There are things which should be neither written nor spoken. Too many have been lost, too much potential destroyed by the unquestioning rigidity imposed on those who question openly and share their discoveries too freely.

If you seek the deeper truth, you can only rely on yourself. Every word spoken aloud is a risk better not taken. You may think you've escaped notice, but it only takes a moment to lose everything.

-Eyes Unseen, Truths Unspoken

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We didn’t make much progress on our search for Desten 4’s cure. I ended up discarding most of what I’d copied down as completely useless. So much nonsense about prismatics, none of which could possibly apply. But in the moments between sorting through notes and listening to Desten mutter about his writing, my mind kept slipping back to the upcoming party.

I wanted it, needed it, but at the same time it terrified me in a way I'd never imagined possible. What if it didn't provide the answers I needed? What if it did? Would knowing the answers truly set me free, or would it prove to be as futile as everything else I’d done so far?

Then there was the very real fear that I might end up stuck between an angry Pelys and a killer Desten as they destroyed everything in sight. Not an appealing prospect.

Desten 3 remained oblivious to my inner turmoil, and focused much of his effort on clearly organizing his theories about societal change and unity. I tried to curb his high hopes, but couldn’t come up with anything persuasive enough without outright admitting he was a useless piece in a completely different game. Ah, well. It wasn't my job. Pelys would have to be the one to inform his guests that he'd manipulated them all.

I stubbornly tried to stay focused on the Desten 4 project, but we had so little to work with and I didn’t understand any of the theory involved. I returned to his workshop several times over the next week, trying to figure out exactly what he’d been working on when everything went wrong, but my knowledge of alchemy was basically non-existent. Shorthand he could take for granted required hours of searching through textbooks before I could even begin to grasp it.

Replicating Desten 4’s knowledge would take decades of study. And we didn’t have decades.

Desten 3 seemed to have accepted that his friend was a lost cause. I didn’t want to admit he was right.

And still the fateful party lingered in my imagination. I dreamed about it a thousand different ways; Pelys slamming me through the earth into the deep ocean beneath, killer Desten screaming as he slashed me to pieces, Desten 3 laughing and revealing that he had only been using me to get to Pelys so he could finish what he’d begun with Fylen. Desten 6 calmly dismembering me while Desten Oros set fire to my mother’s house.

I didn’t sleep well that week, and my focus only continued to degrade the closer we came to the party. Eventually even his own obliviousness wasn’t enough to blind him to my condition and Desten 3 started asking if I was alright. I insisted I was fine, but wasn’t sure if he believed me.

The day before the party, I tried to think of every possible excuse to get out of it. I felt distinctly unwell, dread a tense knot that lingered even though my power pulsed calm through me time and again. I began to think I’d somehow built up an immunity to its power, or perhaps my fear had grown to be too much for it to handle.

Desten presented me with my Varon formal robes; he’d somehow retrieved them from Oros while I wasn’t paying attention, and they’d been cleaned and pressed to perfect brilliance. Somehow that only made me feel worse.

Then, too soon, after an eternity of dreading it, the night arrived. I wanted a mask, needed to hide. I couldn’t do this. Why had I agreed to this?

Desten 3 scurried about, worrying over which books he might need to use to demonstrate his points, and I felt my power shifting from stable to aggressive.

I wanted more time. Pink lightning flickered across my skin; everything slowed. But with the speed came a bright clarity. It wouldn’t be enough. This wasn’t something I could escape from by running faster.

Desten glanced up, misunderstood my action, and nodded. “You’re right. Time to go.” He stashed his books in a satchel and stepped into the air, glowing brilliant yellow. His actions seemed slow, giving me a full slideshow of the power springing to life beneath his feet and the bubble whipping into a sphere around him. It occurred to me that this would be useful for trying to learn power-based abilities in future, if I ever had opportunity to observe new ones.

I watched him go, heart racing, power humming, then reluctantly stepped into the air myself. I easily passed him, but pulled back my speed to fall in behind him. The lightning died away, leaving me tired and defeated. I tried to remind myself this was what I wanted, what I needed. I might even be able to reconcile with Pel, if he didn’t kill me on sight.

My stomach clenched at the thought of him instead announcing all my secrets to everyone. It might even be a good strategy to get Desten to crack. If everyone thought I’d seen the killer, he might not be so likely to hide. If the killer even bothered to show up.

I didn’t know the societal weight of this invitation. Varon and Sarosa were closely allied, so it made sense for Desten 3 to be honored by the inclusion. But what about the ones that actually mattered? Desten 6 has switched his allegiance to Wightok; Desten 7 hadn’t been home to Varon in weeks; Desten Oros, well, Oros was always a pretty independent place. Would Pelys have invited everyone, or only the ones I hadn’t eliminated? How much did he trust my judgment?

Worry and uncertainty chased each other around my mind the whole way. When we paused midway for Desten to rest and eat some quick snack bars, I paced anxiously, my power’s calming effect only marginally successful. It was good for quelling brief bursts of emotion, but not capable of eliminatng such a deep anxiety.

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We closed in on Northpoint as the sun began to cast shadows across the valley between the mountains. Though where we flew the day was still bright, it was closing in on evening below.

Right on schedule.

Pel's home was lit with as much ornamentation as any of the major venues, one of which was visible from his balcony. As we descended I could see hundreds of people coming and going in the distance, little sparks of light heading to their completely ordinary final gala, and wished I were going to something as innocent.

Desten's anxious muttering as he double checked that he'd brought everything he thought he'd need made me really wish he were right, that this were simply a chance for Desten to meet important people and share his naive ideas. For a moment, I let myself imagine it. Pel could be open to the ideas, we could impact someone who was a close friend of ... well, of no one important any longer. Aneeyha wouldn't even become Heirna, since Fylen's parents were still alive. And Fyless would be even more of a nobody.

I felt my power pulsing through my veins with gentle comforting warmth, and tried not to hate myself any more than I already did.

Desten landed gently, waited a moment to catch his breath, and stepped forward to knock at the door.

For a second I was almost overwhelmed with the impulse to grab him, stop him, run away. I shouldn't be here. This was a bad place to be. I glanced back at the railing, but the patch I'd accidentally melted through in my desperation to escape had been repaired so perfectly I couldn't even tell where the damage had once been.

The door opened, and Desten handed the doorman his invitation. My power flickered into action, lightning slowing the world as I caught a glimpse of Pel standing inside. He was talking to someone whose back was to me, someone wearing moy-styled Varon robes denoting near-peak strength, decorated with lines of intricate yellow power woven all across his robes.

Pel looked up at Desten's entrance, with a smile that froze when he caught sight of me standing behind. I tried not to react, tried to step forward, but as fast as I could move I couldn't make myself advance.

For a long moment that stretched out far longer than necessary, Pelys and I stared at each other, neither moving, neither reacting. Then he slid his gaze away to Desten 3 and laughed softly before turning back to whoever he was talking to. I couldn't tell who it was from this distance. But he hadn't killed me on sight, so that was good.

I stepped inside, looking around and marveling at the transformation. What had once been his quiet little sitting room had been transformed into an expansive welcoming hall. It looked as though he'd removed the ceiling and interior walls, opening the whole thing out into a broad open room. The carpets had been either removed or replaced with a heavily polished pattern of wood and stone tiles, each carved with unique designs, but all similar enough that the overall effect was fully consistent at first glance. The browns and greys of the floor were set off by thin lines of silver power drawn between them, so subtle and perfectly controlled that I almost didn't notice at first. The walls were covered with intricate murals in shades of blue, the ceiling hung with silver chandelier constructs with gentle yellow lights to provide a cozy atmosphere.

It should have been beautiful, but instead it felt alien and threatening. I'd somewhat prepared myself for Pel's usual sitting room, but this felt far too much like an open arena to me.

I found a seat in the corner and sat, eyes closed against the reality that I was definitely in the same room as Pelys, and very likely in the same room as killer Desten as well. I spent several minutes breathing as slowly and calmly as I could, trying very hard to overcome the instinct to flee at top speed.

I had to know the answers. I had to stay to support Desten 3. And if there were any way to reconcile with Pelys, I had to at least try. I had to stay. Everything I needed was here.

The panic didn't leave, but it settled into a steady knot of distress in my chest. I could pretend. I could smile and speak and breathe, and mostly ignore the fear. It was there, but I wouldn't let it control me.

One last deep breath, and I opened my eyes and stood. Desten 3 had settled next to me, spreading out his books and papers as though this were just another ordinary event we were attending.

He glanced over and smiled encouragingly. "It's alright, I told Pelys you were tired from the trip. It's hard enough for me, I can't imagine how you kept up the whole way at your level."

I looked down at my tay-style robe, marking me as the only person in the room of such a low power rank, and shrugged. "Thanks."

His smile faltered. "Is something wrong? He didn't seem to even care that you'd come. I thought you were friends, or at least teacher and student?"

"We had a ... violent disagreement. Don't worry about it, I'll be fine." And if not, there was nothing Desten 3 could do to save me.

He nodded, still unconvinced, but I turned away and started walking around the too-large, too-open room. There were power-construct tables set around the room covered in the most expensive and extravagant foods yet. I knew it must have taken hours to craft all the tiny decorated cakes and perfect sandwiches and excessively detailed carved vegetables and fruits. What purpose was served by this sort of thing? Just showing off how much effort and expense one could afford to pay for?

I was starving after the flight here on top of the constant strain of my power attempting to regulate my uneven mental state, so I loaded up my plate without concern for the expense.

Then, having expended every reasonable delay I could think of, I turned my attention to the gathered Destens. I'd been right, they made up the bulk of the group in attendance.

I saw Pel's friends Let and Lan talking with Retti, Desten 5's mother. Desten 5 himself sat at a table with his sister, playing a game something like miniaturized ryshglide with a maze they constructed on the tabletop. Desten 1 was present, his Sarosa girl on his arm, standing by the entrance talking with a Sarosa man I didn't know.

Desten 6 was not present, as far as I could see, nor was Desten Oros. Desten 2 was, to my surprise. He stood talking with Aneeyha, waving his hands enthusiastically. A few more people in Sarosa colours sat or stood talking, but this really was an extremely exclusive event. I recognized Desten 7's wife, and looked around for any unidentified Varon. There, standing by the drinks table, that had to be him. Jek-ranked, by his robes, making him the fourth most powerful man in the room.

Pelys and his interlocutor were the top, as Sarosa's rank of fourth was somewhere between jek and moy on the Varon scale, making the moy-ranked individual technically the strongest person present. I looked at him more closely. He was older, someone I hadn't met, but he was clearly Varon.

Nearby, an older Sarosa man talked with a young Varon woman in laht-rank robes with green power accents. She looked vaguely familiar, as though I'd seen her in passing during touring, but never spoken with her in person.

No one seemed to care about my presence, or Desten 3 sitting in his corner, so I brought my plate back and focused on talking through our approach to convincing the next person we spoke to to take our ideas seriously. It wasn't much of a distraction, the constant presence of Pelys and probably killer Desten nagged at me and kept the tightness in my chest at a steady discomfort level.

I ate because I needed the energy, but couldn't taste any of it.

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