Instead of risking a shortcut, Liarus' company took the long route back. They returned to Aura sun-kissed, prickle-brushed, and drenched in sweat.

What met them was not Ridaras' gracious smile or the waving hands of thankful Siralians. Instead, Aura's citizens met them with jeers, howls, and rotten food slung out of dark windows.

It didn't take long for the company to find out why.

When they reached the branch of the Auran Medicalers, they were shocked to find it boarded up. They stared through the shutters, witnessing a place ransacked and bare. All that remained were broken flasks, strewn papers, and dust-less squares on bending planks. Beams of light, knife-thin, peeked through the windows. Brackish water dripped from stripped roofs. A few codices were left behind, formulas of failed magic that, had the looters been able to read, might've fetched a pretty penny in some halfway market.

Worst, there was no nightswallow left. He was already feeling nauseous, his muscles screaming in pain as his legs began to spasm. Liarus spared all his effort not to shake his head, as even the tiniest jolt would shock his body into pain.

Confused and clench-fisted, Liarus made his way to Mira's manor, that plain and familiar hall. "We need answers, now." He snarled to his soldiers.

At the palisade gate, the company flashed their sigils. The guards gave resistance. "How insolent!" Arlan shouted at them, and they relented on the condition that only Liarus may enter. He agreed though he refused to give up his blade.

It had been more than a month since he was last in the hall, but much of it was unchanged. Mira's hall was always bare, functional and clean, and he liked that about her. It was a tiny chamber, intimate and warm, a hearth always gowned in flame as knights stood and sat at opposite ends of two tables.

But not everything stayed the same. Instead of deep green, bleak grey banners were draped from the ceilings, and not a single one carried the Auran rose. The rugs had been removed. The chairs, once wrapped in black sheets, were naked and cold. Now bare, some carried signs of wear, and the image disgusted him. Mira was simple, but these tastes seemed too simple. The place also had a lingering smell, something like wet dog. A dog-man had been here, though why they were down so far south was odd.

No matter: she was gracious to his requests and understood clearer than most Siralians the gravity of his missions. His needs were simple: a few days' stay, good wine, and an iron hand. Then, he'd be on his way.

Instead of easy-going knights, the hall met him with a flank, vigilant and helmed. At the end of the tables, perfectly centred, was a wide pine desk. Behind it laid a throne of warped pine and guarding that was one ser Vaughn of Imble. A short-haired man of boyish features, Liarus had mocked Vaughn's appearance more than once: he looked like a baby-skinned whelp tacked onto a man's body, almost as tall as Radan.

Yet any amusement Liarus drew from Vaughn's appearance quickly disappeared. It wasn't Mira at the end of that table. "Sit." He ordered. Liarus sat down on a neat chair with a polite bow, though Vaughn growled and pointed at an ugly, cracked thing closer to the desk. With a smile, Liarus obliged.

That smile soon faded.

He heard her footsteps. He knew those footsteps.

They were light and fast, but each time the foot fell, it panged with a heavy, uncomfortable din. More offensively, Vaughn bowed deeply to her, an unpleasant, a golden-haired witch of glinted armour, wrapped in velvet silk as much as she was in disdain.

Then, in that impetuous voice, Vaughn shouted, "Arise and bow, for you are in the presence of one Leanne of Aschervern, Commander of Aura, and Maiden of the Mark!"

Liarus stood and bowed, though he could scarce hide his wide-eyed shock. Commander of Aura? This dead-eyed bitch, Commander of Aura? Was the Row insane? What were those priests thinking, putting this traitor on the Wailingwood Throne?

It didn't matter, at least for now. "I've been in the forest for too long; I hadn't heard of the recent departure of my colleague or your much-deserved promotion. Please, forgive me." He sat down without her beckon. She made no heed.

"You are kind, Prince Liarus, Lord of the Hiverdale. Though Ridaras has taken his company out of Aura, know that I bear no ill-will against the Medicalers." She spoke with sweetness and venom alike, every syllable drenched deep in venom.

"Please, refer to me as a Medicaler like any other. It would pain me to hear the word 'Prince' so often." He adjusted his chair a mere inch closer. She raised her hands, and her guards raised their helms. He stopped.

"You may hear those words more than you think, Liarus, if you've spent much of Fastidious in the forest."

Liarus crossed his arms. "Is that so? I hope that it's merely a kindness and not something grimmer."

Leanne frowned and then leaned forward. "You don't know?" Her chin rested on her fingers. "Have you heard the news?"

Liarus dropped the formal pretense. He hadn't the time for ceremony, his legs were twitching, and his gums felt cold, and his teeth felt wrong. "I've heard none, and my company's heard none." He looked around at the circle of knights. "Though I fear with all the knights, it's something to do with the peasants and their discontent in Mira's city?"

"My city."

Liarus smiled. "I'd forgotten. I'd been used to seeing you in that play-armour of yours that I'd forgotten you'd been lucky to become a leader of a place as Aura." He placed his sword on the ground.

Leanne's eyes caught the shadow of his other hand tucked away in his lap. Like Liarus, she dropped her formal tone. "I don't recall you as right-handed. What bids you to bear your blade in your offhand?"

Liarus sighed and raised the stump of his left hand. "Unfortunately, I've lost it, burned to cinders and now I'm no more than a lame soldier. It is, in fact, because I'm lame that my feet have brought me here; if you could be so kind, Leanne, as to outfit me with an iron hand."

She cocked her head and licked her lips. "Many soldiers have lost limbs, and it's not my place to outfit soldiers with iron hands. If you require mechanical digits, have your men speak to a smithy. Or, perhaps, Ridaras will have a surplus in that fat carriage he and his men took home."

Liarus cast a sly grin. "Could you not make an exception, for old times' sake?"

"It's for old times' sake that I don't burn you in a pyre, though as far as I understand it, you smoke-knights would dance in childish glee at such heat. No, if you must insist on me treating you fairly and not as a prince, then I must insist you seek out an iron hand through your own ability. We've nothing to speak of as friends, you and I."

"Oh, but Leanne, beautiful Leanne!" He rest his stump on his chest and leaned with a wild cadence. "I've come all this way out of my trust for you, and your Commander -"

"I am the Commander, little Liarus."

"-and you are giving me problems like a common wench. Put aside your pettiness, Leanne. Realize that you are in the presence of a prince of Ardal, and dignitaries need your aid! Is that not the Commander's job?" He looked at Vaughn. Vaughn's hand, crossed and resting on his handle, slowly twisted into a tight grip.

Stolen story; please report.

"Oh? The moment you need something, you're a prince now, are you?" She leaned forward with a thin smile. "Should I treat you as a prince?"

Liarus didn't say anything at first. He noticed that something was off about Leanne, that she knew something he didn't, that she had waited for him to crack, and now, he wasn't sure where this was going. But what? What could she have known or wanted from his princely status that gave her an edge? "I do not need you to treat me like a prince but know that you're in the presence of a prince." He snarled though it was as weak as a whisper.

"Then I will take you as an envoy and give you all your envoy's needs. As I fashion a hand, I must ask a simple request: you cannot leave, for your own safety, your Majesty."

"Majesty?" His blood ran cold. "Majesty. Why those words? And why my safety?" He recalled the people of Aura, broken and dying on the wheels, crows pecking at their parts, rows of fire, screams, and coughing. He remembered long faces crawling out of the shadows of long windows. He remembered the stench of bile and blood filling the air and the sound of popping flesh. "Has this putrid pox gone beyond your borders, out of your control?"

"You didn't know?" Leanne slouched back, and he caught a whiff of wet dog again. "My protection is not because of Burrowreek. My protection is to defend you from soldiers' ransom, as I'm sure much of the Vsil would delight at the coin you'd fetch."

"Burrowreek." Liarus smiled. "So it does come from the Siralians. How surprising for you to find yourself out of your element, Leanne!"

"I am fine, Liarus. If you wish, I can call it Magepox. I've heard that's the common name in Ardal."

His head tilted, his left ear pointing at Leanne as if he hadn't heard it. "In Ardal?"

"Did you think that this miasma would be limited to Aura? This is not the first Medicaler to have failed to understand this disease. You are as worthless as Ridaras was: this disease is ravaging magic as greedily as it does flesh, and he's taken his remaining Medicalers home."

"Remaining?" Liarus stood up and took a few steps forward before poleaxes walled him off. They were long enough to stretch over the tables, each as clean as a mirror and without the smell of blood in the nicks. "How many remain? To leave a charge so important and a group so large, even Haron would find these moves distasteful, Leanne." He started to pace, and then he had a wild grimace. "Ah, I see! You're trying to play it clever and send me home, but for what reasons I've not yet figured out! Haron would never let Ridaras abandon his mage's duty; they'd get within sight of the Buckler before the City of Perpetual Flame."

She closed her eyes. Liarus saw a small twitch. A chill ran through her spine, and with as serious of a face as she could summon, "Haron has declared open rebellion, little Liarus. He no longer cares about the duties of mages."

"I know not of what games you're playing, accusing Haron of betraying my brother -"

With a smile from ear to ear, Leanne shot up. In fact, she stood up so quickly and readily that the pommel of her sword crashed into her table, and the tassels of her pauldron clapped together. "Don't fret, for there're bigger problems. Let me do you a kindness: Vera out of Iril's joined forces with the rat-commander, and greedy eyes have fallen on the northern provinces."

"You will not insult a Marshall of the empire by calling him a rat-command -"

"Haron is no longer part of the empire, Liarus! And more, they've rallied against the Regent."

Liarus froze, and perhaps, if he had his sword hand, he would have clenched it into a fist and slammed it into the ground. It made no sense. He always understood Haron as a beast of little stature but immense might matched only by his loyalty to Radan. The mere fact that he'd break ties with Ardalsalam was out of character for him, surely! There's no way he'd have turned against Radan, who broke his bonds of slavery.

But then, a thought. His mind turned back to a word he heard but hadn't considered. "Regent?"

"Shayle of Attam's assumed Regent after Radan's murder," Leanne explained. "She now controls both the college of Medicalers and the imperial army." Leanne leaned forward. She was so close to him that they could lock lips, but all Liarus could think about was the smell of juniper and lilac on her cheeks, "Isn't it exciting, little Liarus? Your former teacher and your former instructor are now at odds, vying for control of your brother's corpse. Oh, how delicious it is for mine eyes, seeing your torment."

Liarus didn't say anything. He went back to the chair, sat down, and buried his face in his hands. He nearly fell, having difficulty maintaining his balance when he leaned over. It didn't take long before Leanne's smile melted from her face. A tear ran down his cheeks. "Radan is dead?"

Liarus shook his head. "My God, Radan's dead. And...murdered?" He asked Leanne. "You say he was murdered?" He looked at the knights, all stone-faced. "How long have you and your knights known? That you'd do me no courtesy and instead wish to relish in this pain? Well, look now, feast with delight at my sorrow, for I'll have no such weakness when this is righted. Murdered!?"

Leanne knew Liarus all too well: the handsome prince hid a darkness and loved himself a dangerous interloper. When he entered through those doors, she knew his eyes hadn't changed; a false smile, hiding a foggy soul, muddied and formless, a man of pale emotions. And she waited for it; she waited for his words and his shock, but even in her wildest dreams, she hadn't expected a man, lame, beaten, and wounded in battle, the fingers of his remaining hand failing to cover his tears.

"Murdered," Leanne said, gentler this time, "by the Headmistress of the College."

"You're lying," Liarus shook his head, "How did this unmajicked witch murder my brother?"

"With pox," She explained. "By vial, blade, or wine, I do not know. What I do know, Liarus, is the truth of this succession. She's taken the wing of Regent, which means you'll be taking on the position of King and Lord of Ardalsalam. I'm sure you'll enjoy living the rest of your days in that infernal prison."

"No." Liarus' voice cracked, and his tone slipped. "Staying in the Sunlit Chamber? Preposterous, I've not the magic to keep the Wall aflame."

"Do your prince's duty, little Liarus." Leanne's outstretched fingers began to tap on the desk. The ringed gloves scratched the table. "Of course, you can choose not to follow in the footsteps of your father, your brother, your sister." Her tapping stopped. "Now, isn't that a glorious title? Anaxales the Ugly, Radan, King of the Wall, and now...Liarus the Cowardly. Oh, I can imagine the Sages scribbling those words down with glee betwixt their whiskers!"

"Rejecting the crown leads to the fall of my family's privilege, you idiot woman. You're telling me to choose between a life of opulent slavery and destitute freedom. At least I can see the chains around my wrist; I can't say or do the same so easily with weather, war, and now pox." He bared his canines. "No, I'll not choose one or the other."

"You've no option." She looked at Ser Vaughn, who nodded back. "And you must decide now, else I will have ser Vaughn throw you out. The Medicalers have left Aura, so I cannot tolerate their treasonous kind unless you were first a prince and King of Ardal. That is your fate."

Liarus shook his head. "No, that's not. Do you think I overlooked the dog-man in the wings of your balcony? Or the smell he exudes? I know your intentions, Leanne; you mean to send me to a grinder of a field, to force my capture and bring the Medicalers back to Aura." Liarus leaned back, self-satisfied, the corners of his lips curled into a wicked grin. "But I know of another way."

Leanne frowned. She kept eye contact with Liarus, her foot tapping, but only just. "He will not entertain you."

"I hadn't considered Haron a rebellious sort, but I consider him loyal, loyal to my brother and our family." Liarus stood up, proud and tall. "The rat is the answer to this, and with my prince's backing, his free and just world will find swift allies in a war for the empire and its people."

"Haron will never agree to this," Leanne argued. "He seeks free peoples, not cowardly nobles. It doesn't matter what company you bring with him. Your group will fracture when they realize they will be killing their own. I doubt you can sway your soldiers to undo their own

"You have no idea what I can do with my soldiers, Maiden of the Mark. Unlike you, I'm not of sellsword rot. I'm noble and just! And I will ensure that the line continues and the Wall stays cool."

"Then do it. Do it and come back to me a failure so that I may laugh at it all." Leanne snarled. Vaughn kept a straight face. Even in the brief time she'd been Commander, he rarely heard her snarl like that. "Let me bear witness to your folly."

"You will bear witness to my triumph!" He howled and raised his stump of an arm. "Fashion me a hand, I've a war to win." Sweat began to roll down his face. His body began to heat up. How long had it been since he had Nightswallow?

Leanne looked at her knights and then to ser Vaughn. "At the moment, you are not a prince, not a king, and have no true lands until you reclaim it from the Regent. You are a destitute mage, barely able to wield a blade. 'Fashion me a hand,' you say? With what metals or gold will you provide me? I don't part with talents out of the kindness of my heart, not while my city's coffers suffer as it is."

"Cheap bitch." Liarus dug out his sigil and threw it onto the floor. He kicked his sword at her and the knights rushed into action. Her raised hand bade them back. "While your marsh-men scramble for it, bring me a hand. Melt it down from my sword, if you wish, it'll be the only time you'll see fine Ardalian steel. I don't wish to suffer this city's smell any longer."

"Oh, how pleasant and kind you are, Liarus, Prince of Ardalsalam."

"I am not a prince." With that, Liarus stomped out.

She waited until Liarus had left, and then her feet stopped shaking. Her face softened. "Is that what your uncle needed?" She asked in a hushed tone as if Liarus might've still been there.

Only when it was deathly silent, with nary a drop of noise, did Leanne smile at Adath. The Vermite had been waiting in the wings, tailed curled around the bannister, claws perched on the wooden railing with noticeable glee. He was wrapped in wolf's fur, reeking of wet dog.

Adath, Haron's envoy, went to work. He needed to send a crow as soon as possible, for the prince would soon show up at the expecting gates of the Buckler.