"I gather that you will be joining us for dinner, as per usual?"

Nodding at Susannah, Henry caught a glimpse of Howard's furrowed brows behind her from the corner of his eye. It was hard to miss when he towered over her by more than a head.

"Very well." Clasping her hands, Susannah straightened the skirt of her rather old-fashioned dress. "Dinner will be served in an hour. I shall see you there." Though unspoken, he picked up on her silent request for him to avoid roaming in her home unaccompanied—which he would do regardless, of course.

Susannah had a gift for anticipating people's motivations and intentions, especially when they contradicted the established norm. This was one of the reasons why Henry had never quite connected with her or with York, whom he considered an even worse stickler than Howard. At least he did not share his father's intense focus on punctuality and efficiency. York was known to scold anyone for even the most inconsequential missteps; when he had once dared to reprimand Vikus, Solovet had delivered a perfectly valid explanation in just one crushing sentence. Subsequently, York had refrained from speaking to either of them for several months.

"I shall see you there indeed." Henry tipped an imaginary hat to Susannah and Howard. As expected, the former put on a courteous yet genuine smile, and the latter did not.

"Hold on, where do you believe you are headed?" Howard caught up to him as soon as his mother was out of sight. "Mother may be too considerate to say anything, but it hasn't escaped my notice that you've been wandering around here unaccompanied and inappropriately mingling with our female staff since your first visit. This is private property."

"I am not mingling with anyone who wishes not to mingle with me," retorted Henry, a smirk playing on his lips. "And I am certainly not wandering. Not unless you have proof, that is."

The look Howard gave him was frigid, yet his mouth remained firmly shut. They stood in one of the eight arcades that surrounded and linked the central hall with its large spherical dome to four hallways, forming a square around and leading deeper into the keep. Howard quickly glanced back before fixating on Henry again.

"In fact, I shall now be looking for my flier . . . outside. If you will allow." Henry made a taunting gesture in Howard's direction, then pivoted on his heel.

He felt Howard's stare on him until he disappeared out of sight; as soon as he was in the clear, Henry began to run. His rugged boots nearly slipped on the strangely unfamiliar polished floor tiles, and so he slid the last few yards to the entrance, where he seized the chance to strike a pose—much to the amusement of the guards who were lazily loafing by the gate. "I shall return in a minute!" he exclaimed toward them, and they made no attempt to stand in his way as he flew through the open gate.

At that moment, he couldn't be happier that the Fount Keep had an actual ground-level exit, unlike the Regalian Palace. Peering over the parapet down at the frothing moat surrounding the elevated keep grounds, he mused that this exit really posed no risk. The only ways on or off the island were by flying or using the extendable bridge, which could only be operated from one side—more than sufficiently secure.

"Death!" He caught sight of Thanatos perched on a specially designated ledge with other fliers who inhabited the city. Upon spotting Henry, Thanatos descended and landed next to his bond. "Did they invite us to dinner again?"

"In an hour, said Susannah."

"And you intend to spend that hour . . ." Thanatos glimpsed at the entrance. "Inside, yes?"

"Obviously," replied Henry with a grin.

Thanatos sighed. "How many propositions did you receive this time?"

"None yet." Taking a step toward the edge, he was momentarily entranced by the lively city below and the sight of the miniature people going about their daily tasks: Fishermen tidying up their boats and unloading their catch at the lively harbor. A shopkeep arranging her diverse assortment of wares. A barber sharpening his large scissors and advertising his services to passersby. A group of miners pushing a cart full of tools along the uneven road.

Then the stench of old fish someone must have dumped into the moat crept into his nose, and he turned. Despite his enjoyment of the city, nothing could quite match the intrigue and drama within York and Susannah's household. With five children and a multitude of staff, there was never a dull moment.

Either he was courting some pretty maid—most women, so he had quickly discovered, found his roguish outcast charm utterly irresistible, and Henry was far from complaining about the multitude of propositions and attention he received simply by being here. Being a prince, he had never been short on female admirers, and he had missed the attention . . . Yet he couldn't deny that he may have also simply longed for the touch of another human.

Or he was in pursuit of drama . . . such as his recent discovery of an affair between a Lighthand and a cook whom he had caught engaging in indiscretions inside a closet. Since then, Henry had exclusively dined on his favorite dishes—courtesy of the distraught cook, who feared repercussions if the affair was exposed. He thought he was lucky that she had not caught him engaging in similar indiscretions with her scullery maid mere hours later.

Nobody in York's family truly wanted him to wander the keep unattended, but they had no power to stop him either. Henry found his way around surprisingly well, considering he had not been here in such a long time, and he had also discovered that his attuned hearing was indeed an invaluable asset for eavesdropping.

"See you at dinner!" Henry called in Thanatos' direction. "Let us see if any propositions will still arise."

"Just make certain that you do not accidentally father any children, or we will all be in great trouble!" Thanatos called after him, and Henry laughed.

"I would not dream of being so careless!" He gave the grinning guards a quick salute before disappearing back inside. Who knew what he would uncover or encounter this time?

***

In just a minute, he made his way to the entrance hall and almost ran into two women engaged in animated conversation. One of them was Susannah, whom he immediately recognized. She gave him a wary look, presumably because he was inside and unattended, before evidently deeming her conversation more important.

"No, this is what York and I have agreed on," she said quietly to the other woman, whom Henry only now recognized as Stellovet's governess, Dalia. The young woman with her elaborate, braided hairdo, clad in a plain dress that hung too loosely, was even shorter than Susannah and nearly as delicate and ghostly as Nerissa. Next to her dynamic and imposing mistress, who Henry suspected had been a striking beauty in her younger days, she seemed to fade away.

Despite his keen interest in their conversation, he had to slip away before Susannah could inquire about his intentions. Fortunately, she was engrossed in explaining something to Dalia, gesturing energetically as usual. Henry could only make out that it was related to Stellovet before they moved out of even his earshot.

Letting out a sigh of frustration, Henry aimlessly followed a side path that led in the direction of the children's private quarters. A smile played on his lips as he recalled a day some four years ago when he, Nerissa, and Luxa had stayed here for a whole week at the request of Vikus and Solovet.

It had been just after Luxa's parents had passed, and he wondered if they had hoped that reconnecting with her other family would lift her spirits. And it did . . . Yet, it wasn't the reconnection that had brought relief, but rather the prank he and Luxa had played on the entire household, making them believe that a massive army of pinchers was attacking and they needed to prepare for a city-wide defense.

The day prior, Howard had recounted the tall tale York had told him about a gnawer leading a pincher army to attack the Fount, just before he had been born. Henry's first thought had been that it was a brilliant idea for a prank. The memory of the chaos, the piercing alarm bells, and the frantic attempts to safeguard the children brought a broader smile to his face.

However, his grin faded as he recalled the massive outburst after they had found out it had all been a prank. Then again . . . Henry shrugged it off, and his grin returned. It had been worth it.

As he pondered pulling off a similar stunt in the future, his ears perked up at the distant sound of approaching footsteps. Henry swiftly scanned the area for a place to conceal himself and slipped into an empty supply closet. He closed the curtain just as the unknown individual rounded the corner.

As he focused, the sounds shaped the figure of a teenage girl. Peeking through the curtain, he discerned that it was Stellovet, who seemed to be in a hurry. Her hair, which she usually wore in elaborate updos, now cascaded loosely past her waist, and she tightly grasped the seams of her long, though by her standards fairly plain, yellow dress.

Without noticing him, she rushed past and made her way toward the central hall. On a whim, Henry decided to follow suit. The sight of the typically composed and orderly Stellovet in such a disheveled state ignited his drama senses; whatever had compelled her to hurry in such a manner surely held significance.

Silently, he trailed behind until Stellovet arrived at the main hall. She halted abruptly and straightened her dress before entering a room on the far side. Henry did not follow her inside; he slipped into the shade of a neighboring archway. Using his echolocation, he detected the outlines of three individuals now gathered around a table. Opposite Stellovet stood two adults.

"Father, Mother, you have called for me?"

Henry creased his brow at the uncharacteristically timid sound of her voice. It was a rare occurrence to hear her speak with anything other than contempt, superiority, or occasional spite.

"Stellovet, we must discuss your recent conduct in the presence of the Death Rider." This was unmistakably York; Henry made out his almost six-foot-tall shape loom over the table.

"Oh, Stellovet, dear, how are you even looking?" Susannah cut in before Stellovet could reply. A vision of her rushing toward her daughter appeared in his mind, apparently to adjust her dress and hair. "You are usually so mindful of your appearance. What has gotten into you today?"

"Is anyone of importance around to see me?" asked Stellovet. A tinge of her usual arrogance had returned to her voice. "And why are we speaking of the Death Rider now?" she asked before her parents could reply. "He has not graced our presence in over a week, has he?"

Only then did Henry realize she had not greeted him earlier.

"He arrived a few hours prior, during your absence," said York frigidly. "He and his flier will be present for dinner."

Stellovet gasped. "He . . . he is here?" she stammered, picking at her dress. Were Henry to make a guess, he would wager that she was blushing down to her fingertips. "W-Was it an unannounced visit?"

York shook his head. "It was my explicit order for Dalia to take you out today to prevent any further embarrassing behavior, as you so often display in his presence."

"We understand that all of you children are fascinated by an outcast like him," added Susannah, her hands clasping. "Undoubtedly, someone like that, with captivating tales and unique commodities, sparks your curiosity, but you are old enough not to act on it, much like your brother."

"Indeed, how is it that your brother can maintain his dignity while you cannot?" York interjected, leaning forward and crossing his arms.

Once again, Stellovet tugged at her dress, but this time, Henry detected annoyance in her movement. "I know, Father. Howard is perfect; how dare I forget?"

"Mind your tone," York hissed, and Henry felt an unexpected surge of sympathy for Stellovet. He recognized that tone all too well—from the aftermath of the pincher prank. "And, by Sandwich's own soul, I implore you to refrain from swooning over him as you do. It is quite unbecoming for a lady of your age. Your fifteenth birthday has come and gone; you will be of age in just one year. It's irritating enough that most of the female staff fawn over him, and such behavior from a daughter of mine is not acceptable. Do we have an understanding?"

Stellovet remained standing silently, with her hands clenched rigidly behind her back.

"Your mother and I have instructed Dalia to ensure you spend as little time with him as possible," York continued. Quieter, he added: "Perhaps we ought to send a note about reducing the number of supply deliveries altogether. I'm not too keen on how often he's been coming here lately."

Henry was so absorbed in the conversation that he barely heard the footsteps ahead of the others, and he flinched as someone abruptly stopped in the entrance.

"Howard." Susannah turned. "Could you gather your other siblings for dinner? Stellovet will be joining you shortly, once she's done freshening up."

After a brief pause, Howard replied: "Right away, Mother."

"You are dismissed, Stellovet," York declared. "But bear in mind that I will not tolerate anything less than impeccable behavior from you during dinner."

She gave a nod and retreated until she was almost out of view. Once her father's back was turned, she hurried out of the hall and toward the living quarters she shared with her siblings. However, she didn't make it very far.

Henry was taken aback by the faint sound of Howard's voice coming from the end of the tunnel. He inched backward, keeping an eye on York and Susannah, who exchanged exasperated looks, and carefully approached where Howard had been waiting for Stellovet.

"Nothing—halt, Stello!"

Yet her determined strides did not falter, undeterred by Howard's persistent attempts to speak to her. Henry thought he was fortunate that they were too preoccupied to notice him following behind. If they had been more attentive, they would have likely detected him, no matter how careful he was.

It must have been Howard's hundredth time saying, "Stello, please halt!" and they had already arrived in front of the large arch that made up the entrance to the siblings' common living space when she finally stopped.

"Cease pestering me!"

Henry barely made it behind a massive pillar, watching them face each other.

"Have you not heard?" Stellovet hissed. "I must freshen up, or Mother will send me to eat alone in my quarters again!"

"Of course." Howard firmly seized her by the arm before she could slip away through the arch. His brow furrowed. "But there will still be enough time for that after you have explained what just happened. They seemed quite upset with you. Are you in trouble?"

She snorted. "How is this any of your concern?"

"Stellovet, I'm your older brother," he said, gripping her shoulders gently yet firmly. "Of course, it is my concern if you're in trouble."

They exchanged a prolonged, bitter stare, then she shrugged. "I am not in trouble. Father simply meant to remind me that I should not be so . . . openly fascinated by the Death Rider. Because it is "not suitable behavior for a daughter of his"."

"Well, he does have a point."

"Oh!" Stellovet shoved his hands off her shoulders. "It isn't as though my infatuation with him is consequential. He spares me no special attention regardless," she mumbled. "But you must be unconcerned with that. You are not any better than our parents!" Stepping back, she pointed her outstretched finger at him. "You feign concern under the guise of being my brother, but all you ever do is make my life more difficult!" she yelled. "Because my brother is so perfect, because my brother excels at everything, because my brother is always the valiant example after which we others must chase. Everyone adores you—Mother, Father, and now even wretched Luxa. But why should we be surprised?" she scoffed. "She is as perfect as you, after all. So, will you cease feigning concern and at least admit to my face that you feel the same way about me as they all do?!"

Howard remained motionless as her shouting had come to an end. Stellovet glared at him for a moment, then snorted and turned, but he once again caught her by the arm before she could disappear. "This is not true."

"Oh?" Seldom had Henry ever heard someone convey such a strong urge to spit in their opponent's face.

Howard turned his gaze down, but he did not release her arm. "You think he adores me? Father will not even speak to me anymore. Not after I—"

He cut himself off and abruptly released her. But this time, Stellovet remained in place. "Not after . . . what?" she asked after a moment of silence.

"Not after I have seized being so very perfect in his eyes." Howard scoffed, then raised a finger like York did when he was particularly eager to get a point across. "As my firstborn, it is only natural that you will inherit the management of the Fount." He mimicked his father's tone flawlessly. "Therefore, I will not even entertain acknowledging this newfound interest in medicine of yours." He dismissively waved his hand. "It will undoubtedly pass."

Stellovet stared at her brother with large eyes, but he was not done yet.

"Oh, what say you? That it will not pass?" Howard turned slowly, and even Henry recoiled at the look of utter disdain in his eyes. "You say it is a passion for life? What you truly want to do? Silence!" he thundered, and Stellovet flinched back. "I shall not hear another word! Until you have reconsidered your priorities and come to your senses, you are no son of mine!" As he uttered the final word, Howard let out a weary sigh and slumped against the stone of the arch. Henry couldn't recall ever seeing the tall and sturdy Howard look so beaten.

"He truly said that?" asked Stellovet, her hands so tightly clasped that her knuckles shone whiter than her skin. "You did not tell us that he does not support your decision to pursue medicine . . . That he would . . ."

"Because it is not your concern. I can handle it," said Howard, evidently not handling it. "What I meant to say was that I am not remotely as perfect as you believe. I am well aware that our parents expect perfection, which is why I have strived for it in the past. But I can no longer strive for it." He shook his head. "Not unless I give up the only passion I have ever chosen for myself—and I refuse to do that. So, I shall no longer be a threat in this regard."

"I am . . ." Stellovet broke off, agitatedly kneading her hands.

"You really must not be concerned about me," he soothed. "But in the middle of this fallout, there is a lesson that I believe deserves your concern: perfection is unattainable. I am not perfect, and neither is Luxa. You have not spoken to her properly in years. On what grounds do you even condemn her? Those that you make up in your head?"

Stellovet's mouth opened, yet out came no sound.

"I will not deny that I once condemned her myself," added Howard after a while. "But in truth, she is a good person. Now that she is no longer under Henry's influence, she is more inclined to show it too. Perhaps, if you gave her a chance, you would find that out for yourself."

Henry's teeth gritted, but his torrent of enraged thoughts was cut short by Stellovet's icy retort: "When would I ever have time to give her a chance? I am not to go on quests like the lot of you. So, you may do that and become the best of friends, for all I care. You have no interest in perfection anymore? Fine." She scoffed. "I shall take your place then, so that you may be free and pursue your dream, for you have one at all. All I have is the prospect of fulfilling our parents' expectations—be a good, submissive daughter and comply with any marriage that our parents will arrange without delay as soon as I come of age, so that you all may be rid of me at last." Her voice cracked, and she crossly wiped her face on her long sleeve.

"Halt!" Howard called. "Halt—who says that we want to be rid of you? You are my sister, Stellovet." He placed his hands on her shoulders again. "And sometimes you are . . . difficult. But that does not mean that I love you any less."

"Say that all you like!" She fought valiantly against her tears. "But you cannot claim that you know what it is like to be me. No matter if Father is angry with you now, he has always favored you. They all do. You have always been the first choice, and I am no more than the useless, difficult middle child who was never truly wanted by anyone to begin with!"

"Do not speak like this!" Howard urged, shaking her. Then his shoulders slumped, and he released a strained breath. "Perhaps you are right, and I truly do not know what it is like for you, but what I know is that you are not unwanted," he urged. "It saddens me that you think that way, but it is not true. Our parents place upon us all specific expectations, and I know very well how angry they become when we refuse to comply. But I also know that they love us. You too—and not any less than us others."

She sniffed, and Howard finally locked her in a tight hug.

"Stello," he mumbled. "I have also learned that no one can force you to comply. You are still young; perhaps someday, you will find your passion as I have."

"Perhaps." It took a few moments before she returned his hug. "But perhaps not." She clutched him tighter. "Or I will not have the strength to stand up to them and pursue it against their will."

"No matter what, I will always support you," said Howard with no hesitation.

A minute of silence elapsed before Stellovet released the hug and stepped back. "I do not believe a single word you say." She stared up at him with reddened eyes. "To my face, you say that you support me, and behind my back, you tell Luxa that I am wretched. Or will you claim that she was lying when she told me you had said that?"

Howard's face flushed. "No . . . She was not lying. Look," he continued before Stellovet could interject. "I . . . sincerely apologize for saying that, but . . . perhaps reflect on the circumstances that led me to say it. To be seen as kind, one must also exhibit kindness. Luxa and Nerissa have not harmed you, and they are both good people. If you give them a chance, you might find that you have more in common than you think—especially now that Henry is gone."

Stellovet hesitated; she pressed her lips together and stared at the floor. Henry braced himself to contain his anger over whatever derogatory remarks she was about to make about him or his loved ones, but instead, she uttered something else—something entirely unforeseen: "Do you truly think that it was all Henry's doing?" she asked timidly. "That there is goodness in Luxa . . . but not in Henry? Was there no good in him at all?"

"What . . . What is that supposed to mean?" reprimanded Howard in a frigid voice. "You know what Henry has done—that he was a villain. How can you even think to ask such questions? Did you yourself not imply to Luxa that he was—"

But Henry barely listened to Howard's tirade. Only with utmost willpower did he eventually manage to close his agape-standing mouth.

Was there no good in him at all?

Among everything he had expected to hear during this conversation—during this stay—in this place—or anywhere in the human settlements, at all—he had not even dared to hope for such a line. He recalled vividly how Gregor and Luxa had spoken about him on the boat and then in the jungle; then he cast his gaze back on Stellovet, who had crossed her arms, not meeting Howard's eyes.

Of all people, who was she to utter words like that? And why?

Agitatedly, Henry shoved the churning confusion in his head down. He had not the slightest idea how to deal with or even react to such an admission, and he told himself that it was ultimately inconsequential.

"I must go," said Stellovet at that moment, before she pivoted, disappearing into the archway and her quarters.

Howard remained alone to stare after her with a mix of confusion and disbelief. Henry stared too, and despite his decision to not concern himself with her words, he had to fight the urge to chase after her and confront her. Ask her what, by all hells, she had meant.

No matter how much he wanted, he could no longer convince himself that those words had meant nothing to him.

***

The following dinner went by without notable incidents. Stellovet was quieter than usual, but after what he had overheard, it would have surprised Henry if she had been normal.

Maybe half an hour into the meal, Thanatos finally asked if he was well, and only then did it occur to him that he had not spoken much either. Usually, Henry told grand tales during dinner or showcased to the intrigued crowd his latest curiosities. But as hard as he tried, he could not cease thinking about Stellovet's words . . . or what else he had overheard between her and Howard.

Henry forced himself to relax his rigid hands and cast a glance at Hero, Kent, and Chim, who whispered to each other, looking toward him again and again.

"You must excuse me, but I have no tales today," he said to them. "See, I have been coming here so often that I scarcely have time for new adventures in between."

Their faces fell immediately, and Henry gave them his best attempt at an encouraging grin. "I shall tell double the tales next time," he promised, and their faces lit up again.

But Thanatos' stare at his back would not cease. "I will tell you later," whispered Henry. "It is nothing to worry about, I promise."

And yet, Henry worried anyway. The noises that enveloped him painted a picture in striking detail—Stellovet's rigid posture and the uneaten food on her plate. Howard's concerned looks in her direction. Finally, her hissing at Dalia to discard her food, as she had no appetite. The young governess had been chatting with a scullery maid off to the side, and when Stellovet snapped at her, she almost dropped the pile of used dishes she had been helping the maid carry.

Observing her clenched jaw, Henry wondered why Dalia was clearing dishes instead of focusing solely on Stellovet's education and upbringing. Moments later, he shook his head and took a large bite, chalking it up to his lack of understanding of the responsibilities of a servant.

He had known that the residents of the Fount followed old-fashioned customs compared to Regalia, but he had never experienced firsthand just how strictly York and Susannah raised their children. And Stellovet had never really stood out to Henry before; she had only ever been Howard's sister, the one who had mistreated Nerissa, leading him to mistreat her in return. But if he were honest, he wasn't so surprised to learn that her cruel behavior might be rooted in a deeper issue. What did surprise him was that her issue was not unlike his own.

Because, if there was one thing Henry was familiar with, it was expectations. A life spent in someone else's shadow who was widely regarded as perfect—someone you loved yet hated because you felt like you could never match them, never outgrow them to be your own person. To win your own gold.

And here was . . . Henry's gaze met Stellovet. Here was a girl trapped in the same circumstances, which had led him to listen to the lies of Tonguetwist and betray his loved ones. She was displaying a tough and impenetrable front, and she was dragging others down wherever she could because she had to, lest she feel like she disappeared behind their glory. She was adorning herself with all things gilded, even if they were ungenuine, unearned, because she knew not how to obtain true gold. She was expected to do everything she was told, yet not honestly be anything . . . because there was nothing anyone really needed her to be at all.

Henry searched for York's and Susannah's other children with his eye and realized that, for the first time, he was viewing someone in a struggle for acknowledgment and recognition and felt no sense of competitiveness, no desire for them to fail, so that he would have a higher chance of success. Quite the opposite . . . He desired to yell at them to open their eyes. To see that it was all meaningless and that life was too short to waste it on attempting to fulfill the expectations of others.

To lift others up.

His declaration came to mind, and Henry froze with his fork in mid-air. All of a sudden, it dawned on him that he could make a declaration such as this because he was no longer insecure.

Henry sat there for a solid minute, contemplating the utterly incomprehensible thought that he had managed to grow beyond expectations and rivalries in exile, of all places. But maybe it was not so unbelievable, thought Henry. In exile, there was no one to be compared to because he trod paths that no one had ever walked and set for himself goals that no one had ever accomplished. The only one he could ever disappoint was he himself . . . and he was done with disappointing himself. And so, he was no longer desperate to triumph over others at any cost.

He was not silver, and his gold was uniquely his, so he was no longer afraid to lose it to someone else. The thought brought an unprecedented rush.

For a moment, he basked in this newfound pride. He once again reminded himself of his declaration about who he wanted to be, realizing that this would require him to go out of his way to attempt to make others come to the same realization. Even if he had no obligations toward them or their lives . . . in such a manner, he could change their lives for the better. It was the heroic thing to do, whispered a voice in his head.

Frustrated, Henry tossed his fork onto his plate. He had enough worries, and obscure existentialist questions regarding actions that he may or may not have the chance to pursue in the future were not particularly high on his list. Or at least, he did not want them to be.

Besides—Henry looked over at Stellovet again—even if she faced similar struggles as he had, it did not justify her mistreatment of others. His own insecurities had not excused his actions, so why should hers? His cruelties lay in the past, thought Henry. Because he had changed. And when he next looked up at Stellovet, he looked at her as someone who may change as well.

As if she had felt his gaze on her, she glanced up, her face flushing when she saw him looking, before hastily turning away. Henry couldn't help but grin at the sight.

Listening to her conversations with her parents and Howard today had yielded many things that had shaken his formerly established views of her. But then and there he was reminded that it had also yielded the information that her parents thought she was excessively "swooning over him"—which did not fail to amuse him either way.

***

About half an hour later, he gathered his belongings and stacked the now-empty supply crates together. Following an official farewell after dinner, it was time for him and Thanatos to return to the colony.

"I can make sense of everything else," said Henry, concluding his recount of the overheard conversations. "But not of what she said about there being good in me, or why she, of all people, would say it."

"Perhaps she hated you less than you assumed."

"Pah." Henry shouldered his backpack, preparing to mount up. "If she did not hate me, she had an odd way of showing that. Either way." He grinned. "Tomorrow, on my free day, I shall finally make progress on the saddle design. I must devise a system to keep the rider in place more effectively."

"Is anyone rushing you?"

Henry flicked at his ear. "I shall not—" Before he could finish his sentence, they both turned sharply at the sudden sound of footsteps approaching from the keep. Soon after, two silhouettes rushed through the gate, one larger and one smaller. With no guards in sight, they made their way toward them unimpeded. When Henry discerned who it was, he put his arms on his hips with a grin. "Have the brave maidens escaped their parents to say goodbye?"

Draped in an oversized, plain cape that concealed her elegant dinner gown, Stellovet's larger figure blushed as she shoved the smaller figure of Chim in his direction. "I am not . . . It is merely that she had a gift for you which she could not hand over in the presence of our parents," said Stellovet, clasping her hands.

"Is that so?" Henry kneeled in front of Chim. "Well, what have you got there?"

Chim gave him a wide grin, revealing a glaring, fresh tooth gap. Then she leaned in and whispered: "In truth, it was Sister who dragged me out here. She had to say goodbye without anyone watching. But do not tell her I said anything, lest she refuses to let me play with her dolls again."

Henry broke into roaring laughter, looking up at Stellovet, whose entire face, along with her exposed fingertips, had taken on a purple hue. "You still play with dolls?" he teased, whereupon her brows creased and her hands clenched around the rim of her cape.

"I do not!" she yelled, her voice tinged with hysteria. "She lies. I am nearly a grown woman!"

"Oh, without a doubt." Much to her dismay, Henry continued to laugh. "But have you not a gift for me?" he asked Chim.

"Yes!" She nodded, pulling out a piece of rolled-up parchment. "For you. So that, if Mother and Father ever forbid you from coming, you will not forget us."

Curiously, Henry unrolled it and nearly broke with laughter again. Thanatos glimpsed over his shoulder and shook his head in amusement as well. "What a masterpiece," he lauded. "One day, you shall be a master artist."

"Many thanks!" She performed a graceful curtsy, then ran up to the flier and wrapped her little arms around his neck. "Apologies that I could not fit you on the parchment too. It was not big enough," she said ruefully. "The next picture I make will be only for you."

"I cannot wait to see it," said Thanatos, and Chim released him to hug Henry next.

"We shall hold you to that." Henry grinned, wrapping an arm around her and using the other to unfurl the parchment with the nothing short of masterful drawing she had given him, to look at it again. "Death is not wrong," he said with a wide grin. "This has to be the best piece of art I have ever seen."

Chim, at the age of six, may not have had the most refined drawing skills, but her portrayal of him and her family was remarkably accurate.

Howard's legs alone matched Stellovet's entire height. Her hair trailed down to the floor and she wore an exquisite, flowing gown. Hero and Kent were nearly identical, except for Hero's long hair and dress, in contrast to Kent's pants and shirt. The broadly grinning Chim stood next to Henry, who wore a mischievous smirk and, of course, the eyepatch and his fur coat. She had drawn him holding Charos, which was taller than the outcast himself. Henry's other arm was wrapped around Stellovet, and when he inquired about this detail, Chim grinned and shrugged. "She'd be pleased," was her only response, once more prompting laughter from Henry and Thanatos.

He slid the scroll with the picture into a side pocket of his backpack and stood up. "Many thanks for the wonderful gift!" He performed an elaborate salute in the sisters' direction. "Unfortunately, it's time for us to leave. It was a pleasure."

Stellovet returned his smile and gave a gracious curtsy in return. "We hope you will grace our presence again soon."

"Likewise." Henry mounted up and gave them one final salute. "Fly you high!"

As Thanatos lifted off, Stellovet raised both hands to wave, and Chim jumped up and down with excitement, screaming her own "Fly you high!" until the sisters had disappeared out of sight.

"So, what say you? Does her remark about Henry mean that this very apparent infatuation Stellovet has with you would persist even if she were to uncover your true identity?" asked Thanatos when they were out of earshot.

Henry stared down at the dark city beneath. On his way out of the keep, he had intersected with a group of Lighthands headed to begin the nighttime initiation. "I cannot say, although I doubt she would find Henry as intriguing as she does the mysterious, forbidden Death Rider. She or . . . any of them. Not that they will ever know."

Thanatos was silent for a while. "Being around humans again is something you enjoy, no?" he said eventually.

"Very much so."

Thanatos snorted. "On one hand, I cannot blame you for having missed being around your own species. But humans are also so . . . No other species is so prone to drama and petty scandals."

"Yes." Henry grinned. "And that is precisely what I missed . . . I think."

To that, Thanatos said nothing, and Henry could not really blame him for it. As they left the Fount behind, Henry lay down to sleep as well.

Perhaps if he had known that York and Susannah would carry out their announcement to Stellovet and refrain from requesting additional supply runs for the following two weeks, he would have looked back.

In those uneventful weeks, Henry missed the city that he had made fun of as a child, more often than not, far more than he thought he would . . . Although, in between experiments with adjustments to the saddle design, other trade runs, and combat practice, he had little time for missing anything.

Henry attempted not to concern himself with missing anything. He attempted to make progress on the saddle, which did not go so well as he could not resolve the issue of his legs hanging loosely and causing inconvenience. Not since the Ignifer had any invention caused him this much headache, and he and Thanatos eventually agreed to stay at the colony for as long as it would take to perfect the saddle.

And to his surprise, Henry minded this decision little. More than anything, he relished the peace that he had been so starved of for so long . . . and so he wasted thoughts on neither concerns nor unresolved threats.

. . . Until that one fateful day when Cevian stepped onto the beach, holding a mailcase adorned with the sigil of the Fount. "Henry, you must look," she urged, handing the case over. "It is for the Death Rider."

And when Henry unclasped the case and read the letter, it was as though his bliss shattered, slipping through his fingers as the scroll snapped shut in his hand.

"What has happened?" asked Cevian with concern.

Thanatos, who had read over Henry's shoulder, raised his gaze. "It is Longclaw."