Changeling

(103): Palace

(103): Palace

The graying warden visited them the day after, flanked by four of his associates. His coming had been heralded by a simple knock and nothing else. In fact, Nestra was surprised to see five wardens in full armor queuing through the door and into their merchant suite while downstairs, unpaused music and laughs gave the scene a jarringly comfortable background.

If it were Threshold and five special affairs walked into a hotel lobby, there would be silence. These guys had probably snuck in. The choice of numbers or the fact they were all B-rank was a message in and of itself.

“Princess Makihel,” the older man greeted with a wan smile. “A pleasure to see you well and back with us.”

His elite goons took position around the room with predatory relaxation, with two near the windows and one covering the entrance. The head warden sat in one of the suite’s three simple chairs, Makihel smartly mirroring him. She flexed her mana, starting the magical water heater that would provide for this world’s tea equivalent.

Almost all civilizations enjoyed perfumed hot water, apparently.

“I will admit that we are intrigued by your confidence. And dare I say, your... audacity,” the warden continued in a tone that wasn’t exactly flattering. “The wardens agree to your proposal with some limitations, of course.”

“Of course,” Makihel smoothly replied.

“First, no noble blood may be spilled in your attempt.”

“Naturally,” Makihel replied with a smile like she hadn’t mentioned stabbing Naila on three separate occasions just this morning.

The warden didn’t appear to be convinced.

“Second, I will be supervising the official steps of your proceedings, to limit the number of... impressive reproductions that may be later found in the hands of the undeserving.”

The wardens shuffled while the graying one displayed a measure of annoyance. So he had been ordered to babysit them. And also, Fennek was probably fucked. Nestra wasn’t sure what it implied, only that Makihel didn’t seem too pleased.

She tuned out the conversation, instead looking at Grook. The tall woman stood by Makihel’s side with crossed arms like the living essence of the archetypal constipated bouncer. Faint pulses of mana came from her, Nestra realized... and then she felt others. Grook was using earth mana to gauge the strength of the opposition and one of the wardens was mirroring her. It was the short, stocky woman by the window. It was like playing a game of tag. From the half smiles of the other wardens, they’d noticed too.

At least Grook was doing better if she could engage in subtle spars in a crowded

room.

“Your second would be best suited for the task,” the graying warden finished.

Nestra tried not to blink, or let her ears fall. They were talking about her?

“I agree. If you will allow me a moment to brief her?”

“As long as it is not about her wardrobe...” the warden replied.

Then he and his acolytes vacated the room with B-class speed. Makihel stood up to slam the door shut, shoulders tense under her new deep blue dress.

“I assume you didn’t follow the exchange?” she asked.

This time Nestra’s ears did droop a bit.

“I figured as much. I should give you the whole picture. The wardens are aware that Naila is working with an unsanctioned cabal.”

“What?”

Nestra blinked. They were going to use the cabal angle to take Naila down as it was a big no no to keep pet assassins, or create an assassin guild. The Imperial family wished to keep their monopoly over those.

“But if they know, why are they not doing anything?” she asked.

“The reason why our dearest interlocutor waited before visiting was to check the merit of my accusations with his hierarchy. He had his answer within a day. That means they have no need to verify my claims, which implies there is an ongoing inquiry. As to why the wardens don’t intervene immediately, that is because our opponent is a well-connected noblewoman. Wardens must present believable proof to get someone important indicted. This calls for patience. It also helps that, ah, elaborate schemes can take years to bear fruit. If the wardens know of such a scheme, then the guilty family will be sinking several years of effort and resources into a threat they know rather than one they do not. It may sound strange for a young one such as yourself, but you do, in fact, want your opponent to waste their effort and resources on plots you can shut down at will.”

“Ah ok that makes sense. Hmm. Where were we?”

Nestra had momentarily lost the thread.

“I was telling you that the wardens know about Naila’s plot.”

“Ah, right.”

“They must have decided that I would have a good chance of removing her. Replacing a schemer with someone who owes them a favor can only facilitate their work in the long run, however they are not willing to create more work for themselves.”

“Hence the no violence and no more forgery clauses.”

“Precisely,” Makihel replied, relaxing a little. “So you were paying some attention, although the exact terms are not ‘no forgery’, but rather ‘recovery of said forgeries before they can be used or studied by unauthorized parties’. They merely want to contain our near-legal activities to the current operation, providing the legal framework they need to justify their existence."

“So if they monitor us while we do illegal shit, it’s not technically illegal because they’re monitoring us?”

“Yes,” Makihel concluded, “or in the vernacular, they’re covering their asses.”

“Right.”

“Back to us. The next step in our plan requires the recovery of proof, and I know just where to get it. We will need ingress into Naila’s manor first. This will require an invitation. A ball invitation, to be precise. In order for our associate to, ah, produce such an invitation, we will need imperial paper.”

“Wait. Don’t they have guest lists for balls? Wouldn’t it be better to replace someone instead?”

Makihel half-conceded the point with a side nod.

“This would be relevant in a countryside manor, however the rules in the capital are different due to an abundance of actors who may wish to participate while remaining anonymous. Imagine having your guard refuse the Empress Grand Dowager, a two thousand years old apex fourth ascension warrior? No. Allowance must be made for bored old monsters. The solution was the creation of Imperial paper, a limited supply of magically-stamped white pages only available to the deserving that mark the bearer as important. It can be stolen and repurposed, of course, but the limited supply keeps troubles to a minimum.”

“That is... weird.”

“It makes a lot more sense if you consider that the Heavenly Court’s purpose is to regulate rather than eliminate plotting. Now onto the matter at hand, the old warden is right in the sense that although I am entitled to paper myself, I cannot show myself in the palace for two reasons. One, I should keep my presence hidden for as long as possible. The wardens know I am here, as perhaps do a few other parties, but Naila shouldn’t have as good an intelligence network as the shadowy hand of the Emperor.”

“But they don’t know who I am.”

“Precisely.”

“And the second reason?” Nestra nudged.

“I can’t possibly be seen in public wearing these rags.”

Nestra gave Makihel’s thick blue dress a critical gaze. It was a very nice dress that she was only mildly jealous of. It had also cost most of a C-class core and was currently not enchanted.

“Do not be offended on the tailor's behalf. The dress is fine. It is suitable for a successful provincial merchant, but not for a daughter of the throne visiting the palace. Now, there was one last thing I wanted to warn you about.”

Nestra tilted her head.

“The warden’s last comment hinted that you should keep their uniform on. This is, in fact, a great honor and a mark of appreciation for your scheming. He might be tempted to recruit you, or find out who you are. I do not need to remind you that you must absolutely not let him get too close, or your secret will be out and then we are both dead. The Heavenly Throne will not let anyone associate with reavers twice and live.”

“Oh.”

It was strange moving in a society that was aware of the existence of Aszhii. Her kind remained vanishingly rare, and the heavenlies didn’t systematically hunt them or the covens would have sung their wrath and the capital would be a fucking crater. But they still knew how to look for her. And that was annoying. Nestra almost blamed previous generations of Aszhii for being caught in the open thus making her task more difficult, only to remember she had revealed her existence to mankind in less than six months and with a cooking show. So yeah. Pot kettle.

“Be careful,” Makihel chided. “You carry both of our hopes.”

Nestra nodded, then she changed into her fake uniform before jumping out of the window carrying a file given by Makihel. The older warden walked out from a side alley an instant later as if he’d been on a stroll. Nestra hadn’t felt his mana at all. In fact, she still wasn’t sure what his affinities though his eyes were dark and hooded.

“Here you are. Ready to leave?”

“Let’s go,” Nestra agreed.

He smiled. His steps led her to another back alley that smelled of piss and ambush, but then he pointed down to an even worse sewer entrance. The ladder was suspiciously clean.

She was in the canals. Dim crystals provided the barest hints of illumination while he guided her to a tiny boat. Despite her fear, it didn’t smell bad at all.

“As I insisted on coming, I will do the rowing,” her companion said, then he winked.

Nestra had never seen a heavenly wink before. It was a strange gesture that made her ears tense with nervousness. She might have imagined it though, and the warden didn’t give her time to think.

“So, how do you like the capital so far?” he asked after they were settled.

The friendly tone caught Nestra offguard.

“Ehrm. I think I would enjoy it more if I were not working.”

“Ah, yes,” he added with a smile. “So much to see, hear, and taste. Music festivals every week, art exhibitions every day. Dances. Do you like dances, young one?”

“Only when blades are involved.”

He laughed. It sounded genuine.

“What do I call you?” she asked.

“Ah yes, pardon my manners. We wardens do not give our real names to protect our families. It tends to make introductions awkward. You may call me Spire and as for you, hmmm, you are Young One. For now.”

“Thanks. I guess I need to polish my protocols then,” she replied.

“Do not fret. When you are in the palace, there are only two rules to remember: rule 1, bow to the Heavenly Emperor, his wives, and the Crown Princess. Rule 2, bow to no one else.”

“Ok that’s easy. Those I should bow to wear full gold apparel,” she remembered.

Spire chuckled. It wasn’t a nice sound.

“I wonder, have you thought about the after?” he asked her.

Nestra didn’t reply immediately, something Spire took as an invitation to continue.

“If Makihel loses her bid, you will have nothing but enemies in the capital. If she does win, then what use will she have of an uncouth mercenary, hmmm? She’s a good player but more of a ‘soft’ one. Sending soldiers isn’t her style.”

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“It could be,” Nestra said, though she didn’t really care either way.

Spire shook his head.

“A hard player is not one with dangerous assets, but one who can obtain them in a reliable fashion. All talented agents retire or die within a decade. Only those who can reliably acquire more can afford to play that game. Makihel lacks the funding and facilities to do so.”

“And Naila is using a shortcut to obtain her own.”

Spire nodded, ears twitching once.

“She is not the first, and will not be the last. New players to a very old game seldom invent entirely new strategies. Or gather entirely unknown allies.”

He smiled.

“Regardless of success, your journey in the capital has just begun. A resourceful new agent has much to look forward to.”

“After I recover what Makihel promised, I will leave.”

“Oh? For how long?”

Nestra frowned. This wasn’t what she was expecting. Spire’s genuine interest didn’t conform to her expectations as far as job interviews went.

“The Heavenly Court is a beating heart of culture and civilization, young one. A player like you will look back and wonder what other thing you might want to taste.”

“I wouldn’t consider myself much of a player,” Nestra answered earnestly.

Spire tilted his head slightly to the side.

“Oh? Tell me, how did Makihel recruit you? A letter?”

“I...”

She hesitated.

“You sought her out, didn’t you? She had something you needed, and so you found a way to obtain it. That makes you a player. Not necessarily a good one, if that thought scares you, but a player nonetheless. The only requirement to be a player... is to play the game.”

Nestra wanted to object, but she couldn’t. She wasn’t even angry. Rather, an uncomfortable realization spread through her mind like the roots of a really smug tree. She’d always considered herself bad at plotting but she’d done so with Camille against the Sword Kings, and with various allies against Mrs. Shinoda, and also she’d planned her reveal to promote Aszhii identity... So she was bad at political maneuvering yet always doing it anyway. And no one was forcing her either. That meant...

She was just like her dad. The real one.

“Dammit.”

“You are not the first one to look down on politicking, only to do it anyway. Politics is the nature of social species. It is inevitable, therefore there is no shame in spending time plotting and tricking, even though you would rather dedicate it to a worthier pursuit. You are merely adapted to your environment,” Spire said.

“... Is that what you do as well?”

Spire’s gaze grew distant.

“At first, I found it distasteful, but when you reach my age, you will realize that the game is a subtle and beautiful thing that requires a masterful touch at the highest level. It is an art, cruel and beautiful. All beautiful things in life should be appreciated. We do not have the luxury of picking what holds our interest,” he said with a sad smile.

Sounded like there was a story there. Nestra hesitated to ask. She did, however, have another question.

“Are you like this with all of your associates?”

Spire laughed, the sound echoing off the damp walls of the underground canal. Whispers echoed from a side passage.

“No. I... lost my family a long time ago.”

“Ah. Sorry, didn’t mean to —”

Spire waved her concerns aside with a flick of his hand, a heavenly gesture.

“No need to dwell on the old woes of an old man. I enjoy meeting talented newcomers. Perhaps guide a few away from the mistakes I made myself. And no, I am not trying to recruit you, although we could work together on occasion. Wardens require a specific mindset, one steeped in sacrifice and devotion to the Heavenly Emperor. And with all due respects to His Imperial Majesty, you have not mentioned him or his glory once.”

“We’ve not been talking for very long,” Nestra protested.

“You will find that patriots mention they are patriots rather early in any conversation. The Throne’s corps of educators reaches to the very ends of the empire to make sure they do. Although, perhaps not to every nook of the Emerald Sea’s shores, hmm?”

“It’s hard to believe in greatness when you’re starving,” Nestra grumbled.

“I agree. Ah, we are getting close.”

Nestra fell silent as the canals grew larger and more elaborate. Large passages held entire barges decorated by rows of lanterns shining pleasantly over the surprisingly clean stones. Gargoyles and other carvings dotted the ceiling, sometimes exquisite and sometimes really vulgar. Moans and the heavy perfume of narcotics sometimes wafted from the open windows of the odd barge, the lights warmer for their passing. Transient drafts brought the scent of distant foods, or sometimes just damp air. Other times, it was the iron tang of blood. Shadowy figures in heavy cloaks ranging from rags to enchanted armor ran along the piers. Once, a golden barque illuminated an entire section with light and music while on the top, nobles feasted on expensive fruits. Nestra was pretty sure she saw a richly dressed corpse floating along the light current.

“So... it doesn’t smell bad here. Where are the real sewers?” she asked.

“On a separate network, yet joined by elaborate wastewater treatment stations to make sure the water returns to the canals. They use very little magic, by the way. Most of it is good old engineering. The ancients built to last. Too many current architects rely on stone mana specialists to keep their creations upright.”

Spire sneered, then his expression softened.

“Still, the canals bear the marks of generations of people living, fighting, scheming, sneaking, seducing and killing, their achievements etched into stone, be it willingly or not. Two ‘streets’ away the wall is darkened by the scorch marks of Duke Atanal’s first thunder spell, back when he unlocked his affinity by fighting off an assassin. Now he is considered one of the empire’s deadliest duellists. I met my first love near the night market, some way away.”

He sighed. Nestra used the lull to ask her own questions.

“You seem to love the city.”

“I do! So many of you young ones gather here with your dreams and ambitions, burning like bright stars and, sometimes, just as ephemeral. The capital is a cauldron of all this passion. It consumes and fattens in equal measure.”

He snorted, amused.

“But listen to me ramble like an ancient. Ah, we’re quite close now.”

Heavily armed patrons replaced the travelers. Several latent magical fields made her shiver as they pulsed with low energy, ready to snap up at a moment’s notice. Someone moved on the wall above her head but when she looked up, they were gone. White stone emerged all around them as they moved into an underground port of fantastic luxury, statues of water creatures decorating every corner. Even the gurgling water smelled so clean Nestra would comfortably drink it. Guards of gold-inlaid armor stood in silent vigil, each one B-class and not on the weak side either. Nestra had to stop herself from reacting to so many dangerous raiders. She steeled her ears and her resolve against the intimidating aura while they disembarked. Around them, the port hosted several extravagant ships but it was rather deserted at this time of the day. Monumental stairs led up towards the light. They were very close now. Spire guided her there and then she looked up, and stopped.

She closed her mouth with a click when she felt more than saw the sneer of nearby guards, but a light tap on her shoulder distracted her. Spire smiled, his red and gray hair bright in the noon sun.

“Don’t. Never let the jaded assholes rob you of your wonder. You won’t see the Imperial Palace for the first time ever again.”

And he was right. Calling the palace grandiose would be a euphemism. It wasn’t even the size, because the Beacon was taller, or the luxury. It was how every single stone, every tower, every wall, every gate were artfully and individually designed for understated magnificence. The stairs led to a titanic gate depicting scenes of heavenly history in elaborate frescoes, each wall showing its own fragment of an unending epic; intimidating barriers as beautiful as they were imposing. Beyond them, a palace complex of modern proportions surged to the skies in a haughty display of spires and buttresses, all in white blue and gold. And that was just the administrative wing. It was brilliantly designed up to the way the many mana signatures merged with the paint to form a harmonious whole. The Beacon was a marvel of engineering. This was handcrafted art, the pinnacle of architecture and the magna opera of several geniuses working in concert.

Nestra really wished she had a camera right now. Maybe one day, humanity could travel the worlds to see these wonders. And probably draw a dick on a column somewhere.

The errant thought woke Nestra up from her reverie. The guard who had sneered was now looking ahead while Spire sat on a nearby stair, still smiling.

“We should go,” Nestra told him.

He nodded, then they were off. This time, Nestra made no attempt to hide her fascination. The frescoes were telling several stories that changed depending on where one stood. As she approached the gate, a feeling made her hesitate. A golden band snaked across one of the steps, encircling the visible part of the palace from what she could see. There was something here that grated on... her true body. Actually.

“There is something there,” Nestra said.

“You can feel it? The palace is surrounded by a barrier that prevents certain classes of enchanted items and particular monsters from entering. It is powered up at all times.”

Nestra frowned. One of the elements of the barrier was a spatial one. To her knowledge, there was only one species that was anchored to space at all times, only one species they might want to keep away. The thing was, the spatial barrier was... pretty bad. It surrounded the palace in real space but Aszhii space had depth. Nestra wasn’t sure how to describe it but the barrier was like someone putting up a knee-high fence. She stepped forward, her spatial pocket lagging behind. She felt a disturbing feeling of dissociation but then just shoved her pocket through the yarn ball of dimensional layers that made the fabric of reality, popping on the other side no worse for wear.

She didn’t even stumble. Maybe the barrier would keep young males away? They had more difficulties with space, the poor buggers. Maybe that was it. The heavenlies had to have some experience with Aszhii males and perhaps they believed the barrier would stop an Aszhii party. It never would, of course, but they had no way of testing that. Aszhii war parties only ever invaded once.

But that wasn’t relevant to her right now. Focusing, Nestra followed Spire up the stairs hoping no one had seen her small hesitation. The guards didn’t react so she was probably fine.

“What sorts of enchanted items?” she asked Spire.

“Oh you know, forbidden blood magic so horrible it has been banned since before the birth of civilization. Plague bringer scrolls. Amulets of apocalyptic detonations.”

Nestra hesitated.

“You’re messing with me.”

“Only half, young one. The barrier stops items that, though small, could inflict disproportionate damage. Ah, here we are.”

A pair of A-class in elaborate armor stopped them for a cursory check, Nestra doing her best not to react because who the fuck used A-class as glorified doormen? The woman of the pair gave Nestra a hard look which was a bit intimidating because she was also an electricity and water affinity. They didn’t seem to notice that Nestra’s sigil was fake, though it might be that they clearly knew and expected Spire. The interior of the palace was equally sumptuous. Walking clerks and the heavenlies from various walks of wealthy lives reminded Nestra of the upper floors of Threshold’s Town Hall, but there were none of the traces that marked a living place. No carpets showed their threads, there was no dust at the corners. The administrative wing didn’t surrender to function in its search for form. Sometimes, Nestra spotted pristine desks through half-open doors, whispers and the smell of tea hinting at the presence of civil servants. This was clearly one of the less secured spots of the palace which made the ridiculous strength of the guards that much more obvious. No one employed B-class mages to oversee application booths. No one ought to. It was a complete waste of resources.

The Throne was just flexing at this point.

Ten minutes into the complex, the light crowd parted before a pair of powerful guards escorting a supernaturally beautiful woman with beautifully arranged ruby hair. The golden ornaments on her clothes marked her as one of the princesses, but not one Nestra ought to bow to, she remembered. While the petitioners and nearby workers bowed, Spire made a point to walk on though he did step to the side not to block her way, Nestra in tow. A burst of furious mana told her the maneuver had been perceived as a slight.

“You can’t bow even once,” Spire explained half a minute later, perhaps sensing her curiosity. “You bow once, you’re expected to bow every time. Never let any of them use you even once.”

Nestra had to wonder.

“Do you include Makihel in that number?”

“Do you?” Spire replied.

Nestra wasn’t sure. She didn’t tell Spire that she already knew one should never surrender their rights even once or they would be taken forever. The old man was having an uncle moment, maybe? It was honestly hard to tell, although Nestra wouldn’t complain. Their walk finally ended in an antechamber that was mercifully empty, with nice windows leading to an inner courtyard decorated with short trees garbed in a warm rainbow of autumn colors. It smelled like old wood here. The faraway door was partly open.

“Come on in,” a man said.

Spire complied. The office was grand and packed with bookshelves wall to wall, with tall windows leading out. A heavenly sat behind a fancy lacquered desk, a pile of white sheets resting to his left. Piping hot tea rested in a cup to his right, steam gently rising in the sun. It smelled of flowers.

“And close the door behind you.”

Nestra had to do a double take. The man was B-rank, but the lowest possible level of it, as if he had barely changed anything about himself. He also looked ancient from the bushy white eyebrows so long they reached his cheeks, to the deep wrinkles on his serene face. Long white hair reached his shoulders. Half moon glasses rested on a large nose protecting shiny eyes that didn’t show any affinity, something Nestra would have sworn to be impossible. He was the most powerful pure civilian she had ever come across. Even her classmates back in Threshold had some measure of compulsory training. This man had ink-stained hands with the callouses of a writer and nothing else. He was both soft and, from his posture alone, incredibly hard. His gaze sent Nestra’s reptilian brain (not the Mlemra one) back to her early school days back when Professor Watkins had told her she was not angry, just terribly disappointed. Her traitorous ears lowered by instinct before she could bring them back under control. Accursed ears. No wonder Sereth struggled so much.

“I do not remember any appointment at this time,” the man said and it wasn’t a question.

“Master Thalen, greetings. Circumstances forced a prompt visit. My companion Nezhra here came to employ your services.”

The fact he hadn’t used ‘colleague’ was telling, and master Thalen jumped on that.

“Since when are wardens doing the bidding of the imperial family?”

Now that was a trick question. Master Thalen’s gaze lowered to Nestra’s sigil, clearly on display upon her armored chest. His eyes narrowed.

“May I see that?”

Nestra gave it to him despite all her instincts screaming at her that this was a bad idea. Culprits volunteering proof of their own crimes was a mark of stupid criminals, and those were the ones that got caught. She had to trust Spire and Makihel and hope she wasn’t making a terrible mistake.

“Interesting. It appears to be fake.”

Nestra didn’t react. The silence drew on. Nestra quickly realized she wouldn’t win the contest of patience and it would be a bad idea to try.

“So?” she asked.

“So, you are coming to an imperial official wearing a forgery? I believe this calls for capital punishment.”

“Feel free to file a complaint with the closest officer of the law,” Nestra deadpanned.

Thalen breathed in and out. Nestra felt that it would be best not to antagonize him further.

“Even wardens resort to deception,” she reminded him. “It is their prerogative. I will add that I am not using a forgery to demand Imperial papers.”

“Is that so? Then I suppose you have your application ready, or a scion of the throne hidden under your pauldrons?”

They were not even that big, Nestra grumbled in her mind. She produced the neatly arranged file sealed by an imperial officer with a stamp of authenticity Makihel had given her earlier. Master Thalen opened it with practiced gestures, separating each document, then checking them according to some obscure protocol that made him verify lists from three separate drawers. His bushy brows rose even higher.

“Makihel? That pouty shrew is still alive? Well well, I admit to being surprised. You do realize that the throne frowns upon false documents laid on Imperial papers? ”

This time, Nestra couldn’t resist giving him a look of baffled disappointment. This was the Imperial Palace. Makihel was trying for a comeback. Of course, the paper would be used in some sort of semi-legal conspiracy. Hello?

“What a horrible thought. I will be sure to share your concerns with the princess,” she deadpanned.

Thalen’s eyes flashed with anger, but he merely sighed. Stamps and signatures followed at great speed, Nestra just going through Makihel’s instructions.

Spire was smiling through the whole thing.

“One last piece of advice,” Master Thalen said between gritted teeth. “Be carefully playing the Games of Princes. It is the highest league and you may lack the necessary experience.”

“A bit late for that, isn’t it?” Nestra retorted.

Thalen huffed though he was clearly amused.

“I suppose you are correct. Good luck, ‘warden’.”

“Thank you.”

They left. Nestra gingerly held an envelope carrying the next vital piece they would need to reach Naila proper. So far, Makihel’s preparations were happening without a hitch. It certainly helped to have a core-collecting Aszhii around, of course, if not for money, for the ability to teleport.

“A bit unwise, dear,” Spire chided.

“Uh?’

He tsked.

“An Emerald Sea mercenary fresh off the boat, yet you behave as if this visit and the Game of Princes were beneath your worries. Surely you could have shown a little more... reserve.”

“You mean I should have been afraid?” Nestra protested. “Did you not say I should stand my ground?”

“Staying one’s ground can be done when afraid. Is this not the definition of courage? But no, I did not want you to look afraid, merely shy or slightly intimidated. You do not even need good acting skills for this, and it may have or may yet save you a great deal of trouble.”

Nestra frowned.

“How so?”

“Master Thalen saw your appearance and company. He would not question that you are a warden because you are with me, but then your association with Makihel was revealed, and he realized you must be one of her agents. Makihel has no connection to the Emerald Seas: her domain is mountainous. You feel young from the way you move, so she would have recruited you on the way. Someone like you ought to be fearful of the throne’s agents as a newcomer. And yet, you are not. He might be curious. He might ask questions, and then the princess’ plot might be noticed by hostile parties. Worse, someone might bring it to Naila’s attention before your work can bear fruit. It would cost very little to act in the way you present. Few people will try to see past their expectations.”

“Ah.”

It was hard to be a full time schemer. He was right, though. She had to take this more seriously.

It was just too easy to return to her hard cop persona. Not like it was her default nature, of course.

“Nothing might come of it and it is too late to worry anyway, but please bear it in mind. Practice makes perfect. The more you adhere to an image, and the more believable it is, even to you.”

“But... I am a mercenary.”

“You are, however, what matters is not your nature but the perception others have of it. ‘Tis not me you must convince, young one.”

A strange chime rang in the corridor. Spire stopped, frowned, then quickly reached into one of the hidden pouches of his dark armor. He picked a steel ring that shone from a red inner light, a harmonic hum emerging from the metal.

“What’s that?” Nestra asked.

“Warden emergency signal. It —”

A second chime joined the first, then a third. The hums merged into a discordant melody. Nestra’s back froze. She knew what it meant.

“We need to head back,” she hissed, but Spire was already running. Nestra followed in a dead sprint.

“I don’t suppose you can fly?” he asked.

“Not yet,” Nestra grumbled.

They now had the full attention of the guards though no one attempted to stop them as long as Spire flashed his insignia. The autumn sun hit Nestra like a slap when they emerged from the entrails of the palace. Spire grabbed her hand.

“May I?”

“Hurry!” she urged.

They flickered, shadows and colors merging into a strange mix, then they were in the streets facing a massive gate guarded by B-class guards. They were waved through, out of the Imperial District.

Nestra’s heart thundered in her chest. The wardens must be those who were staying with Makihel and Grook. Makihel was very good at defending herself and might be more valuable alive, but Grook? She was just a nameless mercenary to those who would attack them. If they hurt her... Nestra shouldn’t have brought her here. It was a mistake. What had she been thinking?

Ok, calm down, nothing has happened yet.

They flickered through the city at impressive speed. Nestra was sure the spell had to be exhausting, but Spire moved on with grim determination. In flashes, she saw houses go grimier, the gates smaller and the guards less powerful. Soon, she recognized the inn. The windows she’d leapt from was broken, shards spread on the ground below alongside one of the wardens, wounded but alive. It was the woman. She pointed to a side alley before Nestra could even ask a question.

“Over there,” she urged Spire.

The signs of a controlled running battle were visible in the scuffed walls and shadowy pools of mana still present on the walls. She knew the path they were taking.

“Makihel set up a safe room in the canals. Come!”

“Right behind you,” Spire replied.

His presence reminded her of Detective Shinoda, in a way. They gave the same reliable aura she should perhaps not trust but right now, it would have to do. The wind carried the sounds of blades on blades. They were on a timer.

Grook better be alright.