Before opening the ship's front door and stepping outside, Adam went over his plans one last time. Each member of his group was set to leave the ship at differing intervals – 'escorted' by Puppets 'for their own safety.'

Ferrero and I will go first, the Painter thought. The implication was unspoken yet loud. Slaying the Ghost of Waters had earned him the Grandmaster's gratitude, but it had also earned his caution. While being escorted alone by the Puppet Duelist was a safety measure...it wasn't one meant for Adam.

Then again, considering how Ferrero behaves, I can't help but question the wisdom behind that decision. Standing beside him, the Duelist was hopping back and forth as if warming up in anticipation of returning to his homeland. Maybe the Grandmaster didn't have a choice in the matter.

After Adam and Ferrero, Solara would be escorted by Valeria, the Puppet Detective. Tenver would come next, leaving with Serena, the enigmatic Master of Communications.

Out of the Puppet trio, Serana puzzled Adam the most. She hadn't stood out much during their confrontation with the Ghost, mostly waiting behind the front lines. She'd even kept the majority of her face cloaked and hidden from view.

Her justification for her attire was that the cloth concealed horrible burn marks. Adam had confirmed as much later, leading him to suspect that her injuries were related to the Rot. Perhaps others would have been unnerved by that connection, but it wasn't what gave him pause.

Rather...

She was just so calm. Adam frowned as he recalled Serana's countenance back then. A Ghost was attacking, the ship was aflame – yet she'd stood serenely as if none of it concerned her. Why? What if–

"Come on!" Ferrero called out, his hops intensifying. "Shall we raise the curtains, oh Lord of Paint? I cannot wait to show you around my city!"

Adam relaxed into a smile. "Fine, fine. Let's get going, you impatient fella." With an exaggerated flourish, he pushed at the ship's front entrance.

Surprise overtook him before the door had even finished swinging open.

Adam had figured that the Puppet Mines would be like something of an underground prison – damp, dark, and cramped, with small caverns illuminated by faint torchlight. The little he could make out from the ship's foggy windows had matched that expectation.

Now, with his own eyes, he saw it as it was: less of a coffin and more of a subterranean world. Underwater caverns weren't meant to be this wide. The waters leading to the docks were so vast that, if not for the stone rock walls and sharp stalactites hanging on the ceiling, it wouldn't have looked all that different from a regular oceanfront city.

In fact...add in some thick fog, and I wouldn't be able to tell where we were.

There was something distinctly macabre about the place – about how close it felt to the surface while still being ever so slightly wrong, how cold, jagged stone took the role of the muddy ground beyond the wooden pier, how the moisture gathered on the ceiling and fell down in slow, acidic droplets like a cursed version of rain...

Yet it was all the more beautiful for it. Each wrong element, each odd inclusion...they all added up to paint a beautiful picture of muted colors, combining into a brighter hue than the eye could see.

The very image of a people who survived despite the world itself wishing otherwise.

Though I doubt the Puppets forced to live here would describe it so favourably, Adam conceded. While he could see the beauty in it, he knew in his heart that his eyes beheld the romantic illusion of a stranger. I wonder how Ferrero sees the Mines, having been 'born' here. Or how Tenver does, for that matter, since he only comes for maintenance of his arm.

Maybe the Prince's perspective wasn't too different from Adam's own. He too would have heard the tales and confirmed some of them to be true. Just as the Penumbria archives suggested, the Puppet Mines were indeed a set of low, interconnected, underwater caves. It had required a specialized ship to dive deep enough until they could resurface at what they called the Docks.

Though Adam didn't think that name was accurate, given their location – he didn't think it inaccurate either, given its appearance.

A series of wooden planks had created a narrow pathway between the ship and the pier, looking just enough like a regular city's docking area to emit a sort of dissonant eeriness. The wood was the same, the smell of salt water not too different, yet the 'land' they walked toward was made of pure rock.

Of course, none of that compared to the sensation Adam felt when he peered up and found his vision obstructed. The eternal blue of the sky had been replaced by a dark, rocky ceiling. A tall ceiling, to be sure, tall enough their ship ran no risk of hitting it – but not so tall that Adam couldn't imagine another vessel suffering that issue. Everywhere he looked was solid stone; a stark reminder of where they stood.

An underwater cavern...where the last Puppets are hiding from the Emperor.

It also didn't escape his attention how bright everything was despite the lack of sunlight. There were no torches or other apparent sources of light, yet the place felt wholly and evenly illuminated, almost ethereally so. Where are the lights hiding?

Perhaps in the same location where every other living person seemed to be. The docks could've comfortably fit four other large ships, yet Adam's vessel stood alone. Stranger still, despite the rocky composition of the 'land,' the area was laid out like you'd expect from an area where goods were imported to a City by the ocean: filled with barrels, damp wooden stands, and makeshift trading stores.

All of those stands were empty – collecting dust, even!

"We appear to have scared everyone off," Adam dryly noted. He didn't include the two dozen armored soldiers at the end of the pier, forming a pike formation with pointed spears.

"Aye, my lord." Ferrero stepped off the ship and over to Adam's side, then stretched his arms above his head. He drew a long breath that ended in a wide smile. "Ah, traveling the world is fantastic – nothing quite like it. But there's nothing quite like home either."

He shook his head, still grinning. "Be not insulted by the lack of people. We don't receive much trade from the outside world these days. The place is usually empty regardless."

The Ghosts were partially to blame, and the illegality of trading with Puppets bore the other half of the guilt. Few ships knew of the Mines, fewer dared to smuggle goods into it, and only one hadn't been a victim of the hauntings.

And Adam had commandeered that very ship after executing its captain for treason.

The consequences weren't lost on him. The Grandmaster can bark if he wants, threaten me if he must – the Mines need my ship. He'll have to see me eventually. They need me to survive, don't they?

"How does food get in here then?" Adam started stepping toward the armored soldiers with his chin raised high and chest puffed out. Tenver's words rang in his head – be a lord. "I don't imagine you can grow food easily."

"Thanks to the Grandmaster, we can." Ferrero matched Adam's pace. "But importing goods is still rather useful. Anyone would grow tired of eating the same thing over and over again, yes?"

"Yeah, of course," Adam offhandedly replied. So they can somehow grow crops here ...but only a limited sort. Or they just want more meat. Hard to tell. "Puppets need food, then? If you don't mind me asking."

Ferrero nodded. "We won't die without it, but we'll...shut down?" He hesitated at the term, searching for another. "Think of marionettes whose strings were cut – until we are fed again, upon which we regain our own strings."

As if afraid he'd just insulted himself, he added, "Of course, we are the ones guiding our own bodies. Our cores direct those strings. Which is fairly normal, actually, and not too unlike how a normal human brain would work," the Duelist added in a hurry.

The cores he spoke of housed their souls. Adam had witnessed the...surprising extent to which Puppets could effortlessly stay alive – so long as their core was unharmed – when Tenver lost his head during their fight with the Ghost. As his artificial arm remained intact, the knight had lived to fight another day.

Adam could see why Ferrero feared he'd take this information negatively. Especially since most people spoke of Puppets as bedtime stories to scare children with. At best.

"Sounds like a better deal than what humans get," he assured. "We'd just die instead of...hibernating. I'm almost jealous, really."

The Duelist chuckled in relief. "If that thought ever gets past the point of flattery and into the land of truthfulness, remember that it's always an option, my lord."

Adam stopped walking.

"Lord of Painting?" Ferrero called out hesitantly. "Did I offend you?"

"No, no. On the contrary, I just...hadn't considered that."

Truthfully, there were few downsides to becoming a Puppet. Adam would become physically stronger, his body reinforced by their strange technology, more durable than before. He would also be harder to kill, as his life would be condensed into a magical core, able to be hidden anywhere on his body.

Furthermore, it would likely make the Grandmaster more amenable. He'd certainly be more receptive to a Puppet King than a Human one. Stronger body, easier negotiations...

The prospect was incredibly tempting.

"I can't," Adam said, as he heaved a heavy sigh. "I would love to...but I can't."

"Why not?" Ferrero lifted a single eyebrow, his voice tensing. "You think something about the outcome to be undesirable?"

"Not to me," Adam grunted. "To Puppets – to the Mines as a whole."

Ferrero maintained his raised eyebrow, now adding a tilted head to the mix. "I'm sorry?"

"The Empire isn't fond of Puppets – and I'm not just talking about the guy sitting on the throne. There are lots of people who would kneel and beg before the worst of human cruelty, yet perish in agony before accepting a Puppet's kindness."

Adam frowned. "An alliance between two Puppet Rulers would give the Mines less negotiating power than an alliance between a human and a Puppet. If I'm human, I can gradually shape Penumbria into a haven for Puppets, slowly guide my people into not trying to burn you guys at the stake...but if they suddenly found themselves taken over by a Puppet Lord? Not so much."

He shook his head bitterly. "Advantageous as it might be, I'll have to decline for now."

Ferrero straightened his neck and stretched the corners of his mouth. "You are a good man, Lord of Ink."

New name! I'll take it. "I'm not. Just a boring, practical one."

"I'd take that over my stubborn Grandmaster, quite frankly. You wouldn't think an old man would be so hot-blooded. He should retire soon, if you ask me–"

"FERRERO!"

One of the guards pointed a spear to his neck. "YOU DARE BLASPHEME AS SOON AS YOU SET FOOT UPON THE MINES?!"

They'd reached the end of the long walkway to the pier. Evidently, the men nearby had overheard the last part of their conversation. Adam tensed slightly, reflexively reaching for the Stained Ink inside of his veins before thinking better of it – Puppets could sense the Rot.

Still smirking, Ferrero lazily pushed the pointed edge away from his face. "Ah, Derren! It's good to see you again. Pray tell, your children – are they still interested in dueling?"

"By the authority of the Grandmaster of the Puppet Kingdom, I declare you–"

Ferrero held up a flat hand. "TRIAL–BY–COMBAT!" he shouted, in the same hurried, barely-intelligible tone a child would've used to yell 'safe!' while playing baseball with friends. "I'll report to the Workshop for my duel first thing in the morning." he cheerfully said. "But first, allow me to introduce my friend to the Mines. Or would you have us show no hospitality to our first human guest in ages?"

The dozens of sharp steel blades glaring at Adam's neck from multiple directions said they would. Yet Ferrero, ever the fencer, wasn't fluent in the language of spears. "Splendid! I'll see you tomorrow then."

Though the soldiers' spears did not pierce the duo as they walked past, the same couldn't be said of the fiery gazes aimed at their backs. Adam felt compelled to apologize for Ferrero, despite the fact the Duelist was one of theirs and the Painter was the supposed invader.

I swear, it's like they hate him more than me. Which was a hard sell, but...well. Could be true.

Ferrero moved through the twisting tunnels like a bard in a familiar inn, his steps precise, his manner casual. A faint glow of veins threaded through the stone like captured moonlight. The air buzzed faintly, alive with an ancient energy.

"These tunnels sing to me," he said softly, his tone rich with unspoken pride. Adam followed, uneasy, as though stepping into another's personal sanctuary.

But the Duelist rejected sacredness and invited him to call it mundane.

"Can you see at all through the darkness?" Ferrero asked. "We have some of the Glow set here for newcomers, but very little compared to the living areas."

"No," Adam whispered – only for his voice to echo much louder afterwards. Is the Glow whatever's illuminating this? "I can make out some general details. Like when you're alone in your room at night, and your eyes adjust...but that's it. Can you see more than that?"

"Aye. While we Puppets have lost much to the dark, vision is not one of those things, bless our luck. We can see in darkness nearly as well as in the light. "

Like cats? "I imagine that makes the Mines far more defensible."

"Quite so," Ferrero proudly stated.

Adam thought it through. "The Imperial Army would have a hard time getting to the Mines to begin with. And even if they did...they would get slaughtered in these tunnels. You can't fight if you can't see."

"Oh?" The Duelist let out a sound of soft confusion that hummed through the moist cave. "I suppose that's true."

The Painter's eyes narrowed in the dark. "What were you thinking of, if not that?"

"Isn't it obvious?" Ferrero laughed. "These tunnels are narrow. The Empire's army would have to advance one at a time – and I would be here."

I respect the confidence, but I don't think you could stop an army by yourself. "I suppose you would be." Adam didn't have to try hard to sound amused. "Are you taking me to the Grandmaster?"

"To his Workshop, eventually. But that's the most I can do. Taking you to meet him is beyond me."

"That's fine," Adam muttered. "I'll make him see me somehow."

The Mines loomed around them, its jagged walls slick with moisture. Each step seemed louder than it should have, echoing briefly before fading into the suffocating stillness. The air was heavy with salt and damp, carrying a metallic bite of rusted chains long since discarded. Veins of faint light pulsed in the stone, uncanny and untrustworthy, as if the cave itself watched and waited.

"Where are we going first, then?" Adam asked, his voice more steady than his nerves. Stay calm. Need to learn as much about this place as I can. "Before you take me to the Grandmaster, I mean."

"I'll tour you around our city for a bit. The tavern, the theater, the park – there's much to show!"

"Sounds fantastic." I hope Solara isn't having a tough time right now, he thought, especially considering her history with Puppets. Maybe I should...

Eh, it's fine. I'm sure she understands why we have to do things this way.

–

Solara was pissed.

Adam knew how much Puppets unnerved her, yet he still went out of his way to leave her alone with them. Sure, speaking with the Grandmaster was more important – she wouldn't argue against that. But would it have killed him to at least try to argue for her presence there? At least appear like you give a shit, fucking Painter. If he kept acting like this, it would make her plans of projecting her importance via association that much harder.

And, well, she also didn't want to be left alone with Tenver.

I can either leave escorted by the Detective or stay behind with him. What the hell does Adam think I'm going to pick?

Not that she was sorry about the things she'd said, but, maybe she wouldn't have said them in front of the man if he'd bothered to let her know he was a Puppet. And...it was his fault anyhow.

Nevertheless, it was only proper to express her regret at her choice of words. If she was feeling charitable, she could even acknowledge – with some degree of honesty – that maybe she'd started to feel differently after this trip.

With even more honesty, Solara could admit to Tenver that she'd screwed up, and was regretting much of what she had said and done.

That's going to be awkward, though. I don't want to do it. She had to. Not one bit. She still had to. Ah, burn it all to the blue hell! All of it! Every single–

"Lady Solara," Valeria said, with a bow. "I fear our disagreements aboard the ship seem rather meaningless now. Would you allow me to show you around as an apology?"

This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

There was some edge to her tone, but Solara could detect no malice in it. She glanced at the Detective, then at the rest of the group – which included Tenver – and quickly thought over everything she knew.

I wouldn't have gotten along with this one even if she wasn't a Puppet. That she was a Puppet had only made things more tense between them. They'd both been open with their distaste of the other's kind, and Solara wasn't convinced that the Detective wouldn't try to kill her the first chance she got.

Tenver and I have had...disagreements, yes, but he seems loyal to Adam, and he hasn't really done anything wrong aside from being born. Valeria has been shady from the moment we met.

Going alone with the Detective means potentially being murdered in a dark, underwater cavern that I know nothing about, and where my body would never be found. It is tantamount to suicide. In contrast, staying behind with Tenver just means an awkward conversation and an even more awkward apology.

"I'd be glad to go with you, Detective." Solara wasted little time following Valeria into the Mines, sparing no glance behind as she left.

The two of them smoothly passed by the spear-wielding guards at the pier. Solara got the uneasy impression that they turned their weapons away far too quickly, and could swear she'd noticed one of them sweat upon seeing Valeria. What the hell did she do before? was her first thought.

Huh. I couldn't even tell they weren't human, was her second.

She chose not to dwell on it too much. Devoting her full attention to following the Detective made for an excellent excuse.

"Don't try to lead me astray," Solara barked out. "I am the Heiress of Gama – murdering me would have consequences."

"And they would be most tragic, too!" Valeria said, in a grave tone. "Who else would amuse me the way you do?"

Solara's cheeks flushed. "Listen up you arrogant–"

Her complaint died as they exited the pier and entered a large tunnel presumably leading to the Puppets' city. For a moment, the elf felt as if she couldn't move at all, her body frozen in place. She felt a chill race down her spine as blue light touched her from head to toe.

Then the light faded, and the constricting feeling was gone. Valeria continued onward like nothing had happened. Solara could only follow, drawing upon every ounce of her noble upbringing so as to not lose composure.

To her surprise, the tunnel didn't lead to the Mines proper. Instead, a rather long and dark hallway stretched before them with seemingly no end in sight.

"Oh, my apologies. I forgot!" Valeria spoke with the glee of someone who hadn't, in fact, forgotten anything at all. "You can't see in the dark, can you? We illuminate the entrance for the sake of now-extinct traders, and brighten most inner caves for the sake of new Puppets who aren't used to it yet. The First Tunnel is different. It's kept dark – for the sake of defense, you see?"

"No, I don't!" Solara snapped back. "That's the problem!" More calmly, she asked, "The main hallway, you say? From what I've heard, the Mines are a network of tunnels."

"A labyrinth would be more accurate. The First Tunnel contains side doors leading into many other caves, most of which are large enough to fit several houses – not unlike a human city. The only thing connecting them all is the First Tunnel."

Valeria laughed, extending her hand. "You wouldn't want to get lost here. Hold my hand."

Solara looked at her hand hesitantly, then frowned. "I'll pass."

Within moments, she'd nearly tripped trying to keep up with the Detective. By the forest, neither her shoes nor her dress were meant for hiking, much less cave exploring. While she'd packed a few other sets of clothes, her hobbies had admittedly taken up most of the luggage space. "You can't be serious – what is wrong with this place?"

"The last person who refused a guide was found thirteen days later, malnourished and deformed due to the numerous people who stepped on him without realizing. Our shoes tend to be quite thick in the Mines, you understand. Despite my autopsy, I could not confirm whether they perished from the stomping or the hunger."

She laughed again, flicking her hand forward. "Are you certain you will decline?"

"Burn in hell, Puppet," Solara cried out, bringing her hand down to slap the other's away. This settled the matter–

Or so thought the Elf, until she noticed the Puppet's infuriating grin had not faded, clear and taunting even in that near-pitch black darkness. An eerie echo reverberated through the tunnel, seeming to pitch itself higher, then lower, then higher again, creating an otherworldly sound that made Solara feel ill.

Dragons burn me, but I have no idea where we came from anymore. When did we turn? Did we ever turn at all?

"Please, my dear Elf," the Detective insisted, her voice suave and irritating. "I'm sure you don't need my help...but entertain my request, if you will. Think of it as a favor to one of the inferior Puppets you despise so much."

"Understand this, you idiot. I don't hate you because you're a Puppet." Although admittedly, that didn't help. "I hate you because you're conceited, annoying, and actively trying to enrage me!"

She grabbed onto the Detective's palm anyway. Solara recalled how a stray cat had looked at her once: accepting the offer of warm milk, while at the same time gazing up with murderous intent. She did her best to instill her eyes with that same energy.

"Apologies if I hurt your delicate hand, Puppet," the elf added, tightening her grip. Upon remembering that this was the Detective's wooden limb, Solara felt guilty for the rudeness of what she'd said...and rather stupid for how solid the hand felt. It's made of wood, but it's like trying to crush a rock. "What are you trying to show me, exactly?"

Valeria's mechanical, Puppet hand squeezed back, pulling Solara along as if dancing. "Forgive me for not putting a hand on your hip – I would love to do so, but I am afraid I've yet to reattach my missing limb."

The very same arm that she'd lost during their battle with the Ghost of Waters. Whatever her faults were, the Detective had put her life on the line to solve that incident.

Well, I literally died, so she has no right to complain. Still, Solara hadn't expected that level of determination from someone without a Talent like Resurrection. "Why are you willing to go so far in order to solve–"

The Elf almost fell once more, and the Puppet had to swing her around to keep her upright. "Ah, my dear tree lover – your kind likes trees, yes? – I understand your frustration, but remember that I have but one arm. So long as you hold my hand, I cannot bring any harm to you."

Solara exhaled, begrudgingly accepting her logic. "Just walk already, Pup–"

She cut herself off. It probably wouldn't be wise to keep calling her 'Puppet' in the Mines. By now, Solara knew that she and the Detective had a sort of...agreement. There was an accepted and implied permission that they could be less appropriate with their choices of words towards one another. Other Puppets, however, might take offense to it.

It's time I started speaking properly, she thought. Remember that you represent Gama. Don't forget everything you've practiced.

Solara was not, would never be, and never wished she could be a proper noble. Her manners were too rough, too casual, and too honest. But she had worked very hard at faking it when representing her city.

And so, she forced a smile. "Most kind of you, Valeria, to show an outsider like me the sights of your land, so shrouded in legend. Gama will not forget this courtesy."

To her surprise, Valeria sighed with more annoyance than she'd expressed thus far. "It's not fun when you speak like that," she grunted. The Puppet then marched forward, dragging Solara by the hand with a softer grip than before.

The two marched in silence for several minutes, the all-enshrouding darkness their only companion. They must have walked for quite some time, as Solara felt her thighs protest – but not too long, for her legs did not give out entirely. The Puppet certainly would've said exactly how long it took if asked, but Solara was just as certain it wouldn't be worth giving her the satisfaction. Why, if she had her way, they'd–

"We're here," Valeria announced. She opened a door, bright lights shooting out into the First Tunnel. "Here lies the Eleventh Cave. It's the community I belong to. And...well, take a look."

Solara's eyes needed time to adjust to the light. While the Puppets hadn't replicated sunlight, there were a number of green stones placed upon tall wooden poles, evenly illuminating their surroundings and banishing any hints of darkness.

It was an especially impressive sight considering the sheer size of the area. The Eleventh Cave might not have been as tall as the entrance, but it was far wider, inhabited by many broad structures that took Solara a moment to identify.

Those are...houses. Valeria wasn't exaggerating when she'd compared it to a regular city street. There were a number of buildings around, and while Solara couldn't see precisely how many due to the curved nature of the cave, she was sure there were at least thirty houses just in her immediate field of vision.

They're so large, too. How many people can they hold?

Speaking of people – there were plenty of them around as well. Solara stared in wonderment at the crowded streets. She saw children at play, young men and women jogging, and older folk entertaining others with stories of their youth. It was all so...

Normal.

For some reason, the notion struck her like a bolt of lightning. If she hadn't known they were inside the Mines, she wouldn't have even contemplated the possibility that these people were Puppets. They looked just like anyone back home in Gama.

No, Solara thought with a frown. Not like Gama. But...what else could I be thinking of? This feels so familiar, so nostalgic. What's–

Suddenly, it dawned on her. The children, the men and women, the older folk...they were...their ears...

"They're elves," she muttered. "They're – they're all elves!"

"Puppets, my lady," Valeria politely corrected. "But they used to be elves. I suppose you could consider them both, if you wanted. Some do. The Eleventh Cave is populated by former elves."

"Former." Solara spoke the word slowly, letting herself process it. No...they are still elves, whatever you call them. "Were they taken here against their will?"

"No. Some came here in ships like Baltsar's, thinking the Mines were kinder to them than the Emperor. I'm sure that you of all people cannot blame them, Survivor of Greenisle."

Solara trembled at the thought. "The Dragons burn me if I ever blame my kind for anything they've done to protect themselves. Let them shower in sin, and I'll defend them as saints. This barely warrants mentioning on the list of things of what I'd herald them as blameless over. After Greenisle, I could not cast a stone upon anyone who..."

She paused. "Some. You said 'some' of them came here on ships like the Captain's. What of the others?"

"The others came here as corpses," Valeria stated. "A person's soul doesn't always leave their body immediately after death. In fact, it often takes a few days or weeks. Some of our archives indicate the longest record was nearly seventeen months, though that was well over a hundred years ago."

Numerous questions battled within Solara's mind for the right to be spoken aloud. In the midst of that turmoil, a new thought formed and snuck its way to her lips before the others could protest. "You said that this is the Eleventh Cave. Where former elves live."

"Yes."

"You also said...that this is your community." Solara widened her eyes. "Valeria, your ears—!"

The Detective laughed. "They look human enough. Or rather, they'd better. It cost me quite a bundle to have them done this way."

Solara's shock caught up before her understanding did. "Valeria, are you implying – are you saying that you're an elf?"

"Mayhap if you choose to view me that way. As I see it, the elf in me died fifteen years ago...and my job is to avenge her."

The Detective looked Solara dead in the eyes, dropping her voice lower. "Fifteen years. You understand what that implies, right? People are murdered every day, aye, yet..."

A mad idea came to her, and she could not stop it from leaving her mouth. "Greenisle?!" Solara cried out. "You were from Greenisle?!"

Valeria shrugged. "That's just the question, isn't it?" Her tone was calm and thoughtful. "I told you earlier that my memories of life before Puppetry are vague at best. See, my wounds matched the weapons used to butcher your – our kind. Spears from your very own City of Gama, my dear elf. But...don't you find that strange? That my corpse was brought from Greenisle all the way to the Mines?"

"How?" Solara demanded. "How did your body get moved here? I was with Father the entire time, no corpses were – they helped us bury our dead! Father even personally stood with his ships to ensure no Imperial troops came to desecrate their corpses for a month while the evacuation was being done!"

At that, the detective held up her arm, gesturing to the clear prosthetic. It brought forth a memory of something she'd mentioned before on Baltsar's ship.

"This is a replacement of my original arm," Valeria had said. "A thin layer of skin over simple wood, strung together into my nerves. It is the only real prosthetic we can manage on a living person. The rest of my body is not too dissimilar from your own, my lady elf. However, the method that gave me my new body only works when a Puppet is first reborn, so I cannot bet my arm again."

Solara's eyes widened at her recollection. First, because of the realization the Puppet had been hinting at her true nature since the beginning. Second... "You lost your arm trying to figure out something with your Bloody Truth?"

The Detective's Talent was as useful as it was terrifying. It strengthened her blade in proportion to whatever secret she unravelled – at a heavy cost. If she guessed wrong, her body would be permanently injured as retribution for her mistakes. Even Puppet technology wouldn't be able to reattach her arm if she lost it from a failed deduction.

Yet there was one way to exploit that flaw in her Talent. Theoretically, Valeria could simply make a guess without actually knowing the answer. If true, then it would confirm her hypothesis. If false...she could merely accept her punishment as evidence to the contrary. Right or wrong, she would still learn something.

But looking at the permanency and severity of her Talent's self-induced injuries, it hardly seemed worth considering. Sacrificing your own limbs for scant crumbs of knowledge?

Who the hell would be insane enough to do that?

This detective would, apparently, Solara marveled. She traded her arm for information on how she died.

"Aye," Valeria nodded. An imperceptible emotion flashed within her eyes. "Rather mysterious, my death. And I'm willing to risk much to uncover more."

"Why are you telling me this?" Solara snapped, almost defensively. "Do you suspect Gama – do you suspect father of having dealt with your corpses?"

"No." Again, the Detective raised her prosthetic. "I made sure of that much."

Solara winced. So that's the Bloody Truth guess that cost her an arm.

Uncomfortably, she glanced at the stump where the Puppet – blue hells, the elf – had lost her other arm fighting against the Ghost. "I suppose you can't get that back, either?"

"This one might be fine." Valeria sounded neither certain nor worried. "They may be able to reattach it, although my speed of movement could end up lesser than before. Losing a limb in battle is different from losing it to the Bloody Truth. Might even be able to avoid a prosthetic. I'd prefer to keep my sensation of touch, but..."

She let out a theatrical sigh. "Oh, the sacrifices we make for the truth."

"Your ears," Solara insisted. "Why did you do that? Why hide your identity?"

"Because my plan was to infiltrate and investigate human cities." She winced at some unvoiced memory. "The Grandmaster, ah, didn't let me get that far."

Adam has no idea what he offered when he gave her citizenship, Solara realized. Back aboard the ship, he'd sworn to make her a citizen of Penumbria if she helped him, offering her the full protection his authority could project...

And unbeknownst to him, he had also offered her the chance to investigate her own death.

Of all the Puppets to make that offer to... "I ask again," the elf repeated. "Why tell me all of this?"

"Because my primary suspect – albeit not my only one – is the same man who ordered the slaying of your village. The same man who killed Tenver's father."

Valeria's gaze sharpened. "The same man who wishes to murder Lord Adam."