Kenton stared at the place where Elswith had disappeared, as though the Lordling would magically reappear again should he stare long enough.

He blinked several times, but it did not help.

People got lost in the Stables. It happened all the time. But they got lost because they wandered from the safe zones, where the more normal animals were stabled that needed daily attention, to the chaotic regions deeper inside, where the more mythical legends roamed. Fae got lost as the Stable changed rooms and corridors, for example disconnecting the low-side horse stable stalls from the east hallway, and instead connecting to the haylofts, the inner gardens, or another horse stable stalls.

People did not vanish between a doorway. If any trickery happened, it never isolated a specific person. Kenton would know, as a long-time stable worker. He had been here for over one hundred thirty-seven years. In that time, through all his positions and roles, he had never once seen the Stable remove a person from the middle of the room. The doorways connected to different places, but the rooms didn't split in the middle. That's not how it worked. It moved all the time, the hallways and passageways always reaching out to the different rooms, until they drifted too far away and the connections snapped apart, to find the next links to join.

Why did it have to be Elswith, and why did it have to be today? And why did he have to be here for it?

Kenton got on his hands and knees, feeling the ancient cold stone floor for extruding lumps or hinges that may indicate a trapdoor. The light flickered in this room, but it was bright enough to see clearly yet. All his searching revealed that the yellow and brown stone floor was solid. He even pulled up a large stone, the mortar long since dissolved to water and time, to see only raw earth underneath.

Elswith had not fallen down a doorway. Elswith was gone.

It was all that foolish griffin's fault. She was too smart. The griffin trainers wouldn't think so, but Kenton had spent enough time with her to realize that she threw the tests. That griffin had basically blackmailed him and his entire department. He was entrusted to work on Emerraris' dragon hide Saddle. It was priceless, and a taunt against the Emerraris' enemies, the Sword Faction. The Emerarris' distant ancestor had once aided the Fairy King in slaying a dragon. As a reward, they were given enough dragon hide to make a few priceless artifacts. The saddle had been treasured for generations and generations.

If Kenton was a young fae, he would have laid on the ground and kicked his feet. He felt his face grow red and blotchy, and his body shook.

It was all the stupid griffin's fault.

An outside observer, not aware of Kenton's maturity, may have sworn that he kicked his feet just the tiniest bit. But Kenton's misfortune did not extend to such a terrible degree.

It extended enough, however.

And it was all that griffin's fault. Cinnamon-Jewels-Over-the-Setting-Sun, her official name, was cunning. She had stolen it on purpose. The middlings working in the Stables all stated that no griffin that young would be so calculating. They didn't know the cinnamon terror as well as the ones who personally took care of her things.

The threat was clear. She wanted to see her friend. The Game forbade it. But the Game could not control the Stable, not all parts of it at least. If he took Elswith to an empty enough place, the overgrown cat with wings would be able to see her friend. So after hours and hours of hunting for the scourge, he had capitulated to the naughty griffin's demands. Let her go toe to toe with the Game! As long as he got that saddle back! For over a hundred years, Kenton avoided all Games, small g and big G alike. But he knew that if he wanted to keep his job he would need to find that blasted dragonhide saddle!

He stood slowly, feeling the age in his joints that he did not normally feel. He was young yet. He still had time. Kenton had worked here for less than fourteen decades, but he was close to reaching Middling fae. He was going to retire once he reached that level, returning to his home well-established and lifting his entire family from near poverty. Once he reached Middling fae, he could at last start the beginning of his real life away from this mad Citadel and the even madder Fae Lords. He still had time, though his joints had started aching the last few decades. He blamed the Lords for his troubles, but only quietly. In his own mind. When they weren't around. Never think mean thoughts against the Lords of Fae while they were near.

They could tell.

He had only needed one time to learn that lesson.

Pulling his attention from the long past to the past of just a while earlier, guilt and confusion filled him. His actions earlier of bringing Elswith had been somewhat a sham. The other lowlings had known, as they split apart, that they would not find the missing griffin and the stolen saddle. Elswith would be the one to do it because the griffin would have no one else. But for the Game, they all had to pretend. Iscale Ren, the Tolsen Stablemaster, had certainly believed that if they split up they would increase their odds. He was a Midling fae. What did those born Midling fae understand of the harsh reality of the lowlings? The lowest of the totem pole, the ones who saw the true face of the Stable. How the capital and citadel sometimes forgot to be rigid, and laws and rules of reality sometimes didn't apply?

But perhaps the Game would not be mocked and pulled Elswith somewhere after all!

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Kenton moved his legs, but dread made them feel heavy and rubbery. He began wandering, rather blindly. He was a leatherworker now, polishing and repairing leather saddles and tending to reins and other tack. But the role that earned Kenton the most Authority had been Mapper. There were few places he could wander inside the Stable that would harm him. Over his respectable time spent working here in the Grand Stable, he had discovered the Stable had liked him. The Stable did that, seemingly randomly, finding an individual or two that it would show the deeper places and deeper secrets. Mappers had the unenviable honor of searching and recording the changes of the Stable, noting its patterns and foibles, and recording it for others to use.

So the Stablemasters would send those individuals to chart out passageways that were safe, passageways that were to be avoided, and alternative routes so that everyone could get to where they needed to be. He'd spent many years drawing where which passageways led where most of the time. Those who worked near the outer rim hardly needed it, but for the ones who tended to the creatures in the deeper middle, such as the unicorns, the Wyverns, and the lixons, they'd need a map. And sometimes they needed the mapper himself to accompany them.

That's how he'd seen a Cold One before.

He had never been so overjoyed when ten years ago, finally another worker had earned the Stable's interest and had finally taken over the position of Mapper. It was great to gather Authority, but it was so damaging to his nerves. Working on the tack and leathers of a Circle of Little Lordlings' griffins was a reward for all his hard work. The little Lordlings had been so cute ten years ago. They had hardly been any different from any other fae child. Not that the Seelie Courts would allow any child to remain a child any longer than strictly necessary.

He turned left instead of right at passageway, worry and fear gnawing at him.

How had little Elswith grown from a child missing two front teeth and reading little books to the mewling little griffins, to a cunning and daring Fae bold enough to attempt to defy the High Fae?

Elswith walking around pretending to be a servant was a joke. You could take away all the Authority, but you could not take away that brat's intelligence, determination, and good luck. The blond-haired young Fae didn't look like a Lordling anymore. No, Kenton reasoned to himself, he looked like a Lord. It was in his eyes. A Lord had a way of solving problems and handling situations. They looked at mountains, and instead of planning how to get over it, manifested that the mountains would move itself. And the mountains moved.

And Kenton had lost him in the Stables!

Kenton slowed as he heard a somewhat muted conversation. "It was truly pathetic this morning. He looked so lost and bewildered." a girl's voice giggled. "Fallen lordling has no idea what's going on."

A boy answered back with a question. "Were you the one to spit on him? I heard a Lord promise a gold goblet to the servant who spits on the fallen one's face."

Foolish. So foolish. Did these two not realize that many words were being weighed? All the Watchers and Ways, the Minders, the Recreaters. This was not a night to be running one's mouth, especially if one was foolish. Elswith had many enemies, but many allies. And many enemies who respected him enough to not allow others to degrade him.

Kenton at last spied the pair talking around the corner.

They were both young, perhaps from Glasbin, or Wil d'Arden. New lowling stablehands that had only joined a season back. Stablehands that were from Central. They weren't supposed to be here. They were rather oblivious to their surroundings too because they should have realized their private conversation was no longer private by now.

The Stable was displeased with them, he realized. The Stable had tattled on them.

What was he supposed to do with this information?

"I was too far back." the girl said to her fellow stablehand, her heart-shaped mouth pulling into a pout.

Kenton stepped hard against the floor to alert them.

They finally noticed him, but instead of apologizing for loitering where they did not belong, they both stopped and glowered at him, as though he was in their territory, and not the other way around.

He thought of ignoring them, but he had whispers of worry that he needed to address them and perhaps prevent their demise from their foolhardiness. "What's Central doing here?" he asked them with Authority, sternly.

They may all be lowling fae, but he had still been working here longer than perhaps their parents had been alive. Certainly longer than these pipsqueaks had been alive.

They frowned when they realized that he was technically their superior. They weren't used to dealing with Authority yet, either, because the girl answered honestly. "We heard a rumor that the Emerraris lost a certain something and if we can prove it the Sword Faction will give us a reward." she put her hands over her mouth as she realized she had spilled the beans.

He debated what the Stable wanted him to do. Clearly these new workers had never been trained properly.

He would do the Stable this kindness. Not them, but the Stable clearly wanted something to be addressed at least.

He spoke with Authority again. If he was going to speak, they were going to listen.

"You young'en can't be older than thirty-five. You are too young to be spying for Lords and dabbling in things you do not understand, with repercussions you never want to pay. You've worked here a few months. You are practically blind. I guarantee whatever reward you earn will not be enough to overcome its consequences. I also guarantee I was not the only one to overhear you. Some who listen will allow you enough rope to hang yourself. My advice to you: Shut your mouth, get back to work, and keep your nose clean."

He pulled back his Authority, slightly pleased that he had gathered just a dust more than before, and continued walking.

The Stable let him go. Hopefully he had said the right things.

These young servants were too young, too inexperienced. They were barely more than children themselves. Back in Kenton's day, becoming a servant was nigh impossible. He had to prove himself to the territory Lord, then the Regional Lord, then finally the Lord of his Court, the Brystall Court Lord himself, before Kenton was allowed to leave and join the servant class. Even when he first arrived to the Citadel he had known better than underestimate those who played the Game. Because while Elswith had not won, he had not lost either. And he had a way forward to win. That was a victory in and of itself.

Kenton sighed. Perhaps while this was unknown to him, Elswith had a plan. Perhaps...Elswith would return along where they had traveled. If he believed in Elswith, he should believe all the way. No more tantrums. Not that his mature self would ever have a tantrum.

He was a Mapper. He knew how to find his way around the Stable.

And there was always a little trick, for those the Stable liked.

Focus on what you want to find, and the Stable may oblige!

Elswith had a plan. Or Elswith would come up with a plan. He was much too dignified to allow himself to be swept away.

And Kenton would find him.

And together they'd get that saddle back!