"He owed me his life. His skills. Everything. And these are my thanks?" Naydeer set the decanter down with a heavy thud. "Who can one trust these days? Never one of the peons, that much we have learned, again and again. What I thought to be a central pillar has turned out to be hollow, crumbling beneath the least bit of weight."

She walked over to the window in quick, harsh strides. "Now who will I ever turn to again, with anything slightly delicate?" Her eyes were on Pramus as if she felt it his duty to come up with an answer.

The mage shook out his sleeve, seemingly lost in the contemplation of the embroidered runes. Fine lines of silver shone out at him from the folds. When he finally spoke, his voice was low, his pronunciation deliberate. "I too have pillars to lean on. And I believe at least one of them will not crumble under the burden of duty that now is upon us."

He raised his gaze. There was a cold gleam in his eye. "Find the traitor."

* * *

The river port in Varoonya was bustling with crews of sailors, with boats docking and leaving, boxes of all sizes being unloaded and stacked ashore. Brightly colored sun sails flew over the market stalls, the heavy scent of exotic spices mingling with the smell of algae and the voices of myriad people all talking on top of each other.

Such as the newly arrived peddler woman, who kept asking questions of everyone all day long. Pursuing her one single topic, which seemed to be much more important to her than even selling her wares. Now she was imploring the cloth merchant down at the edge of the market.

"He is my younger brother, you see," the peddler explained. "He left home in a quarrel. But all will be well again, if only I can find him. You are sure you have not seen him? A young man, thin, a bit stiff. Used to keep his hair perfectly groomed. He is from the mountains, you know, so you would notice his accent, which is just like mine. Though he does not talk much. He's very reticent, my brother is. You've not met anyone like that? If you find any trace of him, anyone who might have heard of him, please do let me know! I do so wish to find him. Don't let him get onto a boat without having met me first!"

The cloth merchant promised. He would watch out for the lost brother, and ask around as well.

* * *

Joonster was walking along the Roon River just outside Varoonya. He could see the meadow to his left and the one big, solitary tree in its center. Just as in the description from the letter that had been waiting for him at the inn.

Joonster looked around surreptitiously. There were a few people strolling up and down along the bank. Some were playing games in the meadow, talking or kissing. It all seemed incredibly unreal to Joonster. Except for the very palpable sense of danger that had accompanied him all of his life. It was still there. Just the same. Just as strong.

But he had to risk this. He needed protection. Shelter. Food. Work. Coin. He needed a new life. And all the help he could get.

He walked up to the tree with tense, restrained moves.

Torly watched him approach, her face friendly, or so she hoped, but her throat dry. Joonster came to a halt and gave her the shadow of a nod, a curt, jerky dip of his head.

Torly's heart was fluttering. She licked her lips.

"Joonster. Please. Will you help us?"

Joonster stared at her, speechless.

*

A boat with old, ragged sails made a laborious journey up the Roon. The people aboard were climbing over mountains of cargo.

Joonster spoke in a low, monotonous voice. "I have committed many crimes."

His face was taut. "You are asking me to name all of them. To a recoursor. A servant of the law."

The wind picked up, making the boat's worn sails billow, the strings drawn tight. Joonster's inscrutable gaze lingered on them. "I have been bound to Naydeer with my life. I know her secrets. You want me to betray all of them."

Torly's nails dug into her palm. Her voice was a mere breath. "And will you?"

Joonster's eyes were vacant, expressionless.

"Yes."

*

Zurres had ordered her to wait there. Torly shivered at the memory of that woman's cold, hard eyes. But this was their only hope. Their way forward.

The place was no more than a small alcove, ducked into the wall of a long, stern corridor somewhere deep underneath the palace. Torly heard footsteps echoing on a staircase far above, a hollow, lonesome sound.

She wrapped her arms tightly around her chest.

And then the stone slab behind her slid aside as if pushed by a ghost.

Torly whirled around. A large black hole gaped at her. She felt her skin crawl.

Torly clutched the edge of the opening with a sweaty hand and looked back over her shoulder. Joonster was right behind her, pale, but determined.

As Torly stepped into the darkness of the tunnel, she saw no more than a black cloak outlined against the gleam of the lantern.

The door fell shut behind her.

And the shadow began to move.

*

Zurres came to an end. With her cold, harsh voice, she read out the last words on the last page. Her black robes rustled ominously as she placed the sheet back on the stack.

In the silence that followed, Torly could hear Joonster breathe.

"Yes," he finally said. He touched a finger to the pile of papers covered in the elegant hand of the recoursor. "That is what I said." His voice was coarse. "That is how it was."

The tall young woman on the other side of the desk pulled up her chair. The legs scraped over the floor with an awkward sound, but her voice was full and resonant. "Thank you. Your testimony is invaluable. We will keep it safe, rest assured." She picked up the sheets. "You need to stay in Varoonya for a while, in case we have further questions. Or for when you are to speak with the court of deliberators. It all takes time."

A brown folder came to encase Joonster's report. "We will offer you a room. No need for you to leave the building. Even though there is probably no reason to fear actual murder here in Varoonya. But we'll take no risks. You will be safe. Hidden, impossible to track. No one has seen you come, no one will see you leave."

She put the folder aside. "And for later..." Her desk drawer opened. "These are lives we have prepared, because we know that every once in a while, someone ends up needing one very urgently. So they are all set up, and only need a little adaptation. When you leave here, no one else will know you are still alive. Where you are, and what name you carry."

She pulled out a stack of envelopes. "So what shall it be?" The recoursor let an appraising gaze run over Joonster. "Small town vibes? The lost nephew of a deceased old lady, who now comes to settle in his aunt's charming home and hire himself out as a secretary?"

*

It was a small, sunlit room. Joonster stared out into the verdant courtyard. "They will give me a livelihood. The recoursors. After all I have done."

Zurres let her gaze rest on Joonster's profile. "Yes. Especially after the last thing you have done."

Her eyes narrowed. "You have refused to kill. People's lives were in danger, and you have risked your own in order to spare theirs. And later, when they needed truth, a truth that you held—you were willing to give, even though you thought you would face punishment."

Joonster licked his lips. "But I won't?"

"No. You won't." The old woman brushed a hand over her black robes. "We do not care so much for what you have done, but rather for what you will do."

Her fingertips came together in a delicate gesture. "And right now you are doing the best anyone possibly could. Your testimony is key. You may well be saving these people's lives all over again. By coming to us. By entrusting yourself to strangers."

She arched an eyebrow. "There's nothing more courageous and more helpful I can think of. What other signs of personal integrity should one ask for? We're not scouting for angels here, after all. Just for people able to live without harming others."

Zurres leaned back against the wall. "And it very much looks like you are," she glanced at Joonster. "Going from here."

*

Torly let her question hang in the air, giving it all the time that was needed for an answer to crawl out, bit by bit.

Joonster was sitting on the floor, his gaze averted. "Naydeer took me when I was ten. She saved me. And she claimed my life." His voice was low. "She has given me everything I have. Made me who I am. I am hers."

Joonster seemed to be talking to the wall, or the air in between. "I was her slave. Bound by a demon. A demon of loyalty and fear. Naydeer summoned it, but the mage sealed my fate."

The leaves from the courtyard threw shifting shadows onto the floor.

"Naydeer rules my soul, still. If I had not left Shebbetin before she could set eyes on me again, she would have reclaimed me. She would not even have needed to kill me. A word from her, a spell from the mage, and I would have been shackled once more. Never to escape again."

Joonster swallowed. "That is why I had to be so quick."

He pulled a small box from his pocket, rolling over onto his knees as he opened it reverently. Inside lay two twigs, tied together at an angle, like two human fingers crossing each other.

"There was only one powerful mage coming through Shebbetin in recent times." Joonster looked up at Torly. "Only one who could weave a spell with so much force and so much precision. Able to keep a mighty demon locked up while freeing the person bound to it." Joonster held the amulet up for Torly. "Your lover. The butterfly. Will he want it back? Or should it go to Shebbetin?"

Torly raised an eyebrow.

But Joonster's gaze had already sunk down again into the little box, and into his memories. "I have never told Naydeer there was a charm going round among the miners. That much I could do on my own. Withhold that bit of news, just for a little while. And before time was up, before I had to give in, I was freed myself." Joonster traced a finger around his ankle. The exact same line the miner had drawn at the time, never knowing how much effect she would have.

Joonster took a deep breath. "That freed me. I was able to do everything else I have done after that. Talk to Cahuan. Warn her. Refuse to kill. Run."