Teren frowned at the foreign clothing that had been left for him. It was a dark yellow tunic that went to mid-thigh, with long sleeves that were made to roll up at the elbows. This was covered by both an orange vest and a long yellow scarf he had to wrap around his neck several times. The baggy pants were supposed to be complemented by pointed shoes that curled at the toes, but the servants had none in his size. Fine with him, he liked his sandals.
“Hold on a moment!” complained Baltry. “Why do my clothes look so different from your clothes?” He held up a sleeveless violet dress that flared out at the bottom, with white ribbon embroidery.
“That’s a woman’s outfit, Balt.” Ronic had the same tunic as Teren, filling it out better with his thick forearms and wide shoulders.
The Prince had offered them five rooms, but Rotwood and Quickstrider agreed that was too generous. And so the three apprentices had reluctantly crowded into a room meant for one that had been accommodated with extra cots. It had one large window that offered an excellent view of the city, the volcanic rim, and the mountains beyond.
“Why in hell would they…” muttered Baltry. He stormed off to find a servant.
As soon as he had left the room, Teren glanced at Baltry. “We should discuss the game plan for tonight.”
“Hmm,” said Baltry, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. “Whoever gets lucky takes the bed, the other two grab a cot and sleep in the hall.”
“Fine, agreed. But that’s not what I was thinking of.” Teren looked outside at the sun, already sinking under the mountains. “After the banquet, you wanna head out?”
Baltry laughed. “What, go drinking out in a cursed darktwisting maze in the middle of the night? No thanks.”
“Aw, come on!” Teren flopped onto the bed. It had a blanket made of yak wool. “Aren’t you at all curious to see what life is like here?”
“Sure, in the morning. With a guide.”
Teren groaned. “But I don’t want to go out by myself…”
“So don’t.”
The two of them argued back and forth until Baltry showed back up with the correct clothing. He was with the masters, who had spent the afternoon relaxing in the bathhouse.
Now that they were out of the Sainted Lands, Rotwood felt comfortable enough wearing his purple and maroon Gravecaller robes. His pointed hood had been ripped off, displaying his shaven head and multitude of bone earrings. Quickstrider herself wore the crossed yellow sashes of Guiding Breath over a dress similar to the one that had been given to Baltry, with white cloth and a high neckline that went up into a modest veil that nearly hid her short black hair.
“You two clean up nicely,” remarked Teren. “How was the bathhouse?”
“Unisex,” winked Rotwood.
Quickstrider rolled her eyes, brushing past him into the hallway. “Come on. Dinner’s waiting.”
…
The five of them were brought to the upper floors of one of the taller towers of the palace. Inside was a humble dining area, containing a single circular table with six seats. There were twice that many servants standing quietly at the edges of the room with heads bowed. Standing at the sides of the door were two guards. One was the armorless lizard skinswitcher who had been outside the palace. He stared straight ahead, pointedly ignoring the group.
The room had a balcony that looked out over the rest of the palace. Teren leaned out over the rail, watching the last sliver of the sun vanishing into the mountains. From up here he realized the palace’s architecture was tri-radial, with three gates that led into three courtyards. These courtyards were each attached to a large building– one of which Teren and the rest were sleeping in, and these buildings were connected by the three taller towers. All of these buildings had curved, multilayered roofs. Glancing up, he saw the top of the three towers had once been connected by archways, but they had begun to crumble. Down in the middle of it all was a water reservoir. Half-full, it was a large pyramid-shaped hole in the ground. Teren squinted. There was something large swimming around down there, but he couldn't quite make out what it was as he peered over the railing of the–
A many-ringed hand slapped him on the back. Teren jumped, cursing as he turned to find the Feathered Prince smiling at him.
He was adorned in a luxurious cloak, mixmade to have the pattern of a leopard, yet with dark red fur instead of golden yellow. Under that he wore purple silks. “Not a bad view, yeah?” Prince Dirjir looked out over his domain. “Kalapar Trinuat was once the pride of the city. After the curse was cast that created the Maze District, King Hinibhat the Snakeskin moved the royal family to the Reservoir District, leaving this place all but abandoned.” He gestured to the crumbling archway above them.
“So why are you here, if you don't mind me asking?”
Prince Dirjir frowned, looking away. “Not by choice, if I'm being honest. Let’s discuss it over a meal.” He walked over to the round table, seating himself in between Rotwood and Quickstrider.
Teren took one last glance outside and saw that the sun had set. The sharp scent that he had smelled on and off all day had come back, stronger now than it had ever been. He could have sworn he felt someone breathing on his neck.
Rotwood frowned, glancing over at him. Immediately the presence slid away.
Teren walked back over to the table and sat down, reminding himself to check on Spellhaunt later in the evening. He was in between Ronic and Baltry, as Quickstrider had wanted them separated to stop them from bickering.
Now that they were all seated, the Prince clapped his hands. Servants rushed to attend, carefully bringing over a massive platter of food. Teren and Ronic leaned to the side, allowing the servants to place it right in the middle of the table. On it was a heaping pile of rice, surrounded by dozens of small copper bowls filled with a variety of soups, sauces, meats, and vegetables. The orange-robed servants handed out empty plates and bowls, providing spoons and chopsticks as utensils.
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Prince Dirjir took his bowl and reached into the middle, scooping rice into it. “This style of dining is called Kanem Herz,” he explained. “It’s reserved for special occasions, offering a variety of culinary delights from all across the Southrange. Surrounding the rice, there are thirty-six dishes– representing the thirty-six tribes that swear fealty to the Pajirhut Line.” He poured one of the bowls of curry over his rice.
They took that as their cue to dig in. As the bowls were passed around, the awkwardness of dining with a royal began to dissipate. The Prince was eager to hear of the Sainted Lands, and Rotwood was always happy to entertain. Dirjir threw back his head and laughed as Rotwood told him tales of patrolling across the three realms of the Greenreach.
Teren enjoyed the meal, not saying much while his master chatted with the Prince. His favorite dish was a three-way tie between the lentil soup, the lamb-chicken hybrid curry, and the pickled cabbage. The cabbage here was prepared a lot spicier and crunchier than the more sour cabbage back home, and thankfully he was the only one at the table who seemed to care for it. While he was scooping more into his bowl, the Prince passed him another dish– steamed dumplings in a spicy-looking soup.
“Try this out,” urged Dirjir. “They’re filled with meat I mixmade myself! Go on, see if you can guess.”
Teren didn't hesitate to spoon one out of the broth and bite into it. He eyed the remaining half. Looked like pork and cabbage, but there was something about the taste. He chewed thoughtfully. “Pig mixed with… some kind of fish.”
“Right on the pork, wrong on the fish.” He pointed at Baltry’s plate. “Although our islander friend here has been at the blackened dream-fish. Those can cause visions, did you eat the entire bowl?”
Baltry froze mid-chew. He carefully swallowed what was in his mouth. “Uh. Dream-fish? Oval shaped, small, with silver and gold striping?”
The prince chuckled. “Ah, so you’re familiar. Well it’s actually a local freshwater fish mixmade with dream-fish. The effects vary depending on who mixmade it.” He sipped his barley beer. “We mountain folk do love a good gamble.”
The young apprentice’s face had turned pale.
Teren swallowed the other half of his dumpling, passing the dumpling to Ronic. “Okay, if it’s not fish, then it’s pork mixed with some sort of amphibian.”
“‘Mmm hhmm,” nodded Ronic through a full mouth. “Mmphibian.”
“No, no! Fine, I'll tell you. It’s snail!”
Now it was Teren and Ronic’s turn to go pale. Teren glanced at Ronic, who had stopped chewing entirely. He didn't look like he was going to make it at first, but he powered through, grabbing his barley beer and chugging it along with the dumpling. He coughed, dry heaved, and then took another swig to keep it all down. “Guhh. Excuse me.”
Quickstrider stared daggers at the two of them while Rotwood and Dirjir roared with laughter.
“The look on your faces!” gasped the Prince through fits of laughter.
“Sorry,” said Teren. “We don't really eat any bugs in Fendal. Unless you include mudbugs, that is.”
“Your loss. The snail is all muscle, mixes well with the fatty bits of the pig.”
“Snails aren't bugs, Teren,” said Baltry.
Ronic stared at him. “Guess that fish is starting to hit.”
“No, really. They aren't bugs.”
“Ha! Okay, whatever makes you happy, Balt.”
Baltry began to protest but was cut off by Quickstrider. She hadn't touched her barley beer yet. “Prince Dirjir. For what purpose did you call us here?”
The Prince’s demeanor changed. He leaned forward, placing his elbows on the table and clasping his hands together. “No point putting it off, I suppose.” “I am Dirjir Pajirhut, the Feathered Prince. Without a doubt, I am the rightful heir to my father’s kingdom, crown, and throne.” He pursed his lips. “Except my mother thinks otherwise.”
Quickstrider frowned. “And how much support does your mother have?”
“…Pretty much all of it,” Dirjir admitted. “The majority of the tribes have already sworn to her, the trade guilds have deals in place, and she also has the support of the tiger guard.”
“What do you have?” asked Ronic.
Dirjir smiled softly. “Divine right.”
The masters shared a look. Rotwood cleared his throat. “Prince Dirjir. We had been told this job was for some sort of festival. If you brought us here under false pretenses…”
“No!” The Prince shook his head and brushed away the notion. “No, you’re here for entertainment, nothing more. I’m not getting you involved in politics, I just want to put on a show for my people. Do they celebrate the Nine Nights of the Lost in the Sainted Lands?”
“They do in Swampreach,” said Quickstrider slowly, frowning.
Teren glanced at his master. “The Nine Nights?”
Rotwood didn’t look happy. “It’s a festival for the dead. The Swampreachers carve new deathmasks and run wild in the woods all night. The dead come out too.”
“So they say,” nodded Dirjir.
“No,” said Rotwood softly. “There is power in celebration. It draws attention from where it shouldn’t.”
“Hmm,” said Dirjir, stroking his mustache. That sounds a bit more sinister than what we do in Merdz. “Here we just have parades in the streets. And I don’t know what a deathmask is, but we prefer brighter costumes, ones that celebrate our connection to those who have gone ahead.”
“I would never have guessed it was celebrated in the Southrange,” muttered Rotwood. “Is that why you brought us here?”
The Prince was silent for a moment. “I want you to bring back the dead, and have them walk the streets.”
“Why?” asked Teren.
“Because I’ve spent all winter spreading tales that my dead father and his fathers before him are furious that his wife has stolen the throne from me.”
Rotwood slammed his hands on the table. “Absolutely not,” he hissed. “I will not summon up ghosts to put a crown on a child’s head!”
“Wait a moment,” said Ronic. “Why did you ask for Guiding Breath?”
The Prince shrugged. “I needed the dead to come back to life. I wasn’t sure if that would involve deathcrafting or lifebreathing.”
Quickstrider was near a loss for words. “I… What? You called me out here for nothing?”
Rotwood stood up. “This was a mistake.”
“Don’t think of it that way,” urged Dirjir. “Look, I can see I’ve upset you all. Let’s get off the subject. Master Rotwood, I won’t force the issue. You don’t want to do it? Fine. All I ask is that you stay a few days. Enjoy the city. If you change your mind, great. If not… Well, I have no desire to force my will upon you.”
Rotwood pushed his chair in and left the table. “Nor the ability.” He brushed past the guards, slamming the door behind him.
Dirjir called a servant over, speaking to her in hushed narabric. She bowed her head and walked out of the room.
Quickstrider got up as well. “Prince Dirjir, please excuse me. I have much to discuss with Master Rotwood.” She turned to leave.
“Hold on!” protested the Prince. “You don’t even want to stay for dessert?”
Quickstrider paused halfway to the door, looking back at the young man. “Prince Dirjir. Your hospitality has been exquisite, but you’ve asked us here to do a task that I don’t think you fully comprehend.” She frowned. “The queen of this city let a Lifeguider, a Gravecaller, and three apprentices through her leygate. I don’t even think she sees you as a threat, does she?”
“I understand you’re angry,” said the prince, “But you’re still under my roof. Watch your tongue when you speak to me.” He eyed his servants.
Quickstrider scoffed as walked out of the room. Dirjir watched her go, depressed.
The apprentices sat at the table awkwardly, unsure of whether to follow their masters or stay and entertain their host.
Dirjir sighed, slumping down into his chair. “That didn’t go how I planned.” He took a swing of barley beer before turning his attention to the three of them. “You guys like to party?”