Andrei, Delphia

One hour until I was supposed to arrive at the Liaison’s estate, and I knew next to nothing about my task. I had only sparse details and an unwavering trust in Sinclair. As for what I had learned, she and Finlay were in Delphia to discover the location of a group of defectors, and while they were successful, they’d uncovered something much deeper. I’d also learned that somewhere along the way, they’d made friends, and they were intent on helping them with… something. Rhian Sinclair didn’t form friendships easily, but once she did, there were no limits to the lengths she’d go to help those she cared for.

Knowing Sinclair as well as I do now, I can say with certainty that understanding this about herself played a factor in her careful selection.

I couldn’t imagine what purpose I’d serve later that day at the Liaison’s estate, but whatever it was, I hoped I wouldn’t disappoint.

As I paced my room at the church—a method I used to expel nervous energy—there was a knock at the window. And then another, and another.

I pulled the drape open a crack, expecting to see my favourite face. Instead, an unfamiliar Celestian Partisan pressed his nose against the window.

“Open up—quickly,” he said. “I’m a friend of Rhian’s.”

Who else but a friend of Sinclair’s would know which room was mine and that she and I were acquainted?

I cranked the window open for the Celestian.

He was taller than I was, but slim enough to slip through without a struggle. I shut the window and the drape behind him.

“I’m Riz,” he said, extending his hand for a shake.

Curiously, I obliged. “Andrei,” I replied.

I hadn’t interacted often with other Celestian—neither Partisan nor Barren. Having grown up in Amalia, and denied formal training by Councilwoman Oranen, I rarely had the opportunity. Those I encountered along the way wanted little to do with a mutt, and my pilgrimage in Celestia was awkward.

Riz chuckled. “I might be a few years older than you, but I know who you are, and I remember when you arrived at Palisade—you were all anyone would talk about for an entire year. I’m sorry for the way everyone treated you. It’s nice to have the chance to meet in person.”

It was the kindest thing anyone other than Sinclair had ever said to me, and it made me suspicious. “Thank you—I think. Why are you here?”

“I wanted to give you the opportunity to come with me,” Riz said.

“Come with you where?”

Riz swept his jet black hair out of his eyes. “I don’t know about the Animals, but I’m going southeast. Much like you, I find the Strachan ladies irresistible.”

There was a lot to unpack in those two sentences. “The… animals?” I asked.

The Celestian seemed to consider. “It’s probably for the best that you’re out of the loop, but it wouldn’t be right if I didn’t extend the offer. Rhian and Feargus, they’re helping us escape—me and the Animals.”

“Which animals?”

“Bear, Llama, Sheep, and Turtle,” Riz said, as a matter of fact.

“Clearly, I’m not getting anywhere with this line of questioning, so I’ll change course—why do you think I’d want to go anywhere with someone I just met?”

“Because I could teach you everything I know. Don’t tell me you actually want to do this for the rest of your life?” The Celestian gestured widely.

Clergy wouldn’t have been my first choice if the alternatives weren’t life-imprisonment or death. “Are Sinclair and Finlay going with you?”

“As far as I know, no. But you shouldn’t let that affect your decision. You’re not likely to see them again once you’re assigned.”

“No less likely than if I were on the run,” I said.

“Maybe.” Riz shrugged, and when he pushed his hair out of his eyes again, I felt a powerful urge to find scissors and trim it. “But like I said, you shouldn’t let that affect your decision.”

Of course, I’d thought about defecting. I suspect most Partisans had considered it at one time, even if only as a passing thought. But, in every imagined scenario where I was abandoning Palisade, I pictured myself doing it with Sinclair—certainly not with some incidental Celestian I didn’t know existed five minutes before.

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“I don’t expect you’ll have an answer now,” Riz continued. “But we’re leaving tomorrow and there’s only one space left on the embark. If you decide to join us, we’ll be taking off from the Drop tomorrow—right when Councilwoman Blanchett was supposed to be giving her speech. I’ll be the navigator, obviously.”

“Supposed to be?” I asked.

“Supposed to be what?”

“You said, ‘Right when Councilwoman Blanchett was supposed to be giving her speech.’ What did you mean by that?”

“Hmm–no, I don’t think I said that.” The Celestian grinned. “I think I said, ‘Right when Councilwoman Blanchett is giving her speech.’”

I was certain of what I’d heard, and I believed the Celestian was certain of what he’d said. There'd be no sense prying further, but it was thoughtful of him to drop a hint, and I appreciated the inclusion and the trust. I wasn’t sure what to make of it, however.

“I’ll think about your offer,” I said. “And if I don’t show up tomorrow at the Drop—thank you. You’ve been kinder than most, and I won’t forget it.”

The Celestian shrugged a slender shoulder. “Let’s be honest. I know you won’t be coming with us tomorrow. But if ever you need to learn a few tricks, you’ll know where to find me. I’m quite talented, and incredibly humble.”

At the very least, I owed the man a smile. I hoped the one I attempted was convincing, because it was sincere. “Stracha?”

“You know it.”

Riz pulled back the drape, cranked open the window, and slipped through. Then, from my side of the glass, I watched in amazement as he vanished into thin air.

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Like most buildings of importance on the Isle of Inspiration, the estate’s pure white design stood out against the colourful eccentricity of the city. No less ostentatious than the landscaping at the church, tall, neatly trimmed topiaries lined the pathway, while marble columns framed the exterior around the crown-molded doorway. To either side of the entrance, bunches of bright purple roses spilled out from the tops of ceramic hanging planters.

I reached for the fish-shaped knocker, hesitating before placing my fingers in its open mouth. Not a design choice I’d have made, but what did I know about such things?

It wasn’t long before the butler opened the door. Glancing me over from head to toe, his expression gave away little as to the value of his appraisal. “How can I help you?”

“Good afternoon,” I said, holding a paper folder to my chest. “My name is Petitioner Andrei Strauss, and I’m here to meet with the Liaison regarding my release.”

“You have an appointment, Petitioner Stroos?”

“Ah—no, I wasn’t aware I’d need one. It should only take a moment.”

I was expecting the butler to tell me the Liaison wasn't home, that he was escorting the Councilwoman through the city, and that I should come back later. Then I would suggest that I leave the papers in his office so I could return to collect them on the day of my departure. Frankly, I wasn't certain if I needed to be alone in his office or not, and I couldn't be sure the butler wouldn't just offer to take the papers from me. Perhaps I could say something about wanting to leave a thank-you note...

One thing at a time.

“The Liaison is enjoying his lunch at the moment. If you return in half an hour, he’ll be ready to receive you.”

Two minutes in, and things were already not going to plan.

Was the butler lying, or had something changed? I wondered if I should abort the mission, but then again, what if that ruined everything? I supposed I'd find out once inside. If nothing interesting happened, then I'd have the Liaison sign the papers, and I’d return to the church.

“If it isn’t too much trouble, could I wait inside?” I asked. Shielding eyes with my hand, I tried on a smile and hoped the scene seemed desperate enough. “There's no sense walking all the way back to the church over half an hour, and the sun is quite bright today.”

I wasn’t sure how I was going to get into the Liaison’s office once inside the building, but I was confident enough in my ability to improvise. I’d consumed upwards of two thousand novels while confined, and I had an exceptional memory. Surely I could put something I’d read to good use.

The butler stepped aside, ushering me indoors.

I’d never been inside the estate, so while I was being led through the hollow atrium and down a series of corridors, I peeked into each room at every opportunity. There were, of course, offices, studies, and we walked past what I gathered was the kitchen—judging by the ruckus behind the double doors. I spotted the library. It was the largest of the rooms so far, spanning at least twelve of my chambers back at the church. If it were any other day, and if I were there for any other reason, I may have asked to see it. We turned down another corridor, and finally, we stopped at a dead end marked by an expansive bookshelf.

The butler unlocked the door to its left, gesturing me inside.

“You will wait here, Petitioner Stroos,” he said. “I will alert the Liaison.”

As I stepped into what I presumed to be his office, I was equally disappointed and relieved I hadn’t had to work out any elaborate schemes. Taking a moment to analyze my surroundings, I stopped at the portrait hanging above the fireplace of the Liaison in a cream-coloured poet's shirt and purple tights.

Not the attire I’d have chosen, but what did I know about such things, either?

The only other portrait in the room was one of Councilwoman Blanchett, and I had to admit, for a woman of forty-five odd years, the fiery-haired Delphi looked incredible. I suspected her naivety and nonchalance amounted to a stress-free life.

It did little to compensate for her miserable personality, however.

The office was otherwise typical—a desk, a cloak closet, and a pair of bookcases. Why was I even there? Ultimately, I needed my release papers signed, but what was I waiting for? I worked my way toward the floral-print chair beneath the window, and as I was about to sit, there was a quiet rustle coming from inside the cloak closet.

Following the noise, I took a few steps closer.

“Psssst,” from within. I’d recognize that sound anywhere.

I rushed to open the closet.

Sinclair, carrying a burlap sack, flashed a chipped-tooth smile in my direction.

The age old Strachan art of hiding in a cupboard. So far, so good.