A lean man of above-average height wearing gray robes opened the door and walked inside. He was bald, though with sharp handsome features that seemed to have an indelible grin. This was not, despite appearances, Magister Hegazar. Instead, Argrave spotted a dim gray silhouette just behind. That would be the man himself.

“Hello, Magister Hegazar,” Argrave greeted, his legs crossed as he waited casually atop a couch. One of his arms rested across the back of the couch just behind Anneliese. Galamon stood behind, arms crossed before him as the ever-diligent guard.

Magister Hegazar was an S-rank mage whose A-rank ascension was closely linked with illusion magic. He was one of few Magisters in the Order to specialize in that branch of magic. The human figure Argrave saw—the bald, handsome man—was a constantly projected illusion. The silhouette was where Hegazar’s body truly was. Argrave suspected the only reason he able to glimpse even a hint of Hegazar’s true form was because of Garm’s eyes.

“Well… if it isn’t our Order’s resident Kinslaying Serpent, Argrave,” Hegazar greeted, his voice husky and deep. It had a certain intonation that dripped with amusement and cynicism. “My, I feel half a child again confronted by so many giants. My neck may hurt by the end of the conversation, craning it to look up at you.”

“Well, you are the true senior here, head and shoulder above us all,” Argrave answered at once, almost excessively flatteringly. Hegazar had an ego rivalling any A-list actor—Argrave’s strategy was to act as though he was ceding control to him while still controlling the flow of the conversation.

“I’m very glad we could meet today,” Argrave continued, rising to his feet. “Please, have a seat.”

The door shut behind him, and the lock clicked a second later. “Mmm…” Hegazar’s illusory body gave a nod. “Took you a while to reach out. I was beginning to think you were stringing me along like an ugly, kindhearted girl you didn’t have the heart to say ‘no’ to.”

Hegazar stepped into the room, and though his illusory body took a seat in the couch opposite Argrave, his true body roamed about the room, examining things. He didn’t ask about Anneliese or Galamon—he didn’t seem to care.

“But I suspect you were rather busy trimming your nails, cutting your hair, getting yourself presentable for the big crowd forming outside this tower,” Hegazar continued, voice projecting from his illusory body flawlessly. “Your pa must have a soft spot for you—he’s gathered so many people that are screaming your name, waiting for the very moment you step out onto the stage.”

Argrave laughed politely and sat back down, doing his best to keep his eyes away from the silhouette that wandered the room. “Fortunately for them, I’m not one to disappoint the people. I’d like to step onto the stage soon enough. But… stagecraft, any sort of art… it can be an expensive thing. Sometimes you need a patron. A sponsor.”

“Ahhh,” Hegazar’s false body leaned forth very naturally, placing both elbows on its knees. As it did so, Hegazar’s true form finally decided it had seen enough, and went to sit down where the illusory body already sat, lounging while the illusory form remained animate. “I see where I come in, I think. You’ve got production issues. Bit off more than you can chew, hmm?”

“Sometimes an opportunity’s too good to pass up, even if you have to overextend a bit to seize it,” Argrave said, putting his arm back behind Anneliese.

Argrave knew Anneliese well enough to tell immediately she was ill at ease when faced with Hegazar. It seemed that, despite his illusion, she could tell that the form sitting before them was not real flesh and blood.

“Mmhmm,” Hegazar leaned back, silhouette and illusion overlapping for but half a second. “Not to condescend, but these patrons, these sponsors—as much as you might be fooled into believing they throw money at half-baked ideas for the sake of throwing money, that’s not the case. These fools with gold in their soles—they’ve got an agenda. Either they like the art, or they see a golden, glimmering treasure mound at the end of the tunnel.”

Hegazar let the words hang for a few seconds. “As for liking the art, well… even if you spin it as something avant garde, the crown prince dying isn’t something I care to hang on my wall. I don’t know you. I won’t stick my neck out. As for profit…” the illusory figure threw up its hands in a shrug. “Your pockets look a bit light to me. I certainly don’t see any pile of riches in sight. All you’ve got, as I see it, is an angry father. I have enough fathers angry at me—I don’t care to add another to that list. But…” Hegazar raised a finger up with both bodies. “Maybe I need to look at it with a different lens. Got anything to help me see, Kinslayer?”

Argrave kept a poker face, but he could not deny he disliked being called Kinslayer. The man had a magnetic way of speaking, and he felt very much swept along by Hegazar. The fact Argrave recognized that, though, probably meant he wasn’t. And soon enough, the man would be cast off balance.

“Let me show the cards, then,” Argrave nodded. “Back when the Order of the Rose fell, Vasquer issued a ban on exploring their fortresses, and obfuscated many of their locations,” Argrave said.

“A history lesson? That’s a poor start to a trade,” Hegazar noted.

“…during that time,” Argrave continued undaunted, “Many of the valuable books degraded, rotted, got washed away, or were otherwise destroyed. And many of the locations, well… my dear old dad hoards those jealously, if he’s even got them. But the ban on exploration is up, and yours truly has the location of a cache of preserved books that’ll be a more-than-fitting replacement for the pile of riches you might want. And even if it isn’t… if you sell them, you can make your own treasure hoard, Magister.”

“Kinslayer…” Hegazar shook his head and clicked his tongue. “If I wanted sweet promises, I could pay some troubadour to sing me songs about all my virtues, or some fortune teller to tell me what magnificent things I might find on my doorstep.”

Argrave leaned forth and reached under his couch, pulling free a large white book. It was one of seven A-rank spells that Garm left behind, and one of the most valuable things in Argrave’s possession. He needed juicy bait to hook the biggest fish. He set it on the coffee table between him and Hegazar and slid it over. Rather than allowing the Magister to hold it, Argrave opened the book up.

“Well, if I’m a fortune teller, this is my crystal ball,” Argrave leaned back in the couch as the A-rank matrix took shape. “The A-rank spell [Full Bloodmoon]. It’s the last of a series of spells I’ve already studied, somewhat. A devastating A-rank spell of blood magic. After all, necromancy and blood magic… Order of the Rose specialties.”

A-rank spells were almost wholly removed from the confines of all previous ranks. To begin with, to become A-rank was to assimilate deeper with magic, make it part of one’s body. Rather than matrixes… these spells took root in the body, too. Rather than conjuring a matrix, the body itself served as a sort of conduit to mold the magic. What appeared from the book was so complex Argrave couldn’t even begin to comprehend it.

It appeared to entice Hegazar, though. His illusory body remained lounging in the chair, but the silhouette that betrayed his true body got off the chair, kneeling before the table and studying the matrix in great detail. It was very difficult for Argrave to act as though he saw nothing.

“Pretty as a painting…” marveled Hegazar. The silhouette reached out towards the book briefly, but the sound of a lock clicking echoed in the silent room. Hegazar’s true body came to attention at once, prepared to fight, while the illusory body merely turned its head backwards casually.

The door opened, and Durran hurtled in as though chased by something. Argrave smiled when he saw the woman step in after him. She had gray hair with orange, predatory eyes, and looked quite young. Argrave thought she was quite beautiful, but he felt no attraction to her. He knew what she was really like.

Once Vera entered the room, her eyes scanned the place calmly as she crossed her arms. Wrath set in when she saw Hegazar, and she began, “You. I should have kno—”

But then, she laid eyes upon Argrave, and upon the wide-open A-rank spellbook. It was confusion at first, then ponderance, and then a stirring curiosity, each running across her face as quickly and obviously as Argrave had ever seen.

“And what might this be?” Vera stepped deeper into the room, eyes fixed on the A-rank matrix.

At once, Hegazar stepped past Vera and shut the door behind her. She followed his true body with her eyes, evidently unaffected by the illusion.

“And what is this, Argrave? Some ploy by this old witch?” Hegazar asked, as off-balance as Argrave had hoped the suave Magister to be.

“It’s a… damnit, Durran, what the hell? This wasn’t..!” Argrave acted indignant, stirring.

Durran collapsed onto the couch just beside Argrave. “What?”

“You had the wrong time,” Argrave whispered in show, rising to his feet in faux panic.

“What?” Durran asked, then shook his head. “To the blazes with that. You don’t pay me enough to deal with these—”

Argrave quickly kicked Durran in the shin as though to silence him. Both Magisters watched this show of theirs. Argrave couldn’t tell if they were convinced, but Vera was too focused on the matrix to care.

“This…” Vera leaned over. “This is Order of the Rose work. And this book…” she reached down. “Not Owl binding, that’s for certain.”

Though Hegazar’s illusory form looked entirely unbothered, he could practically see the unease in the silhouette by the door. Eventually… the door’s lock clicked shut once more, and Hegazar walked up beside the female Magister.

“So…” Vera rose up, looking between Argrave and Hegazar. “You two seemed to be enjoying yourself before I arrived.”

Argrave rubbed his hands together as though nervous, and then sat down back where he was. “I was… making an offer to Hegazar.”

“Yes, he was showing me this book, trying to sell it,” Hegazar quickly explained. “Now, scurry on back to your spider’s nest so the best of us can continue to have fun, Vera. You’ll get your turn to bid.”

Vera gave an angry smile. “I think I’d like to be here.”

“It’s a mistake you’re here at all,” Hegazar said. “Go, go. The Kinslayer will talk to you later.”

Vera plopped down on the couch right atop Hegazar’s illusory form as if in insult. Though the illusion contorted aside naturally as if dodging her, holes were poked in the spell for but a moment and Argrave saw the couch behind.

“Maybe… I should…” Argrave faked hesitation.

“You will tell me what is happening here,” Vera stated. “You know it is poor form to offend a Magister, Argrave. Especially considering all you’ve already done… it would be most unwise to do so.”

It was all Argrave could do not to smile.

Both of the people before him were conniving people likely to use and abuse him. Vera was incredibly vindictive and didn’t care for anyone at all. Hegazar was all-around deceitful, more than willing to take every advantage of someone and then toss them aside like a filled trash bag. Both would sell him out like no tomorrow once Argrave had paid up his side of the bargain.

They were like all of the Magisters that had agreed to meet Argrave. He was a kinslayer, a royal bastard—good, trustworthy people wouldn’t engage with him on faith alone, it seemed. He was a pariah. Without Castro, there was no single reliable person he could call upon.

Together, though? They’d keep in each other in check. They’d be too busy fighting with themselves to care about Argrave. All he had to do was play this right. Self-interested people made poor friends… but if one can interest them, they’re much easier to steer the right way. If Argrave couldn’t, though… he might die twice as hard.

“Can’t you see you’re unwelcome, Vera? He squirms like a bug just looking at you, the poor child. You always did frighten young men. Probably because they can see you’re some sort of parasitic worm made flesh and filled with low cunning,” Hegazar said bitterly.

“Go on, Argrave,” Vera urged.

“Well… alright,” Argrave conceded. It was quite hard to act as though it was begrudgingly.