“Are you insane?!” Felicity shouted at him so loud it made his ears ring.

“No, I’m not,” Tristan replied as he began the ascent to Highreach. “The events at The Towers are going to take some time to filter their way up to the higher ranked nobility. I will return the king’s scepter, show him the corpse of the fairy dragon, and explain the situation. Once I show him the assassin’s cloak and dagger, he can call up a diviner to clear me of the crime.”

“That…sounds kind of smart,” She replied. “But I don’t want to risk being seen. So let’s do this. Duck into an alley.”

Tristan did so, and Felicity extricated herself from his armor. “Now what?”

“Take off that burlap coat.” She opened her extradimensional storage space while Tristan did so, and she put the cloak, the dagger, the fairy dragon corpse which began to smell like rotten meat; all inside of the burlap cloak. Wrapping it up, she handed it to him. “There. Now, give me all your valuables to put in.”

“Why?”

“Just in case. Worst case scenario, they arrest you, put you in the dungeons, and I come to break you out. You don’t want your family’s armor and weapon to be confiscated, do you?”

“No…I suppose that’s true.” Tristan divested himself of his armor, his weapon; everything except the burlap bundle and his family’s seal of nobility. Felicity sealed it all inside the extradimensional storage space.

“Right. I’ll stay high up, and keep tabs on you from above, through windows, and be super-secret and sneaky. You do your thing, and if it bites you in the ass like I think it will, then I’ll bust you out of prison.”

Tristan set the bundle down, reached out, and hugged Felicity. “Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that. Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me yet! Now, come on. Get moving. You gotta get ahead of this murder news.” Felicity took off flying high up into the sky.

Tristan grabbed the bundle, made sure to hang his family seal on the outside of his jerkin, and repeated his Disguise Form spell once more; taking on the appearance he had before chasing Felicity into the Fey Realm. His half-breed heritage on full display. This earned him some looks of disgust from the surrounding citizenry, but either due to the bundle he carried and the accompanying stench, or his symbol of nobility – none approached him.

He got to the edge of Highreach where an inner wall was set up higher on the hill the city was established upon. Here, he was stopped by guards. But, holding up his symbol, he simply stated; “I am Tristan Anorox. The king sent me to slay a fairy dragon who stole his scepter.” He pulled out the scepter – a royal symbol of office – and the guards let him pass…with an escort.

He was escorted through the noble district, receiving various looks of apprehension and revulsion; and this time he knew for sure it was not because of the smell, but because of his half-breed traits from his current disguised form.

The Blackspire, an enormous citadel, dominated this noble district. The huge building was gothic and dark, with intimidating spikes and awe-inspiring, sweeping supports that made it appear as if the whole citadel was some enormous, winged creature from the Demon Realm where the first king came from. Ironic, he thought. That the current king sitting the throne is half-breed himself…just so far removed that his traits don’t manifest.

That was one foible of the people around him that Tristan could not stand. That every person there was half-breed in some capacity far, far down their lineage. They just never had traits manifest, and so they were treated as Human. The same went for most essence-weavers who were Human – their other half was so far removed that it practically did not exist.

But the irony was that Tristan was discriminated against despite being the exact same thing as many of those surrounding him. Just having the traits expressed.

He was led up the main stairs, into the central corridor, and handed off to the king’s guard; who were wearing bright, golden-leaf-encrusted armor with crimson inscriptions. They led him towards the audience chamber, and Tristan straightened his clothing – feeling slightly naked without his armor – before putting on a neutral expression.

The master of ceremonies tapped his staff on the ground, “The third son Fawkes Anorax, Tristan, has returned from his multiple-year quest. Your highness, he has the scepter you charged him with retrieving.”

Tristan took the cue to enter the chamber. The throne room was not heavily occupied – which made sense, as this was late into the evening. The king was sitting on his throne. King Arinclex VIII. A man of twenty-eight years of age. His build was slim but wiry, his black hair hanging at a medium length, only held back by the crown of black metal upon his head. The crown was studded with rubies, and those colored gems matched his eyes; red upon black. The king stood up and gestured for Tristan to approach.

Tristan did so, coming to a specific point forty feet away – as far as a minor noble should approach – and knelt. “My king. I, Tristan Anorox, of the Anorox minor house, have completed the quest you set out for me.” He set down the bundle, pulled out the very slimy fairy dragon corpse, and then re-wrapped the bundle before standing with the scepter in hand. “Here is the proof. I apologize for the state of the corpse; as you well know, this quest took me two long years. But, finally, I tracked down the tricky creature, and have recovered what is rightfully yours.”

The monarch gestured for Tristan to approach, and he did so. The monarch descended the dais, and his guards began to move forward but he waved them away. “Tristan Anorox. What happened to your armor, dear boy?”

“I had to part ways with it,” Tristan replied. “The same with my ancestral blade. Anything to complete the quest you laid out before me, my liege.” Tristan once more bowed at the waist.

Arinclex smiled and clapped his hands, “Stand up. I thank you for your service.” Tristan did so, and the monarch extended a hand. Tristan held the scepter out sideways, and the monarch took hold of it, rotating it in his grip before setting the pointed end on the ground, gripping the curved top. “I know the journey was long, but a fairy dragon taking two years to hunt down…well, that is just not very reflective of good training, is it?”

Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

The small array of nobles snickered and sneered, but Tristan shrugged off the looks and reactions. “They can turn invisible and change into different forms, your highness. I am lucky it only took me two years to track it down and slay it.”

“Hmm.” The monarch gestured for Tristan to kneel, and held out the scepter as he did so. “Tristan Anorox, for your service to the kingdom, and the revenge you sought on the creature that humiliated us, we thank you. Your family already are counted as minor nobility, and as such I have no reward to give befitting your station. A knighthood would not be appropriate.”

Tristan kept his head bowed, and nodded. “My liege. You should know that my mother-”

“The Elf?”

Tristan gulped and nodded, “She was slain by assassins. As was every person at the Anorox estate outside of Bhant’s Holdfast.” This elicited some gasps and chatter from the arrayed nobles, but Tristan pressed on despite the tears he felt building up as he relived the memories – if only for a brief moment – of his discovery of the manor’s inhabitants. “I entered the city covertly, as I feared for my life, and visited a diviner of renown to help identify the culprit. But, those same assassins came upon the two of us, slaying him and attempting to take my life.”

A slight subversion of the truth, Tristan thought. But necessary. I bet the assassin was tracking me and the diviner posed a threat. Tristan unfurled the burlap cloak and revealed the cloak and dagger. “These were the property of the assassins, my liege. I beseech you, have your court Archon, the famous Grimtome, examine these with divination to see the truth of my statements.”

The king returned to his throne and gestured to a man wearing fancy dress robes with silver and crimson inlay. “Archon, would you be so kind?”

Grimtome, a middle-aged Human with salt-and-pepper hair, a short, well-trimmed moustache, and heterochromia – one eye black and red, the other gold and blue – walked forward. He picked up the two items while Tristan remained kneeling, and he returned to the dais. Tristan tried to hear what he was incanting, but the spell was in a language he was unfamiliar with, Heaven’s Voice. Right, because he’s Angelblood and Demonkin.

“Alziende ogen boven, Logos die alle kennis beschermt, onthul mij de waarheid van wat deze objecten bevatten. Het verhaal dat het vertelt.”

The Archon’s eyes glazed over a frost white, and he turned to the monarch and nodded, “Tristan Anorox is not guilty of any crimes, my liege, save for running from the scene of a murder. But…given the situation, I do not see any other choice. He acted wisely with the information he had.”

The Archon’s eyes glazed over once more, and he looked to the Monarch with confusion and concern, “My liege…I can only see the ten minutes or so of the user’s life…that should not be possible. I used a spell of the Twelfth Order. Which means that whoever these assassins are…they are virtually unknown. To anyone.”

The monarch tented his hands and gestured for Tristan to stand and approach, holding up his palm as the young man reached the foot of the dais. “Tristan Anorox, I hereby-”

The king was interrupted as the far doors slammed open, and members of soldiery entered, bowed, and one approached. “My liege! You have an assassin in front of you-”

The king waved him away, “Hold on, you.” He leaned over to the Archon, and Tristan, thanks to his improved hearing and being closer, could hear the exchange between the king and his adviser.

“The young noble is not lying, my liege, about the death of the diviner that this soldier is here to report,” Grimtome whispered.

“And how, Grimtome, do you know of a murder that surely happened mere hours ago?” the king asked.

The Archon frowned, “The dagger showed the murder, my lord. This Tristan slew the assassin. It makes sense that Tristan here was trying to solve his mother’s murder and went right to the most effective means to do so. You know how nobles are, always going to diviners to solve the smallest of issues.”

“Yes, yes. Do go on.”

“Clear Tristan’s name,” Grimtome said as he eyed Tristan with a sidelong glance. “He is blameless in this. Wrong place, wrong time.”

The king nodded and sat up straighter, “Soldiers, you are dismissed. I, King Arinclex VIII, do declare that Tristan Anorax is blameless in any crimes related to The Towers in the past day. Furthermore, we award him for his completion of my quest he set out upon two years ago.”

The king beckoned Tristan forward, up the dais – which was not normal. “Young Anorax, I would ask that you accept my invitation to stay here in the citadel as my honored guest.” He turned to the Archon, and whispered to him, “Make sure you talk to him right after he bathes.”

“Of course, my liege.”

Tristan bowed deeply, “I am humbled by the offer, my king. I of course accept your royal hospitality.”

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

Tristan was led away from the throne room and he let out a huge sigh of relief. He got some dirty looks from the soldiers who had lingered in the hallway, but they cleared out to return to their duties soon enough. Tristan was led through to the guest quarters and provided two servants to tend to his needs.

He was shown to a luxurious bathing room, and he made sure to open the window as he ensured the door was locked, took off his clothing, let the Disguise Form spell fade, and sank into the warm waters.

Felicity flew in through the window and perched on the edge of the tub, lazily dragging her tail through the water. “Color me surprised,” she said as he scales and fur shifted to a bright, almost eye-piercing yellow. It shifted back a second later. “He did not imprison you.”

“Yes, but his Archon is going to come talk to me after this bath. He was the only essence-weaver present that I know of, so for all I know, he saw through my illusion perfectly.”

Felicity nodded and jumped into the bath, swimming around with little doggy-paddle type strokes. “Well, I’ll just stay hidden. And don’t forget to re-do your disguise, with the new clothing you’ll be wearing!”

“Good point,” Tristan replied as he looked at the pile of clothes on the floor. “Well…don’t let me hold you back.”

“Hmm?”

“Go ahead, do your mischief. Just don’t get caught. But, get spotted.”

Felicity paused her movement in the water, sinking slightly before getting out of the tub and shaking herself dry. Her rainbow-hue eyes stared into his. “Why?”

“Three reasons,” Tristan said as he held up his finger. “First, I know you’ve been craving some mischief.” He lifted a second finger, “Second, you have been very patient with me keeping you ‘on a leash’ as it were and not causing chaos; you deserve a little treat.” He raised a third finger, “And third, if you do get spotted, then I might be sent on another fairy dragon hunt. Which means that I would not have any responsibilities of nobility thrust upon me – which could certainly happen since grandfather and father are out hunting dragons, and my half-siblings are both otherwise engaged.”

“Oh! And, because you already established in that court room finding me is really difficult! I can read lips, by the way, and was looking in the windows.”

“Precisely,” Tristan replied. “It gives me carte-blanche to go anywhere to ‘hunt’ you down,” he said with air quotes. “I won’t have any responsibilities as a noble, but all the privileges my rank gives me. And, if I get questioned about how long it is taking, I can point to the fact that it took me two years to hunt down a fairy dragon the last time.”

“Okay! I’m going to head out then. Time to steal some stuff and dump a chamber pot on the king’s head!”

“Not that!” Tristan said rapidly. “No, don’t do anything to the king. Please.”

“Oh, all right. I’ll just steal something from the royal treasury then.”

Tristan’s face froze for a moment in shock. “What?”

“Oh, yeah. I’ve been in it twice before. Lots of fancy stuff. Mostly artwork which is b-o-r-i-n-g.”

“Well…okay, I guess.” Tristan didn’t know how to feel about his underling/partner stealing objects of value – but if they were just taking up space in a vault? Especially if it was something small? “Just make sure its small stuff that can easily be overlooked.”

“Right!” She lifted up and flew out the window.

Tristan sank down into the tub and sighed as he let his head dip under the water.