The Captain’s Quarters were like a scene from the Ducal Palace, luxuriously appointed with Arkimidean mirrors, a Vedic chandelier, and an Edmiri rug. Paintings and Arkimidean tapestries adorned the walls, each of the tapestries depicting a famous battle.

  A long mahogany table occupied the center of the room, covered with old maps and innumerable scrolls. A petite woman lay upon the far end of it, her arms dangling off its edge. Cosimo and another man stood next to her.

  “Leo!” Cosimo said. “Welcome. I see you brought the girl. Is Nico unable to join us?”

  Unwilling, Leo thought. Nico always eschewed social functions. “The girl has a name: Gianna. And unfortunately, yes. Nico is preoccupied with his studies, planning and preparing for tomorrow’s venture.”

  “But not you. You are like me, I think — a bon vivant.”

  “Huh? A bond what?”

  “Vivant. It’s an Edmiri term for someone who enjoys fine drink, fine food, and fine company. Someone who lives in the moment, on the current of life.”

  “Eh, perhaps,” Leo said. “But you and I may differ on the definition of fine food.” As he said it, Gianna nudged him with her elbow, whispering ‘cow penises’ — Leo had to suppress a laugh.

  Cosimo smiled, somewhat puzzled. “I brought you here because I wanted to introduce you to a few of my loyal subordinates — they are my servants, and they will be your companions on our joint expedition. First, meet Danieli.”

  Leo stepped up to the petite woman who lay supine upon the table. Her face was pallid, her purple eyes milky with cataracts, but she was vaguely attractive in a strange sort of way. Her short scarlet hair clung to her round cheeks.

  “Hi,” Leo said.

  “Charmed,” she replied in a brittle voice, holding out a dainty hand ornamented with many bangles and jewelry.

  Leo grasped her limp hand, not sure if he was supposed to shake it or kiss it or just hold it. He settled for holding it.

  “Err… likewise.”

  “I'm literally charmed. I have applied the Orbus enchantment to myself. I cannot see… can barely hear… it dulls the senses, but lubricates the mind. I intend to commune with the Oracle, oh yes…” Her voice seemed to fade in and out.

  “That’s… umm. Well, good for you,” Leo said.

  “Ahem.” Cosimo cleared his throat. “Danieli is a diviner.”

  “What!?” Gianna was awestruck. “A diviner? You have an attunement? Can you see the future?”

  “I am, I do, and I can… Such is my burden… such is my gift… To perceive fate. To See that which cannot be Seen…”

  “Predict something!” Gianna said.

  Danieli turned to Gianna, a look of horror upon her face.

  “Divination is not a parlor trick,” Danieli said with a hint of reproach. “The art cannot be exercised upon command.”

  “Oh, come on,” said Leo. “Your mind’s all lubed up. Humor us. Tell us something about what awaits us tomorrow. It just might save our lives.” Fat chance, though…

  Danieli considered this for a moment, then sighed. She spoke in a husky, self-important voice. “Very well. I predict… I do prophesy… that some … some great peril shall befall us tomorrow.”

  The other man who was standing next to Cosimo started clapping loudly, his arms swinging in an exaggerated movement. “Oh, bravo! Another brilliant insight from our resident diviner!”

  “And you are?” Leo said.

  “Maximilian. I am a bard by occupation, an artist by hobby, and a drunk libertine by reputation. I was educated at Vale.”

  “Impressive. Vale is prestigious.”

  There were three great academies for magic, but only one for bards — Vale. Pathfinders occasionally recruited at Vale, as bards were versatile adventurers, but Leo personally resented them. Every bard he had ever worked with was in love with his own voice, and would fill the idle hours with incessant crooning.

  “Prestigious,” said Cosimo, “and pricey. I was the one who foot the bill. Tell them how long you lasted there, Max.”

  Max smiled sheepishly. “Three days. On the fourth I was caught bedding the Dean's daughter. I wooed her with my lute.”

  “If only he’d kept his fucking lute in his pants, he might have learned some useful skills or perhaps even gained an attunement. Most bards at Vale gain an attunement. Now he owes me a decade of servitude. Both Max and Danieli are indentured to me. In Danieli’s case, I sponsored her climb at the Divinatory.”

  The Divinatory was the attunement spire for aspiring diviners, a temple located atop a craggy cliff just off the coast of Edmeer. It was said that the Oracle himself, the god of Divination, resided within it. Upon entry, aspirants were blinded and deafened by one of the Oracle's priestesses, and had to rely upon their powers of clairvoyance to seek the Oracle and prevail in the challenges set before them.

  Leo noticed a third man standing in the corner of the room, cloaked in shadows.

  “Who’s the big brute brooding in the corner over there?”

  “His name's Bj?rn," Cosimo said. “He is a knight from Nordia.”

  Nordia was a land far to the north, famed for its alpine lakes and rugged mountains and its glacier-chiseled fjords. Bj?rn himself loomed like a mountain — seven feet tall or near about, his shoulders broader than a door frame, his arms corded thick with muscle. He was shirtless, his long blond hair spilling onto his shoulders. He looked like he belonged on one of the tapestries on the wall.

  “A pleasure,” Leo said, extending his hand. But Bj?rn did not take it. He looked down at Leo’s hand as though he were offering a wet turd.

  Leo smiled winsomely, withdrawing his hand. “The pleasure is all mine.”

  Cosimo intervened. “Bj?rn… Err — Bj?rn has a complicated relationship with your people.”

  “Enemies,” Bj?rn said simply. He spoke in a low voice, the sort of voice that could made mountains tremble. But it did not make Leo tremble.

  “Bj?rn has a terse manner of speaking,” Cosimo explained. “But he’s not an idiot… merely idiosyncratic.”

  “He hates my people? Veronans? People with stylish gold hair and impeccable fashion?”

  “Adventurers,” said Bj?rn, who seemed to be capable solely of one-word sentences and mean looks.

  “What possible grudge do you have against adventurers?”

  “Adventurers plumb Nordian temples,” Maximilian explained.

  “Such is the sport of brigands and thieves,” Leo said. “The Pathfinders would never defile an Nordian temple.”

  “Yeah,” said Gianna, “we usually only defile Diji temples. They have better treasures.”

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  An odd moment for candor, Leo thought. Bj?rn did not seem placated. He looked as if he might punch Leo.

  “So, Bj?rn,” Leo said, trying to change the subject “Max is a bard, Dani tells fortunes. What’s your shtick?”

  “Bj?rn does not have a stick,” he said, still smoldering. “No stick, no sword, no shield, no spear. But Bj?rn’s fists rain down on his enemies like thunderbolts like the sky god Baldur.”

  “Fists won’t do shit against a sharp sword,” Leo said. “Someone ought to introduce Nordia to modern weaponry. And first-person pronouns.”

  “Nordia invented swords,” Bj?rn said.

  “That doesn’t sound right,” Leo said. “But I don’t know enough about swords to dispute it.”

  Bj?rn took one step closer, raising clenched fists. “Are you calling Bj?rn a liar, halfling?”

  Leo stood his ground. “I’m like… 6’4.”

  “6’2,” Gianna said.

  “…and a half.” Leo gave Bj?rn another bright smile, expecting the Nordian to introduce him to his fists. Cosimo’s mouth opened and closed, not sure what to say. He was spared from responding — and the tension in the room defused — when a door opened and a freckle-faced Qirini maid walked in.

  “Dinner is ready, m'lord.”

  ***

  In the adjoining room, the Captain’s Mess, a rich banquet was laid out: spiced mutton, leeks, carrots, iced violetberries, and cinnamon pastries. No mollusks nor any other Qirini staples. The tableware was all gold and silver, worth perhaps enough to buy a small ship.

  “I figured this palate would be more to your liking,” Cosimo said. “Qirini cuisine is an acquired taste, and not all of us have acquired it.”

  “In fact, none of us have,” said Max. “I'd rather eat shit, personally.”

  “Persist in your impudence, and I will gladly serve it to you. Personally.”

  Max scowled but fell silent.

  They took their seats around the table. Leo sat between Cosimo and Max, while Gianna took care to sit beside Danieli, whom she was still watching in reverent awe. She had helped guide the nearly blind diviner to the dining hall, the whole time peppering her with questions about her experience in the Divination Spire, which Danieli replied to with characteristically vague responses.

  Leo's first bite of his spiced mutton was delectable. He hadn't eaten since departing the guildhouse. Whenever he was on a job his appetite fled him, and he sometimes neglected to eat. Hoping to mend fences with the Nordian knight, Leo helpfully passed the plate of cinnamon pastries over to him. Bj?rn batted it away and nearly knocked it out of Leo’s hands.

  “Bj?rn does not eat fruit or vegetables or bread. Such is the nutrition of women and thralls.” He reached for the mutton and ripped out a large haunch of meat, taking a hefty bite from it, grease spilling down his chin.

  “Alright. Suit yourself…” Leo said.

  “So tell me, Leo,” said Cosimo, as he ladled violetberries onto his smaller plate, “what preparations is Nico undertaking for the expedition?”

  “Oh, just a bit of light reading. Studying up on the library. Forewarned is forearmed — that’s his motto.” He didn’t want to mention the forged Letter of Imprimatur; the less Cosimo knew, the better.

  “Indeed, yes, wise words. Max was telling me about Azkaya. Tell me — have you ever been inside a deathtrap?”

  “No. Have you?”

  “Several, but never an Ilhen. It’s sort of a hobby of mine. When this cryptogram fell into my possession, I felt compelled to pursue it. The legend of Ilhen’s Seventh has confounded many great adventurers.”

  That much was undoubtedly true. Last night Nico had told Leo more about the lore behind Ilhen’s Seventh.

  Though there were six other Ilhens — and only one of them already solved — most adventurers had given up on solving the remaining five. Ilhen's traps were simply too sophisticated and too lethal, and enough prominent adventurers had perished in the attempt to plunder them that lesser adventurers were deterred from even trying.

  Meanwhile, the evidence for Ilhen's Seventh even existing was slim. One — Duke Ferdinand II, in one of his mad ravings, had alluded to it. Two — Ilhen's tombstone inscription said that he was the author of seven great works. Three — a lithomancer had once claimed to have assisted Ilhen in the construction of his Seventh; suspiciously, the Empress Isabella had him executed shortly thereafter.

  Nevertheless, many adventurers had sought — and were still seeking — Ilhen's Seventh. The Brimstone League, one of the most illustrious adventuring groups of all time, had spent eight years searching for Ilhen's Seventh to no avail. The legend had taken on a life of its own. It was widely believed that the Seventh was guarding some occult treasure, like perhaps Reaver, the mythical sword that could cut a portal to the Underworld and unleash undead hordes upon the earth. Or perhaps Dulgotha Opus, a legendary witch's spellbook. Witches, if they truly existed, were said to be even more powerful than wizards. Their spells supposedly did not draw on magic from Azrael, the god of gods, but rather drew upon a novel source of arcane energy, something beyond time and space and unimaginably potent. Supposedly witches could wake the giants that slept deep in the earth, and even do battle with the gods.

  Overall, the whole thing made little sense to Leo. Why make such a concerted effort to find Ilhen's Seventh — whose existence was in doubt, its treasures unknown — when there were five other unsolved Ilhens ready for the taking? If the other Ilhens were too deadly, why would the Seventh be any different? Apparently, the draw was the intrigue and secrecy that shrouded it. The allure of the forbidden fruit.

  “Why is solving deathtraps your hobby? Forgive me my impertinence, but why would a man of your wealth and status want to muck around in deadly tombs and temples? You’re already rich. What’s the appeal?”

  Cosimo chewed his mutton slowly as he considered his reply. “I am supremely wealthy, and wealth comes with its comforts but also bears its burdens. Wealth is boring; I seek thrills, Leo. And what, truly, is more thrilling than the prospect of death?”

  “The thrill of boundless wealth. Of having no limits, doing what you please wherever you please. That sounds exhilarating to me.”

  “For a time it would be, yes. And then what? The novelty wears off, I assure you.”

  Perhaps, though I doubt it. But Leo said nothing. There was no point arguing the matter; obviously their perspectives differed on the matter. It seemed as though a great chasm separated the royals and nobility from everyone else.

  The door to the cabin opened, and the ship’s Quartermaster entered. A squat man with square shoulders and a commanding presence, he strode directly to Cosimo, bending low to whisper something in his ear.

  Cosimo swallowed his last bite, his eyes turning hard. He looked to Leo.

  “We are being followed,” he said slowly. “Chased by a black-hulled, black-sailed brig.”

  “I thought the Mint was the fleetest ship on the high seas?” Gianna said. Leo winced at her biting retort.

  Cosimo turned his cold gaze to her, forcing a smile. “A minor exaggeration. The Mint would be the fleetest ship, if she were not so heavily ballasted with…” he gestured broadly at the opulence surrounding them. “You are the local, Leo. Do you recognize the ship I am describing?”

  Leo considered. There were a countless variety of ships in the Myriad Isles. He wasn’t very in the know about which was which and whose was whose. Though he lived on an island, he generally didn’t like sailing, it always turned his stomach upside down. “No, afraid not.”

  Cosimo turned to the Quartermaster. “Turn your guns on her if she gets within firing range. Don’t bother sending a warning shot across the bow. Shoot only to sink.”

  The Quartermaster nodded, and briskly departed.

  Cosimo looked at his plate for a moment, mired in thought. Then he turned back to Leo. “So. How will you get us inside the Library tomorrow?”

  Ah, here we go. The awkward moment. Had to come sooner or later.

  “We won’t.”

  “What?” Cosimo dropped his spoon, letting it clatter in his bowl.

  “We have our own means of ingress. By we I mean us three — Nico, Gianna, myself. We made no provision for spiriting you or your crew inside.”

  “We had a deal, Leo. A contract.”

  “Two contracts, to be precise. One for the Library and one for Ilhen’s Seventh. The Library contract doesn't say we have to get you inside it.”

  “The spirit of the contract—”

  “—is irrelevant. Words matter, not intent. The only way we can infiltrate the Library is by going alone. Involving your crew introduces unnecessary risk and jeopardizes the entire job. We didn’t even meet them until fifteen minutes ago.”

  Cosimo looked Leo squarely in the eyes, his face impassive. A tense moment stretched out. Then Cosimo took the bowl of violetberries and hurled it against the wall. Purple ichor slid down the wall, tainting a frayed Arkimidean tapestry of some long-forgotten battle.

  “A bold move, Sforza,” Cosimo said. “I have been nothing but charitable and benevolent to you and your guild, and this is how you repay me?”

  The room had fallen silent. All eyes were on Leo.

  Leo merely shrugged. “It’s the only way. I’d hoped you’d understand.”

  Cosimo stood up, shaking his head and gesturing to freckled maid. “Clean up that mess. I’m heading to bed — sleep well, Leo.”

  ***

  Later that night, when Leo returned to his cabin, Nico was still awake, meticulously cutting the wax seal from the Duke’s original letter. Leo fell into bed and instantly succumbed to a deep slumber.

  He did not hear the intruder break in.