I scream into my pillow. Why did I do that? Behave so churlishly during the exam? I was abrasive and easily irritated. I made enemies. Petty enemies to be sure, but enemies still. I compromised the mission.

Of course, I know why – I itched. I contained my desire well enough when my days were relaxing baths and pleasant lessons in service of an immediate goal, but in the midst of the exam, the pressure formed cracks. How many people noticed my scratching? Are there rumours about my odd behaviour? About my ‘hunger’ as Timos called it.

…It’s fine. You would have noticed if people stared as you absentmindedly raked your skin. It’s pointless to look back, just move forward.

But I can’t move forward. I’m stuck here for a week before my scheduled interview which will decide if I can even begin my mission. The exam went well, but not so well as to auto pass. I finally gathered the courage to check my law test and found I passed by three points, a single question. They’ll ask me about it, I know. The rest I did very well at, netting me just under eight thousand. Good enough to be confident, but not optimistic.

I’ve tried studying as I wait, but couldn’t focus. I can’t even make a last minute effort to learn new spells and impress the panel, since it would be against the rules to bring it up. After all, the interviews take as long as the exam, so it would be unfair to those who go early to consider improvements made afterwards. I try analysing my performance to prepare for likely questions, but that just loops me back to my problem.

With no goal in mind, all I can do is rehash my mistakes.

My first was obviously Panihal. There was no need to ‘rat her out’ as she called it. I claimed to Preston that there was a benefit, but it was so slight. No, I reported her because she annoyed me. I don’t even know why. Surely it wasn’t the slight to Alan. Probably just her tone.

But whatever the reason that abrasion led to the other. I purposefully mocked and humiliated her during the fugitive hunt. She will never forgive me for that. In flashes of foolish optimism, I hope she doesn’t get in, but then I chide myself, knowing how much worse an enemy she’ll be if she doesn’t.

Same with Byrant. He obviously hates me, (or rather Malichi) but might have forgotten about it with time had I not made a complaint borne entirely out of frustration at my own weakness. He spent the last four years thinking about ‘me’, and now he’ll spend more time thinking about me.

I got largely lucky with my other acts of surly irritability. Erik was apologetic when confronted, Erika thought me amusing. Denton was bad, though that was more on him than anything I actually did. I acted absurdly with Clara, though at least she admitted it was partly her fault and we came to a quick truce.

Then we have Riley: Riley who thinks I’m a worm. I’m still right, and his honourable theories still delusions, but I didn’t need to press. My team was my team, I should have treated their obsession with inferior tactics as just another limitation and found ways to work around it. But instead, I pushed at every opportunity, no doubt cementing their opinion of me as a callous killer. No doubt giving further evidence of the hunger.

I scream again, sound muffled by the sack of feathers. I try again to think of other things, read some, take a bath or walk the garden, but it’s all useless. The garden holds no delight, my eyes glide uselessly over the text and, horror of horrors, the bath repels me. Rather than relaxing my perpetually over tensed muscles and soothing my constant itching, it makes it worse. I know it should help, and so when it doesn’t my anxiety spikes.

Desperate, I perform an abhorrent act: taking a cold bath. Surprisingly it does help the itching, at least when I’m in the waters and briefly after, but the muscle tension multiplies until I’m forced to fling myself out of the tub.

...I just want this period of infernal waiting to be over. Sleep is the answer. It won’t help, but at least I won’t be conscious.

I wake to the sound of servants knocking on the door. I’m about to let them in when pain shoots up my arms. I look down and see bloody scratches along the length, and feel them on my face and neck too.

“Go away!” I shout, not wanting them to see me like this and have to come up with an explanation.

“...We brought food. You haven’t been eating.” The tone of concern is half sickening, half warming.

“...Just leave it by the door, I’ll have it later.”

No response, other than a dull thud of an object being placed on the ground and retreating footsteps. I wait for them to fully leave before quickly opening the door and retrieving the cloched plate.

Part of me notes that the meal is good, clearly a product of effort, but by the time I’m done eating I’ve already forgotten its content. I can’t help but continue scratching, adding red streaks to my arms and neck, but at least I avoid the face.

Sigh, I need a goal. Something to fill my time while I wait. Something that will distract me long enough to get to the interview, but no more. I could try gambling but... I’m not in the mood. The thrill is in the losing, but that will just remind me of what I can’t afford to fail. Same with any other decadent distraction I can think of. Needing relaxation so desperately cannot help but spoil it.

Maybe I’ll find direction in some little thing left undone.

My face is done healing, so I get dressed, wrapping a cravat around my neck and shoving my hands into the second skin gloves to hide the fading scratch marks, then head to Alan’s office.

He smiles when I enter without knocking. I don’t even feel irritated. “Are you feeling better? The servants said you weren’t eating.”

“Ibil did his duty.”

He blinks at my utterance. “All right...” I stand rigidly by the door as he activates the silencer. “Who’s Ibil?”

“No one...Someone I made a promise to, now fulfilled.”

“Oh, ok... Would you like to talk about it?”

“No,” I say, finally moving to the desk and sitting. “There were some things I’ve left undone that I thought you might know about.”

His face is a mix of uncertainty for if he should press about Ibil, and eagerness to help. He finally settles on the latter. “Of course, what do you need to know?”

Seeing no reason for anything to be more pressing than another, I go chronologically. “Do you know about Fluemberg?”

“Yeah, somewhat. It was the last major revolt in Caethlon... something about their grain supply being destroyed by insurgents. They surrendered pretty quickly if I recall. Why?”

“Do you know who was put in charge after it was pacified?”

“Hmm... Not off the top of my head, but I can check easily enough.” He stands and goes to a bookshelf from which he pulls a folio. “New titles and territories are announced monthly. It should be in the latest one... Ah yes, a new noble by the name of Lindrid. He was made a... Count? That’s a bit much for a new post. His family name is now Fluemhal. I don’t know anything else, but I can look into it if you want.”

I smile at the news, glad that things worked out. “No, that’s all right. I learned what I wanted.”

“Glad I could help. What else do you want to know?”

“Yeah... um...” I decide to stick to the city theme. “Have you heard any news about Malsas?”

He gives an alarmed look. “You didn’t have anything to do with that, did you?”

I laugh. “No, I haven’t even been within a hundred miles. It’s just a curiosity, since whatever it is disrupted some of my divinations.”

“Oh, well, I suppose we all are curious about it. Unfortunately, I don’t know much. The ministry is still silent, so beyond contradictory rumours, the only concrete thing I’ve heard is that they’re sending more forces to cordon it off. Two legions, one from Caethlon and one from the north, and a small fleet of warships are stopping all passage to and fro. In a way the empire lucked out on the timing, since if whatever it is happened before the pacification then we might have had to pull troops from more sensitive borders. By which I of course mean Hyclion. I’ve also heard rumours of certain archmages being deployed. I find that believable given the rest of the fuss, but I doubt there are as many as some believe.”

Hmmm... I doubt there’s much more for me to learn right now, at least without travelling there or infiltrating the ministry in charge, both of which would be dangerous without clear benefit. So, seeing no avenue for distraction I move on from cities to items.

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“Do you know what either of these things are?” I ask as I place the blood dagger and the ring with freshly grown silverthien tied through the loop.

He goes for the magic dagger first. “Hmm... The enchantment is simple enough; I thought you did well on your magic language test.”

“I know what it does, I just don’t know why it does.”

“Oh, well luckily enough I do. It’s an enchantment popular with chevaliers for sharing blood between them and their mount.”

I scrunch up my face confused. “Wouldn’t that be extremely painful and damaging? Just getting the wrong human blood can kill a mundane, I can’t imagine what the effect of transfusing blood from a different species would be, and it doesn’t have any transmuter symbols.”

“Transmuters would just get in the way. The concept relies on the extension of self all chevaliers employ. As the two are made one, their blood becomes compatible.”

“... I suppose that makes sense, or at least there’s magical precedent for it... But why the form factor? If it’s just meant to share blood between beast and rider, wouldn’t something like a saddle be better?”

“Yes, but that’s where the second bit of cleverness comes in. The chevalier can take blood from enemies and pass it through them to their mount and then cycle it back to themself. Because the blood passes through the rider it becomes safe for the mount, and because it passes through the mount it becomes safe for the rider.”

“... I see. But you said a transmuter symbol would get in the way? I don’t see how.”

“Yes, the final bit of cleverness. Chevaliers boost their mounts with their magic, but they’re still the source and so gain the greatest benefit. By giving their blood though they can temporarily increase the mount’s augmentation. Conversely, by taking blood from the mount they can temporarily reclaim some of their shared magic and boost themselves. A transmuter would spoil the effect.”

Odd that the one I took this from didn’t try that, though I guess I didn’t give them much time. Perhaps they did it beforehand and knew the wolf wouldn’t have benefited from more of their blood, and didn’t dare take any back.

Having given his information, Alan fidgets slightly with the blade. “It’s um... a bit suspicious for a non-chevalier to have one of these actually. I assume you took it from a corpse?”

“Yeah... it’s useful.”

“Right...” his face gives little of his emotion, too little in fact. It’s so stony as to only possibly mean discomfort at something he’s not going to press. He did that often when we first met, but less so recently. “Anyways, the ring.” He stares at it, intently trying to move his thoughts along. “I don’t know plants as well as you. Is the species important?”

“So I’m told.”

“Well, it’s familiar, but I can’t quite place it. Probably something I read in a book. Where did you get it?”

“I was given it by means of compensation for aid given to weary travellers.”

His face rudely says he doesn’t believe me.

I shrug. “All I know is they were armed foreigners travelling through Caethlon for explicitly secret reasons. Some of them were wounded and I had a healing staff whose workings were obscure to me, so I decided to test it out. They were grateful and gave me the ring saying that showing it to the right person would grant me aid, but the wrong person might attack me. Frustratingly though, some oath prevented them from telling me how I might identify such people.”

“Huh...” he gives me a side eye which I recognize as being thoughtful, though not of the subject at hand. “Well, I really have no idea where I might have read about it from. If it’s urgent I can spend some time looking for it, but at the rate you go through my books I’m sure you’ll come across it before me.”

“No... it’s not urgent.” There’s meaning in his words I can’t quite parse, but I agree it will be best if I look for it myself. If not to keep the answer to myself, then to provide more of a distraction. Though with no better clue than ‘I’m sure it’s in one of these books somewhere’ I don’t know how much focus it will provide. “Moving on, there are a couple of people I’m interested in.” I hand him the letter Isable Grahm gave me to her patron.

His eyebrow rises as he skims through the missive. “A letter of introduction to count Reikenhal? How did you get this?”

“I encountered one of their clients on the way here and did them a favour.”

“I see... wait. Where on the way here, exactly?”

I shrug. “We left on the same boat from Salunt. They said they lived there but were moving because of the unrest. I think they were some sort of bureaucrats. Presumably, their patron got them a new posting.”

“Hmm...I didn’t realize the count had interests in that region. Do you mind if I tell someone about this?”

“To what purpose?”

“Oh, nothing important. I’m just familiar with one of the count’s political rivals, and they might find the information valuable. But it’s up to you.”

...The Grahms were kind to me, which is as good of indicator of future kindness as any. If the fact that the count had clients in the region is as obscure as Alan seems to think, then the avenues for learning of it may be very limited. Presumably, if the operation was valuable enough to conceal then they would follow basic protocol and limit who knew about their allegiance to only a handful of people. So, if I let Alan trade the information then they might trace the leak back to me, which would spoil the letter of introduction.

“I think it’s best to keep that information to ourselves,” I finally say after several seconds of silence.

He shrugs. “All right. As for the count, he’s a major figure in the imperial administration. One of the ‘big three’, some people say, whose factions have spread through nearly the entirety of the empire’s political machinery. Though I think people who say that are just being overdramatic. They certainly have significant influence, but some people have the ridiculous notion that there’s some sort of ‘shadow civil war’ going on between Reikenhal and his two rivals. An overstatement if there has ever been one.

“As for him specifically, if asked before this conversation, I would have said his interests are entirely in the central regions, besides some in our northern client states. So, the fact that he had a client in the west, seemingly for some time, who felt close enough to give you a letter of introduction is interesting.”

“I see...” Though on further consideration I don’t know if I’d want to be introduced to the count, and I would have to come up with an excuse for why I was ‘pretending’ to be a commoner besides. Best to keep avenues open though. “Are you aligned to one of the sides?”

He shakes his head. “I’m not part of the bureaucracy, I just know a lot of people who are.”

“Slept with, you mean.”

He shrugs without denial. “You said there were others you wanted to know about?”

“Yeah...” I hesitate briefly before saying it outright, “the Talhals.”

His face sours at the name. “What do you know about them?”

“Just that they were active in Caethlon and one of the gamblers at your party is a client of theirs.”

He nods. “Greg, yeah. To be honest I don’t interact with them much beyond him. I know one of their members gained some territory in Caethlon, and that they have business interests in the west. I also know they have some corrupt connections, or at least Greg does. Beyond that, just what’s common knowledge. They’re a conglomerate house, with several title and territory holders. They came into being during the previous emperor’s reign, and have recently risen from a small to medium power. Though, like me, they seem to be unaligned with any political faction.”

“Would you be able to introduce me to them?”

He shrugs. “Socially sure, if we happened to go to the same party or something. But I’m assuming you’re looking for a more formal introduction, which I’m not close enough to provide without calling in favours. Even if I did, my relationship with Greg would likely poison it. Why?”

“They have something I’m interested in. No matter. It’s nothing urgent... I think that’s all I wanted to know about. Thanks for the help.” I turn to leave, feeling a little bit better.

“Wait a second.” He calls out. “Your friend from the hidden object game, Erika, sent an acceptance of our open invitation. The date is set for two days from now.”

“...I don’t suppose we can just say I’m ill? They are coming for you after all.”

“I wouldn’t entirely discount your presence in her mind. After all, she did seek you out. She was probably hoping for an invitation even before she knew about me.”

“That’s...incredibly optimistic. She just wanted to taunt me for losing after I annoyed her.”

“She didn’t know you lost until you told her. Trust me, I’m good at reading faces.”

“...Sigh. Did she mention if her brother was coming?”

“Oh, yes. She apologizes that he’ll be busy performing a lengthy ritual with his knightly order.”

‘Of course she phrased it as an apology,’ I half mutter, then look up to Alan’s expectant face. “Sigh. I suppose I can handle the visit then.”

Alan smiles brightly. “Excellent. We should get you new clothes.”

“N-no.” I raise my hand defensively, not wanting to be fitted by the shop attendants while I’m still in a heavy scratching phase. It’s already annoying enough that they insist on helping me put on each new elaborate outfit, but the thought of them seeing the marks fills me with dread. Certes, the wounds would heal completely without a trace on the way there, but I still have an irrational reaction against the possibility. “I have plenty of clothes that I haven’t even worn yet. I’m sure one of those will do.”

“Oh,” he looks so disappointed, “ok. Well, see you later then.”

I quickly retreat back to my room. Feeling a bit refreshed for having done something, I take several likely books into the bathroom and fill the tub with maximally hot water. It’s much better than it was before, coming close to the relaxation I normally get from a long hot soak. My focus has improved too, my eyes no longer gliding uselessly over the page.

But it’s still not as good as it was before the exam. It’s so odd, I never needed a specific goal in order to learn before. Certes, I had a preference for texts that had an immediate utility to the cell like the herbalist book, but I consumed history texts just as rapidly. But now that I’ve had a goal which I can no longer work towards, I just can’t muster up the focus.

I become restless after a mere hour of soaking. Well, I haven’t exercised since the end of the exam, it’s probably just my body rebelling against my sloth. I go ask Alan for a sparring match, which he happily obliges. This earns me another hour of focus in the bath, which ends disappointingly quickly. I try walking the garden, but it doesn’t help.

...It’s time to face it. I’ve managed to push down my desire to hunt with a number of factors: fear, decadence and distraction. The decadence helped me relax, while the knowledge that any body found, even without Anar markings, would cause a stir in the peaceful capital. Teams of diviners would be dispatched from which there would be no escape other than to abandon the capital and my mission. I had hoped the combination would be enough, but it seems that without the distraction of acting towards the mission, my desire has become once again overwhelming.

If I continue just trying to push through with will alone, then I know I’ll snap one day. I’ll offer someone rashly and get caught.

But that still leaves me with the problem of the body. Alan has outright refused to help hide any sacrifices, so I’m on my own, and I am currently inadequate to the task.

Shadows lengthen on the walls, it’s time to head to the roof. I retrieve my grimoire, then hesitantly put it aside in favour of digging through the chest of my belongings for a book at the very bottom covered in illusion and bound in black leather.

I climb carefully to the roof, more mindful of dropping the text than usual. I feel a chill as I disable the illusion to reveal the bloodstained pages, and eagerly turn to the half-remembered spot to resume, for the first time in nearly two months, my study of the Biblio Anar.