“One of these days we have to find a more efficient way of feeding,” Druscilla said. She was with Penelope in an inconspicuous closet somewhere in the Palace. Between them in the closed space was an unconscious maidservant who had been in the wrong place at the wrong time.

“I don’t think I’ll ever get used to this.” Penelope wiped the blood from her lips with a clean handkerchief. “I keep getting this nagging feeling that they’re going to remember us.”

“They won’t. Have some faith. Now hush – I can’t hear anyone; let’s go.”

They both exited the closet; Penelope lay the maid down in what seemed to be the most comfortable position before closing her in. The pair purposefully strode back to the Thorne Room, now serving as a ballroom.

Earlier, Druscilla had returned to the estate to change attire. Now that the suns had set she didn’t have to dress modestly anymore. She came back to the Palace with Penelope instead of Clementine as her chaperone. It was bound to raise eyebrows as Penelope was about the same age as most of the debutantes – but she was low born, so it would be socially acceptable. And besides, everybody would be distracted by Druscilla to notice Pen.

Hanes had fashioned her a low-cut ball gown made of crimson fabrics. She had complemented it with an emerald that hung from a golden necklace and gold rings on her gloved fingers. She had tried wearing one of those Holy Gems but it burned her skin when she tried to pick it up. Why does Clementine have all that stuff anyway? There was a lot Druscilla had to learn about the Librarian.

The ballroom was alive with the sounds and smells of carousing and dancing. Druscilla almost sneezed at the sharp smell of dozens of flavours of perfume. The male nobles making their debut were present this time. Some of them wore bandages and splints after their melee earlier in the day. Apparently, one person had a concussion and was now comatose – so the ball was in his honour.

The King was notably absent – the Throne vacant was like a missing front tooth; it attracted attention at a glance. Next to it sat his family: a handsome mature lady, two prim boys, and a delicate little girl who sat furthest from the Throne. As the night went on they would be expected to mingle with the crowd. A perfect opportunity to ingratiate myself.

“So, what do we do?” Penelope asked. She was out of her depth, but as long as she followed Druscilla’s lead everybody would be fine.

“Let’s go have a drink – no doubt people will approach us then.” They walked over to the wine table and each took a glass of red liquid. “Gaah! Don’t just gulp it all down at one go – that’s embarrassing!” Druscilla forcefully whispered.

“Sorry…”

“Take a small sip, and swish it about in your mouth, like this. That’s how you enjoy the flavour of the grapes.”

“It doesn’t taste too good.”

“Then pretend it does.”

Soon courtiers began approaching the pair. They made small talk and asked Druscilla for a dance, which Penelope denied them. Nobody of note approached them; they were only counts or cousins and sons of counts, far beneath Druscilla’s notice. She had her eyes on the Royal family.

Clementine had told her of the two prominent factions: the Royalists and the Federalists. She had been seen speaking to the Redfields earlier, prominent Royalists, and she had antagonized Adrian Whitestone, whose father was the Federalist leader, so she would be considered Royal leaning in the eyes of the court. That’s said, she intended to choose for herself which way she swayed.

The Royalists supported Prince Sancho. The way the young prince cocked his chin up when speaking, raised his voice at the servants, and argued with his mother – Druscilla judged him to be an insufferable self-centred little turd. He would be too much of a handful. His sister appeared meek and quiet – and she had the support of the Federalists for whatever reason.

When it was past midnight the Royal family descended from their dais to join the crowd. Immediately there was a crowd around Sancho and his brother Wessley. Princess Gwendolyne remained apart, with her mother acting as chaperone.

“Penelope my dear, let’s go introduce ourselves to the Royals.”

“Wha…?” Druscilla took her hand and strode purposefully for the princess. “Wait, I’m not ready for this – what should I say??”

“You don’t have to say anything, let me do the talking.”

The Queen straightened a little at their approach. “Ah – you must be Druscilla. A pleasure to meet you.”

“I did not realize you knew my name, Your Majesty. I am Druscilla Clearwater, and this is my friend Penelope Poulsen. May I ask how you knew my name.”

“Everybody’s talking about you, dear. I believe the singers are already romanticizing how you cried in the light of the prism.”

“Ah, that. It’s embarrassing, to be honest.”

“It was refreshing actually, the people around here seem to have forgotten how to have emotions.”

“Is that so? Well, I feel more like an outcast at that. I could not help but notice the Princess by herself.”

“Why wouldn’t she be? She has no throne to inherit, there is no reason to befriend her from a noble’s point of view.”

“Surely a young girl needs friends? I am only a few years older, I’m sure we could get along.”

“A princess does not have friends. When he was still at court, the Grand Duke Whitestone told me the same thing you have: that a girl needs friends. I caught the girls he sent over giving my Gwendolyne ideas above her station. None of them cared for her as a person. She is only a tool for them. You must understand, Druscilla, I have to protect my daughter because nobody else will.”

Whew, forthright much? “I did not know all that, Your Majesty. I am new here, just arrived from far away. I don’t know the politics of this place and Adrian Whitestone made a fool of me earlier today. I bear no ill will nor malicious designs on your daughter. I would just like to make her acquaintance, is all.”

“Fine, I accept, but I will be nearby.”

“I understand, Your Majesty.”

The Queen stepped aside and nudged Gwendolyne forward. The girl looked as brittle as glass.

Druscilla bent down to her level. “Hello, Your Grace, my name is Druscilla.”

“Hello.” Her voice was barely audible. “My name is Gwendolyne, but you can call me Gwen.”

“I hope we can be friends Gwen. Tell me what you like to do.”

“I like knitting, and watching the birds. I also like the stories Mother reads me.”

“Oh? What kind of story are they?”

“The one’s about a knight’s chivalry.”

“Oh I know some of those. Would you like me to tell you?”

Gwen’s eyes widened. “Yes, please. If you don’t mind.”

“Well, I’m not sure whether you’ve heard of Rapunzel…”

Druscilla spent the rest of the night speaking with Gwen. The girl was sharp for her age. It was clear that she ought to get out more. The entire time the Queen was staring at Druscilla intently. Penelope had been tense at first, but soon she was consumed by curiosity at Druscilla’s stories. By the time the event was over – Druscilla had a good picture of what she would do next. But first, she needed to build up the guild.

The tunnel was dark and musty. A group of mercenaries were trying to find their way through the dark. A priest had been paid an exorbitant amount of money to cast [Darkvision] on them, so they did not need light.

There were five in number; this would be their first and their last time working together. They knew each other’s faces, but they used numbers to refer to themselves. One, the tallest of them, was their leader. “Are you sure this is the right way?” he asked Two, who was leading them further into the darkness.

“I’m sure of it.” He had a mole’s sense of direction. One trusted him to get them under the Clearwater Manor.

Their mission was to retrieve any sensitive information they came across regarding one Druscilla Clearwater. They had trailed the debutante to the manor earlier in the day, so now all they had to do was break-in. The entire city had tunnels running through it, and most noble homes had entrances to these tunnels. It was a vestige of the time when the Kingdom was at war – the tunnels were a convenient means of escape. There hadn’t been a war for a century, so had fallen out of use.

“Right here.” Two pulled a trap door above his head and hoisted himself up into the dark hole. “We’re in their catacombs. Let’s go.” They all followed his lead and went in.

As soon as One stood up he felt a dull, throbbing headache. “The house must have anti-burglar enchantments. Good thing we brought you along, eh?” He slapped Four on the shoulder. The man was a disgraced Holy Man. They continued on, ascending stairs until they got to a line of holding cells. One almost didn’t notice, but one of the cells was occupied. “There’s someone there. Hey! You okay?”

“Huh?” It was a woman, a foreigner at that. Her hair was dark, green like pine leaves. She was bound in an excessive number of chains. She must know something important.

One turned to his colleagues. “You four, continue on. I’ll take this one back to Dixie.” The mercenaries left him to pick the locks. “I’m here to save you. What’s your name?”

“M-Morrigan.”

“Nice, let’s get you out of here?”

“You’re taking me out of the dark?”

“I am. We’re going back to the beautiful moon and stars.” The locks were fairly simple, with no spells cast on them. He slung Morrigan over his shoulder and retraced his steps. He had memorized the way to the Blackstone estate. It’s terribly convenient that all the nobles live together.

He whistled to himself as he walked. Soon, he was lifting Morrigan through another trap door. This one led to the backyard of the Blackwater Manor. Morrigan let out a relieved sigh as she stared up at the moon. One noticed an ugly red-yellow wound on the side of her neck. It was definitely infected.

“Is there a river nearby?” Morrigan asked. It was the most she had spoken to him.

“A river? The closest one is that way.” He pointed southwest. “We should get you to a diviner, heal that wound – it looks bad. I’m surprised you don’t have a fever.”

“What’s your name?”

“What? That’s not important. Come on, let’s go.”

“No please, it’s important. You’re the first person to ever help me in this world. I want to remember your name.”

“It’s Kranvis. Now can we go?”

“Kranvis – a pretty name.” She placed her hands on the sides of his head and stared deeply into his eyes. “I’ll remember you.”

Kranvis was a little unsettled. “We can do this later.” He tried moving Morrigan’s arms but they wouldn’t budge. He felt intense pain as Morrigan’s palms put pressure on his head.

“I’m truly sorry, but I haven’t eaten in a while.”

Kranvis tried punching, he tried scratching, but Morrigan was unmoved. He opened his mouth to scream but his vision was blinded by a white-hot pain – then nothingness.