At some point in time later I found myself carrying a tray of food while navigating my way down the hallway leading to my exercise hall.

I'd informed Mosond of my wishes concerning the food I wanted, and when I was done he'd grudgingly supplied me with everything I'd asked for, more or less. The tray I was holding was laden with several different types of breads, meats, cheeses, greens, and a garlic-mustard aioli that had been whipped up in a small glass bowl and given a sprinkle of parsley.

Mosond never assembles any of the sandwiches I ask him to make for me, probably because he feels that actually putting together peasant fare such as that is beneath him. He made no secret of his disdain for any meal that didn't live up to his lofty standards, and the mere act of asking him for something as mundane as a sandwich, or some flatbread and spread, was usually enough to make him grumpy for the rest of the day. If he didn't become so amusingly infuriated by requests of that nature, I'd probably do it less often.

But sometimes, despite having a well-trained kitchen staff at your beck and call and access to a myriad of succulent dishes, all you really want is a sandwich.

My conversation with Talia had left me feeling elated, despite my weariness. I'd honestly spent the whole carriage ride back to Tucat Keep worrying about what I would say to her, feeling trepidation that my tired brain would convince me to say precisely the wrong thing, or wondering if I might be returning home only to find that she'd already packed her things and left before giving me a chance to explain. And despite everything she'd seen and heard, despite all of the things that were telling her to do otherwise, she'd opted to put her faith in me when it had mattered. I'd explained what had happened and why, and in the end she'd been receptive to it. More than that, really... she told me she understood. And it felt like she did. The whole experience very much reminded me of our encounter in her room yesterday, when we both-

Yesterday. Ye gods, that seemed like an eternity ago. So much had happened since then; a veritable whirlwind of activity that saw me breaking into a fellow lord's keep, staging a murder, infiltrating the August Foyer, getting tossed inside of Gallow's Path, and then being put on trial for murder in the highest court of Harael, all within the span of about a day. A very memorable day, to be certain.

And now things were finally reaching their conclusion, and the last few errant threads of my plan were slowly weaving themselves into place. Despite the unexpected attack from Borshank in the Executioner's Hall, everything I considered critical to my success had seemed to go more or less as planned. It had been a lot of hard work and quick thinking to see this whole thing through to the very end, but now, at last, we were almost there. If I weren't so bloody tired, I would have danced a jig.

Things were most likely going to be calming down now, which would be a refreshing change. If I was extremely lucky, and once I'd eaten my fill from the tray I was holding, I might even be able to hunker down on my leather couch and catch a quick nap like Talia had recommended. The whole prospect of stretching out someplace comfortable and closing my eyes for a few minutes seemed like one of the greatest things in the world just then.

I tiredly stepped over the pressure plates and trip-wires strewn about the hallway, humming tunelessly as I did. Right at that moment, summoning an actual tune to hum just seemed like too much work.

Hmm-hmm-hmmmm, clop, hmmmmmm-mmm, careful step-step-hop, mmm-hmmm-hmm, step-clop-hop....

Clang!

Clang?

I became fully awake and alert at the unexpected noise, my mind hastily reviewing all of the traps that were positioned nearest me and what they did. None of them made a 'clang', from what I could recall.

Clink-shhhing!

It took several seconds for me to realize that the sounds I was hearing weren't coming from anywhere nearby, but from up ahead, somewhere beyond the door to my exercise hall. A decidedly metallic ringing sound, like one might expect from a foil, or-

Oh gods....

My free hand was already inside my tunic fishing for the key to the door, while the rest of me focused on hopping over what remained of my hallway traps as quickly as I could. Once there, I shoved the key into the lock on the left, turned the gargoyle head a quarter-turn to the left, yanked the key out, then shoved it upside-down into the lock on the right while simultaneously stomping down on a nearby cobblestone. I twisted the key one full rotation, pulled it out, stuffed it into the center lock while lifting my foot, jammed my thumb against the grey square set into the wall, and turned the key a half-turn to the left.

Somehow, and without realizing it, I'd managed to do all this while balancing my tray of food across my forearm. If I'd been thinking, I would have dropped it once I'd arrived at the door in order to free up my arm, but whatever. Some days thinking is just too hard.

The clang noises beyond the door were quickly drowned out by the squealing of gears erupting from inside the door as the metal lock-bolts built into it were pulled out of their locked positions. After an agonizingly long second of blood-curdling metallic shrieks the door slowly began to open.

I shoved against the door with my shoulder, attempting to encourage it to open more quickly, though given how heavy that particular door is I doubt it made much of a difference. Once there was space enough to slip past the door and enter the room I did so, still awkwardly balancing my tray of meats, breads and condiments. After taking two steps into the room I stopped, and then I stared, my tired brain attempting to make some sort of sense of the scene before me.

Theo was standing in the middle of my dueling circle with his longsword out, maintaining what could easily be described as the sloppiest guard stance I'd ever seen him employ in my entire life. He hadn't bothered to draw his shortsword, which remained sheathed at his side, and was calmly facing down his opponent....

Connor.

The bedraggled-looking kid had sweat practically pouring down his brow, a few droplets flying from his lips with every labored breath he took. His chest was heaving, and both of his slender, bony hands clutched the hilt of a sword, the point of which was currently resting upon the floor. It was a sword that was clearly ill-fitted for someone of Connor's weight and height.

Haundeuse.

To my utter horror, I saw Connor's face twist up in a grimace, and he heaved against the magnificent weapon with his entire body, lifting the sword upwards in a slow arc directed at Theo's side.

Clank!

His swing was blocked effortlessly, contemptuously, and it deserved to be. If Connor hadn't already informed me that he had no experience when it came to swordplay, the attack he'd performed just now would have been all of the evidence I needed.

Theo was grinning, mockingly. It was an expression I hadn't seen on his face very often.

"Stop," I heard myself say, my own voice sounding the slightest bit stunned to my own ears.

Connor took a fumbling half-step to recover from the force with which the sword – Theo's Baal-be-damned priceless sword – had been deflected. He took a quick, deep breath, lowered his weapon slightly, and then made as if about to attack anew.

"Stop!" I shouted, finally having the good sense to abandon my tray, which I let fall to the floor with a clatter. "Just what in the name of Baduhenna's butt-milk do you two think you're doing?!"

Both figures paused and turned their heads towards me, though I don't know if it was my outburst or the sound of the fallen tray that attracted their attention.

Theo sent me an easy grin and lowered his guard slightly. I saw his movement catch Connor's attention, his head turning raptor-like back to Theo, and with a war-like shout that spoke of tremendous effort, he once again swung Haundeuse for all he was worth, this time at Theo's now-exposed side.

"No! What-"

Clink-shhhk!

Theo easily parried by transferring his longsword to his other hand, his every movement casual and unconcerned, and then pushed firmly against Connor's crossed sword with one arm, forcing the magnificent blade to slide along the length of his own until its tip connected with the wooden floor with a light 'ting'.

Theo chuckled.

Haundeuse,the sword Theo had sworn he'd never use for fear of damaging it, was being blocked by Theo himself. With his own longsword, and in a manner that could very likely cause exactly the sort of damage to it he's always maintained he wanted to avoid. And if the amount of sweat dripping off of Connor's hair was any indication, they'd been at it more than long enough for Theo to have already disarmed the kid countless times!

This was crazy....

"This is crazy!" I shouted, taking a few steps forward. "Stop this right now, both of you! Theo, he-"

Connor tried spinning around in place, bringing the sword with him as he did, and attempted to step through and into a lunge of sorts. Rather than make the effort to block the attack, Theo simply took a step to one side and gave Connor's shoulder a quick shove as the slight figure stumbled past him, sword extended. Connor lost the grip on his sword, which tumbled to the floor, much as he himself did a scant moment later.

The sweat-drenched kid let out a tired groan and rolled himself onto his back, at which point he sat up, facing me, looking positively exhausted...

...and grinning like a madman.

"Wow," he managed to say around a few gulping breaths of air. "Those things get... heavy... after a while."

I blinked.

"If you think that one's heavy, you should try a swing with this one," said Theo, calmly walking over to his fallen foe and extending his sword for Connor to take, hilt-first.

Connor accepted the sword from Theo, and the blade dipped in the air almost immediately as he tried to account for the unexpected weight.

I blinked again.

"Geeze," he panted, the fatigue in his arms causing the sword he held to tremble noticeably. "Why does it... feel so much... heavier than it... did before?"

"Well, your arms are tired, for one. For another, when you had it before you were holding it as though it were merely an object, which isn't all that heavy... maybe five pounds or so. Hold it by the handle in an attempt to swing it and your relationship with the fulcrum changes. Five pounds is easy enough to lift, but if you put even half that weight on the end of a long stick and try to hold it out in front of you, after a while it feels like it weighs a lot more, which is why the 'balance' of a sword is so important. The force you're exerting upon the sword sort of masquerades as weight as well, in a way. Especially if your arms are trying to absorb all of that force and send it back in another direction. You see-"

"What the hell is going on!?" I cried, suddenly feeling as though I was at my wits' end.

Theo turned and favored me with an expression that seemed a mix of both good cheer and mild confusion. Connor simply sat there, panting, considering the sword he held.

I tried again.

"Could either of you please... please tell me what the hell I just walked into here? The last time we spoke on the subject, Theo, you were planning to teach Connor a lesson for stealing Haundeuse, and now here he is, in my exercise hall attacking you with it! And now suddenly you're chatting about fulcrum and balance, like two... like a-" I ran my fingers through my hair. "And then you just give him the sword you're using, like he-... and you-"

"Oh. Right." Theo ran his fingers through his beard in a contemplative manner. "Yeah... I suppose that could have looked pretty bad just now. We were just killing time waiting for you to return from the palace, and Connor here had some questions about how difficult it would be for him to learn swordplay."

"I'm the one who has some questions here, okay? My first one is... your sword, Theo?"

Okay, while technically not a question, I made it sound like one.

"Oh, Haundeuse? He brought it back." Theo thumbed a gesture at Connor.

"I fixed it," Connor added, still grinning hugely.

"Pffft. You did more than just fix it, Connor."

"Well, yeah, I guess. I fixed it... and then I fixed it some more."

Still feeling distinctly confused, and realizing I lacked any sort of follow-up question, I simply stood there and watched as Theo lowered himself to a crouch and picked up his priceless sword off the hardwood floor with one hand, offering his other hand to Connor.

With an impish smile, Connor clasped the big man's wrist and allowed himself to be pulled back to his feet, at which point he wasted no time in hurrying over to where I stood, his excitement apparent. Theo remained where he was, holding Haundeuse in both hands, inspecting the blade from one end to the other, a smile on his face.

"I still can't really believe it," Theo said in a voice that may have contained just a hint of awe.

"See, Lord Tucat," said Connor, who appeared to have gotten most of his breath back, "before you told me about Lord Haundsing's sword I didn't understand how important it was to him. I was kind of mad at him at first, because I didn't think there was any way I could have known, so I couldn't have apologized for doing it. But then I realized I hadn't even apologized to him for stealing it in the first place! I'd told you I was sorry for your dad's book, sure, but I'd never told him about his dad's sword. I started to feel really bad that I hadn't... and one thing my father taught me was that you never simply say you're sorry if you can show it instead.

"So, I broke into his place and stole the sword again, along with that one book he's got about it, the one with the knots on the cover. I wanted to find out what I could about Haundeuse so I could ensure that the crystalline structure was correct, and the integrity of the whole thing would remain the same when I softened the metal and fixed the scratch. Once I had the sword, though, I noticed a lot of other nicks and scratches, not just the couple I'd made. And then I remembered what you said about the history of the sword – how Lord Haundsing had never used it because he was afraid it'd get damaged. But it was damaged already, and not just from what I had done, which meant that his father had actually used it, same as his father before him. And then I thought of how much Lord Haundsing might appreciate being able to actually use his sword, just like his father and grandfather did, without worrying about it getting damaged. And so," Connor said, shrugging his shoulders, "I fixed it."

"I don't know what he did to it, Vincent," said Theo, his appreciative gaze still lingering upon the blade of his sword. "Actually, I'm pretty sure Connor here could tell me exactly what he did to it, and I still wouldn't have a clue. Not only did he find a way to work out the scratches and most of the nicks, but he somehow made it so the blade... well, impossible as it may sound, the blade itself can't be damaged. Not even a little."

"By other swords," amended Connor hastily. "Something harder than steel will still do a number on it, but when it comes to steel on steel it should be just fine."

"You-" I said, finally finding my voice. "How in the world did you manage that?"

"Dad had this thing that let him alter the crystalline structure of stuff so that everything lined up the same direction. He used it to make inclusion-free lenses out of quartz for some of his experiments. And diamond, sometimes."

"He-... wait, what?!"

Diamond?

"The little bugger found a hell of a way to demonstrate what he'd done, too," said Theo, his face now sporting a tremendous grin. "I came down here to wait for you a couple of hours ago, saw Connor just standing there by the wall, holding my sword. I charge across the room, yelling something about giving him the thrashing of a lifetime, and he yells, 'Wait! I want to show you something.' Then, he touches the tip of the blade to the stone floor, pulls a smithy hammer from out of nowhere, winds up, and strikes the edge of the blade with it hard as he can. Nearly gave me a Baal-be-damned heart attack!"

"I showed you it wasn't damaged though," said Connor.

"True. But still... that wasn't a very nice thing to do, scaring me like that."

"Well, you were yelling at me, and I panicked a little!"

Now that my heart wasn't quite beating as rapidly as it had before, I began to pick up on just how different things were between the two of them all of a sudden. Their relaxed demeanor was quite evident, especially when contrasted against their more recent behavior when unfortunate enough to be in one another's presence.

Another errant thread woven into place, and all it took was for Connor to steal a priceless sword, do the impossible by making it nearly indestructible, and then return it as a touchingly insightful gesture that showed just how sorry he was.

I figured an apology would have worked just fine, but the kid had found another way. Bravo, Connor.

I also made a mental note to ask him about his father's diamond lenses, as well as how they were made. If Connor had access to some sort of process that could remove inclusions from diamonds, the potential ramifications were staggering. And, as with just about everything else this kid had showed me, he likely had no clue as to its true value.

Maybe teaching Connor how to adequately defend himself wasn't that bad an idea....

"Well, I'm glad that you two are finally getting along." I said. "Actually, I'm more glad that you're not trying to kill each other like I thought when I first came in here, but whatever... I'm glad for you both. Perhaps next time you two decide to explore the whole concept of swordplay, you'll do it with practice foils instead of live blades, if only to spare what remains of my now-shattered nerves."

"We're going to have to find a way to get him some gear that fits," said Theo, waving his sword in Connor's direction, grin still firmly fixed upon his face. "Skinny little rake asked me for lessons, since he's coming down here all the time anyway. I figure I'll whip him into shape soon enough. Might even work him to the point where he's got some muscles you can actually see."

I smiled. "I'll take him out to get fitted, don't you worry."

"Can we go now?" Connor asked, still beaming at me despite how bedraggled and exhausted he appeared.

"No, we can't. We've still got some things to see to yet. And besides, I haven't slept in... a while. Or eaten," I added, glancing over at the tray of food that lay at my feet. By lucky chance it had landed nearly flat, which prevented most of the bread and meats from spilling onto the stone floor. Not that it would have mattered if they had... I was bloody hungry. "Theo, would you do the honors of taking a few measurements and letting me know what length of foil he'll be needing? He and I can pick up a few things from The Stables tomorrow. Or perhaps the day after... I have a feeling I may be sleeping right through 'till then."

While I hastily assembled various bits of food from the tray into something resembling a sandwich, Theo busied himself fussing with Connor – getting him to stand precisely this way, then that, measuring the distance from the floor to his chin, the length of both arms when extended to each side, things of that nature. Occasionally he'd speak to Connor in low tones that I couldn't really make out, which made sense given how far away they were from me, but I assumed he was explaining the various reasons why certain body measurements were so important when it came to fencing gear, or even just picking out the right sword to wield. The last time Theo and I discussed such matters was well over a decade ago, and considering I'd forgotten just about every important detail of our conversation that day, I was more than happy to leave the discussing and planning of such matters to him.

The sandwich... well, I can't really form any sort of description that might do it justice. I mean, yes, in the end it was merely pickled beef with a mustard-garlic aioli and butter lettuce on slightly dry rye bread, but at that particular moment it bested any entree I'd been served at any dinner banquet I'd ever attended. If you're keen to experience such a thing, go without anything at all to eat for a day and a half, then prepare yourself the kind of meal that you'd ordinarily consider bland and uninspired, and dig in. Next to ravenous hunger, any other condiment pales in comparison.

Once I'd finished devouring my glorious repast, I immediately shuffled my way over to my leather couch, collapsing upon it with a sound which, should someone attempt to spell it, might look something like 'phoomp'. My back, thigh, and calf muscles all rejoiced simultaneously in celebration of the fact that I was no longer on my feet, and I swear I was barely on the couch for ten seconds before I could feel my eyelids begin to droop, and other signs of imminent sleep began to show themselves. I swung my legs around so I could recline fully upon the couch, not caring a whit that I still had my boots on, and-

A distant clomping noise, almost too faint to hear. Getting louder, too.

Despite my frantic wishes to the contrary, I found myself becoming more alert. Even a bit excited. Although moving myself back to a more or less upright position seemed an impossible task just then, I somehow managed to maneuver myself into a spot where I had a clear line of sight to the hidden entrance to this room... the one Theo used when travelling from his keep to mine.

After a while I could hear the rasp of stone-on-stone, and a portion of stone wall that was normally only used by Theo swung open, revealing nothing but a mass of dark shadows at first.

Both Theo and Connor stopped what they were doing and turned to regard that particular portion of stone wall.

A red-brown boot emerged from the shadows and stepped into the room, followed closely by leggings that I'm tempted to call olive-beige-grey.

"Ah, Cyrus," I announced loudly, somehow convincing certain bits of my body to prop me up a bit so I could get a better view of everything. "Welcome home. I trust your vacation was everything you hoped it would be."

Despite his face being mostly hidden by shadows, I swear I was able to detect the tiniest of scowls.

Eventually Cyrus emerged from his dark enclave, stepping fully into my exercise hall, looking both weary, and, well... very, very different.

The most startling thing was the close-cropped hair. Cyrus had always maintained medium-length or 'long-ish' blonde hair ever since I'd hired him on as a member of my staff, so its absence was the first thing that caught my attention. The second thing I noticed was the fact that, shockingly, he was wearing something other than black. His shirt was the same red-brown as his boots, and the satchel hanging from his shoulder was forest green. Not a hint of black anywhere on his person, which was something I hadn't recalled ever seeing before.

The third thing I noticed was the moustache.

Even Connor was gaping slightly.

"I swear," said Cyrus, sounding every bit as weary as he looked, "after this particular vacation, I'm going to need a vacation. And food with some actual food in it. Gods, the stories I could tell about the food alone." He blinked at me. "Hey, is Mosond preparing dinner? I'm not sure what time it is, currently."

"If you need a quick something, I brought down some meats and breads, along with a few other sandwich-friendly items. I rather carelessly allowed the tray to fall to the floor, however, so you may not-"

"Don't care," he said, rapidly locating the aforementioned tray and hurriedly making his way towards it, removing his satchel and depositing it carefully upon the floor. "Half an hour ago I would have eaten my own boots, had I not been acutely aware of the sort of stuff I'd stepped in recently."

"Cyrus?" Connor sputtered, looking rather astonished.

"What's left of him, yes," Cyrus replied.

"What happened to you? That is to say, uh," Connor said hesitantly. "That's a new look for you. It's... good? You look, uh-"

Cyrus scowled.

"Would you like something to drink, perhaps?" I offered.

"Two somethings, actually," said Cyrus as he knelt beside the tray, hastily piling some meat and cheese onto a piece of dark rye. Then he folded what he held in half, apparently believing that acquiring a second piece of bread would waste too much time, and took an enthusiastic bite from it.

"Did you perhaps mean 'Two somethings, actually, Milord,' Cyrus?"

"Get stuffed," he replied around an awkwardly large mouthful of food.

Chuckling, I stood up from the couch and made for the drinks cabinet. Once there I proceeded to pour two healthy servings of red wine, deciding that I could use a drink myself, despite how much sleepier it was likely going to make me.

Both goblets in hand, I walked back over to the fallen tray and offered one of them to Cyrus, which he somehow accepted and drank from in a single gesture. After draining half of the contents of his cup he put it down on the stone floor next to his knee and took a second bite from the folded mass of bread and meat he was holding.

"That's a nice moustache," I said, taking a sip from my own glass.

Cyrus took a break from chewing long enough to heave a sigh through his nose. "Almost forgot about that. Got a razor lying about? Or a knife? If Cynthia sees my face like this I swear I'll never hear the end of it."

"You're not going to keep it?"

He swallowed his mouthful of food before snorting disgustedly in my direction, which seemed answer enough.

"I wouldn't be too hasty shaving that off, Cyrus," said Theo, smirking slightly. "That must have taken a while to grow out, and it is a rather handsome-"

"Baal take you all," Cyrus growled. "The sooner I can shave this thing off my lip and get into some regular clothing, the better. For now... just shut up, all of you. Eating!"

As if for emphasis, he took another monstrous bite of his sandwich and began chewing defiantly in my direction. I chuckled and took another sip of wine, my gaze eventually settling on the forest green bag Cyrus had deposited on the floor behind him. I cleared my throat.

"So, did you find-?" I asked, letting the question trail off.

Cyrus gave me a terse nod.

Alright, enough fun stuff. To business.

"Connor, I would like your full and undivided attention. Right now," I said.

Very quickly, I could see that I had it.

"I am about to swear you to absolute secrecy regarding everything that goes on in this room from now until... uh," I said, frowning slightly once I realized I didn't quite know the appropriate way of finishing my particularly ominous and dramatic sentence. "Until... I say so. And I'm not kidding here, either. My life and the lives of both Cyrus and Theo likely depend on you not breathing a single word of what transpires here tonight. If that thought makes you uncomfortable, or if you don't wish to be saddled with that sort of responsibility, I completely understand... but should you not want any part of this, I would ask that you indicate that is your wish and leave the room."

Conner looked a bit startled at the sudden shift in tone, and considered briefly. After a few moments he set his jaw and gave me a solemn nod.

"Good. I know you don't enjoy being kept in the dark about these sorts of things, but I need you to understand that being privy to plans like these comes with a great deal of responsibility and trust. I should also mention to you all that I've explained most of what's happened to Talia already, and I'll be filling her in on the rest of it later, so she's also going to be aware of what's going on. With the exception of her, however, nobody breathes a word of this to anyone not already in this room. Are we all understood?"

I received three nods of agreement, though Theo's was accompanied by a slight frown.

"Are you going to be letting her know that we know as well?" asked Theo. "Because that kind of means you'll be needing to tell her that you and I are actually friends, which I'm assuming she doesn't know just yet."

"I... hadn't really thought of that, actually. Good point. Well, I suppose if I'm going to be letting her in on everything, I'll obviously have to tell her about our friendship, as well as your role in all of this." I frowned. "Explaining that might end up being a tad awkward."

Theo snorted softly. "Just so you're aware, she doesn't particularly care for me, presently."

Both Cyrus and Connor guffawed at that. I glanced at them, then back to Theo.

"Really?"

"What do you expect, Vince? Our 'feud' is hardly a secret among your staff. We stage squabbles in the street all the time, I call you all sorts of nasty names... how do you think she's going to feel about me?"

Okay, so explaining my friendship with Theo might prove to be more than just a 'tad awkward'....

"I'll work something out, and let you know the details once everything's settled," I said. "For now, we'll limit all discussion regarding these matters to the four of us. I'm sure we'll be having more of these get-togethers in the very near future, so I'll be sure to keep you all informed regarding who knows what. Now, Cyrus, if you would be so kind," I said, raising my chin to indicate the green satchel on the floor. "Let's have a look at the fruits of all your hard work, shall we?"

Cyrus finished off the last remaining bite of food he held and rose back to his feet, quickly brushing his hands against his trousers a few times as he did. He walked over to where his satchel lay and then crouched before it, his fingers working away at the leather straps that secured the top flap in place. That done, he tossed the flap to the other side of the satchel, reached in with his right hand and carefully pulled out....

A leather journal.

The cover had been dyed a dark purple, presumably to contrast against the ten gold embossed arrows that dominated the very center of the book and formed a pattern every citizen of Harael was quite familiar with.

"Holy hell," said Connor, quietly.

"I trust you now understand why none of us will be discussing any of this," I said.

He nodded, then looked at me, his eyes a little wider than before. "So, you're the new prince then?"

"Gods, no! What a hassle that would be. Why does everyone just automatically assume that becoming prince would be a rollicking good time? I hate anything resembling hard work, and avoid it at all costs. Why do you think I hired Cyrus?"

Though weary, Cyrus couldn't help but grin hugely at that.

"And besides," I added, "I'm sure you've heard by now that I was on trial for murder when the palace vault was robbed, so in theory I can't actually be prince."

"So then, Cyrus is the new prince?" asked Connor.

"Oh, hell no," said Cyrus, gripping the book firmly as he stood. "And you remember – you're sworn to secrecy. I don't want anyone finding out I did this and trying to pin princedom on me... I work hard enough as it is."

"So... who?" asked Connor, looking perplexed.

"For now, nobody," I said, pausing so I might take another sip of wine. For some strange reason, just seeing the book Cyrus was holding caused that particular sip to taste better than the last one. "And for the next seven days there will be no Prince of Harael, at which point if nobody comes forward and claims the title their right to do so is forfeit. Once that happens, things revert back to the way they were. Prince Tenarreau gets a bit of a well-deserved vacation, the city gets stirred up a bit, and then everything goes back to normal."

"Okay, I'm a bit confused. Why exactly did you do all this?"

"To acquire something from Tenarreau, and without accidentally becoming Prince of Harael in the process. So, while I did in fact play a rather large part in orchestrating this whole theft, I needed to make absolutely sure it wasn't me who actually removed the book from the vault, and thus couldn't be accused of such."

Cyrus snorted. "I wouldn’t call allowing yourself to get arrested a bunch of times a particularly 'large part' of this plan."

"Actually, it was trickier than I had anticipated, and there were a couple of wrinkles I wasn't expecting. I'll brief you later, once we've both caught up on our sleep." I turned to address Connor. "My part in this was threefold; I needed to keep as much attention focused on me as possible, make life as a Crown Knight or palace guardsman a living hell, and get arrested as many times as I could while in possession of one of my canes."

Connor knitted his brow. "Your canes?"

"So, here's the tinker's version of the whole thing. When Tenarreau informed me that he wouldn’t be giving me the name I was looking for at the ceremony we initiated 'plan b', the intent of which was to rob the vault. But, since I had no wish to actually become prince, and what with the vault being so well protected, I knew that this particular robbery would take a lot of time to both prepare for and execute. And so the first thing I did upon my return from the palace was to grant Cyrus a vacation-"

"At which point I paid off and assumed the identity of a palace guardsman we'd bribed a captain into hiring a month before," said Cyrus. "He was stationed somewhere fairly out of the way, hadn't seen the captain who hired him all month, and bore a striking resemblance to me. So when I showed up at the palace barracks as him and petitioned the captain for a transfer to the palace jails, he just assumed I was the same fellow he'd hired the previous month and filed my paperwork. He probably thought I was a bit daft, since nobody actively tries to get transferred to somewhere as boring as the palace jails, but two days later the transfer went through and I began my training."

"And the whole reason I needed Cyrus in the palace was because of how tight the security is there. All knights and guardsmen, no matter what their rank, are subject to searches upon entering or leaving high security areas. It would have been near impossible for Cyrus to sneak in with the sorts of things we required to breach the palace vault, and so-" I sipped my wine, solely for the purposes of a dramatic pause. "-we found another way of getting what we needed into the palace. Namely, my canes."

"Okay," said Connor, sounding rather unconvinced. "So, you get arrested while walking with a cane, and... okay, still don't really get it."

"Well, although I'd been rather publicly accusing him of doing so, it wasn't actually Borshank who was stealing all of my canes from the evidence locker, it was Cyrus. I'd get arrested and escorted into a high security area, namely the palace jails. The items in my possession would be taken and locked up somewhere in that area, at which point Cyrus would simply sneak in and nab my cane, then move it to where it needed to be."

"You make it sound like it was easy," Cyrus said, shaking his head. "I've got more than a few stories about how 'simple' it was to sneak those canes out."

Connor regarded me warily. "And the canes were...?"

"Rather explosive," I said, grinning at him. "I'd rigged them much in the same way as that exploding purse prank a couple of months ago, all set to explode once I'd snapped a very specific cane in two. So Cyrus stole each cane and tucked them away somewhere safe, at which point he proceeded to do what he does best; he worked hard, saluted crisply, demonstrated his superior aptitude and attention to detail, and generally just left everyone with the impression that he's a solid, dependable sort of guy. And while he was busy doing that, I did what I do best, which is..."

"Make other people's lives miserable," said Cyrus.

"Correct. The palace guardsmen's lives, to be specific. You see, I knew what sort of an effect things like lowering my rent and robbing the tax excise officers would have on the demands being put on the palace staff. Working as a guardsman went from being a fairly cushy sort of thing to being rather harsh and demanding in a very short period of time, and with the overtime requests and all leave being cancelled during the 'crisis' I was causing, I knew that several guardsmen would opt to quit and seek greener pastures. Which, of course, created opportunities for what I'm assuming was Cyrus's rapid advancement within the ranks of the palace guard."

"That part of the plan needed a little push, actually," said Cyrus, who had placed the prince's journal gently upon the table by the couch and was currently by the drinks cabinet pouring himself another glass of wine. "Several guardsmen quit, true, but the team responsible for guarding the vault was a tough nut to crack. Only one person from that group resigned their post the entire time I was there. I advanced enough to be able to put my name on the reserve candidate list and was trained on the labyrinth, like we figured, but with no spots opening up for a vault position I eventually had to force the issue a bit. I included the details as best I could in that one note I sent you."

"That's what I figured you meant when you mentioned the 'waiting list' for the boat you were going to catch to come home, and how some of the people ahead of you had taken ill," I said, nodding. "How did you make that happen, exactly? Nothing too drastic, I hope."

"Drugs," said Cyrus. "I tossed a few unpleasant things into a few lunches being served to a handful of guardsmen from that particular unit. Everyone figured it was food poisoning." He scowled, and I noticed his upper lip curl in disdain. "Not that anyone would have ever thought differently, what with the sort of muck that passed for food at that place..."

"And then, once Cyrus had completed his checklist of things to do at the palace, which included-" I gestured for him to provide the details.

"I had to identify the precise location of the palace vault," he said, counting off fingers as he spoke, "determine the likeliest breech point, identify the best location and arrangement for the explosives you'd smuggled in, plant and conceal the canes inside a wall in a hallway next to the back end of the vault, memorize the details of the labyrinth surrounding the vault, hide instructions on how to safely traverse the labyrinth just outside of the entrance, drug about a half-dozen dangerous and highly-trained vault guards, then smuggle one last coded note out of the palace letting you know I'd taken care of everything, all without looking suspicious or getting caught."

"Exactly. And once he'd taken care of those one or two trifling details, actually robbing the vault was simplicity itself!"

Cyrus regarded me for a good five-count.

"Don't make me hit you," he said, finally.

I grinned at him, and then at Connor.

"In the note Cyrus sent me, he used a pre-arranged code to let me know that not only did he disable some of the vault guard staff, but that he was the fourth most senior trainee for that position. I found a way to tip off Borshank so he'd think I was planning to rob the vault myself, and as I suspected he would, he used the opportunity to increase the number of guards minding the vault in order to apprehend me. My real reason for being there was not only to get arrested, but to release a gas that would make anyone guarding the vault too ill to perform their duties, which would leave Borshank little choice but to order the trainees to stand guard as a short-term measure."

"Which wasn't fun," Cyrus put in. "I got your signal, that night you ordered the torches for Tucat Keep to be extinguished, so I was able to prepare myself for it a little. But even so, I was shaken awake at close to two bells this morning and ordered to immediately head to the vault with all of my gear, posthaste. I very nearly forgot to bring some of the other stuff I knew I'd be needing, I was so tired. Then, after hauling myself to where I needed to be, I had to stand there at the vault entrance, unmoving, for well over nine hours, all the while knowing there could be a huge explosion happening at any second."

"And did things go as planned once that huge explosion happened?"

"More or less," said Cyrus. "There was a deafening sound, and the floor shook, and the rest of the guys on duty instantly knew that something was up... but everything looked secure and intact from where we were. However, if anything unusual ever happens, first order of business is to enter the vault to ensure its integrity. So we quickly disarmed the various safeguards outside of the vault and opened the doors to find that a large door-sized hole had been opened at the very back of it. I took charge at that point, telling my fellow trainees that I would run through the vault in order to stand guard near the freshly opened hole, and that they were to close and lock the door behind me, then run through the August Foyer and down an adjacent hallway in order to meet up at that location and stand guard with me. They weren't fully trained, and there was so much panic and confusion that they didn't even question me. They ran out, locked the vault door, armed all of the traps, and then ran all the way around through the August Foyer to the hallway where the explosion happened, which gave me a good thirty seconds or so to locate what I needed to and bolt."

"And there were no issues after that?" I asked.

"One." Cyrus grimaced slightly. "Earlier this week, when I stole break-rope from the quartermaster's supply room, I hadn't taken into account how little of the barracks food I'd eaten into consideration, so my weight was a little off. Once I'd secured it, attached it to my harness and dove out the window, I spent a rather harrowing minute or so dangling about twelve feet from the ground, debating whether or not to cut the rope and risk twisting an ankle or otherwise injuring myself. Fortunately, I was able to yank on the rope hard enough to break a few strands, and then a few more, so I was eventually able to make my way to the ground safely, more or less. From there, I ditched my guardsman outfit, donned the change of clothing I'd brought with me to the vault, and then kept my head down and made my way back here as casually as I possibly could."

I realized I was still grinning. Looking from Cyrus to Connor and then back again, I took a deep breath through my nose and exhaled contentedly, my grin somehow becoming wider in the process.

"Well done, Cyrus. Very, very well done." I glanced over at Theo, who was looking about as pleased as I suspected I was just then. "Well, there you have it, gentlemen. It's done."

Theo, Cyrus and I spent the next ten seconds or so grinning at one another in silence, just savoring the moment. It was kind of like that moment when you're climbing a mountain and finally make your way to the very top, realizing that there is nothing at all left for you to climb. Exhilaration, pride, wonder, and rapture... all mixed with this feeling that if a bolt of lightning were to strike you and snuff out the flame atop the candle of your life in that instant, well, that'd be okay.

Or rather, that's how I'm assuming that sort of thing feels. I've never been silly enough to try to climb a mountain, myself.

I heard a tiny, apologetic cough.

"So, what... all this trouble, all this effort, just to prove that you could do it? You don't actually want to be prince, but you just wanted to prove to yourself that you're good enough that you could be if you wanted to?" Connor scoffed. "That sounds about as silly as climbing a mountain just to see if you can make it to the top."

Yup, I definitely liked this kid.

"This wasn't about becoming prince, or proving we could break into the palace vault, or anything like that, Connor," I said gently, my smile still unwilling to part company with my face. "It was about stealing this book. This one specific book. A journal penned by none other than Warren Tenarreau himself, the exact same year my family contracted the rose blight plague." Still smiling, I looked over at the book that sat not ten feet away from me, resting atop the table in front of my couch. "It-"

I noticed something, and froze mid-word. The smile on my face, realizing it no longer had any business being there, quickly fled.

A bright yellow slip of paper, one that I hadn't noticed until that very moment, was jutting out from the pages of the journal, much as a bookmark does.

I took a moment to calm myself.

"Cyrus?" I asked, my voice as quiet and nonchalant as I could manage, "you didn't perhaps leaf through this journal already, did you?"

"Gods, no," he said, as though that notion hadn't even occurred to him. "If there were any safeguards or traps bound to this particular journal, I didn't want to be the one to spring them. I'm a comparative amateur to this sort of thing when it comes to you... I was barely able to keep all of the details of this plan straight in my head. If I'd opened this book and it had magically caught fire, or exploded, or something like that..." Cyrus shook his head. "You're far better equipped to deal with things of that nature, and I'm not the sort to put myself through two and a half months of hell only to watch everything I've worked for evaporate in a puff of smoke just because curiosity got the better of me."

"I see," I said. I pointed to the bright yellow slip of paper. "That appears to be a bookmark of some sort."

Cyrus nodded. "It was there when I found that particular volume on the shelf, Milord."

I nodded back.

Well, well... and well.

Though I was nearly certain that the journal didn't have any safeguards built into it, I begged for the polite indulgence of everyone assembled, then bolted out of my exercise hall, down the hallway, through the courtyard, up the stairs and into my library... at which point I began to collect every manner of device, lens, powder, crystal, and other magical whatnot that might aid in the discovery of a booby-trap. That done, I quickly made my way back down to my exercise hall, apologized for the delay, dashed over to the journal and scrutinized it with every single item I'd brought along with me.

About fifteen minutes or so later, I came to the conclusion that there was absolutely nothing unusual about this journal, and that it could be opened safely. I even lit a greyberry candle and held it near the cover, just to ensure that Tenarreau's seal had been magically imprinted somewhere upon its surface.

It had been. There was nothing at all unusual about this particular journal, nothing at all. Except...

I found myself simply standing there, staring at the yellow slip of paper that was currently serving as a bookmark.

"Vince?" Theo said, sounding both slightly concerned and slightly impatient. "Is there something wrong?"

"Not really," I said, my eyes not straying from the bit of paper nestled between the pages of the journal before me. "I just had to make certain I hadn't missed something." I gestured at the book. "I wasn't expecting that."

"What, you've never encountered a bookmark before?"

I chuckled, then considered the book again, fingers worrying my brow. I'd already done just about everything possible to ensure that this wasn't some sort of trap, and the journal itself appeared to be nothing more than a simple, if elegantly crafted and well put-together, journal. A collection of words, thoughts, and memories.

I took a deep breath.

"Okay," I said, reaching down and picking the book up from the table. I paused a moment, then slid my finger down the length of the bright yellow paper in order to separate the pages it had been wedged between, then opened the book to that particular page.

I mean, really, that's what bookmarks are for, right?

The very first thing I noticed was that Tenarreau had excellent penmanship... much better than my own. The second thing I noticed was the fact that he was the sort of person who kept the 'daily diary' sort of journals – the kind where they're jotting down whatever sort of information they felt was particularly important to note happened on that particular day.

The third thing I noticed was the date for this particular entry. It was a very specific date... one that had burned itself indelibly into my mind a long, long time ago.

One simply doesn't forget the date that you and your family are consigned to quarantine and condemned to die in your keep. Or not, as fate would have it.

I can't honestly say how long I spent standing there, staring at that date, my eyes seemingly refusing to continue on to the information contained below. It seemed as though I was transfixed upon the cursive text, and somehow prevented from reading anything further.

Closing my eyes tightly, I took another deep breath, opened my eyes, and began to read the book's contents aloud.

"Gods above and below be damned. All that we've worked for, Giles... all that we've done. Our scheming, our good intentions, our plans within plans, all to transform the Lleidre Commonwealth into something more. All is lost, my friend. I'm so very sorry. I've failed you."

The very first paragraph was like a revelation. I had to take a few quick breaths and consider exactly what it was I'd just read.

Giles. My father.

'...my friend.'

I continued reading.

"I suspect that neither of us is even fractionally as clever as we pretend to be, given how everything has turned out... given the content of my thoughts, and the words I write. We should have seen this one coming. But alas, we were too sure of ourselves, of what could be accomplished by our actions. Too bold, perhaps. What is the saying? Hindsight borrows the vision of a young man, whilst the sights pertaining to what is and what will be are plagued by the cataracts and teichopsia of experience. We see what we want sometimes, and are blinded by how much we thought we knew of ourselves and the world around us.

"I've done what I can for you and your family, and I can only hope against hope that it will be enough. Rose blight. Gods help you, your wife, young Jillian and Vincent. I know we've talked on the subject for a great many hours, having told you on occasions too numerous to count of my belief that the gods have long since abandoned us, but I swear I will be praying nightly to any gods capable of hearing me that you and yours might survive this terrible ordeal. Some part of me hopes that you and I might pore over the words written in this tome someday and laugh heartily at my foolish concerns, like two soldiers reminiscing at the anniversary of a battle that had been won by the barest of margins long, long ago. But hope is simply that, sometimes. There seems nothing else I can do.

"And the worst of it is simply this – it was all my fault. I saw too late what was happening... had identified the threat, but not discerned the proper target. In my arrogance I thought myself to be the lightning rod, and focused my energies on securing the safety of my own person, oblivious to the true nature of what had been sent to quell all that we had wrought, and how it had chosen to do so. Arrogance, as you had told me, would be my undoing, and yet it turned out to be yours. There simply aren't words to describe the depths of my sorrow, having failed you thus."

"Wait, is this-" began Connor.

"Shhh!" hushed Theo.

I took a quick moment or two to compose myself, and then continued.

"And what's worse, it's even ironic, this thing that has happened to happen. Were you here with me right now, hearing me tell you of it, you'd probably raise a single eyebrow at me, and affix me with a look that spoke of-"

I had to stop.

I knew that look, that expression. I knew it like my own reflection in the mirror... saw it whenever I thought of Dad, and the times when he'd listen to some theory of mine, or crazy idea I'd come up with, or-

Eyes closed, I took several moments to compose myself, rubbing my temple with my left hand as though massaging away a headache. Too much... far, far too much, and too quickly.

These were the prince's own words, in his hand... and he spoke of my father as, a what? Confidant? Co-conspirator? Someone he not only trusted implicitly, but had actually mourned for privately? Plotted with? Perhaps laughed with?

Why in Hades name was it that in my countless hours spent reading and re-reading my father's own personal journals had he not once mentioned the fact that he was on a first-name basis with the Prince of Baal-be-damned Harael!? And why in the name of all of the gods, past, present, and future, would he not let his own Baal-be-damned son know that was the freaking case? With his last dying breath, why would he not-

Breathe.

I inhaled through my nose, attempting to relax as best I could.

Breathing. Yeah, that's it. See? There we go. Everything is better when we breathe.

After a few moments, I realized two things. First, I realized that I was experiencing anger and frustration in equal amounts, and on a level of profoundness that had never occurred to me before. Second, I realized that experiencing such things wasn't exactly helpful, nor was it relevant right this particular minute. This was information I was accessing, nothing more. Processing and integrating that information alongside everything else I thought I understood could come later. For now....

I opened my eyes, blinked a few times, opted to skip the remainder of the paragraph I'd gotten halfway through, and continued to read.

"However, I've decided to embrace the philosophy you yourself espoused to me many years ago; An enemy kept within arms reach is an opportunity masquerading as a threat, and the solution is a mere dagger-thrust away. I've identified who it was that did this to you, my friend, and shall be ever watchful, ever vigilant. An attache to a diplomat who didn't know any better, if you can believe it. It's actually quite ironic, I suppose... given the topics that came up during our last few conversations. Apt, you might say. This whole thing is very much in keeping with that one play you mentioned seeing, methinks. You know the one. What was that line they listed in the playbill? 'Death comes to town upon the back of an ivory horse', and all that? Apt, as I've said. So very, very true... to the letter, in fact. Death did indeed arrive astride a white horse, or as they might say in- oh, son of a bitch!"

I discovered that my left hand was busy pressing my fingers against my tightly shut eyes, attempting to massage away the pain and distress and... well, all of the other things that I suddenly felt needed to be massaged away right at that moment.

"Milord?" I heard Cyrus say, his voice more tentative and hesitant than I'd ever heard it previously.

"Is he-" began Connor.

"Shhh!" shushed Theo.

Now, this may sound slightly repetitive, but I have to be honest - I don't know just how long it was I stood there, doing nothing. But that's simply what I did. My eyes had scouted ahead, inspected the words I was about to enunciate out loud, and then, bam... I discovered that I was looking at just the sort of thing I didn't want to see. A part of me had suspected, of course, but still...

I took yet another deep breath, opened my eyes, and read the next passage slowly and deliberately.

"or as they might say in the Norsh tongue, 'infuugsten alpon albus equa.'"

Many, many long seconds of silence.

Then, more silence.

"Wait," said Connor, his brow furrowing slightly, "that last bit. Did that sound like-"

"Yeah," I said, tiredly. "It did."

Connor frowned. "So, hang on... you're saying-"

"I'm not saying anything. At all. And I'm sure I don't need to remind you that you're not saying anything either right now, so shut up. I... just-"

"Connor," Cyrus said, gently, "give him a minute."

Connor opened his mouth as if to speak, then shut it. Then, eyes darting from me to Cyrus and back again, he simply nodded.

I stared at the words on the page once more.

'-albus equa.'

Well, well... and well.

Peyla.

"She was on our list, Vince," said Theo about a hundred years later, his expression both solemn and rueful. "We both put her on there months ago."

"Bide a moment," I said, tossing the journal back onto the table I'd picked it up from. "Give me a second."

"It-.... okay," he said, raising both hands palm-up in a gesture of surrender, taking a couple of steps backward as he did so. "I'm here – we're all here. This is all new and sudden... I get that. Just let us know where you're at, and how we can help."

I nodded. Then, well... I don't really know what happened. My face felt like it was doing something impossible, and that was followed by my arms reaching out and grabbing something nearby, and-

Smash!

I was staggering blindly, and yet at the same time my mind was strangely focused. It seemed like I couldn't see, and all I could hear was this strange noise... this fuzzy sort of "Aaarrrwhatthe-MilordI-geezewhathas-whatshedoing-calmyourself-he'llbeokay" sort of sound that erupted from all directions at once. I glanced somewhere off to the left, and, finding myself unable to focus upon anything meaningful, glanced to my right, experiencing something similar.

Realizing that something was amiss, I closed my eyes, took yet another deep breath, exhaled, inhaled, repeated, repeated again, and then considered who I was, and what was going on. At some point I realized I'd fallen to my knees.

"Rrraaaawwwrrr!" is the word I happened upon, which seemed a rather fine sort of word at the time, and I celebrated its existence as loudly as I could. I know... I'm a sucker for R's and W's and A's when they're all smooshed together like that.

Before long I realized I was damn near sobbing and staring at a patch of floor, and its nearness to my face was enough to wake me up a little. It was near enough to cause me to pause a moment and take in my surroundings.

In retrospect, I will say this - I'm blessed with some very good friends.

Cyrus, Connor, and Theodore were all standing the same distance away from me, which is to say they were close enough to help, but far enough away that they were allowing me to feel, well... whatever the hell I was feeling just then. I don't really know if I can describe it better. Some things are simply impossible to put into words. Try asking a really good friend to explain the color 'red' to you in a meaningful way, and you'll know what I mean.

I forced myself to relax, bit by bit. My breathing slowed, ever so slightly, and my face-twitching became much less pronounced after a while. Rather than staring at the floor, I found myself gazing up at the ceiling.

Soot. Lots of it, too. Hadn't noticed it before. I'd probably have to do something about that.

"Hey," I heard.

Before long I found myself staring up at Theo's face, blinking occasionally, as if such an activity could wipe away... I don't know. Something. Anything. Everything.

"A white mare," I said, finally.

Theo sent a look of worry down at me.

"Sorry?" he asked.

"Albus equa. That was my very first lesson in Norsh," I said, smiling wanly. I didn't precisely know why I was lying on the ground like I was, but it was rather comfortable, and I didn't really feel like moving just then. "The very first words she'd taught me. I'd asked her. 'White mare', is what it meant. I'd asked her about her name, and she'd told me. Her crest, the history behind it... everything."

"Okay. Vincent?" Theo creased his brow and considered me. "I'm about to slap you. You've gone a little nutty-bingo here, and I'm not sure what else to do. We both knew this was a possibility going in to all of this, and-"

"I'm good," I said, raising both palms between us, much as he himself had done mere moments ago. Or years ago... I wasn't exactly the best judge of things like time just then. "Upset and tragically disappointed, to be sure, but I'm good. Just having a bit of a moment, is all. And yes, I know. She was on the list, and I was half-convinced she was culpable earlier today, when I was watching how everyone reacted to the whole Hartman thing. I just... I didn't want it to be her."

"There are a few really, really good reasons not to want that," he said, mildly. "But it does make sense, in a way."

Theo extended his hand to me, and I clasped it firmly, allowing myself to be pulled up to my feet a few seconds later. Once I was upright I looked about me, and saw both Cyrus and Connor simply standing in place, staring with unfeigned concern.

"Apologies for that," is what I ended up saying. Then I smirked slightly. "Thankfully, you've all sworn yourselves to secrecy, so this momentary lack of composure won't ever come up in conversation."

"So, Peyla..." said Theo. "It was her."

"So it would seem." I ran my fingers through my hair. "I half-suspected it was her during my talk with Tenarreau. We'd been using these truth-stone thingies, and when I'd mentioned Peyla as a possible candidate for South Preceptor he deliberately dropped his back into the box he held before answering."

"Truth-stones?" Cyrus sat up a little straighter, which made me realize he'd somehow made his way to my couch without me realizing it. "A floritee-anu?! From Alladesh? You saw one?"

I had one, actually, though I'd likely be returning it along with Tenarreau's journal once seven days had passed. A little truth could be a dangerous thing. Who had said that, again? Tenarreau.

Very apt. The truth I now possessed seemed very, very dangerous all of a sudden.

"I saw several of those particular stones – the prince has a small collection of them. I met with him in his chambers, and we used them to establish a bit of certainty. He mentioned his intent to end the career of Borshank, and I mentioned Peyla as a potential candidate for that post, and he dropped it like a piping hot tuber before answering. Perhaps I should have seen it then. And then, later, when I was being escorted out of the palace, Peyla arrived carrying some of my clothing left there from my many arrests, and there was a note tucked away in one of my vests. A note she'd planted for me to find, obviously." I rubbed my temple tiredly. "And when she saw Hartman at my trial, she didn't just look surprised, but went the slightest bit pale as well. I should have seen it, really."

"You saw enough to realize that the note didn't come from Tenarreau, Vince," said Theo, who now sounded a little less concerned and a little more analytical. "But now we know, and some things actually make a little more sense. She's the only non-Haraelian who holds a significant post within the current administration, and she was assigned it around the same time the quarantine was imposed upon Tucat Keep, if memory serves. The whole thing was very public – formal announcements, a strong push for multi-culturalism, mentions of a particular trade agreement or some such thing. The heralds mentioned her name several times during the initial offer, and being a mere attache to a diplomat from Norsh, having no property or lordship of her own, she'd likely have attracted more notice than she deflected by turning it down."

"But why would the prince reward her like that, if he knew it was her that was responsible for all of this?" asked Connor.

"Not something an assassin wants. And, just like he wrote in his journal – he wanted to keep her close," I replied. "A preceptor can't simply resign their post, so he likely wanted to keep her within arms reach. Kind of a ballsy move, actually, considering he knew she was sent to assassinate my father."

"Not just your father, but your whole family, Vincent." Theo regarded me with a look of concern. "And the fact that you're still alive might suggest that her job isn't quite finished just yet. And the note she left you... clearly she was attempting to get you to murder Hartman. Could she still be working as an assassin, and he's her next target? Could she be trying to take you out by using you to do her dirty work for her? Two birds, one stone, all that?"

"Definitely something we need to consider, Theo. Or perhaps Hartman's a pawn in all of this... someone who was just important enough to get me executed should I go after him in the fashion she expected me to."

"But then, why does she seem so well disposed towards you?" Cyrus asked. "I mean, you're the only lord she seems to be on reasonable terms with, and has been nothing but helpful ever since your territory was expanded into west Harael."

"Which could be the whole reason why the prince gave me that territory in the first place, Cyrus. He wanted our paths to cross... wanted to force the issue. And Peyla did exactly what Tenarreau himself had done – she kept her enemy close." I felt my lip curl slightly. "Established a rapport, formed a friendship. Kept all of her options on the table."

Nobody had anything to say to that, it seemed. Silence dominated the room, and strangely, it was the last of my words that continued to stir my thoughts.

Table. The executioner's table.

Why had Peyla helped me in the Executioner's Hall as she had? If she were an assassin, why hadn't she simply allowed things to take their course just then? To that point, why hadn't she taken care of things well before this moment? Perhaps staging an 'accident', or something of that nature. Surely she had the authority to arrange something like that.

There was more to this situation than I knew, I realized. There was likely going to be an entire list of burning questions I'd require answers for before the week was out. But still...

I had a name.

"Uhm, perhaps this isn't the brightest question, but I'm kind of wondering about it, so-" Connor licked his lips and ran fingers through his sweat-moistened, slightly tousled hair. "The, uh... bookmark?"

Yeah. That was kind of interesting, come to think of it.

Upon Connor's mentioning of it, I noticed that the slip of paper that had served as a bookmark had somehow ended up on the floor, so I walked over to it and picked it up. As I did so, I noticed that it bore writing on one side of it.

The writing was the same cursive script that was contained within the pages of the journal that sat upon the nearby table, words written by Tenarreau's own hand. Two simple, elegantly penned words...

Can you?

The very question Tenarreau had asked of me, that one night.

He'd known – he'd expected me to accomplish what I had, this whole time. He'd wanted me to learn of the words he'd written about my father, about me, about Peyla. He wasn't able to help me overtly, but in the end I'd done exactly what he'd wished. He wanted me to know.

And now I did.

And what, pray tell, was I going to do with this information, now that I had it?

There was too much I still didn't know... too much newness, especially concerning the recent revelation that my father and the prince had been conspiring against... what exactly? What had dad been working on? Everything I'd read just now indicated that he'd been murdered because of it, along with the rest of my family. Why had we been targeted? What precisely was going on?

I now had a name, and if that was all that truly mattered I could find the justice I longed for tonight, this very evening. Tired as I was, I possessed both the energy and the knowledge to be unstoppable, for all intents and purposes. I knew who was to blame for my misery, my sorrow. Harael could be mourning the death of its West Preceptor upon the morrow, if I wished.

But suddenly there was also a question of 'why?', and not merely 'who?'

And given that the latter might have information regarding the former, simply rushing out and dispensing justice didn't seem like a particularly wise course of action.

And besides, Talia was right. She knew me, quite possibly better than I knew myself in some ways. I had fantasized about this day, true... the day I'd learn the name of the person responsible for killing my family. I'd often pictured myself doing unspeakable things to some shapeless, formless mass of evil whom I held responsible for everything that had been turned upside-down in my life. But now, suddenly, I had a name. I knew who was to blame.

Could I?

I'd killed before, and the memory of that moment haunted me in ways I can scarcely describe. Being present for the ending of another life – being responsible for its end – changes you in ways that simply cannot be explained with mere words.

And I'd not set out to end that particular life. Had tried to save it, in fact. Yes, I was a killer, but a murderer? Did I possess a soul that was capable of something like that?

I wasn't absolutely certain, just then.

I'd be telling Talia everything that had transpired recently, and I already knew what her thoughts regarding this whole matter would be... how she thought of me. I wasn't a murderer. I couldn't do something so vile, so evil. I simply wasn't a murderer. There were so many things she was right about, and this simple fact was likely no exception. Maybe I wasn't capable of something like murder.

And yet....

Murder wasn't the only way to achieve revenge, or balance the cosmic scales, or destroy someone. There were a myriad of ways to make it so that someone wished for death, after all, and several of those scenarios didn't involve something as simple and mundane as murder. Killing Peyla wasn't the only option I had when it came to revenge. Not by a long shot.

But then again, sometimes the simplest answers to problems are the best ones.

I glanced back at the bookmark I held, and considered its words.

Can you?

I suppose I'd be finding out, one way or another.

"Cyrus," I said, crumpling the yellow slip of paper in my hand. "You've got a rather hefty bonus currently sitting in your bedchamber, and I suggest you use it to ensure that you and Cynthia experience the kind of vacation you'll fondly be retelling us about years from now. You've earned it. However, before you do, could I perhaps get you to do one thing for me?"

"Certainly, Milord," he said, raising himself from the couch and standing at attention.

Good old Cyrus.

"Do fetch that bottle of Tiifi thirty-nine and put it in the cooling rack, would you?" I said, smiling. "I have a feeling we'll be opening it fairly soon."

-End of Book 3. Stay tuned for book #4, "White Mare"  :)