This was how being under arrest felt?

  Rook shook his head. These uniformed people might be lying: the window was wide, and two riflemen and a parked armored car outside their makeshift prison wouldn’t react quickly enough had he started running.

  He wasn’t sure if the Monster-Caller would keep up had he fled. Not a moment later, he thought of the church lady—and that night. His sights were lined up; that portable cannon left by the men in black did well against that man’s armor. Euphemia was resolute one moment, broken the next. Was she frightened of seeing the hideous face behind the shattered headpiece? If the shell put that fighter out of his misery, would Rook have been the target of her anger? Could church ladies even be enraged?

  Then he remembered. Euphemia was not someone who expressed fear, or at least showed it openly. It must be those prayers. It took special kinds of people to kneel still for a long time without falling asleep. Rook couldn’t leave the others. Metis and the others were great company, but them all in his head meant listening to voices in places when no one else was supposed to be speaking. Luminberg’s closest river port, once a tranquil haven where fishers sat on the banks and families strolled around, was littered with boats and small ships.

  The Halda was one of the K?n’s tributaries that stretched from the Empire’s northern border all the way to the far western reaches of the House Melvich’s domains. It sat just a few kilometers from Luminberg; its greenish blue waters were wide and deep, allowing the river to manage and support many forms of shipping.

  Four transport ships lowered anchor at the nearby dock. Doors lowered into ramps; several vehicles came in empty and left the vessels filled with crates of various sizes. Men in moss green attire also disembarked from one of the four vessels; salutes were exchanged between them and a few men who wore felt hats. Tight-buttoned shirts, high boots, and the rifles they carried suggested that they were more than mere guards assigned to help the ailing City of Magical Studies.

  Rook watched the busy port from the still-open city gates; he had to make do, for this was the only window his view afforded him. Honking horns and the sounds of shuffling engines were heard even from where he sat. There used to be deer hanging out at the riverbanks, but much of the noise drove them into the deeper reaches of the forest.

  A butterfly with yellow and black wings flew into the room; it perched on the lone flower vase on top of the clump of yellow flowers. Rook’s eyes changed from the busy port to following this visitor who landed. He stared at the creature, which shifted its flight and landed onto the boy’s outstretched index finger.

  “Beautiful, isn’t it? If only humans were even a bit as pleasant as these, then you’d never have to teach them lessons with bullets.” The madness-stricken voice from before spoke inside Rook’s mind.

  “You’re the one who took over me last night. You didn’t even introduce yourself and just went ahead without properly telling me.”

  “I just got a little too carried away there, boy. Besides, I’ve always wanted to destroy that green-eyed freak. Can’t let that opportunity escape me again.”

  “What do you know about that green-eyed man anyway?” A girl’s voice interrupted their conversation.

  “Hey! No girls butting in on two men talking. I was expecting Metis to be a little more... polite.”

  “And I didn’t expect a lesson on courtesy coming from Paricia, the one who barges in without warning.”

  “My feelings. I am hurt.”

  “You’re... Paricia?” Rook was staring at an entity whose form shifted from orange to a purplish shade.

  “I was supposed to put a hold on introductions until Metis the killjoy spoiled my fun. The little girl’s right. Paricia, the one who gave you those amazing powers last night, at your service.”

  The image of a floating hood and cloak that lacked a body appeared in Rook’s mind. Strange, but when in the company of a girl in a prism dress and a falcon-headed warrior, Rook expected a more surprised reaction from himself.

  Stolen content warning: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.

  “Metis is right. You should not take charge without me telling you to.”

  “But you barely lifted a finger.” It spoke with a boyish tone, though the malice in its pitch betrayed its will and intent. “Do you even know who that was?”

  “You... do you know him?”

  “He’s the... You know what, I don’t think you’re ready for it.” Paricia said, “If you can call on mine and the others’ strengths at once, maybe I’ll tell you what I know.”

  “Hey... wait. Paricia…”

  The room in Rook’s mind space swirled, reduced into a spiral of darkness where Metis, Montju, and the new entity, Paricia, melded and vanished. Who told him, her, or whatever Paricia was that he could do whatever in this mind space? The room in Rook’s mind? He wanted to go back in, but he was pushed out into his reality. Rook had words for them — once he figured out how to fully assert himself.

  ????

  “Hey, Rook, you’re all right?”

  Words and the voice felt like a current. The boy felt a slight jolt on his shoulders. He realized his eyes were closed when he was speaking with the entities.

  The boy fixed his gaze on the hand where the butterfly perched. It was gone, quickly finding its way out of the hotel room. Perhaps it didn’t find what it was looking for in the place. Its outline was dissolved, concealed by the daylight.

  It was the Fiend-Conjurer, holding a metal bowl that had something herb and meat-smelling in it. That explained the click in the door he heard when Paricia abruptly closed the mind chamber. He handed the young man a large aluminum mug containing what seemed to be the soup where the smell came.

  “Hey. Thanks. Just in time.” Rook blew on the cup twice and tipped it to his lips. “I’m fine. Yeah.”

  “You sure? You’re kind of out of it when I saw you. It’s a beautiful river. Can’t blame you.”

  “You’re right.” Rook scratched his head before holding the metal vessel in his hands. “Do you think they’re doing something bad to her in that other room?”

  “She’s yet to awaken, based on what I heard.” Golden Monster-Caller started slurping on his bowl. He was chewing when he continued saying, “Not that I can stop them and know if they were talking about her.”

  “She’s from the same land as them.” Rook blew on his cup and took another gulp. “I like to believe they’ll treat her better than us here.”

  “That prayer lady is no commoner.” Kirk tapped some of the soup solids to slide into his mouth. “The men of this country would do better than to make her family mad.”

  Kirk stood on one edge of the room; smoke coming from quelled fires rose and formed a white layer above the rubble. Luminberg was not built to burn. Houses, mostly made of stone, contained some of the fires that would have poured and blazed into the streets beyond had they been of wood. The buzzing roar of an autogyro engine soared overhead.

  “I’ve got… some questions in mind, but I’ll start with the most important ones. Since you’ve been around with her longer than I, how did the two of you meet?”

  “It’s a pretty crazy story, really. I met her at some place, I think, south of where we are. Far south.”

  “You said you’re not from here, but you sound like you’ve picked up the way they speak. Mostly.”

  “You don’t sound worse.” Rook tilted his head to get the last drops of soup into his mouth. “Not bad for a stranger here.”

  “You don’t look like you live in where I came from.”

  “I can’t say you’re wrong. I don’t remember anyone looking like you there,” Rook said, “I live in the far north. At least, I remembered having lived much of my life there.”

  “Bad memories? Bored? Looking for somewhere to call home?”

  “Maybe I’m like Euphemia. I’m looking for someone too.” Rook put the cup aside, but thought of getting the bottom half of the contents instead. “I don’t know why I’m out here looking for him, though.”

  “At least you’re not running away to forget.” Kirk set aside his bowl on the ground. Much of its contents was consumed; only a white film that glinted against the sun told the story of what kind of soup it contained. “Quite unlike me.”

  “You ran away from what?”

  “You’ll fall asleep if I give you the full answer.” Good call. Rook was not one for long tales. “Let’s say that my family was driven out of our home. I’m the only one left alive to carry on the name.”

  “I wish I hadn’t asked that. Will you come back there?”

  “So that what, I can claim vengeance? Everybody won’t come back to life even if I did.” Kirk’s gaze was fixed on the outside; a formation of troops preparing to move out.

  “What do you want to do now?” Rook tapped the bottom of his mug. He was too busy putting every morsel in his mouth to look at Kirk.

  “I don’t have an answer to that. I know a family in this country. I think they can help, if they still know me.” Kirk’s eyes focused on the floor. He shook his head and said, “But I’m making a fool of myself. I will come back to my homeland... and settle things, one way or another.”

  “You’ll be having it tough, I think.”

  “Don’t worry about that. I think we have our fill.” Kirk pulled up a chair from the vanity drawer and sat down. “All we can do now is wait for these soldiers to say we can see the holy sister again.”

  “Hopefully, she’s more than okay. The room is good, but I don’t feel too good being watched over by an army.”

  “You’re not the only one feeling that way.”

  Rook returned to looking at the ceiling. ‘Kirk’ was easier to say than either ‘Monster-Caller’ or ‘Fiend-Conjurer’. He remembered seeing him take on the armored brute with a sword. Cool trick of transforming his rod into a weapon; the dark fire added more for effect. Rook opened his mouth to ask, but saw his companion move to the window again.

  This mattress was the best one he slept on for a while: soft enough that he barely felt his back, but firm enough that he did not sink into the bed. Maybe he could pay for one of these when everything was sorted out. Then he recalled it was Euphemia who paid for rooms throughout this journey.