Though it’d be too convenient for one of these mages to be involved in the murder, their reactions would still be telling. After all, the death of a duke with no direct descendants would be an event of national interest.

‘You’re not joking, are you?’ cried Master Malote, taking the standard response. His eyebrows shot up in disbelief, etching lines into his already-lined forehead.

‘Oh come on, how often does Master Claribel joke with us?’ said the man next to her with twinkling blue eyes, calmly taking another scoop of frumenty. ‘This has to be real.’

~That’s Master Rodber, our Treasurer.~

‘By the name of the Fated One! What a thing to have happened!’ said a third man, as far from the embodiment of calm as she could fathom. He had long, bony fingers, no hair and no eyebrows, but managed to raise his brows at the news nonetheless.

~Master Keating, another Lower Warden. He used to be my teacher, and he… tends to talk a lot.~

Talk he did. ‘I saw a crowd gathering in that lane just south of the City Square and didn’t think much of it. Had I strayed from my path, I might have come upon his body myself. Oh dear. Whatever shall I do? My wife will be distraught. Inconsolable. I’d better buy her some of her favourite honey-wax candles on the way back. It really helps her relax, even though I keep telling her… I say, “Honey, why do you need candles when you’re married to a fire mage?” And she says–’

‘Hey, hey, hey, no one can get a word in sideways. Shouldn’t you show some care towards Master Claribel? Master Claribel knew Tristram better than your wife ever did, I’d wager,’ said Master Malote, to little effect.

‘Yes, yes, of course, though I do recall Tristram causing quite a lot of trouble for Master Claribel back in the days. But bygones are bygones, so let them be bygones, because that’s what they are and all. I still have to think of my wife though, don’t I? Master Claribel’s not my wife, is she? And if she were to be, I’d be telling her that she’d lost her bloody mind.’

‘We’re all losing our bloody minds right now. Can we just take a step back and–’

‘Yes, yes, taking a step back, I’d say that there are many good points about me, so it’s not completely insane to want to marry me. I still massage my wife’s feet every evening because she spends so much of the day standing, don’t you know? And–’

‘I know. Everybody knows,’ said Master Rodber, ‘I also know your anniversary is coming up in fourteen days, and you’ve acquired a crystal… handing over to Master Malote.’

‘What, what? Oh yes. A crystal goblet, threaded with silver and gold into the shapes of… Master Hugo, onto you!’

‘Ivy and dahlias,’ droned a younger-looking mage with neatly braided hair, ‘because they represent fidelity and eternal love.’

‘See?’ concluded Master Rodber, ‘Everybody already knows.’

‘Better than not knowing your anniversary at all.’ Master Keating sniffed. ‘When do you celebrate yours again, Master Rodber?’

‘Well… I…’

‘And how many years have you been married, hmm?’

‘Well…’

‘Don’t remember, hmm?’

‘I’ll tell you what I do remember.’ Master Malote clenched his fists. ‘Isn’t it coming up to your wife’s anniversary with a certain Master Carpenter as well? He does know how to work his wood, doesn’t he? Knows how to use his gouge.’

‘At least my wife isn’t over-friendly with my own brother.’

A gust blasted the bread roll from Master Rodber’s hand towards Master Keating’s head, where Master Keating blocked it and set it on fire.

‘Stop!’ cried Master Malote, and with a crunch and a puff, the bread flew into his hand, flattened like a pancake, with its flame extinguished. ‘Look at you! Normally, Master Claribel would have pinned both of you to the ceiling already, but not today. No. It can’t have been easy coming across the body of someone she’s known for a long time, friend or no, and she’s shared it with us, only for you two to fight over your wives. A food fight at that! What are you? Five? Because let me tell you, even my five-year-old knows not to waste food. Look at her! Not even a trace of her wind to put you in your places. Instead, she just looks disappointed. As she should be. Shame on you!’

Ari was disappointed. Disappointed that the line she’d thrown had hooked a useless digression about guild members’ marital troubles instead of a pointer towards the motives behind Tristram’s death. Passion? Money? Power? Vengeance? All of the above?

‘I’m very sorry, Master Claribel.’ Master Keating was the first to speak. ‘I am ashamed to have once called myself your teacher. To be honest, which I always am, I was unsure what to say, considering your own relationship with the man, may the Fated One savour him. I… uh… tend to put my foot in my mouth. And before you make any sarcastic comments about what my wife likes to put in her mouth, I’m warning you, Master Rodber–’

Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on the original website.

‘My lips are sealed,’ said Master Rodber.

‘Before they kick off again,’ said the wind mage that Claribel had introduced earlier whose name she struggled to recall, but whose mole on his left cheek had earned him the name of Master Digger–

~Please just call him Master Cypren.~

–Master Cypren. ‘I am also very sorry that you had to see him in the state that he was in this morning. It must have been very difficult for your delicate disposition.’

‘Pfft…’ went Master Keating, thankfully disguising her own half-cough. ‘Uhh… Yes, I mean, that just went down the wrong hole. And before you say anything, Master Rodber, that is not what she said. Though what she is probably going to say is,’ he mumbled half to himself, ‘they’ve really gone and done it this time.’

Finally.

‘Who has?’ asked Ari.

‘What, what?’

‘You said someone’s gone and done it this time.’

‘Did I? Don’t mind me. I’m just thinking out loud, me. All I’m saying is, there will be some people who’d say – not me, mind, and not my wife – but there are people who’d say that the Church really must be laughing now.’

‘Woah, woah, woah… Stop right there,’ said Master Rodber. ‘There are people with ears on their heads, you know, like the owner of this tavern. And ears are generally used for listening. Are you feeling toasty or what?’

‘Like I said, and you’d know this if you’ve got ears, I said that it’s not me saying these things or thinking these thoughts. I’m talking about, you know, other people. People know what’s been going on in Taur. The Holy Fang has really sunk their teeth into their land – would be what some might say. That Duchy’s more or less done, isn’t it? What a shame. It was once a proud House. Fated One have mercy on its heirs.’

‘Tithes are a mark of respect for the Church. It’s hardly the Church’s fault that he’s died without a wife or any direct descendants.’

Not the Church’s fault. The temptation to rail against that statement was almost too great. The solution flattered her pride of working out a loophole for priests to move the body without compromising their beliefs. But the Church that Ari knew was not this Church, and there were other possibilities that she needed to hold just as dear.

Still, if there was gold involved, the desire for some to acquire it, by hook or by crook, could transcend worlds.

‘You know, I’m the most devout follower of the Fated One I know,’ Master Keating droned on, ‘but the way they are willing to take just anyone into their ranks is surely not what the Fated One intends. I went to a masquerade ball at Lady Oriana’s manor last year. Speaking of which, did everyone see what she did at the burning yesterday? Fated One help me, she actually used a golem! Master Claribel, you got a front row seat to the action, didn’t you? Hope you didn’t get splashed with blood or worse, golem remnants… Anyway, what was I saying again?’

‘You went to a masquerade ball,’ said Ari.

‘Ah yes. I did! Do you remember the one when Lady Oriana dressed up as an orange tree and dropped fresh orange fruits shipped all the way from Jumont from a contraption she’d built in her dress? Where you there? I tripped over one of those oranges, you see, because I was dressed as a strawberry plant, and one of my woollen strawberries had caught fire, so I was taking the opportunity to show a lady who was a bush how easy it is to control fire, like this!’

With a snap of his fingers, an orange flame danced on the palm of his hand… which was snuffed out by another blast of Master Rodber’s wind.

‘I hope unlike the sweet orange fruit, your story has a point,’ he said.

‘Well, if you’ll let me finish–’

‘We’ll be here until Lady Una awakens and claims the lands of Ventinon once more.’

Master Keating shook his head and leaned towards Ari. ‘See what I have to put up with day in, day out? As I was saying, I was a strawberry. After conversing with the lovely bush, I turned around to see – who, you may ask? – none other than Cardinal Octavus!’

‘At Lady Oriana’s party?’ cried Master Malote.

‘Oh yes. Want to know how I knew it was him? Because he came dressed as himself! These people have no sense of decorum. What’s that saying? You can’t make a silk purse from a sow’s ear. People should have the wisdom to know their place, to take pride in the station they’re born into, whether it be lord or, like in the Cardinal’s case, peasant.’

‘Are you really saying that peasants should stay peasants, because that’s what they are?’ Ari blurted out, the feel of Tilly’s twig-like arms still freshly imprinted on her.

Know their place. What was her place?

~Don’t! People are often not what they seem. I know he seems like a bumbling fool, but he’s a dangerous man!~

But she’d felt no chill down her spine.

It had been years since Ari had to hold her tongue when her instincts told her nothing, in front of a man who was more arthritic than muscular; even in front of a threat, she was often the larger threat. Ari trusted her own instincts, but those instincts were honed to the dangers of her own world. What of magic then?

~Exactly. So let me…~

‘What I mean to say is, the Crown and the Church have built Ventinon into the country that it is today together. Together, we are able to honour both those who are noble in blood, like yourself, Master Keating, and those who are willing to dedicate their whole lives to the service of the Fated One. Our beloved Ventinon has remained green and fair with a recorded history of four thousand years, through early dynasties and magic-blessed empires. It has survived worse than the fall of a duke before, and as sad as I am by this personal loss, let us drink to our great Ventinon!’

Master Malote laughed until he snorted, and slapped the table with great enthusiasm, sending embers flying from his fingertips towards the bread basket.

‘Did you hear that, Master Keating? Why don’t you know your place, my dearest viscount? Better listen to the duchess’s daughter. Very eloquent, isn’t she? A proper noble through and through. Yes, let’s drink up and get on with our agenda. I am the Guildmaster, let me remind you. Yes, there was a bit of an event earlier – a historic event, even – but we’ve had our time to discuss that. I’m not going to tolerate another detour until after the Court is over. You’re very welcome to stay here after and get drunk out of your own pockets. Now, which Lower Warden do we have going through the agenda today?’

‘Guilty as charged!’ Master Keating waved his hand, seemingly unoffended by Ari’s earlier comment, still clutching his tankard from Claribel’s toast. ‘It is your faithful servants: me, myself and I.’

‘And I’m taking minutes,’ said Ari, prompted by Claribel, sliding the ink, quill and parchments that Master Malote towards where she sat. She dashed Master Keating her best smile: an offering of peace.

He returned a toothy grin, devoid of warmth.