Coell looked nothing like she’d remembered, lurking next to the pickle lady in the City Square, brandishing a bag containing his parchment of ‘nothing’. His black silks were lined with fur, and paired with a black turban-like hat that trailed fabric down the back of his neck. A gold medallion displaying the three cypress trees of House Taur was the only thing that interrupted the black, save for his pallid skin.

He bowed when he saw her. ‘My lady, you are not in mourning.’

‘Only in my heart,’ Claribel replied on their behalf.

‘You must have known Tristram well, to put your grief on such display,’ said Sir Edwin, extracting his quill. ‘I’m loath to do this on the day of his last rites, but I serve Levia, Child of Sun and Justice, and she awaits no man. I am sure you are aware. Your school is next to Levia’s sun arches, specialised in thinking, I believe. You must have thought much about sun and justice just by looking up.’

Coell shrugged. ‘Someone had to dress in mourning. As heir to House Taur, I’m afraid I had to shoulder the responsibility. And you are quite right, sir coroner, Levia’s sun arches shine down on me daily, until I have nothing left to hide. You can put it in ink that I have only met Tristram once, a few days before his death.’

Sir Edwin dipped his quill in ink and scratched out the rest of Coell’s account.

House Taur is cursed. That was the first time Coell understood his parents’ desire to leave the duchy behind and make a life in Eirene.

Once upon a time, a young priest knocked at the castle gates, asking for shelter from a terrible storm. The Duke of Taur was a man called Sebian, and the priest was Melas, of no great House. Sebian offered Melas shelter in the kennels, with his hounds, and offered him sustenance from his pigfeed, with that winter’s acorns. Green acorns could fatten a swine, but could poison a man. Melas, who was not wise enough to know, swore on his dying breath that he’d have his vengeance upon House Taur, no matter how many lifetimes it would take.

Years after, evil befell House Taur, but a kindly cardinal, who could see the shape of the curse upon them, uncovered the Well of Tears and found a way to save them, even though the water had a cost of its own.

So his mother died at the tender age of twenty-three, and his father at twenty-seven, breathless, shivering, soaking through his sheets and scratching at his arms. Looking back, now that he was forty-six, double the life that his mother had ever lived, the adults in his life had become nothing but children. Taken too young.

House Taur is cursed. Never return. Never drink from the Well of Tears. It is poison.

So he never returned to the castle. Never drank from the Well of Tears. Never cared for false ceremonies.

Every year, he’d lay a bouquet of rosemary and roses on the banks of the River Whye, where their ashes were scattered, but no cypress leaves, not for the House whose curse had killed them.

When he heard about the death of Tristram and Malory’s father and mother, he thought of all the times they must have drunk from the Well, unquestioningly bending to the must that their ancestors had shackled them with, because if they didn’t, then the end of House Taur would come upon them. But. Had anyone tried otherwise?

But they can’t. It is not so easy. The Well of Tears is said to be Lady Una’s tears, when she parted with the Fated One on the way to what is now Lake Una. It was uncovered by the cardinal, yes, but it is more than that. It is the blessing upon House Taur. The Fate-given right to rule. The water is beautiful, you see. It glows such a breathtaking blue.

So the only curse upon them all was the lie that could not be questioned. How many other lies were there? One by one, he tore down the scaffolds that held up his world.

Could the Fated One taste every morsel of your life? Or was that a lie?

Did Lady Una really live in the circular lake of her namesake, when none had seen her since the days of old, in the Age of Heros, among names like Susu, Levia, Sailan, Merta and Acren – the Children blessed by her Eyes?

Was it real, any of it, when it was so easy for learned men to believe in lies and peddle them as truth?

He sought his answers among pilgrims, shivering beside campfires, listening to the lives of others, staring at the stars above him, wondering if that was proof enough that his world was made with meaning, because they were so beautiful. He plotted their movement across the night sky, and wondered what it’d be like for the stars to look down on him, wondered how small he’d look, wondered if they could see him at all, so insignificant and dull.

Then what of Lady Una, trapped in her lake? And what of the Fated One? Was the Fated One different, being boundless and formless?

He returned, time and time again, with more trinkets than answers, having never glimpsed the Lady nor the Fated One. Not even when he dived beneath the waves, dipping dangerously close to the Rock of Rebirth.

No. But wasn’t that it? There’d be no place for beliefs if they were unquestionably true, because there lay the bounds between belief and knowledge.

On his last pilgrimage to the Rock of Rebirth, through the lands of Taur, he’d also received a letter from his first cousin once removed, the young Duke of Taur. He never answered Tristram’s offer of hospitality.

Years passed. Now he sought his answers among the thoughts in his head, among the company of other questioners, among the heckles of certain men of the Church and priests of the Children. He turned his mother’s jewels into books from Tasrine and Jumont. He turned his father’s gold into food and shelter for other thinkers, for money did not make a thinker, and no one should feel unable to be part of his school for the lack of gold.

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Slowly, slowly, others saw value in the school. Nobles, like Lady Proserpina, daughter of Marquis Valery. Guildmasters, like Master Ambris, from the Guild of Barbers. Those from humble beginnings, like Zarto, the famous musician.

Thanks to their generosity, the school could become a haven for those without a place to stay, to weary travellers without a place at the inn, if only for a night or two.

That was why, though he was surprised when Tristram turned up on the doorstep of his school, stinking like a sailor in the moonlight hours despite it being early morning, he offered Tristram his hospitality.

Instead, Tristram smashed the teacup from his only unchipped set, and kicked over a pot of rosemary, all the while swearing at Hesperus. ‘Fucking traitor! I thought we were in this together!’

Tristram swore at some of the students too, Percival in particular, just because he didn’t like Percival’s hair – cropped, like a pauper’s. There was no choice but to ask him to leave. And that was it. That was the first and last time that he’d laid eyes on the man who now lay dead under a sheet of white. A blank page, ready for a new start after letting the Fated One feast upon his memories. Or so they say.

‘Hmm. So why were you in the City Square the supposed night of Tristram’s death?’

‘What do you mean? I’ve been there almost every night, unless it’s raining. The tournament has been bringing many travellers to Eirene. It is the perfect time for finding new students for my school. Just the other night, I recruited June. She used to sell pickles. Still does, but she also helps to tend to the garden in exchange for warm meals now. She has been bringing such interesting views to the school.’

‘I see… So you would have been there the night before Tristram’s death as well?’

‘Oh yes. I don’t think it was very productive, but yes, I was there with my sack. I do this trick, you see, where there’s a sack and–’

‘No need to elaborate, unless the sack contains the reason for Tristram’s accusations against Hesperus. Why did he call Hesperus a traitor?’

Coell paused for a moment too long to say he knew nothing. ‘And you’re better off getting Hesperus’s account. You’ll need to anyhow, considering he is… was one of Tristram’s closest friends.’

‘He is unfortunately extremely difficult to locate. Hardly ever at his manor. Any ideas where to find him?’

‘I’m afraid not. I have never had the fortune to cross paths with Hesperus of the blue flames. I believe, my lady, you used to attend the Academy together.’

‘Ah, of course, my lady,’ said Sir Edwin, fixing her with a cold smile, ‘would you know where to find him?’

‘Has your messenger boy not informed you?’ said Claribel, mirroring his smile. ‘He came across both of us at Master Strond’s apothecary. Can you not trust him?’ Or her? He should know better than to test her again, but old habits died hard, and people often died from them.

‘Ah, of course, of course, my lady. You are quite right. It has been a long night, and it slipped my mind. He did mention at Hesperus was heading to the Long Wall. You will be meeting up again after heading to the House of Giving. Is that right?’

The places sounded familiar enough to Ari, and Claribel raised no objections, so she gave him a nod.

‘Then may I have the pleasure of travelling with you? Yes? Very kind of you, my lady.’ He offered her his arm.

‘Wait, are neither of you staying for Tristram’s last rites?’ cried Coell.

‘Here’s the thing, Lord Coell. I have spent all night staring at his body already, which, while he was known to be an exceptionally handsome man, I do prefer to spend the night staring at someone living, or even better, the insides of my eyelids. As you’ve noted, someone has to go through the motions of mourning for his last rites, and it seems to me that you have stepped up despite your dislike of meaningless ceremonies.

‘As a parting gift, I have gathered some figures that might be of interest to you. Despite being rather rundown for a ducal family, the Duke of Taur’s income in the previous year came to over six-hundred crowns. Your biggest patron, Zarto the musician, is parting with two crowns a year to your school, which has unfortunately not been enough to pay back the ten crowns that you borrowed from Madame Lucretia at La Petite Mort as a short-term loan to purchase the rather extensive grounds of your school. You have agreed to pay her back fifteen crowns by next month, most of which you don’t have, and she is not known for her patience.’ Sir Edwin stared straight into Coell’s face, which had gone a colour that resembled the dead. ‘Ask anyone, and they’d say that was reason enough to don a tailored tabard and a pair of hose in black. The real question is: would they say it’s reason enough to kill a man?’

Sir Edwin left Coell staring out at the pyres piled along the river. Before they turned the corner, Ari saw a familiar figure, cloaked in black, join his side. Her steps held the slightest limp. She bowed her head at Coell, revealing an ever-youthful smile that belonged to none other than Nanny Jesse.

‘I’m glad there is one person who is truly here for Tristram.’

‘Pray, tell me, my lady, who is that?’

‘Tristram’s nanny since childhood.’

‘Ah, the one staying at Hesperus’s manor still? You think she’s here for the dead man?’ said Sir Edwin, just as Nanny Jesse blushed a rosy pink.

‘To be fair to the woman, I’ve made her blush too,’ said Ari. ‘Some people are just like that. Tell her a dirty joke and she’ll go full red. Doesn’t mean much.’

‘What… did you say, my lady?’

Ari cleared her throat. ‘What I meant to ask is… if you would also be taking her account.’

‘Of course. But not now. I would be loath to miss Hesperus again. He has truly become as elusive as a myth of recent. Tell me, my lady, when you saw him earlier, did he seem quite in control of his faculties?’

To say no would be easy, but the purple dragons that he’d sent into the sky were etched into her memory. ‘I’m afraid he seemed quite reasonable to me. A little short on sleep, perhaps, though that would now apply to both you and me as well.’

‘Ha! Guilty as charged. Then do you know Lord Selvan well?’

Where had she heard that name before?

~The missing posters…~

‘I’m afraid not. We were at the Academy together, but our circles didn’t really overlap. I don’t believe Lord Selvan had anything to do with Tristram though.’

‘But he was a dear friend to Hesperus.’

‘…Yes?’

‘Perhaps I am a man enslaved by patterns. At times, those are all we have in order to wield the sword of justice: a tapestry of accounts from those who knew the deceased. A few months ago, some of Lord Selvan’s friends came to me, asking us to investigate his disappearance. At the time, we dismissed the case, because there was no reason to think he hadn’t simply gone on a pilgrimage with his wife, but as from the reports I have received so far… The last confirmed sighting of Lord Selvan was from six months ago. Hesperus started to dabble in dark magic six months ago. Then we have another strange coincidence. Lord Selvan used to regularly host Hesperus at his home, yet Hesperus never came with the others to report his disappearance. Tristram was staying with Hesperus upon his recent arrival to Eirene, yet Hesperus has decided to stay a stone’s throw away from here upon the day of Tristram’s last rite. Two of his closest friends: one missing, one dead. Tell me, my lady, what do you make of this?’

All Ari could think of was that six months ago, Hannah Temple came into this world and took over someone’s body.