Rylan’s heart practically jumped out of his chest as the lock clicked open. In stunned disbelief, he watched the handle go down. A soft gasp from the other side of the library caused him to lock eyes with Zahra before she quickly ducked behind a shelf.

The only upside to his position right next to the door was that it opened towards him, providing him a crucial moment’s reprieve. As the door swung open, he crouched down as quickly and quietly as he could, then ducked under the desk. Only when he spotted the neat black loafers of the last person he’d hoped to see here, illuminated by the warm glow coming off the top of his hiding place, did he realise his mistake.

He’d left the oil lamp on.

“Hello?” Miss Amberleaf asked after a moment, her stern voice tinged with confusion. “Who’s in here?”

When no answer was forthcoming, she started moving towards the back of the room. Towards Zahra.

Rylan’s mind steamed at full force. Miss Amberleaf hadn’t fully closed the door, so if he timed it right, he could probably slip out unnoticed.

But Zahra couldn’t. And even if her punishment would probably be milder than his—what with her father being head chef and all—her being punished at all for his gullbrained scheme was unacceptable.

Before he could even fully consider the ramifications, Rylan crawled out from under the desk, stood up, and loudly yawned, stretching his back.

Miss Amberleaf spun on her heel, her squinty eyes immediately honing in on him. Her pinched lips, that made her look like she was permanently sucking on a particularly uncooperative piece of hard, sour candy, drew even tighter. “Mister Cloudgift. What in the name of the Great Spirits are you doing here?”

“Miss Amberleaf?” Rylan asked, covering his yawn with a hand as he groggily blinked at her. “What time is it?”

“It’s almost fifth bell,” she replied curtly as she walked over, her steps muted by the carpeted floor, until she stood in front of him with her arms folded over her black uniform. “Now explain yourself!”

The days Miss Amberleaf towered over him were long gone, and Rylan could now easily see the top of her grey bun, which looked painfully tight as always. However, despite the height difference having swung his way, he couldn’t help but feel like a little kid standing in front of her.

Rylan scratched the back of his head, pretending to still be disoriented with sleep. He’d always been good at thinking on his feet, but Miss Amberleaf knew him. His story would have to be fogproof.

“Well, I, ehm, I was sent to fetch a book,” he hesitantly started. “But... while I was looking for it, someone locked the door. I was in the back, and I didn’t notice until after I’d found the tome, and I guess I ended up falling asleep waiting for it to be opened again...”

Miss Amberleaf narrowed her eyes at him, the wrinkles around them growing deeper as a result. “What book were you sent to fetch?”

A slight creak came from the direction of the door to the balcony, causing Miss Amberleaf to glance over her shoulder.

“Oh yes, ehm, this one!” Rylan said, reaching back to hurriedly close and pick up the opened tome before practically shoving it in her face for her to inspect. “Did you say it was fifth bell already? Fog, that means I’ve slept for over an hour!”

“Language!” she snapped.

“Right, sorry ma’am,” he replied, acting properly chastened. Personally, he’d always felt it silly that she considered the use of the word ‘fog’ as an exclamation to be swearing. “Anyway, I should really go deliver this, I’m already—”

“To whom?” she asked, holding up a hand to stop him as he tried to shuffle past her towards the door.

“Sorry?” he asked, even as he mentally went down the list of people who could’ve possibly asked him to do such a thing. It was not a particularly long list, and none of the people on it sounded all too believable to him.

Miss Amberleaf seemed to be coming to the same conclusion. “Who sent you to fetch a book from the private library? And how did you get in, for that matter? That door is normally kept locked.”

“It—it was open when I got here,” he stammered, feeling his face grow flush as his lie started falling apart. Perhaps he could still avoid the worst punishment if she believed he was just a curious fool, rather than a tower-scaling, lock-picking burglar.

And at least Zahra had gotten away. Probably.

Miss Amberleaf huffed, taking a menacing step closer to Rylan and repeatedly poking a sharp-nailed, bony finger into his sternum to emphasize the ends of her sentences. “I get the feeling, Mister Cloudgift, that you are not being entirely truthful with me. If you have something to confess, I suggest you do it now, for with every lie, you are but deepening the pit of deception that will ultimately bury you.”

Rylan tried his utmost not to react to her stale breath washing over his face. “Look... I, ehm...”

Suddenly, the door they were standing by burst open. “Rylan, what is taking so long?” a voice demanded. It swung shut again, revealing the second-to-last person Rylan had wanted to see there.

Soren Thistlethorn.

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The young master kept the distinctive silvery-blue hair of his family short-cropped and slicked back, his amber eyes gazing down coolly from the sharp cheekbones they perched on. With his perfectly straight back, he somehow looked taller than Rylan, despite being about an inch shorter.

A swell of bitterness welled up in Rylan’s throat, but he swallowed it back down.

“Milord!” Miss Amberleaf exclaimed, a hand brought up to her chest, then she seemed to remember herself and performed a curtsy.

“Ah, my apologies for startling you, Miss Amberleaf,” Soren said, idly brushing a hand down his crimson doublet, as if to smooth some non-existent creases, before stepping forward to face Rylan. The rapier on his right hip swung from the abrupt motion, unfortunately stopping just shy of Miss Amberleaf’s shin. “There you are. I see you’ve managed to find it, at least,” Soren continued, holding out his hand with an air of exasperation. “Well, go on, hand it over!”

Rylan numbly held out the book. Soren impatiently grabbed it, then used it to bop the top of Rylan’s head. “Why is it that when I send you to fetch a book, I end up having to come get it myself, hmm?”

“My apologies. I got locked in here,” Rylan replied woodenly.

Miss Amberleaf cleared her throat exaggeratedly, glaring daggers at Rylan from the side.

“Milord,” Rylan added reluctantly.

Soren sighed, somehow managing to express a lifetime of disappointment with the sound, before turning back to his family’s head of housekeeping. “Did you need Rylan for anything, Miss Amberleaf?”

“Oh, no, that’s quite all right, young master,” she stammered, seeming flustered by the sudden interruption. “I was just... no matter. I’ll take my leave, with your permission.”

He gave her a prim nod, upon which she curtsied again, and after a brief moment of hesitation, left the room.

The second the door clicked shut, Soren blew out a breath of relief, his posture slumping a little. But only a little. It wouldn’t do for a proud Thistlethorn scion to actually relax for a moment, after all.

Rylan crossed his arms over his chest, and studied the boy who had been his friend from the first moment he could remember to about a season ago, when he’d come to ask for help, and Soren had rewarded his trust with betrayal.

They hadn’t really talked since, thanks in part to Rylan actively avoiding his former friend. Unfortunately, he could hardly walk away now, not with Miss Amberleaf potentially lingering in the hallway. Zahra should have pulled the rope up, so climbing’s probably out too...

“That was close,” Soren finally said. “You’re very lucky I happened by.”

Rylan grunted noncommittally.

“You could thank me, you know?” Soren added after a moment, his voice light.

“I didn’t ask for your help,” Rylan’s mouth said, some of the bile he’d been holding in slipping out against his wishes.

“No,” Soren simply said, folding his arms over his chest as well and cocking a hip. “You didn’t need to. That’s what friends are for.”

The muscles beneath Rylan’s right eye twitched, pulling at the scar tissue on his cheek, but he bit his tongue, not wanting to give Soren the satisfaction of his reaction at the obvious provocation.

“What were you thinking?” Soren continued, shaking his head. “You know what, don’t answer that; I know what you were thinking, and I can tell you right now, there aren’t any answers in here.”

Rylan raised his brow to shoot Soren an unbelieving look. “Are you seriously trying to convince me your family doesn’t know the secrets to gaining Skills? Seriously?”

“I’m saying there are no secrets,” Soren replied, unfolding his arms to gesticulate. “Gaining Dancing took me years of training and a bunch of expensive resources.”

“No secrets, huh?” Rylan echoed, a touch of scorn creeping into his voice despite his best efforts as he unconsciously straightened his back and leaned forward. “Would you care to tell me the Attribute requirements of your Skill, then?”

For a moment, Soren seemed to hesitate, then his jaws audibly clicked shut and he spoke through gritted teeth. “You know that’s not information to be shared lightly. My grandmother would punish me severely if she found out I revealed that outside the family. And even if you knew what the Attribute requirements were for certain Skills, you still wouldn’t know what to go for, because you don’t know your Attributes!”

Rylan shrugged with feigned nonchalance while his heart pounded in his ears, his body convinced he was in a fight, even if no fists had flown. Yet. “So? I could make an educated guess, at least.”

“You can do that now!” Soren exclaimed, throwing up his hands in exasperation. “You’ve got nimble fingers. If you keep at it with stuff like juggling and needlework, you could very well unlock a Skill someday, but to be honest, I don’t see why you’d want to!”

Rylan actually laughed at that. But it was a sick-sounding, mocking laugh. “Wow. Really? Nothing comes to mind? Somehow, I find that hard to—”

“You think it will magically fix your life!” Soren snapped, leaning in closer, some colour creeping up his cheeks. “That it will make everything better, like being a Quinthar doesn’t come with new obligations, responsibilities. If you’d seen half as much of the kingdom as I have, maybe you’d realise how good of a life you actually have here, eating three meals a day and sleeping on clean linens every night, and perhaps you’d stop trying to run from it!”

“Yeah? Well it’s hard to see much of the world when you’re outfitted with one of these,” Rylan sneered, lifting up his right leg a little and shaking it, “because the person you thought was your friend couldn’t handle being left behind.”

Soren reared back as if struck. “You can’t actually believe—”

“Milord?”

“—What?!”

The young serving girl peeking her head out of the doorway cringed, her face contorting in a way that made it look like she was about to cry.

Rylan understood the feeling. And while he pitied her for the scare she’d been given, he was secretly quite happy that she’d interrupted before their argument could really get out of hand.

Soren sighed deeply, his left hand coming up to pinch the bridge of his nose for a moment, before he looked up at her and continued in a much calmer voice. “I’m sorry, Libbee. I shouldn’t have... raised my voice at you. Please tell me what matter requires my attention.”

“Apologies for interrupting, milord,” she said, bowing her head and looking down at the floor. “I was sent to fetch Rylan, they need him in the kitchen.”

Soren’s brows creased slightly. “Why? He’s not on the roster.”

Rylan glanced at him, a little perturbed that Soren seemed to know his schedule.

“Guests have arrived unexpectedly, and Chef Zelim was asked to expand tonight’s menu to a five-course meal; they need extra hands.”

Rylan blinked, recalling the skymetal ship he’d seen coming in earlier.

“Guests?” Soren repeated dumbly. “Who?”

“Vidric Talon and his retinue, milord.”

Rylan’s brows twitched. Not a Bloodtalon or a Hawktalon, but an actual Talon.

Well, that certainly explained the last-minute menu change. While the Thistlethorns were a branch of the Thorn ducal family themselves, and not directly subservient to the Talons, they still couldn’t afford to offend someone from another main branch ducal family.

“I see,” Soren said with a sigh, running a hand over his slicked-back hair. “I should probably get moving then before my sister causes a diplomatic incident by doing something foolish like challenging him to a duel and winning. But this conversation isn’t over, Rylan. I’ll come find you later.”

“Of course, milord,” Rylan replied bitterly, keeping his eyes carefully lowered as he bowed and left the room.