The investiture took a good deal of experimentation to get right. She had a little experience with the prime reagent, crumbleweed. She used it to brew her dream ward potions in the past. With a few alterations, and the addition of amaranth petals and a few strange herbs the goblin green ones brought with them, Enfri created a spell that didn't protect her dreams, but placed her into one.

Jin's advice was invaluable, as was that of the oneiromancers among the mighty. Nonetheless, this was a spell that no dreamer had ever attempted before. Only someone with the elder magic of Shan Alee could make use of it.

Enfri went to sleep and found herself once more in the place of sand and ghosts.

She set out into the ruins, raising her eyes to take in the grand buildings towering over her. She felt as if the Imperial City were a dragon, and it swallowed her whole.

"Oneiromancy," Enfri murmured to herself. "Winds, but I never thought I'd ever give it a whirl on my own."

She looked down at herself, curious of how she would appear in the dream. Oneiromancy gave the dreamer unique insight into their own mind and soul. The dream self, how she manifested within the dream, was supposed to be who they believed themselves to be deep inside. There was no hiding from yourself in oneiromancy. No lies or illusions, only the truth.

Enfri was surprised by what she found. She wore something she didn't remember ever seeing before. The dark green dress was made from soft and sturdy wool- alpaca, she thought. It was embroidered, floral patterns done in silver thread. A high neckline, long skirt, but sleeveless. Her left arm bore tattoos, those already an indelible part of how she viewed herself.

It wasn't particularly fashionable, not like any sort of dress Jin would select for her, and if the villagers of Sandharbor ever saw the outfit, they'd look at her as if she'd just come from the moon. Not the dress of an empress or a sky woman. Something in-between, a foot in both worlds. Enfri rather liked it and thought she'd try to describe it to a seamstress once she had an opportunity.

"You look so much like your mother."

Enfri froze, unable to breathe. Her heart beat so fast she was worried it was about to pound its way right out of her. She turned, hesitant to look at him. Afraid, but unsure of what it was she feared.

He was tall. Easily Ban's height, and probably a few inches more. He wore the uniform of an Althandi armsman— chain hauberk, girded leather leggings, and a long tabard cinched at the waist with a thick belt. His tabard was dark red with a scarlet sunburst emblazoned across his chest, the colors and sigil of House Merovech. He didn't wear a helmet, and his short-cropped hair shone like gold. It matched his thick eyebrows and contrasted with his brown skin, darker than Enfri's own.

She found her father's face and saw it clearly.

So much younger than she imagined. Yora died when he was eighteen, a year younger than Enfri was now. If she saw someone with such a youthful face in her army, she'd want to send them back home to their mother.

Almost immediately, her vision blurred. She couldn't see him so well through her tears.

"There now," Yora whispered. He took her face in his hands and brushed the moisture aside. Pulling Enfri to his chest, he held her close and ran his fingers through her hair. "I'm here, my sunrise."

This didn't feel like a dream. He was so warm, so real. Enfri could feel the rise and fall of his chest, hear the beat of his heart. His arms were around her, and she fit so perfectly inside them.

Enfri held on to her father, trying her best not to sob uncontrollably. "You're here," she breathed. "I've... This isn't the first time. I've seen you here before."

She felt Yora nod and hum his assent.

"In Marwin, when I drank the anesthetic, you were there."

"Always, Enfri. From your first breath."

Enfri pulled back, startled. "Always?"

"Well..." Yora scratched at the back of his head, sheepish. "Fine, not always. I turn my back when I got no business peeping in on what you're up to. Your old man has no place in certain places." He raised an eyebrow, a twinkle in his green eyes. "More and more often, I need to knock some blustering heads around to give you some privacy. Some of these codgers are the worst sort of lechers."

Enfri felt her cheeks heat up. She'd never really put a lot of thought towards the ancient emperors getting an eyeful whenever she made love with Jin. She determinedly thought about anything but, to be honest.

"I like her," Yora said with a smile. "She suits you, and it's no secret around here how much you love her."

"I thought... you would disapprove. Because she's..."

"A royal assassin?" Yora ventured. "Daughter of the Highest King and the niece of the swine what sent me here?"

Enfri winced. "More or less."

"I think you and I should know better than anyone not to judge people by their family." He tapped his knuckles to her chin. "Anyone that looks at you the way she does is alright by me."

Enfri smiled as she wiped her eyes.

"But winds and storms, girl. A princess. You're not one to pluck fruit low to the ground at all."

Enfri pursed her lips. "I will not listen to my father talk of... plucking fruit!"

He raised his palms and laughed. "Poor choice of words. Unlike some, I never learned how to speak proper from ladies and kings and all these other fancy types you go around with."

Enfri wrinkled her nose. Winds, but wasn't this supposed to be... heart-felt and touching? But no, he was laughing and carrying on as if... Well, as if her were a village girl's father. Enfri thought this was everything she could have hoped for.

"I've... always wanted to meet you, Father."

Yora's eyes sparkled with amusement. "So formal?"

Enfri laughed, and she couldn't stop the tears that fell from her eyes. "Alright, then. Papa."

There might have been a tremor in Yora's expression, or a glistening in his eyes. He took Enfri by the hand and looked down to the ground beside them. A spear lay half-buried in the sand at their feet. Enfri bent as if to pick it up, but her father held her back.

"That's not really your thing, is it?" Yora rolled the spear towards him with his foot and kicked it up to his waiting grasp. He held it lightly in his left hand and couched it in the crook of his arm. "You may need to when you're winning battles and saving the day, but you don't need to be something you're not with me."

Enfri gave him an incredulous look. "A protective father, or overprotective?"

"No back talk," he said with mock severity. "Allow your old man his vices."

She covered her mouth and giggled as he led her down a sand-logged street.

They were alone within the Imperial City. At least, they appeared to be alone. Wherever they went, no matter how far they walked, there was always an itch between Enfri's shoulder blades. The sensation of being watched followed her all the way to the Opalescent Road.

"Did you get rid of them?" Enfri asked.

"Who? The codgers?"

"I call them the spooks."

Yora chuckled. "I like that. No, but I would if I could." He looked up at the building tops around them. "They're still around. They always are. The cost of elder magic binds all of us to this place, and it always will as long as our bloodline still exists in the mortal world."

"Then why haven't I heard them since yesterday? For that matter, why haven't I heard much from you until now?"

Yora let out a long breath. "How to say? If Deebee ever managed to teach me anything about magic, it's that there are always rules, even when you can't really tell what they are. I have no choice but to follow them, just like the others." He smiled at her. "I won't waste what little time we have together boring you with that sort of thing. It can wait until I can just think it into your head when you're awake."

"You had a father-daughter outing in mind?"

"I think we're overdue for one." He walked a little faster and pulled her along. "Suffice it to say, there's an ebb and flow in this... in-between place. Like the tides. Our souls tend to flock with others like us, and the codgers have a long history of having one goal in common, if not much else. That means they stay at the forefront the longest, but watching you has given the rest of us a kick in the pants to get our acts together and push the scales in the other direction. For at least a little while, you get to deal with us instead of them."

Enfri blinked. "Us?"

Yora beamed as they came to the foot of a grand staircase. It led up to the immense structure at the center of the Imperial City. "Come along. There's someone I'd like you to meet."

Enfri kept her eyes ahead as they ascended the staircase. She was glad that this was, in essence, all a dream, or her legs would have given out on her before she reached the halfway point. Yora brought her into an enormous chamber, then through long hallways. All was richly decorated despite the centuries of neglect. Gold, silver, orichalcum, and strange metals she couldn't name shone beneath layers of dust. Precious stones glittered within the spellwrought walls, and faded tapestries still hung beside statues of heroes and dragons.

At last, Yora brought Enfri to a high-vaulted chamber. Here, a small group of beautiful men and women waited. All were Aleesh. Pureblooded. Tall and strong, with dark skin, emerald eyes, and long hair that shone as bright as the gold fixtures they stood among. They wore raiment much like Shoen and the others, far more revealing than Enfri would ever be comfortable wearing. Winds, but it wasn't just the men among them who sometimes went bare-chested. They watched Enfri with open curiosity as she walked to the center of the imperial throne room of Shan Alee. Perhaps there was also a small measure of wonder in how they looked at her.

"Grandfather," Yora called. "I brought my daughter. Her name is Enfri."

One of the Aleesh separated from the others. He was an older man, his long hair more white than gold. Weathered lines gathered at the corners of his eyes and around his mouth. It was a face accustomed to broad smiles. He came forward and stood before Enfri, and his expression softened. He exhaled sharply, his eyes growing heavy with tears of joy.

"Grandfather?" Enfri asked. She gasped and covered her mouth with both hands.

"Enfri," Inwe said softly. He took her by the shoulders, his grip firm but still among the gentlest touches she'd ever felt. "I am so pleased to finally meet you."

She didn't know what to say. Enfri could only goggle at him, the first Dragon Emperor, the first human arcanist in history, and stand there like a lump.

Inwe guided her to stroll alongside him with a hand to her back. "First things first, do you think you could tell me a little about this plant you've been experimenting with? Vex sprouts, was it?"

Some of the others groaned softly and shook their heads in amusement.

"Alchemist?" Enfri ventured.

"Alchemist, though my Majestic chided me for not pursuing runes as he did." He patted Enfri's hand and led her towards where her earliest ancestors waited. "I think there is much we can learn from you, my empress."

oOo

Krayson unlocked the gravity spell, but he held on to the ether. He'd discovered that if he let the magic fade slowly, gravity reasserted its natural state at a more gradual pace. It'd taken some practice, but now he fell through the mists gently until coming to a soft landing upon an iron walkway.

The Spired City rose around him.

He avoided Westrun and the ruins of the Sanguine Tower. From dragon back, he'd seen enough of the devastation. Almo would remain nearby while Krayson saw to his errand within the City of Althandor.

Since the Battle of Moran Valley two days ago, something had weighed on his mind. A niggling feeling that he'd overlooked something important. By chance, during a game of arja with Lord Bannlyth, it had come to him.

Fellowton remained much as he remembered it. No one noticed his descent from above, and even if they did, his red half-robe made the goodfolk avert their eyes and look elsewhere. From what he'd gathered during the swift journey to the Spired City, blood runners were fast becoming a thing of legend. So few remained that the goodfolk had begun to say that any who still lived could only be the most frightful arcanists imaginable to have survived the calamities of the Order.

Nonsense, really. Krayson didn't think of himself as particularly frightful. The rumors trickling across the Five Kingdoms about a dread necromancer, a powerful arcanist who raised the dead and shook the Continent with his apotheosis, were just silly. Though, technically, accurate. Still, he would have preferred if the goodfolk didn't clutch spiritual talismans close to their hearts as they repeated those rumors with trembling voices.

It was just a good thing that Starra had been on hand to detach the apotheosis from Krayson and the others. He believed one that strong would've still been lingering on him and would have stayed there until the new year.

Krayson kept mist-goggles over his eyes to better see where he was going. It was an early morning in spring, so it was particularly thick. He could barely see the gaslights above at the peak of Arcrest Tower.

His thoughts turned briefly to Cardin's Saloon. There was little chance that the ruffer would have returned to check in on his staff, but it was enough of a possibility that Krayson kept on his guard. However, he hadn't come to the Spired City for Cardin.

It took some searching, but Krayson found what he looked for. He stood at the bare wall between the storefronts of a bookseller and a cobbler. There was nothing here. Nothing that could be seen.

Krayson placed his hand against the wall. It had to have been an illusion. Tangible, but no more real than a simulacrum.

"Closed for business?" Krayson murmured. "My apologies, but I'm on urgent business."

He looked from side to side and waited for a moment when the sparse pedestrians were hidden by mist and distance. Once he was reasonably certain that no one would see, Krayson formed a two point double somatic.

"Tarnak."

Earth and kinetic essences shattered the wall, taking the illusion of a bare surface with it. He stepped over rubble to enter Algol's hidden shop.

Krayson sniffed the air and scanned his eyes around him. The shelves were empty. The stacks of antiques, curiosities, and mundane supplies were nowhere to be found. A thick layer of dust coated every inch of the floor and countertops. Abandoned cobwebs hung from the ceiling. It looked as if no one had set foot in this room in years.

Narrowing his eyes, Krayson peered with his witch sight. The shop was as devoid of ether as it was of merchandise. Only the last wisps from the illusion hung in the air before that also returned to the Ethereum. All he could see was the table he remembered sharing a game of arja with the proprietor. That, too, was covered with the evidence that no one had been here in a very long time.

"You never answered my question," Krayson whispered. "Who are you?"

He went through the rows of shelves. All were empty save for dust and the corpses of long-dead flies. Krayson extended his search to the back rooms where he'd first seen Algol emerge from. There was an old workshop with a cracked, wooden bench. Then, a spartan bedchamber that had nothing inside but a broken bedframe and an off-kilter door hanging from one hinge. That led to a privy closet that hadn't seen an arse in ages.

Utterly empty. There was nothing here. No mysterious shopkeepers, no laconic errand boys, and certainly no answers. Krayson sighed and admitted that there'd never really been much of a chance he'd learn anything by coming back to this place. He'd only ever come here in the first place by chance.

Or fate, Krayson thought wryly.

Pointless to stay. Krayson headed for the exit. As he passed the arja table, he ran a finger through the dust. Something shifted beneath his touch.

Krayson paused and looked down at the table. He frowned as he swept his hand over the table's surface. The game board hadn't changed. Seven by seven squares. Starra would have called that unlucky.

Concealed by the layers of dust, there was a small square of lacquered paper. Krayson slid it to the edge of the table and picked it up. He blew on it and held it in front of his eyes.

It was one of the cards from Algol's arja set. Krayson hadn't seen this particular one before, but he could recognize what it was meant to depict.

Judging by the way the golden-haired man held his hands above his head, this was the wizard. However, in classical artwork, when an arcanist wore a band of metal around their throats, that meant they were a witch.

The short hairs on the back of Krayson's neck seemed to stand on end.

Twinborn.

Krayson heard the message the card was meant to convey, loud and clear.

"Our customer belonged to us from the start."

Setting the card back down on the table, Krayson turned away and walked out of the shop. He stepped into the mist and ignored the crowd starting to gather and stare in bemusement at the broken entryway of a shop they'd never noticed before. The goodfolk backed away from Krayson and made a path for him to pass through the crowd.

This feeling of something larger moving in the background had been with Krayson ever since he found himself in the king's prison. Now, at last, he believed he'd finally caught a glimpse of the larger game.

When Maya showed him the Melcian's map, Krayson had nearly put it together. He'd been too preoccupied with his contract to see that his journey was just a small part. The printsheets spoke of the Courtesans, little acts of discord ranging from spreading dissent against House Algara to the burning of canneries in the Isles of Shoto. Westrun was in ruins, burying the agricultural center of Althandor beneath piles of rubble. Rebellion had already shattered Altier Nashal, the Protectorate was in turmoil, the Horde was doubtlessly preparing for the next invasion, and a combined force of Melcia and Nadia had just been defeated by a young house that hadn't existed a month ago. Within all the chaos, not one but two Dragon Empresses warred over the fate of their people and the mighty.

Soon, the Five Kingdoms wouldn't be able to feed the goodfolk, let alone hold back the discord spreading across the Continent like a sickness. With the Order and the magocracy in shambles, there was no one to regulate the spread of forbidden magic that would inevitably come when nobles and kings with seditious aspirations turned to dark powers best forgotten.

The mortal world was in check. Algol and other demons like him were winning the game. Not just victory, but survival itself, would take a miracle. Fortunately, Krayson had some experience with those. This game wasn't over.

Krayson had finally begun to play.

END OF ACT FOUR