In this hostile, inhospitable land, it paid to enjoy the simple pleasures of life: the spring breeze cutting through the already oppressively hot air, the hazy silhouette of mountains still peaked with snow, poking up from above that river. And above all, the feeling of cold steel at your side, keeping you safe. With enemies everywhere and danger around every corner, it wasn’t just the best way to live, but the only way.

Not that Gary was particularly worried for his own safety. He was a knight, and the very purpose of a knighthood was proof of incontestable fighting prowess. What’s more, Gary had earned his younger than most. In fact, he had been specifically singled out, pulled from his class at the officer’s academy after mere months in attendance so that he might be elevated to that most coveted of positions: guarding the royal family.

Indeed, it had been a similar recognition of greatness that had seen him sent there in the first place, taken aside after a bloody accident at the training yard and informed that Mother would be sending him to Cambria for further development of his skills. He would ascend to greatness while his brothers and sisters would be left behind at the manor, stuck wiling away their time with tutors and meetings.

Likewise, most of his classmates at the academy were sitting behind a desk right now, watching futilely for spies and pirates as their ships sailed in circles. One of them had even had the gall to brag about their cushy post on Crescent Isle. Honestly, a Facility Director? It was a struggle to even contemplate a more pointless position.

Gary shook his head sadly.

The Directors and Captains and Generals could play at politics, trying to stick more pins through their breast pocket or earn their Coat of Nocturne, but at the end of the day they weren’t any different from the lowly tax collectors and customs agents who’d been milling around confused in the wreckage of the harbor explosion.

They weren’t the ones stopping the real villains.

“It doesn’t seem fair, does it?” Charlotte stared down at the field of daisies, already grown to knee height.

Apparently Fuite Gardens had once been a delicately manicured affair, with small ropes hanging from posts a foot above the ground to show where none were meant to walk. Hundred year old maple trees had cast shade on the path without a soul ever getting to climb. Above all, beauty to be admired from afar, untouched.

Bullshit, in other words.

Now the plants roamed free, as did the visitors, and no one seemed to be complaining. Besides, it wasn’t like any of the crazy magical irrigation systems that had kept the gardens in place could maintain the same vegetation anymore. Even the maples were still here, although they didn’t grow their colorful leaves anymore.

Gary sighed. “Where else were they going to put them?” He flattened some of the flowers under the heel of his boot, pressing them into the dirt. “The ones with kin were buried in cemeteries.”

“I know.” Charlotte’s eyes had that glassy look they got whenever she was acting too weak for the mission. “But there’s no marking or anything. Nothing to say that, even if they’re dead, at least they were here.”

Ugh, more of this. He bent down to rip out one of the flowers, thrusting it in his assistant’s face. “That not enough for you?”

She frowned. “They were sailors, right? Wouldn’t it have been more fitting to give them back to the sea?”

“Well, not necessarily. Plenty of people at the docks were caught in the explosion too. The children probably weren’t sailors, for instance.”

Now there were tears in her eyes. “What are we doing here anyway, Gary?”

“That’s Sir Gerald to you,” he corrected. “And we’re doing the same thing we do every day: investigation. Prince Harold chose me to see this through, and I mean to make him proud.” It wouldn’t be hard; that was the sort of thing he was good at.

Charlotte inhaled, taking a moment to compose herself to abate her profound embarrassment after that emotional display. “What are we doing here, specifically?”

“Simon said he found an earring. I wanted to see if we could find anything else.There could be more to learn.”

Her eyes narrowed. “You want to loot from people who couldn’t even pass from this life with a name?”

Wow, this was exhausting. “I want to investigate to see if there’s anything they can tell us about the explosion.”

“Really.” Charlotte raised an eyebrow, ashamed of her wild, unfounded, and frankly hurtful accusation.

“Honestly, Charlotte. If I wanted baubles and riches, I’d have returned to Cambria with the Prince.” Of course, that would be nothing compared to the acclaim he would win after foiling the plot of whatever bomber had committed this foul deed.

“Then why didn’t we do this two months ago? You know, before they were in the ground?”

“I didn’t know about the earring then. Try to keep up.”

She blinked, committing the mistake to memory so that she might avoid making it again. “Right. So now we’re going to desecrate these graves just on the chance that it helps find the bomber.”

“Precisely!” Finally. Explaining things to her was like talking to a child sometimes. “Or rather, you are. And the word you mean is excavate. I’ve been summoned by Governor Perimont.”

Her eye twitched. “This can’t wait until after that?”

“Relax.” Gary placed a hand on her shoulder. “It’s like you said: no one cared about these people. You have nothing to worry about.” He turned around, facing down the hill towards the Governor’s Mansion.

“That isn’t the issue!” she hissed, jealous that it hadn’t been her that Perimont wanted to see.

“Find me something good!” He pointed at her with an encouraging finger before setting off, confident that his will would be done.

Charlotte wasn’t the savviest Guardian in the world, nor the most capable, but she was loyal. The past couple months had shown that much. She would get it done.

In the meantime, Gary had an audience with the Governor.

Though the exterior of the Governor’s Mansion, a squat red brick building clinging to the hillside like a sore, was unimpressive compared to even the most modest offices in Cambria, the inside was suitably lavish.

Intricate tapestries lined the walls, depicting the history of Perimont’s native Carringdon. Something about woodsmen swinging axes at an evil tree spirit to clear the space for the castle. Even though the sun was still up, bright candles in polished sconces gave the halls a red glow.

All of that stopped in Perimont’s office itself, strangely. The only luxury he seemed to allow himself was a large window overlooking the city. Other than a tall wooden desk in the center of the room, there was no furniture to be found.

Not even a chair. The Governor was standing behind it. This has to be a power play. Otherwise it was completely incomprehensible.

“Ah, Sir Gerald. I’m glad you could finally make it.” He waved his arm, beckoning Gary closer. “It looked as if you were having some trouble navigating the hillside.”

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Gary frowned, stepping into place at Perimont’s side. “I simply took the direct route to the Mansion. The winding path was inefficient.”

“Of course. And I’m sure that rolling was faster than walking would have been, too.”

Gary nodded. “I’m glad you understand.” He turned to face the window. “It’s an interesting house you have here. I expect most people would have rehabilitated the castle.”

“Most people want power for themselves above all else. I serve a higher cause.” He placed a hand on Gary’s shoulder. “Before us lies the nexus of the moral rot at the heart of the Erstwhile Empire. Centuries of decadence concentrated in one putrid capital.”

“Okay…?”

Perimont tightened his grip slightly. “This is bigger than any one of us, Sir Gerald. We alone are naught but vessels through which progress can flow. The new rail lines, our work on the sewer systems, clearing away the slums — all of it is to build a better world. Malin is merely the first step.”

And chairs are too decadent for you?

“I know you have Prince Harold’s ear,” he continued. “Perhaps you might invite him to direct the other Governors to follow my example in their territories, should the opportunity present itself.”

“That’s why you called me here. It all makes sense.”

“Ah, no. I simply wanted to plant the idea in your mind.” He removed his hand from Gary’s shoulder. “To begin with, I would be interested in knowing how the investigation is proceeding.”

“It’s going well!” Gary smirked. “Prince Harold told me to keep the details close, in case there are damaging political ramifications, so I’ll leave it at that.”

The Governor raised an eyebrow. “I can’t imagine you were supposed to tell me the reason, but I certainly understand the need for secrecy. Still… you must be able to tell me something.”

Gary shrugged, searching his mind for information that would be harmless to reveal. “We’ve dug through enough of the shrapnel to be certain that this was no accident. Based on the sundials found, I’ve no doubt it’s one of the acolyte wastrels. They’re all about all that spirit shit.”

Perimont smiled.

“We picked one up at the execution yesterday, trying to buy contraband from me,” Gary continued. “I’ll be interrogating her after this, see if we can turn her against the rest to save her own skin.”

“I’ll leave that to you then. Just remember to keep me abreast of any developments.”

“Of course,” Gary replied immediately. “If that’s all…”

“Not in the least.” The Governor folded his arms behind his back. “I have something very important to discuss with you, pertaining to your investigation.”

Not so important you could get to the point quickly, apparently.

“Your investigation is under Prince Harold’s direct authority, not the Territorial apparatus. There are certain boundaries you can cross which would be… problematic for my Guardians to breach.”

“Ah, I see what you mean.” The border, obviously, since he wasn’t assigned to Malin specifically.

“There are many merchants here who seek to revel in the same decadence we fought a war to stop. As long as their wealth enriches Avalon, circumstances force me to be flexible, but I fear corruption.”

“How does that have anything to do with me?” Why was the Governor so focused on changing the subject every few minutes?

“Mr. Clochaîne was raised in Porte Lumière, on the Isle of Soleil. If you found sundials in the wreckage, he must be considered as a suspect.”

“That seems a bit tenuous…”

Perimont sighed. “Simply look into it, that’s all. I’ve been poking around the edges of his operation for some time, and something isn’t adding up. But if I set my Forresters on it, or the Guardians, I risk the entire Convocation rising against me. Nice as it might be to cut all of their rot out in one fell swoop, conflict with them is not something Malin can afford right now. Hence, you.”

“Uh…”

The Governor pounded a fist against his temple, trying to find a better way to phrase his confusing circular talking. “Investigate Clochaîne as part of the harbor bombing. If all you discover is corruption, it still came from someone outside of my control. He’s a bad man that needs to be stopped, and you’re the only one who can do it.”

“Oh, that’s nothing new then.” Gary shrugged. “Sure, no problem. If he’s into that spirit stuff, it is pretty suspicious anyway.”

“Quite. Now, I believe you have somewhere to be.”

Gary smiled, ducking out of the room with a flourish.

Perimont might be weird, and talk too much, but at least he knows how to be helpful.

And Prince Harold would be pleased at the additional cooperation, of that Gary had no doubt. The faster all of this was solved, the better.

And on that note…

The old dungeons had been woefully incapable of housing as many people as justice demanded, so the prisoner was being held at one of the supplemental buildings on the eastern outskirts of town.

The wastrel herself didn’t look any better after a day in a cell, but it said a lot about her prior appearance that she didn’t look much worse, either.

The scraps of cloth covering her head were gone though, revealing hair dyed blue in the fashion those temple heads were wont to adopt.

Most likely it was the drugs they took that made them think that look was a good idea.

“So, Carrine, are you ready to talk?”

“I was ready to talk yesterday.”

“Yeah, but I had other stuff to do. Let’s just get started now.”

The wastrel growled with self-loathing.

“What can you give me on the other acolytes? What part did they play in the harbor bombing?”

“The acolytes…”

“Your ‘temple’ people, with the blue hair and the drugs and the treason? You know, the ones always stirring shit up?” How addled was her mind? It might be hard to get anything useful.

“Right, right.” She bit her lip. “I’m not exactly inclined to incriminate my camarades for an uncertain reward.”

“Well, sure. Nothing worse than a rat.” There wasn’t much to respect about this wastrel, but Gary could at least see the honor in that. “But you really don’t have a choice.”

“Don’t I?” She smiled. “I’ve been talking with some of the prisoners here. I know exactly what you can and can’t pin on me, and nothing I’ve heard has given me cause for concern.”

“You haven’t heard shit then.” Gary folded his arms. “The location of your indiscretion makes a strong case for ‘inciting rebellion’, which means an execution.”

“So you’ll take me out to the water and hang me.” She smiled. “Fine. Go ahead.”

Gary narrowed his eyes. “How do you not get it? You can’t use any magic! Your spirits will not save you! You couldn’t even manage to walk down the beach without getting caught!”

The wastrel stiffened, sitting up straighter. “I suppose you are right about that much.”

“Besides, the last hope for your temple died in Guerron. No one’s riding to your rescue.”

“You mean Leclaire?”

“Her?” Gary scoffed. “She was nothing more than a trophy for the fox pup. No, I mean the Duke.” Jethro had sent the news over on the latest ship, the latest of many morsels that Prince Harold had asked him to supply Gary with. No one else in Malin knew yet, but word would be everywhere soon enough that it seemed fine to tell her.

“Duke Fouchand is dead?” Her eyes went wide.

“As dead as your pathetic empire. Took a fall from his balcony. Or a jump, maybe.” Gary shrugged. “There’s rumors his granddaughter pushed him, too. In the end, it doesn’t really matter.”

Now there was blood leaking from her dry, scabbed lips. Probably some wastrel thing; they didn’t exactly know how to take care of themselves. “Are you sure?”

“What, are you going to cry? My source in Guerron is nothing if not reliable, and he confirmed it this morning.”

“Magnifico,” she spat with steel in her voice, droplets of blood hurtling from her lips even as tears ran down her cheeks.

“Who? No, not him.”

She blinked again. “And King Lucien? What does your source say of him?”

“Well, he’s—Hey! I’m the one interrogating you here!” As if a dumb wastrel could fool me with such a simple turnabout. “And I want you to tell me about the crimes of your temples.”

“No… I can’t… I don’t know….” She slammed her fist against her face, sobbing softly on the ground.

“What was your name again?” Gary cautiously asked after a moment.

“Carrine.”

“Well, Carrine, let’s talk about Mr. Clochaîne.” Easier to get Perimont’s stuff out of the way now, if the rest of this was going to be so difficult. “He’s into spirits just like you, with all his sundials and stuff. And the Governor’s onto him. Bring him down, and things get a lot easier for you. You wouldn’t even have to sell out your acolytes.”

Carrine blinked, recognition in her eyes. “Really?”

Gary grinned. “There it is! Let’s hear it.”

“I can tell you about him.” Well, that was a start! If she gave him Clochaîne, that could get him more support from Perimont, and maybe the bomber too. Then he’d have a ticket back to Cambria, and Prince Harold’s adoration. Nicely done, Gary!

“But it’s better if I show you.”

He frowned. “You can’t possibly think I’d be stupid enough to—”

“There’s tunnels underneath the city. The Leclaires built them for sewage, but without their magic to keep it flowing, people started using it for smuggling. I can show you the entrance.”

“Interesting… Where would I—” His interrogation was interrupted by a loud rap against the bars of the cell.

Charlotte was standing outside, looking remarkably immaculate for having excavated a mass grave mere hours ago. “Sir Gerald, I need to speak to you in private. It’s urgent.”

Gary slipped out of the cell, hurrying to match her pace as they exited the dungeons. “What?” he barked. “I was in the middle of something!”

“I know, but—”

“And so were you, for that matter. Why aren’t you covered in dirt?”

Charlotte blinked. “You said you were wondering about stuff on the bodies, so I just talked to the undertaker. He said the Guardians took everything before they were buried, so I went there next.”

“Of course you’d go to your little brotherhood.”

“Well, they said—”

“Khali’s curse, Charlotte, get to the point!”

She swallowed. “It’s not about that. Prince Luce’s ship was spotted approaching the harbor.”

Luce… That softhearted fool, always lost in his books. What could he possibly be doing here in Malin? He had a desk to ride in the Tower, and a great deal to learn from his brother besides.

Traveling into enemy territory like this seemed beyond moronic, and Gary would know, expert in security that he was.

Stranger than any of that, though… “Why didn’t Prince Harold tell me?”