Mindrial had a splitting headache.

  A constant pounding right behind the eyes. Unfortunately, the pounding was diminishing with every step he took on the carefully crafted stone-cast path that meandered through the Founder’s Garden. It could only mean one thing.

  One of his other selves was somewhere nearby.

  His hunch was spot-on. One of them was a resident of the Uni, or was employed here. The odds of two of them being here at the same time as a visitor were slim, at best.

  A weird game of cat and mouse lasting half a lifetime, with curiosity and the ability to tolerate pain being the two deciding factors. Given enough time and with his boundless patience, Mindrial was confident of success, as unlike the other two, he loved headaches.

  Well, love might be too strong a word. Better able to endure would probably be more appropriate. But the two expressions went hand in hand anyway, he thought eyeing his companion.

  “Never saw so many Aimin-blessed flowers in my life,” said the wide-eyed young woman clinging to his side by way of her left hand, which clutched his right in a possessive and far too firm grip. “And I’m a flower-girl.”

  With a lean and lithe body, she was perfect as a short-term replacement, though her tendency to adhere to his side was starting to irritate him. It meant he couldn’t focus on his fellow pilgrims, one of whom had been eyeing him with an oddly intense gaze for the past few blinks.

  He, of course, couldn’t be one of the two Mindrial had been searching for since his birth. Three, if you counted his progenitor – the broken vessel who had given birth to all four of them. The restrictions placed on their Crowns by father to ensure their anonymity had several severe drawbacks, not the least of which was the debilitating headache they suffered if they got within a couple of hundred yards one another. So the man strolling less than ten yards in front cannot be the object of his search, and must merely be responding to his characteristic natural fragrance, an unfortunate and unavoidable by-product of those said restrictions, and the reason behind his carefully chosen profession.

  “Supposedly, Aimin didn’t possess very many commonalities with Anantika, but love of flowers was definitely a trait they both shared.”

  So father claimed. Or rather, Moon did. Mindrial himself hadn’t laid eyes on his father in well over a decade. Neither had he seen Moon. Ever. She never strayed too far away from the Tower, their birthplace, though it didn’t disrupt her signal. Indeed, the distinctive properties of the Tower enhanced their link.

  Gently unclasping his fingers from the petite woman’s excitable grip, Mindrial extended his earth senses a touch to his left to include the man who, after flickering a glance toward his companion, seemed to have suddenly lost all interest in him. Must’ve gotten his wires crossed. Such humans do exist – those who fancy members of their own sex. Of course, Mindrial would be last person to judge someone based on their sexual preferences, as his own proclivities were far from normal.

  “Established within a decade of the founding of the University,” Mindrial informed his fiancé, since their lazy tour-guide didn’t seem inclined to, “the Founder’s Garden technically predates even the city itself, which officially came into existence after the basement level of the old Keep and the oldest parts of the docks were built by the First Disciples, a process that was overseen by Allfather himself.”

  “Fountain of knowledge, you are,” his freshly-engaged fiancé said, looking up at him with wide adoring eyes, the gold necklace he’d gifted her proudly peeking through the salwar. It had cost him a small fortune. But he needed her to commit fast. And willingly. That would save him a lot of unpleasantness down the road. A road that ends tonight. The terminus was within sight. He’d even built himself a nice and cozy cocoon in anticipation of tonight’s feast.

  As they crossed the gate into the Guild Plaza and their tour came to an abrupt end, Mindrial decided a little more buttering up wouldn’t hurt. She was almost ripe for the plucking, her signature all but screaming agreement. Almost, but not quite. Instinct for self-preservation was hard to override, less so if she herself was the one doing the overriding.

  So, effortlessly pasting a charming smile on his lips, Mindrial asked, “Did you enjoy our tour of the Uni?”

  “Loved it,” she beamed.

  And he took a snapshot of her eyes. The sincere joy and mischievous innocence in them were not emotions that were easy to replicate.

  Mindrial hadn’t known her for long. Barely a month. Usually, he preferred studying his subjects for months, even years, before he made the final leap. But currently, he was working under severe time-constraints. He once again bemoaned his impulsive decision to take on a hasty side-mission, one that had exposed one of his faces to that pesky Hurindil, and another one to the far more perceptive Master Ray.

  Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.

  Curious fellow, that Power Cleric. An ocean of deep dark secrets that appeared clear and sincere. And surprisingly, was. True believer, if ever there was one. Always trouble, those folks.

  “Which part did you like the most?” He put on an expression of sorrow, which was easy to do since on this occasion, it was an entirely honest emotion. “Wish we could’ve visited the Library.”

  A couple of his fellow pilgrims gave agreeing nods before dispersing to different corners of the plaza. More often than not, the three dozen or so shops here, stone-cast into existence by the very same First Disciples who had built most of the oldest parts of the city, predated every other such shop in all of Sindria. For some like Mindrial, that had its own appeal. As such, touring just the Guild Plaza was worth the journey for some of the history-buffs.

  “You and your fascination with crusty old tomes.” Her fond smile held a touch of exasperation. “As for me, I loved all of it. Who knew the Uni was so…divine yet mundane!!” she said. “Always seemed distant. Aloof. An ever-present giant in the skyline.”

  “The Hill?” he said after a sidelong glance, to make sure their guide on this little tour stayed within his modest range of passive earth senses. The man might be able to help him narrow down his search. This was his one chance. Visiting the Uni too often could expose his true identity.

  “Never been here before?” he asked, feigning ignorance. “I thought you grew up in Jivanpur.”

  “I did,” she said in her oddly classical accent, something which had attracted his immediate attention when he’d met her in the Old Quarter, and made her an ideal candidate for Assimilation. She was quite likely the most educated flower-girl in all of Jivanpur. Right now, Mindrial was lacking in such a face, one that combined lower-class upbringing, just enough education and bucketload of innocent charm. And was female.

  “But never had cause to climb up the Hill.” Her voice dropped. “Always avoid the Clerics, if you can help it, Pa always said.”

  “There’s some truth to that.”

  Even diluted as his Chakras apparently were, it had taken a fair amount of gold to ensure he hadn’t been selected as a Novice, and had remained an apothecary’s assistant. Despite all the mystique surrounding them, the Clerics ultimately were just human beings, and shared their weaknesses.

  Unlike him.

  “Managed to wrangle up a trade-license once. For hawking my flowers at the Guild Plaza. Never even made it up here,” she said, expression glum.

  “Why not?” asked Mindrial, right on cue.

  It had taken him years to realize human females – even aditarus and Stonehorns – responded favorably toward you if you paid close attention to their words. An attentive and sincere man was a woman’s dream husband. Doesn’t hurt that he’d amassed a small fortune as a prosperous perfume merchant either.

  “At the gate near the Old Plaza, a Journeyman Cleric asked to see my papers.”

  Mindrial gave an encouraging nod. “He could sense you were lying.” So can I, but you don’t need to know that.

  Her cute oval-shaped face scrunched up in disgust. “Stamped a great big Aimin-damned warning right on top of the papers that had cost me four silvers, and worse still, an evening with a disgusting Guard lieutenant. Said if I tried anything underhanded next time, I’ll be spending my nights with all the Guards, permanently,” she spat. Literally. On the pristine stone of the venerable Guild Plaza.

  After casting a furtive glance to make sure no one had taken note of her outburst – no one wearing a Cleric’s cloak, at least – Mindrial reluctantly clasped her hand again, trying to calm her down. Nothing active, of course. He dared not try anything like that here in the lion’s den.

  Although Mindrial had far more training than the fuming woman walking beside him, being interrogated by the Clerics wasn’t a risk worth taking. Even with the Elixir of Illusion coursing through his veins, the five Awakened primary and eight secondary Chakras would be hard to conceal for more than a scant few bells. Not only did the Elixir leave him drained, both physically and mentally, its efficacy decreased with each usage. As a result, careful consideration was required to judge when to use it, since the backlash would be severe. Today was a risk worth taking. But, in the next couple of days, if questioned by a competent Reader like Hamilton, there was a chance of discovery, albeit a small one.

  Two of his other selves were more skillful in this regard than him. They needed to be, Mindrial guessed, though because of the restrictions, it was nothing more than just that – a well-educated guess. Through their link, he only had access to information, rarely emotion – and never memory.

  “How about we go someplace where we wouldn’t have to worry about any Clerics?”

  She looked up at him, an expectant glimmer in her dark brown eyes. “Someplace intimate, I hope.”

  “Very.” My lair. “But first, let me tip our guide. Then, we’ll take my carriage.”

  Approaching the man in question, Mindrial held out a closed right palm, three newly-minted silver coins dancing across the grooves. Possibility of seeing his expected income triple made the shrewd middle-aged man hesitate.

  “Any chance of getting a more in-depth tour of the Uni?” Mindrial said, slowly turning over his palm.

  The man’s eyes turned apologetic, but he still plucked the proffered coins out of the open inviting palm. “Sorry, sir. Permit required for any privileged access.” A shadow of genuine discontent spread across the man’s prematurely wrinkled face.

  “Clerics!!” Mindrial shook his head in disgust.

  Fortunately, the man took the bait. “Tell me about it.” Then, after a surreptitious glance over his shoulder, he leaned in and said in a hushed tone, “However, as the Tenets state, rules are meant to be broken.”

  Tenets never explicitly state any such thing. Of course, that has never stopped people from misinterpreting them. Another couple of silver coins gleamed on the aforementioned palm, seeing which the man produced a practiced smile.

  “I might be able to arrange a more…exclusive tour, sometime next week,” he said, deftly pocketing the coins. Then, a sudden thought perked him up as he sensed an opportunity to double his income. “Will the lady be joining you, sir?”

  “I doubt it.”