Anneliese blinked open her eyes, dispelling the morning haze over them. For a brief moment, she entirely forgot what they had experienced yesterday, but when she moved her arm she felt a brief twinge of numbness. She was covered in sweat, and her head throbbed.
She shifted her head, looking about where she was. A cold and damp washcloth fell from her forehead. Anneliese first spotted Argrave in his freshly cleaned black leather clothing. He sat just beside her in a chair, reading a spellbook. The sight made her smile slightly until she noticed the dark bags beneath his eye.
Evidently he saw or heard her head moving about, because his gaze shifted over to her. Startled, he closed the book at once, leaning forward. “Hey, Anneliese. You’re up, that’s good, that’s good…” he said rapidly. “How do you feel? Any numbness? I gave you something I thought would work, but I’m not entirely sure…”
“I feel much better,” she said, some fatigue still leaking into her tone. “Did you watch me all night?”
Argrave frowned. “I just sat here reading and occasionally trying to help out with the fever,” he said dismissively. “I got you into this mess—least I could do is take care of the aftermath.”
“I got myself into this,” she said with a slight slur. She sat up, her unkempt white hair falling over her face. “Got careless.”
“Even if you were careless, it was still my call to do as we did—and this was against your advice. The fault is mine. I’ll have it no other way.”
She nodded wearily and rubbed her forehead.
“Listen…” Argrave continued. “I’ve been doing some thinking. About what you said. About me being unable to trust.” He stared off into the distance. “If you want, I’ll answer some of the questions you have.”
Anneliese ceased rubbing her aching head, stopping to look at Argrave. Much was running through her head. Even unfocused as she was, she could think of a thousand questions that came to mind. Then, slowly, the image before her started to crystallize.
She could see a lot of intense emotion on Argrave’s face. His eyes refused to meet hers and jumped from place to place. He was biting his lip rapidly, and his whole face was taut. Beyond that, he fidgeted with his fingers. He was a mess of anxiety and uncertainty.
“Feeling guilty?” she questioned.
“That’s…!” Argrave started to protest but trailed off. “Wholly right, probably. Not fair to leave you ignorant while you do my bidding. You and Galamon both risked your life for me, and I can’t answer some questions? Not right in my eyes.”
Anneliese stared at him for a time, and then adjusted in the bed. She thought for a long while. Eventually, she stared him in the eyes and said, “I won’t ask you any questions about yourself anymore.”
“What?” Argrave said incredulously. “And why not?”
She fiddled with her hair, braiding it together. “I recall, when I was still only a child… I had a small puzzle box. It was a very complex thing, with wooden machinery and gears hidden inside. The objective was… you had to lead…” Anneliese struggled to find the words. “… a small stick with a ball at the end through a maze. The goal was to free the stick from the box. It was no larger than my hand.” She held her palm out to demonstrate.
“After failing to solve it for some time, I pulled on the stick hard, and it popped out of the puzzle.” She emulated the motion. “I had finished the objective. I got the stick out of the puzzle box. But it left me feeling empty inside, and I had broken the mechanisms within. I could never do it again—never do it right. I learned something from that.” She nodded contemplatively. “I’ll wait for you to tell me,” she finished.
“Huh.” Argrave leaned back in the chair. “You sure you’re alright? Didn’t hit your head? You’re the one with a thousand questions at all times.”
She only smiled quietly in response.
Argrave shrugged. “Alright. I’m a puzzle to be solved, am I? Well, maybe you’ll change your tune once you get some food in you.” He came to his feet. “I’ll go get something for you to eat, get some water…. Not so long ago you were doing the same for me. How the tables have turned.”
#####
After an additional day of resting per Argrave’s insistence, Anneliese was all but fully recovered. Argrave had been worried he would contract yet another illness due to his venture in the dank and filthy cave, but no symptoms manifested. Argrave recalled that nature documentaries called ants ‘the cleanest insect,’ but they were still insects.
Argrave had plans for the Amaranthine Heart they’d retrieved, but for now, he stored it in a bag wrapped in cloth. Considering its nature, he did not dare store it in the lockbox with the rose gold magic coins or the enchanted jewelry harvested from the ruins guarded by the metal guardians. He was certain the Heart would attach itself to them and suck the magic right out. Indeed, the Heart was the most efficient way to purge an item of enchantments without side effects.
Considering the rest of the journey to Jast was on carriage, everyone was prepared to travel. After giving some final directions to the villagers to kill the remaining Lily Lurkers with poison, Argrave was content to leave. If the villagers could not be bothered to do as he directed them, Argrave could not fight their battle for them.
And so Argrave and company departed from the village of White Edge in the early morning. The only resident that was awake early enough to see them off was the old man that had initially greeted their arrival: Bertrand. After innumerable thanks from the man, they left quietly, the two suns illuminating their road with the milky light of dawn.
Though Argrave had initially planned to take a detour to a ruin he knew of to retrieve an invaluable spellbook, on account of Anneliese’s recent troubles, Argrave decided it would be best to first head to Jast and secure lodging there. Unlike in Mateth, Jast’s Order of the Gray Owl branch had quite a grand library, so it was not too monumental a setback.
Once they left the cover of the forest, Argrave leaned out the window to stare out across the landscape. Jast was very obvious from a distance. The City of Shadows, some called it. It was both because of the stone used in its construction—a jet black, harsh rock—and the innumerable towers jutting out from the earth. They were tall and foreboding, and few of them had windows.
“And there is our destination. A lot less pretty than Mateth,” Argrave gave commentary as the carriage rolled steadily down the road.
Anneliese also looked out the window, and she showed considerably more surprise than Argrave had. “So tall…” she murmured. “How do they stay standing?”
“Enchantments,” Argrave explained. “They would fall without magic reinforcing each and every brick. And some have fallen,” Argrave said regrettably. “There are more A-rank wizards in those towers than toes on this carriage, I’d bet. This place is very, very dangerous. Galamon,” he called out the window. “You will have to practice extreme discretion with your drinking habit.”
“No need to yell. I hear every word you say, even if you whisper,” the vampire shot back, driving the carriage disaffectedly. “I’ve been to Jast before. I know these things.”
“Spellcasters must have a reason to make this place their home,” Anneliese noted, still staring out the window.
“Magic is denser here. Some natural phenomenon causes it. Which reminds me…” Argrave lifted the bottle full of black liquid off the floor. He willed much of his magic to repaying the debt he’d accrued in the Cavern of the Lily’s Death, then took a swig of the bottle.
“Are you sure that liquid is safe to drink?” Anneliese asked, finally turning her head away from the scenery.
“Very sure. It actually helps me greatly,” Argrave noted, holding the bottle up. One’s magic capacity was like a muscle—it needed to be used to grow. By depleting it and replenishing it, it would expand to accommodate more magic. By repaying his debt to Erlebnis and then replenishing his magic with the Amaranthine Heart’s liquid mana, his prowess as a mage would increase far more rapidly than his peers.
Argrave swirled the bottle about, watching the black liquid’s vortex. “Too much of this, though, and BOOM, no more living. You’ll explode in a burst of mana. The burst looks rather neat, I must confess, though I don’t care to see it from a first-person perspective.”
“So it isn’t safe to drink,” Anneliese concluded.
Argrave paused as he felt the mana resurge in his body. “Too much of anything can kill you. You can die drinking water.”
“Will you explode in a burst of water?”
“Touché,” Argrave conceded. He looked out the window once more. “Alright, enough idle talk. We should discuss what we need to do in Jast.”
Anneliese nodded. “That tax collector at White Edge—you truly believe that was a sign for their intention to join the war? If so, my first worry would be entering the city unnoticed. As a royal bastard, you are a target of interest.”
Argrave nodded. “Entering quietly won’t be a problem. I know of some less well-known entryways used by smugglers and such. Indeed, we’ll need to make some connections with the smugglers regardless to deliver those illusion spellbooks to the Veidimen.” Argrave looked out the window, searching for the points of entry that he remembered in the distant black city. “I know someone. If I mention a name, I have little doubt he’ll do as I request with few questions asked. It’s also going to be beneficial to know him. He’s the well-connected sort.
“The castle Prince Induen gave me is not so far from Jast,” Argrave remarked cheerily, reminded of it only now. “If we’re lucky, we might see it fall into the ocean.” He spotted Anneliese’s frown, and quickly added, “Don’t worry, I already sold it. That’s how I got all those rose gold magic coins.”
She crossed her legs. “Part of me thinks you like to mention ridiculous things casually to elicit a response.”
“You’re the empath here. You tell me,” Argrave replied, neither confirming nor denying it.
#####
“Boss,” came a gruff voice.
A man hunched over a book laid out across a desk looked up, squinting into the faint darkness beyond. A magic lamp was the sole illuminator of the dank stone room, and the place was mostly bare. The papers spread out across the desk were filled with numbers and descriptions of people.
“What is it?” the man at the desk responded. He had dark red hair, and despite his barren surroundings, was dressed quite well in clothes that matched his hair color.
A clean-shaven man with a pockmarked face entered. “New client came in for a simple quiet transfer into the city.”
“And you bother me for this? I don’t think you’re that stupid,” the man leaned back in his chair, waving his hands as though to hurry the conversation.
“He matches the description of the person the Bat was looking for. Used the same name, even.”
“Is that right?” the man behind the desk leaned back.
“Aye. He mentioned your name—Rivien. Mentioned the Bat, too,” the man said grimly. “Told us that he’d know if anything was missing. Cargo was just books. Most of them were from the Order. There was also a bottle full of some black liquid—no one knew what it was.”
Rivien frowned, but a smile soon lit his face. “A visitor from the night,” Rivien mused aloud. After a few seconds of pause, he tapped his finger on the desk. “Well, the Bat just wanted word of his location, nothing more. Do as this Argrave requested. I’ll pass this information along to the Bat. Your job is done.” Rivien leaned back to his book.
“Another thing,” the other man said. “Little lord Stain came by asking about the same person, plus the people he was travelling with. Seemed to be about a tip he got about some jewels. I got the feeling he wanted to lift them—was looking for help from the rest of the boys.”
“The little lord?” Rivien asked. “This one… quite the center of attention, hmm?” Rivien leaned and retrieved a key from his pocket, using it to open up a drawer on the desk. He pulled out a piece of paper marked with a wax seal of a bat in the bottom corner.
“I see. Royal bastard of House Vasquer.” Rivien tapped the paper and then put it back where he’d retrieved it, shutting the drawer and locking it tightly. “Tell the men he’s off limits. I don’t play around with the Bat’s interests. And… tell this Argrave that he’s caught the eye of the little lord.”
The man with the pockmarked face nodded. “Should I tell him it’s the little lord Stain, or should I use his real name?”
“Stain,” Rivien said decisively. “Just tip him off that someone might be trying to rip him off. No need to bring unwanted trouble to the little lord. Keep everybody happy.”
“Alright. That’s all, boss.” The man waved his hand and exited.
Rivien watched him leave, then licked the tip of his fingers, retrieving a blank piece of paper from one corner of the desk. He picked up a stick that glowed on the edge and started to write across the paper. Instead of ink, a small flame left burnt words on the paper.
