“What was that about?” Es muttered, scratching at his cheek.

Ranvir frowned and followed Grev’s path through the house. He appeared to be seeking an untethered. Cracking a small tunnel, Ranvir listened in.

“Guardsman Skegg,” Grev’s voice called, the tail-end of a mirthful conversation dying in an instant. “I need your assistance.”

“Yes sir,” Skegg, presumably, said. Ranvir heard him get to his feet. “What do you need?” he asked as they moved away.

“The smell of burning iron after being heated,” Grev’s voice grew fainter as they moved back towards the kitchen, but Ranvir’s perception picked it up easily.

“Sounds like rustmerry,” Skegg muttered. “Could be a few other things.”

A door shut and their voices faded further. Ranvir dismissed the tunnel and crossed his arms. Es looked at him oddly. “What did you do?”

Ranvir cocked his head.

“I felt you doing something,” Es said, then added quietly. “Barely.”

“Grev went talked with one of his men. Someone who knows what the iron smell from the cake was about.”

Es grunted. Stepping closer, the short warp-tethered sniffed at the oven. “I can smell the cake and the coal, but no iron.”

“It’s subtle.”

Es gave him a skewed look and nodded. “So it is.”

The door opened. Grev ran in with a lightly puffing elderly man. He appeared to be in his late fifties. He had half a moon of hair left, running from ear to ear with a surprising amount of darkness in it.

“Sorry about the delay,” Grev said, nodding to the others. “Hallberta,” he looked at the baker. “I apologize, but I need you to step away from your tools.”

“What is this about?” the baker appeared nervous, face pale and hands shaking.

“Just have to do a quick checkup,” Grev said, taking her by the elbow and pulling her to a stool. “Just a brief break and you can get back to it.”

Skegg, the man Grev had brought along, nodded to Ranvir and Es. He took the cake out of the oven and inhaled deeply. Eyes closed, face smooth, it almost looked like he was simply enjoying the scent of a freshly baked cake. His lips twitched and leaned away.

“One of you has got a pretty remarkable nose,” Skegg said, looking at Ranvir and Es.

Es turned to Ranvir. “See?”

Ranvir rolled his eyes. “Is it rustmerry?” he asked instead.

The man’s eyebrow raised. “Well, we’re about to find out,” he dug into a pouch at his waist and pulled out a small clay vial. He dumped the contents into the halfway solid cake and stirred.

For a few moments, nothing happened. Then the whatever he’d put in grew more pungent.

“Now listen here,” Hallberta said, getting to her feet. “That’s no reason to ruin my cookin—“

Bits of the cake started foaming green, and Skegg took a few steps back. “It’s rustmerry alright. Nothing makes bellowine act like that.”

“What does that mean?” Es asked with a certain sense of dread to his voice.

“Someone just tried to kill my brother again,” Grev said darkly.

Again? Ranvir’s eyes narrowed.

“Again?” Es exclaimed, eyes wide.

Grev nodded, but didn’t elaborate further. Someone knocked on the door and more people entered. Dressed in the same guard’s uniform as Skegg, all but one of them were untethered.

“Hallberta,” Grev said, approaching her. She gaped at him, before turning to look at the stern-faced men, then towards Ranvir.

“I didn’t…” she protested futilely.

“I’m not saying you did,” Grev said. He spoke gently, almost comfortingly. “But I still need you to follow these men into one of our guest rooms, okay?”

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Hallberta’s mouth flapped like a fish’s for a while before she slumped and nodded. Two of the guards stepped forth and gently led her away. Grev grimacing as he watched her go.

“Are you okay?” Es asked, noticing the expression.

He glanced at the guards, who took the hint and stepped outside. “Gather information,” one man said, audible through the door. “Find any who might’ve had access to the kitchen during the preparation of the cake. The last hour,” he added at the end.

Grev’s tether-sense tracked Hallberta’s dull spirit into one room in the house. He put his hands on his hips, consternation writ on his face. “She’s been making my birthday cakes since I was four. Baug’s too.”

Ranvir presumed Baug was Grev’s brother.

“So she works for you? And you still put her in prison?” Es sounded outraged.

“She’s hardly in prison. Those guest rooms were intended for ambassadors, people of the other great houses. We even have one for the Queen.”

“Still,” Es muttered, though he sounded mollified.

“Could it be her?” Ranvir asked, earning an elbow from his short friend.

“It could,” Grevor looked like Ranvir was pulling his teeth out. “She’s been catering to the nobility and rich for decades. I knew for a fact that she’s worked at least a couple banquets in Ankiria before the collapse. You do know about…”

Ranvir nodded, and he trailed off.

“Good, good,” his sense was still locked in the guest room. “I really hope it’s not her.”

“Who else could it be?” Es asked.

The door banged open. “What’s this about?” a woman stepped into the kitchen wearing a dress? Ranvir wasn’t entirely sure. There was a skirt to it, big and poofy, with enough layers underneath to kill a man from head exhaustion. Over the top of the skirt, a coat that bulged at the shoulders, ballooning above her ears. It trailed down over her skirt, the form of Varumgándr, the mythical serpent whose blood the Triplet Goddess used to forge the first tether and still fueled the ceremonies to this day.

“Ambassador Macey,” Grev said with a bow. Es clumsily followed the motion and Ranvir attempted to unravel the bird’s nest that was her hair. Though it looked like it might be comfortable to roost in, he couldn’t imagine letting someone do that to his hair.

Ranvir eyes trailed down. Comfortable to roost in?

“And who is this gentleman?” the ambassador asked.

Ranvir looked up to find a long gangly finger pointed squarely at him. Before he could answer, she spotted the cake tin on the counter. “No!” she scurried over, rustling enough for three men. “This better not be the lemon cake,” she stared at the half-baked and torn up substance now spattered with green. “What happened to my cake?” she whispered. “Was it you?” she glared at Es, taking a menacing step forth.

Es backed up, holding his hands out to the side, non-threateningly.

“No wait,” Macey turned to Ranvir, her eyes turned slitted. “It was you. You ruined my cake,” Ranvir was startled by the sheer menace she exuded, despite her spirit being as dull as most others on this plane. He also wasn’t a fan of how her eyes lingered on him. “You think your rough jawline and those wide shoulders were going to save you from my wrath? That your strong, powerfu—“

Ranvir reached out with storm mana, controlling the wind. Seizing her, he opened a short tunnel to one of the guest rooms near Hallberta and threw her inside. She screeched, but he shut the portal before releasing her.

Grev gazed at him.

“That wasn’t space!” Es sounded confused. “I don’t think… It felt like bad weather. Can space be bad weather?” his spirit gave away the clarity of his understanding, even if he tried to hide it with humor.

Ranvir hardened the space at Ambassador Macey’s door. “I’ve put her in a guest room.”

“Do not treat the ambassador so roughly again,” Grev said. He stared at Ranvir for a moment longer, making sure he understood before nodding to the guards. “I’m sure you can get her to the right room.”

The guards nodded and hurried into the mansion.

“Grev,” a slightly taller, slightly thinner version of Grev stepped into the room, with a kid following behind him. He paused as he noticed the others. His eyes flicked over Es briefly but lingered on Ranvir’s eyes. “So this is the illustrious Ranvir?”

“No,” Ranvir said.

“Yes,” Grevor and Esmund corrected.

Baug looked him over for a moment longer, eyes flicking to his wings, still wrapped about him. “Grev, can I speak with you for a moment?”

“There was another assassination attempt,” Grev said, not budging. “Now’s not the best time.”

Baug sighed, shoulders slumping. “I’m beginning to think being advisor to the Queen isn’t worth it,” he muttered under his breath, then louder. “Grevor, once you’re done, come see me in my office, okay?”

Just then, the opposite door opened, and the guards escorted a dark-skinned youth and the baker’s daughter, Dalla, inside. Grev moved forward, putting himself between the newcomers and his brother.

“I’ll see you,” he tapped Baug on the shoulder and gestured him out of the room. Away from the potential assassins.

They all looked over at the two new candidates. The youth was dressed like the workers and seemed to be in his early twenties, like them. He looked to be half Ankirian, or perhaps he’d lived on the border. The other was a seven-year-old girl who couldn’t reach the counters.

Es pointed such out.

“I totally can!” Dalla claimed. Since she was eye-height with the counter, she could technically touch them, but even a cursory inspection revealed that she’d needed a box to make the cookies for her mother.

“The box could be moved,” Ranvir observed, and Grev nodded.

“Are you really doing this?” Es said, red-faced as he glared at the two of them. “She’s a child! Are you really trying to frame her for the poison?”

Dalla paled her lip began quivering. Grev sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose. “You’re right. If it was her, then it was both of them.”

The door behind the guards, who were stepping up to Dalla, inched open, and Frija stood in the frame. Menace pushed through under her arm, nearly toppling her over. Vasso peering from behind.

“Dalla?” Frija asked.

“Let’s get her out of here,” Es said, sweeping in and removing the seven-year-old from the tense and confusing situation.

“Any others?” Grev asked. The guards shook their head and Grev breathed a sigh of relief. “This is getting annoying enough as it is,” he scratched his brow and stepped up to the youth. “Let’s start with you.”