Aja felt at least some familiarity here, having spent so much time in the Faama’s palace. It was like hearing a song you knew played on new instruments; the same rows of finely dressed guards with pole arms lining the walkway and flanking the doors, but these men sported paler skin, brown or red hair and flashier dark blue and gold ‘uniforms,’ she remembered they called them, not ‘habits’ as soldiers wore back home. Brexton waved the guards off at a distance, though a few of them lingered on Aja. Trying to look the part, she gave them the same curt nod she’d seen Brexton give to sailors or strangers to whom he owed propriety. It seemed to work, as they returned the nod and went back to their rigid positions.

"Magus Ponbrextonus of the Century Chapter," he identified himself to a well dressed woman who met them in the atrium, "I’ve brought the Queen’s State Animist, there was no one to receive us at port."

"Yes of course, please pardon our lapse," the woman Aja assumed to be an aide of some sort apologized, her accent radically different from Brexton’s, the flowery flow of connected words she’d heard from emissaries who spoke a specific language -- DeValoas, that was it. "The Queen is holding an emergency court in her council chamber."

"Why was I not informed? Where is Arch Caster Callaghy?" He interrogated somewhat impatiently. The aide began to respond, but shook her head and simply beckoned them to follow.

The manor's cavernous, grandiose chambers connected by winding hallways not unlike the Faama’s palace, but while that was thick, woven wicker and hand-crafted artisanal insulation with animal skins, this hard tile floor echoed all sound off its brutal, pearly stone walls and gold-trimmed ceilings. Finery seemed to be universal, she noted. A thick sheet of sweat coated Aja and Brexton from the hurried walk from the docks, through the city and now through this labyrinth of stone, but finally they stopped before a pair of ten-foot doors, one blue and one gold, the colors she spotted on the city’s flag and the officials' uniforms. From this sight and Brexton’s attempts to wipe his brow and straighten his robe, she intuited this was the throne room; and thus stopped to straighten herself up as well, tying her curls into a top knot and wiping her face. He cleared his throat and they shared a glance. Two guards creaked the doors open and waved them through, into the largest single room Aja had ever seen.

Towering ceilings that dwarfed the already vacuous halls of the manor, a black and white tile floor leading to two rows of red cushioned seats flanking an intricately crafted throne seemingly sculpted purely from gold…yet the room lay empty. Aja’s pace slowed as she entered, the very air of the room cooler and stiller. She snapped out of it and jogged after Brexton as he marched right past the throne, to a set of black doors behind it. Without even addressing the second pair of guards ahead, he waved a hand and the doors opened on their own. He swept into the room, Aja quickly darting behind. She backtracked and gave each guard a curt nod, feeling like doing so would placate the obvious tension. They reciprocated -- another victory for her diplomacy!

Inside was a much shorter chamber, its gold-trimmed pillars only reaching a ceiling of twenty feet rather than two hundred. Inside sat a thick oak table flanked by five chairs, three of which were occupied. On the left side, leaning over a series of parchment stood a towering, olive skinned man in his 40s. He wore a dark green tunic-like uniform, muscular arms folded over his chest as his bald head looked up from the desk. His chiseled, aged face met the pair at first with alarm, then relief, and then a twinge of…embarrassment?

The second man sat on the right of the table, wrapped in elegant black formalwear emblazoned with rows of gold suns, his raven hair tied loosely, with welcoming features beneath a thin, well groomed beard. He seemed to be looking at them before anyone else, the first to notice their entrance. And at the head of the table stood a woman, tall and sturdy, wrapped in a conservative grey coat/cloak, a formal black shirt with twinkling silver and diamond necklaces hanging across her collar area, dark hair worn in a simple tie like a horse’s tail. She looked up after the other two, fierce but regal stare locking on Aja and Brexton, at which point the Magus immediately dropped to one knee. Aja looked back and forth, then knelt as well.

"Queen Montressa," he declared, "Forgive the abrupt intrusion, but I was not informed an emergency court had gathered, no one greeted us at the port."

Aja focused on the tile in front of her as the Queen’s powerful but gentle tone reverberated, "No offense is taken, Magus," she spoke with the same flowery, stream-like DeValoan accent as the aide, "It is we who owe you an apology, the situation has been quite chaotic today. Please…"

Aja looked up to see Queen Narian Montressa raising a hand. They stood and approached the table. Brexton took a step ahead and gave Aja a theatrical gesture. "Your Majesty: Ajaratu of Tilibulo, official State Animist of N’Jarosyl."

Aja stood sheepishly and did the only thing she knew: she gave each person a curt nod.The Queen gave a placative smile, hiding apprehension. "Welcome, Animist Ajaratu. This is Bladewarden Pasha, captain of the city guard," she gestured to the big man, who returned her curt nod — another win for diplomacy! — and then at the finely dressed man, who just now stood up and gave a half-bow as the Queen introduced him, "Lord Avidoq, Master of Trade."

Aja bowed slightly in return, and as she did, her gaze caught one other person; a young woman, around her own age, beside the door on the opposite side of the room. Her long, straight, dark hair was tightly pulled back and tied in a series of precise knots on the back of her head, with fierce features like those Aja had seen in the texts she’d studied — Sanyon, that was the place, the one island in Mônah Khûn settled by humans beneath the Dracar Shogunate. Her attire reflected this as well: a shin-length scaly black robe pinned over her chest, emblazoned with red accents, a pair of swords on one side of her belt. Aja briefly puzzled at this woman. She carried herself with authority, her eyes analyzed Aja as much as she did her, but she made no move closer to the table, nor did the Queen introduce her -- in fact, Aja didn't even notice her until now. A bodyguard perhaps?

"We are honored to receive you, Animist," the Queen said, bringing Aja back to focus as she gave a nod of respect, "I only wish it were under better circumstances."

"How do you mean, Your Grace?" Brexton inquired.

An awkward pause gripped the court, an exchange of glances between Avidoq, the Queen and Pasha, before Pasha exhaled uneasily and sipped from a glass of wine. "Magus," he hesitated, leaning on the table, "Arch Caster Callaghy is dead."

Aja turned to Brexton, who seemed unable to speak or move, save for his mouth slowly opening. He went through several equations in his mind before his voice finally caught up. "Uh…" he trailed off, "W-uh…when? How??" His inquisitive energy surging to life, but fueled by grief rather than curiosity.

"Just last night," Pasha said, "My patrols found him in a depository house on the docks." He gently laid a meaty hand on Brexton’s shoulder, "I am so sorry. We—"

"When was his Pyral Ritual?" Brexton interrupted, eyes focusing through their mist.

Pasha looked off sheepishly, "It…has not happened yet. We have yet to move him."

Brexton’s eyes flared, shock turning to anger, "What?? Where is his body?!"

"Where it hit the floor, I expect," a new voice grated from behind the Queen, like a saw cutting through bone. "Could your mage intuition not tell you that?"

A hiss escaped Brexton. Aja looked over the Queen’s shoulder to see a burly man stalk into the chamber. All heads turned as a man around Brexton's age now entered -- even the mystery woman by the door stiffened at his presence. A long, leather doublet of charcoal gray strained across his broad chest and shoulders, its high collar flanking his lantern jawline. His hair was closely cropped along the sides, blocky and flat on top, black color showing streaks of grey. Beneath the coat was a dark red military uniform, unlike the blue and gold Aja had seen around the Queen’s Manor, and more decorated with ribbons and gold twine. Aja remembered that these adornments denoted achievement, rank and respect; yet the ones this man wore were frayed and neglected. He stopped some distance away from the table, saluting the Queen with a fist over his left pectoral in a glacial standstill.

"Apologies for the tardiness ma’am," said the officer, his raspy tone more reverential speaking to her, "The docks are now secure."

"My guard already had the area under watch," Pasha challenged.

"Inadequately," the officer returned flatly. Pasha growled, but relented when the Queen turned to the officer, putting herself between the two men.

"Thank you, Marshal," the Queen gave sincerely, nodding for him to relax. This, at least to Aja, seemed a universal language; respect is a hard-chiseled way of life in Tilibulo’s military as well, as she learned growing up under a General. With the at ease signal given, the soldier — the Marshal, the Queen called him — approached the table, and Aja got a better look at him: half a head shorter than Pasha, but broader in musculature, and both men seemed to know it. A few belts and pouches lashed across his chest and waist, within them Aja could sense the Nyama of arcane components. By his tone, gait and aura, she could tell this was no ordinary soldier. His face, while clean-shaven, was about as smooth as jagged rock -- about as expressive, too, seemingly at rest in a knotted brow and scowl. Aja heard Brexton sigh with disdain, a look overcame his face that she’d not seen since she brought up that tome in the Astral Chateau…

"Leondros," Brexton dripped with contempt, "How reassuring."

"I did'nae expect such warm tidings," the Marshal spat back at him. His accent had a Glorish twang, rolling some of the r’s and ending terms like ‘did not’ with an odd ‘ae’ suffix. Whoever this Leondros was, he hailed from the Oreborn Kingdom.

"Why hasn’t his body been moved yet? You left it sitting in the gutter?" Brexton demanded, folding his arms.

"He was there all night, I imagine he’s just as comfortable in the day."

"Have care how you speak," Brexton took a long step towards him, "The Arch Caster died on your watch, you would do well to show respect."

"I’d do well either way, a dead man doesn’t have pride," Leondros retorted as he fished into his coat pocket.

"What have you found?" Aja interjected, stepping beside Brexton at the table. Leondros looked twice at her, as though he hadn’t noticed she were there.

"Whose child is this?"

Aja caught the Mystery Woman hiding a half-smile. She raised an eyebrow and took a bold step closer to the man. "Ajaratu of Tilibulo, State Animist of N’Jarosyl," she pronounced as she held Leondros’ stare, until he chuckled and resumed digging in his coat.

The Queen cleared her throat, "Aja, this is Arcane Marshal Leondros. He handles the city’s more…specialized criminal affairs."

Brexton moved defensively to Aja’s side, "She is your peer and equal, Leondros. Your disrespect is beginning to stack."

"I’m aware of the Chapter’s most charitable act of outreach," he dismissed as he drew a folded up map from his coat. "Like Pasha’s pet Karō, aye?" Leondros added, at which the Mystery Woman — the Karō — shifted from foot to foot.

Leondros gave Aja the quickest glance, "Welcome to N’Jarosyl. I’m sure the Grand Mages are already planning their Pat-On-The-Back Ball for opening their doors to the Animists. It only took a few generations of pretending you were'nae real."

Aja folded her arms as Leondros splayed his map on the table, a few docks circled in red. "Callaghy was found here," he pointed to a repository house marked by a red ‘X’ as everyone gathered to look, "It was after dark, most of the port deserted."

"What about the people in these homes?" Brexton pointed to clusters of cottages near the repository.

Leondros moved Brexton’s hand off the map and went on, "I questioned the residents, then left a bladeward at each door."

"You do not have authority to give my bladewards orders," Pasha grumbled.

"I suggested," Leondros corrected, "It was upon them to comply or not, and they did."

"What did they see?" The Queen asked, snapping the three men to attention.

Leondros glanced at the Queen and cleared his throat. "Nothing, ma’am. Said they werenae home."

"The Autumn Festival was in the square last night," Avidoq offered, "They probably left to watch the festivities."

"An Arch Caster would not die quietly," Brexton shook his head, "Even if caught by surprise, Callaghy was a War Mage in his youth. There would’ve been fire in the sky."

Leondros paused, seeming to temper his biting attitude. "That is where my report becomes…perhaps unpopular."

"What do you mean?"

The Marshal let out a reluctant breath and leaned his fists on the table. He looked up at Brexton with surprising sympathy. "Callaghy was killed by a Tongue Cutter."

The name sent a wave of silence through the court, Aja watched each of their faces sink into varying forms of worry — except the Karō.

"…You cannot be certain of this." Avidoq seemed to plead. Leondros nodded gravely and brought out more parchment.

"What is a Tongue Cutter?" Aja asked, kicking herself for asking such a novice question, judging by the slight look she got from the Karō.

"An assassin, of sorts," Brexton answered with reticence, "With a…specialized, uh—"

"Mage killers," Leondros cut him off, "They engrave runes on their weapons that suppress Arcana, make alchemical blends to dispel magic, then for good measure they cut the mage’s tongue out," he listed distantly, "Cannae cast spells without a tongue, aye?"

Aja gawked up at Brexton, who pulled in his lips and nodded, disappointed he didn’t have something reassuring to offer.

"Why?" Aja pressed, "Animists are treasured members of our communities, are mages not the same here?"

"Mages are…complicated, in the north," the Queen searched for the proper words, "They advise the leaders of states. That is not the most popular vocation." Aja nodded, accepting the Queen’s answer, despite yearning to ask more.

She looked down at the now sprawling table of papers as Leondros snapped his fingers and pointed to the Bladewarden, "Pasha, one of your sector houses reported a disturbance from the Hog Horn Hostel a few days ago, aye?"

Pasha rested his hands on his belt, "They did."

"What did they say?"

He pursed his lips and shrugged, "Fight broke out, a few drunk students lost their lives before we could break it up."

"They died??" Aja blurted, "In the middle of the city?"

Leondros chuckled bitterly, "As I said, welcome to N’Jarosyl," he leaned over the table, laying out reports beside the map, "D’you read witness accounts of how the dead looked?"

Pasha sheepishly looked back and forth. "Erm, my men did not take witness accounts. They determined it was a brawl that got out of hand, nothing more."

"No matter, I took the liberty of going to the Hog’s Horn the same night to take statements myself," Leondros countered, standing to his full height and looking expectantly at Pasha. "I left transcripts in your chambers and notified your aides. Come by them, did ye?"

Pasha glanced at the Queen, his face grew heavy with shame. He broke eye contact and looked down. "I…must’ve misplaced them."

"Ah, but you at least read them first, aye?" Leondros pressed, already knowing the answer. The Bladewarden hitched his shoulders, cowed as Leondros continued to expose him in front of the Queen.

"Oi, Karō," Leondros called to the back of the room, the young woman looking up expectantly. "He throw them out again?" A moment of silence passed before the Karō broke eye contact, Pasha cleared his throat in obvious embarrassment.

Aja’s brow creased in bewilderment, looking over to Brexton. He met her glance, then sighed and shook his head slightly. How could the people here dismiss their duties so candidly?

"What did you see, Marshal?" Avidoq asked, bringing them back.

"Not what, but who," he raised a finger, tracing the lines in his reports, "Archivist Apprentices, barely a week out their first semester in the Chapter."

At the mention of this, Brexton’s composure dropped and he snatched the report from Leondros’ hand, the Marshal did not resist. He scanned the parchment in a matter of seconds before grabbing another. "Why was there no word of this?" After a moment, his eyes bored into Pasha, "Why?!"

"Some people work for a living," Leondros jabbed, "You Chapter lads wouldn’t know it, but the rest of us get tired" he flicked his eyes over to Pasha, "Sloppy, even."

Aja looked to the Queen, lowering a report in her hand."The workers were killed randomly; throats cut or stabbed through the chest, no pattern," she managed, "…but the apprentices…had their hands bound behind them, their fingers broken…and their tongues cut out. Blood filled their throats. They drowned."

"The Cutter wanted practice," said Leondros.

Aja turned the parchment over to see if any writing was on the back, then uneasily looked at Leondros, "Where were their tongues found?"

"They were'nae found," he murmured gravely, "Cutters like trophies."

Aja set the report down and exhaled shakily. She was no stranger to death, as it’s part of the natural cycle. Part of Animism is accepting that when you wield Nyama, sometimes a thing will die, but this? This deliberate cruelty? It shook her stomach. From the look in the Queen’s eyes, she felt similar.

"Marshal," Montressa opined steadily, sitting down at the head of the table, "This situation is unacceptable. This is your first and only priority. Oui?"

"Yes, ma’am," he nodded obediently.

"Your Majesty," Brexton raised, "I would like to have Animist Aja moved from the city immediately and take lead of this investigation."

"What?!" burst Aja.

"Excuse me?" Leondros agreed.

"You remain deft in your execution as always, Magus," the Queen glibly remarked, "Trade Master, Bladeward, you may leave us."

Avidoq bowed and hastily showed himself out, Pasha following quickly, head low. The Karō quietly remained. Once the door shut, Aja advanced emphatically towards the Queen.

"Your Majesty, I was assigned to this city by the Chapter, I have every right to be here, and a duty to give aid."

"Absolutely not," Brexton defied, "It is no longer safe for casters in N’Jarosyl. She must be moved for her own safety."

"You got one thing right, mate," Leondros chimed in from behind, "Casters are'nae safe. Joining the investigation will just make you my problem."

Brexton turned on a heel to Leondros, "You have a body on a dock. No suspects, no witnesses. Do you expect to question the wind and the tides??"

At this, Aja’s head perked up. She slyly turned back to the two men, letting a hand fall onto her Tilik.

Leondros scoffed, "I used to think Callaghy was an arrogant prick, now I’m starting to wonder if that’s just Chapter curriculum," he shouldered past Brexton.

Fuming, Brexton grabbed Leondros’ arm and forced the much larger man to turn. "Callaghy was my friend," he shouted, jabbing a finger into the Marshal’s chest, "I’ll not have his only chance of justice in the hands of a militant brute!"

Leondros growled and stepped closer. "Perhaps the wrong mage lost his tongue."

The Queen shot up from her chair. "That is enough, both of—" before she could continue, a deafening howl of wind knocked both men in the chest, throwing them against the opposite walls as Aja stood in the center of the room, Tilik in-hand, air swirling around her. Both men stared at her from the floor while the Queen gaped at her.

"As it happens, Your Majesty," Aja straightened, smoothing out the flapping tunic trails hanging from her waist, "I can question the wind and the tides…in a sense."

The Queen’s eyebrows lifted. She glanced at both Brexton and Leondros, then back at Aja. Despite the severe circumstances, a grin crept over her face.