Paper lanterns illuminated the clear, starry sky. Near invisible silver strings tethered them to iron anchors in the vast garden of the Degatawa estate. Cyril, Xin, Abine and Bu navigated the dense bushes of flowers together, guided by a young, uniformed chaperone. The younger man’s associate had offered to valet their horse carriage upon their arrival. Bu had managed to get the group there intact, despite his daredevil driving.

The boss had arrived at Gwyllion Abbey to retrieve Xin, Abine and Cyril in a horse and buggy that he had rented for the evening. His driving inflicted nausea on his passengers, and they all needed some time to catch their breath after they survived the ordeal.

A low concoction of voices, laughter and music played from the manor itself. Lights beamed out of its many windows and columns. Young children and scandalous love affairs played in the dark corners of the gardens. Cyril noticed that even the little kids were dressed better than their cadre. But, Wakahn was right. Upon presenting their medallions, the city guards at the gate outside the garden had let them through, even if they did seem miffed about it all.

Cyril had pulled from his cargo a royal blue coat with embossed shoulder pads. A single chain connected the lapels. He’d tied his long hair with a matching, blue silk cord. He’d even broken out his jewelry, gold rings and segmented gold choker that an attractive saleswoman had convinced him he could not live without. She was wrong, but Cyril enjoyed the feeling of dressing up all the same.

Bu had almost passed out laughing when he saw him. Not that he was dressed any nicer. The old man wore a ridiculous puffy shirt and a long coat that hadn’t been tailored to his growing circumference. Xin wore an understated, but fitting, black jacket and trousers. His shoes had been polished to a reflective shine. Abine wore a surprisingly expensive ivory dress with no sleeves. She kept a fur-lined cloak pulled over her shoulders. Cyril wondered to himself if she was being paid more than he was for her work as an instructor, or if another source of income padded her pockets. He would have to interrogate Bu about it when he was properly drunk.

The four climbed a small flight of stairs to enter the party proper. A few heads turned to them and just as quickly looked away. The manor was gargantuan, yet still felt crowded. Clumps of people assembled into closed pockets of conversation or debate. Orchestral music flowed into the foyer from a distant room. Perfume and cooked meat formed an irresistible bouquet in the air.

Cyril realized that this party had not just invited the upper crust of Lyrique. Socialites from other cities had traveled to attend the Degatawa’s end-of-Summer bash. To attract such a gathering spoke to the governor’s considerable influence. Obscene jewelry and elaborate costumes decorated the many people. Cyril recognized fashion from every corner of the world, imported no doubt. Some of the clothes had even been enchanted, for their colors to change or for their designs to move and animate.

A very short man bowed at the appearance of the wardens. He held a brass bell in his hand and wore a handsome suit that matched that of the other servants swimming about the crowd. Except all of the others carried platters of drink and food.

“Good evening and welcome to the Degatawa home,” the bell-carrying servant said. “Might I have your names and titles so that I can announce you?” He gestured to the crowd at large.

They quickly gave them and the servant smiled happily. He rang his bell only twice and then clutched it tight with a practiced gesture to silence the ringing. The sound was enough to break up some nearby conversations, but not so intrusive as to disrupt the entire flow of the party.

“Please welcome honored guests; Bu, boss warden of the Gwyllion Abbey warden’s guild in Lyrique, Xin, chief secretary warden of Gwyllion Abbey, Abine, warden instructor of Gwyllion Abbey and Cyril, warden instructor of Gwyllion Abbey!”

The bell ringer gestured with his hand towards the party. The four were free to enter and mingle.

The socialites began a shallow round of applause. They clapped by tapping their fingers against their palms, careful not to spill their drinks or make much more noise than the people about them. Murmurs spread between them. A very bold, middle-aged man stepped away from his closed pack to shake Bu’s hand. He called Bu a hero and thanked him for the work he did today.

The sight churned Cyril’s stomach. His gold collar suddenly itched his neck and he considered casting it off his skin. These people all lived in gated little castles like the Degatawas. Guards protected the premises around the clock. No fires burned their houses. These people reaped everything from those that had their houses burn down. “Regular” people were wondering where they would sleep tonight. These guests only needed to decide what to wear. Cyril had done the same.

Music drowned out the clapping in a moment, and the round of applause concluded. Bu plucked a round glass of something bronze and smooth off of a platter meant for someone else. He didn’t get the chance to drink before someone interrupted him.

“I didn’t expect to see you here, Bu,” she said. “Abine,” she regarded the woman more coldly. Abine seemed to take her name as a dismissal and left the group.

“Prat,” Bu said. He emptied his glass in one drink. “I suppose I’ll be needing more of these. Cyril, Xin, this is the boss of Migtrolio Marine.”

“Pratima Migtrolio,” she said. If Bu hadn’t introduced her, Cyril would’ve thought the woman another socialite. She meshed well with the affluent crowd. Pratima’s dark eyes and lips were painted with makeup well suited to match her outfit and her many silver accessories. She’d even worked to hide the slight lines forming on her otherwise glowing brown skin. Around her neck hung a terribly opulent necklace that resembled colorful cerulean peacock feathers. Her violet dress had an elaborate train behind her and she paired it with severe looking heels. Even the trendsetters in Loucester would be awed. Cyril was.

“I understand you’ve just some from the Central Continent,” Pratima said to Cyril.

Cyril nodded. Hebiha or someone from her guild must have given her the full biography. “You have me at a disadvantage,” Cyril said.

“That’s true with most people, don’t feel bad.” Pratima waved at someone nearby and stepped away from the conversation. Presumably to spit venom at someone else.

“Drink?” Cyril asked.

“Drink,” Bu answered.

----------------------------------------

Wakahn tracked the girls through the dimly lit garden of his estate. He knew his father would scold him for being an absent host, but Soraya Hadessian rarely looked serious. Even Piper had taken a break from bragging about the day for this little getaway. They had insisted what they wanted to discuss couldn’t wait, but were unwilling to divulge details until they were away from prying eyes.

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He didn’t complain. Being the governor’s son at his father’s party meant that most conversations started and ended with people asking him where his father was hiding. Wakahn had become adept at escaping such questions with his polite image intact. The boy was only sorry that he was missing the opportunity to show off his new ivory coat and matching cape. He’d even taken the time to polish its gold buttons. All the glamor was lost under the night sky.

Wakahn lost them in the shadows of their hedge maze. The fixture was his mother’s idea, based off a labyrinthine sculpture she’d made. Wakahn’s dad didn’t understand the idea of making a place in which people could get lost.

“That’s the whole idea, love of my life,” An Degatawa had explained to her husband. The man had relented.

Girlish whispers and giggling guided Wakahn through the maze. Perhaps this really was some prank being pulled on him. There was no “secret” the girls had in mind. Wakahn rounded a corner of the yellow-flowered bushes and almost bumped into a young couple just starting to undress each other. Their eyes went wide and Wakahn’s throat went dry.

“That’s the governor’s son,” the girl said. Wakahn didn’t recognize her.

“Crap, sorry, so sorry,” the boy said. He didn’t take the time to buckle his belt before dragging the girl out of the maze in a hurry.

The scene flustered Wakahn. The fact that he was flustered made him even more flustered and his cheeks felt hot and at some point his hands had gotten incredibly sweaty.

“What are you doing?” Someone whispered.

“What?” Wakahn turned around. Piper was barely visible under the light of the floating lanterns and the stars. She flapped her hand for him to come and follow. He did.

“You got lost in your own backyard?” Piper asked.

Wakahn was still having trouble recognizing Piper, to be fair. Soraya had worked magic on the girl. Piper’s red mane had been tempered, trimmed and feathered into a waterfall that swam over the young woman’s exposed shoulders. White gloves sheathed her arms up to the elbows. She still wore that simple silver chain around her neck, but her simple wardrobe had been replaced with a cool, mint dress in which Piper struggled to move. It seemed Soraya had not the time or the fight to paint makeup on Piper’s face, or pierce it with more jewelry. Wakahn looked ahead of them both to stop looking at her.

Wakahn tried not to let his embarrassment show. He followed her deeper into the heart of the maze where Soraya waited. Miss Hadessian was fully embellished. She wore a white wine colored dress with puffed up shoulders and a lace pattern down its front. Her gold necklace matched her gold earrings matched her gold shoes matched her gold rings. It was as if the younger girl couldn’t stop herself from taking every pretty thing she saw.

Despite their appearances, both girls looked on edge. They scanned the maze for prying eyes and ears. Only when they were confident of their privacy did Soraya hand Wakahn a letter. The envelope had been sealed with wax, and it was addressed to “Boss Pratima Migtrolio.” When Wakahn tried to read it aloud, Piper shushed him. He kept the letter under the faint lights and read quietly.

“Boss Pratima Migtrolio,

“Our most humble greetings and introduction in reaching out to you unprompted. We hope this message may find you in good health and good company. It is our understanding that the warden Cyril may make his way back to his hometown of Lyrique where you and your employees conduct fine business for the betterment of the Western Continent. By your very reputation, your work and that of your colleagues is that of the highest virtues of our Age of Man.

“Please understand that the warden Cyril possesses none of these virtues. The Silver Dragon Order has recently made the decision to expel the warden Cyril from our ranks, where he previously held a position of fine standing. While the clandestine condition of some of our work necessitates the highest grade of secrecy when discussing the warden Cyril’s transgression, you must understand it betrays all that your exceptional guild stands for.

“The warden Cyril will not be tried for any crimes. We do not intend to set a bounty upon his head nor do we ask that you or your colleagues visit any campaign of violence or crudeness upon him. Yet, the transgression that the warden Cyril committed was no mere gaucherie. I, as communications representative of the Silver Dragon Order, write only to express our collective will that he be offered no work. We recommend the warden Cyril be trusted with no responsibility and be lent no aid.

“We understand the strangeness of this letter and welcome any further inquiry on your behalf. The Silver Dragon Order is grateful for your cooperation and your discretion.

Thank you and good day,

Ricardo De La Hoya, Chief Secretary of the Silver Dragon Order”

Wakahn read it again. He was halfway through reading it a second time when he examined the envelope instead. The broken pieces of the wax seal formed into the famous sigil of the SDO. A stamp that only the guild’s chief secretary, or a forger with a death wish, could obtain.

“Somebody from Migtrolio Marine gave you this?” Wakahn asked Piper.

“No,” Soraya said. She told the story of what happened at Gwyllion Abbey with Xin, and how she had stolen the letter from his desk. “It wasn’t addressed to anyone in the guild,” she went on to say. “I thought… Xin might have stolen it.”

“You broke this seal?” Wakahn asked.

“No, no,” Soraya buried her head in her hands. “It was already open when I found it, but I only read it after Piper and I went back to my house. I wish I’d never seen it. I shouldn’t have taken it! I know the guild is going through a tough time, I thought Xin stole something out of desperation. I was going to try and make it right. Now…”

Soraya wandered back and forth through the maze, helpless. Piper rubbed the small exposure of skin on the girl’s back, soothing her anxiety. The two had become closer before the party. Perhaps over this? Wakahn wondered if Piper had let the girl do her hair just to help her calm down from reading this letter. His shoulders softened.

“What do you want to do?” Wakahn asked the two of them.

Soraya just shook her head.

“What do you think Cyril did?” Piper asked. “I’ve got my own guesses.”

Wakahn looked at the letter without reading it. “My first instinct… is that he did something the SDO doesn’t want anyone to know about. But, not something bad enough that they could level a real crime at his head. Something embarrassing, maybe.” Wakahn refolded the letter and stuffed it into the envelope. He didn’t want to read it anymore. “Like he slept with another warden’s wife or something!”

“That’s where your head goes?” Piper looked disappointed.

“What’s your theory?” Wakahn barked. He didn’t really care, but thought it only fair to make fun of her wild guess too.

“I think he hurt someone,” Soraya said. “Badly.”

“Wouldn’t they warn this Pratima person that he was dangerous?” Wakahn asked. He tried to speak gently to her. This news was affecting Soraya deeply. It twisted Wakahn’s stomach into a knot. Cyril had sent him into danger just hours ago. He had let them get attacked by monsters the first day they met. Was Cyril really someone that could be trusted? The power he and Piper saw when they first met contained a danger with which they had not yet fully reckoned.

“I shouldn’t have started speculating,” Piper said. “Whatever he did… it’s probably something we haven’t even considered.”

“That’s supposed to reassure us?” Wakahn returned the letter to Soraya. The girl’s lips were pursed tight and her eyes bounced between either side of her face. He recognized the signs of a quiet panic. “Miss Hadessian,” he said, back straight and looking down at her. There was no response. As if his words could not break through her depth of focus and thought. “Soraya,” Wakahn said, a bit more gently. She looked at him. “Let’s just go and ask.”