By noon the following day, Ruban was drinking his seventh cup of mediocre tea – in the drawing room of one of Kushal Mayiti’s former neighbors.

He didn’t know if he’d been spoiled by Ashwin’s skill in the kitchen. But the refreshments on offer at Dimuri felt less than appetizing.

An ordinary middle-class neighborhood, Dimuri stood close to the northwestern edge of Ragah.

This was where Kushal Mayiti had resided with his wife and child, almost forty years ago. They’d rented a flat on the top floor of an apartment building.

After his business started taking off, Kushal had bought out the entire building and converted it into a cozy, two-story villa surrounded by a huge garden. This was the house Dhriti had lived in, when she was adopted by Kushal following her parents’ demise.

The house was still standing, but it no longer belonged to the Mayiti family. Kushal had sold it fifteen years ago, before moving to his Central Ragah mansion along with his son.

Over the last three hours, Ruban and Ashwin had visited the family that currently occupied the villa, as well as six of the neighbors. They’d been careful to select the families that’d lived in the area for two decades or more.

The neighbors each had their own opinions on the Mayiti family, some more entertaining than others. But they all agreed that the family was close-knit. Growing up, both kids had been very attached to their father.

When she first moved in, Dhriti had been quiet and withdrawn. Which was only to be expected. But she’d adjusted well over the next few years, all the neighbors agreed on that. She’d seemed a happy, boisterous child – always vocal about her opinions and eager to debate.

The son, Tej, had been less sociable. And there had apparently been a couple instances of mild bullying, from some of the rowdier kids in the neighborhood.

But Dhriti had always been ferocious in defence of her stepbrother. At twelve, she’d pushed an older boy into an open gutter – breaking his ankle – for the crime of badmouthing Tej. That’d apparently been one of the most memorable scandals involving the Mayiti family, since five of the six neighbors mentioned it at least once.

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Perhaps the most interesting part of the interviews, for Ruban, was the neighbors’ reaction to Ashwin.

The Aeriel had insisted he accompany Ruban to Dimuri, in his quest to gather more information on the Mayiti family. Ruban hadn’t been too keen on the idea, at first. It’d barely been a week since the end of the trial. Popular sentiment surrounding the prince of Vaan was…ambiguous, at best. Hard to pin down.

And Ruban didn’t want to risk a public confrontation that could potentially escalate into violence.

To his surprise, however, the reception they encountered was oddly warm. Almost every person that Ashwin interacted with seemed curious, even eager. If slightly wary.

But there appeared to be no obvious hostility on either side, nor was there any particular sense of cautiousness or distrust.

Perhaps it was a good thing for Ashwin to go out in public, have direct contact with the common people of Ragah. After all, what better way to rebuild trust, than to engage directly with the people whose confidence and support you desire?

By the time they wrapped up the last interview, and finished their lukewarm tea, it was twelve-thirty in the afternoon. Bidding their goodbyes, they stepped out into the scorching midday sun. Ruban didn’t mind the heat. He was glad to be out of that stuffy, incense-filled drawing room.

Ashwin tipped his head back, eyes closed, all but soaking in the sunlight.

Well, he was an Aeriel, so that wasn’t much of a metaphor. He probably was soaking it in. Performing some kind of unholy photosynthesis, devoid of chlorophyll.

Ruban tried to imagine what the Aeriels would look like if they were all green. What if Ashwin was all green? Would his feathers still be silver, in that case? Or would they be green too? Probably best if they were. Ruban was no fashion guru, but he had a feeling the silver feather cloaks would clash horribly with green skin.

“What’re you grinning about?” Ashwin walked past, nudging him lightly on the shoulder as he did.

With two long strides, Ruban fell into step beside him. “Just wondering if you’d look good in green.”

Ashwin eyed him. “I look good in everything.”

Ruban guffawed. “Sure, if that gets you up in the morning.” He thought for a moment. “Although your fan clubs might just agree, if this somehow gets on the internet. Next thing I know, my mailbox will be flooded with green-Shwaan fanart.” He shuddered. “I’d rather not end up giving them ideas. Even inadvertently.”

“Don’t be jealous, Ruban.” Ashwin stepped off the footpath momentarily to avoid a lamp-post. “Yours are just as zealous as mine. And definitely far more…provocative.”

Ruban cringed. “That’s only because they’re not as familiar with the intricacies of Aeriel anatomy. But that should be a short-lived problem. I’m sure we’ll start seeing some baby vankrai again soon, once the alliance is finalized. The fanart will get more realistic, simultaneously. I guarantee it.”

It was Ashwin’s turn to cringe. “Don’t even joke about that. You’ve no idea—” A car zoomed past, uncomfortably close to the footpath. At the very last moment, it maneuvered skillfully along the edge of the pavement, speeding away.