“Last time I was here,” Felicity commented as they came into sight of the city’s walls, “I didn’t’ get much information about the capital. I just broke into the palace and stole the scepter; well, that, and then I lifted the king’s chamber pot, and dumped it on his head while he slept.” She giggled and then laughed before composing herself after a few seconds.

“Are you asking me for a lesson?” Tristan asked.

“Sure. Since we will have to wait in that line for a few hours it looks like. Don’t forget to refresh your spell…subtlety.”

Tristan began his explanation as he stepped into the back of the line, talking quietly so as not to attract much attention. “Bhant’s Holdfast was named after its founding ruler; an ancient Demonkin who moved a group of his people out of their home and into the Mortal Realm. Just like the other heritages, they intermingled with Humans and Demihumans, producing half-breeds.”

“Like you! Well, like past-you, since that whole ‘infusion of essence’ thing from entering the Fey Realm effectively made you a full elf.”

Tristan nodded, “Sure. Anyways, over the thousands of years, people kept having kids with mixed heritages; but Human heritage is strong, for whatever reason, and most of the time the non-Human features were suppressed.”

“Ah, but your mother was a full-blooded Elf! I know they stick mostly to their own kind for the purposes of having kids.”

“Right. So since my father is effectively fully human, I was guaranteed to have my mother’s heritage manifest in a physical way sometime before puberty.”

“Oh, that’s when you get hair growing all over the place, right?”

Tristan sighed, “Yes, that time. When people get bigger.”

She giggled, “Oh, bigger, you say? See, us superior fairy dragons don’t have this ‘puberty’ you have.”

Lucky you, Tristan thought as he remembered getting made fun of by Bertram and the older youth at court for his inability to grow a beard, and his partly-pointed ears. “The kingdom of Bhant is Human-centric.”

“Kind of ironic in a way,” Felicity replied as she kneaded his head making kitty-dragon biscuits on his skull. “Since everyone here is just a little bit of a mutt.” To emphasize this, she barked like a basset hound, and Tristan chuckled at the odd noise she hadn’t made before.

“Yeah,” Tristan continued as he kept going forward in the line. “Most of the population considers themselves Human, unless they’ve got a physical manifestation of their heritage. Like scales for someone with a Drakonid parent far down their family tree.”

“Or pale skin for a Vantir!” Felicity added. “Must be easy for them, they can just claim they never go outside.”

Tristan nodded, “Mhmm. Some people have an easier time hiding it. It’s why I grew my hair out.”

Felicity ran her paw-claw along his long, pointed ears that jutted further back and up at an angle from his head, poking well out past his hair – but currently visually hidden thanks to the illusion spell. “No hiding this with hair unless you wear it in a ridiculous bun.”

The wall came closer into view, and he nudged towards it with his chin, “Argont’s Resolve. First line of defense for the city.”

“Oooh, who is ‘Argont’? If you know, I mean.”

“Ancient warrior who defended the city from some type of invasion,” Tristan replied. “I didn’t pay a ton of attention to history lessons. I was more interested in dragons.”

“Guess the guy was ‘ar-gone’ from your lessons. Ehhh?”

“Bad pun.”

“Yeah, that one was a reach,” Felicity admitted solemnly.

At the base of the wall was a cleared area, and then buildings – towns all around the exterior that helped act as a go-between from the farmlands and surrounding estates and the capital itself.

If I’m going to be blending in, I need to cover this up. Thankfully it was a relatively cool day, and some of the merchants were selling cloaks to people standing in line. Tristan flagged one down and used a little bit of his remaining funds to purchase a simple one to throw over his armor.

Felicity was kneading his head again, and she let out a little giggle. “This place looks way more impressive from below. Last time I flew in.”

Tristan nodded, “Yeah, it is beautiful,” he whispered. Even with the wall in the way, he could see the enormous, main corridor that went from the gate all the way up through the various districts leading to the enormous, black-stone, gothic castle where the king’s court was located.

But it is dangerous for me now, he thought as he did not jump the line to show his noble seal to expedite entry. He did not know who his foes were, the people who had slain his mother and the servants in the countryside estate.

“Keep an eye out for anyone who is staring at me,” Tristan whispered as he kept his head on a swivel.

Felicity rotated and sat down on his head, looking back behind him. “No problem!” Her tail swished over his forehead and down in front of him, and he had to move it aside and tuck it behind his ear to keep his line of sight unobstructed.

Getting into the capital was easy enough. They were only checking merchants for contraband and ensuring they had a valid market pass – meaning they paid annual dues for the right to sell in the main square – or they purchased a day pass. Instead of taxes, the kingdom of Bhant used this system of permits and passes to create income for public works projects, paying the military, and paying city personnel salaries.

“There’s a lot of black armored guys here,” Felicity commented. “Two groups going down the line behind us, questioning people. Must have been on their lunch break if they didn’t see us before.”

“We’ll be in soon,” Tristan replied as he reached the split for merchants and regular visitors or residents. Those with resident permits or noble seals were expedited, and the rest had to pay for a pass for a set amount of time to be in the city. A week-long pass should be fine, Tristan thought as he paid the fee and was given a strip of imbued cloth that would turn red when his time was up. Attaching the small cloth to the outside of his cloak with a pin, he ventured into the capital proper.

“I can go all the way up to Highreach before I’ll need to either get inventive or reveal myself.”

“Oh, that’s where all the fancy folk live.” Felicity gripped his head and tugged to the left, “Alley! Quick!”

Tristan ducked into an alley and kept walking leisurely, as if he was heading to a business he was familiar with. “What is it?” he asked.

“There was a person with Elf traits. I didn’t want to risk them spotting me. I think it’ll be fine, though, since they were surrounded by people jeering at them.” She crawled down his head, around his shoulders, and burrowed her way inside of his cloak, becoming a furry-scaled scarf. “There. Harder to see me.” She flicked her tail up to lightly flick his nose. “If I wasn’t invisible, I’d be quite the fashion statement.”

Tristan sighed with relief, “I thought it would be something dangerous like the guards chasing after us.”

“Nope! They were too far back. So, what’s the game plan?”

“I need to find out how my sister is doing,” Tristan replied. “And find someone who can give me information on what happened to mother and the estate. Since The Black Company was guarding the gatehouse, it either means that the military was involved in some way, or they were paid to be there. I doubt it’s the former.” Tristan kept walking out of the alley and onto another main road, turning to head up the upper districts.

Felicity pondered aloud, “Hmmm…Interesting…Perhaps…”

“What?” Tristan asked.

“Just trying to sound profound,” she said with a giggle. “I don’t know anything about this stuff. Where should we start figuring things out?” She lowered her voice even more, and it took on a sinister tone, “What if your sister was involved? Until you rule her out, you shouldn’t visit her.”

If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

That suggestion struck Tristan like a bolt of lightning. Any one of his living family – save for his grandfather, since there was no way the man would have killed his mother – could have taken from the family’s vault and then killed off everyone to keep them quiet. And the more he thought on it, the more various reasons he could come up with.

Father might have paid for The Black Company to kill mother so her could remarry. Bertram always wanted all the gear in the vault, but grandfather said no. Gisele might have used the family’s treasury to secure her spot among the nobility by paying her own dowry.

“You could be right,” he muttered. He could feel his blood boiling at the idea that his mother was killed for greed, or, more likely in his mind, by his bastard of a father.

Felicity patted his cheek, “Calm down. We’ll figure out who is behind it. And we can get revenge!” She extended a claw-paw in front of his face and revealed a wickedly sharp talon. “Or we could just bring them to the authorities. But I think it would be more fun to just ruin their life with a series of harmful pranks.”

He absentmindedly reached a hand up and ran it along Felicity’s tail hanging over his left shoulder. “The best way to find out more information is to get a divination spell from an essence-weaver.”

“The Matriarch can do those! But, sadly, divination is limited to the Realm the person is in when the spell is used.” She tapped his chin, “Keep that chin up! We’ll figure something out! I’m sure there are loads of mages here. It’s a big city!”

Tristan checked his coin pouch once more. Three gold pieces, he thought. Maybe enough to get a general sense of direction…but it would have to be from someone who could be discrete. I’ll have to share details…or…He pulled the choker his mother was wearing out of his pocket. They could look into the past of this and see what happened. He knew a bit about divination spells, as his father had lost something at court and paid a mage to help him find it; dragging the kids along with him so they’d learn how a noble deals with their problems. They can check the history of the choker and give me an idea of who was involved.

He set a course for an unfamiliar to him but well-known part of Bhant’s Holdfast. The Towers. A neighborhood of spiraling buildings that ascended into the skies. The first floors were often shops for magical wares, goods, and services. The upper levels of the spires were devoted to study, research, and gods-knows what else.

The streets were full of people going to or from destinations. And almost all of them were well-dressed in pants, shirts, and cloaks of shimmering colors denoting their place at the upper crust of society. Those who could use spells of the lower Orders; mages and sorcerers, were the equivalent of lesser nobility – the same level as Tristan’s family. Those who could use higher Orders; wizards and archons were the equivalent of upper nobility.

And they behaved like they were better, too. Tristan’s cloak was some dull, brown cloth that stood out as being inappropriate to the environment, but he dared not take it off as his family’s suits of armor made them stand out and identified them immediately to these more upper-class folk: the dull, white armor with the black filigree was a clear indicator of that much.

“There are so many spells going on!” Felicity squealed out with delight as her head dashed side to side. “I can see so many!”

“Yeah, there are a lot,” Tristan replied as he, too, saw the air thick with the haze that signified magic was present or spells were in the process of being used or already had been used, and the effects were just lingering. Then there were the more overt displays of essence-weaving, where color bursts of flame, floating strands of water, and scented, colored winds blew past.

Tristan made his way towards a building with a glass orb hanging from a sign that said DIVINER scrawled in a glowing, green paint. He entered and heard a small bell chime. The entryway was filled with frosty, glass orbs set into padded sockets on shelves, and there were couches covered with green cloth. The room was illuminated by a floating, orange orb from above, and Tristan sat down as he waited for someone to answer the bell.

Further into the building was a counter with a section that could be raised up, and from a back room, an elderly Human woman came out. She was dressed in fine, silk robes of deep, forest green with a cloak of light yellow. “Ah, a customer. From the lower districts.” Her voice became more disappointed as she tapped her long, well-manicured fingernail on the countertop.

Tristan got up and approached the counter, pulling out his coin pouch and placing all his remaining money on the counter, “I need a divination to find some answers.” I still have the silver, electrum, and copper in Felicity’s extradimensional storage. But hopefully three gold pieces is enough.

She leaned forward on the countertop, “One gold piece for a divination. For that, you get everything I experience during the spell.” She pulled one piece from the small stack. “And, if you want me to not tell anyone what we discover, as I am such a gossip once I’m into my cups-” she pulled the second coin into her palm. “If you want to watch what I discover with your own eyes-” she took the last coin from the countertop.

Tristan nodded and pulled out the choker. “The woman wearing this was murdered.” He placed it on the countertop. “I need to know everything you can about the circumstances of her death. Especially who was there.”

The woman nodded and lifted the countertop’s hinged section, “Please, come back to my divining chamber since you paid for the premium service. Be aware, you paid for a Third Order spell. That means we will only see about ten minutes of the time surrounding the events you describe.”

Tristan followed her back to the room behind the counter and saw a series of couches arrayed in a circle, with a spiral staircase ascending further up at the very back recesses of the chamber. In the center of the circle of couches was a comfortable chair set up before a massive, crystal orb. It appeared to be fully empty, and the diviner sat down in front of the sphere, gesturing to a couch. Taking a seat, Tristan leaned forward. Oh, Demon’s Tongue. Interesting.

Her eyes closed and she incanted a phrase as she clasped her hands over the orb, “Révélez-moi les événements qui ont entouré cet objet. Montrez-moi dans cet orbe un souvenir du passé.” (Reveal to me the events surrounding this object. Show me within this orb a recollection of the past). She set the choker on the orb, and it went through the crystal sphere before floating as if in liquid to the center.

The entire sphere surface went opaque white and Tristan sucked in a slight gasp of air as he saw his mother, sitting in her chair, reading a book. It was as if he was in the ceiling, looking down from above. The diviner spoke softly, “I can move forward in time from this. We’ll stop when we see something noteworthy, and I can slow it down. But we must be quick; this spell is Third Order, and somewhat essence intensive.”

She placed her right hand on the orb and began to turn it, and Tristan saw the image speed up from its frozen-in-time status. The wind was blowing in through the open window, and his mother was gently rocking back and forth as she flipped pages. She was talking to herself as she read – a habit she had always had – and hearing her voice made Tristan immediately tear up. Focus, he thought as he wiped the tears away.

There was a slight blur of activity, and the diviner slowed down the time until everything was moving in slow-motion. Tristan saw a shadow cross the doorway, and his mother had not moved. They got inside and she was the first to die – there’s no way she would have just sat there idly while the servants were slaughtered. So she was the target.

A figure in dark-grey traveler’s gear approached silently from behind, and Tristan forced himself to watch as he walked up behind his mother, gripped her forehead with one hand, and cut into her throat with the knife held in the other. “Felicity,” he whispered. “Memorize every detail.”

“Already on it,” she whispered back.

Tristan saw his mother bleed out within seconds, and the figure held her still until she stopped moving. As he turned to leave, his cloak flared up slightly from the motion, and he made out the edges of a symbol. “Stop it there!”

The diviner did so, and Tristan committed the portion of the symbol to memory. A bronze-colored spike protruding from what looks like the edge of a flower petal of some type. “Okay, slowly move it forward, please.”

The diviner did so, and Tristan was not able to make out any more features about the person. “Okay, can you reverse it back to when this assassin first entered the room?” Once more, the diviner did as she was asked, and Tristan looked at the person, taking in their height compared to the door frame he knew so well, as his mother had measured him using that same frame as he grew up. It was definitely a male assassin, judging from the muscles under their clothing. But everything was nondescript and could be found in any marketplace or clothier.

Except that emblem, and that dagger. He’d never seen a dagger like that before, and as he was looking at it, the spell fizzled. The diviner sucked in a breath of air and frowned as she leaned back, “That was a violent end. My condolences. Although…investigating the death of an Elf?”

Tristan looked at the diviner, “Thank you. The choker?”

The diviner nodded and leaned forward, rapping her knuckle against the orb. The choker floated up to the surface, as if it was being hoisted aloft by a small string, before it emerged from the solid sphere. She picked up the item and got up, walking it over to him. “I trust you saw what you needed?”

Tristan nodded and stood up, “Thank you. How much would it be to have you divine something from within another divination? Like that dagger?”

“Cannot be done, I am afraid. I need intimate knowledge.” She pointed at the choker, “This counts, since it is from the scene of the crime. If I had the knife I could tell you about who made it, where it was from, whose hands it was in…but without the item? The spell required to just ‘ask’ the tapestry of the world’s knowledge would be above the Tenth Order.” She smiled ruefully, “And I do not have the bloodline appropriate to that, nor nearly enough essence capacity.” She tutted, “Tsk. Sorry. Most rabble don’t know what all that means. Suffice to say, I can’t do that.”

“It would be expensive, correct?”

“Oh, very. You’d have to go to my mentor.” She gestured to the shop front, “I can point out his tower, if you’d like. Just make sure you tell him that Frieda sent you.” Tristan nodded and when he got to the front door he held it open as the woman thanked him, stepped outside, and pointed at a huge, broad-based tower. “That is his divination academy. He teaches classes in the mornings and afternoon, but evenings he has appointments.”

“Any idea about price?”

She chuckled, “Lad, you’d better have a whole heap of gold coins for that type of spell.” She went back inside, and Tristan let the door shut.

Felicity tapped his chin to get his attention as she whispered, “We got some information at least. Male, a little taller than you, a bit more muscular but with skimpier legs, the unique dagger he used, and some of that flower-like symbol.”

Tristan nodded, “Let’s find a place where I can channel essence without drawing attention. We need money for this higher divination, and these…clearcool elixirs, as you called them? Those sound like they might be our ticket to that.”