Quaint Escapes for Traitorous Bastards Ch. 16 Pt. 1

 Notes: It's all going to come together, darlins...

Title: Quaint Escapes for Traitorous Bastards Ch. 16 Pt. 1

 

***

 

Chapter Sixteen, Part One

Photo by Scott Eckersley

 

Threading

 

Hiram was starting to get concerned by the time Letty’s knock finally sounded against the front door. He’d assumed she’d be here as bright and early as she normally was, ready to hound him through the second half of his first cup of tea and whatever he’d scraped together for breakfast, then out the door like it was a Market Day. The fact that he had time for not one but two full cups of tea, a piece of toasted bread with soft, melting sheep’s cheese slathered on top, and a full groom of Knight left him wondering if he needed to go and get her.

But then came the knock, and Hiram exhaled his anxiety and went to open it. He found himself staring at the entire gaggle of children from Letty’s household—everyone but Jem was there, from ten-year-old Millie, quiet and dark-haired, to the frowning face of seven-year-old Clyde, to Rickie, all the way down to Baby Davey, who was just coming up on one, if Hiram remembered correctly. He blinked in confusion and looked at Letty, who was holding the baby with a determined smile on her face.

More of a manic grin, honestly. She was smiling so stiffly and fiercely that it had to hurt her cheeks a bit.

“Good morning, Master Emblic!” she said, too bright and too loud. Oh, something was wrong, something was decidedly wrong, but he couldn’t ask her about it in front of all her siblings. Not when she was trying so hard to make them think everything was all right. “Pa gave us all the day off to go with you to see the Thread. Isn’t that lovely?”

“Utterly lovely,” he said. He meant it, too. Anything that got all those kids out of that miserable house was a good thing, and he’d always been fond of children. He glanced down at Rickie and smiled, and was relieved when the little boy stepped inside like he didn’t have a concern in the world. It was like a spell broke, and the rest of them relaxed enough to come inside when he stepped back as well. “I was just finishing breakfast, but there’s some extra if anyone is hungry.”

Clyde sniffed the air. “Issat Fremont cheese?”

“Fresh from the last market,” Hiram said.

“I want some—ow!” Clyde rubbed his shoulder where Letty whapped him. “He asked!”

“It doesn’t matter if he asked, you mind your manners,” she scolded him. “And we should really get going if we want to make it to the town square before all the fun is over.”

She had a point, but Hiram wasn’t about to let this little flock of children go hungry. “The bread will be stale after this morning,” he said, pointing to the large loaf on his countertop. “You’re doing me a favor helping me eat it, honestly.”

Letty rolled her eyes but accepted it. “I’ll cook it up, though,” she said challengingly. “Otherwise this one will hound you for more and more cheese until there’s none left for anyone else.” She went to hand the baby to Millie, who Hiram noticed was staring longingly at Knight in his bed in the corner.

“Allow me,” Hiram said, reaching out for the little tyke. “I promise not to drop him,” he added when Letty hesitated, which made her scoff and her siblings giggle. “And you’re welcome to go play with Knight,” he added to Millie. “I’m sure he’s missed you.”

She just nodded, a blush flooding her cheeks, then hurried over to the corner. Letty started cooking, Clyde stayed with her to help cut bread and “inspect the cheese,” and Hiram sat down in his chair with Baby Davey on one hip and looked around with a helpless smile. It was nice, having so many people in his home. He’d never been one to isolate himself, always part of a crowd back when he was Xerome, but Lollop had been different. Maybe once all the fuss over the damn Tower was over he could change that more permanently, reach out to Avery more often, perhaps even bring him home and—

Rickie tugged the edge of his tunic with one little hand. “Esme?” he whispered.

“Outside,” Hiram whispered back. “Hunting, I think.” She’d mentioned something about being peckish last night, not in the mood for her usual prey, and Hiram hadn’t seen her since. He assumed she was off stalking a wild boar, perhaps even a wolf—just not another Imperial messenger, for the sake of all that’s Holy.

“Oh.” Rickie looked a bit sad. Hiram cast around for an idea that would liven him up, and—

“What do you think about bringing Knight to Lollop with us?” he asked.

Four pairs of eyes immediately turned his way, while Baby Davey happily gummed his own fist. “What do you mean?” Letty asked a bit warily.

“Just as an outing for him,” Hiram soothed. “Something he might find a bit more interesting than another day inside with me or limited to the garden. Plus, that way he’d get to spend some more time with you all. I know he’s missed you.” He meant it, too. Knight didn’t pine, precisely; not in the way a horse or dog might. But there were times when he lay down heavily on Hiram’s feet and refused to get up, or when he’d shove his face into Hiram’s hip and sigh, his ears low and droopy. Hiram knew the signs of a longing heart well enough to recognize it in others.

“He needs a harness of some kind,” Letty said after a moment.

“I can make one!” Millie stood up eagerly, finally meeting Hiram’s eyes. “If you’ve some scrap cloth or extra ribbon, Master Emblic, I can make a harness and a lead for him.”

Hiram would rip one of his shirts into scraps right now if it meant keeping the children happy. Fortunately… “I’ve got ample scraps from restocking my jars,” he said, pointing to a basket on the bottom level of the cabinet. “See if anything in there suits. If not, we’ll figure it out.”

“Finally!” Clyde exclaimed. Hiram turned to watch him snatch a piece of bread out of his sister’s hand and begin to scarf it down, despite how the cheese on top still steamed. “Ow—um—s’goo, Le’y.”

“You’re such a little barbarian,” Letty said, pushing her brother away from the stove. “Eat slower so you don’t choke!”

It took another half an hour for all the food to be consumed, the harness and lead to be made, and the wagon to be tied up to Mule, who seemed delighted to be pulling a load of children around. He even let Millie give his nose a tentative kiss and put his bridle on, while Rickie stood a few feet away with Knight frolicking by his side.

“I think she might be a good candidate for the Thread,” Letty whispered to Hiram as they watched. “As a Druid or a Ranger. She’s the best with the rabbits by far; they always calm down when she’s around.”

“Hmm. She’s a bit young yet,” Hiram said.

“Younger is better than being too old, like me.”

Who told you that? Letty would be on the older side for an initiate, but she was far from aged out of the Thread’s considerations. Hiram saw the sheen of tears in her eyes and laid a concerned hand on her shoulder. “Letty, did something happen at home?”

Letty bit her lower lip and wiped her eyes. “No, nothing. Everything’s fine, it’s like it always is. Pa’s just…” She heaved a shuddering breath. “It’s fine. Let’s go.”

They went, trundling down the road together. The children were relaxed and merry, for the most part, but Hiram could feel the tension in them ratchet up as they went by their dark, silent house. What had happened in there? Where was their mother? What had their father done?

Hiram pushed aside his curiosity as they reached the edge of Lollop. Now was a time for good cheer and celebration; Threads were about more than finding appropriate candidates to serve the Gods with their sparks. They were mobile festivals, moments of connection and outreach, a “thread” to tie the outer reaches of the Vordurian Empire back to its heart in Galenish. They were times of music and celebration, fun and exciting spells, animal showmanship, and healing charity. They were delightful…or, they should be.

As they entered the town square, Hiram immediately determined that this had to be the dullest, most downhearted depiction of a Thread he had ever witnessed himself. There was no music from the Bard, no bright and shining spells from the Wizard…in fact, it took a moment for him to even tell which member of the Thread the wizard was, hunched in front of a ledger as she ticked her way through numbers and barely even looked at the children in front of her.

There was the Healer’s cart, as well as a few acolytes of Melemor talking to the already chosen initiates gathered in front of it, but no full Healer. The only one making any sort of effort was the Druid, introducing children to his enormous stag and letting them greet the animal one-by-one. Over by the rest of the caravan, ensuring the horses were fed and watered, was the Guide, her lips drawn into a thin, terse line.

It was more than dull, it was downright disheartening. But what could Hiram do about it? He couldn’t confront them about not doing their Imperial duty, not if he didn’t want to draw attention to himself, and he couldn’t pick up the slack on their behalf.

He had underestimated the absolute outrage that the girl at his side was capable of. Letty had come expecting something amazing, something to delight her younger siblings with and take her mind off whatever heaviness was weighing her down, and she was brutally disappointed.

Letty wasn’t the sort of girl to let such a disappointment stand.

“What…how…this isn’t right!” she burst out, anger and indignation clear in her ringing voice. A full half the people in the square turned to stare at her as Letty got down from the cart, fire in her eyes. “Where’s the Mayor? Where’s our Chief Healer? Where are all the people? Why are you doing it this way?”

It was like the Gods themselves had suddenly cracked open the clouds in Hiram’s mind and laid out a way for the future to unfold as he’d hoped. “Why don’t you bring it up with that lady over there?” he said, pointing at the Guide. “She’s the one who leads the Thread.”

Letty set her jaw. “I will!” She marched off, and Hiram held in a smile as he felt the heat from Phlox flare for a moment. It was as good an opening as he could give her, and hopefully the Guide would feel the full effects of Letty’s ability to turn the tide in her favor.

The rest of the children scrambled out of the cart, and Millie handed Knight’s lead over to Clyde and took the reins from Hiram. “I’ll put him in Master Jonn’s stable,” she murmured. “There’s no room out here, and he won’t mind.”

“Thank you,” Hiram said.

“I wanna go see the deer,” Clyde said, and grabbed Rickie by the hand. A second later Hiram was alone except for Baby Davey, who was still gumming on a piece of apple from home.

“Well.” Hiram boosted the child a bit higher on his hip. “Let’s see if we can’t find some more people to help liven this place up.” Such as the missing Bard. Perhaps they’d gone into the Yew Brew for a quick pint.

It was as good a place to start as any.

 

Quaint Escapes for Traitorous Bastards: Interlude: Ticking Clocks Pt. One

 Notes: Picking up the plottiness after this, we're almost there!

Title:  Interlude: Ticking Clocks Pt. One

***

Three Days Out

 

“We’ve no room for another at this point.”

“Filian, come now.”

“I’m serious!” The lanky Healer paced back and forth in the small amount of fireside he’d been allotted, all of the representatives of the Thread come together late that night to discuss the next part of their route, as they always did. And as usual, whenever Filian was part of their number, the discussion revolved around scarcity. Of resources, of time, of his own sanity. He was the worst person the Temple of Bayd could have sent to represent them, as far as Wynne was concerned.

But then, they rarely remembered to ask for her input.

“We’ve ten initiates already. Ten! And only three of us to take them on!”

“Four,” Trew, a half-troll Druid from the northern mountains, grunted taciturnly. He was smaller than his trollish kin, but just as sparing with his words. “If Robb would bother.”

Five, Wynne thought about saying, but in the end she didn’t bother. Alissa would steer them back on track.

Eventually.

Robb, their resident Bard for this season, strummed a chord on his pear-shaped, five-stringed lute. The sound was pleasing, the hand that made it smooth and elegant. Robb was as sleek and handsome as any Bard could hope to be, but with even less motivation than most of them walked around with. And that was saying something, as far as Wynne was concerned. “It’s not my fault none of the tykes show the slightest hint of musical ability,” Robb said carelessly.

“There have been several excellent singers that—”

“Holy Razomme  doesn’t need a choir to sing her praises,” Robb interjected. “She needs pious and loyal musicians who can master every aspect of how music touches the soul of the beholder. No one has been competent enough to consider on her behalf.”

“You haven’t exactly given many of them a fair chance.” Alissa finally looked up from where she’d been writing in her latest grimoire, monocle making one of her eyes appear enormous. “Your auditions last less than a minute apiece on average.”

Robb smiled at her. The expression was somehow both charming and slightly pointed at the same time. “Alissa, darling. Are you monitoring me so closely because of a hidden interest in my unworthy self?”

As always when Robb flirted with her, Alissa made a face like she wanted to vomit. Everyone knew that sort of attention bothered her immensely, but Robb just had to keep pushing it. “Not in the slightest. I’m keeping statistics on our practices so that I can compare them to previous Threads.”

Trew huffed and scooped up a spoonful of his mushroom stew. Next to him, his stag companion nudged him with one enormous, seven-point antler until he put the bowl down for the beast to help himself from. “The High Priest of the Pantheon in Galenish only wants that so he can try to justify givin’ us even fewer funds next year.”

Alissa shrugged. “It’s my responsibility to keep the records regardless.” She frowned. “Filian has a point, though. We’re on the verge of being overextended already, and we’ve two towns left to go.”

“Garrison doesn’t really count,” Filian said immediately. “Anyone we find there we can remand to the custody of the local temple. They have representatives of every denomination there, and our recommendation carries enough weight to give a potential initiate a leg up, at least. Lollop is the problem.” His voice took on a bit of a whine. “Can’t we just go around it?”

It would be highly out of the ordinary to skip a town on their route, but frankly this had been one of the least enjoyable Threads Wynne had ever participated in. She’d long considered leading their caravan one of the highlights of her year, but this trip was straining her goodwill in a way she’d never experienced before. Everyone had a shorter temper, and even the joy of the children who’d been chosen had worn away faster than usual as they wound their way across the countryside. It should have been fun, but more and more it simply felt like another chore.

Perhaps I’m simply getting too old for this. Maybe we should skip Lollop.

“We can’t skip Lollop!”

Everyone turned and stared at Robb, who stared right back, shameless in the wake of his outburst. “Our duty requires us to follow the official route,” he said. “We can’t abandon it simply because we’re a bit strapped. It would be negligence.”

Filian gripped the edges of his sleeves and pulled disconsolately. “Why do you care? You haven’t even found an initiate yet! Odds are good you won’t find one there either, so why—”

“And what will happen if we avoid Lollop and then get audited at the end of this?”

Ah. Good point. Wynne was a bit abashed she hadn’t thought of that. The threat of an Imperial audit was almost a given these days, considering how money-pinching they were being. If they skipped a town, they’d be required to pay back some of their already meager funds. They were getting a bit tight on supplies, but…

“We’ll take our normal path,” Wynne said, effectively shutting everyone else up. They couldn’t argue with her final decision; she was the Guide, after all. “With a stop in Lollop. The Gods don’t give us more than we can handle.”

Robb smiled at her, his pale, shining eyes reflecting the campfire flames almost as brightly as a mirror. “As you say, Wynne. Just as you say.”

 

One day out

 

Pa was yelling again. Rickie liked it better when Pa was quiet, because it meant he could walk across the middle of the floor without getting something thrown at him or being shouted at for being in the way. Rickie had learned to only ever walk across the middle of the room when Pa was asleep, or at the bar, or if Baby Davey needed someone to protect him.

“—keep wasting your time with that bastard Emblic, he’s no good—”

“Pa, he paid you in gold for my time! I still owe him a week, I can’t walk off for no good reason!”

“Even more suspicious! What kind of man pays for a useless village girl like you for so long, eh? Are you bedding him, then?”

“No, Pa!”

Last week, Baby Davey was working on crawling, and he decided to crawl across the middle of the floor while Mama was at the oven and Pa was asleep in his chair. Rickie had sat down in the shadows on the side of the fireplace and whispered to him that he was a good baby and held his arms out to beckon him close, but he’d knocked over the poker when he reached out toward Davey, and Pa had woken up. He’d seen Baby Davey and thought he’d made the noise and been real mad, and he’d grabbed the poker and Mama had screamed but she was too far away to help. So Rickie had crawled over to Baby Davey and covered him up himself before the poker could hit him, because Davey was just a baby.

It had hurt, but Rickie could take one hit. The next one hurt worse, but then Mama had been there, scooping both of them up and putting them in Millie’s arms and sending them all outside while Pa raged, and Rickie had left Davey with Millie and run into the forest, and that had been the first time Esme found Rickie crying.

Esme didn’t ask him what he’d broken or yell at him for running away, she just curled her long, furry body around his and licked the side of his face, then purred in his ear, “What mends the cracks in bone and sinew alike? Time.” All of a sudden Rickie’s back had stopped hurting, and the hitch in his breathing evened out, and then he was nothing but warm and tired and happy in Esme’s embrace.

“Esme,” he’d whispered, wrapping his arms around her neck and nuzzling into her coat. She licked him again, her tongue somehow both gentle and rough on his skin.

“Yes, cub?”

“You found me.”

Esme laughed. “I always find you, little cub.”

Yes, she did. Rickie looked up at Esme, at her eyes that shined like emeralds and her stern, human face that held a kitty cat’s tongue, and the many fangs in her smiling mouth, and his heart filled with love for her. She was as dear to him as Mama, as Baby Davey, as Letty. “Esme,” Rickie told her, “you’re my best friend.”

Esme went still for a moment, then bent her head so that it rested on top of his. “I am as ancient as the deserts, old enough to remember grains of sand when they were still rocks,” she murmured. “I am the Shayin, the Glorious Burning Desert Star, mistress of the oases and prowler along the sacred path. I am a power in this world, and I have learned at my peril what it means to have friends. And you,” she turned and kissed the top of his head, “are only the second person ever bold enough to befriend me.

“You are as my own dear cub, Rickie, and I shall ensure no harm touches you from this day forward.”

“Mm.” He rubbed his face on her shoulder. “Okay.”

Esme had just laughed again.

Pa was still yelling at Letty. He yelled at her a lot, more than anyone else. He never yelled at Rickie anymore; he barely even noticed he was there. Rickie liked that. He wished he could make Letty invisible too.

“Tomorrow’s your last day in that man’s company,” Pa announced, shaking one of his thick fingers in Letty’s face. “The last one, you hear me? I won’t have you be unsellable because no one trusts your maidenhead to be intact.”

Letty’s voice broke. “I’m not—Pa, I’m not for sale. I’m—I’ll keep helping you and Ma with the rabbits, and keep the house up, and look after the other kids, and—”

“For now,” Pa said menacingly. “Better work hard here, girl, or I’ll start asking about bride prices and I won’t be choosy about it. Understand?”

Rickie watched Letty shrink in on herself. “I understand.”

“Good.” Pa tossed his cup at her, sneering when she almost fumbled it. “Take the rest of these brats with you to watch that spectacle tomorrow. Your ma has a lot to do here, and it’ll be easier with everyone out from underfoot.”

“Yes, Pa.”

“I’m off to the pub.” He finally left, and Rickie watched his biggest sister sink down to the floor, face desolate, eyes brimming with tears.

He went over to her and climbed into her lap, wrapped his arms around her neck, and said, “Don’t worry. Esme will help you, too.”

Letty just cried louder.

Huh. Rickie would just have to convince Esme to show her.

 

Quaint Escapes for Traitorous Bastards: Interlude: Ticking Clocks Pt. One

Notes: Wowza, plot actually starting to coalesce! That doesn't mean we're close to the end, but we're not far from it either, if you get my drift.

Title: Quaint Escapes for Traitorous Bastards: Interlude: Ticking Clocks Pt. One 

 

***

 

Interlude: Ticking Clocks Pt. One

 

Photo by Victoria Chernitsova

Twelve Days Out

 

It was odd to feel young again.

Avery wasn’t naïve; he knew in the span of years many races lived, even humans with no magic at all, he was still relatively young. At thirty-five, he was entering what would have been the prime of his career as a rogue: youthful enough to carry all the athleticism of his earlier self, but with the experience to more than carry his weight on any job. If he’d stuck with his last crew, the way he’d once dreamed of doing, he might have been leading those jobs by now. Lissette had been disinclined toward planning, chaos-worshipper that she was, and Brok wasn’t a thinker by nature. He’d made an excellent battering ram, but he preferred to be pointed in a direction and let loose. Whaley had only stayed a few years after Narion’s forced retirement, and Marlon…

Well, Avery in his current incarnation was the result of Marlon’s planning skills.

That’s not fair. He didn’t push you into that trap, you threw yourself into it.

And look what had come of that.

There had been a time when just thinking about Marlon would send Avery into a mixture of loathing and longing that made him nauseous, not to mention disappointed with himself. When he’d come back to Lollop, drawn in by Narion because Narion was the only one left who could tolerate his curse, Avery had expected to fade into a shell of himself until the elf was eventually forced to give him a merciful death. Instead, he’d been drawn out of his self-imposed exile and slowly, painfully learned to reintegrate himself into the rhythms of village life. Becoming a teacher had been a surprise, but it was the great joy of his life these days. Being around the children reminded him what it was to be young and full of hope.

Then he met Hiram, and hope took on a more specific form—along with flutterings of his heart and tremblings of his fingers and the affection of his beast shape, which seemed impossible. And yet Hiram, for all he was just a man, seemed to embody the impossible. He made Avery feel safe just by being with him, even when he was unconscious. There was something steadying about him, a depth of presence that calmed his curse even when it was most rapacious.

It didn’t hurt that he was so handsome. He probably had a decade on Avery, judging from the gray streaks in his long black hair and the speckles in his short, tidy beard. There were deep lines around his mouth and the corners of his eyes that spoke of many years of laughter, and a liveliness and energy that had him carrying himself like a man in his twenties. He was knowledgeable, clearly gifted at his profession, and did well enough for himself to rent the Widow Shore’s house all on his own.

And a unicorn considered him honorable enough to serve, which…perhaps he’d been a soldier once, seen action of some kind or run off poachers or something. It was a mark in his favor that the unicorn used its inherent ability to disguise its species for the sake of staying with Hiram, and yet it would be so much easier to court the man if Avery could go to Hiram’s house.

Court him? No, he wasn’t—what? Visit with him. Spend a bit of time with him. Enjoy his company in private, instead of vying for his time during the brief break Hiram took in the middle of Market Day.

Avery stood back and waited to see if Hiram noticed him as he wrapped of his latest purchase. He’d put himself forward if he had to, but there was a part of him that wanted to be noticed, that wanted to be just as interesting to the other man as he was to Avery.

He wasn’t disappointed. Instead of having to step up, Avery had the pleasure of hearing, “Thank you kindly for the offer, Mistress Dallagh, but my companion for the midday meal has just arrived.” He looked over her shoulder at Avery and smiled, and it took all Avery’s control to keep from blushing.

“Oh.” The woman, a middle-aged widow of substantial property and numerous children, looked sharply disappointed for a moment before her expression brightened again. “I’d be happy to welcome both of you at my home in town for lunch, actually. We could—”

“Forgive me, Mistress,” Hiram interrupted her as he got to his feet, “but I’ve already booked a table nearby for the two of us. Perhaps another day.” He closed up his cabinet of supplies, locked it, then came over and held his arm out to Avery. “Shall we, darling?” he asked, the twinkle of mischief in his eyes so intense that Avery nearly broke out in laughter.

“Of course, dearest,” he managed, and let Hiram lead him through the still-bustling crowd without a single person bumping into them. The earring he wore glittered brightly in the early autumn sunlight, the magpie shine of it the focus for a lot of passersby, but all of Avery’s attention was on the feel of Hiram’s hand on his, warm and calloused and comforting. He felt giddy over it, and even though he knew full well that Hiram hadn’t booked them a table anywhere because he hadn’t known Avery was going to be there, he was—

“Wait,” Avery said as Jonn’s little son Roddie waved them over from the side of the Yew Brew. There was a small staircase on the outside of the tavern that led up under a portico at the apex of the roof, a place that Avery had always assumed belonged to pigeons for the most part. “Did you actually plan something for us?”

“I did,” Hiram confirmed, easy and confident.

Avery was confused. “But you didn’t know I’d come to see you.”

“True, but luck favors the prepared.” Avery blinked at hearing the old rogue’s maxim fall so easily out of Hiram’s mouth. “I wanted to be ready, and when Jonn mentioned to me that he had a private room at the top of the tavern, I thought it would make a novel place for us to pass some time together.”

Avery gaped for a moment. “You…” They got to the top of the building before he had a chance to figure out what he wanted to say. Far from a pigeon-infested mess, he found an open-walled cupola with clean wood floors, a tiny table in the center of the space with two tankards on it, and two tables tucked in at the sides. It was a gnome-sized space, which meant they had to stay hunched over until they sat down, but once they were seated Avery could still stretch his legs out.

Roddie beamed at him. “Da’s got the food all ready! I’ll go get it!” He vanished down the stairs almost faster than Avery could track, leaving him alone with Hiram and a glass of what he detected was fresh-pressed cider. The view was spectacular, a vantage he’d never had on Lollop before, and the company…

“You can be quite astonishing at times,” Avery said quietly.

There were layer’s to Hiram’s smile that Avery knew he didn’t understand. “You’ve no idea,” he said.

Not yet, he didn’t. But Avery intended to.

 

One week out

 

The crystal remained clouded. Despite how strongly Keleyn tapped into it, no matter how deeply connected it was to the essence of his prey—and as a crystal used by the former royal wizard for years, the connection was truly deep—there was no way to pinpoint it. He had a general direction, and despite the bell-like clamor that had arisen a week ago from Xerome’s magic, the intensity of it had subsided just as fast.

The hunt for Xerome, Wizard of the First Order and former Shield of the Vordurian Empure, hadn’t fallen to those who knew him best. His two students had fled the city in opposite directions, one of them leaving a trail of ice, the other of fire. Pursuing them had led to nothing but pain, and after careful scrying it had been shown to be fruitless anyway. He wasn’t with them. No one could ask the vanished princess either, who had been like a daughter to him. Her energy on the ethosphere was so well-obscured that she left no trail at all.

No, the hunt for the traitorous bastard was given to Keleyn Zar instead. A shadow walker by heritage and a wizard by schooling, there were stronger magic users in the service of the emperor, but none of them were better suited to tracking wisps of energy across the ethosphere than him. He was the leader of the emperor’s private police, a man who’d spent the last decade hunting down every charismatic leader who looked to be putting their talents to ill use and ending the threat. He’d handled some of the most powerful people the world had ever seen, and he’d done it through guile, secrets, and the occasional blade emerging from the darkness.

And there was a great deal of darkness ahead of him.

The Tower of Gemmel, hmm?

This place might defy his visions, but it wouldn’t defy his ability to step into it through the shadows. A few more weeks of steady travel and Keleyn would arrive there himself, and see what it was about the place that had brought a man like Xerome out of hiding.

And once he’d satisfied his own curiosity, Keleyn would drag Xerome from the Tower into darkness. The shadow realm held one of the few magics that the wizard had little experience in, and Keleyn knew it like the back of his own eyelids.

He would trap Xerome there and hold him in stasis until Andurion decreed his death. Then there would be a new First Wizard for the empire.

And his name would be Keleyn Zar.