The graph had too many points, and connecting the dots didn’t seem to make a picture. Trying to tie everything into one neat little bow was a mug’s game. Ailn knew that. And yet, there was enough that was suggestive to keep his mind fixated on it.

  There was Sir Envont, cryptically goading Aldous into a revenge plot before disappearing.

  There was a mysterious masked woman, who tried to use Dahlia and Tuckerson as tools to rob the cathedral.

  Then there was the missing Maria, the middle-aged ‘widow’ whose husband came knocking the moment she vanished.

  It was a real thought trap. And rather than stay cooped up in the castle stewing on it, Ailn was pulling a vanishing act himself. He found the perfect moment to slip out of the castle—there were loose ends that needed tying before he left—when he ran into Sigurd at the gate.

  The man was disheveled; so worn down, his adamantine armor was starting to look cheap. He’d traveled down a long stretch of the northern wall, going from watchtower to watchtower to hunt down as many shadow beasts as possible.

  Unfortunately for him, the breaking spring hadn’t just cleared the snow. It thawed the soil, transforming it into a filthy, exhausting mire. The ‘Divine Blade’ was looking more like a muddy machete.

  “...You found a painting,” Sigurd said.

  “That’s right,” Ailn replied, his head making that slight, careful turn you give to a predator.

  “Can you locate the treasure?” Sigurd asked, with a glare dulled by weariness.

  “There’s no way I can guarantee finding a legen—”

  “Can you find it?” Sigurd cut in.

  “...Yeah, I can,” Ailn said.

  “Very well,” Sigurd said. His glare didn’t exactly soften, though. “Then I’ll look past the frivolities this once. Where are you going now?” he demanded.

  “Look past?” Ailn echoed blankly, before shaking his head. “Whatever. There are things I need to check out in the city.”

  “What things?”

  “For one, I’m checking on Renea’s birthday present.”

  “A birthday present?” Sigurd’s anger shifted to something colder, sharper. “I was prepared to commend you—”

  “Were you?”

  “...I was prepared to commend you for discovering the rot festering in Varant’s catacombs. Yet you wish to spend your efforts spoiling your sister?” Sigurd sounded incredulous. “Do you think Renea is the only girl in this duchy? She’s already sixteen, Ailn. This is not time that can be squandered on sentiment.”

  “There’s nothing that needs my immediate attention, Sigurd, so simmer down,” Ailn rubbed his temple with an annoyed sigh. “...You’re saying she’s too old for birthday presents? Renea never gets you anything on your birthday?"

  “She does—” Sigurd’s eyes narrowed. “I’ve never asked for any. And if I were to purchase a gift, I would have a knight do it. An entire day’s work spent on something that trivial—”

  “Sigurd, I don’t care,” Ailn interrupted, brushing past him. An entire day’s work was about to be wasted listening to a lecture if he didn’t get out now.

  As he walked through the gate and headed down toward the city, Ailn braced himself for Sigurd’s indignant tirades to come trailing after him. Instead, what followed was a single, somber proverb, delivered with an emotion Ailn couldn’t quite place.

  “‘The prince who plays today wastes the kingdom’s morrow.’” Sigurd’s voice came out harsh and resonant, yet calm in its delivery.

  “...’Tomorrow’s a mystery, but today’s a gift,’” Ailn gave Sigurd an over-the-shoulder wave. "‘That’s why it’s called the present.’”

  Out in the market, dressed in the maid’s kirtle she’d worn for so many years, Sophie wandered from stall to stall, searching aimlessly. She wanted to find Renea the perfect gift—one that could somehow say “thank you,” “I’m sorry,” and “you mean the world to me,” all at once.

  Her coin purse, far heavier than it had ever been when she was a ‘maid,’ jingled freely from her waist sash. Sophie attracted her fair share of glances, weaving her way through the crowd; some tinged with worry, others with greed. She paid no mind to either.

  One set of eyes, however, kept their gaze. Their owner—donned in cloak and hood—trailed her at a small distance, not directly behind but a bit to the side. Lingering just at the periphery, they waited for just the right crush of the crowd, when there’d be natural jostling and the ambient noise would cover the sounds of the clinking coins—or the lack of them.

  It was a full ten minutes before she ever noticed they were gone.

  “Did you drop these ma’am—ack.” Ailn held up the stolen pouch, turning his head awkwardly to the side as the thinnest and quietest blade of holy aura held itself to his neck. “I didn’t realize you could manifest it that quick.”

  Sophie snatched the purse away with a glare, and didn’t bother speaking to him, trudging off ahead while holding it fast.

  “Hey, come on, I could’ve just ran away with it,” Ailn said, catching up to her. “I’m trying to teach you that even you can be caught off-guard. What if I had a knife instead?”

  “Any wound you could inflict with a knife, I could heal in an instant,” Sophie spat.

  “There are some wounds you can’t,” Ailn said. His tone took on a serious edge. “And you can’t heal yourself.”

  “And so?” Sophie asked. “Perhaps we should ascertain what manner of wounds you specifically are capable of recovering from.”

  She paused her march, catching sight of a stall with lovely glasswork. Most of the designs were floral. They were elaborate and beautiful, and Sophie knew Renea loved gelé primevère, but…

  “The real thing’s more beautiful,” Sophie muttered.

  “Are you buying Renea a gift?” Ailn asked.

  “...Yes,” Sophie said, holding the purse closer. “Is that your purpose here as well?” Her glare softened, and she flicked a glance his way.

  “I’m—” Ailn thought a moment. “I’m checking in on one of the alternatives. Just not sure if it’ll come through. Say,” his expression turned expectant, “I’m thinking of getting Renea a dog. Even though Kylian—”

  “No,” Sophie said.

  Sophie held up a particularly gorgeous piece that intertwined two roses, while Ailn stared at her in disbelief.

  “...Okay, I didn’t say you could just outright deny it,” Ailn said. “A dog would—”

  “Renea wouldn’t like a dog,” Sophie said. “I know she wouldn’t.”

  “And she specifically told you she doesn’t like dogs.”

  “I know Renea better than anyone else in the world, and I know she wouldn’t want a dog.”

  Shaking her head, Sophie put the glass piece down and moved on, to the artisan’s disappointment.

  “Does she not like animals?” Ailn asked. “Did you find her diary where she relates her vicious hatred of all things canine?”

  Much to Ailn’s frustration, she neglected to respond. Another stall caught her eye, with wood carvings about the size of apples: flowers like the last stall, animals, figurines of families. A carving of a wolf pup caught her eye.

  Her hand reached to brush it and Sophie gasped softly.

  The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.

  “It’s warm,” she said. She gave the vendor a curious look. “What manner of wood is this?”

  “Mmhm,” an old woman peered happily at her creation, wrinkles all over her face from a lifetime of squinting and smiling. “You hold it so tenderly, young miss. The wood’s mahogany. But what covers it is emberlace. Lovely new cultivar from Alfheimr.”

  Her happy expression took on a wry, and even annoyed look. “Cost a lot. The florathiel would take my shoes if he could. No one mentions, elves are dreadful hagglers. Nearly offered my daughter’s marrying hand.”

  “Is that something that an elf prizes?” Ailn asked, coming up. He lightly felt the carving himself, though Sophie subtly tried to pull it away from him. “Oh… it’s moss.”

  “Yes, of course, very much,” the woman nodded. “Charming young elf men always want human wives. Always full of themselves at that age, wanting a fling and thinking they won’t get attached. Without fail, they cry like a flood when they’re gone.”

  “How’s it survive on a carved piece of wood?” Ailn’s brows furrowed.

  “It’s epiphytic. Takes in the air’s mana. Changes the wood it grows on,” the old woman grazed the carved wolf pup’s ‘fur’ herself. “Every half year the moss and bark shed.”

  Sophie dropped the entire coin purse onto the stall’s counter.

  “I’ll buy it,” she said.

  “My, young miss. This much?” The old woman’s eyes widened, a glint of surprise sparkling within them. She tilted her head back and forth in consideration. “For this much, I can…”

  Pleased with the gift she’d purchased, Sophie even willingly accompanied Ailn when he asked, so good was her mood.

  They traveled down the main thoroughfare of the city, passing most of the market by. Soon enough, they were near Fat Rat’s Row.

  “You intend to purchase something here?” Sophie asked, eyeing the expensive shops. Even her full coin pouch would’ve been inadequate here. “Renea… wouldn’t be pleased to know you used the duchy’s budget on an opulent gift.”

  “I’m meeting someone here,” Ailn replied. He scanned the street, and momentarily found whoever he was looking for. “New coat, Farroh?”

  “No one would believe I was a confidant of the duke if my wear came to any less,” Farroh grinned. He lifted his arms to showcase his tweed overcoat, which was a size too large and draped over his ankles. “Who’s the maid?”

  “I told you that those are the friends you don’t want,” Ailn frowned. Then, hesitating he added, “This is my sister.”

  Farroh looked her up and down, and his expression turned to pity. “Ah. A glance says it. Nice of you to bring her, even though she’s a bastard.”

  Sophie’s eyes lit with annoyance. The word had never bothered her before, yet lately it chafed at her.

  “Work on those people skills, Farroh,” Ailn said. “You find that shop?”

  Pulling out a piece of vellum, Farroh nodded with a sense of ease and accomplishment. “I wrote the owner’s name, and what’s on the stall banner. The man knew the piece at a glance. Professionalism, you know,” he remarked, his gestures suggesting a camaraderie with the artisan, as if they were peers from different disciplines.

  Then, with a hopeful tone Farroh asked, “Got anything else for me? Follow up on that Maria woman, perchance?”

  “... I don’t right now,” Ailn said. “In fact, stay away from it entirely.”

  Farroh blanched. “I do something wrong? Whatever I did—”

  “You did fine, Farroh. Just… look, you ever lived anywhere besides Varant?” Ailn asked.

  “Never.”

  “Why don’t you go travel for a while?” Ailn showed his open palm, revealing three silvers with a coin roll—which left Farroh almost sputtering as Ailn dropped the coins into his hands. “You’re smart. You’ll figure something out.”

  “You’re serious?” Farroh asked, astonished. The coins were clinking almost as loudly as Sophie’s pouch, the way his arms trembled. “These are real? I’ve—this is my first time touching a silver…”

  “Keep being a good kid, Farroh,” Ailn said, as he and Sophie walked off. “I’m sure we’ll meet again sometime.”

  The two of them kept making their way down the thoroughfare, much to Sophie’s surprise.

  “It’s not as if you can hand every child in Varant three silvers,” Sophie said. Farroh was well out of sight, but she unconsciously looked back over her shoulder.

  “I can’t,” Ailn shrugged, “but I can at least give one kid that much. And… it’d tear me up if something happened to him on account of me.”

  “What manner of task did you give him?” Sophie asked, eyes narrowing.

  “I had him looking into something that bothered me. A place,” Ailn said. “It’s the hostel we’re headed to now.”

  He gave Sophie a sidelong glance. “Lucky me, I ran into you on the way.”

  “Outside the gates?” Sophie asked warily. She did have to assess the city’s barrier at some point. Hence, it would be convenient to do so.

  She just found it odd that Ailn had any business at Varant’s periphery.

  “I just have some business to take care of,” Ailn said.

  “...It’s a haven for scoundrels,” Sophie said suspiciously.

  Ailn didn’t really respond to that.

  The two made their way through the city, down the thoroughfare. While Ailn exchanged pleasantries with the guard—already acting the new duke—Sophie momentarily felt the barrier.

  It seemed fine. When she’d gone around with Renea, after the attack on the castle, there weren’t any issues with it, either.

  Still, after everything that had happened recently, she didn’t feel fully reassured. And she cast a lingering glance back, even as she and Ailn went on through the extramural space.

  Sophie had learned of the sinister discoveries in the Catacombs. And they upset her on an almost primal level. The mere sight of shadow beasts repulsed Sophie. She hated the idea that they could be made outside of the miasma—possibly even by human hands.

  She’d felt a sense of humiliation, almost, when she thought they’d broken past her holy aura. Her instinctive predatory posture turned into a sort of fury, her aura incandescent with her desire to crush them underfoot.

  And when she’d realized they were actually raised in the castle, infesting their very walls… it was as if she’d found roaches in her bed.

  To think that her father of all people…

  “Sophie. Did you hear me?” Ailn asked, breaking her out of her thoughts.

  “...Sorry?” Sophie blinked.

  Having passed through the odds and ends of the extramural space, Ailn and Sophie were in front of the multistory hostel that Ceric had stayed at.

  “I said just stay out here for a bit,” Ailn said. “Wait for me.”

  “Are you ashamed of my company?” Sophie asked, her expression tightening with a hint of indignation.

  “It’s nothing like that,” Ailn sighed. “Either I’ll come get you, or come in when you’re bored and can’t stand it.” He paused. “Or if you hear me shouting, I guess. That probably won’t happen.”

  Leaving a frustrated and bewildered Sophie waiting outside, Ailn walked into the hostel’s anteroom.

  There, sitting at a table of pine, counting out coins of tin and copper, was a young mousey-looking woman with sable hair drawn up into a neat ponytail. Farroh had told him before that Maria Chaya’s apprentice had taken over managing the hostel. This was likely her.

  “Excuse me—” Ailn started.

  The woman gave a surprised squeak, nearly jumping out of her chair. Standing up in a rush she clambered over quick as she could, which wasn’t very fast at all. “Sorry! Goodness, sorry I didn’t realize there was a guest!”

  “It’s fine,” Ailn said. He paused. “Something happen to your leg?”

  “I’m a bit clumsy,” the woman blushed. “I was dusting the shelves and fell a bit wrong.”

  “It happens,” Ailn said. He pulled off his hood. “What’s your name? I’m Ailn.”

  “Wendi,” she said, smiling sheepishly. “Are you looking to stay the night, sir?”

  “...I’m considering it,” Ailn said. Then he scratched the back of his head and let out a heavy sigh. “I’ll be forthright with you, Wendi. I’m here asking around because one of this establishment’s rivals on the other side of the city walls is looking to purchase this hostel. Ever since he heard the old owner vanished.”

  “Oh no,” Wendi’s hands covered her mouth, and she let out a sad whine. “Ohhh! They just want to pick at it like vultures, now that Maria’s missing!”

  “Missing?” Ailn asked. “I heard she was deceased.”

  “I don’t know where she is, but Maria just wouldn’t die like that!” Wendi stomped her foot passionately, the impact no louder than a light knock. “She’s too much of a witch for that!”

  “Too strong of a personality to die off-screen, huh?” Ailn asked. But Wendi just gave him a confused look.

  “What sort of screen do you mean, sir?” Wendi asked.

  “Just a figure of speech,” Ailn said, smoothly moving on from it. “Were you close with Maria?”

  “No. Never. I tried.”

  “I heard her husband’s come around lately?” Ailn asked.

  “...Someone calling himself that,” Wendi said. Hand held to her mouth, shaking her head in a tiny back-and-forth, she let the anxiety creep onto her face. “But Maria always said that he was dead. Maybe she just really hated him.”

  Then she put fist in palm. “Oh! Listen to me gossip,” she fussed. “Here for a rival or not, when you step in you are our guest, Mr. Ailn. What sort of tea do you prefer?”

  “I’ll be alright, Wendi,” Ailn said.

  Wendi lightly touched his wrist. “Are you sure?” She brought her hand back to her mouth fussily. If she had an acorn, she’d look like a squirrel. “I’d hate for your employer to hear that we’re not accommodating.”

  One hand on her hip, the other hand now grabbing his hand, she gave a vigorous nod. “I’ll have you know we have pheasant basted with butter and roasted, tonight. No good man can say no to roasted meat.”

  At first Ailn thought she was being flirty. But now it was clear her mannerisms were meant to be friendly. “Actually, I—”

  Sophie came in, looking very cross.

  “I came in because I was curious, not because I couldn’t wait,” Sophie insisted. She caught sight of Wendi, who still held Ailn’s hand. “Are you wooing this woman?”

  Her expression grew more vexed. “You told me your business here was important.”

  Seeing Sophie react so negatively, Wendi threw Ailn’s hand down and raised hers in a panic. “No! No, sweetie, you’re misunderstanding I just wanted to feed him foo—”

  She stopped in her tracks. She looked like she was starting to sweat. Then with a woeful look, she turned back to Ailn.

  “I’m sorry for imposing on you, sir. She…” Wendi glanced over her shoulder. “Your maid?”

  “My sister.”

  “Ah!” Wendi smacked her forehead, trying to take her foot out of her mouth. “Your darling sister doesn’t look too happy, so I’ll have to let you try our pheasant some other time.” She tilted her head, and smiled embarrassedly.

  “I’ll be sure to try it sometime,” Ailn said. He gave her an affable smile, while tapping Sophie’s shoulder with the back of his hand to affirm they were heading out. “See you then, Wendi. Go get that leg healed.”

  She waved cheerily as they left.

  “Were you truly looking for something?” Sophie asked through narrowed eyes.

  “I was,” Ailn said looking back at the hostel. “Couldn’t get anything conclusive, though.”