Unlike Gara, Gin was everything it was described to be and more. Rivers of untold numbers flowed into the many canals of the city’s front. Along those rivers, roads seeped into the dozens of gates perched along the narrow walls of the city.

The city itself was a mosaic of verdant greenery and cold mud buildings. The canals that flowed through the city formed a second set of streets adjacent to the first, making nearly all the buildings water side property. All about people, and carriages, and snakes roamed about en masse. Flags and paper lanterns hung from house to house over top the swarming crowds. Birds of unimaginable color freckled the tops of cone tipped houses and cawed in spectacular fashion, forming a chorus that was only beat by the ballads of countless bards that hugged every street corner. Merchants filled the remaining spots of every street with exotic wares and food that smelled of a myriad of spices. Gin was alive. Gin was a city that smiled.

But not always.

There were more of them here. Like murky clouds blotting the beautiful sky, the colourless few blotched the mosaic that was gin. Slaves. Pitiful things. The wretches remained painfully decrepit among their colorful counterparts. Whilst all of Gin thrived with life, it was they that rot in the alleys and labored by storefronts. Cirin trained his eyes away from such people. They chose that life. Some were even smiling, laughing even. Cirin wished they’d disappear. Slaves were a foul bunch who only arrived at the position based on their inability to support themselves. They were cowards. Every child of Illivanmar knew that. They were mere tales to scare children from avoiding chores. He glanced at Sol, seeing the prince stare at that same sight. There was no doubt he had a different impression of them.

“See deir arms, boy?” nudged Toftof, “A circle wit an arch running tru. Dat be da mark of Merid Dance Troupe property. Dat bunch wa a real problem back in Lamanori.”

Cirin squinted at the identical tattoos on the various slaves that ran around. The tattooed was black and it always chose the shoulder on the right side.

He glanced at his own debilitated right arm.

“Don’t call them property. They’re people.” Sol this time.

“Nah, mon, Toftof be right,” hushed Cirin, “Dey be property, less dan people. All of dem dere wa dose dat gave up.”

He caught Azhar staring back at him, “Not always true, mouse,” he said simply.

As the company passed the first of many streets, Cirin noticed how the coned tips of houses grew taller and taller as they neared the single behemoth of a tower in the back of the town. Beyond that, the houses themselves were not merely mud huts, but exceptionally crafted facilities complete with smooth arches and stunning woodwork panels. Some buildings even boasted windows which splayed their interiors. Cirin halted at one of these dark chocolate buildings and squinted inside. There were rows of round tables and people happily feasting away at the contents on the table.

“An eating house, it seems.” Commented Manama.

Cirin flinched as he found her looking over his shoulder. It bothered him how much she watched him, especially after what she did in Ezmir.

“Oi, keep walking you two.” Ordered Azhar from the front.

Cirin let his eyes trail after the eat house as they passed it. His mouth watered at the mere thought of it. Yet Azhar had not asked them to move without due reason. The street was crowded beyond measure, and their company had with two massive pack snakes and five people, taking much of the decently sized street’s space as they passed through it.

“We’ll come back for food once we find a place ta stay. Besides dere be a shop I want ta visit when we have time.” Added Azhar with a glance thrown at Cirin.

Toftof cried back, “I heard da food in Gin be expensive. How much we got?”

“Five Irs and an elk.” Counted Azhar.

“We be travelin wit wealty benefactors indeed.” Noted Manama.

“Our mission concerns da safety of da country sa it should.” Said Azhar. “But money be not our concern here. Keep ya eyes open and ya hands on ya hilts. Dis be da an imperial city.”

Cirin wondered what he meant by that. The distinction between ‘free city’ and ‘imperial city’ was still quite foreign to him, but he knew one thing. Someone, somewhere in the empire wanted all free cities gone, and the golden eyed boy was working for them. On top of that, it was the empire, or at least a part of the empire, that had orchestrated the hit on Sol back in Lamanori. It was that same part of the empire that had incited the very trip they were on now.

It didn’t take long for the company to come across an inn that would accommodate pack snakes. Gin was known to be traveler’s city, since it strayed fairly close to the sea. Traders would host good from all over on the backs of snakes to Gin and export those goods to the far shores of Syrindor, the free ilse, and even Nesdiat to the far north.

Manama had told Cirin and Sol that it was Gin that held one of Illivanmar’s three trade passes to trade with Galokin, making it extremely wealthy in comparison to its landlocked neighbours. Even Lamanorin goods had to go through Gin in order to be made eligible for trade.

Cirin could not help glancing about himself at the majesty of the city while they pushed through the crowds and into the inn. As always, Manama tended to the snakes, while Azhar handled the inn fees, and Toftof escorted the boys to their room.

The inn was a small thing. It was not nearly as large or grandiose as Uhatu’s manse, but it was a welcome reprieve from weeks of resting in the grasslands. It even sported its own baths as all inns in Gin had.

The baths were also heated. Cirin had never been a fan of bathing yet the addition of heat made him instantly enthralled by it. By the time he left the bathhouse it was nearly evening. Though had he left a moment later, he would have missed the evident commotion brewing by the inn’s lobby.

Cirin dried and dressed quickly as he tumbled into the lobby. There a hefty crowd had formed around the entrance to the inn. Cirin jumped from foot to foot, as the people wall seemingly consisted of those older and, more importantly, taller than him. A few were whispering about themselves, but the majority were crying one name in awe. ‘Elizabeth!’

Finally, a yawning Azhar pat Cirin on the shoulder then pushed aside the nearest on-looker.

“Can ya see, mouse?”

Cirin focussed on the center of the commotion. He had heard a woman’s voice amidst it all and now he could confirm the figure was in fact a woman, though not much older than Catherine. Even stranger, she was felian. Her skin was ghostly white, while her hair was as black as a midnight sky. Cirin narrowed his eyes. She also had on an illivanmarin noble women’s single piece dress. He had seen enough of noble women at the palace to know its look anywhere.

The woman tossed her piercing green eyes from on-looker to on-looker, waving cheerily to each, until she landed those specs on Azhar. Instantly, she flashed a practiced smile.

She ran to him and stopped inches from the man, letting her two unsplintered bangs bounce and dangle on her face.

Cirin tilted his head. Azhar wasn’t a tall man, but beside this girl, he seemed a thug.

“You’re Azhar of Lamanori, correct?” she said in a perfected tone.

Azhar pat the back of his head, “Am I famous now?” he laughed.

The noble woman reached out and clasped Azhar free hand drawing both a gasp from the crowd and unsettled flinch from the man himself.

“Thank you so very much.” She said beaming forwards, “I’ve heard you’re the one protecting my darling cousin.”

“Ah.” Started Azhar, “You must de dat Elizabet.” Then Azhar brushed off her clasp and leaned close to her, “How did ya find us?”

“Pure coincidence!” She assured the man, “My escort saw him as he entered the city today. Of course I had to come see him as soon as I heard.”

Cirin shifted as he heard the whispers around him.

‘Prince Soletio is here?’

‘Two foreign nobles at da same time?’

‘Does da emperor know?’

‘ofcourse he does, if she’s here!’

Cirin found himself fixed on that last comment. He tried to find the person who said it, but found it nigh impossible with the now dispersing crowd.

“And who might you be?” said a hovering Elizabeth.

Cirin blinked and looked away.

“He’s my apprentice.” Asserted Azhar.

Elizabeth held her hand in front of her mouth, “My stars, what happened to his arm?”

Azhar was blatant with his answer, “He fell.”

“I could have my doctors see to him, I have the best healers in the land I assure you.”

“No need. Do ya want me ta take ya to him?” said Azhar.

Elizabeth straightened her back, held her hand in front of her, and nodded briskly, smiling all the while. Despite the crowded reception, the walk up the stairs carried little to no ceremony. In fact passerbyers simple cleared the hall and bowed as they recognized the royal. Cirin could tell Azhar took no joy in it, his face was already a telling bout of lowered brows and exasperate frowns.

“So princess.” Started the man, “I’m sure ya realise dat we need ta find a new inn, do ya not?”

“No, why?” a feint of innocence.

Azhar sighed, “For Sol’s sake we need ta keep his location as discrete as possible.”

Azhar tossed Elizabeth a look as soon as Elizabeth made to speak.

“Which means, ya best not try ta find us again, princess.”

“Oh, I- well I understand then. Please do not let that sway you from letting me see him this once however.”

Azhar noted her then stopped abruptly by the last door in the hall. He knocked on it with his knuckles.

“It’s me.” He whispered.

A series of locks could be heard on the other side while the princess waited anxiously for her reception.

Finally, the brass handle spun and the door creaked open. Before Azhar could step in, Elizabeth swooshed by him and nearly pounced on poor Sol.

“My dearest cousin!” she gushed, with Sol in her embrace, “How have you been? Oh, do tell of your adventures!”

“E-Eli?” He wheezed.

Azhar shook his head, “Let him go ya higness, anymore and I may consida it an attempt on his life.” He said bluntly.

Eli held out Sol at an arm’s length and smiled at him. Her cheeks were as red as apples as she spoke, “My adorable little Sol. It’s just you and me out here, isn’t it? All the way out here in the land of predestined cities?” She made a show of it craning her head about as she spoke. She snapped her head back to Sol, “I commend you on your excellent taste to visit the imperial city of Gin, but I must ask, where do you intend to visit next?”

That was when Azhar stepped in, “We haven’t decided yet.” He said briskly.

Cirin rose his brows as he considered what that meant for Catherine. He tapped his head, maybe a letter at the next town?

“Eli, why are you here?” asked the prince slowly.

“To you see, you stupid bug!”

“I mean.” Sol tossed his eyes to the side, “Were you banished to?” he said meekly.

Eli paused to that, and for a moment the tone in her voice dropped, “No.” She shook her head and her usual tone returned, “You silly bug! I traveled here out of my own volition.”

“You mean da emperor’s ‘volition’.” Snarked a cross armed Toftof.

Azhar said nothing as he walked over to Toftof, withdrew his blade, and promptly butted the man in the gut with his hilt.

“What was that fa? Ya Bas-”

“Excuse da help.” Said Azhar.

“No no, it’s quite alright. The rumors about me and the emperor, well you see…”

“We make no assumptions, princess.”

“They’re true.” She added.

Azhar sheathed his blade and kept a hand on Toftof’s head. He had to take some measure to keep the furious imp at a distance, “Is it true you intend to marry him?”

“Who’s sayin’ da stupid tings now!” puffed Toftof.

Eli smiled from where she kneeled, “It’s true. I love him and I’m sure he feels the same way. But-” She shook her head and got up to her feet, “Due to certain circumstances, I’m afraid it’s not possible.”

Azhar narrowed his eyes, “The rule of the three.” He said under his breath.

Her voice took on a practiced value, her tone stout and unchanging, “An old and archaic rule, but as your people hold true your customs, so do mine. Those of royal decent must abide strictly by those customs to set an example for the people. Now Sol,” She ventured her doting eyes to the prince, “Tell me all about this trip you’ve had.”

The prince looked to Azhar, who nodded approvingly. From there, the prince’s cautious muzzle turned to a smiling one and he began spinning the most wondrous version of events that had even Cirin shaking his head.

While the prince went on about magical glowing rooms, really skinny people, and giant sand snakes, Cirin made his way to Azhar in the corner of the room and sat on the bed closest to him.

“Oi, old mon,” whispered the boy, “What’s da rule of tree?”

Azhar had his arms crossed, “An unpleasant ting, mouse. It be a rule dat determines inheritance in Galokin. Ya know what inheritance means?”

Cirin nodded.

Azhar motioned his head to the princess, “In Galokin, only da first tree heirs inherit da fortune of deir family, as well as marital rights. So if da family would say dey want ta marry off one of deir sons or daughta’s for political purposes, dey must be witin da first tree born.”

“So if you were da fourth child?”

Azhar shook his head, “Ya be in da mercy of ya olda siblings. For some notable families, dey tend ta extend da rule of three ta da first cousins if dey have only one or two children. Dat girl dere, da princess, be Sol’s first cousin.”

“Da fourth child.” Trailed Cirin as he eyed her.

What a tragic system.

Cirin nearly jumped at the voice. He hadn’t heard it in weeks.

He turned his head to Azhar, who had eyes placed sternly and conversing royals.

“I-I have to use da restroom.” Cirin blurted.

Azhar turned his head to the boy, “Why ya askin’ me?”

Cirin leapt to his feet, “Right.” He managed before bolting for the door.

“I guess he really had to go.” Remarked Toftof.

Outside the door, Cirin glanced down the hall and made out two men talking to each other. He couldn’t talk to the voice now.

As naturally as possible, the boy snaked passed the speaking men, then started a run as soon as he was sure they didn’t see him.

Again he slowed to a casual strut as a woman made up the stairs and passed him.

When he was at the lobby, he realised, that was the worst possible place to talk to himself, as there were atleast six people lounging about. Finally, he ran out the inn and found his way to the stables. Manama was there, but she was fully engrossed by talking to the snakes.

Cirin nodded once to himself. If anyone were to stop and stare, it would be at the strangely dressed gypsy talking to snakes, not the boy off in the corner talking to himself.

The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.

So Cirin found the nearest corner of the stables and huddled in it low.

“Strange voice, you still dere?” he whispered.

Have I any other option? By the way, why are you whispering?

“Forget that. Tell me what you meant by showing me ya past.”

But I’ve already showed you it.

“What?” gawked Cirin, stopping momentarily to make sure Manama wasn’t listening. “What do ya mean?”

You’re not very sharp. Think back to what I told you. My homeland had golden grass.

“What do you-” Cirin gasped, “Da village?”

Ah, so you saw it.

“But dat was a dream. Dere were lion-bird people in it, it didn’t make any sense.”

For now it won’t, but I am glad you saw it. How’s your right arm, pig?

Cirin tried moving it, “It’s getting betta, Manama says it’ll be fine in two weeks if not sooner.”

Good. I want you to try something when it heals. I’m going to send you another image. In it you should see a warrior. Mimic his style when you can.

“Mimic? How will mimicking some style help me? Da old mon will beat it out of me if I try anodda style again.”

Pathetic little creature. I thought you’d be ecstatic about getting stronger, yet you squabble about fearing your master. If you are so adamant about not letting your master see you try another style, then practice those styles without him knowing. I can see through your eyes, remember? I know how perceptive you can be, so hiding you’re training should be of no issue.

“Dis is crazy. I’m crazy for even listenin to ya nonsense! Voice?” Cirin hit his own head, “Voice?”

Cirin slumped against the stable as he realised the voice had let once more. At that point he had become notorious for leaving without warning. Perhaps he really was fading?

Footsteps, and Cirin shuffled to the edge of the stable wall to peak at who it was.

From the edge of the wall facing stable he could see a hooded woman with two burly men towering behind. Cirin scarcely remembered seeing those men earlier that day. They were tall but they wore drab clothing that drew attention away from them. The woman tossed her head from side to side, and eventually gazed upon the stable. Cirin hid instantly, fearing she may have looked at him. He flinched. Green eyes. He knew that woman, he peaked out again to catch the familiar face of Eli, now approaching the front side of the stables.

“Mother Manama, is it?” she stared.

Some of the dry grass in the stables could be heard scrunching as the woman in question got up.

“Who is it dat asks?”

The royal raised her head high, “Princes Elizabeth Gel’Rave. I’ve looked into your past.”

There was a pause. Manama spoke up, “Manama be curious. Why does a princess, both loved by the people and its king, seek da presence of one so lowly such as myself. Well, unless of course you seek something dat only I can do.”

Eli swallowed hard, even from where Cirin lurked, he could tell the princess was trembling.What was it about Manama that could make anyone tremble?

“Will you serve me?” asked Eli.

“Manama needs a numba.”

“One hundred Irs.”

Cirin nearly choked on the number.

There was Manama’s unmistakable laugh, which sounded more like that of a witch’s when heard as a disembodied voice, “Manama says no.” laughed the witch.

“What? Then why did you ask?”

“Manama likes da sound of big numbas.”

Eli stepped forwards despite herself, “But you said it yourself! This is something that only you can do!”

“Manama still believes dat, but unfortunately Manama has already been hired.”

“By prince sol?”

“By da dog who be watchin’ ova him.”

Eli breathed hard and held her head low, forcing her silky black hair to drape with it.

“If you do this job for me, you’ll be helping him in a sense.”

“Manama supposes so.”

“Then why not?” started Eli with her head held up again. There were tears in those eyes.

“It be Manama’s policy to stick ta one job till it be finished.”

To that the men behind Eli reached for their blades, but Eli halted them with an outstretched hand, “Then please do not regret this.” Said Eli.

The men sheathed their blades and Eli re-adorned her cowl. A moment later, the trio departed with Eli’s last words still fresh in Cirin’s mind.

“Enjoy your stay in Gin.”

They spent the next day inn-hunting. The previous inn-keeper agreed to keep the pack snakes till they found their next stop. It was the least he could do after Azhar let the man keep the advance payment for their three day stop.

All around the oasis, the town seemed a buzz with news that Princess Eli had been touring it. The oasis of Gin was already a favorite location for travellers, yet the appearance of the famous Princess of Galokin made it hotter than a lamanorin desert.

As they walked about the buzzing city, with birds singing above them, and waters rushing beside them, Cirin snaked his way to Azhar’s side.

He looked at the distracted Sol briefly before speaking to his master, “Why is dat da people here be celebrating da princess? Sol never had dat.”

Azhar smiled and tossed his eyes lazily back at Cirin as he spoke, “Ya stupid mouse. Ya be young, but ya still old enough ta know about da prince.”

“About why people want ta kill him? I’ll neva undastand dat.”

Azhar motioned his head at a group of children moving crates by a store front they were passing. The unsightly trio looked to be about Cirin’s age.

“See dere necks?” started the man.

There were iron rings loosely hanging around the children’s neck.

“Slaves.” Said Cirin.

“Ya know Lamanori has dem, even Ezmir and once Gara did to, but it be different here in Gin.” Azhar lowered his chocolate eyes at Cirin, “Ya were raised in da palace, so ya dun know. Slaves in da free cities earn deir freedom at a certain age, but in da imperial cities- well, once a slave always a slave. Dat extends ta da children of slaves to. Aside from da direct protection from the emperor dat be da main difference between da cities. At one point a few of da cities became rich enough to partly abandon da slave system so dey parted empire.”

“But what does dat have to do with Sol?”

“Ya dun get it, mouse.”

Cirin frowned, it had been a while since he heard that.

Azhar continued with a voice that was almost yawning, “Our emperor, da great and powerful Alida, made a promise not seven years ago. Perhaps ya be too young to rememba it. Back den, da emperor had come of age to pick his bride, but to da surprise of all his court he had fallen in love with a princess from Galokin.”

“Elizabeth?”

“It stirred bot da nations. If da marriage went tru den da two kingdoms could strengthen relations more dan eva. However, da princess at da time found much of da kingdom unsightly. In short, she wanted slavery ta be abolished.”

“Da idea was thought stupid at first.” Added Toftof, “We’ve lived fa hundreds of years wit slavery, da whole uppa class might even fall a part, but da mo da common people tought about it, da mo dey accepted it. Da mo dey wanted it. Ya see dey feared getting enslaved demselves since dat meant resigning deir’s family’s futah to. Merely da idea made people split a part.”

“So da boy emperor decided dat if da princess married him, he would abolish slavery.” Continued Azhar, “Da princess agreed, and da wedding was set.”

“Da people were happy, da slaves were happy, even da nobles who grew slobbering at the idea of increased connections wit deir nortern neighbours were happy.” Said Toftof.

“But.” Cut in Azhar, “Right about da time of da wedding, four days before it ta be exact, da new queen of Galokin announced she was wit child.”

Cirin found himself looking at Sol. The prince was fully engrossed by the various coloured lanterns hanging about, pointing each of them out to Manama as they passed underneath.

“Da wedding fell a part.” Concluded Azhar, “All of it was declared illegitimate and all da optimism of da people turned to a bubbling rage.” Azhar looked down and shook his head, “Neva in da history our kingdom has an entire nation hated a baby… until den. Sol was born at da wrong time to da wrong family.”

Cirin felt that same bubbling rage now, He glanced about in disgust at the people chatting about Princess Eli in all sides. Over slavery? Did they hate Sol too? Did they even know the kind, selfless child, when they cheered for his death?

He did not have a chance to formulate his rage into words however, as their company stopped abruptly by the face of a new inn. This one was quite a ways from the front of the town and seemed much closer to the tower, hovering the distance.

It was small as well. Much smaller than any they had stayed prior. The entrance sign was run down and barely legible, while the mud walls were cracking in some areas. Cirin craned his head up and noticed that the spire tip of the house had already broken. He tossed his eyes to the side, the stables, barely with enough space for three pack serpents lay empty as well.

Even the people who passed by the inn seemed to avoid the side of the street it was on. Several of the houses on that side seemed abandoned as well.

Manama walked up to their side and placed her hands on her hips, “Dey say da people of dis street were made slaves when dey refused ta pay tribute ta some dead noble. Conspiracy against da empire so dey say.” She said happily.

Cirin contorted a brow at the woman, but could not find himself to question her tone. He was still too consumed by the thought of Sol being hated.

“Let’s go.” Commanded Azhar as opened the door for the rest of them.

The lobby reminded Cirin of the previous inn, yet this one lacked the colour of Gin. In a word, it was brown. The floor was a sandy mess and the walls a cracked collage of previous paint stains.

An wobbly old man teetered at the front desk, “Welcome.” He croaked, “Haven’t had a visitor in- oh welcome.”

Azhar sighed as he finished the distance to the front desk. He spoke to the company while he withdrew a notable sum out of his coin pouch and put the currency on the counter, “Find a room on da furthest end of da hall, I doubt anyone else is here. We’ll grab da snakes tommora.”

Manama gestured to herself and pouted, “Manama can grab da snakes now. She hates ta tink how lonely dey be.”

“Fine.” Sighed Azhar, “but be sure ta drop ya tings here before ya go.”

Manama nodded and made down the hallway. Cirin hadn’t noticed he was staring after Manama and Toftof as they opened each of the doors until Sol meek tug on cirin’s jerkin brought him back to reality.

“What is it ya imp?”

“You okay?” said the prince.

“Ah.” Cirin rubbed his head, “Da old mon and Toftof told me a story earlier dat’s got me tinking is all.”

Sol let go and swallowed, “Was it a scary story?”

“No.” started Cirin, “Just an interesting one.”

“You two, get to ya rooms.” Roared Azhar.

Cirin rolled his eyes and motioned his head at Sol to follow. They picked the last room at the end of the hall and coughed as the dust in it blew passed once they opened the door.

Cirin pinched his nose. The rooms smelled awful. It looked awful to. There was one window with rotted drapes on the backside of it, with a single framed bed barely large enough for a child crammed in the corner. Besides the bed, the remaining space hardly let Cirin take four steps before reaching the end of it. Cirin made a gesture with his eyes, staring back through the door. He wondered just how much the old mon paid for this.

Sol was by that door, his head poking out of it, no doubt looking down the hall.

“Uhuh. Uhuh.” Nodded Sol before returning to the room. “Azhar says he’s going out and that I need to stay with him.” Added the prince.

Cirin smiled at him. If it had been a mere month ago, he would not have dare trusted the old mon with the boy. But now. Now things were different, out of all their wayward guardians at least Azhar seemed reliable.

“Alright den go.” Prompted the guardian.

Sol seemed about to cry when Cirin cut him off, “Promise I’ll explore da town wit ya tommora.” Said Cirin.

Sol’s face made an instant recovery as he nodded gleefully and ran out the room.

Cirin looked out the door a little longer. He lowered his brows. He felt conflicted knowing the full story behind Sol, as if not knowing at all would have been for the better. He tossed his eyes and made for the bed. If he got some sleep, maybe he could recover, maybe he could even receive the ‘message’ the voice was talking about.

Just as he sat down, Manama appeared by the door.

“Going ta sleep already?” she laughed.

Cirin fell on the bed and turned away from door, “Get out ya damned snake lady.”

“About dat. Would ya care to accompany dis ‘damned snake lady’ while she grabs dose snakes?”

“No.”

“I’ll tell ya about some of Azhar’s past.”

Cirin sat up and lowered his head at Manama, “No tricks. No lies.”

Manama smiled, “Manama neva lies.”

The trip down the path they came from seemed easier without the other three. It helped that Manama always had a relaxed pace about her, one that let Cirin muddle about in his thoughts as kicked the various rocks ahead of him.

The fact that they were heading downhill, also helped. The slope of the town wasn’t very apparent at the front, but where they walked one could see the steep ditch connecting the land to the leveled water flow below.

The sun was still high in the sky as people went out of their homes to light the various lanterns hanging above the streets. Cirin found himself studying the various paper lantern designs as he trudged behind Manama. Some were shaped like five side stars, others were boxes with two ends empty, and the more visionary ones were massive flowers with the candle lights in the middle.

“Ya know why da people here fly lanterns?” asked Manama.

Cirin shook his head, expecting another of her wild stories.

“Dey say da lights attracted da spirits of da night. Da lanterns da spirits like, stay lit til da morning, da ones dey dislike, dey eat da fire, so da lanterns be dimmed come sunlight.” Manama held her arms high as if to touch the lanterns, “Uddas say da lanterns are a way ta make da city shine bright when lost sialors be needin guidance.” Manama shrugged, “No one really knows.”

Cirin dug his free hand into his pocket, mimicking one of Azhar’s famous postures.

Manama seemed to have noticed this for a moment later she spoke up, “Like da tale of da lanterns, Manama tinks dere be sometings people need not know. For example when deir friends have strange convasations in stables.”

Cirin froze. People passed by, “You knew I was dere?”

Manama smiled, halting herself, “Da snakes told me.”

Cirin narrowed his eyes at the woman. “What do ya want from me?” he ventured.

Manama flicked one finger above her pierced lip, “Silence.” She said simply, “Dun tell Azhar of what ya heard dere and in return I won’t tell him about where ya about ta go.”

Cirin straightened his back, “What do you mean?”

“Back in Azhar’s home town, he and his friends went to go see a spirit of a well. Dat spirit told him about his destiny, his life even. It told him how to be as strong as he was.”

Cirin held his head to the side, “Is dis anodda of ya fairy tales?” he pressed.

“Dere be a well spirit here to. A famous one.” She hushed, “Da spirit of da blue pool. Manama tinks ya can make it dere and ask ya questions before she returns wit da snakes. Azhar will be none da wiser.”

Cirin had his doubts about listening to unnatural things about getting stronger. Though granted, he had been a patient of that medicine already. Azhar had told him not to, but half the things he made Cirin do did not make any sense to the boy. No. Azhar was not always right, he kept most of his life a secret to the boy, despite knowing almost everything about him. It wasn’t fair. What else did he know about Cirin that Cirin did not? What about his parents? What about Sol?

Cirin peered at Manama, feeling a strange hunger envelop his mind. He wanted to know.

“Where is it?” said Cirin.

Cirin fumbled through the streets, back tracking several times as he tried to remember Manama’s horrible directions.

‘Take a right at da grey house dat be smiling, look for da upside down hat, go straight by da sculpture dat moves, den go through da first limping corner. Oh but rememba to be nice to da woman at da flower stand.’

Cirin tossed his eyes from side to side. As far as he knew there was no flower stand. He leaned against the nearest mud brick building. It was hopeless.

He glanced about himself, spotting several denizens walking about. Surely the locals knew of it. He made for the closest man, but stopped himself. He detested the idea of talking to those he did not know. Especially if those very people hated Sol.

He sighed to himself and stepped forwards, finding the courage to keep going. He still had time. Yet the moment he stepped into the middle of the street a woman, whose scent was familiar, sped by him. She stopped as he turned towards her then immediately darted towards him. She was fast, but the shock of who she was made Cirin slower than the difference of their speeds.

She reached out and grabbed Cirin’s free hand. Before he could even gasp the word ‘Eli’ she had him stumbling behind her as she ran at full speed, holding her dress up with her free hand.

Moments passed before Eli pulled Cirin into an alleyway and held him down as a crowd of denizens eagerly rushed by. Eli took one hard breath and let go of the boy.

“I’m sorry.” She started, “You just look so much like him.”

Cirin pressed his back against the opposing wall and glared at her.

“Right, you’re not fond of my presence.” She laughed as she caught her breath and patted the back of her head, “Alida I mean, you look like Alida when he was younger. Back when we first met, and years before he proposed contrary to popular belief.”

“Alida? Da Emporer?”

“Ah, so he talks?” She chuckled.

Cirin tried to cover his mouth, cursing the foul thing for opening without permission. He hovered his hidden eyes at the woman, she was definitely older than Catherine, by how much he could only guess. She also bore a close resemblance to Sol in the way her nose was rounded.

Cirin glanced to the side of the street at the thought of Sol, “Do ya hate Sol?” He said finally.

Eli seemed to sober down at that comment, “If you been around my cousin long enough, you know that anyone who does so becomes incapable of hating him. He’s too good for us.” She said slowly, “that boy.”

“Den why don’t ya tell ya followahs about him?”

“They would only see it is a kindness on my part, rather than a way of swaying their opinion. Humpf.” She covered her mouth with her hand as if to supress another laugh, “Have you been around nobles your entire life? My presence doesn’t appear to sway you at all.”

Cirin kept his eyes away from her. He kept silent to her insistent inquisition.

“Tell me your name at least?” she asked.

Cirin reared his ruby eyes at the princess. Even if he didn’t tell her then, he was sure she had a way to find out. Somewhere behind those verdant green eyes and porcelain skin, prowled a huntress of words and would be lies. “Cirin.” He said without delay.

“Cirin? What an unusual name for an Illivanmari. Well given the fact that we are hiding in an alleyway and all formalities have already been tossed out, I suppose ‘unusual’ is a word that has become rather irrelevant. Come, let us talk elsewhere. I think the crowds have parted now.”

Cirin could have left then, but he decided to follow her, if only to learn more about Sol. He would get some answers atleast.

The streets were emptier now, and the sky was setting. All around the lanterns shined as if they were stars fallen from the heavens.

Eli had taken up her hood as they walked down the street. After a while of silence and steps, the two came upon an overlook, jutting above the streaming waters far below. To their left, sat the lower ramparts of the city, brimming with foliage and flickering lanterns, the blinding red sun drowning behind it. To their right, lumbered the tower and the pointed tips of the upper district houses, growing dark in the absence of day.

“Beautiful, isn’t it?” poised Eli, resting against the railing of the overlook.

Cirin gripped the railing with his free hand.

“Sol has always been the way you see him, even back home.” Said the princess. Cirin found a new found respect for the felian, for she was one who got to the point. “He was always happy, and he always tried his best to help people around him. That didn’t go well with the other nobles however, they found it to be a display of weakness. And that was the best of it.” She looked at Cirin with a long painful expression, then looked away a moment later, “Tell me. What is Sol to you?”

“My best friend.” Started Cirin, “A brudda I neva had.”

Eli smiled, “I’m glad he found you then.” She paused and let the winds rush by her, forcing her to fix a portion of her hair behind her ears.

“What I’m about to tell you.” She continued, “You must promise to first keep it a secret, and second never look at that boy in pity. You must promise.” She stressed.

Cirin nodded, his face a mess of concern.

Eli glanced back at him briefly then back over the railings as if looking at Cirin was too painful, “Back before Sol was born, the King of Galokin had a wife who was not Sol’s mother. This woman was much loved by her people, especially after she gave birth to Sol’s eldest brother, a fine man, and later his second eldest, a regrettable thing, but a suitable heir nonnetheless. When the commoner’s plague struck, the queen fell with it. The queen was beloved both by the felians and Torvir since it was she who convinced the king to allow the first Torvir into the council. So when she died, all of Galokin wept. It was hard for me to.”

Eli wiped away a tear, “That said it confirmed the position of the three heirs, resulting in my elevation to be the third in the rule of three. It took a while, but the people grew accustomed to the way things were. There was peace. But then th-that bastard betrayed us all.” Eli gripped the railing hard and steadied her breathing, “Forgive me. He betrayed us by marrying some lower noble harlot. This woman he married had no inclination to further the relation between the Torvir and the nobles and so what could have been considered peace was tossed aside like one of the many cake wrappings she regularly threw at her servants. She was a disgusting pig of queen if there ever was one, yet for some reason the king was absolutely adored her.

I could indulged you in more of her misgivings if you were a little older, but for now, know that nobody enjoyed her presence. A year passed, and the wench declared she was pregnant- at the worst time to- but that is beside the point.” sighed Eli, “When Sol was born, I lost my heirship and the queen died due to complication of childbirth.” Eli turned her head to Cirin. She nodded as if she approved of his reaction.

Cirin mouth was a little agape, and his hand was quivering.

“Need I tell you what happened after that?”

Cirin lowered his head. He swallowed hard and nodded.

Eli returned her gaze to the cityscape, “The people hated Sol since he reminded them of her, the king hated Sol because his birth killed her, and the people of Illivanmar still hate Sol because his birth prevented me from wedding Alida. If any attempt on his life did succeed, the question would not be why, but who. Tell me, Cirin, best friend of Soletio Gel’Rave, how does one escape from that much hatred?”

Cirin released his grip from the railing and balled that hand, “Tru his actions.”

“A child can only do so much. If only the people loved that boy as much you do.” Sighed Eli. “Perhaps you can help me on another matter? As payment for the story if you will.”

“Alright.” Agreed Cirin.

“I have dilemma of sorts myself. A problem in which both my mind and my heart agrees on but my so-” She choked on the word, “my conscious says otherwise. What would you agree with?”

Cirin pondered the thought with his ruby specs upon the sky, though there was only ever one answer. No matter what he did, it wasn’t for what made sense or what was right, it was for what felt right.

“Follow ya heart.” Said Cirin.

Eli looked at him for the longest time then bowed her head, “Thank you.” She said quietly.

Cirin made his way back to the inn after that, fearing Manama may have beaten him to it. To his surprise the woman in question was waiting just outside the entrance of the inn.

“Ya get ya answers, Cirin?” she started.

“In a way, yes.” Said the boy.

He made for his room immediately. He was tired, so much so he had barely noticed Azhar wave him by while the man gripped a covered object in his other hand. That night Cirin fell into an instant slumber.

When awoke and wondered into the lobby, he heard Toftof and Manama talking. Princess Eli had left the city.

Supposedly it was a bereft affair that left most of the city asking why she had chosen to leave. Cirin wondered if his conversation with her the night prior had anything to do with it, but let most of that to his imagination as Sol found him immediately after and insisted he’d keep true to his promise. So he did. That day, with Toftof and Azhar as escorts, the boys explored much of the upper courts of the city. To say it was green would have have been folly. The city was brimming. It was alive and verdant. It was a jungle made into a city, where the monstrous vegetation simply gave the knave like humans permission to live there.