Xanthy swerved aside. The column of flame singed the ends of her hair as it flapped along her motion. Since when did it grow that long? "Wait—" she gasped before rolling aside as another blast of white-hot flames sped towards her direction. Wasn't he tired by now? These spells must be taking a lot of his energy reserves.

An orange pillar crept into her periphery and she twirled just in time to avoid another spear of flame from running her over. She clicked her tongue. They didn't have time for this! She lashed out, called forth the Virtakios, and willed her attacker's synnavaim to constrict, to lock itself away. A body thumped solidly against the burnt clay tiles. The flames dissipated in a quiet hiss.

"What did you do?" a voice rasped. Xanthy looked down to a young man with dark skin and apricot hair slowly bracing himself up as if his limbs had turned to jelly. Well, considering that Xanthy swept his magic form under him, perhaps that's indeed how he felt.

Xanthy trudged towards the man and offered a hand. He took it and she helped him up. "I locked your synnavaim for a bit so you could stop trying to roast me," she stepped away from him as soon as he was standing on his own before crossing her arms. "I was hoping you and I could have a talk. We don't have much time left."

The young man's forehead creased. " 'We'?"

"Yes, yes. I didn't come alone," Xanthy waved her hand and looked at the wide stairs behind the young man. "Now, where is the fire sprite heir? Do you happen to know him?"

A smile tugged at the corner of the young man's mouth. "Well, you're fortunate," he laid a hand to his chest as he faced Xanthy fully. "I'm the fire sprite heir, Seravel."

Xanthy raised an eyebrow. Ah, so that's why he was considerably strong with his magic. He's the heir. "I see," she nodded before looking around them. "Have I come at an inappropriate time? I'm sorry about that."

"Yeah, you kind of did," Seravel scratched the back of his neck. "The city is burning, right? Not to mention I got a report over in the fire orbs system that there is a band of dangerous criminals loose in the city."

Xanthy bobbed her head. "That would be the black-clad men—"

"Criminals who happened to look like you," Seravel's eyes narrowed when Xanthy whirled to him.

"I'm sorry, what?" Xanthy gaped at the heir. That's when she noticed that he was barefoot; his soles brushed the clay tiles like it's made of carpet. Didn't all fire sprites know what shoes were?

"Reports have been going around the criminal watch lately," Seravel looked Xanthy up and down. "I'm certain you were in it."

Xanthy frowned. "You sure are calm with that fact."

"Well, what can I do?" Seravel shrugged. "I don't have any magic."

"How long has the territory been burning?"

Seravel's eyebrows rose. "About three months now," he clicked his tongue and shook his head. "Wait, why am I telling you that?"

"Three months?" Xanthy touched her chin. "I see. So that's why the flames have a strange energy in them."

"You know something, criminal?" Seravel stepped forward.

"Please," Xanthy laid her palm out to the heir. "Call me Xanthy."

"Yes, fine. Xanthy," Seravel crossed his arms and licked his chapped lips. He didn't look concerned about his synnavaim being locked by a person from the "criminal reports". His eyebrows were drawn together as he cleared his throat. "Have you figured something out about the flames?"

Xanthy clapped her hands once. "Ah, the throne," she pointed her joined hands in the heir's direction. The distinct kind of energy curling from the smoke produced by the flames she saw while outrunning it earlier picked at the edge of her mind. Of course, she didn't dare tell the others about this in case the poachers were listening in.

She met the heir's dark gray eyes. "It's trying to go home."

"You're not making any sense," Seravel scratched his scalp with a hooked finger. "The throne was stolen three months ago but there's no way it's asking for help. Besides, how can you tell? It's not like you're anyone."

Xanthy raised one eyebrow at him. That jab hurt. "I just locked your synnavaim. That's why you can't access it right now," she jerked her chin at him. Never mind that he's an heir who could potentially order her head to be cut off. She tapped her chest. "It's me. I did it. Now what does that tell you?"

Seravel stared at the dark clouds hovering above them. "That you're some powerful brownie?"

"Because I am the Virtakios," she shoved her face into Seravel's personal space, making the heir step back, wary. "I'm here to help. Hopefully, my friends can find the Pathfinder before the enemy can destroy it."

"Destroy it?" Seravel's voice shook as he ducked his head like he couldn't believe what he just heard. "Why would they destroy it? Who are these 'they'?"

Xanthy blew away the strands of hair that crept out of her braid. "Will you come with me, first?" she turned and began walking towards the gate. "We will explain everything on the way."

"How can I trust you?" Seravel's voice sounded farther and farther away as she walked. He's not following. "You're a criminal."

Xanthy snorted as she turned to him and resumed walking, backwards, this time. "Everyone the people in power didn't like are criminals," her voice rang empty against the wide courtyard. She stretched out her hand towards him. "Now, come on. You can trust me because I have every power to kill you yet I didn't. I could have made your dainty palace explode and left you to rot in the flames. But I didn't."

Seravel certainly didn't believe her. He stayed rooted in his place. Xanthy paused. "If we don't hurry to reclaim your throne," she crossed her arms and jutted her hip to one side."There will be nothing left in your territory but sand and ash by the time Kamara replaces Crozal."

Xanthy made sure her expression was grim. Her insides swirled with delight when she saw the fire sprite heir's face pale even through the distance between them.

Consider that a job well done.

2412, Diori 05, Jyda

Xanthy took a swig from her cup and cringed. Was this what people call liquor? It tasted like wet leather. She fixed her expression and wished nobody was looking at her long enough to register her expression.

Marthiaq was talking. "—dealing with the flames for three months?" the brownie asked Seravel like it's the heir's fault. The poor fire sprite kept glancing at the door since Marthiaq's rows started.

How they ended up in this worn tavern was a marvel in itself. Once Xanthy managed to get Seravel to come with her without him trying to burn her, she rejoined her companions and told them what happened. She kept her hold on Seravel's magic until everyone was properly comfortable with each other. That took about two minutes because the black-clad men got over their inflicted stupor and started coming after them. Getting out of Calca was fairly easy since Xanthy merely used the sirtya to zap them out of there...and dropped them straight into the region full of minesweepers.

Xanthy's experience with these little clunks of metal involved magical arrows, running, and a lot of swearing. When they cleared the mining area in Akaron, they ended up trudging through the city square covered in minesweeper mud and with Marthiaq missing a boot after he pulled a Xanthy when she first met the clunky critters.

They stayed away from the tavern which housed Synketros's past base. Marthiaq assured Xanthy that the Sovereign had packed and moved everything after someone made it inside and escaped alive. Xanthy wasn't taking chances, though. Not this time.

Xanthy's stomach still curled whenever she remembered how the Sovereign ordered a servant girl to kill herself and the girl obeyed without question. What kind of a leader does that?

A shuffle of boots took Xanthy's attention back to the scene unfolding on their current table.

"W-we do what we can," Seravel seemed to find the scraggly wood table top interesting. "We found out that it yields a bit to me and my father."

Marthiaq raised an eyebrow. "Oh, so you travel a lot to the outer cities?"

"The past months, yes," Seravel's apricot hair bounced atop his head as he nodded. He looked like an average brownie dressed in a tunic-and-trousers get-up which Marthiaq might or might not have pilfered from a nearby merchant cart. It's June's idea to dress the heir like them. They couldn't have a recognizable fire sprite walking around, especially a fire sprite with an embroidered vest.

Apparently, it's a social class thing in Lanbridhr. One could spot a noble or a royal from a mile away because they're the only ones permitted to wear something over their torsos. Most fire sprites were bare from the waist up.

Seravel had refused the stolen clothes adamantly until June threw his arm over the heir's shoulders and whispered something which made the heir's face pale in fear. Xanthy has yet to ask June what he said to convince the heir to defy the norm.

Back at the table, the discussion was becoming hostile. For a fire sprite whose race was known to be muscular warriors and other macho whatnot, Seravel looked like he was slowly melting under Marthiaq's gaze. The brownie had his arms crossed by his chest, his once gentle eyes hard and narrowed.

Xanthy should do something.

Marthiaq opened his mouth to ask, "Well, what are you—"

"Marthiaq, please, you're scaring him," Xanthy stopped her father's friend before he could terrorize the heir further.

Marthiaq frowned. Xanthy gave him a flat look that said, I got this. Seravel's eyes landed on her. "You said you're going to explain what in Rudik's ass is going on," his stare shot daggers of distrust at Xanthy. "I left my people for this."

"What do you know of the Pathfinder?" Xanthy heaved a breath and folded her arms against her chest. She leaned against the table. The poor fixture creaked under her inflicted weight.

Seravel pursed his lips, eyeing the rocking table as if he's scared it'd fall off. "What are you going to do with that information?"

Aha. Cautious. Xanthy liked that. "It seems like you don't trust any of us but let me change that," she did her best to smile which probably looked like she was wincing or something. "What do you know of the war that's currently going on in Penleth?"

"That?" The heir knitted his eyebrows. "My father told the people it's a righteous war to purify this island of heathens, criminals, and believers of uniting the races under one flag."

Xanthy almost choked with her saliva. Unity under one flag? Wasn't that the Sovereign and the Heiress's original goal? Why were they suddenly pinning it on Xanthy's side? "Well, do you believe that?" Xanthy glanced at the people around them. They didn't pose much threat as Marthiaq assured her but who among these people would later confess that they heard this exact conversation?

"I have to," Seravel pursed his lips. "What the Fire Potentate says is true. No one could fight him."

"Fire Potentate? That would mean he's—"

"My father, yes," Seravel finished for Xanthy before inhaling sharply. "Look, if you're going to waste valuable time trying to explain contemporary war and politics to me, then I must be off. My people need me."

"I remember where I came across your name!" Marthiaq snapped his fingers. Triumph glistened in his eyes as he ignored the pointed look Xanthy gave him. He was on to something. "You're the one responsible for the Embers Chronicle circulating around Lanbridhr contradicting the Fire Potentate about the current lack of freedom of speech inside the territory," he wagged a finger towards the heir. "You're the Inferno."

Xanthy whipped to Seravel to find his dark skin had almost lost its color. "W-where did you get that information?" the heir stuttered.

"I have my methods," he leaned back with a smug smile painting his face. "Your traces weren't erased well, at least for my standards."

Xanthy frowned. Marthiaq basically claimed the Fire Potentate's standards weren't high enough upon failing to catch his own son talking behind his back. Instead of being offended, however, Seravel blew a breath. "Yes," his Lanbridhric accent crept to the surface. It was like a brownie drawl but lighter and thinner. "I have been going against my father's wrong political views for about some time now."

"Good," Marthiaq inclined his head to one side. "I assume you like to keep it that way?"

Seravel turned to Xanthy. "Please tell me he's not gonna blackmail me," he jabbed a thumb in Marthiaq's general direction.

Marthiaq did blackmail him. "I'm gonna make sure your little secret leaks out if you don't help us," the brownie said.

Xanthy rested her forehead on her palm. "Marthiaq, please," she said in a flat tone. She never used it unless she's really annoyed and would start blowing things up. June, knowing this, perked up and began shooting Marthiaq sharp glances from across the table.

"Your secret is safe with us," Xanthy said to Seravel. "I won't let Marthiaq get away with his ill-guided plan," she looked pointedly at the brownie. Marthiaq rolled his eyes like a petulant flower-child. Ugh. "But, we do need your help," she glanced at the fire sprite heir to find him picking at the hem of his tunic. "There's something we have to do before the Sovereign and the Heiress get what they want."

"Let me guess. It's not to eradicate criminals," Seravel raised his head to meet Xanthy's eyes..

"You get the drift," Xanthy said. "I still don't know why these villains are doing what they're doing but I know how they're going to do it. For that to happen, they needed the thrones. Your thrones."

Seravel chewed his lower lip. "How would I know that you're not just an organized criminal sect who made up the whole story? I haven't even heard of this Sovereign or that Heiress. All I know is that there is this big battle happening in Penleth which required Father to give up almost half of our army to the cause."

"Do you know why the Fire Potentate agreed to send his army when you needed a work force in your very own burning cities?" Xanthy drew lazy circles atop the splintering table top. "Why was he diverting resources on something that the fire sprites aren't duly concerned about?"

"He told the people that Lanbridhr will be part of ushering a new age of rule on the island."

Judging from how Seravel was squirming on his seat, he wasn't sold so Xanthy leaned in. "Do you believe it?"

"Not one bit," he exhaled and met Xanthy's eyes. "But it still doesn't prove you guys are what you claim you are."

"We're not claiming anything, yet," Xanthy said. "But don't you smell something like burning fish on this whole issue? You said that your throne was stolen three months ago. Who stole it?"

Seravel touched his chin. "No one knows. Father sent out the investigators but they all came up with the same conclusion that the theft was something they couldn't handle."

"And what did your father do about it?"

"Nothing," Seravel's eyes widened. "I tried asking him but he told me he would label me an enemy of the state if I ever bring that topic up again. Burning fish, indeed."

Good. They're getting somewhere. Xanthy cocked her head. "Then, a short while later, the fires started, right?"

"They did," Seravel nodded along as if it was all starting to make sense. "The Fire Potentate is also going out a lot and is barely home. He left me to take care of the city and my sources at the Embers told me that he was seen near Penleth."

"There you have it," Xanthy leaned away from the table. A satisfied feeling settled in her gut. "Take two and two together and you'll realize that something's wrong with everything. Meanwhile, I and my lovely companions are from that battle in Penleth."

"You said you're the Virtakios," Seravel rubbed his forefinger and his thumb, thinking. "What does that mean?"

"That means she's the only one who could complete the Sovereign and the Heiress's plan and the reason why this war is being fought," Marthiaq interjected. Ugh. Couldn't he hold his tongue for a while? Xanthy glared at him but he pushed on. "That's what these villains aren't telling their followers."

"They need the thrones to accomplish their goals as well," June piped up and leaned over to address Seravel. "They would have to destroy the thrones to make a unified throne which would serve as a master key past Parkane's defenses."

"Virtakios? Parkane?" Seravel whirled to each of them before shaking his head. "You guys are a bunch of lunatics skipping around in your...your cult!"

Well, this was proving harder than she sketched it to be. "Would you like me to show you everything I know?" Xanthy said. "I could do that."

"How?"

Xanthy smiled. "I've got friends in various places," she laid a hand atop Seravel's on the table.

Okay, time to shine, Xanthy said to the presence sitting at the corner of her mind. The sliver of the Arbotro's spirit stirred. Instantly, recent memory flared from her fingertips and traveled through Seravel's system until they reached his mind.

The heir gave a small gasp as he saw the Arbotro's version of the truth. He saw the way the tree had seen everything that happened on the island. Seravel saw how the Sovereign destroyed Peltra and Narfalk. He saw how the Heiress took control of the deceased High Queen's body so she could leech the Willbender away from Lanteglos. He saw Dwanzeig, the negotiation, and Jonadrin's surrender.

He saw the Heiress's and the Sovereign's faces—sinister smiles plastered across their faces as they watched all the death and destruction. Xanthy withdrew her hand and Seravel dropped back to his present. He was breathing hard and his eyes were wild. "What was that?" he clutched his chest like it physically hurt him.

Xanthy didn't smile. "A memory. The truth," she sighed. "That's why we need your help. We must stop this violence and end this cruel reign on our island. Plus, as you have seen, it's the Sovereign and the Heiress's fault the magic in the island is dying. If we keep this up, there will be no fairies left by Jered Hyngtis."

"That's...a lot to take in," the fire sprite's eyes were unfocused. "Can you give me a bit of time? I need air."

"Sure," Xanthy turned to Rhys who sat to her left. The varichria was silent throughout the discussion as he pored over the maps of Avaloran cities, no doubt trying to devise a way to enter without causing a fire or a riot when they reached Otralo. "How was the planning?"

Rhys rubbed his face and folded the maps. "No easy way to get inside the Royal capital if we dare to look for the heir inside."

"The heir?" Seravel popped into the conversation. Xanthy frowned. Didn't he need time? "He's not on Otralo."

Rhys blinked. "He's not on Otralo," Seravel repeated for the varichria. "I know him."

"Really?" Xanthy removed her weight from the table. This was interesting. "Where is he now?"

"Jehnasson," Seravel scratched his head. "They, um, locked him in the Temple of Earth when he got involved in a caper case in Otralo."

Marthiaq was nodding. "I have heard of this as well," he touched his chin and tapped a finger against it. Was there something Marthiaq didn't know? "What was his name again? Ardon? Ardan?"

"Ariden," Seravel said. "Ariden Sarethol. After his involvement in that caper against the Royal Temple, he has been rumored to be the leader of the famed gang of thieves called the Cutlasses," he put his hands together atop the table. "Of course, he denies it all the time. I know him because the sprites used to hold Imperial banquets in Lanteglos. We...catch up there."

Xanthy pursed her lips to prevent an intrigued smile from breaking out. Interesting. A leader of a gang of thieves? Perhaps they needed to reach out.

June, who knew her too well at this point, tapped the back of her hand from across the table. "Xanthy, are you planning something?"

"Oh, yes," she smiled. "It's a rough idea, though."

"We'll fine tune it, then," Marthiaq turned to her fully. "Tell us."

Xanthy did and eyebrows crept up more and more as she went with it.