gareth said a minute later, when the elevator dinged and they stepped out onto their shared floor. ¡°I''ll have the concierge leave the tickets at the front desk for you. Safe journeys, if we don''t speak again, but if there''s anything else I can do for you, I''m just across the hall.¡±


    ¡°Thank you,¡± Maebhe said. She waited for Gareth to leave, then threw the door to her rooms open hard enough that it struck the wall with a BANG. She was halfway through the entranceway when she remembered why she''d left in the first place and flung her arm over her eyes, calling, ¡°Are you decent? Can I come in?¡±


    Maebhe heard a soft huff of laughter and the distinct sound of a page turning. ¡°Knocking works just as well, you know,¡± her brother called in answer. Not quite trusting that, Maebhe felt along the wall with her eyes still covered until she reached the point where the hall opened up into the sitting room. There, cautiously, she lowered her arm and found Kieran at the table, his feet up and his fianc¨¦e nowhere in sight.


    ¡°Where''s ¨ªde? She wouldn''t like you sitting like that,¡± Maebhe said.


    ¡°Napping,¡± Kieran replied, not looking up from his book.


    Maebhe shoved Kieran¡¯s boots off the tabletop, making him lurch forward to catch his balance. At that, he finally looked at her, his ear giving an annoyed flick. ¡°Maebhe, what?¡±


    ¡°Read this, then come and find me,¡± she said, throwing the newspaper at his face. Without waiting for an answer, she pushed through the sitting room, past the hotel¡¯s tacky velvet furniture and striped wallpaper, and didn''t stop until she reached the balcony off the dining room. She stepped back into the seaside air, her arms hugged close to her body and Gallontea laid out below her. Not for the first time, it struck her how alien the buildings were, tall and new and strange. From here, she could see over them to the gray outline of Unity''s island. Its silhouette reached like a gnarly, clawed hand into the sky, the clock tower a finger pointing toward the heavens.


    She''d known she hated this place from the moment she laid eyes on that island. They''d toured it, their first day here, and it had firmly convinced Maebhe that orinians and Unity just didn''t mix. Every orinian grew up hearing that; every orinian knew how Unity felt about them. It was a grudge that dated all the way back to the Great War: when Runderath the Mighty slayed Tellaos and the goddess Ellaes created Unity, Orean had refused to join. Centuries had passed, but like a spurned lover, Unity had never forgiven the snub. It had been risky to come here on holiday, and now they were paying the price.If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.


    A few minutes later, Maebhe heard the door open behind her. ¡°The hotel probably won¡¯t give us a refund,¡± she said without looking.


    Kieran stepped out to join her. He looked pale, the thick brown birthmarks that swirled across his face bringing his pallor into sharper contrast. Anyone with orinian blood had them. According to old superstitions, an orinian''s birthmarks reflected their soul. Maebhe had always thought that was horseshit, but that hadn''t stopped her from wondering what hers and her brother''s said about them ¡ª they bore identical marks, after all, only reversed like a mirror image. Kieran''s swept down the left half of his face, like fractal scars left by a lightning strike, and Maebhe''s swept down the right.


    Many things about Maebhe and Kieran were identical, unsurprising for a pair of identical twins. They shared the same wavy blond hair, the same ochre skin beneath brown birthmarks, the same wiry frames and round, gray eyes. The only difference was that Maebhe was sharper around the face, Kieran softer.


    ¡°Alfheim wants to go to war and that¡¯s all you have to say?¡± Kieran asked.


    Maebhe frowned at the silhouette of the clock tower, wrinkling her nose when she felt the sting of oncoming tears. She blinked them back. ¡°Selfish, isn¡¯t it?¡±


    Beside her, Kieran sighed. ¡°My first thought wasn''t any better. I keep wishing we''d gotten to see more of the city. So if you''re selfish, I guess I am, too.¡±


    ¡°We''re allowed to be selfish, considering,¡± Maebhe said. She turned to her twin and punched his arm. ¡°But this is all your fault, you know.¡±


    ¡°Ow! What? How?¡±


    ¡°You were the one who insisted on Gallontea, and now we''re caught up in this mess!¡±


    ¡°Sorry, I''ll make sure no one''s planning any royal kidnappings before I suggest future vacation spots,¡± Kieran said dryly.


    ¡°Or just let me pick. I wanted to go to the coast!¡±


    ¡°Well, then, maybe this is your fault for losing the coin flip!¡±


    ¡°If you want to go there, it''s ¨ªde''s fault for suggesting the coin flip in the first place.¡±


    ¡°Fine. Truce. This is all ¨ªde''s fault.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m telling her you said that.¡±


    Kieran opened his mouth and closed it, doing an excellent impression of an angry fish. ¡°Then I¡¯m telling her you''re the one who spilled her expensive face cream!¡±


    ¡°She said I could try it!¡± Maebhe hissed, glancing nervously at the door as if ¨ªde might be there, listening. ¡°Does she know yet?¡±


    Kieran nodded. ¡°I woke her before coming out here. She''s already packing.¡±


    ¡°Almost finished, actually,¡± ¨ªde said from the doorway, appearing as if summoned. Though her hair was pulled up into its usual bun, she¡¯d clearly risen from her nap in a hurry, long strands hanging loose. ¨ªde¡¯s birthmarks were thinner, lighter than Maebhe and Kieran¡¯s, barely visible against the planes of her face. From a distance, the silver patterns looked more like old scars than anything else. ¡°We¡¯re lucky you checked the paper, Maebhe.¡±


    ¡°I didn¡¯t, actually,¡± Maebhe said. ¡°The man across the hall warned me. He¡¯s getting us train tickets, too.¡±


    Kieran made a face. ¡°The Unity fellow?¡±


    ¡°Is he?¡± Maebhe asked.


    ¡°He works for them, or something. I¡¯m not sure in what capacity.¡± Kieran thought for a moment longer, then shrugged. ¡°Should we thank him? Maybe get him a card?¡±


    ¡°Since we know his address, that sounds like something that can wait until we¡¯re home,¡± ¨ªde said, using the same patient-but-pointed voice that she used on her students. ¡°Kieran, can I get your help inside? I can¡¯t get your suitcase off the shelf.¡±


    ¡°Yes, of course,¡± Kieran said. He ruffled Maebhe¡¯s hair as he passed. ¡°Join us inside whenever you¡¯re ready, Mae.¡±


    Within an hour, the trio had crammed themselves and their suitcases into the hotel¡¯s small elevator, on their way out of the hotel and out of Gallontea. While stuffing her suitcase, Maebhe had cycled through emotions, finally settling on relief ¨C relief to be going, relief that they¡¯d soon leave Gallontea behind. ¨ªde and Kieran had only grown more restless, though. Beside Maebhe, ¨ªde¡¯s tail whipped anxiously back and forth, hitting Maebhe¡¯s leg in the cramped space.


    ¡°Everything will be alright, won¡¯t it?¡± ¨ªde finally asked.


    Kieran and Maebhe shared a look over her head. In unison, they said, ¡°Probably.¡±


    ¡°It drives me crazy when you two do that,¡± ¨ªde grumbled. ¡°Even your tones matched.¡±


    ¡°Gareth said it''s probably a misunderstanding,¡± Maebhe assured her.


    ¡°Oh, I hope so.¡±


    When the elevator lurched to a stop, Maebhe opened the cage door for her companions and followed them out, but as she did, the loose wheel on her old hand-me-down suitcase got stuck in the gap between the elevator and the floor. When she couldn''t tug it free, she crouched to finesse it. Behind her, Kieran tapped his foot impatiently.


    ¡°Maebhe,¡± he sighed.


    ¡°Don¡¯t rush me! If I don¡¯t fix this thing now, it¡¯ll fall off halfway down the street,¡± she said, now tightening the wheel¡¯s loose screws with the pads of her fingers. Kieran and ¨ªde gave up, proceeding to the front desk without her. Maebhe switched to using her fingernail, her long hair falling into her face.


    Suddenly, a sharp whistle blew, making Maebhe jump.


    She''d forgotten about the cops from the caf¨¦, but when she looked up, she found herself in a room full of them. A dozen or so clustered around the front desk ¡ª around, Maebhe realized with horror, Kieran and ¨ªde. Kieran met Maebhe''s gaze while they secured handcuffs around his wrists. ¡°Run, Maebhe!¡± he yelled.


    Because she''d hung back, only one officer had noticed her. When he made a grab for her, Maebhe acted without thinking: she punched him in the face, feeling his nose crack beneath her hand. While he reeled back, she lunged for the elevator, abandoning her suitcase and jacket. Abandoning her brother. She slammed the cage door shut, and as the elevator lurched into motion, heading up and up, she watched a swarm of officers converge on the doors.


    ¡°Oh, gods,¡± she gasped as the elevator climbed. The space felt even smaller than before, the walls pressing in on her while she took heaving breaths. She stumbled into the narrow hall when the elevator stopped, but she knew she was walking into a dead end. Where could she go? Back into her hotel room? And then what? The front desk would have a key, and she''d be caught within minutes.


    Well, there was one other option. She banged on the door to Gareth''s rooms, banged and banged until it swung suddenly open. Before Gareth could say a word, Maebhe ducked under his arm and into the entranceway, shutting the door firmly behind them both and bolting it.


    ¡°Ms. Maebhe, what¡ª?¡±


    ¡°The police,¡± Maebhe panted, knowing how she must look ¡ª wild, panicked. ¡°They arrested Kieran and ¨ªde. We were trying to check out and they ¡ª they ¡ª we didn¡¯t even do anything! We were trying to leave!¡±


    Gareth¡¯s eyes widened to match her own. ¡°There must be some mistake. I¡¯m sure we can reason with the officers and explain the situation.¡±


    Maebhe laughed. It sounded manic even to her own ears. ¡°Are you joking? Gallontea''s police aren''t known for being reasonable, especially to outsiders. And Unity hates us. This is probably just what they wanted. Oh, gods.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t know about all that,¡± Gareth said, ¡°But I can go and talk to them. I have some small pull here in Gallontea; they might listen to me.¡±


    ¡°Please,¡± Maebhe said. ¡°I don''t ¡ª I don''t know what to do without them.¡±


    ¡°We¡¯ll figure this out, Ms. Maebhe. Try to make yourself comfortable while I¡¯m gone. You''re safe here. If you go ask the maid, she¡¯ll make you tea to steady your nerves.¡±


    ¡°Tea,¡± Maebhe said flatly. ¡°Okay.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll be back in no time,¡± Gareth promised. After he left, Maebhe listened at the door and heard voices on the distant landing, then the sound of boots heading down stairs. They weren¡¯t coming closer, at least, so she allowed herself a deep breath and a look around. She was in a short reception hall, almost identical to the one in her suite, but reversed. Her gaze fell on an envelope sitting on the table ¡ª it was addressed to a Mr. Gareth Ranulf and marked with Unity¡¯s seal.


    Ranulf. Maebhe knew the name. One of the Magistrates was a Ranulf, wasn¡¯t he? ¡°Gods help me,¡± Maebhe murmured, running her finger over the golden seal.


    Gareth did more than just work for Unity. He was Unity. One of the damned Magistrates, no less. It explained how he knew so much, how he¡¯d ¡°spoken to Prince Nochdvor¡± about the kidnapping. Had his timely warning even been a warning, or had he known that giving Maebhe the newspaper would flush them out of their rooms, making them easier to arrest? Had he even bought them train tickets, or was he guaranteeing they didn''t have their own means of escape? Had he given the orders to have them arrested?


    Maebhe couldn¡¯t stay here.


    She hurried through the suite, following a familiar path to the balcony, though she hid briefly to avoid the Ranulfs¡¯ maid. Once the way was clear, she eased the balcony door shut behind her, then crept to the balcony''s edge to see the street below. Several police carriages blocked the building¡¯s front entrance, and there, in the middle of the mess, were Kieran and ¨ªde. Two officers led them to the carriages, Gareth trailing behind them. Props to him ¡ª from Maebhe¡¯s viewpoint, he made a good show of arguing with the officer.


    As Kieran was guided into the backseat of a carriage, he glanced up. Maebhe waved, and she watched her brother¡¯s eyes widen in surprise. ¡°I¡¯ll save you,¡± she mouthed desperately, but then Kieran was out of sight, ¨ªde being guided in right behind him. Maebhe had no idea if he¡¯d understood her, if he¡¯d even seen.


    Either way, it wouldn¡¯t change her mission.


    She kicked off her shoes and clambered onto the balcony rail, wrapping her tail around it for extra balance. Slowly, she sank into a crouch. She couldn¡¯t think about the street behind her, about how badly it would hurt to fall. She tensed, reinforcing her balance by wiggling like a cat about to pounce, then jumped to the narrow awning above the balcony door. It made a loud clanging noise when her body hit it and, on the street below, things went quiet. Before anyone could notice her half-hanging, legs dangling, she hauled herself up onto the awning and out of sight from the street.


    Even if they did see her, even if they made it up to Gareth¡¯s suite before she was gone, she doubted they¡¯d follow. She doubted they could. Unless they had a dragon with them, they couldn¡¯t keep up ¡ª no Gallonteans could climb, run, or jump like an orinian. While orinians were technically human, they had adaptations Unity humans didn¡¯t, leftover from a time when the only escape from the large predators that roamed their valley was up into the trees, into the mountains. They had extra muscles in their legs to make jumping easier, extra joints in their feet to make climbing faster. And Maebhe, who spent all her time hunting, climbing, exploring, who used these extra adaptations every day if she could help it, scrambled up the hotel''s trellised wall and reached the roof in a heartbeat. There, she peered back over the edge just in time to see the final carriage door shut, Gareth now standing alone in the street.


    The reality of the situation slammed into her. Vividly, she imagined falling from this height, hitting the ground and breaking bones. That was how it felt ¡ª the knowledge that everything had changed, nothing would be the same again. She covered her mouth to keep in a sob while below, carriages wheeled away one by one. Maebhe shook herself, then she launched herself after them. She followed from the rooftops, always keeping her eyes on Kieran''s carriage as she leaped from building to building. Once or twice, she nearly slipped on dewy tiles, collecting scrapes and bruises as she ran. Eventually, a monstrosity of a building blocked her path, so she cast her eyes around for the nearest fire escape. Scrambling down it, she continued her pursuit, pushing past strangers and jumping clear over a stroller.


    After turning another corner, she skidded to a sudden stop, finally realizing where this road led. She watched, helplessly, as the carriage carrying Kieran and ¨ªde crossed the bridge to Unity¡¯s island, and the realization that she was alone in an enemy city loomed all around her.

 11 | Dinara Condeh

    Roman had wasted too much of his morning worrying over his new acquaintance. It was just silly. The brother of a Unity Magistrate, who had everything in the world and could easily get what little he didn''t, needed neither Roman''s pity nor his concern. But sympathy was rarely rational, and Roman''s thoughts kept drifting Gareth''s way despite his best efforts.


    Did he regret saving the man? No. Was he happy about doing Unity a favor? Absolutely not. Now knowing Gareth''s surname, given the chance, would he save Gareth again? Roman shifted uncomfortably at the thought, at the inevitable answer: of course he would. Even after all Unity had done to him, all the ways it had hurt him, he still would.


    He jumped when a pair of fingers snapped in front of his face.


    ¡°Oy! Are you listening to me?¡±


    Roman blinked and sat back. The fingers belonged to Cahrn, the leader of the theatrical troupe Roman had been traveling with. A large man with a dark beard and a darker scowl, Cahrn existed in a perpetual state of grumpiness, gruff everywhere except for on stage. Roman would never forget the time he''d played Burgess in Only for the Roses, a notoriously saccharine role in a notoriously tender tragedy. The Act III soliloquy, with all the raw vulnerability Cahrn had poured into it, had Roman bawling in the back row like a child. But off-stage, the man bothered Roman. His only saving grace was that he was fun to bother back, something Roman took frequent advantage of. Hiding his irritation behind a sweet smile, he said, ¡°Sorry, Cahrn. I was distracted by how dashing you look in that costume.¡±


    Cahrn scowled and crossed his arms, though he dropped them again when the troupe''s costumer, who was busy re-pinning Cahrn''s cloak hem, tsked disapprovingly. ¡°Don¡¯t start. This concerns your girl, so pay attention,¡± Cahrn said. ¡°I passed her on my way here. She''s practicing again.¡±


    ¡°Is that a problem?¡± Roman asked.


    ¡°Of course it''s a problem. The show is tonight. If she keeps pushing this late, she¡¯ll only tire herself out. You understand?¡±


    Roman sighed and spun idly on his stool while Cahrn watched, unimpressed. ¡°Sure, sure. If you need target practice the day before a battle, it¡¯s already too late. I don¡¯t have to be an actor to understand that much.¡±


    ¡°Been in many battles, have you?¡±


    Roman smirked at Cahrn. He wasn¡¯t supposed to know, but he knew the troupe had placed bets on what he¡¯d been doing before he started traveling with them. While highwayman and alchemist were Roman''s favorite guesses, Cahrn''s money was on soldier ¡ª and quite a lot of money it was, too. Roman had been toying with Cahrn for weeks, referencing imaginary battles and making up army lingo, never confirming or denying anything. Somehow, Cahrn still hadn''t realized Roman was only teasing him. ¡°It¡¯s just a metaphor.¡±


    Cahrn let out a slow breath through his nose. ¡°Go tell Dinara to rest.¡±


    ¡°I''ll do my best, but you know how hard she is to reason with when she''s set on something.¡±


    ¡°Then distract her. You''re better at improvisation than half my trained actors; you should manage. It''s only for a few hours.¡±


    ¡°Are you saying I could be an actor?¡± Roman asked, pressing a hand to his heart. ¡°I knew you''d ask me to join the Players permanently if I only stuck around long enough! I''m flattered, Cahrn, but I can''t afford to be tied down at the mo¡ª¡±


    ¡°Just go,¡± Cahrn growled. ¡°And make sure she''s at the theater by five for hair and makeup.¡±


    Roman laughed and ducked out of the tent before Cahrn could say any more. The walk to Dinara from here wasn¡¯t far ¡ª through the Players¡¯ camp to the empty festival grounds. On the way, he passed Julian, the Players'' fiddler, pianist, and musician of many instruments tapping at a light drum from Troas. Julian''s wife nestled on the ground beside him, asleep with her back resting against his side. Further, down the path, a group of Dinara''s friends played footbag. Before they could spot him, Roman ducked down a side path and hopped the fence into the empty Festival Grounds. It was always strange, walking around this place when the festival was closed: all the empty stages and covered booths, the wide, open path and total quiet. Still, it meant a straight shot to the Webhon Players¡¯ stage.


    He arrived just in time to see Dinara fall.


    She stood alone on the Webhon Players'' stage, dancing for the empty stands while her mentor Tabia watched. Dinara twirled, then jumped, soaring for a beautiful moment before she rolled her ankle and hit the ground hard. Roman broke into a run, but before he''d even reached the back row of seats, Dinara was pushing to her feet again, limping only a few paces before shaking it off.


    Tabia stood to help, but Dinara waved her off. ¡°I''m alright,¡± Roman heard her say. She rolled her ankle experimentally.


    Fortunately, Tabia climbed up onto the stage anyway, kneeling and taking Dinara''s ankle carefully in her hands. Dinara held Tabia''s shoulder for balance and looked past Tabia to the empty benches, her dark eyes meeting Roman''s as he came down the center aisle. She was beautiful ¡ª even injured, even wearing raggedy practice clothes and covered in a sheen of sweat. Embarrassed, she grimaced and gave Roman a small wave. Roman smiled and waved back.


    ¡°It''s fine, Tabia, really,¡± Dinara said, sweeping her dark curls out of her face, and Roman wondered how long they¡¯d been out there, that Dinara was making mistakes like this. How long had she been pushing herself?


    ¡°You''re nervous,¡± Tabia accused, her back still to Roman. ¡°It''s making you sloppy.¡±


    ¡°I''m tired,¡± Dinara corrected while Roman settled on a bench in the third row. At what was presumably a stern look from Tabia, she laughed, loud and frantic. ¡°Fine, of course I''m nervous! I''m performing for Unity tonight, Tabia! What else am I supposed to be?¡±


    ¡°Confident,¡± Tabia said, simply. ¡°Don''t think about them. Think about the story, about Edith. Would it help to hear about her again?¡±


    Eyes wide, Dinara nodded and backed away so Tabia could take the stage for herself, the older woman only pausing to tie her long braids behind her with a scrap of cloth. When she finally turned toward the empty benches ¡ª and Roman ¡ª she frowned, displeased. ¡°You shouldn''t be here.¡±


    ¡°Is it true you''ve met Edith?¡± Roman asked in lieu of an apology. It was a common rumor among the Players, but he''d never heard it confirmed.


    Tabia ignored Roman, instead stepping into the dance Dinara had just fumbled. She jumped, then landed smoothly. Roman noticed Dinara flinch, noticed her drop her gaze to the ground. She''d been struggling with the role since Cahrn cast her: not because of her own skill, but because of Tabia. Edith, the spirited heroine of Cenhelm, was Tabia''s legacy. From the way the Players told it, always in whispers and never when Tabia or Dinara were around, she was the one who made the role famous, decades before. Not only had she performed it for Unity, she''d performed it for kings and queens. She''d performed it for Edith herself. It was her role, not Dinara¡¯s.


    But mortality was a tragedy, and Tabia was getting too old to believably play the young ingenue. If they''d been performing for a small village off the beaten path, things would be different. For Unity, everything had to be perfect. But that didn¡¯t make Dinara feel any better.


    ¡°You have her heart,¡± Tabia said, moving through the variation with ease. She slipped deeper and deeper into character, her usual jaunty sway fading away. ¡°But your fear is holding you back, Dinara. Edith''s story is about trusting your heart and doing whatever you must to follow it, even when it''s difficult.¡±


    Dinara nodded, looking miserable.


    ¡°Had Edith let fear rule her, she wouldn''t have discovered the assassination plot. Ellaes wouldn''t have given her the power to stop it. She wouldn''t have saved Unity and, subsequently, the world.¡± As she spoke, Tabia finished the dance and dipped into a bow, a smile on her generous lips. Finally, she met Roman''s eye. ¡°I have indeed met her. Just once.¡±


    Roman moved up a row so he could hear better. ¡°Must''ve been a while ago.¡±


    ¡°Are you calling me old, boy?¡± Tabia asked. Roman opened his mouth to backtrack, maybe even to flirt and soften her up, but Tabia chuckled. ¡°You wouldn''t be wrong. My grandmother was a maranet; I''m even older than I look.¡±


    Dinara shot Roman a warning look. ¡°You don''t look old at all,¡± she said.


    ¡°Sweet of you, pet, but I know it''s not true.¡±


    ¡°Did Edith talk at all about Ellaes?¡± Roman asked, taking advantage of Tabia''s good mood while he could.


    Tabia shook her head. ¡°She called it a ''narrative embellishment.'' Either it was made up, or she had to deal with people believing it was for so long that she no longer believes it herself. But enough of this,¡± Tabia said, holding her hands out to Dinara. Reluctantly, Dinara took them. ¡°More practice will not do you any favors, pet. Go rest, and remember: stories mean the most when you, the one doing the telling, are moved by them as well. Don''t be so hard on yourself. Just go where Edith leads you.¡±The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.


    Dinara nodded, a new, determined gleam in her eyes. ¡°I will. I''m sorry for taking so much of your time today, Tabia.¡±


    ¡°Nonsense. That''s not something you ever need to apologize for.¡±


    While Dinara came down the steps toward Roman, he stood and gave her a lazy salute. ¡°I''m glad you''re done, because Cahrn sent me here to stop you. Something about needing a break. You know the meaning of that word, don''t you, Di?¡±


    ¡°Har har,¡± Dinara said. When she held out a hand, Roman took it without hesitation. ¡°What were you doing with Cahrn? Did you become best friends while I wasn¡¯t looking?¡±


    ¡°Mm. We gossiped while I helped him braid his beard.¡±


    Dinara mock-gasped. ¡°Poor Cahrn! You never get the tension right.¡±


    ¡°That shows what you know. He appreciated my skills.¡±


    Dinara laughed, then patted Roman¡¯s hand. ¡°Let¡¯s go home, Roman. I¡¯m tired.¡±


    When she turned to leave, Roman on her hand to stop her. ¡°I''m not letting you walk back on that foot. Come here,¡± he said, crouching so she could hop on his back. She laughed as she did, looping her arms around his neck. ¡°Steady?¡± he asked. Dinara''s curls brushed his cheek as she nodded.


    ¡°Cahrn was scolding me for not stopping you from practicing more, actually,¡± Roman finally explained, heading back to camp. He cleared his throat. ¡°And...for sneaking into camp late again.¡±


    ¡°You''d think he''d be used to it by now,¡± Dinara said dryly.


    ¡°Exactly!¡±


    ¡°How late was it this time?¡±


    ¡°''Early'' would be a better word, I think. It was around four,¡± Roman admitted.


    ¡°In the morning?!¡± Dinara asked, going shrill in Roman''s ear. He winced, veering on the path, and Dinara quickly added, ¡°Sorry! How do you even do that? If I stayed up that late, then also got up as early as you do, I''d collapse. I need eight hours, minimum, or I''m grumpy all the next day.¡±


    ¡°Believe me, I know,¡± Roman muttered, laughing again when Dinara pinched him. Changing the subject, he asked, ¡°What were you thinking on stage? You made some interesting expressions.¡±


    ¡°Oh, just the usual. It''s not that I don''t want the role, because I really do. I just feel so guilty. Tabia didn''t even do anything wrong, just got old.¡±


    ¡°When you''ve lived past a certain age, Di, sometimes you don''t mind yielding the stage.¡±


    ¡°And I suppose you''d know, being so old yourself,¡± Dinara teased.


    ¡°A fair point,¡± he said. There must have been something strange in his tone, because Dinara peered around his shoulder to try to see his expression. He forced a laugh and a shrug. ¡°I think Tabia is just happy for you.¡±


    ¡°Maybe,¡± Dinara conceded, ¡°But I still feel bad.¡±


    ¡°If Tabia doesn''t, you shouldn''t. But we''re here, my lady. Shall I set you down here, or walk you to the door?¡±


    Dinara wiggled to get down. ¡°Here''s fine, thank you,¡± she said, pressing a quick kiss to the back of his neck before jumping down. She hurried up the rickety steps to her trailer ahead of him. Its paint was chipped and cracked and you got splinters if you so much as rested your palm on the handrail, but it had carried Dinara thousands of miles. Her parents had built this trailer themselves after their marriage, and it had been with Dinara since. In that time, it had seen all of Calaidia.


    Dinara turned to Roman as soon as they were inside. Standing at barely over five feet, she had to crane her neck to meet his eye. ¡°You''re going to stay for the whole show tonight, right?¡± she asked.


    ¡°What do you mean?¡± Roman asked. When he tried to step closer, she held him at arm''s length.


    ¡°Don''t give me that. I know you''ve been leaving early. And the times you do stay, you like like you¡¯ve eaten something sour the whole time. Do you really hate it that much?¡±


    Roman winced. ¡°Ah...it has nothing to do with you, I promise. I told you when Cahrn first picked it, I don''t like the story. Obviously, tonight¡¯s show will be different,¡± he said, taking Dinara''s wrist and slowly reeling her in. This time, Dinara let him.


    ¡°Are you sure it''s not about Cahrn? You always leave right when he comes on.¡±


    ¡°It''s the character he''s playing,¡± Roman said reluctantly.


    Dinara frowned. ¡°Egil?¡± she asked. It became her turn to hold on when Roman stiffened and tried to wriggle away. It was a common dance of theirs, a push-pull. ¡°Who doesn''t like Egil stories?¡±


    Roman shrugged, his smile not meeting his eyes. ¡°Me, I guess.¡±


    ¡°But why?¡±


    ¡°It doesn''t matter. And the stupid prince¡ª¡±


    ¡°What''s wrong with Niko?!¡±


    ¡°Not Niko, the character Niko''s playing,¡± Roman said. ¡°I don''t like him. I don''t like either of them. I just don''t want to watch that story.¡±


    Dinara waited for more, but when she realized it wasn''t coming, she rolled her eyes. ¡°You sound like a kid throwing a tantrum, Roman. You could at least give it a try.¡±


    ¡°And for anything else, I would.¡±


    ¡°Fine,¡± Dinara said, throwing her hands up. ¡°Fine, I''ll leave it. Now ask how my rehearsal went.¡±


    Roman blinked. ¡°What?¡±


    ¡°Every day, we follow the same old routine. After our daily fight, you ask how my rehearsal went.¡±


    ¡°But I saw your rehearsal this time,¡± Roman pointed out.


    ¡°Only the end of it. A humiliating end, by the way.¡±


    Roman backed toward their bed ¡ª little more than a mattress on the ground ¡ª and sat. ¡°I wasn''t aware we had a routine,¡± he said, patting the spot next to him. He surprised her at the last second and pulled her onto his lap instead. Leaning in with a wolfish grin, he asked, ¡°Is this part of our routine?¡±


    Surprising him back, Dinara hiked up her skirts and straddled his hips. ¡°Sort of. It usually comes later.¡±


    Roman gave Dinara a coy look, up at her through her eyelashes in the way he knew she was weak to. ¡°And...this?¡±


    ¡°Wha¡ªAH!¡± Dinara squealed, laughter forced out of her when Roman''s fingers found the ticklish spot below her ribs. She tried to bat his hands away, but he didn''t let her. ¡°Roman!¡±


    Roman''s own laughter stopped when Dinara went on the offense, going for where he was the most ticklish: the back of his neck. He yelped and almost threw her off, and for a minute, they wrestled, Roman trying to get at Dinara while protecting himself and Dinara doing the same, both of them laughing until they couldn''t breathe. Finally, Dinara ended the battle by pushing Roman back onto the bed and following him down. ¡°Truce?¡± she asked, sitting up on her elbows so she could look down at him. This close, he could count the freckles on her warm, dark skin.


    ¡°Fine. Truce,¡± he breathed.


    ¡°You''re an ass,¡± Dinara said with a smile. ¡°You know how ticklish I am.¡±


    ¡°And it never gets old,¡± Roman replied with a bright grin, watching her expression soften in reply. He reached up to tuck a curl behind her ear, then finally asked, ¡°How was your rehearsal?¡±


    It startled a laugh out of Dinara. ¡°You cheeky thing,¡± she said, turning her head to kiss his hand. ¡°You know I don''t like fighting with you, Roman.¡±


    ¡°Yeah. I''m sorry.¡±


    Another kiss. ¡°What did you do today, besides braid Cahrn¡¯s beard?¡±


    Roman snorted. ¡°Not much,¡± he said, thinking briefly of Gareth. ¡°Explored north of Main Street a bit, saved a man being robbed, met some interesting people. Stopped in a hospital for a little while. Heard some really interesting gossip. World-changing gossip, in fact. Have you seen the papers?¡±


    ¡°I¡ª what? You ¡ª No, not yet,¡± Dinara said, as if she ever would. She never read the papers. It was another thing they bickered over. Dinara said she didn''t know what to do with the heartache the news gave her, as if ignoring problems kept them from existing. Roman felt it was his duty to bear witness, even when ¡ª especially when ¡ª there was nothing he could do. ¡°What was that about a hospital?¡±


    ¡°The King of Alfheimr is missing. They think Orean is trying to start a war.¡±


    Dinara''s eyes widened. ¡°What?! Why would Orean do that?¡±


    ¡°Who knows,¡± Roman said, more cheerfully than he felt. ¡°But speaking of Unity, have you seen their theater yet?¡±


    Dinara blinked a few times at the subject change, then readjusted, used to it from Roman. ¡°I got a private tour of the place yesterday, before our last rehearsal. Wait until you see it, Roman, it''s beautiful! You are coming, aren''t you? Egil''s not in this one.¡±


    ¡°I wouldn''t miss it,¡± Roman promised.


    Dinara smiled down at him, dark eyes glimmering. While they were as dark as Roman''s own, nearly black, hers held nothing but warmth. In contrast, Roman''s were cold, unsettling, creepy. He''d been told it again and again: from his father, from friends, from mentors and enemies and acquaintances. Even Dinara, his partner, sometimes flinched when his eyes met hers.


    It happened even now: he held her gaze too long, and she quickly dropped it, suddenly looking anywhere but at him. ¡°Just don¡¯t make faces at us this time. Cahrn was so mad about that,¡± she tried to tease, but Roman was already withdrawing. He¡¯d been doing a lot of that since they¡¯d come to Gallontea. He knew it wasn¡¯t fair to Dinara. He knew she deserved better. When she kissed him, hoping to lure him back out, he shifted beneath her to slide her off.


    Dinara changed tactics. She broke the kiss, twined her fingers with Roman''s, and pinned his hands on either side of his head. To her credit, it worked: his eyes widened, his attention shifted back to her. Under the full weight of his gaze again, this time, she carefully didn''t flinch away from it. ¡°It''ll be nice to have you there,¡± she said, as if they were still discussing the show.


    Roman blinked lazily, trying to think past Dinara''s hands, her warmth and her weight, to process the words. Dinara didn''t give him the chance. She kissed him again, and when she started trailing those kisses down his jaw, he tilted his head to give her better access.


    ¡°I make no promises about the faces. When you look my way, I just can¡¯t help myself,¡± he said, when he could find the words. A breathy laugh came from Dinara.


    Roman squirmed, a half-hearted attempt to break out of Dinara''s grip ¡ª or get her to kiss him more. Dinara pressed her weight into him, then shifted more of it to her hands and ducked to ghost more kisses along Roman''s jaw.


    ¡°It''s not that I don''t appreciate this...whatever it is, Dinara,¡± he breathed, ¡°But there were some things I actually needed to tell you.¡±


    ¡°Oh?¡± Dinara asked, sitting up.


    ¡°No need to look so worried. Cahrn says hair and makeup is at five. Also, Gemma''s planning an afterparty and says attendance is mandatory. I promised her I''d ask if you were up for it.¡±


    Dinara finally released his wrists. ¡°Do you think she''ll notice if we don''t go?¡±


    ¡°You''re the lead, Di.¡±


    ¡°So?¡±


    ¡°It''ll be fun,¡± Roman said. ¡°And knowing you, you''ll spend all evening fretting over how the show went if you don''t have something to distract you.¡±


    ¡°There are other distractions than parties,¡± Dinara tried, laying a hand meaningfully on Roman''s chest.


    He covered it with one of his own. ¡°We don''t have to stay the whole time.¡±


    ¡°I''m tired,¡± Dinara groaned, ¡°And my feet hurt.¡±


    Roman laughed and easily flipped their positions, Dinara squawking when he sat up and grabbed her leg. She nearly kicked him in the face, thinking he meant to tickle her again, but relaxed when he massaged her foot instead. ¡°Do you need ice for your ankle?¡± he asked.


    ¡°No. It really wasn''t that bad.¡±


    Roman narrowed his eyes at her. Dinara was the type to hide injuries, but she was also a terrible liar. He saw nothing but honesty in her expression ¡ª and no pain, even when he ¡°accidentally¡± prodded the ankle in question. Satisfied, he returned to massaging. ¡°I know you''ll regret missing it. The party, I mean.¡±


    ¡°Yeah,¡± Dinara reluctantly agreed. She let her eyes fall shut. ¡°Is that why you want me to go so badly?¡±


    ¡°I''m just too scared of Gemma not to give it a fighting effort,¡± he said, making Dinara laugh. ¡°Plus, if we stay, you''ll fret, I''ll brood, and we''ll fight. Party with friends seems a better option.¡±


    Dinara hummed, then held her other foot out for Roman to massage. ¡°But this is going to make me fall asleep.¡±


    ¡°Then sleep. I''ll wake you before five.¡±


    She was asleep before he''d even finished speaking. For a moment, she looked so peaceful that Roman was tempted to join her. But Dinara''s peace could never stop his own nightmares, so instead, he went to sit on the trailer stairs and enjoy the late summer sunslight.

 12 | To The Theater

    If the rest of Unity¡¯s island was merely showy, its theater was ostentatious, opalescent. Its red carpets, its crystal chandeliers, its painted ceilings ¡ª it was all simply too much. Unity had poured money into every inch of this place, so it was funny how often Gareth forgot it existed. In his defense, his early autumn visits never overlapped with Gallontea''s late spring theatrical season. Tonight''s show was a special occasion, a treat for Unity''s conferences. It was the event of the season, and Gareth hoped it would start soon. He could only pretend to fix his necktie so many times, avoiding the searching looks Moira kept giving him.


    Finally, though, as the stewards went around dimming lights, she had enough. She sat forward in her seat, the crinkling of her evening gown loud in the Ranulfs'' private theater box. ¡°Gareth, are you going to tell me how the meeting went, or not?¡± she asked.


    ¡°We''re not supposed to discuss it with anyone outside the team,¡± Gareth said, as if he hadn''t given Isobel a line-by-line recount as soon as she''d returned from her publisher''s. His wife didn¡¯t count. Obviously.


    ¡°Discuss what?¡± Gareth and Moira''s half-brother asked from the seat behind them. A self-declared ¡°self-made man,¡± Aldous ran several successful businesses in the north, but like a child he still hated when his much-older siblings spent time together without him. When he''d learned Gareth was in town, he''d taken the first train south to join them.


    ¡°I am clearly the exception,¡± Moira said, ignoring Aldous.


    ¡°Yes, well, maybe I don''t feel like discussing anything with you,¡± Gareth said, ¡°Not unless it''s about my missing neighbors.¡±


    ¡°For the hundredth time, I don''t know what you expect me to do about that. We can''t control what Gallontea does with its police.¡±


    On Gareth''s other side, Isobel made a disgusted noise and leaned forward until she could glare at Moira. ¡°Do you think we''re idiots, Moira? The Magistrates have pardoning powers. You could help those poor kids, you''re simply choosing not to.¡±


    Gareth nodded along with his wife. After he''d told Isobel about the orinians, they''d spent all afternoon riding around looking for Maebhe with no luck. Gareth feared the police had gotten to her ¡ª or worse.


    ¡°Isobel,¡± Moira sighed, but Isobel cut her off.


    ¡°I really don''t want to hear another word. Not unless it''s a promise to do better.¡±


    Eyes wide, Aldous sat back in his seat, no longer wanting anything to do with the conversation. Gareth bit back a smile, much as he wanted to cheer for his wife. ¡°This comes as no surprise, I¡¯m sure, but I agree with Isobel,¡± he said. ¡°This goes beyond your usual apathy into plain cruelty, Moira. They''re only tourists. Show some compassion.¡±


    ¡°Gareth,¡± Moira began again, but again, Isobel shushed her.


    ¡°The show¡¯s about to begin,¡± Isobel said.


    Sure enough, down below, the audience quieted as the orchestra struck up and the curtain lifted, revealing a bearded man in an antiquated costume on the stage.


    ¡°Gareth,¡± Moira whispered, ¡°If these orinians really mean so much to you, I promise to look into it.¡±


    Gareth looked at his sister, surprised. He couldn¡¯t remember the last time she¡¯d taken a complaint of his seriously. ¡°Thank you, Moira. I would appreciate that.¡±


    Though she didn''t look pleased about it, Moira nodded and settled back to watch the show. It was another Gareth knew, though there was no Egil in this one. It told the story of a girl named Edith Albert, the youngest daughter of a Unity Representative. Over a century ago, Edith had learned of a plot to assassinate a Magistrate ¡ª Gareth''s ancestor, in fact. As she worked to stop it, the goddess Ellaes came to her in a vision, directing her path. But strangely, the story wasn''t the only thing Gareth knew; he recognized the actress playing Edith as the young woman that had played the Oracle of Damael at the festival. When he looked closer, he recognized several of the actors: the young prince was now Edith''s earnest suitor, Egil the endangered Magistrate. If it was the same troupe, he wondered if Mr. Hallisey was around, if he was in the show. He didn''t show up in the first act, at least, though Gareth forgot to watch for him after a while. He''d never seen the show performed so passionately, and he lost himself in it.


    When the lights went up to cue intermission, he blinked, slowly dragging himself out of the world of the story. Before Moira could ask him again about the team meeting, he stood and loudly excused himself for the restroom, then spent the intermission wandering Unity''s decadent halls. Over his head, heavenly scenes of the Guardians and their champions had been painted along the high ceilings. Gold sconces with flickering lights lined the walls beneath paneled mirrors, and Gareth avoided meeting his own bruised eyes in his reflection.


    ¡°This place...it''s a bit tasteless, don''t you think?¡± asked a familiar voice. Gareth saw the speaker in the mirror first, all feline grace and sharp angles. He turned and offered his new companion a bow, one that was returned with far more grace.


    ¡°Compared to the Royal Palace in Alfheimr, I''m sure it must be,¡± Gareth said.


    Leandros Nochdvor wrinkled his nose, a small, barely-there expression. ¡°The Palace is beautiful,¡± Leandros agreed, but there was no warmth in it. ¡°Your eye is already looking better.¡±


    ¡°I have my wife''s makeup and skilled hand to thank for that.¡±


    ¡°Ah, I thought ¡ª I forgot how slowly you sapiens heal.¡±


    Gareth chucked. ¡°I''ll be bruised all the way to Illyon, most likely. What do you think of the show so far?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯d debated staying home, but it makes me glad I chose to come out,¡± Leandros said. Sensing Gareth¡¯s curiosity, he explained, ¡°Thanks to those damned papers, reporters and busybodies have been harassing me all day. I can barely leave my hotel.¡±


    Now that he mentioned it, Gareth felt the eyes on his back, heard the hiss of whispers pointed in their direction. He wondered how this would affect the gossip, the bereaved Prince Nochdvor greeting the Magistrate''s brother like a good friend. He tutted. ¡°People can be so entitled.¡±


    ¡°That, at least, is something I''m used to. My uncle is a King, my mother a prima donna, my father a villain. People have always felt entitled to my time and secrets simply because they find me interesting.¡±


    ¡°Is that why you¡¯ve been, ah...out of the public eye for so long?¡± Gareth ventured. It was the closest he¡¯d come to asking about Histrios, and it was as close as his courage would currently allow.


    Leandros regarded Gareth out of the corner of his eyes. ¡°Why, Mr. Ranulf, when I spoke of busybodies, I didn¡¯t realize I should count you among them.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m so sorry if I overstepped,¡± Gareth said quickly, only realizing afterward, but the faint quirk of Leandros¡¯ lips, that the alfar was teasing him.


    Leandros laughed. It was a startling sound, musical like a pair of chimes in the wind, and it reminded Gareth of the old alfar stories about dances on moors and streams of wild magic. He didn''t think he''d ever heard an alfar laugh before. He must have stared too openly, because Leandros'' expression quickly closed off, schooled back into something solemn and neutral.


    ¡°It¡¯s fine,¡± he said. Gareth thought his voice sounded warmer than it had, though he still didn¡¯t answer Gareth¡¯s question, instead lowering his voice and saying, ¡°I understand people¡¯s curiosity, honestly. The world has changed with just one headline, and the people don¡¯t even know enough to know if they should be afraid. I just wish they understood that I am, for all practical purposes, grieving.¡±


    It was easy to forget in all the politics that Leandros had lost a beloved uncle. Gareth considered Leandros'' clothing: even to an event like this, the alfar wore mostly black: it could only signify mourning. The strange thing, though, was that he didn''t wear the plain, coarse fabrics of early-stage mourning. Instead, the lace and satin and silver incorporated into Leandros'' suit implied an old loss. Gareth couldn''t recall hearing of any deaths in the Alfheimr royal family in recent years. He wondered who Leandros really mourned for, because it didn''t seem to be the king.


    ¡°By the way, were you able to warn your neighbors?¡± Leandros asked.


    Gareth winced. ¡°Yes, but not soon enough. The Gallontean Police came for them.¡±


    Leandros swore, the crass language surprising Gareth. ¡°Shit. I should¡¯ve known they¡¯d ¡ª shit. I¡¯m sorry, Mr. Ranulf.¡±


    ¡°Whatever for?¡±


    ¡°I should have helped you. I could have prevented this.¡±


    ¡°Nonsense. If I couldn¡¯t do anything to stop them, you wouldn¡¯t have been able to, either,¡± Gareth said. When Leandros met Gareth¡¯s gaze, Gareth saw fury ¡ª the same fury he''d seen in Leandros back at the Magistrates'' chambers. But then Leandros blinked and it was gone. He was ice again. ¡°Maybe you¡¯re right. Apologies for my outburst, Mr. Ranulf.¡±


    Gareth opened his mouth to wave him off, but then a bell rang, signaling the end of intermission. While the surrounding crowds returned to their seats, Leandros hesitated. ¡°Would you care to get drinks after this? I''d like to discuss this further.¡±


    Maybe it did make him a busybody, but Gareth had never been one to turn down an opportunity to study an interesting personality. And for a chance to potentially ask about Egil, too, how could he refuse? ¡°I¡¯d love to.¡±This book''s true home is on another platform. Check it out there for the real experience.


    The two men walked back to the upper floors of the theater together, Leandros parting crowds with only a look. It was a peculiar effect to witness: Gareth was used to Moira¡¯s bodyguards forcing a way forward, but with Leandros, it was effortless. Gareth doubted the alfar even realized he was doing it. Leandros Nochdvor simply existed on a plane all his own, like the ones in his way were merely ghosts, he the only real thing in this theater. He certainly cut a striking figure, in his black damask waistcoat and slim, high-waisted trousers, the peak of fashion with a silhouette to match, but his command of attention went beyond that. Maybe it was inherited from his uncle, or maybe it came from his distinguished mother. Maybe it was something all his own.


    Content with the promise of picking the alfar apart later, Gareth returned to his box alone, arriving just as the curtains lifted. The second act was even better than the first. As with the other show, the Webhon Players masterfully danced the line between tragedy and comedy; Gareth cried one moment and cried from laughter the next. And the performance only got more elaborate as the story progressed, particularly after Ellaes¡¯ first appearance, the Players incorporating stage tricks like metallurgy to make it more real. Gareth cried again when it was over, not because it was sad, but simply because it was over.


    Isobel hung on his arm afterward, staunchly ignoring Moira and leading him out of the box and down the stairs. Gareth searched for Leandros among the crowd, and it was only a prickling sensation at the back of his neck that made him turn around. He didn¡¯t find Leandros there. What he found instead was another familiar face, a casual figure leaning against the far stage doors. The line of his body was tense, his muscles coiled and his wary gaze on the crowd. He started in surprise when his eyes met Gareth''s.


    Without thinking, Gareth took Isobel''s hand and dragged her over, moving against the crowd. ¡°Mr. Hallisey!¡± he called.


    Roman responded with a bright smile and a lazy wave, and Gareth whispered to Isobel as they drew closer. ¡°Do you remember him from the festival yesterday? He''s the one who saved me last night. Roman Hallisey''s his name.¡±


    ¡°What a strange coincidence,¡± Isobel said.


    ¡°It is,¡± Gareth agreed before adding, louder, ¡°Hello, Mr. Hallisey!¡±


    ¡°Mr. Ranulf,¡± Roman greeted as they approached, his expression unreadable. ¡°Given your troubles yesterday, I hadn''t expected to see you here tonight. How''s your eye?¡±


    Gareth went to touch his cheek, a self-conscious habit he''d picked up in the last twenty-four hours, but Isobel intercepted his hand and twined their fingers together. ¡°Could be worse. The swelling''s down considerably.¡±


    ¡°I can see that. And this must be the beautiful Mrs. Ranulf,¡± Roman said, extending a hand. When Isobel offered her own, Roman raised it to his lips and kissed it, his dark curls falling into his eyes. Straightening up, he said, ¡°Your husband talks about you a lot when he''s drugged, did you know that?¡±


    ¡°I wasn''t aware. I can''t say I''ve ever drugged him.¡±


    Roman laughed. ¡°Well, even for all his poetic waxing, he doesn''t do you justice.¡±


    ¡°Aren''t you cute,¡± Isobel said, but the considering, almost wary look she gave him didn''t match the tone of her words. When Roman''s gaze again darted over the crowd, she asked, ¡°Are you waiting for someone?¡±


    Roman¡¯s attention snapped back to her, her thoughtful look now mirrored on his own face. He looked her up and down, not so quick to dismiss her, this time. ¡°Not at all,¡± he said with a polite smile. ¡°Crowds just make me nervous.¡±


    ¡°But you did such a good job engaging with the festival crowd yesterday,¡± Isobel pushed. Gareth frowned, watching the back and forth.


    ¡°I¡¯m touched you think so. I was just doing a favor for the troupe leader; it¡¯s not my usual scene, I can promise you,¡± Roman said. He lit up, then, and a mischievous grin slipped onto his face. ¡°Speaking of scenes, did you like the show? How would you two like to see something exciting?¡±


    Gareth opened his mouth to decline, but before he could, Isobel said, ¡°I can¡¯t speak for my husband, but now you have me curious.¡± Roman nodded back at the stage door and opened it for them with a flourish.


    ¡°Are we allowed back there?¡± Gareth asked doubtfully.


    ¡°If you¡¯re with me, sure. I want to introduce you to someone.¡±


    Roman ushered them through the door. Unlike the rest of the theatre, the backstage was messy and dark, the Webhon Players already caught up in post-show cleanup. People in dark clothing hurried back and forth carrying crates and set pieces, a frantic dance Gareth and Isobel were careful to avoid. Roman led them down a short flight of steps, stopping abruptly at the bottom and knocking on an unadorned door. A moment later, it opened to reveal the show''s star, the young actress that played Edith. She threw her arms around Roman.


    ¡°What did you think?¡± she asked, cutting off with a squeal and a laugh when Roman picked her up and gave her a twirl.


    ¡°Absolutely enchanting, Dinara! You stole the show.¡±


    Dinara laughed and pulled back from the embrace, finally noticing the Ranulfs. ¡°Oh, hello,¡± she said breathlessly. ¡°Roman, who are your friends?¡±


    ¡°Di, meet Gareth and Isobel Ranulf. Gareth, Isobel, this is Dinara Condeh.¡±


    ¡°It''s a pleasure, Ms. Condeh,¡± Gareth said, enthusiastically shaking Dinara''s hand. ¡°Wonderful show. Your performance was so moving I nearly cried.¡±


    ¡°Liar. You did cry,¡± Isobel said.


    Dinara tried to hide a laugh. ¡°Thank you! Come in you, won''t you?¡±


    Inside the dressing room, Edith''s various gowns lined one wall, numerous bouquets of flowers another. She dropped into her seat, regaling hem all with a costume mishap that happened in the second act. She was stunning, even out of costume and clearly exhausted, with deep brown skin and curls that fell to her chin. Contrary to her portrayal of Edith, her air was gentle. Gareth envied her and Roman. They had a youthful vivacity that had long escaped him ¡ª if he¡¯d ever had it to begin with ¡ª and they were beautiful together. But it was different, seeing the young man in this setting ¡ª among friends, not in a darkened alley holding a bloodied sword. He seemed...diminished, somehow. Not as large as he had in the night.


    His eyes were strange, serious when nothing else about him seemed to be. He smiled, laughed, chatted, and all the while, his eyes stayed cold.


    ¡°We''re all going out to celebrate,¡± Dinara said. ¡°You two should come with.¡±


    ¡°Would we be overdressed?¡± Gareth asked.


    ¡°Half the Players will be in costume,¡± Roman assured him. ¡°If anyone''s going to stand out, it won''t be you. Come, it''ll be fun. There''ll be music and drinking and dancing.¡±


    Isobel squeezed Gareth''s hand. The excitement in her eyes was obvious. ¡°I told the governess not to expect us back until late,¡± she told him.


    Unable to deny his wife anything, he said, ¡°We''d be happy to join you, then.¡±


    Roman answered with a bright, boyish smile, different from the forced one he''d used upstairs. This one lit up the room. ¡°That''s the spirit, Gareth! Wait ''till you see how the Webhon Players party. It''s the only reason I''m still travelling with them, to tell the truth.¡±


    Dinara scoffed and elbowed Roman, making him laugh. There was something about Roman, some unidentifiable quality that made Gareth want to earn more of those laughs. ¡°I just have to go find a friend, first. I need to cancel our plans.¡±


    Gareth would have plenty of time to talk to Leandros in the coming weeks, he reasoned. Roman and Dinara, though, he may never see again. The Rinehart Festival was ending soon, and the Players would be gone from Gallontea. And they were both so interesting.


    ¡°Bring them along!¡± Dinara said, adding, ¡°If they''re fun.¡±


    ¡°I don''t know him well, but I believe he could be. And I''m sure he''d be happy not to stand out for an evening ¡ª his name is Leandros Nochdvor.¡±


    ¡°Not him,¡± Roman said firmly, surprising everyone. The smile was gone from his face. ¡°Don''t invite him.¡±


    Gareth stared at Roman, taken aback by the sudden chill. Dinara frowned as well. Under the weight of their stares, Roman shook himself, his dark expression clearing into something carefully ¡ª intentionally ¡ª innocent. ¡°I mean, he''s from Alfheimr, isn''t he? You know how they are there. No fun. And he''s...he''s royalty over there, isn''t he? I just don''t think anywhere we go will be up to his standards.¡±


    Dinara¡¯s brows furrowed further, but if she thought Roman was hiding something ¡ª as Gareth did ¡ª she didn¡¯t comment. Gareth, too, decided not to push, even if this only made him more curious about the man. He remembered the way Roman reacted when he¡¯d mentioned the prince at the festival yesterday, too. ¡°I understand. I do need to find him and reschedule, though.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll catch up with you outside, then,¡± Roman said. He smiled and kissed Dinara on the cheek, but his eyes had gone even colder. ¡°I think I left something at my seat.¡±


    Though there were shared looks, nobody commented as he slipped away. Dinara went with Isobel and Gareth to look for Leandros, watching him curiously as Gareth explained the situation; Leandros understood, as Gareth knew he would, but made Gareth promise to get drinks with him before they left Gallontea. And as promised, Roman caught up with them just as they were about to cross onto the bridge. A short, cheerful woman with an orange pixie cut led the group ¡ª about twenty or so in total ¡ª to a nondescript tavern with a sign of a snarling wolf hanging above their door. Music and laughter drifted out to the street, and a warm glow streaming out the windows greeted them.


    ¡°Welcome,¡± the woman said, gesturing grandly, ¡°To the Hungry Hound.¡±


    A hound, then. Not a wolf.


    The Hungry Hound was the kind of place Gareth might read about in a book: the quintessential pub, with a crackling fire, the smell of garlic and spices in the air, and music drifting gently over from the fiddler in the corner. The short woman ¡ª Gemma, he heard the Players call her ¡ª had reserved half the room for the Players, and bought off the fiddler as well.


    They crammed into booths and around tables, ordering drinks and dishes to share. As the evening progressed and the drinks flowed, they got the fiddler to play a lively tune and moved the tables to the sides of the room to make space for dancing. Those that didn¡¯t dance turned to telling stories ¡ª unfortunately for Gareth, that involved a few wildly incorrect Egil stories, but he reined himself in from correcting anyone. Mostly.


    ¡°That¡¯s the most preposterous thing I¡¯ve ever heard,¡± he¡¯d told one of the Players early into the evening. ¡°Everyone knows Egil hated Unity. He opposed them at every turn.¡±


    ¡°That was after he left them. He worked for them first. Haven''t you ever heard of the Hound of Unity?¡± the man asked.


    ¡°The Hound of Unity is a myth. I¡¯ve studied Egil for ten years and I¡¯ve never found anything connecting him to that character,¡± Gareth said, meeting the Players¡¯ challenging scowl with one of his own.


    Roman rolled his eyes and slid out of the booth, holding a hand out to Dinara to pull her up after him. ¡°And with that, I¡¯m going to dance.¡±


    ¡°He doesn¡¯t like Egil stories,¡± Dinara told Gareth apologetically. ¡°Don¡¯t ask me why. He doesn¡¯t tell.¡±


    Isobel couldn¡¯t drink because of the pregnancy, so Gareth didn¡¯t either. They danced a few songs but spent the rest of their evening enjoying the company of these strange and interesting people. Roman and Dinara spent much longer on the dance floor, though as the evening wore on and they both had more to drink, their movements could be described less as dancing and more as something that wouldn¡¯t be tolerated in Gareth¡¯s usual sort of establishment.


    Roman never crossed the line into drunk, though. Gareth was watching for it, hoping to even the score after Roman had seen him so high on painkillers the night before. Roman drank as much as the rest, but aside from his flushed cheeks and boundless energy, it barely seemed to touch him. Between dances, he told a few stories of his own ¡ª fantastic personal adventures that Gareth had trouble believing ¡ª and listened with rapt attention to others¡¯. Even Gareth¡¯s, which Gareth didn¡¯t feel deserved such enthusiasm. Roman made sure the Ranulfs were always included in conversations, that they felt like old friends, and demanded that everyone have just as much fun as he was having.


    Then a fight broke out between one of the Players and another patron, and Roman shed this enthusiasm like a mask. He stepped between them, stopping the fight so quickly Gareth wouldn¡¯t have believed his eyes if he hadn¡¯t been sober. When both parties backed down, Roman slipped the mask back on and returned to Dinara¡¯s arms. If Gareth had thought this evening would give him insights into Roman Hallisey¡¯s mysteries, he¡¯d been wrong. All he had were more questions.


    Even so, he couldn¡¯t remember having so much fun in his life. In the early hours of the morning, he swept Isobel off her feet and carried her up into the cab bed, where she settled happily against his side with a sigh, her heels clutched in her hands. They both hummed their own clashing melodies under their breaths, against the steady beat of horse hooves and carriage wheels, and thought of things more pleasant than missing kings and Gareth¡¯s upcoming departure.

 EGIL: INTERLUDE II

    Hidden in a shadowy alcove between two street lamps, Egil felt along the grain of a plain door, letting out a victorious laugh when his fingers found a symbol etched in its wood. There, almost invisible against the dark stain, was her symbol: an open eye with a set of veiny dragonfly wings. Apparently, the Oracle of Damael hadn¡¯t bothered to change her safe house locations in nearly a hundred years. What arrogance, to assume Egil wouldn¡¯t come for them.


    First confirming the street around him was empty, he raised a leg to kick the door down. It swung open before he could, the person on the other side dropping their keys with a shriek.


    ¡°It¡¯s you!¡± he cried, pointing at Egil. When Egil lowered his leg, his gaze tracked the movement, eyes nearly bugging out of his head. ¡°Were you about to break in?!¡±


    ¡°No,¡± Egil lied. ¡°You have good timing; I was just looking for you.¡±


    ¡°What happened to knocking? Wait, for me?¡± the boy repeated, dumbstruck.


    ¡°Did you talk to Leandros?¡±


    Aleksir Bardon opened his mouth, then shut it again, then sighed and crouched to retrieve his keys. Briefly, Egil could see past him into a narrow entryway, a set of dark wood stairs leading up. A normal flat, at first glance, but it held many of the Oracle¡¯s secrets. Egil looked away. ¡°Yeah, I talked to him,¡± Aleksir said. ¡°First thing this morning.¡±


    ¡°He heard you out?¡±


    ¡°¡¯Course. Some people actually take the Oracle¡¯s name seriously, you know. I told him all of it, except the bit about meeting you.¡±


    ¡°How is he?¡± Egil asked. When Aleksir¡¯s eyes widened, he wished he hadn¡¯t. He cleared his throat and corrected, ¡°Forget it. What did he say after you told him?¡±


    Aleksir scratched at the scraggly beard on his chin. ¡°Not much. He shooed me away when I asked him about Histrios.¡±


    When Aleksir made to step out of the safe house, Egil blocked him with his arm. ¡°You what? Why would you do that?¡± he asked.


    ¡°Because you wouldn¡¯t tell me anything!¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t mention it to him again. Don¡¯t even speak to him again. Do you understand?¡± Egil hissed. Aleksir took a step back, alarmed at the venom in Egil¡¯s voice, but nodded. ¡°Good.¡±


    Coming here had been a mistake. He should have let his ghosts rest, rather than dig them up. But like a man relentlessly prodding at a toothache, checking to see if it still hurt, he¡¯d had to ask. Having confirmed that it did, indeed, hurt, he turned to leave.


    ¡°Wait!¡± Aleksir called after him, too loudly. They were alone for now, but if Aleksir kept making noise, he was bound to attract attention. Egil waited while Aleksir scrambled to lock his door, then let him catch up ¡ª just to keep him from shouting again, he told himself. Breathlessly, Aleksir asked, ¡°Are you seriously going, just like that? I thought I¡¯d never see you again.¡±


    ¡°You should be so lucky. Stop following me.¡±


    ¡°Wait, but I have more information for you!¡± Aleksir said. When Egil didn¡¯t immediately shoo him away, Aleksir grinned, realizing Egil¡¯s silence meant curiosity. ¡°I¡¯m running late for a meeting. If you come with me, I¡¯ll tell you what I know on the way.¡±


    Egil sighed and pointed down the street. ¡°You have until that street lamp to convince me not to leave.¡±


    Devikra¡¯s visions had always been like a drug: as soon as Egil knew a little, he needed to know more. And so, against his better judgment, he fell into step beside the Oracle¡¯s errand-boy.


    The street around them was quiet, the cobblestone and dark storefronts lit by the neighborhood¡¯s new electric carbon arc lamps. But the white light they produced was cold compared to the warm lamplight pouring out of second- and third-floor windows, occasionally filtering down through cracks between drawn curtains. Egil watched the shadows around them as they walked. This city could be dangerous at night, and Aleksir made himself an easy target. The boy almost tripped over his feet several times, too busy watching Egil with a look that came uncomfortably close to awe.


    ¡°I met up with Devikra''s Unity contact today, the one you scared off,¡± he said excitedly. ¡°I found out what Unity¡¯s planning. They¡¯re going to¡ª¡±


    ¡°Send a team to Orean to negotiate King Nochdvor''s release,¡± Egil finished. So this wasn''t about Devikra''s visions at all. ¡°Your deadline is approaching. Tell me something I don¡¯t already know, and be quick.¡±


    Aleksir didn''t seem put off. Instead, he grinned from ear to ear and spun to walk backward, so he could face Egil as he talked. ¡°I should¡¯ve guessed ¡ª no one can keep anything from Egil! You know your Prince Nochdvor is leading the team, then, yeah?¡±


    Egil frowned. ¡°He agreed to something like that?¡±


    ¡°It was his idea, far as I can tell,¡± Aleksir said. Glancing back and finding the final lamp post close, his next words came out in a rush. ¡°How about this: there¡¯s more to those magic rumors than I thought.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m listening.¡±


    ¡°The King of Alfheimr was abducted out of a tower full of people, all of them dead now except for the prince and princess. The only way out was down a single set of stairs, and even though people saw her go up, no one saw her come back down. That¡¯s not even getting into the explosion.¡±


    ¡°Explosion?¡± Egil asked. The lamp post came and went.


    ¡°That¡¯s what killed everyone. Charred the flesh right off their bones and shook all of Illyon. The amount of firepower that lady would¡¯ve had to smuggle in there...no one knows how she did it, and that¡¯s why they¡¯re saying it¡¯s magic.¡±


    ¡°How did the prince and princess survive?¡±


    ¡°The prince threw them both out the window in the nick of time,¡± Aleksir said, his smile growing wider the longer he kept pace with Egil¡¯s interrogation.


    ¡°What is the prince saying happened?¡±


    ¡°Dunno. He¡¯s being real tight-lipped. So is Unity. My contact is on the team and even they haven¡¯t been told the truth.¡±


    The two of them turned onto a bright, noisy street full of taverns and lights and people. Though no one paid them any mind, Egil kept quiet, waiting until the lights and laughter had faded back into darkness and quiet to ask, ¡°If your contact is on the team, have they noticed any...shady characters among their teammates? Anyone that stood out to them?¡±


    ¡°The whole team¡¯s a bit eccentric, as I hear it. They¡¯re supposed to be the best Unity¡¯s got to offer, so I guess that¡¯s not too surprising. The more important a person is, the weirder they can be,¡± Aleksir said with an unsubtle glance in Egil¡¯s direction. ¡°What do you mean by shady?¡±


    ¡°I can¡¯t get more specific than that, I¡¯m afraid. They could be normal, they could be suspicious. They¡¯d could be too perfect for the job, have unexplained skillsets or ties to Unity. Strange gaps in their resumes, maybe. Evasive natures. Something would just feel off.¡±


    ¡°I can ask. Why? Who are you looking for?¡±


    ¡°No one in particular,¡± Egil said. Then, ¡°Have you heard of the Enforcers?¡±


    Aleskir shook his head. ¡°What¡¯s an Enf¡ª¡±


    Egil shushed Aleksir. ¡°Gods, boy, you¡¯re trying to join the game and don¡¯t even know the most important players? You¡¯re in over your head.¡±


    ¡°Who are they?¡±Unauthorized tale usage: if you spot this story on Amazon, report the violation.


    ¡°Ask your Oracle. She knows.¡±


    Sounding very much his age, Aleksir whined, ¡°Devikra never tells me anything.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s not my problem,¡± Egil said with a practiced smirk. When they¡¯d met the other night, Egil had seen Aleksir¡¯s reaction to his smirks ¡ª the flicker of irritation, the anger. The boy had a temper, and a great deal of pride, too. The more Egil could stir those embers, stoke them into a fire, the faster he could burn down Aleksir¡¯s blind idol worship and dance in the smoke.


    When Aleksir slowed, Egil scolded, ¡°Don¡¯t you have somewhere to be? What am I, your mother? Your assistant, that I have to keep your appointments for you?¡±


    Aleksir¡¯s cheeks flushed, but he ducked his head and hurried on, duly chastised. Egil followed him down a side street, then over a fence into a vast park. Its gate was locked; Egil guessed it had been closed for several hours, at least since the suns set. He knew the park, of course. It was a popular meeting place in Gallontea among individuals who wished to go unnoticed: popular, but not too popular. Maintained, but not monitored. Dense, with thick foliage. Best of all, because of its location in Greysdale, Gallontea¡¯s police looked the other way. As they walked between the dark trees, the only sounds were the occasional crunch of early-fallen leaves beneath their boots and a distant church bells. Soon, a small pond came into view, moonlight glittering off its surface. A dragon crouched before it, silhouetted against the bright water, and she turned when they approached.


    When Aleksir gave her an awkward wave, Egil had to bite his tongue to keep from laughing. Devikra¡¯s standards had really changed, over the decades. Back in his day, she had strict rules governing public meetings ¡ª for safety, for secrecy. Not only had Aleksir invited along a stranger, a known enemy of the Oracle, he¡¯d failed to even check the perimeter for eavesdroppers. While Aleksir sidled awkwardly up to the dragon, Egil sank back into the shadows to do it for the kid.


    ¡°Nice weather we''re having,¡± Aleksir said.


    ¡°A blessing from the Guardians,¡± the dragon agreed. Unlike Aleksir, she followed protocol. Though the exact wording had changed over the years, he recognized the start of a passcode.


    ¡°May Ellaes continue to bless us,¡± Aleksir said, finishing the code. He sounded serious, but that was the best that could be said for him. He didn¡¯t even notice Egil left until he turned to introduce Egil and found him gone.


    ¡°Who is your friend?¡± the dragon asked. Unable to whisper, her rumbling voice carried through the park.


    ¡°He''s¨C,¡± Aleksir started, jumping a foot when Egil suddenly appeared beside him, shooting him a warning look. ¡°Uh. He''s alright. He''s with me.¡±


    Egil smiled at the dragon, hands clasped behind his back. ¡°Just a trainee. Happy to be here.¡±


    Satisfied enough with that explanation, the dragon shrugged. ¡°I have a letter from Our Lady in my bag,¡± she told Aleksir, lowering one shoulder so Aleksir could reach the bag in question, strapped as it was to her scaly side. ¡°If you have any to return to her, put them in the front pouch.¡±


    So that''s what this was. A delivery, a letter from Devikra herself. To require an in-person trade-off, it must contain something interesting. Aleksir climbed up and made the exchange quickly, and as he tucked his own letter in the dragon¡¯s bag, Egil asked, ¡°Did you mention me in there?¡±


    Aleksir froze. ¡°Um...¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s fine. I''ll be gone before Dev can do anything.¡± The nickname slipped out unconsciously, and when both Aleksir and the dragon turned to gawp at him, Egil almost winced. That woman didn¡¯t deserve nicknames, not from him. ¡°I''m leaving,¡± he announced, then turned and walked away.


    ¡°Wait!¡± Aleksir called for the second time that night. Unlike the last time, Egil didn''t wait. He was hopping the fence back into the city proper when Aleksir finally caught up with him, nearly falling from the fence himself in his haste to follow.


    ¡°Does she really let you call her ''Dev''?¡± Aleksir asked as he jogged after Egil. ¡°I thought only Wil could call her that.¡±


    Ignoring him, Egil snatched the unopened letter from Devikra out of Aleksir''s hands and tore the envelope open. When Aleksir made a grab for it, Egil simply held it over his head. He had half a foot on the kid, and Aleksir seemed to realize he stood little chance, settling for glaring at Egil instead. ¡°Let me read it,¡± Egil said. ¡°If Devikra''s written about any new visions, I want to know.¡±


    Trying to catch Egil by surprise, Aleksir suddenly jumped for the letter. Egil easily stepped out of reach, laughing and waving the letter just to mock him.


    ¡°Look,¡± Aleksir said slowly, as if speaking to a child. Egil had been trying to stoke Aleksir¡¯s temper, but it was his own that flared instead. He stomped it down as Aleksir added, ¡°She''ll kill me. You know she will.¡±


    ¡°Hmph,¡± Egil said. ¡°Let me read this and I''ll tell you about the Enforcers.¡±


    Aleksir looked between the letter and Egil''s face. ¡°And Histrios?¡±


    ¡°Absolutely not. Don''t try to bargain with me.¡±


    Aleksir grimaced. ¡°Fine, fine. But I have to tell her you read it.¡±


    ¡°Tell her I took it by force, if you have to,¡± Egil said, pulling the letter out and unfolding it. The familiar handwriting startled him; he¡¯d surmised as much already, but if Devikra really was writing to this boy personally, he must be deep in her circle of trust. He walked as he read, Aleksir following his winding path back to the safe house without complaint.


    It was useless. No new visions. Nothing interesting, except: ¡°So that¡¯s the name of your Unity contact.¡±


    Aleksir swore and snatched the letter out of Egil¡¯s hand. This time, Egil let him. ¡°Please don¡¯t contact him,¡± Aleksir begged. When Egil made no promises, he pouted. ¡°Ugh, she¡¯s really going to kill me. Tell me who the Enforcers are ¡ª you owe me that much.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll tell you commensurate with the information I got from that letter.¡±


    Aleksir¡¯s pout turned into a glare. ¡°That wasn¡¯t the deal!¡±


    Egil laughed, tapped the tip of Aleksir¡¯s nose, and said, ¡°Too bad.¡± If he couldn¡¯t use the boy¡¯s temper to alienate him, there was still the madness. It tended to keep people distant. ¡°The Enforcers are a lot like Dev¡¯s agents, but first and foremost, they¡¯re soldiers. The deadliest soldiers you¡¯ll ever meet, and trained to do anything Unity asks of them. They¡¯ll have their hands in this mess, one way or another.¡±


    Aleksir clearly waited for more, but Egil stopped there, noticing something strange down the alley he¡¯d stopped in front of. Without giving Aleksir any warning, he turned down it.


    ¡°Egil?¡± Aleksir asked, following.


    Gallontea''s streets were full of the downtrodden and houseless. It was, unfortunately, a common occurrence to glance down alleys and spot small encampments, though Gallontea''s police came down on them hard when they found them. Several feet ahead sat a small, shoddy shelter tucked alongside a dumpster. Sticking out of it was a pair of bare feet and, more strangely, the tip of a tail. As Egil neared the makeshift shelter, both the tail and feet disappeared inside. Egil knocked on the wood twice. ¡°I''m not with the police, and I won''t hurt you,¡± he called, far gentler than he¡¯d ever spoken to Aleksir. ¡°You''re orinian, aren''t you?¡±


    A long pause answered Egil''s question, then a messy head of hair peeked out from the shelter. It was a girl, barely older than Aleksir. When she saw they didn''t wear uniforms, the tension in his shoulders eased, though she bared her teeth at them all the same. ¡°Go away. Leave me alone.¡±


    ¡°I will if that''s what you want,¡± Egil said, crouching, ¡°But you have to know Gallontea''s not safe for you, right now.¡±


    ¡°No shit,¡± the girl said. Aleksir frowned and opened his mouth, probably to do something stupid like defend Egil''s honor, but Egil held a hand up.


    ¡°What do you need? Money? A ride out of town? How can I help you?¡± he asked. Now eye level with the girl, he saw her mouth draw into a pout.


    ¡°You can¡¯t. I need my brother back.¡±


    Egil blinked. ¡°What happened to him?¡± When she didn¡¯t answer, Egil ignored the feel of Aleksir¡¯s eyes on his back and said, ¡°We won¡¯t know if I can help or not unless you tell me. Give it a chance.¡±


    ¡°Unless you can break onto Unity¡¯s island and free prisoners, there¡¯s no point. Who do you think you are, Egil?¡±


    Aleksir chose that moment to jump in. His eyes were brimming with excitement, and Egil felt all the work he¡¯d done disillusioning the kid fade into oblivion. He sighed. ¡°He is, actually! You''d be lucky to have his help!¡±


    ¡°Shut up, Aleksir,¡± Egil hissed.


    But the damage was already done. The girl looked between Egil and Aleksir, her expression closing off once more. ¡°Great. You¡¯re crazy. Just so you know, I was the star boxer on my college team. If you try anything, I''ll punch you.¡±


    Egil held his hands up and crept back from the shelter, giving the girl more space. In her, he saw a fellow victim, another life blackened by Unity¡¯s cursed touch. This was why they needed to be destroyed. ¡°Ignore him. We actually work for the Oracle of Damael,¡± he said, brushing a lock of his dark hair aside to reveal the small mark tattooed under his ear: an open eye and a set of dragonfly wings. After a moment''s hesitation, Aleksir did the same. ¡°You know what the tattoo means, right?¡±


    Eyes wide, the girl nodded. She leaned out of her shelter to see it better. The purple ink was irreplicable, the pigment produced only in Damael. Small wins, Egil supposed. He may be forever branded with Devikra¡¯s mark, but it did him good, now and then. ¡°Your brother ¡ª did they arrest him?¡±


    Another nod.


    ¡°After the King¡¯s kidnapping?¡±


    ¡°Yes,¡± the girl said, voice barely a whisper, now.


    ¡°If he¡¯s still alive, I know how to get him back,¡± Egil said, watching hope reignite behind the girl¡¯s gray eyes. It made him uneasy. He wasn¡¯t a hero anymore; playing at one felt wrong. Still, the words came too easily to his tongue, even half-forgotten as they were. ¡°I know you have no reason to trust me, but at least trust that doing what I say is better than waiting for the police to find you. I¡¯m afraid I can¡¯t come with you, but Aleksir here will help.¡±


    ¡°What!¡± Aleksir said, biting his tongue when Egil threw a cold look at him over his shoulder.


    ¡°Why? Why would you ¡ª why help me at all?¡± the girl asked.


    Egil smiled at her, as warmly as it could manage. That wasn¡¯t much, but it did make the girl smile back, tentatively. ¡°Because that¡¯s my job. That¡¯s what the Oracle does,¡± he said, her name bitter on his tongue. In the eyes of the public, though, his own was spoiled by the stain of Histrios. To Aleksir, he said, ¡°Take her back to the safe house. In the morning, go to the Rinehart Festival Grounds. East of it is a camp. Ask for a man named Roman Hallisey. He¡¯ll help.¡±


    ¡°What if he won¡¯t?¡± the girl asked, her long, cow-like ears pressed flat to her head.


    ¡°He will,¡± Egil promised her. After a moment¡¯s thought, he shrugged out of his cloak and passed it to the girl. ¡°Hide your ears and tail with this.¡±


    ¡°Thank you,¡± she breathed, running her hands along the fabric in a nervous gesture.


    ¡°Who''s Roman Hallisey?¡± Aleksir whispered while she shrugged it on.


    ¡°You remember those people we were talking about? The Enforcers?¡± Egil said, standing again. ¡°He was once the strongest of them.¡±

 13 | Romans Secrets

    The morning following Dinara¡¯s Unity performance promised a beautiful day. Beams of sunslight streamed through the trailer¡¯s windows and an easy breeze rattled the chimes hanging in the doorway. Outside, the sky was cloudless, clear for the suns¡¯ tandem trek across its blue and gold expanse. Too bad Dinara was too hungover to appreciate it.


    She rolled to face Roman. The fact that he was still here, in bed, meant he must be feeling it as well ¡ª normally, he was gone before Dinara had even stirred. Without so much as opening his eyes, he mumbled, ¡°Go back to sleep.¡±


    Dinara tried to laugh, but groaned when it made her head throb. ¡°Ow. I feel gross.¡±


    ¡°You know what would help with that? More sleep.¡±


    ¡°Ugh.¡± Dinara squinted at him. ¡°Do I remember you leaving in the middle of the night?¡±


    Realizing she wasn¡¯t about to let him rest, Roman buried his face in his pillow. ¡°Couldn¡¯t sleep,¡± he said, muffled. ¡°Walked around a bit.¡±


    No wonder he was still here. She should let him sleep, or try going back to sleep herself, but the sunslight streaming in through the windows wouldn¡¯t let her. ¡°I¡¯m hungry. Something greasy sounds good, doesn¡¯t it? Would you make something?¡± When he only ignored her, she prodded his side. ¡°We could do something fun, after.¡±


    At that, Roman finally cracked an eye open. Dark bags sat under them, but that was nothing new. ¡°Like what?¡±


    ¡°An adventure. It doesn¡¯t matter, as long as we do it together.¡±


    Roman yawned and stretched like a lazy house cat. As he settled back into the mattress, he tried pulling Dinara to him, but she laughed and squirmed away. If she fell into that trap now, she¡¯d never escape. Roman¡¯s body radiated warmth, perfect for curling into and falling asleep against, but mornings with Roman were too rare. She¡¯d like to spend this one doing something other than sleeping.


    ¡°C¡¯mon, I¡¯m finally free of Edith! We should celebrate.¡±


    ¡°We celebrated plenty last night.¡±


    ¡°Not in all the ways I would have liked,¡± Dinara cooed, running her fingers meaningfully down to his waistband, loving the way his cheeks flushed in response. Between his tossing and turning and the morning¡¯s humidity, his curls were all mussed, falling into his face. Dinara loved seeing him like this, soft and unguarded. She said a quick thanks to Atiuh for the opportunity.


    Roman caught her hand before it could trail any lower. ¡°Make up your mind,¡± he accused, though his smile was fond. ¡°What happened to your breakfast?¡±


    ¡°That can wait, don¡¯t you think?¡±


    ¡°And your adventure?¡±


    ¡°Forget it. Let¡¯s stay in.¡±


    Roman laughed. ¡°But now I want to know what you had in mind.¡±


    ¡°Ugh.¡± Dinara quickly wracked her brain for something. As she looked around the room, her gaze fell on an opera mask hanging on the wall: a token from her first leading role. ¡°Do you remember what you said the first time you saw our costume trailer?¡±


    ¡°...No,¡± Roman admitted, after a moment¡¯s thought.


    Dinara rolled her eyes. ¡°Your memory is really awful sometimes, Roman. You said you wanted to wear one of the demon masks somewhere and play tricks on passersby.¡±


    Roman was silent for so long Dinara almost accused him of falling back asleep, but then a slow, mischievous smile spread across his face. ¡°That doesn¡¯t sound like something I¡¯d say, does it?¡±


    Dinara gave him a flat look.


    ¡°Wouldn¡¯t you get in trouble?¡± he asked.


    ¡°With Cahrn? That¡¯s never stopped us before. Besides, after last night¡¯s show, he adores me. If he catches us, we can just say we were advertising.¡±


    Roman felt around the bedside table until he found Dinara¡¯s watch, checking it as he sat up. A small furrow appeared between his brows, but it was gone before Dinara could even comment, buried under a yawn. ¡°It¡¯s a compelling proposition. We can discuss this adventure of yours more while I cook.¡±


    Two hours later found them outside, costume crates open all around them. Explaining their plan to the costuming assistant hadn¡¯t gone over well, but Roman had complimented the taurel she was pressing and they¡¯d bonded over the language of flowers ¡ª something Dinara didn¡¯t realize he even knew ¡ª and she¡¯d agreed to look the other way. She¡¯d even let them haul the crates back to Dinara¡¯s trailer, at Roman¡¯s insistence.


    ¡°What about this one?¡± Roman asked for the twelfth time. He pulled on a flat, wooden mask depicting an open-mouthed face.


    Dinara snorted when she saw it. ¡°If you¡¯re looking to scare people, that won¡¯t do. It¡¯s sky blue, Roman. It¡¯s smiling.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s snarling!¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s from one of our children¡¯s shows.¡±


    Roman¡¯s hands dropped from where he¡¯d been holding them up like claws. The mask tipped to one side as he tilted his head. ¡°The general public doesn¡¯t know that, do they? It could still be scary if you weren¡¯t expecting it.¡±


    ¡°Maybe.¡± Dinara, who¡¯d had a mask picked out for half an hour while Roman flitted between options, pulled hers on. It had a long, wrinkled snout and protrusive brows that formed shadows around the eyes. She took a step back, into the path, so Roman could see it better. ¡°But it¡¯s nothing like mine.¡±


    Roman stared from behind his mask. ¡°You might scare people too well with that one, Di.¡±


    Before Dinara could respond, a blur with blonde hair rounded the corner and collided with Dinara. Dinara shrieked as they hit the ground in a tangle of limbs, the blur cursing and apologizing in the same breath. It was just a girl, Dinara saw when she untangled herself. An orinian girl. What was she doing here? Dinara opened her mouth to ask, but when the girl saw her mask, she shrieked in return.


    ¡°Wait, it¡¯s only a costume!¡± Roman said. Dinara hastily lifted her mask so the girl could see.


    The girt fell back on her ass in the dirt with a winded huff. ¡°Oh,¡± she said. Before she could say anything else, though, a whistle sounded down the street and she cast a fearful look in its direction.


    Without hesitation, Roman kicked the ends of her dark cloak so it covered her tail, grabbed a helmet out of the closest crate, and dropped it onto her head. Only moments later, before the girl even had time to react, four men on horseback turned onto the path, their badges and helmets identifying them as Gallontean police. The girl tensed, but Roman subtly held out a hand, urging her to be still.


    ¡°What is this? What¡¯s with the masks?¡± one of the approaching officers called.


    Roman lifted his mask and Dinara noticed the orinian girl give a startled jolt. ¡°Officers,¡± Roman greeted cheerfully. ¡°Surely, you know where you are? This is the Webhon Players¡¯ camp; we¡¯re a travelling troupe from Adondai. Five shows a week at the Rinehart Festival and one for Unity, in fact, just last night.¡±


    That got the officers to lift their hands from the clubs at their sides, at least. Dinara pushed herself to her feet; she didn¡¯t know what Roman was doing, but she trusted him. For now, she¡¯d play along. ¡°We were just taking stock of some old costumes,¡± she said. ¡°Is there a problem, officers?¡±


    ¡°We heard screams,¡± said another officer, watching them through narrowed eyes.


    ¡°Ah, sorry to be a bother. Ms. Condeh here found a spider when she opened a crate and isn¡¯t fond of the creatures. Rest assured, I¡¯ve since eliminated the treat,¡± Roman said with a winning smile. Dinara looked down at her feet, as if ashamed. Fortunately, the officers seemed to buy it.


    ¡°Please keep it down in the future,¡± said the first officer. ¡°Say, did anyone suspicious come through here?¡±


    Roman casually positioned himself in front of the orinian. ¡°Suspicious how?¡±


    ¡°We¡¯re looking for an orinian fugitive. She¡¯s very dangerous.¡±The author''s tale has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.


    While Dinara twitched at the word ¡°dangerous,¡± Roman didn¡¯t so much as blink. ¡°I did see someone running toward the festival grounds. Now that you mention it, they might¡¯ve had a tail,¡± he said.


    Without so much as a thank you, the officers took off again. Roman watched them go with a dark expression, but he brightened when he turned back to his companions. ¡°There. That¡¯ll keep them busy.¡±


    ¡°Are you quite sure about this?¡± Dinara asked Roman. The officers were long gone, but she still whispered.


    Roman gestured at the orinian, who still sat on the ground with the helmet over her head, watching them. ¡°She clearly needs help.¡±


    ¡°They called her dangerous!¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m right here,¡± the girl pointed out, her voice muffled by papier-mach¨¦. ¡°But thank you, also.¡±


    ¡°She¡¯s an orinian in Unity¡¯s capital city. It¡¯s not hard to figure out what happened, so be charitable,¡± Roman said, making Dinara¡¯s cheeks heat up. She felt like a child, scolded for misbehaving. Roman didn¡¯t notice her reaction, though, laughing as he finally took in the girl¡¯s helmet. It was round, painted like a baby¡¯s head with rosy cheeks and a single curl on its forehead. ¡°That thing¡¯s scarier than both of our masks combined, Di. What show is that for?¡±


    ¡°Roman,¡± Dinara chided.


    ¡°Roman? Roman...Hallisey?¡± the girl suddenly asked.


    ¡°You know him? Roman, do you know her?¡± Dinara asked.


    ¡°I don¡¯t need to know her to hate Gallontea¡¯s cops,¡± Roman said brightly. When the girl started to lift her helmet, he stopped her. ¡°Not here. You¡¯re not going to hurt either of us, right?¡±


    The girl violently shook her head, the helmet rocking.


    ¡°There. See?¡± he said to Dinara. ¡°She means no harm. This is Dinara Condeh, and you are...?¡±


    ¡°Um,¡± the orinian said, staring at Roman. Only her eyes were visible behind the helmet, wide and unblinking. When Roman held a hand out, though, she let him pull her up. ¡°Maebhe.¡±


    ¡°Maebhe...¡± Dinara repeated thoughtfully. She gasped. ¡°You¡¯re Gareth and Isobel¡¯s missing orinian! When I saw your tail, I thought...but what a coincidence! Maebhe Cairn, right?¡±


    ¡°Di?¡± Roman asked, brows furrowed.


    ¡°You might¡¯ve been elsewhere when the Ranulfs told me about her. I was so drunk at that point, I almost forgot.¡±


    Dinara was so excited that she didn¡¯t notice Maebhe backing slowly away. Roman noticed, though, and caught the girl by the wrist before she could get far. ¡°Where are you going?¡± he asked.


    Maebhe tried to pry his hand free, frowning when she couldn¡¯t get so much as a finger to budge. ¡°I appreciate the help, but I really shouldn¡¯t have come here.¡±


    ¡°But the Ranulfs will be so happy to hear you¡¯re okay! They¡¯ve been looking everywhere for you,¡± Dinara said.


    Maebhe struggled harder against Roman¡¯s grip. ¡°All the more reason for me to go.¡±


    ¡°But they only want to help!¡±


    At that, Maebhe stilled. Satisfied she wouldn¡¯t run, Roman released her. ¡°Let us get you some food and a change of clothes. We¡¯ve got bacon, eggs, and toast inside. You can decide what you want to do once you¡¯ve eaten.¡±


    Maebhe¡¯s stomach decided for her, choosing that moment to grumble loudly. Her tail swished beneath her cloak, which was slightly too long for her. ¡°I¡¯ll take the toast and eggs, but I don¡¯t eat meat.¡±


    While Roman stuffed the costumes back into the crates, Dinara coaxed Maebhe into the trailer, served up food, and drew her a bath. Aside from her cloak, the girl¡¯s clothes were a mess ¡ª dirty, wrinkled, torn. She had nearly a foot on the petite Dinara, so they had to give her a set of Roman¡¯s, instead. Finally, though, when Maebhe sat on the mattress with wet hair, too-long trousers, and jam on her fingers, she began to open up.


    ¡°We had bad luck on our way here, ran into that group of officers. There were more of them, to start, but the boy helping me drew their attention so I could run,¡± she said, briefly meeting Roman¡¯s gaze before settling on Dinara, instead. ¡°I hope he¡¯s safe.¡±


    ¡°Let¡¯s worry about you, first,¡± Roman said. ¡°It sounds like that¡¯s what he would¡¯ve wanted.¡±


    Dinara stared at him. They were dealing with police and fugitives, but he didn¡¯t seem shaken at all. He¡¯d lied to the police like it was nothing. The fact that Maebhe had been coming here, looking for him, specifically, didn¡¯t seem to surprise him in the slightest. ¡°Wait, but who was he?¡± she asked. ¡°Why¡¯d he bring you here? How did you know Roman¡¯s name?¡±


    Maebhe glanced at Roman again, quickly and then away. ¡°His name was Aleksir. I met him and...his friend last night. They said Roman could help me save my brother,¡± she explained. When Roman didn¡¯t object, she added, ¡°I don¡¯t know how much Gareth told you, but my brother and his fiancee were arrested. I, uh, thought Gareth was working with Unity, so I ran from him. Isn¡¯t he a Magistrate?¡±


    Roman shook his head. ¡°Just the brother of one. He¡¯s naive, but a decent fellow overall. If he already knows you and wants to help, we should start with him. Getting your family free through the proper channels would be ideal.¡±


    Dinara didn¡¯t want to know what improper channels might look like. Truth told, she didn¡¯t want to know anything more at all. ¡°Roman, this is bigger than us. Maybe we should just take her to Gareth, let him help instead.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s bigger than you, Di,¡± Roman said, again with that tone ¡ª neither unkind nor condescending, more like the gentle scolding an elder might give to a child. But they were the same age, for Atiuh¡¯s sake! Dinara snapped her mouth shut and glared at him, but he crouched in front of Maebhe and didn¡¯t see.


    ¡°If you want my help, you need to tell me everything. Start from the beginning,¡± he said.


    And so Maebhe did, starting with her family¡¯s arrival in Gallontea, covering their arrest the day before and the way she tracked the police back to Unity¡¯s Island, ending with the morning¡¯s adventure with the boy named Aleksir. It sounded like the beginning of a fiction, a show the Players might put on.


    ¡°The Oracle of Damael,¡± Dinara breathed, forgetting to be angry. ¡°What would one of the Oracle¡¯s agents know about Roman? ¡±Are you sure they worked for her? Really?¡±


    Maebhe shrugged. ¡°They had the tattoo.¡±


    ¡°Tattoo?¡± Dinara asked.


    Maebhe brightened pointing to her long ear. A line of delicate gold earrings hung off it. ¡°Don¡¯t you know the legends? The Oracle¡¯s agents all have her sign tattooed behind her ear, because their Lady hears all. If you see the purple ink, you know you can trust them,¡± Maebhe explained.


    ¡°The pigment can only be made in Damael,¡± Roman explained, not meeting Dinara¡¯s eye. To Maebhe, he explained, ¡°Di is from the north. The Oracle¡¯s agents rarely make it up that far, so they don¡¯t have much cause to discuss her.¡±


    Dinara was staring at him again. ¡°Roman, you have a purple symbol tattooed behind your ear.¡±


    Roman winced. He had the gall to look surprised that Dinara knew, as if she hadn¡¯t seen every inch of him. And as if it would free him from the conversation, he covered the spot with his hand. That explained how this Aleksir knew him ¡ª or knew of him, at the least. Dinara couldn¡¯t believe it. An agent of the Oracle? Roman? The Players liked to speculate about his past, inventing outlandish theories, but this was too fantastical.


    Maebhe watched them through her long bangs. Cautiously, she asked, ¡°So you work for her, too? Did you ever meet Egil?¡±


    Roman scoffed. ¡°Hm? How old do you think I am?¡±


    Maebhe stuck her tongue out in answer, clearly an instinctual response to his tone. It reminded Dinara of her younger brothers. ¡°You say that, but why¡¯d Aleksir introduce his friend as Egil?¡± Maebhe asked, giving him a pointed look.


    Briefly, very briefly, Roman stilled. Then, he laughed. ¡°And you believed that?¡±


    Maebhe shrugged. ¡°Not really. I just wanted to see your reaction. Either way, the guy seemed confident you could help me, so I chose to trust him. Did I waste my time?¡±


    Roman let out a slow breath. ¡°You didn¡¯t,¡± he said.


    He said it so confidently, so seriously, that for a moment Dinara didn¡¯t even recognize the man before her. Where was her sweet, silly Roman, who flirted and teased and joked? Their trailer, normally so roomy, felt too small to hold the magnitude of this stranger. She would believe this person knew the Oracle. She¡¯d even believe he knew Egil.


    But it was Roman. Wasn¡¯t it? In the end, she forced herself to look away. ¡°Your story matches Gareth¡¯s, so I have to believe it, but I don¡¯t understand. What does Unity think one girl is going to do?¡± she asked.


    ¡°Protest, fight, spy, sabotage,¡± Roman said, ticking off possibilities on his fingers. When he looked at her, she had to fight not to shudder. His eyes were a flat black, colder than Dinara had ever seen them. They pierced through her and past her, somehow making her feel both seen and invisible. ¡°Realistically, they don¡¯t think she¡¯s going to do anything, they just don¡¯t want her or her family here ¡ª because having her here reminds Gallonteans that orinians are people, too.¡±


    Maebhe¡¯s lip wobbled. Seeing it, Roman blinked, eyes refocusing. By the time he opened his mouth to ask if she was okay, Maebhe had begun to cry.


    ¡°Look what you did!¡± Dinara accused, hurrying to sit beside Maebhe on the bed.


    Though she tried to hold it back, Maebhe was a messy crier, and the harder she fought it the messier she got, blotchy and snotty and wet. Horrified, Dinara rubbed her back in soothing circles and Roman scrambled for a handkerchief. ¡°Come now, Ms. Cairn,¡± Roman said gently. ¡°I¡¯ll help you and your family. Please don¡¯t cry.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m not doing it on purpose!¡± Maebhe said, crying even harder. She scrubbed at her face. ¡°Call me Maebhe.¡±


    ¡°Maebhe,¡± Roman agreed. Desperately, he asked, ¡°Would you like more toast?¡±


    Maebhe nodded. It seemed to help, too.


    ¡°Roman,¡± Dinara started after Maebhe had been fed. She sat beside Dinara sadly eating toast and occasionally hiccupping, tears more or less dried. ¡°What about Unity?¡±


    ¡°Kono ta¡¯hy lehah,¡± she said, switching to sheman so Maebhe wouldn¡¯t be able to understand. She wouldn¡¯t give the girl any more cause to cry, if she could help it, but she had to voice her concerns.


    Roman switched as well, though his own phrasing was halting and messy. ¡°They¡¯ll kill me if they catch me. But they have to catch me.¡± He frowned. ¡°How would I say that as a...conditional?¡± he asked, switching back to the standardized ellesian for the word ¡°conditional.¡±


    ¡°You want to ask me about grammar? Roman, I don¡¯t care if you work for the Oracle of Damae. You can¡¯t smuggle fugitives out of the capital city, innocent or not. Unity will hate you.¡±


    ¡°Good.¡±


    ¡°What is wrong with you?¡± Dinara hissed. ¡°Who are you?¡±


    Irritation flitting briefly across his features, Roman shook his head and switched back to ellesian for good. ¡°Dinara, I¡¯m not asking you to join me, but I will get Maebhe and her family home.¡±


    ¡°Tell me something true,¡± Dinara said, still in sheman. ¡°Tell me one honest thing and I¡¯ll help.¡±


    Roman regarded her for a long moment. Dinara thought that was pity in the set of his brow, but there was nothing at all in his flat black eyes. ¡°I know you¡¯re worried,¡± he said, ¡°But I have the skill to do this. That is the truth.¡±


    Dinara released the breath she¡¯d been holding. ¡°Fine,¡± she said.


    ¡°Let¡¯s visit Gareth, first,¡± Roman said, turning to Maebhe. ¡°If we¡¯re lucky, he can use those family connections of his to free Kieran and Ide. If not, I know another way.¡±


    ¡°Visit? Don¡¯t you have his phone number?¡± Dinara asked.


    ¡°No, but I know where they¡¯re staying. If we go now¡ª¡±


    ¡°I have their phone number,¡± Dinara said. ¡°Isobel gave it to me last night.¡±


    Roman blinked, then his expression thawed. His smile was almost the one Dinara remembered. ¡°I could kiss you, Di. Maebhe, give us an hour. The phone¡¯s across camp, but Dinara will be back as soon as we can.¡±


    ¡°O-okay,¡± Maebhe said, but they were already gone, Roman dragging Dinara off faster than she could keep up. To the now-empty trailer, Maebhe announced, ¡°I¡¯ll just wait here, then.¡±