“I recognize these hills,” Beatrice said, midway through the thirteenth day of their journey.

They had spoken much after Roderick's valiant sacrifice, though mostly about the knight himself. Rhys had quickly shutdown any of the newt’s inquires into his secrets until she eventually gave up. He had still taught her on the last stretch of their journey, deciding a few days of unpaid labor wouldn’t do him any harm.

“And those would be the Florence flowers, if I recall,” Rhys nodded along, looking towards the stretching field of purple blossoms, covering almost the entirety pf a nearby hill. A unique local bloom with distinctive color and smell that had clearly given the city its name.

“Yes, they only grow on a few hilltops around the city,” she nodded energetically. “I forget why, but no one else has ever managed to raise them anywhere else. I used to run through that very field when I was younger. In there, no one whispered hushed scorn of my birth nor expected me to act like a polite lady in turn.”

Like many large and peaceful cities, a second town had sprouted around the outer walls of the original Florencia. Several roads led out of the city with thick enough traffic the two of them decided to just get lost in the crowds - with a bit of balm to avoid sniffers, of course. It took them merely an hour to reach the sprawling outer districts after seeing them and there were no real gates to speak off, not until much further in.

“I know a secret entrance into the inner city,” which Beatrice assured wouldn’t be an issue anyway as they moved across the outskirts. The outer town was still a prosperous place, judging by the sheer foot traffic. Though the number of knights walking about was somewhat strange - they would see a squad patrolling every few minutes. A few were giving Beatrice's carmine hair a second glance, none had so much as tried to approach nor stop them.

“You seem rather familiar with the area,” Rhys observed. The newt was confidently walking through the sprawling and confusing nightmare of urban planning. It was clearly, as ever, a widely underutilized art.

“I have grown up here,” she nodded, a smile slipping to her lips. “There is no way to even count how many times I would venture out here to hide from my minders. Then slip out again when they tried to scold me for it. I cannot express how much I have missed my beautiful Florencia.”

“Then what have you been doing so far from it?” Rhys wondered.

“It’s because I had been sent away at the worst possible time,” the smile fell from her lips just as quickly as it had come. “When m… the king was murdered, I was on the road, out to visit my uncle’s lands. Except we were then also ambushed by a group too large and well-equipped to be bandits like they pretended to. My escorts all perished, buying me the time to escape. Ever since then, I have been hopelessly struggling to get back. Also, we are here.”

They stood in front of a clothier of some kind. A shop displaying fabrics, though tucked away in a bit of a corner - well out of sight of most potential shoppers. Rhys could not even see any name-sign nor customers as they entered. The owner was at least apparent: An older woman in a well fitting dress, lounging on a chair.

“Girl, you are alive!” the lady exclaimed the moment she noticed them, suddenly wide-eyed. She almost stumbled getting out of the chair to rush towards Beatrice.

“Is it so surprising?” the newt chuckled a bit uncomfortably as she was forcefully pulled into a hug.

“They already held your funeral months ago!” the lady explained after a moment, still visibly startled. “Not long after your father. This is… I believed you were really gone from us!”

“Still alive, if barely,” she grimaced.

“Very barely,” Rhys agreed.

“Sorry, Amalia, sir,” she turned to him and bowed with almost courtly poise. “You are…?”

“Rhys,” he simply nodded back.

“I wouldn’t have made it back without him,” Beatrice briefly explained.

“Then I owe you every courtesy the world has to offer,” she nodded with zeal, the necromancer instantly in her good books from just that.

“Could you let us into the tunnel?” Beatrice redirected from the apparent reunion.

“Why sneak through there?!” the Amalia exclaimed. “There should be a parade to welcome you home! Let the church bells ring that…”

“It’s not that simple,” Beatrice interrupted her. “Amalia, don’t tell anyone a word about me, okay?”

“Is something wrong?” the lady immediately crashed from her rapture to worry.

This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version.

“I will explain next time,” Beatrice promised. “Just, not a peep, please. I am serious.”

“I swear,” she nodded with full seriousness. The lady then took a moment to lock the shop’s front door before leading the duo into a back room. Besides the layers of stored fabrics, there was also a trap door beneath a carpet.

After Beatrice gave her goodbyes, they descended a ladder into an antechamber with several hand-held lamps at the ready. Beatrice lit one with her magic before the hatch above was fully shut, then led the two of them into a somewhat constraining tunnel - they had to walk side by side and Rhys just barely fit without having to lower his head.

“I never knew Florencia had one of these,” the necromancer commented on the tunnel system.

“It is rather secretive and there are only a few paths,” Beatrice nodded, clearly well acquainted with the way - not that there were many side corridors. For the most part, they had just gone straight ahead, taking only one turn.

After maybe 20 minutes of walking, the two of them reached another similar chamber. Climbing up the ladder and pushing up another trap door, they found themselves somewhat hidden between two large oaks. Looking around, Rhys noted they were in the corner of someone’s sprawling and walled garden. He could see how it was a decently secretive spot for such a secret exit.

“Good, it’s still here,” Beatrice let out a sigh of relief as she rummaged through a hollow in one of the trees. Rhys would have assumed it a home of some squirrel rather than a stash, and was actually proven right mere moments later. The newt had indeed removed a squirrel from the tree - just a dead and mummified one.

“Some kind of messenger?” Rhys guessed from a distance. The magic in it was surprisingly subtle.

“Yes, to let my teacher know where we are. Not sure how else I would get in touch,” she nodded, then activated the dormant spells on it. There was no need to even animate it herself, merely provide power. The long dead animal lazily twitched its atrophied muscle as the girl whispered a few words to it. Then it got on its way - not as nimbly as a real squirrel would have, but still with decent haste.

“So, how long will we wait here,” Rhys questioned.

“Probably not more than a few hours,” she guessed. “I hope that isn’t too much, but I don’t know where or how my teacher might be hiding.”

“I am exceedingly patient,” he shrugged. “Might as well give you some last bits of practice before we part ways.”

And they did exactly that. Though it was apparent the newt was heavily distracted by both the homecoming and something else clearly bothering her. As always though, Rhys did not push her into speaking anything out loud. Instead, he waited for the pressure to built up until the girl spoke at her own pace.

“Rhys, I should tell you something,” she finally couldn’t bear it anymore after some four hours.

“Has this all been an elaborate plot to murder me?” the necromancer asked with some amusement.

“What? No!” she shook her head vehemently.

“Then there is no reason to look so torn up,” the necromancer shrugged.

“It’s about my family,” she continued, once again. There was a good bit of hesitation as the girl considered what exactly to say.

“Duchess or Princess?” so Rhys interrupted those considerations.

“Was it… so obvious?” that gave her pause.

“I was mostly betting on the former for most of the journey, but then I am not so sure anymore,” the necromancer inclined his head. “Nobility goes without saying, and high was blatantly apparent after the assassins. But then your old lady friend mentioned a father’s burial and I do recall something about this land being short a king somewhat recently - as well as other things, like the army. Too many coincidences.”

“I wanted to bring it up earlier, but I was just… afraid, I suppose?” she sighed, staring at the ground. “You had your whole speech about not interfering with things. Can I be blamed for fearing it might apply to royalty in general?”

“Roderick has spent his wish on you,” Rhys shrugged. “Being a threat to my life is about the only thing I would put above that oath.”

“Is that something you do for all your minions?” Beatrice asked. Honestly, it was a bit surprising she hadn’t done so before. “I have never heard of anyone else making promises like that.”

“Just for those who are worth it,” Rhys shook his head. “As you might have guessed, I am on the older side. Eventually, tracking down interests becomes increasingly difficult. I often find that the fools who got themselves killed often have the most fascinating tales - and the best way to enjoy them is a gradual, first-hand retelling.”

“So you grant wishes out of boredom?” she was a bit wide-eyed at the concept.

“No, I grant them for unique entertainment,” Rhys corrected. “And frankly, if they are something impossible, there is very little beyond my word to stop me from just not fulfilling them. I see that look, no I am no Djinni either. Undead tend to have surprisingly humble last wishes, you know. Consider keeping my part of the bargain a part of the experience.”

“Beatrice!” their chat was interrupted by an exclamation from the side. While they had been talking, a young lad had approached them. He looked completely ordinary at a glance and around Beatrice’s age, though it was apparent to Rhys that he was also a mage.

“Tom?” she turned, clearly recognizing the newcomer.

“You are actually alive,” the boy stared in disbelief.

“Which seems to surprise an uncomfortable number of people,” she rolled her eyes but smiled.

“Teacher will be glad it was not a false alarm… or trap,” he seemed overjoyed to see her, though distinctly did not go for anything even approaching a hug. “We were about due for some good news.”

“So was I,” the girl nodded. “How have things been?”

“Bearable,” Tom replied, then remembered the third person. “And this is?”

“Rhys,” the necromancer gave a brief introduction.

“I will explain later, better than telling everyone separately,” Beatrice reassured. “Can you bring us to see teacher?”

“Yes, of course,” the boy enthusiastically nodded. “Just follow me.”