“You’re sure this will work?” asked Vasilisa as she sat on one of the beds in their inn’s room.

Anneliese held the Starsparrow atop her finger. “It is most certainly our best bet of finding the two Magisters ahead of time. What else could we do? Ask questions around the city? They have not yet arrived, so that would be a pointless endeavor. You cannot call upon any friends that might know, yes?” Anneliese questioned.

Vasilisa slowly gave a begrudging nod. “Alright. I suppose it is a reasonable way of going about things. Still… I think it’s far-fetched this will work, to be frank.”

Argrave looked to Anneliese, nodding. “I trust Sanora. She’s very good at finding things with that bird of hers.”

Or rather, ‘Sanora’ could get word to Elenore’s people with this bird of hers. Argrave didn’t know how Vera and Hegazar would be travelling. The sole time they’d travelled with the two in the past, they’d done so with a spell of Vera’s designed to traverse long distances. If that was the case once again… well, then their whole plan might crumble. But would Vera do such a thing again while travelling with Hegazar, presumably alone? More importantly, why exactly was she with Hegazar?

Questions bred more questions but seldom offered answers. The only thing left to do was the doing.

While Anneliese was preoccupied with that, Vasilisa, Argrave, and Galamon devoted their attention to another matter occupying them: thwarting Ivan. The Magister sought to illustrate a point, and so took the two of them walking through the city.

They stepped through a busy marketplace where people sold many commodities gathered from the coastal villages. The city on First Hope was remarkably flat. The water served as natural defenses, so no walls had been erected. One could often see for many miles in the same direction. To say the least of the place, it was thriving. First Hope contained the majority of the arable land in the entirety of the North, despite being a small and isolated island.

“You see?” Vasilisa commented as they stared down at a stall, far out of earshot for anyone. “They sell pearls here, Silvaden. Pearls. People have grown old, gotten fat off fish and caviar, and remain satisfied and rich underneath the reign of Magister Ivan. Let it not be said, at the very least, that Felipe III was not generous after his betrayal. All of Ivan’s territories are the richest in the north. What could possibly change the status quo here?”

“…and we already established you didn’t care for worsening people’s lives to get them to rebel, yes,” Argrave agreed readily.

Vasilisa glanced around uneasily when Argrave said the word ‘rebel,’ obviously not entirely at ease with the notion. “So? Then, what?”

“In the end… all power is a hierarchy,” Argrave said with authority, watching that stall of pearls even still. “Patriarch Dras, for instance. He conquered all of the tribes of Veiden and unified our people into one cohesive nation. Yet even still… even still, he’s one man. He delegates tasks to a select few underneath him. Like this, his power is divided and vested into those directly beneath him. These men further divide their power to yet more subordinates. Like this… a hierarchy,” Argrave illustrated with his hands, forming a pyramid. “Right, Vulras?”

After skipping a beat because he was unused to the alias, Galamon nodded. “It’s true. Vasquer grants more power to fewer than Veiden does, though. Most chiefs retain a great deal of power in… our land.”

Vasilisa crossed her arms, nodding steadily. “Your point being?”

“The person selling those pearls…” Argrave said, watching them with one hand beneath his chin. “They’re at the base of this hierarchy. It isn’t them we should be talking to. It’s the ones higher up.” Argrave focused his gaze down on Vasilisa. “Not the person selling the pearls, not the people collecting them, but the people who own the pearl… farms, I suppose would be the word. A coup d’état is what I’m talking about. We need a small, coordinated group of powerful people to oust Ivan, not a large group of uncoordinated revolutionaries. As you said, the people are content… but they’re not loyal to Ivan. They won’t bat an eye if he goes under, so long as things aren’t disrupted for them.”

The Magister gazed at Argrave for a long time. Then, her eyes wandered to the pearl stall. By this point, the woman who owned the stall seemed quite uncomfortable at being so blatantly watched.

“…what exactly did you do for Veiden? What was your role there?” Vasilisa finally asked, evidently ill at ease with how easily he came tot his conclusion.

Argrave laughed, rubbing at his upper lip. “Well… the patriarch didn’t conquer every tribe through battle alone. I have certain specialties.”

Galamon frowned and disagreed, “Dras is an honorable man.”

“And the Ambers? What was that, then?” Argrave rebutted, recalling the story of Anneliese’s past. Her mother’s husband had betrayed his tribe’s chief to seek revenge. The betrayal was Dras’ scheme, and came to fruition because of his scheming.

The elven vampire grew silent without a rebuttal. Vasilisa glanced between the two of them, clearly hesitant to get engaged in this discussion. The sounds of the marketplace washed over them.

“If I were to suggest something, we need to start integrating ourselves—no, rather, integrating you with local powers,” Argrave pointed, diverting things back to the subject. “I think… provided you can follow instructions well, something I don’t doubt…” Argrave rubbed his hands together, pondering. “I think you can get all of what you want. You can find where the Flame of the Tenebrous Star is, and you can prepare to take it back in the same fell swoop. All you need is a pretense to reach out to them. And we already have it: your debt.”

Vasilisa furrowed her brows. “House Quadreign’s debt, you mean.”

“Yes,” Argrave nodded. “Let’s say… if House Quadreign had a way to repay their debt in full… a new mine, perhaps, or something else of similar value…” Argrave spread his arms. “I can work with that.”

“We don’t,” Vasilisa answered.

“Not yet,” Argrave agreed. “But they don’t need to know that. You can consider it a risky loan, of sorts, with the prospect of repaying your debt and regaining your flame in one fell swoop.” Vasilisa looked at Argrave blankly, clearly skeptical. “I’m not denying it’s going to be a complex beast to navigate. But I’ve learned from what I’ve done in the past. I’m confident in juggling this.”

Between things in Sethia, Jast, and the months of experience in Relize of politicking, Argrave had learned a lot. He’d learned from Leopold and Elenore both, and he’d learned from his own experiences negotiating with the various patricians as king. This? Argrave had to try it. He wanted to. He knew a great deal of the powerful people in First Hope.

Above all, Argrave couldn’t deny that seeing Quadreign had been a somewhat profound experience. To see Diana and Vasilisa’s selflessness even in the face of their personal tragedy, and to see how their territory had declined since Vasquer conquered the land… he loathed seeing them taken advantage of without any recourse. He felt in his bones that restoring them to power was the best hope for the future of this land. He wanted people like Vasilisa at the helm in the future coming to this world.

“…why do you do so much?” the Magister placed her hand on her hip. “A vague hope for Sanora’s magic advancement?”

“Is that so strange?” Argrave answered.

Her blue eyes narrowed. She pursed her lips, appearing to debate mentioning something. Going cold as steel once her mind was made, her gaze jumped between the two of them. Vasilisa said plainly, “I know who you are. What you are.”

Argrave’s composure went from fully relaxed to utterly strained in a heartbeat. Magister Vasilisa watched, silent and still, waiting for a response.

“…and what might that be?” Argrave asked, dreading the answer.

Vasilisa stared at Argrave for what seemed to be time eternal. Then, her eyes shifted to Galamon. “He’s a vampire.” Her gaze came back to Argrave. “And that’s why you seek the flame.”

Argrave’s mind went blank for a solid ten seconds. The sounds of the marketplace muffled out all that came to mind, the distant chattering of people and wheeling of barrows washing over them like a flood. Beside him, Galamon tensed. Magister Vasilisa remained only still and silent, just as she was before.

“If that were true, what happens?” Argrave asked, still in disbelief at the unexpected turn.

Vasilisa looked off to the side, thinking. “Will it work? Will the flame cure him?” she questioned.

Argrave swallowed, choosing his words carefully. “I don’t know,” he said.

And he didn’t, truthfully. Maybe it would. He didn’t plan to test the theory.

The Magister looked at him. “You had best hope it does.”

Argrave said nothing. Was that a threat? He wasn’t sure.

“I hope I won’t need to mention this again,” Vasilisa continued. “I hope it never comes up.”

“It won’t,” Argrave promised.

Vasilisa gave a curt nod. “Let’s get back.”

#####

A boat rocked steadily across the sea in the clear weather. It was a huge ship designed to carry passengers and cargo both in massive amounts. In a seaside cot, a man sat with a very particular posture. His legs were crossed, his back was straight, and his hands gripped the pommel of two blades sheathed horizontally on his back. The blades were made for chopping, being short, curved, and especially wide at the point.

The man was tall and lean with skin the color of light honey. His hair seemed like gold stretched into thin threads and was kept bound in a high ponytail longer than his own body. His eyes were wholly red, the only variance from that being the black dot fixed on the center. He kept those eyes fixed firmly forward on something enshrined before him.

The shrine was a simple thing—four metal discs that converged to hold up a small crystal ball, candles of red wax just beside them. But then, close scrutiny would reveal that the ball wasn’t just that—it was a glass eye. Yet the eye moved strangely, darting about like a compass needle seeking north with the rocking of the ship. It jumped between two targets—whenever it chose one, the eye’s color changed. At times, it had a white iris. At others, it had a blue. Whenever its iris became white, it fixed on the direction the ship headed.

“What a bizarre specimen,” came a male voice.

The man turned his head. There, a woman with gray hair and orange eyes and a bald man stood side-by-side, looking within his room from the window.

“What do you suppose he’s doing?” the woman questioned, making no effort to disguise their gawking.

“Some fetishistic ritual, perhaps,” the bald man mused.

The man rose to his feet in smooth motions, then stepped to the window. The two on the other side didn’t look bothered by this, staring back with amused smiles. The man quickly pulled shut the curtains, then stepped away. Beyond, the pair outside mumbled something about his cowardice.

The man sighed, brushing aside some of his hair. It revealed dominant elven ears. Jewelry hung from them: pearls at first glance, but they were truly teeth—very long and very sharp teeth, bundled in pairs. The elf glanced at the glass eye once again, watching as its iris grew white. He grabbed his blades once more, perhaps to reassure himself.