Aadya!

The chamber is empty.

In fact, it looks like it hasn’t been used at all. No, better. The sheets on the bed are neatly tucked in. The flowers were watered recently. The floor’s swept and the windows were left open to air out the room.

Sister Tammithyn Murr is nowhere to be seen.

Sure, there’s some sort of excitement going on today. Some venturer kid became the Queen of Light? And Civelia was attacked by a maid-knight while you were sparring with Eclair Espoir.

The possibilities writhe like snakes. The maids could have been working together, but why was Eclair chasing after a Civil— no, she wasn’t, at least according to her. What evidence is there that there were only two possible liars? Why did she run off last night? Where is Tammithyn Murr?

You have got questions to ask the monastery staff. Wait, no, she’s just at the summit, maybe? You should go and ask…

---

Eclair!

Ruthmoreness is clumsy, enthusiastic, and a little smug. It remains up in the air how much of her Herness is deliberate and how much is just her natural state, and it’s a distinction that many of your sisters-in-lace would regard as being nonsense. We are the personas that we adopt. (Down south, we have a similar-but-distinct philosophy surrounding masks and veils.)

Her hand finds the weak points in your armor, and acknowledges them: that you, Eclair Espoir, you have skin. Skin that has known rain many times before. Skin wrapped tight around a heart too big to fit through your lips.

Eventually, she sneaks your tablet out of its holster, while you cannot adjust to stop her, and smiles up as she awakens it. “Here, say—“ But she does not complete the thought, tell you to say “Teaaaaaaas!” for the photo, or take a picture. She instead frowns. Then her eyes widen. Then she flips it around for you.

>[.tmtwo]

There are no words. Just two pictures.

The first is of a ticket, covered in delicate scalloped chrysanthemums. It sits on a table of wood whorled in a way that is subtly, irritatingly discordant from the pattern of chrysanthemums. Full Service - 3-Day Stay is written in a flourishing hand across the face of the ticket.

The second is of an envelope. It sits on the black stone tongue of Sayanastia the Dark Dragon, frozen in a snarl. The irregular edge of the envelope in the sketch suggests that it has been pasted in place. “EE” on the front, in Timtam’s hand.

Of course you recognize the flower, even if only dimly. And you recognize the grotesque, too. Did you ever tell Timtam about those childhood memories? The lights of the Chrysanthemum glittering on the snowdrifts, only to get swallowed up by Vesper Victoria’s rising on the other side of the street like a black spear stabbed into the earth, its walls covered in figures of heroes wrestling with vines and skeletal hands just as Heron herself wrestles with Sayanastia, her jaws wide enough to swallow any child (if she were to bend her stone neck down and do a big stretch, and also you obligingly hopped up into the air for her, but that likely didn’t factor into the calculus of childhood fear).

Timtam is in Vespergift. How long has it been, Eclair?

---

Injimo!

On your way out, you pass a Paladin (tall, broad-shouldered, moving a little stiffly) looking through a Civil’s tablet, flicking down the list and frowning.

“And you’re sure this is everyone?” She’s asking the tablet’s owner. “Is there a way I can sort alphabetically— oh, here?”

She taps, taps, taps, then starts chewing on the stylus and staring a hole through the tablet. Her tail flicks in agitation.

Actually, out of any of the Handmaidens, you’re the one to ask: have you met the Rock Upon a Mountain before?

---

Kalentia!

The Hero’s Shadow drags one talon through the water, almost idly. No… visible changes occur.

You are helping a shaky Fallen Far into the hot spring. The pupils of her eyes are wide and dark, with a sheen to them like the wings of a beetle. She is clinging to a linen towel wrapped around her as if it were a talisman of good health and modesty.

Please tell us all about the hot spring, and the difference between how various members of your team enjoy it.

---

Yuki!

First of all, it must be pointed out: from the blush and the way she looks away and smiles, it’s unusual to say what you just said to Pasenne, and she very much appreciates it.

Suli blinks, however, and raises one hand to her mouth. “Oh, Yuki,” she says. “I mean the Aestivali High Council. They’re the puppet rulers of Aestival, and we all know who they work for. What we don’t know is how many people are on it: there are twelve masks, but the people behind them could be anyone. And they likely are stretched thin trying to defend Aestival from a possible attack from the Khatun.”

She pauses a moment, watches to see if understanding blooms on your face. Either way, she continues: “Because she’s so good at navigating through the Outside, an attack could come from anywhere, not just from the Roads. Anyone who ends up with their hands on Hazel will have to deal with her threat one way or another— and if she gets him, she might just withdraw to some hidden camp out there until he’s… tamed.”

She leans forward. Ambition glitters in her lovely (intense, enthralling) eyes— though you can certainly look away, as she’s not trying to draw you in intentionally. “There’s only two places in all of Thellamie that could stand up to her: the Civelia Subluna in Kel, and right here in the Viperiat. Not those beachfront maze-towns.”

(She’s wrong, mind you.)

---

Hazel!

I regret to inform you that, eventually, when the hot wings have been reheated and the curry’s been poured onto flatbread, you will have to make a choice: to squeeze in right next to Anat, to climb over Amali to sit on top of her knitting project, or to just stand like a very noticeable weirdo.

“…had to cancel my appearances in Garnet,” Anat is saying, talking with her hands as much as with her melodious voice. “That’s almost certainly going to be the next flashpoint. But Insela managed to get me set up with a few special appearances at the Chrysanthemum, especially since she knows my cousin’s Kysa Amora-Kallos…”

“Oh, fancy that!” Amali says, not giving away anything.

Do you give away anything, given that Amali is, in fact, taking you to whatever this Chrysanthemum is?

"Oh! Ah...Ah...I see." Yuki blushes in turn because she was dumb, and the whole lecture on what to do later, and everything was just...well...oops. "You're...you're really committed Suli. I mean, I guess you would be, the ceremony for the crown of light was here in Crevas, and you were crowned as one of the possible candidates to tame the golden fawn, so it makes sense. I'm just worried, y'know?"

Yuki paces in front of Sulochana, teacup in hand, sipping and thinking. Her other hand is also on the teacup, keeping her occupied. "Dang, I hate leaving Aadya, but I have to go with you. I mean, like, every which way I think about it. Yuki and Suli against the world. But also I gotta make sure you don't lose your head either. I'll tell you the same thing I told Juni. Hazel's...well...he's a little shy and he's never had a girlfriend. If you come on too strong, I don't think it will tame him, it will just spook him. I'm not sure the Khanate can so easily tame him either. Whatever it means, it's different than capturing him or forcing him to serve. Locking him up in the middle of nowhere will just make him want to escape, not tame him."

She sets her empty teacup down, she's been sipping at it constantly and now it's down. She gives Pasenne another smile as Yuki puts the cup on the tree that the Nagi maid is bringing.

"Man, this sucks though. I mean, not us hanging out! That distinctly does NOT suck, it is awesome. I'm just so curious to know what happened with Aadya though, I wish we could do both! Like, first off, somebody managed to beat her up, and like, I'm pretty sure she'll be fine even without me to help with her bruise ointments. But that's pretty rare, she's super strong. And she's on an investigation, which is...uh...not really Aadya's forte last I checked. I feel like we're setting her up on a Boromir story route here, and I really hope that's not the case. I mean, at least getting shot with heart arrows by the Khatun doesn't kill you, but it clearly sucks." Yuki offers a sympathetic glance at Sulochana. "You probably have no idea what I just said, but I just mean that we're kinda leaving Aadya to be the big dumb strong person who's gonna get confused and maybe corrupted if she's left alone too long. And then she'll try to redeem herself because her hearts in a good place, but she'll probably do it by taking on a fight against overwhelming odds and get herself beat up even more in the process. Or maybe taken captive by the Khatun in our version of events. That seems to be the big thing everybody but Juni's worried about, right?"

Yuki sighs, then gives herself a shake, takes a few steps, and loosens up her shoulders. "Okay, enough getting worried over stuff I can't handle. Today, it's you and me and however much of an army you pull together traveling to Aestival! And then we'll figure things out from there. Just try and be nice when you finally meet Hazel, kay? Now let's..." she was about to say let's go, but Yuki gives a glance at her empty cup and Suli's giant breakfast and her own nervous energy. "Let's freshen up and get our stuff together, and let me get my coat and all my stuff. And then let's go!"

Chatted to home-away-from-home
>[.snowkitten]
>chatted with Suli. I'm going to stick with her. Sorry Aadya, I really miss you! But I spent all last night running off after every single new face I saw and everything kinda went wrong. So I want to make sure things go well with Suli, and then we'll figure stuff out from there. Maybe whatever you're dealing with will bring us to the same place and if so we will definitely make up there. Pinkie promise!

Injimo!

In her capacity as sparring instructor, one of Injimo's tasks is to go out into the world, learn new combat skills, and then teach them to Princess Heron. This means, as most everything she does usually means, losing. She enters new dojos or martial traditions as a novice and then fails as a novice until she's distilled the heart of something useful enough for Heron to pick up.

From Aadya it was wrestling. It was a good memory. On one side she had the feeling of being tangled up and helpless in the arms of a muscular woman, and then on the other she'd gotten to put Heron into some nasty pins and hold her there until she perfected the breakout technique. It was a shame she didn't have a chance to see how that fight would have gone on her own time (REMATCH REMATCH REMATCH), but she was on the clock now more than she usually was.

"Hear you fought the assassin," said Injimo as Heron. "What should I know?"

Kalentia!

In the past, Heron experimented with flame magic rather than her familiar lightning. Her completed battledress, the Invincible Flame Armour, was the culmination of that quest. It was forged from a dragon's fever dream, a volcano's indigestion, and a night of passion with Summer amongst other lesser catalysts. She walked the world for a while as a firestorm, fields of rolling flames as tame as grass.

The histories didn't say what went wrong with it. Cair didn't know or wasn't telling. All Kalentia knew is that it shined, radiant in orange and yellow, in its containment sphere of molten glass at the bottom of a jagged lake. The light from below filtered through the water's reflection of the strange half-void sky, staining the water an admixture green. A little wooden bath shrine had been constructed or collected and placed outside the narrow band of coastal water where the water was warm and not scalding. Rurik's fishing rods were stored neatly outside the front door, next to Injimo's kayak.

Despite the sky being visible, the shrine existed on a 'floor' of its own - walk five minutes away from the lake in any direction and you risked falling to another part of the Nexus, or even directly into the Outside. A rope ladder passed through a hole in the sky down into what seemed like a bottomless pit; the only entrance and egress.

"Don't go out too far," Cair said. "It's dangerous to get too close to most things down here."

Vespergift, the City of Towers. Close city, strong city, cold city. Elongated R's and over-intense vowel sounds, quite difficult to entirely purge from one's accent even with training. An inborn tendency to crane one's neck upward and a particular style of tail crooking and ear posture that marks even the most assimilated among them as an obvious denizen of the only Avel city in Thellamie to even the thickest skulled fellow natives.

A place where open-air pathways were vanishingly rare and chance meetings tended to happen under beautiful and elaborate stone archways instead. A place where bridges were sheltered by bridges which were sheltered by bridges and where navigation of the local marketplaces required the ability to think at four different levels of elevation in addition to direction and distance. Yes, that baker's shop was on the west corner, but third story? Fourth? Surely they weren't doing well enough to be on the second?

Possibility of ground level location did not bear mentioning. Wealth in Vespergift measured by proximity to the earth. Most obvious means of display possible, really. Hit every factor: clear record of original habitation, most shade during warm season and easiest to keep warm during much longer cold season, least difficulty to access, and best of all to live your life down there meant you spent all your time looking at the walls feeling grateful for the sacrifice of Vesper the Conqueror.

Instead of spending your time peering over the walls. Wondering when the forests would advance again and swallow you whole. To note, again, not an act of cruelty. Merely practicality. When the homelands were consumed (the history books say) there was simply nowhere else for Avel folk to go and still be home. The city could not expand. No one believed it was safe, no one trusted the forest. Even today that remains true. But an influx of new people required a solution: build up. The walls rose higher with every new level to protect new citizens, but practicality and space saving gave out eventually.

Impossible, simply impossible, to stack the entire city on top of itself more than four times. Space largely taken up by amenities; decision born out of kindness. Full mirror of the cityscape helped to limit stratification. Nevertheless, need for housing overwhelmed aesthetic purity. Only solution remaining was spires. To build the outer walls to the height of the towers was to invite instability. Unacceptably risky. By the fourth floor marketplace it was possible to peak over the edge of the barrier, if one were inclined to stand atop the fountain. On a fifth floor home the view was uncomfortably full of snow. By level twelve windows felt like a mistake. Trees all there was to see. The thickness of the forest, the wavering in the winds, the sense of an army at the gates. Always wondering, wondering when your time was coming.

But where else could they have put the orphanage? Paradoxically it was the level with the most available free space. Pure coincidence one supposes, levels ten through twelve were built proactively rather than reactively, anticipating the wave of refugees and washouts from the wider world. Just an incorrect guess. And no one wanted to live that high up if they could help it, so it sat (it sits) largely empty. Kindest thing to do for children with nowhere to call home was at least to give them lots of space to run around in.

A terrifying experience. A miserable experience. Flowers everywhere, outside, hardly any to be found inside the city. Gardens only grown with approval of the Weeders. Local constabulary, self important, largely unhelpful. Mostly there to fine and jail people who braved the near trees for petals and mushrooms. Fine enough to have them in the city, no one complained. Medicine was excellent, food even better. But couldn't be seen doing it, never be seen. To be seen was to remind. To remind was to make the city fear. And Vespergift is so tired of feeling afraid.

Proud of their fear. Stubborn about it. General refusal to leave among those that had come. Another reason transplants so often sought each other out. Only bastion of true Avel culture in all of Thellamie. Meaning there are no bastions of true Avel culture in all of Thellamie, only this tree-sieged shadow. Impossible to say what it meant to be a cat among cats with no reason to look over your perch and shiver.

Still. Good bread. Better coffee (local pride, took leaving to realize it was imported). Excellent warm clothing, sense of community permeating everything. Crime rampant. Crime rampant? Positive experience? One supposes. One likewise supposes even orphan girls never leave their homes for the Manor of all places if they are not on some level unhappy with their lives. To be a Maid-Knight is to not fit in where you were born. All the same, all the same, all the same...

No. She had not gone back since the first day she'd scooped an extra little dress and two loaves into a rotting pack and slipped out the gate (out that gate) in search of the road. Had no intention of going back, tendency to avoid assignments that might require investigation in that area. Successful so far. Streak broken.

Similarly, stories left untold. Even in thought, only vague generalities, nothing to give away how difficult it might have been to be a little Eclair. Tragic stories of childhood trauma play well among certain subsections of the Aurora but the cost of inviting their swooning affections did not feel worth it. Opportunity cost among other sects for one thing. Constant reminders of a period best left to haze by way of foreplay, for another. And frankly if there was any desire to experience the tender ministrations of a mother in these later stages of life then

In any event. Somehow Timtam knew anyway. Knew on a level beyond what their personal friendship (had that even been real?) should have suggested. This message said that she knew. Screamed it. Flaunted it. Why? Why and how? Terrifying in its implications. Eclair's chest feels like it is on fire. Difficult in the extreme to sort through the rush of emotions and arrive at truth. No, nothing for it. She would have to go. She would have to put her hands on that envelope, examine the ticket inside (or confirm its lack of existence), locate the level the business being advertised was on, and then if possible confirm the validity of the ticket. While taking copious notes of course. There is a difference between triggering an obvious trap because you are desperate to believe you might get an apology and triggering an obvious trap because the mechanics of it would provide illumination on key factors in your investigation.

If each of these factors was true then there is no time to waste here. This rain-soaked liaison must be closed with all immediate speed. Nevertheless her honor as both maid and knight of the Aurora demanded certain concessions. Therefore:

Lock eyes, nod once. Set expression as grim determination. Convey full understanding of situation, share frown of consternation. Full seriousness. Now, lean in and touch forehead against Ruthmoreness'. Sign of regretful parting. Use shift in body position to access messenger bag. Retrieve pair of Commissions. Difficult part now, peel gauntlet off of left hand. Bite thumb, draw blood. Press against first slip, burn hedge magic to summon small open air tent.

Spend second Commission creating small fire with attendant tea kettle and single ivy patterned cup. Side note: yes, every Maid-Knight carries tea on her person at all times even when unprovisioned. This counts as separate larder from actual travel supplies. Shrug. Stand and retrieve notebook, pocket safely. Slip tablet out of companion's hands and return to satchel.

Offer curtsey. Salute of the Manor, greeting and blessing and thanks and parting in the same dip of the legs and lift of the skirt. Allow moment to smooth hair out of eyes. And.

Turn and leave. The road is long but there is no time to waste. Food and drink will have to wait until she can brave the jaws of Sayanastia once more. And those concessions, once she has them, will taste of a city that once called Eclair Espoir its own.

Ah beans.

There really is only one spot to sit, isn’t there? The prospect of sitting on Amali’s knitting - or worse, of asking her to move her knitting - is unthinkable. He doesn’t even run the math. It simply isn’t done. He could stand, true, and that is going to be awkward and weird immediately, trying to have a casual conversation while looming over everyone else. And juggling hot wings and curry without the benefit of a lap? Impossible.

“Excuse me,” he says in a small voice, and makes himself smaller still as he slips onto his seat. Being a bit of a beanpole, there’s a lot of room for folding in, you see. Feet tuck under his seat. Head hunches down. Shoulders squeeeeeze in, hands in his lap, and he turns his torso juuuuuuuuust a little bit, so he’s not poking into her side quite as much. Not the most comfortable. But he’ll live. A lifetime of morning school bus rides have trained him well. He takes his helping from Amali, leaning down to take careful bites without elbowing Anat, and he listens.

It’s nice, just listening. Amali and Anat chat away about work, about family, about travel, and he gets to soak it all in. The food is tasty; all the better for the work it took to walk this far. The fire’s a little stuffy with three people packed in here, but from outside (and possibly Outside) there’s a faint breeze, picking up the smoke and carrying it up and out. It’s just enough to keep hands and faces from toasting like the flatbread. Smell, heat, and song.

Even just talking, she sounds like she’s singing.

Is he bothering her, sitting here? He hopes not. He’s probably not? When he stops, and listens, he can forget that his shoulder is lightly pressing against her side. And his knee. And his other side. And a bit of his leg. When he listens, all of it sinks into the faint, pleasant presence of another body sitting close.

Not quite pleasant enough to still the restlessness pacing through him. He can forget where exactly she’s touching him. He cannot forget she is sitting next to him. It never rises high enough to be a thought. But he cannot forget she is here. She is speaking. She is aware of him.

The Crysthanamum.

“Oh, thank goodness,” he breathes a sigh of relief. “I’m glad you could find a new place to stay, and on short notice too.” And his eyes are big as he looks up at this traveling celebrity(?!) and singer, perhaps a little wider than they were before. Maybe that’s a flicking hearth playing tricks. Maybe that’s a fluttering heart playing tricks. A tail flicka-flicks.

Of course he doesn’t give anything away! If even Yuki doesn’t know where he’s going, he’s not going to tell someone he met yesterday either. Besides, Amali was playing things pretty close to the chest. Best to follow her lead, rather than unintentionally spoil something.

He chases a bit of curry with a scrap of flatbread. Thinking. “What’s it like, being a traveling singer?” He’s contributing to the conversation. He’s doing a good job of conversation. “I mean, I’ve never met one before. I definitely haven’t gotten the chance to traveling sing,” this he says with full seriousness and a smile in his eyes. “I can’t really picture that kind of life, you know?” How did she get started? What’s it like, really like, on a day-to-day basis? How does she manage to live in so many different places? Does she still have a place she calls home?

A boy who’s spent his whole life at home will ask all these and more.

[Activating Friendly Benefits, Anat gets a string too!]

Injimo!

"The assassin?" Aadya blinks a moment. "I... did she go out and kill someone?"

A beat. The Civil's mouth slowly opens, and she eventually manages to find the words. "No, she... she attacked the Goddess?"

"What? After I let her go?!" The stylus proves its good manufacture by not snapping under the pressure of Aadya's forefinger and thumb. "I should have known something was wrong when she ran off... damn!" She gnaws on the stylus, glaring at the tablet like it was what convinced her to let Eclair Espoir go.

Then her eyes flick back to you, and she stands up a little straighter, tucks the stylus behind her ear, and actually tries to look like she's trying to be respectful of the Hero of Ages. "She was harassing a dyemaker, trying to get information on Sister Tammithyn Murr. When I arrived, she beat me in a fight and then made me help her clean the dyemaker's shop, and she tried to convince me that the whole thing was a big misunderstanding and that she wasn't stalking the good sister. Then she took me by the hand, ran out with me into the street, and finally jumped off me to start using her board. Now she's gone, Tammithyn's gone, and you're telling me she found time to attack Holy Civelia along the way?"

She stands even more at attention. "Eclair Espoir is a talented and dangerous opponent, happy to use her body and her skateboard to fight even more than she uses her sword. She's capricious and erratic, obsessed with cleaning, good at using her tongue. Appearance-wise, she's a violet-haired Avel in plate-and-apron."

Didn't Civelia's attacker have carrot-orange curls?

---

Cair!

As Kalentia tries to get the Lunarian to relax, or at the very least stop being as stiff as a board, all right angles and scandalized shivers, we turn our attention back to you. You've been dealing with the armor, right? We may as well talk about that for a moment.

The Lunarians are geniuses when it comes to technology, and this armor's proof of that. It's designed to be a self-contained lunar environment, and it's very hard; whatever cracked open the vambrace must have been very dangerous. Either that, or she pissed off someone with the world's largest crab cracker; the way that it interlocks, the shape of its various pieces, has a rather carcine air beneath the bamboo-stem elegance. When you slipped your hand into the gauntlet and tried to pick up a sword, it made you strong enough that you left the imprints of your fingers in the metal as if it were made of sponge.

The most you'll be able to do on it is a patch job, and it's possible that the pure essence of the moon has already leaked out of the suit. This could have... ramifications on the Lunarian's continued health, if she doesn't figure out how to survive down here where everything's dirty and messy.

---

Yuki!

Well, for starters, you should mark a Need for Aadya. Poor dear. We'll just have to see if we can avoid having her turned into a pincushion, won't we?

As for Sulochana, something in your words or voice seems to touch her. She hesitates for your sake, darling. For your sake and for the sake of a boy she still hasn’t properly met in person.

“…Yuki, I would appreciate your help,” she says, banking the fires of her intensity. “You’re right. I— what if coming with as many guards as I can just scares him? What if he’d be uncomfortable with riding in a palanquin or on the back of a goblin? Would it mean more to him if we disguised ourselves and went alone? He’s your friend, so please help me tame him in… the nicest way I can.”

What this means, dear, is that you now have a lot of power over how Suli intends to go forth. You can pick names, make requests, and otherwise take responsibility for making this happen, too. But that’s better than scaring Hazel, right?

---

Eclair!

For most hubs in Thellamie, there are two means of entry: via the Roads or by daring the Outside and coming from without. However, this latter, more unusual method hits several snags when an attempt is made to enter Vespergift thus. Snags, roots, walls and boiling oil. Or so the excitable rumors of childhood go; every child knew someone whose cousin knew someone who got locked out after sneaking out of the city, and when they tried to get back inside: slosh and splash and sizzle.

What this means practically is that you may enter the city into the Marché Couvert, which feels as if it is subterranean despite merely being at ground level, a maze of stalls and carts and cafes where Timtam might play cat and mouse— or you may brave the walls that the trees and the dead have broken themselves upon time and again, clambering from gargoyle to arrow-slit to oil-vent, all to try and outfox Timtam.

---

Anat Amora-Ugari!

There. There it is. The starlight inside of him glimmering, winking, bright and full of wonder. You caught a glimpse of that when Keli was dancing with him: that passion. The gesture you make with your fingers, for but a moment, is only for you and Amali and me; he doesn’t know yet what it means. But in this moment, you believe that one day this boy will know me the way that you do. (Oh, if only you knew!)

“Like you,” you say, taking a guess, “I could feel it inside here.” Your touch to your breastbone is gentle. “That feeling needs to be shared with others. By doing what we do, we help others touch the dance that is happening above us all, even if it’s only for a moment.”

Then you begin to prime him for initiation: you tell him about the places in every hub that welcome artists, but not about the symbols etched into doorframes. You tell him about paying attention to the calendars of the hubs and chasing festivals and parties, and how the Civils always have some sort of event they can point you towards, but you leave out the fact that you sometimes receive polite suggestions on where to go and who to speak with. You mention that the ashiq were the first traveling performers, and you do a little shimmy of demonstration that makes him nearly bury his face into his curry, but you do not talk about who taught them.

Good girl.

“…and I do have an apartment in Turquoise, though I spend only a few weeks out of the year there. How about you? Where are you from?” And you ask it with more innocence than anything else you have said, not knowing why Amali kicks him under the table.

"Oh gosh, this is so cloak and dagger! This is much better than trying to show up with an army! We can sneak in as travelers, maneuver through the space even if the Khatun shows up."

Yuki is grinning big and wide, from ear to ear. It's probably a little unnerving on a Kel, showing off cute little fangs as her ears twitch happily. It's like Suli put her in charge of her own adventure novel! And everybody knew that a couple of heroes can go a lot further and get into a lot more places than an army. An army has to make a big deal of moving itself around! You have to, like, pack food, and pitch camps, and house everybody, which you should normally try not to drop on a random town because forcing people to house a bunch of soldiers they weren't expecting is rude! But a few may go where many could not.

Okay, okay, Yuki is resisting the urge to literally make a fellowship of nine here. But something like that. "Let's take Pasenne. She's been super helpful and has been listening to all our planning anyway, so you must trust her, right? And maybe, like, two or three other Nagi that you trust. Enough that when we're traveling all together we look like a solid group that nobody wants to mess with, but not so big that we can't all sit down at a restaurant and have a meal at one table. If you've got someone that knows Aestival really well, bring them, plus I want to learn all about the terrain so someone who's been there can tell me about it on the way. And I guess at least one guard in case we need to do some fighting, but like, not one that's gonna pull her heartblade at the first sign of trouble!"

Yuki rubs her chin. "Hmm, how recognizable do you think you are outside of Crevas? You're like, royalty now, so do you need a special disguise? Do you need to bring a makeup person with you for that? Or a costumer? Also like, what's your um, expected traveling accommodations? Do we need to stay in the nicest places wherever we go? Be honest about it, cuz I went to camp with plenty of people who said they liked roughing it, but the second that a leaf touched them they were freaking out and couldn't recognize poison oak if you gave them a field guide with the picture and held it right next to the damn stuff." She blushes, this is obviously a sore spot. "A-anyway, my point is, just be honest if you need nicer places and make sure we bring enough money for what we plan to do and then we'll make that work, we don't have to make you suffer."

She thinks again, taps her foot. "Oh, also, also, what's the weather like in Aestival? I brought a snow jacket that I mostly haven't worn here cuz it's cold where I'm from and it's cold in the Kel mountains. But is Aestival usually really hot? What kind of stuff should we wear to blend in? Can we do cloaks with hoods? Or is that weird? I kinda want a cloak with a hood though, it's the adventuriest piece of clothing!"

All of this is happening as they move in and out of rooms. As Yuki stops to use the bathroom and wash her face and her hair and fluff her ears. As she gets her old, rusted sword and the clothes she has, along with her bag and her phone and her tablet. She doesn't carry a ton on her normally, but her bag has a few dice and a handful of buttons that she got at a Magic prerelease and stuffed in there cuz they were cute and she liked the blue and green color scheme on the dice.

Hoping she hasn't bewildered Suli too much, she stops and tries to summarize. "Okay so, you, me, Pasenne if that's cool with you. One Aestival expert who can be a guide and teach us or at least me about the place. A person for your disguises if you need one. And one guard/fighter person who isn't going to cause us too much trouble but can back us up if we need it. How's that work for a traveling party?"

"Oh, wait, crap, what about the people you're leaving behind? Is it a political problem if you're out of the city and nobody knows where you are for too long? Do we need to, like, bring Purnima or one of her close allies with us so they don't all plot against you while you're outside the city? Not that I want to see an enemies to lovers run or anything" No, she didn't say that last part, shut up.

Hazel always stayed to the end of the end credits. Pretty, animated splash screens with only one or two names set to a new favorite music eventually give way to the long, long scroll. One song, two songs, three songs flow one right after the other. He recognizes a few titles. Gaffer. Gang boss. Best boy. No idea what they are, but with names like that how can he forget them?

The last notes fade. A few more silent screens play out before him. Logos. Legal notices. Nothing more. The lights come all the way on. Pop music plays gently over the speakers. The spell is ending. It’s time to go.

He gets up in one fell swoop, leaning forward and pushing himself up by the armrests. It’s a short walk out of the theater, down the hallway, out the door, and back into the car. When he gets home, he’ll probably be back down to earth again. He knows it, deep down. So he savors this short walk that doesn’t feel like walking. He basks in the glow of a story well told and better enjoyed. All his thoughts turn to worlds beyond this one, full of adventure, music, and wonder. His body is weightless. His steps light and sure and different. Any one of them could carry him to one of those worlds. He could be anyone, do anything. In this moment magic was real and it flowed through his veins.

Just for a short walk.

********************************

Hazel jumps in his seat with a yelp, and has to give an accompaniment of follow-up noises as he juggles his flatbread and only narrowly saves it from a terrible fall! Ow! Amali!!!

Wait.

Oh no.

He hasn’t thought of a cover story.

I mean, yes, duh, of course he needs a cover story, he should’ve thought of a cover story, but, he didn’t, and, oh no, Anat! Augh!

“Sorry! Train of thought went,” wait, do they even have trains here? “I mean, uh, I completely forgot what I was going to say. One second.” Um. Uh. Okay. Well. Cover story. Sure. He can do that. Just. Pick a place and….goooooooo? “I’m from…Stoneward, right. It’s not a big place, just a little village in Kel. There’s me, my folks, and a few little brothers and sisters. I, well, I help out around…the village, place. You know, odd jobs, keeping things tidy, lending a hand around the house. But that’s not my job, no, that’s just, my real job is working at the……..store.” What did Yuki say Kel specialized in again? “For crystals and such. Make sure people have enough lighting, and food, and other supplies as they go. It’s a nice job. Steady work. Yeah.”

Oh no she was still looking at him expectantly. Oh no Amali was looking at him with a decidedly kickful gleam in her eye. Um. Uh. Augh. “And, I came out here to visit my aunt, for the Festival of Light. I, always wanted to see Crevas, but, never had the chance to go before now. Picked a heck of a time to visit, huh?” He laughs easily at his own misfortune. “Still! It’s been a really fun trip. I’ve been hoping to go for a really long time but it, well, it just never really worked out before. And now that I’m here, for real, it’s just. There’s. I. Wow. I don’t even know where to begin.” The food, the festival, the sights, the sounds, the people, the dancing, the prophecy, the chasing, the adventure, the magic! “It’s been the trip of a lifetime. I’m, really glad it’s not over yet.”

Yet.

There’s still a bit more walk to go.

Current Threat Assessment of Target: S/A
Ranking top of cleverness index, deep into advanced planning. Current assumption is that all possible-to-likely responses will be accounted for to a level of depth reaching 3 stages.
Favored protocol advises stealth entrance. Confession: personal bias. Hate this city, do not wish to be seen.
Target too likely aware of this, inadvisable. Though note for future: sweep outer walls of Vespergift before final departure to check for signs of tampering.
Data gathering.
Believe I am being herded through the most traceable entrance with the largest total defensive and deceptive options for Target.
But noting for posterity: I accept this and choose the path of my own free will.

She will not put it in her notes even under threat of death, but the deepest truth of the matter is that it has been, uh...

Eclair tries to work her way through the reckoning. When that fails she turns to dirty math. Twenty four plus... twelve? Fourteen? Error. She resorts to counting on her fingers, and it takes her four hands' worth to realize she is looping rather than incrementing. Never mind a number, then. It has been an unacceptably long time since she last took in any form of sustenance.

Personal addendum: this place is smaller in person than in my memories. I can no longer find it within myself to be mad.

The Marché Couvert, therefore. It is cramped and crowded enough to oblige Eclair to shuffle through what passes for streets here in side profile. Even still the sword at her hip manages to jab a youth in the back and she is further obliged to apologize to occupy a hand holding it in place against her thigh to keep anything from causing further harm or distress.

Her neck cranes automatically upward, pulled toward the higher labyrinths by the deep and long buried muscle memory that also wraps her tail like a belt around her waist in the same motion. She navigates the pathways in front of her via the ones above, only occasionally glancing down to track the crowds. Despite how many souls there are milling about, it is quiet here. The people of Vespergift know better than to excite the forest.

Eclair makes minimal effort (which is different from zero effort) to look for carrot orange curls or the black and white of a fellow maid. She works slightly harder to pick out any recent markings from attempts at skateboarding or parkour in this city that was practically built begging to be climbed, but these are likewise secondary concerns. There was frankly no concern to apprehend Timtam and no desire to speak with her even until she's put eyes on the display of Sayanastia and confirmed the presence (current or former) of the note she saw in that tablet painting. Any traps or lures encountered prior to that would have to content themselves with springing all on their own. She would not give them the satisfaction of consideration.

Even this is all background noise compared with the hunt for the titan of her childhood. A cafe she used to pine after, used to dream of dining at just a single time as the highest ambition of her tiny Avel life. It's nearer to the walls than most reputable establishments tend to be, but the smell of their ingredients was always so potent she'd just assumed it had to be the best anywhere in all of Thellamie. Even now she idly wonders if it might be worthy of a new conquest for the Manor.

Finally, her feet stop supporting her weight. She settles into a chair. Of course it's still there. From the looks of things, the same staff. Did you expect otherwise? Who could imagine any shop or dwelling collapsing on the ground level? That's like thinking Princess Heron could lose a duel. Absurd. Just the height of absurdity.

"Pain au chocolat," the first words out of her mouth since her collapse are strained but satisfyingly clear. She does not look up from her notebook, "With three eggs prepared to the chef's preference. I will also require a cup of tea. Black, steeped for two and a half minutes in water poured just before boiling. Place a serving of blackcurrant jam on the right side of the cup, thank you."

Injimo!

"Good at using her tongue?" said Injimo-as-Heron. "Just how hard did you lose that fight?"

Teasing isn't judging. She knows what it is to lose a fight, and so does Heron. There have certainly been extended periods where the Heroine was held captive, rendered into a damsel in distress, chained up with a chained bell collar in chains, gagged and kneeling and enslaved, wearing a harem outfit and looking at viewer. These things just happened and there was an entire branch of the martial arts dedicated to reversing that situation when you were in it. It's for that reason Injimo presses for details; if she was going to have that rematch with Aadya at some point, she probably needs every advantage she can get.

[Entice: 6]

"She changed her hair colour, but that was probably still her," said Injimo. "Appearance can change, but skills can't - and how many skateboarding maid knights can there be?"

Cair!

Before I get into that I'm going to answer your secret knowledge craving r.e. swimsuits.

So Kalentia wears a string bikini with gauzy white veil attachments, like the beachwear version of a wedding dress. They expand out when she's in the water giving her a bit of an angel wing look. She's got a lot of scars, almost as many as Injimo, but she's also got a tattoo pattern that links them up and adds stars to the join points so it looks like constellations. Cool effect

I don't see the point. My clothes are waterproof, I just go in fully dressed and shake myself off like a dog afterwards.

Anyway, I'm not really a tinker. Heron did most of that - she could get good at anything. My job is to manage the stockpile. Heron made dozens of magical swords over the process of teaching herself blacksmithing, most of which she used once and threw away. I can sort, label, and catalogue a suit like this but the technicalities of how it works are way beyond me. I'm going to need to take this one upstairs.

You wouldn't believe the stuff that's in the Stacks. Heron left to fight moon demons? Well, odds are one of them came down here sometime in the past, and Heron stuffed it in a box. Or maybe there'll be some sort of moon-based superintelligence shard, or a giant girl who sleeps in the heart of a meteor, or a magic wedding ring that grants wishes. You never know until you go looking.

[Commune with the Unseen: 8. Cair gives a powerful entity a String, and learns something important from the Unseen. Restless Unseen cause a haunting.]

Yuki!

"We have problems," Timatheo says.

Wait, wait, let's back up. You're now at the *~Lucky Star~* just off Welcoming Plaza, finalizing your trip prep in one of its upper-floor lounges, and by you I mean the Fellowship of the Deerboy. Let's run down the list real quick while I add them to the Dramatis Personae, and then we can get back to Timatheo and his tablet.

• Princess Sulochana Arju. Her scales are a dull gold and warm brown, and she's wearing Aestivali fashion: loose, flowing, colorful silks. Her cloak does have a hood, but she's got it tossed back to show off the butterfly-combed ponytail. Her half-mask is white edged in gold, and silver tassels hang under it, her lips teasingly peeking out between them. A web of delicate golden chains covers her right hand from palm to elbow, looping in curves that draw the eye. She's burning a cover identity for this, one prepared by the spies of the Arju consortium for such a desperate hour, so she's spent the past hour going through the cover notes on her tablet and doing vocal warmups. Yah, she murmurs to herself, the beach house in Garnet's going to be lovely for the season, yah?
• Pasenne, who presumably has a last name but you haven't gotten it yet. The ribbons that were wrapped around her rattle are now in her pigtails, and when she moves, the bells on her collar and wrist cuffs jangle along with her rattle. The one thing she gets to wear that isn't gauzy and diaphanous is the embroidered vest, all knots and coils (barring the veil, naturally). The symbols etched into her collar indicate that she's served fourteen months of two years of gambled service. She's squirming a little self-consciously, but that adds to the authenticity (and there's some giddy awareness of her own hotness in there, too). She's also doing the finishing touches on Magasha's eyeshadow; she's the cosmetics expert for this operation.
• Anka Arju-Wajz, who's one of the non-serpentine Nagi. She's got scale patterns in her fur and wet golden eyes, but she's also big, shaggy, and broad-shouldered. Her mask is black and red, the swirls drawing attention to those intense eyes, and it exposes her glittering ruby-red lipstick. The mask, the red cloak tossed over one shoulder, the braided golden sash, and a charm dangling from her wrist: these things mark her out as a vicious agonistes. It's an assumed identity, but only barely one; I must have neglected to mention her whirlwind of heartblade violence at the disastrous ceremony last night.
• Magasha Arju, her indigo hair pulled up around a headdress. Elaborate swirls of paint along her skin meld into slowly undulating scale patterns, forming symbols of the elements like contractions of a muscle. Her dress is embroidered with fortunate constellations. She's going to be another currently-enfranchised citizen of Aestival working in contract with Suli, the elementalist mage with (literal) firepower backing up Anka's storm of blades if you run into trouble. She's actually Suli's cousin, and the resemblance is striking.
• And then there's Timatheo, also of an undetermined last name. His fur and skin are the kind of black that invite comparisons to ravens, to obsidian, to ink, which makes the white at the tip of his ears and tail all the more striking. He wears flowing violet that leaves his chest bare, and his cloak is the sort of grey that isn't fighting with his fur for attention. A subtle silver collar indicates that he's taking the role of a vazir contracted out to Suli.

"Firstly," he says, his voice conveying irritation while still being soft as the silk clinging to his lithe frame, "Purnima Karn-Pana has already left. I don't believe she's likely to make her way past the Khatun, and she might pull attention away from us, but she's yet another uncertain element in this operation.

"Secondly, Hazel Valentine-Fletcher has been seen at the Hard Gem Cafe in Garnet." He waits a beat, glancing over at you, and then continues. "And at the Spiral Ring, and entering the White Star Teahouse, and in the Tark markets, and diving in Topaz Bay, and being welcomed into Saint Sparrow's of Highpeak." He flips his tablet around to reveal a map of Thellamie (in the same style as a map of the London Underground), with little antler logos all over the place.

Suli groans and stares exhaustedly at the screen. "A shell game. Damn it..."

(There's no antlered logo in the north, though. Not at Stoneward and not at Vespergift.)

While you ponder that- what disguise have you taken here, armed with the largesse of the Arju family? An enthusiastic venturer-scout with a cool cloak and a compass inked on your inner wrist? An apprentice-agonistes with your hair in braids and a black cloak over your offhand? A glamorous, swashbuckling ashiq, making your way with your wits, your seductive wiles, and your audacity? A cartomancer with a gilded deck of constellation-cards? Surely not a debt-girl like Pasenne!

---

Hazel!

Vespergift is like New York City, you likely think at first.

At least, the NYC that you've seen in movies and TV shows: streets in the shadow of great towers, streets that are packed with people coming home from Crevas, carts on the sidewalk selling street food, snow coming down in flurries and getting packed underfoot into slush. That's a good starting point, and one which slowly complicates the longer you pull the rickshaw with Amali along the designated lanes- for Vespergift is a city of rickshaws, not of goblin-drawn carriages or wagons. You'll see few pets while you're here, too; even domesticated, the beasts of the Outside are suspect.

The buildings have a lot of character to them, too. Plenty of gargoyles (which is to say, the ones that spout water, or on days like today, loose flurries of snow). Plenty of intricate knotwork carvings are interlaced with crown designs all over the walls. Plenty of art deco posters plastered onto any space that will fit them. But down at ground level, there are less of those: this is a place for the good and the grand.

This has taken you some time to get to, but we'll just gloss over the long journey from hub to hub, headed steadily northwards; Anat was the most notable person you met. You've eaten with Kel families with rolypoly kids, with Khaganate musicians looking to avoid conscription into a hunting-pack looking for the Golden Fawn, with a dark-eyed agonistes brooding over being contracted to service in Vespergift instead of being involved in the hunt for the Golden Fawn, with a well-to-do Avel family all too happy to talk about their crystal horticulture business. Meeting people is part of the way that the Roads work, and so is the fact that Anat didn't show up in Vespergift at the exact same time you did. Maybe she got here earlier, maybe she's still finishing up a meal before she continues on her way to the Chrysanthemum.

You know. The same place that you're approaching with Amali.

"Let me do the talking once we're inside," she's saying, and there's a sternness to her voice. "You're going to come around to the side entrance; carry what I hand you and follow me, and don't talk to the girls, you understand? One way or another, you'll get in trouble for it, or shenanigans will ensue..."

As if you could avoid them in one of my hallowed places.

---

Eclair!

The eggs are glistening and ever-so-slightly wobbly when poked with a fork. Pierce one with the tines and the golden yolk oozes out sluggishly onto the plate. The pain au chocolat is buttery, fluffy, and rich whenever you bite into one of the pockets of chocolatey goodness. The tea is, alas, steeped for two minutes and ten seconds, but it's served to you with a wink by the waitress.

"I don't think I've seen you around before," she says, with a lilt to the S that suggests she was raised in Kel. Her hair is brown and black, tucked up into a messy bun, and her apron is stained to a degree that would never be acceptable in the Mansion. But her sleeves are rolled up to the elbow, and the shape of them, the effortless strain of holding a tray, that speaks to its own sort of dedication. "What brings you here, stranger~?"

On the other side of the street, someone is putting up a poster, dangling by a series of straps from a balcony so that they have both hands available for the work. The profile of a glowering maid with violet ringlets stares down balefully, lip curled to bare her teeth. It is not an attempt at realism, but constructed from the distinctive sharp-angled shapes of the New Vespertine School.

---

Injimo!

The paladin laughs. There's a blush to it, certainly, but also a disarming sort of self-effacement. "I mean, she did have her thighs around my head at one point," she says, and winks. "But I mean it, Heron. When she was talking to me, it was like she could have convinced me of anything. Like she was asserting a world where she was justified so strongly. I think she might be connected to... well. If you know, you know."

MASKERADE is a theory among the Paladins of Kel that argues that not only has Aestival been compromised by fallen star worship on a scale that beggars anything beyond the First Fallen, but that their ultimate goal is to take control of the Civil Church and the government of every Hub, at which point the Roads will be twisted into a Labyrinth and rule-by-masks will begin. (Don't worry, if it was true, wouldn't I tell you?) Conversely, DEMASQUE is the theory that the evidence for MASKERADE has been carefully faked to implicate the High Council when the true threat is a cult trying to weaponize mirrors in the name of Azaza, and then there's FAKEVELIA, which Heron very definitely isn't supposed to know about, because she's honor-bound to kick the ass of idiots theorizing that maybe Civelia's been replaced by skilled imposters for the past three incarnations, but that would just add fuel to the fire.

This is where she'd take a String, but she's immediately burning it by impulsively taking your hand and dropping to one knee. "Great Hero," she says, pressing her forehead against your fingers (and it's warmer than you expected), "let me join your entourage while we hunt for Eclair Espoir and Tammithyn Murr." (Her grip is strong, just like when she wrestled with you, laughing and pointing out ways that you could overcome her, and then still managing to win anyway. She wanted you to be able to win fairly so badly, but she also wanted to push you to your limits first.)

---

Cair!

You'd think an eight-foot tall woman covered in chains and hair would be easier to hear, right?

Her hair drags on the floor, covering her like a straw coat; her ears barely poke out of the tangled, coarse mass. She's like a walking fir tree. And she was very, very quiet, right up until she picked you up and pinned you against MOON (Aa-Da). The arm that is sticking out of the coat of hair is, as one might say, swole. If she flexed, her bicep would be the size of your head, easy.

Long I languished / lost, forlorn
Kept in chains / of constancy,
Mistress-mailed / in my might.
Doomed, despairing / for her death.

"These chains ye linked of loyalty, to keep as long in ground she lie. Void-tempered, vast-holding, vainly yet I strove. Now ye reckon, riseth she; rage-consuming, rabid-fanged."

Architect I / arbor-ardent
Stone stacking / in straunge shape.
Hearing her horn / happy hasten
to turmoil / and torment of the towns.

"Where my hammer, not to hand? Spineless-one, shivering-girl, slave of Light; speak! To war I waken, to your walls I wend, woe to world!"

...this is definitely, as Tsane would be able to identify for you, the Architect-Knight, raiser and feller of walls. She was the right hand of Dark Queen Aria, one of Sayanastia's incarnations, eventually defeated in epic battle far in the north of the world. But she's been marked as DEFANGED in the annals, since Aria very definitely bit it at the end there. The kind of gruesome death that fighting with heartblades helps everybody avoid-- but she was the one who used gross weapons first, so she can't really complain about the whole spearing thing.

Did You Know: Heron forced the Architect-Knight to build the Walls of Vespergift in a single night?

She could crush your windpipe like a cheap tin can. She could bounce you off the walls like a tennis ball. But she is doing neither of these things. She is just holding you in place, effortlessly, and, hey, if you did find the hammer for her, you could definitely get a repaired suit for the Lunarian out of the deal. She's a terror, but a terror that pays her debts. And, hey, you got a mixed success, so you've got plenty of room to wriggle here and to talk her into a deal. Fair's fair.

Firstly, spoon small amounts of the jam into the tea and stir until by careful observation of color, consistency, smell, and very careful tasting it can be determined that the additive has balanced out flaws in the leaf selection and steep time. Remaining portion: slightly over two thirds. Eat directly with spoon.

Secondly, burst yolks with tines of fork. Season only the parts that leak out, half a turn of salt and two turns of pepper. Eat quickly and quietly, using cuts of white to sop up yolk. Transfer fork to left hand while cutting, then to right to bring up to mouth. Small sip of tea, repeat. Wipe fork clean with spare napkin before turning attention to pastry.

"Hmm," says Eclair, "I wonder..."

Thirdly, cut into pastry with fork. Repeat of previous technique. Outside crust will flake off into strips, drop onto plate. Leave for now, focus on main body of food. Take care not to spill chocolate, chew, swallow, follow with tea as before. Comparison of flavor profiles. Once main pastry is finished, pick up excess crust and run through now-congealing yolk remnants. Bring to mouth, continuing to follow laws of etiquette. Continue until both plates are clean.

"A satisfying puzzle, thank you very much." she speaks while pulling her pen free, touching it to the page while lifting the cup to her mouth again with her other hand.

Sighted in Vespergift: Civil Church sponsored wanted poster offering unspecified reward for capture of my person. Name in full, accurate spelling.
Depiction of face wildly inaccurate in excess of allowance for the style favored by this particular artist - Vespertine impressionism remains striking and lovely, but identification next to impossible against numerous mistakes.
I do not smile like that. Furthermore: ringlets?
Obvious conclusion is that poster is a construction of multiple descriptions. Assass------

"If you would be so kind Madame, could I direct your attention to the Civil Advertisement being placed on the wall opposite ourselves? I wish for your opinion on the matter."

Eclair takes the moment of conversation to flip three pages back in her notes and locate a forgotten piece of information.

-----Aadya, Rock Upon a Mountain accounts for one degree of accusation. However, she was under the mistaken impression I was a stalker. To mark me as an assassin in my own right requires a second criminal act have taken place, likely also in Crevas. From this observation and several superficial similarities in the physical portrayal of the criminal's features I conclude the artist has rendered a composite sketch of both my own self and Timtam.
Curious.
She gave them my name? And they accepted this uncritically?
The Civil Church is to be avoided as a line of questioning for the time being. Imprisonment would be inconvenient at my current levels of hypothesis.
A dependency? Erosion of support in traditional structures/natural mistrust of Aurora Maidens/threats of violence = Target's arms only ones to turn to?
Or merely attempting to destroy me without the risk of single combat. Though that does not line up with her method of invitation.

"No, if her aim was solely my capture or destruction there would be no need to say anything at all. Absent a new stimulus I would have eventually returned to Crevas, the location with the highest concentration of enforcement personnel thanks to the temporary presence of the Goddess. If she encouraged me here that can only mean..."

Eclair taps the tip of her pen against her lip, deep in thought. She rises out of her chair, and in that motion stacks her plates and cup perfectly alongside both folded napkins arranged for best and quickest carrying and cleaning. Under ordinary circumstances she would offer to do the work herself as a thank you for a meal prepared beyond the standard she was testing for.

However in this exact moment she is out of time. She needed to either locate her invitation to the Chrysanthemum or else determine the invitation to be a ruse and drop instead into a need for battle. Or flight. In every case the cafe would have to settle for merely being overpaid in a cute little pyramid of coins.

"To answer your question Milady, I am Eclair Espoir. There are some who refer to me as the Violet Flash, and I am here in pursuit of a target. If you are of the inclination to raise an alarm, I suggest you do so now before it becomes too late. And if you are not, I may return for dinner service. Regardless, please pass along my compliments to your chef and consider investing in a sand timer for your tea."

And with a curtsy and a careful tuck of her pen she is gone, making for the walls where the Dark Dragon might at long last fulfill the threat of her childhood and devour her whole. Vespergift is not especially well suited to her board, but it is nevertheless the dream of those who practice the movement arts of the Aurora. She is bounding off into shadows and toward the light on wings of stone and brick.

Injimo!

"Sure," said Injimo-as-Heron. "I'm down a fighter. Keep the team safe."

Mm. Too wordy. Heron would somehow have communicated the same information in half the words - maybe even just a nod, or even just 'YES' - but that niggling doubt was easy to brush away. She was actually excited for this; she'd just gotten to assign Aadya to the Injimo role. That meant that she wouldn't have to concern herself with defense when the fight did come; she could go all out. That was a rare opportunity to try to fight like Heron did; all out, invincible and unstoppable, needing and concerned with no one. It was no mystery why anyone capable of fighting that way fought that way.

Cair!

"Hey, hey, chill a second," said Cair, somehow wiggling one of her arms up through the cage of fingers. She's sliding out the top like squeezed toothpaste. "I get it(1). You know?"



"But before we go any further then we're going to have to exchange titles properly," said Cair, squirming her other hand out the top of the fist. "That being the polite thing to do, right? But there's a fairness problem; I know yours, and you've already had three guesses as to mine. And your ratings are 'half correct', 'entirely incorrect', and 'entirely correct'. So tell you what - I'll give you three more guesses. Figure out what I am and I'll settle with you as an equal. Doesn't get fairer than that."

While the thought of squirming along with Pasenne does briefly cross Yuki's mind, it's not what she's looking for (right now). Yuki wants to be a knight. A knight of Kel. In the Nagi sense, that would be most similar to an agonistes, though she has not chosen to make herself a Nagi apprentice, but a Kel one. A sword for hire and companion. This is not unheard of. Aadya is doing much the same thing for the Civil Church at the moment, and while Kel always maintains a contingent of knights upon the mountain tops to guard its lands and serve the roads to the moon, many young Kel knights strike out for a range of service missions. A questing Kel knight might well take on service to the Nagi.

The greatest change, then, is that she has dropped her Earth attire. It marks her out too clearly and begs questions as to how she could have obtained a t-shirt and jacket in such a foreign style. Questions that might lead someone thoughtful to consider whether they've seen her face, or her picture from when she was younger and judge whether or not she might in fact be Yuki all grown up. But, at the same time, it was clear enough that out of context Nagi and Serigalamu didn't necessarily know who she was. So, her Earth clothing is carefully bundled into a chest and left in the safekeeping of Sulochana's staff at Crevas.

In its place, she bedecks herself as a Kel knight who has taken on service to the house of Arja and has prepared herself for travel. She wears her light Kel mail, which covers her chest, her upper arms, her waist and upper legs, and then her armguards between elbow and wrist and her shinguards between ankle and shin. Below the mail, she wears a knee-length pleated skirt in lavender, loose and easy to move about while making her feel both pretty and a little more formal than her typical pants. She wears gray woolen socks and Kel fit sandals (from a Nagi shoe artisan in the upper city known for making good fits for those who have legs, Yuki does not want blisters on the road!). Over the top of the mail, she wears a sash of burgundy red cloth fringed in gold, emblazoned in white with two symbols: the symbol of the agonistes, a stylized serpent bearing sword and shield, and the symbol of Crevas: a canyon flanked by two serpents. In this, she has acknowledged Anka as her senior: the solid gold sash is only for a champion who has been awarded it for her victory in competition. Yuki's sash acknowledges that she has taken the role of agonistes within Nagi society, and that as a Kel knight, she demands equal status in the Nagi system (hence the gold fringe, rather than unadorned red as would befit a trainee). Though she would typically be expected to wear a red cloak to match, she has insisted on a gray Kel cloak. This required seeking out a dyer, as it would typically be unseemly to produce Kel knight cloaks unless a Kel knight like Yuki requested a replacement. The hood is sized for her face and her kitty ears. Her mask, matching her other colors, is red and gray: agonistes and Kel knight together. It is cut for her mouth in a stoic face, betraying no particular emotion. Finally, as a nod to Sulochana and the status of her party, Yuki wears an emerald on a delicate silver chain around her neck, a gift for her service, one would expect.

The whole of this is a quite strong disguise: Yuki is fit, speedy, and looks every bit the part. Though if she were interrogated by actual Kel knights there would be some awkward questions as to her training and mission. She was made an honorary knight at the end of her last adventure upon Azaza's defeat, but she can hardly reveal that without giving herself away, and she had never asked Aadya for details of Kel knight training. So, if push comes to shove, she'll probably just say she trained with Aadya. She's actually considered posing as Aadya, but figured she couldn't pull it off. But even without that, much of the specifics here are designed to lure Aadya into a duel should they meet in the course of this quest. Yuki owed that to Aadya for standing her up, and she couldn't think of anything her friend would want more than a chance to go all out against a fellow knight.

She has prepared everything except a name, which, if none of the party has suggestions, she will come up with on the road as needed.

But, of course, getting dressed is only half the matter. Now she has to deal with a shell game. Yuki steps up closer, cloak loose and open, waving behind her as her tail flicks in agitation while looking at the map that Timotheo gestures at.

"Damn. This is...somebody's playing a dumb game here. I mean, everybody knows shell games are never fair, the whole point is that it's a sleight of hand trick: you slip the ball out of the shells as you move them so that no matter what shell is chosen, the player always loses."

Yuki rubs her chin. "That would mean that the real Hazel is heading...North." She points at the map, finger tracking the empty space: "...to Vespergift or Stoneward. I can't tell which. Maybe...whichever is most secure against the Khatun? If there's even a difference. I mean, I dunno, everybody keeps saying she can travel and just drop into a random city, but if one or the other is better against that, then that one."

Before anybody can talk, she holds up a hand that she's still thinking. "The problem is like, okay a) who's the target of this shell game? The Khatun's going to figure out the same thing I just did, she's way too smart, so who's this even aimed at? b) How and more importantly WHY is someone doing a Hazel shell game? It's not even two days into this thing!"

Yuki's ears droop and she puts a hand to her head as she's thinking herself into circles. "I don't know enough about the magic here. Magasha, do you maybe? If we went and caught one of these fake Hazels, would he disappear in a puff of smoke, or could we do an interrogation? Otherwise, it's the best coinflip we can make between Stoneward and Vespergift I think."

Vespergift. City of Towers. Last gift of the Conqueror. Where even the walkways are tied in knots.

Is it bigger than Crevas? Hard to say. It’s difficult to compare tall up with tall half-down. They’re different sorts of tall, and they’re different sorts of cities. Every person makes less than half the noise they ought to, like the throngs of people crowding in are a thick blanket of fresh snow. There’s a dismal air at first, warring with the sheer joy of seeing proper snow. But it melts away the further they travel. This is a city of hard stone carved into graceful gargoyles. Of thick mufflers unwrapped to reveal rosy cheeks. Of streets thick with friend visiting friend, family visiting family, and close meetings beneath stone arches.

The walls are out of necessity. The posters are out of love.

Still. He’s glad for the dedicated lane. The people may not be quite as foreboding as he first thought. Still a lot of them. Everywhere. He’s glad for the just-finished mittens as the cold sinks into the rickshaw. He’s glad for the spare scarf wrapped tight around nose and mouth, keeping his breath and cheeks warm. There’s nothing to be done for the ears, unfortunately; Amali can only knit so fast. Just one step in front of the other, Hazel. You’ll be inside soon, maybe with a nice hot drink. It’s just sore ears.

Finally, it seems like they’re getting closer. He takes one hand off the rickshaw and flashes Amali a thumbs up, giving a dutiful nodnod. Don’t say anything. Carry her bags. Don’t talk to the

girls

His heart gives a curious flutter.

“I’ve been meaning to ask,” he calls over his shoulder, a question finally bubbling up out of him. “What sort of place is the Chrysanthemum exactly?” Not that he’s doubting her! He’s sure it’s a safe and luxurious hideaway. But, you know, there are a lot of places that could be safe and luxurious hideaways. Hotels, spas, amusement parks, cruises, um, theaters, maybe? Was there such a thing as a theater resort? In any case, it’s nice to know what to expect when he gets there. What it’ll be like. What they’ll be doing. What’s expected of him. That sort of thing.

Hazel!

This is the tale that Amali tells you, slowly and carefully, as you wend your way through the city.

Vespergift, back before it was Vespergift, suffered in the cold. There was no forest to tangle the howling winds of the Outside in its branches, and neither was there a wall to break the teeth of the wind, and the snow came roaring off the peaks of Kel, and so this was just a connector-Hub, a place to briefly stop while on your way to the marvelous orchards and fields of the Old North. A town clung around the Stone, but all they had were hostels and inns and little shops where you could buy meal packages for your journey.

Then Heron herself came to Vespergift, back before it was Vespergift, and she was wearing fire. She bought seven shovels until she found one that didn't melt in her hands, and then she started digging. It wasn't long at all before she revealed that there was a lake beneath the town, and she poured fire into the lake's heart. Some folk say that she bound one of the Demons down there, burning forever as it seethes to think that we're all enjoying ourselves up here.

Then Heron came back up and extinguished her own fires, and the folk of the town built a bathhouse around it, and they began to outdo themselves to entertain the Hero. They sang for her, and they acted for her, and they provided her with company, and they painted her, and they poured wine into one of her glasses and tea in another and coffee in a third, because teabushes and coffeebushes and grapevines now grew here, and they named the place after the flowers that sprang up around the hot springs.

And it's here that you arrive at this vast tower-complex in the city's heart, dear Hazel. Golden light spills out of its windows like mead, and the sound of laughter and music and conversation all muddled together, and heat. This is another reason that lodgings on the ground are so valuable, my boy: they get their warmth straight from the source. But the Chrysanthemum, with its windows all chrysanthemums, its doors all grapevines, is a bright summer's day in the midst of a chilly city.

It is also difficult, now that Amali's guiding you towards the service entrance, not to notice the murals of Heron and her many scantily-clad bathing attendants, or the murals of laughing girls chasing each other with ribbons and towels and nets, or the actual girls up front waving fans and inviting people off the street to come in and enjoy the hospitality of the Chrysanthemum. One of them is wearing a maid outfit with an impractically short apron, while another is wearing a luxurious Crevas robe which has slipped right off her shoulders, and a third is wearing the glittering gem-laced silks of Sapphire.

For while the Chrysanthemum may have no fee for entry, it is not permitted to wander the halls alone (a law for which a pronouncement by Heron is dubiously cited as grounding). The rates to hire an attendant for various pleasures and marvels are standardized, but tips are both encouraged and elicited.

A Serigalamu in a fur-lined coat and a goblin-leather skirt (vainly, heroically clinging to her hips) is hanging by the side entrance, smoking a cigarette (and explaining that would see us here all day talking about some of the other purposes that the Avel have for teabushes). Smoke pours around the golden ring in her septum as she exhales; she glances at you without turning her head and grins. "Heya, Granny," she says in a voice that isn't so much husky as it is an entire sled team. "Which of your nieces is this?"

---

Eclair!

The black stone of Vesper Victoria's eats the buttery light of the Chrysanthemum on the other side of the street. It's a necessary counterbalance, at least according to the Civils: something to sober you up as you stagger out having over-imbibed on overpriced drinks. Yes, that place place is holy enough, but there's too much to do around here to pretend that partying all day long is acceptable behavior. Temperance, patience, and forethought are the watchwords of Vesper Victoria's, and to that end the surface of the monastery is covered in statues and gargoyles and bas-reliefs depicting all the terrible terrible things that Heron and Civelia are protecting all of you from, from rampaging Mirrorfolk to raging Demons to hideous Undead to the various faces of the Dark Dragon herself.

It's a hell of a climb. It'd be more practical to go inside, make your way up the stone stairwells, listen to choir practice and organ recitals, pass classrooms and archive vaults and the Museum of Edifying Horrors on your way, and then make your way out a window once you're close. But you're out here, making your way up to the head of Sayanastia the Dark Dragon herself, a regular daredevil, because walking inside without some sort of clever disguise would overly complicate your investigation.

Up there, you'll find the envelope pasted onto Sayanastia's tongue; you'll need either solvent or patient knifework to dislodge it. No traps are waiting for you up there, though knowing you you'll still be checking anyway. Sayanastia the Dark Dragon is large and frightful enough that you can sit in her mouth to open the envelope to find that eye-wateringly expensive ticket. Three days as a VIP guest of the Chrysanthemum, food and drink and most forms of entertainment all on the house, and a private suite for inviting pretty and well-tipped girls back to.

But that part doesn't appeal much, does it? You're a daughter of the Mansion, and compared to the Great Game, the intrigues and the innuendoes of the Chrysanthemum are vulgar and mercenary. In the Mansion, all serve, and all jockey for position in service; there is none of this dance between guest and guide, in which many a guest realizes that they are out of their depth and in need of a pretty girl or a charming boy to take the lead. The Chrysanthemum entertains one and all, but in the Mansion there is nothing that delights more than the Great Game and the attention of the mistresses themselves, those vast and primordial dreams enveloping you in their coils, prizing you for your very nature as a limited being.

That said, they do a mean breakfast buffet, and the cool rainwater baths of the Mansion are very different in character than the spas and saunas of the Chrysanthemum...

---

Rurik!

There's nothing for it but to take the Roads, at least part of the way. Vespergift is impenetrable. Any attempt to open a soft way into the city is rebuffed by the hardness, the solidity, of those legendary walls. So even if you take a shortcut to Stoneward, you've got a leg of travel left. So let's talk logistics. Are we going for the full parade through Kel, or do you mean to gather everyone up back inside of the Stacks before taking that last leg all together from Stoneward? (Let's be real, either way you're going to coincidentally end up breaking bread with Yuki Edogawa.)

By and by, how are we going to play this? Any semblance of stealth, trying to disguise what you're doing, or are Injimo and Aadya going to enthusiastically shake down half the city trying to flush out the Maid while flashing Civil badges and wearing starglasses?

---

Cair!

Meanwhile, back at the Stacks...

Rude riddle-risker / rue-reaping,
irritant know I / ire-inflaming.
Light-lost lass / lunatic-lolling,
Darkness-deprived / doomed to death.

"Hard does Heron trouble Hands, hopping to her horrid whim. Surely a slave of Light, seeing only the swinging of stars. With tempest we made to tear down tyrants, troubling us no more. For the freedom of fools we fought, feigned their fear and fell our friends."

Light-lackey / long-lingering,
To bounty bound / to bullion beaten.
Tower-trapped / treasure-tested,
of Artifice / an Artist.

The philosophy might be worth arguing over, but she's not stupid: she's accusing you of being Heron's handmaiden, someone involved deeply with the material world and the treasures of the Stacks, and can you really say that she's wrong?

---

Yuki!

"So that we can remain at least somewhat on a forward trajectory," Timatheo says, "I think that we can pivot with minimal effort to being vacationers in Vespergift. It will be notably more expensive, but to be frank treasuries are stored up for events like these. I have enough contacts at the Chrysanthemum there to get my finger on the pulse of the entire city and half of Kel in the process." He clicks the tablet shut with an air of satisfaction. "And if the High Council's ploy is to make us think they're hiding this Hazel, then we'll just have reinforced our cover by going to Vespergift and then 'returning' to Aestival."

"The Chrysanthemum?" Pasenne's tail rattles again, and she's brought her hands up to her veiled face. "You mean it? Will we- do you think there will be time to-"

"In the process of investigations, we will likely have to use various attractions for our purposes," Timatheo says, shooting the maid an amused glance. "Don't get your hopes up on anything specific, though, and don't think we'll be able to actually relax."

"If we find Hazel and tame him," Sulochana says, and there's something commanding in her voice, not bossy but taking charge nonetheless, "we'll all have a vacation wherever Yuki wants to go, and I'll cover for us. How does that sound?"

Anka looks you up and down and comes to the unspoken conclusion that she likes her odds of bullying you into deciding on Summerkand.

"Actually, the maid's right," Magasha interjects. "If we're going to the Chrysanthemum, it would be inauspicious not to enjoy ourselves. I'm sure that she and I can work together to bring good fortune to our expedition while Timatheo and Yuki there enjoy their detective work." She thumps her tail once in satisfaction, smiling as if the issue has already been settled.

"We'll need some coats for the approach into the city, but we're dressed appropriately for the Chrysanthemum itself," Timatheo says, not commenting on Magasha. "We'll be out of the city before the last festivalgoers have left, but it's becoming a much closer thing. Let's not waste time." Then he gives you an approving nod and a smile; you've impressed him at least a little bit.

But you're Yuki Edogawa, after all. Naturally impressive. Who wouldn't want to get on your good side?

Knife, carefully resheathed and tucked back into satchel. Envelope, incinerated. Basic trick, not worth explanation. Ability to cleanly dispose of paper waste in odd situations highly valued among the denizens of the Manor. Ticket carefully held in one hand. Inspected. Free of mechanical booby traps (envelope), free of offending powders (target), free of scrying spells or scripts to link it to a spirit tablet. At the very least none she has the skill to discover.

Next, scrutinize ticket for signs of forgery. None found. Service is a genuine offer at the Chrysanthemum, duration and promises both reasonable and not all-encompassing. Even VIP guests were expected to render additional gratuities for access to in particular a handful of especially prized attendants, and this ticket makes no mention of access to the ministrations of any of the 'Princesses'. Furthermore the existence of a pass such of this passes muster; had it claimed it had been a contest prize that might have born cause for concern but this had the proper markings of a purchased ticket and was essentially how the establishment justified these kinds of offers to itself. Whatever tab a guest like Eclair could wrack up in three days had more or less already been paid for by whomever procured this.

...Eclair snorts while she's thinking, and scrambles a little further up the Vesper Victoria's to perch on a raised engraving of a tangle of thorns roughly at eye level with the carving of Sayanastia. She carefully tucks the ticket into her notebook like a bookmark, and then places that in its usual pocket. As she settles into a pocket of 'thorns' she expends another requisition order on summoning a cup of tea for herself, known to scholars of the leaf as a Golden Yunan. Ordinarily she would drink this with a single lump of sugar and a small amount of cream, but this looks to be a long mission and it is unknown when she will be able to replenish her stock of spells, what that will cost her, or if that will even be safe. She should not waste too many of them on petty indulgences. Nevertheless, she requires it to think.

"I hope that you will forgive me, My Lady Dragon of Darkness, if this is a rude thing to say," she says while splashing a tiny amount of the tea on the carving's tongue before taking a sip herself, "But I have always assumed that dragons are all to some degree or other related. Certainly there are many similarities in the depiction of your legend and the realities of the Dreaming Sisters. You must at the least be cousins, I should think?"

Quick glance at the local Church, followup on street level. Checking for increased scrutiny or signs of agitation. Benefit of black-on-black, further benefit of a deep shade of purple. No notice as of yet of detection, or at least aggression. Shrug, sigh. Sip. Share.

"In any case I presently count myself an enemy of the Civil Church for... some reason, my allies have to an unknown degree become a danger to me, and my adversaries outnumber them by ten-to-one or more. I feel that this makes us kindred spirits of a sort and as such I would very much appreciate you offering me your opinion on the matter of this voucher."

Finish tea, slow sips. Allow cup to fall back into unreality and dreams. Remove notebook, tuck voucher into earlier pages and retrieve pen. Prepare self for interview with the most dangerous witness of all time (according to her own notes from age five and three quarters).

"I do find it suspicious, yes. An item of this nature costs no small amount and I truly struggle to see how it could be within Timtam's means. At least not easily. I... true, if she really is comporting herself as an Anti-Maid then she might have resorted to-- well no, even if she still considered herself a maid in full standing she could still have -- in any case it is true that she might have stolen or otherwise acquired it via illegitimate means. I shall have to add that to my list of questions to investigate. If she is being bankrolled by some manner of ally than my investigation is more dangerous than I have been treating it to this point. I cannot jump to this conclusion, though. Do you understand? Theories must fit facts and not vice versa. I... no, I suppose that is rather rude to assert in front of your personage specifically. My apologies, Lady Sayanastia."

Jot jot scribble scribble. All the thoughts pouring out of her mouth make it onto the page before they can drift away in the sea of endless possibility and overactive observation instinct.

"Setting aside the 'how' I do feel rather confident that I can pin the 'who' in place. Based on the location of the object in question and the degree to which it had been secured here (for which I apologize on her behalf) we can infer that this was left here intentionally, and for a person with specific knowledge. There's a degree of risk to it, but that is in keeping with Timtam's methodology. Furthermore she has proven over the early course of this investigation that she is both familiar with my methods and able to perform at least a limited degree of predictive power over my likely actions. While it is possible a proxy has been acting under her name it was verifiably her Member Address that sent the paintings showing me where to look, and furthermore this establishes a pattern of covert messaging intended for my eyes before anyone else's. That is, hmm. That is very..."

She is halfway to summoning a second teacup when she manages to stop herself. No, she mustn't. Not when the investigation looks to be so long. She'd miss that tea later. Or worse, need a different tool to escape a trap. A Maid is pure and a Knight is disciplined, Eclair Espoir.

"A message, yes. This then is -- forgive me, but for the sake of expediency I am about to start speaking in terms of absolutes. It of course remains true that were are firmly within the space of conjecture and there are many alternative possibilities that deserve examination. At the end of this experimentation will be an absolute necessity to arrive at the truth. In any case this is not an apology of any sort. If it were I, erm. No yes, expediency. My sincerest apologies once again. Let us consider the case of Crevas, where she hand painted a warning using colors acquired via intermediary from Vessenmer Dyes. The investigative process was simple, predictable, and lead immediately into disaster. Accordingly we can immediately infer the intention of putting me inside the Chrysanthemum itself will be to deliver a message that will point me in a new direction, likely within the private suite though not necessarily exclusive to it. If this is a continuation of this selfsame methodology, that is to say if Timtam is still playing her game in the same way, or rather to the same aim, I should conclude the three day nature of this voucher is a trap. By no later than Day Two I will be found out and in a compromising position at that. It is the clearest escalation to this cat-and-fox situation we find ourselves entangled in. But what is the nature of this trap? According to the posters below I am wanted as an assassin. It is still my belief that, that, uh, erm..."

Flip flip flip. Point. Stare. Wrinkle nose in adorable disbelief. Tilt head and shrug. If it's written that way it must be right.

"Aadya, the Rock Upon a Mountain provided some amount of the physical description of my person responsible for my depiction hence, and if it is also the case that she believes me to be an assassin then... what happened elsewhere in the city that night? I haven't been able to ask anybody about it, I remain the in dark. Not so dark I cannot make an educated guess, though. If the......... Kel Paladin agrees with my depiction it implies that something happened to Sister Tammithyn Murr while I was recovering from the chase."

Eclair's mouth falls open. She stares at the statue of Sayanastia in open shock, and her hand goes so slack she nearly drops her pen and her notebook down into the streets below (and below, and below, and below...).

"That! That is the most compromising situation I could find myself in. If she has been kidnapped and made to work the sauna then! Yes, no of course, she would be terrified and easily coerced. She would know my face with reasonable certainty and would do anything to purchase her own safety, especially if it is as simple as delivering a message on Timtam's behalf. Of course as an Aurora Knight I would then be honor bound to protect her, assuming I could convince her of my own innocence (she might even have been convinced of it ahead of time. That would reduce variables to an incredible degree...), at which point the trap would spring shut. Eclair Espoir, discovered in a house of pleasure with an apparently kidnapped Civil Nun."

She blows her notebook dry and pockets it carefully. Move to stand, offer a careful wall-mounted curtsy to to the Dark Dragon.

"The only way to test this hypothesis is to enter without a disguise. It is to my benefit to avoid creating a cover identity until I have brought legitimate heat down on my own head in any case. Operating as someone else or a series of someone else's will restrict my ability to travel via the Outside by quite a degree, and I will only be capable of impersonating so many personae in the first place. I should save that card. Regardless, thank you for this lovely conversation Lady Dragon of Vengeance and Unmaking. I am afraid I am rather useless at conclusions without an audience, you have been an invaluable help. I hope you will understand if I stop short of wishing you luck in your future endeavors, but... yes, well. May life be kind to you for a while, at the least. Farewell!"

And then she is gone, recklessly sliding down Vesper Victoria's without much consideration for the arm strength she'll need to keep herself from turning into a mess on the ground below. She's good enough to escape with only bruises, and the famous hot baths she'll need to partake in as part of her experiment are supposed to have incredible medicinal properties for exactly this problem.

Cair!

Cair took off her scarf.

"Red and white yarn originally, hand-crocheted. A heartfelt gift for a rarely seen relation," she said. "Not something made or received thoughtlessly, but improperly hung out to dry on a windy day. Blown out of town to land on a bramble bush. Long exposure bleached the dyes away to a yellow-brown white."

She folded it and set it down next to her, on the Architect-Knight's knuckle. "Not mine, not made for me. I discovered it, I wore it, but nothing like a connection that fond and distant opened itself up to me."

She shrugged, struggled, and wormed her way free of her huge overcoat.

"Slickleather," she said. "Made from the tongues of Bacon Clams, harvested by Stormwrack dredgers and pinned together with fadecopper nails. It takes over a thousand clam tongues to make a single coat, but dredger children start making theirs from age eight and add continuously to the length of their coats as they grow. The result is an outfit that is simultaneously perpetually wet and aggressively hydrophobic, allowing for clean and easy entry and exit from the water. A deeply personal outfit, and the one dredgers wear when their bodies are returned to the sea."

She folded it like the scarf. The frictionless mucous made it try to unwrap itself, but Cair pressed it down with a brass baton she had in an interior pocket. "Not mine, not made for me. I won it, I wore it, but I don't have a culture that strong to stand inside. When I wear I don't feel the strength of tradition, no matter how hard I try to perceive it."

Getting the vest off was the hardest battle yet. Every button was in the wrong slot, the clasps had been jerry-rigged and did not give up their secrets easily. In coherence with everything else it had appeared slovenly, taken as an individual thing it looked like an actively malicious piece of clothing.

She folded it and set it next to the other garments. "My riddlevest. Handmade by me, so help me. Forty buttons and thirty two button holes, three separate failed attempts to recreate the zipper from Yuki's hoodie, two pockets - but they're big ones - and some twineloops that can be used to tie the sleeves into place in cold weather. An abject failure of sewing that I've been trying to progress to a usable state for decades but I'm no closer than when I started."

There was no line of symmetry to fold this thing; she just dropped it in a heap next to the others. "The challenge was to guess my title, Sir Architect-Knight. You've had a few more tries, and just like last time you've mixed so much wrong with what you've gotten right I can't fairly call it a success. Maybe you weren't listening when I told you that you were 'entirely incorrect' when you called me a spineless girl - but anyway. Let me see if I can fix things up for you.

She took off her shirt.

"Light-debtor / long-lingering,
To bounty drawn / from bullion beaten.
Time-trapped / treasure-testing,
of Artifice / an art piece."

Beneath all her layers was not skin and flesh; it was shining mercury. It shifted and shimmered with each movement of the Architect-Knight's hand, chromium liquid mirroring everything in every direction. Even the glamour that filled her face with life began to slip away, held in place with spells in the absent clothing.

"I am the Mercury Golem," said Cair. "I was unfinished when I was sent to fight Heron. In her mercy, she let me stay here afterwards to see if I could find the pieces to finish myself. So yeah, like I said, I get it."

*

Rurik!

Rurik couldn't be more excited.

He loves travel. He's been looking forward to it all his life. He couldn't do it for most of it - he had to tend the Shrine of the Hero, manage the estate, sew the battledresses - but after he was done each day's chores he'd return to his room where every wall was plastered with postcards and posters detailing exotic locations. He'd pick a travel guide down off a shelf and read about exotic locations like the Stormwrack Bay or Vespergift and imagine what they'd be like. When he walked into the Stormwrack Fish Market what would be the Catch of the Day? What approach would one of the Scavenger Yard's conmen take with him? This sketch of the Civil Church was over a hundred and twenty years old - what would it look like now?

Of course his dreams were not just idle self gratification. He had a duty! No, he'd planned routes and calculated logistics from anything for a single person to the movement of an army. He'd pored over maps with an eye to both strategic defense and accommodation with the most picturesque sight lines. Finally he got the chance to put everything into practice!

A few complications. Enough to keep him busy. He didn't originally plan for having the Dark Dragon herself in his train. But that was the Hero of Ages for you.

His route runs from the Stacks to Stoneward, and then a public entry into the city. He would announce the party and release Aadya and Injimo to search publicly. He was a big believer in awe, grandeur and reputation and the Heroine's reputation was one of her most dangerous assets. The enemy would go to ground and hide - that would disrupt their plans, and buy time for the real Hero to return.

And then, when Heron was back, she'd fix everything. He knew it.

Hazel Valentine Fletcher has a rickshaw to drive through the busy streets of Vespergift. It doesn’t matter how easy or hard something or other is to notice, he’s got to keep his eyes squarely on the road.

Of course he notices the murals, and the girls (the girls) and he keeps right on noticing. Notices right past them, off the building, and back onto the street. They are there. They exist. He is looking around a normal amount. Hopefully. What is a normal amount to look around anyway? Is he focusing too much straight ahead? Better take another look. But start on the other side of the street this time, so as not to arouse suspicion. Otherwise Amali might think he was ogling.

But with all this driving, and normal amount of looking around, there’s no time to really see anything, is there? On the other side of the street is the Vesper Victoria. The Vesper Victoria! On the same street! He hadn’t even heard of the Chrysanthemum before, and it’s also! Wow! It’s so tall and fancy at the same time! They both are! They’re huge, but somebody took the time to carefully shape every inch of these towers, so that no matter what you’re looking at it’ll take your breath away.

They’re beautiful.

He might not’ve realized that before, about the Chrysanthemum. Before, it would’ve been a giant building of things not to look at or think about. Which makes it rather difficult to see what it actually was. But besides that, it’s like when you go to a museum and see the exhibits, and you hear a tour guide explain to you that this was painted by the artist’s wife, as he wrestled with a terrible illness. And you take another look and it clicks. And you have to sit down because all of a sudden the grief is so overwhelming you don’t know what to do with yourself, and you don’t regret coming here for even a moment.

He might not’ve seen it, without Amali’s story. This was a memorial to Heron and the good she had done for this city. It was a tradition stretching back generations, an unbroken chain of good service passed forward. It was a place where warmth, food, and comfort could be found on the coldest night of winter. Here, a cup of tea or a soft towel could heal a weary heart. This was a place of help. Refuge. Hospitality.

And he has a rickshaw to drive through the busy streets of Vespergift, so he has to keep his eyes on the road.

But hey! No need to fuss about missing the outside, because soon they’ll see the inside! He’ll have to remember to slip out and see the building himself. At last a gap in the traffic opens up, and with a bounding step he pulls them into a side street.

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So. Turns out. He is still not used to a world where girls people are regularly so much taller than him. And bigger than him. Goodness.

Anyway ha ha ha ha wow that’s so cool she knows Amali! She must come here all the time then. Which makes sense! An older fox must have all kinds of well-established hideaways.

He would speak up and correct her, but Amali told him not to talk twice over. So he just coughs in a way that emphasizes the depth, the not-niece-ness of his voice. Just coughs. Casually. And focuses on parking the rickshaw instead of the. Intent. Way the Serigalamu was looking at them. And she was looking at them. Not him. Not him specifically. No sir.

Anyway! He wedges the wheels still, and takes up his post by the seat. Here, Amali, here’s a hand to help you climb down and steady you in all this slush. Here’s a hand to take your bags, or whatever it is he’s supposed to carry in for her. He’ll let you take the lead, and do all the talking, just like you asked.

Oh coats! Coats are fun, but they got kinda fraught with meaning cuz of overuse in movies. It's like, every coat's a stereotype, y'know? Big puffy colorful coats shout that you're a nerd who needs to bundle up cuz you don't like the cold, silly and waddling but also cute and funny and lovable. Big wool coats are for rich business people who all look the same walking around in winter with accompanying wide hats and brown briefcases. Nothing but one big sea of people who all have somewhere better to be. Long coats are still somehow The Matrix, even though the Matrix came out before Yuki was born, but her dad used to watch it on TV all the time and tell her about how it marked a watershed moment in the art of cinema that everybody copied to the point that seeing it now doesn't make the effects look special because that's what the entire industry does. But they did do long black coats and that stuck. And then there were, like, Yuki didn't know the word for it, but like, good coats: coats that took a normal person and fit their figure just right and made them look dashing and really hot! Like, y'know, a girl with a coat running down her back that made the curve of her shoulders stand out instead of hiding it, but like it depended on the girl and there wasn't just one cut exactly, but there was a way that a coat made you just extremely hot holy shit, excuse her, she needs a moment.

With a Kel cloak already though, getting a coat really is about adding warmth, mostly a layer to keep the heat in. So Yuki gets a winter coat that's not too heavy, and that she really hopes makes her look hot, though she's not sure if it quite verges into featureless since they didn't have time to get all of this tailored. It is time to leave. the thing she did suggest was that everybody gets similar coats. It makes them look like a traveling party for the cold weather, and it makes them look a little less vastly wealthy princess party. They're obviously still a well to do group, but all same travel coat hides things a bit more than if they'd all doubled down on their unique costumes and shown off wealthy nobles traveling with elite guards as their thing. Suli gets to pick the color though, it is her house.

With all that done, they're finally on the road. No, on the Road. Yuki thinks of the Roads and the Outside kind of like Mirkwood. The Roads are Mirkwood if you're a friend of the elves. They wind and roll and you're never quite sure how far you've gone or how far you're going. And everything is dark and black even though the black isn't from thick tree canopy, but it has that mirkwood vibe with everyone traveling with lanterns. It's just that when you're on the road, you know it's safe, you know the turnings are going to lead you to a fire and a good meal and then to where you're going more or less as you planned the trip. So it's like the elves. The Outside, in contract, must be like Mirkwood if the elves don't like you. Everything feels the wrong way, every route elusive, every respite a cruel trick and every corner surrounded by danger. She wasn't sure how the Khatun handled that, but she must have her own power to create safety for her group to shortcut to where they were going.

Regardless of the outside though, the Road is special. It's part of the magic of Thellamie. The way that it makes places feel different. It doesn't match with a car where you know the route. Or with a plane or a train where you're stuck in a big box that's doing the magic travel. This is your own two feet (or a cart if you're lucky) making your way and yet you make that way in a certain time and it crosses some sort of impossible distance until you reach a new island. She could see how the people who lived here might struggle though. Knowing how dark it was here, how much there was that was outside the light of the sun and the created beauty of people who wanted to make a life for themselves really gave her the sense of urgency that Sulochana was feeling about Crevas. How could families grow if there wasn't space and wondering too far got you lost out here? She really hoped this queen of light thing worked out and that whoever won did their best for all of Thellamie.

And so, the Fellowship of the Deerboy (no, no they needed to workshop this. Yuki's suggestion is "The Fellowship of the Golden Fawn") marches and slithers forward. For the moment, they go in the silence of their lamps, each lost in their own thoughts and speculations, interrupted only occasionally by the swish of silks and the rattle of Pasenne's tail and jingling bells.

Who do they meet at the first camp along the road?