"Well, look who's here," a familiar voice speared from behind a dagrine rear. April knitted her eyebrows, not quite making sense of how in Pidmena's name it was able to talk.

A woman with ocher locks and a mischievous smile peeked past the dagrine's backside, giving the animal a quick rub. The dagrine's off-white tail twitched with the comfort the gesture brought to it.

April cleared her throat, her hands tightening around the enveloped letter she came bearing. "Hera, I need your help," she said.

Herana Elin, April's longest friend for a whole twelve years, snorted and tucked strands of her hair that escaped her single-plaited braid behind her pointy ears. The light freckles dusting her nose and cheeks glinted against the faint rays of sunlight shining through the stable's roof. Underneath their feet, countless strands of dried straw scratched and crunched with every step Hera took to make it to where April stood by the wooden building's door.

"I was beginning to think you've forgotten about me," Hera said, dusting her hands against her dark blue trousers. Her tight-fitting tunic showed off her noticeable chest and hugged her shoulders quite nicely. She sidled next to April and knocked her shoulder against April's. "Come on, you could have dropped by earlier in the month."

April swallowed against the growing lump in her throat. What was she even doing earlier in the month? Apparently so much she couldn't even tell them apart. "Why? Did you miss me?" she snapped, despite the delight curling in her gut upon seeing her friend even just this briefly. "I've been caught up with a lot of things in the Palace."

Hera bobbed her head in understanding. "Well, you're in luck," she turned to the inside of the stables and strode away. "I'm just finishing for the day. I'll meet you outside in a few minutes."

April pursed her lips, staying rooted in her place. As much as she hated the thick smell of manure and wet fur wafting in the air, she also didn't like standing outside on her own like a jilted lover. "I think I'll just stand here and watch you like a bird of prey."

A wince twisted Hera's face as she moved to retrieve one of the long-handled rakes at the farthest corner of the stable. "Please don't do that," she bent down and began persecuting the hills of scratchy straw. "You know I get self-conscious."

Which she shouldn't even be, in the first place. With her looks—warm sienna skin, tall and curvy frame, and the deepest shade of brown making up the feathers of her wings—she was bound to secure for herself a suitor...or two, if she willed it. Yet, Hera stayed here, in the Palace stables, tending to the cart animals the nobles use in carrying their stuff around Azorgend. If not for April stumbling upon Hera being fired from her job as a server in a tavern in Starvale, Hera would still be wandering the streets, or she could have found a job in Aphesa.

The memory of their meeting now played in her mind, making a small smile creep to her lips without her permission. She and Hera met during one of April's yearly trips to the other cities in Falkirta.

April, after ending up in a petty fight with her leading maid, escaped and had gotten lost in the winding roads of Starvale. She came across a young server being kicked out of the backdoor of a tavern, still on her stained apron, staunch pigtails, and knee-high socks and boots. They talked for a moment, with Hera sulking at the sidewalk about her lost job and her need for versallis to feed her ailing mother. April thought she had to help so she started a deal: Hera would help April get back to her rented manor and April would help Hera get a job back in Azorgend.

April got home in one piece after that tour and Hera had gotten a job at the stables. They stayed friends throughout the years, with April dropping by Hera's workplace for a quick chat or when the days got hard. Now, she needed her friend for something else entirely.

See, over the years of their talking, April had noticed certain skills that Hera had. The sprite had talked about working as a private guard for some wealthy family before she got fired from that too when the spoiled flower-child of the house stabbed her with a fork.

Part of her job there as a guard was to learn how to wield a sword to protect her charge and to know how to sneak around places she shouldn't be in case her charge wandered in at the wrong place at the wrong time.

Getting in and getting someone out without being noticed were Hera's specialties—one April needed for her hidden assignment. April had also witnessed it in action when she made up a craving for warmet nuts and told Hera how to sneak into the ever-busy kitchens without being seen. The sprite had gotten the nuts—in a bag, even—and when April asked the head cook about Hera's presence in the kitchens earlier that day, the head cook said he didn't recall even seeing Hera for the first time.

So, if there was anyone capable of doing this assignment, it was Hera. April just needed to find a good timing.

Hera was now loading a pail with water from the small pond opposite the gated cubicles where the dagrinis resided behind. She filled the pail to the brim before retrieving the rigid brushes she used to brush the animals' furs. Then, she began scrubbing those against the clear water in the pail, getting rid of any remnant of soap and other particles making the water murky.

"Say, if I were to request a favor from you now, would you do it?" April wondered aloud as she approached the first cubicle nearest her. Inside it was a dappled black and white dagrine, pawing the ground free from straw, ears twitching back to wave off the small, dark insects flitting by its head.

Hera hummed from her place, the sound of bristles rubbing against each other and Hera's palm erupting in rhythmic scratches in April's ears. "Depends on the favor," the sprite replied, hefting the pail of now-murky water and upending it into an empty trough beside the pond. It might be used to water the plants in the Palace gardens or something to help them grow beautiful flowers in time for the blooming festival later in the year.

"What is it?" Hera straightened with a grunt and moved to draw clean water from the pond again. The splash of the water against an empty pail almost drowned out her voice. "Don't tell me it's to help you get a guy."

April snorted. "Far from it," she said. "I need you to deliver a letter, secretly."

Hera paused halfway from dumping a dipper-full of water into her pail. "Do we have a destination?" she asked.

"Lanteglos," April revealed, tightening her hold on the rim of the cubicle's gate. The dagrine remained oblivious of the turmoil in her gut and instead ducked its head into the feeding trough. "Specifically Edgerift. The Imperial Palace. I need you to send a letter to my mother. Make sure she gets it."

The water made it to the pail. Hera tossed the dipper made from a hollowed out rind of some fruit. It bobbed for a few seconds over the surface as the water caught its impact. "Is the Court aware of this?" she said.

April shook her head. It was enough of an answer.

"It's okay if you don't want to," April said, though she really hoped Hera would agree. Otherwise, she'd be forced to bribe one of the Advisers to help her. How hard was it to direct correspondence to her own mother? "I also need you to investigate something for me while you're down there."

Hera crossed her arms, forgetting her hands were dripping wet a few seconds ago. She didn't seem to mind the growing dark splotches on the sleeves of her dark tunic. "Brief me in the other thing under one condition."

April knitted her eyebrows. "Okay," she said cautiously. What was Hera up to now? "What is the condition?"

"You get the stable managers to stop bringing Daisy to Starvale to cater to the tourists," Hera jerked her chin at the fourth stall from April. A dagrine with sad, black eyes stared back at April when she approached the cubicle Hera had pointed out. "She's too old to even make the journey and back, much less tending to the tourist carts and the city's numerous demands to these poor animals."

April nodded. Of course, her voice in the court was still as loud as a baby fowl's chirp but it wouldn't hurt to try. After all, Starvale should have its own stables so the dagrinis wouldn't have to be shipped back and forth between the only city accessible by fairies from other races and Azorgend, the capital.

"Yeah," April agreed. "I'm going to try and bring up the issue in the next meeting."

Hera strode towards her and plucked the letter she forgot she had clasped in her other hand behind her. "Consider it done, then," the sprite answered, grinning brightly at April. "When do you need this done by?"

April rolled her shoulders. "Take your time."

"What do you need me to investigate?" came Hera's next question.

A new kind of dread dropped in April's gut. "The murders in Lanteglos," she said. "The earliest victims are a private investigator and an informant. Something tells me it wasn't just a bunch of random murders. Besides, murder wasn't a common crime, especially in Lanteglos."

Hera nodded. April didn't know how much of the situation and the source of April's worry did Hera understand. It didn't matter, though. Hera would get it done and April would have more information regarding the murders soon.

"Murders, got it," Hera said. Then, she jerked her chin towards the stable's exit, apparently done with her chores for the day. "Come on. I'll treat you to a bowl of yehzarpe on the way back."

The notion of tasting the savory meat stew made April's mouth water and her stomach to growl in anticipation. "Walk slowly," she called to Hera who had already ducked out of the stable and was already tackling the streets. "You know I've got short legs."

Hera turned around and began walking backwards, unbothered she might walk into somebody out of accident. "Not my fault, Apes," she called back. "Not my fault."

2407 Xavem 3, Kindreth

Apes.

The name rang in April's head since Hera blurted that silly nickname a few days ago. It hasn't quite left April's head since then for a number of reasons. One, it was the first time Hera had dared shorten her name to something else like April did to Herana. And two, the name sounded a lot like what someone would call a specific group of primates in an alternate world.

Her sword scritched against a dummy's metal head, sparks flying into the cold air blowing through the open atmosphere of the training grounds.

Apes.

How had she not seen it coming? Hera would come up with the most ridiculous names for everyone based on their given names. How long did April have to dismantle it before it stuck for all eternity? The dummy swung in a wide arc, the rounded base it was stuck to preventing it toppling completely. April sidestepped, bringing her sword in the direction she knew the dummy would swing back on its way to being upright. The tapered end speared for the dummy's throat and would have decapitated a grown fairy had it been alive. Once the dummy was still, she attacked it anew.

Apes.

Silly and quite moronic. April better not take Hera into the invitation to call her that name freely. Never in a million years. An aggressive growl tore off her throat as she pounded her sword again and again on the poor dummy. Let them come. It wasn't like there was anyone looking at her in such a solitary place.

Unlike the halls in the Palace compound, the building dedicated half to the armory and weapons smiths and half for the training with said weapons was an open courtyard. Three-story high walls surrounded her, each one sporting arched alcoves leading to empty corridors. Sets of marble stairs climbed up to the upper floors, more arched windows giving an unobstructed view of the wide training courtyard below. The ceiling was made from red shingles, capping only the thick walls and leaving the courtyard under the mercy of the clear, blue sky.

Hundreds of metal dummies resembling a typical air sprite form littered the grounds' cobbled floor in odd placements. Nobody was left to tidy this place up except for the soldiers who do use it. Irresponsible leeches, the lot of them. A pile of discarded weapons of various sorts lay somewhere near the middle alcoves, right next to the two-step stairs lining the open corridors at regular intervals the same as the intervals for the arches.

Sweat dripped from the side of April's face despite the lazy temperament of Falkirta's weather. Rightly so, considering she had been swinging her sword at the dummy for at least two hours. Despite the tight throbbing in her arm muscles and the breathlessness creeping to her chest, she hefted her broadsword, planted her foot on the floor, and leaped at the dummy.

Another clang and more sparks clashed with the pristine sky. April imagined the dummy to have Elami's face, propelling her forward. With all the hate she had left towards the smug Potentate, April flapped her wings, summoning a small gust of wind to propel her forward. She twirled, bringing momentum to her swing. The sharp edge of her blade sliced through the dummy's metal neck with a gritting screech. The force in April's swing jerked to a stop as the sword jammed in the wide cut she bent through the dummy's neck.

That's when she realized her chest had been heaving, her lungs struggling to take in air to make up for the strenuous work. Her hair had come off its elaborate braid one of her maids had stitched on her head, leaving only a limp semblance swinging behind her. Her training clothes, consisting of a plain, white tunic and dark trousers, were splotchy with sweat, clinging to her skin. She wiped her forehead with her sleeve. A new dark blotch stained her tunic. Ugh. She should draw up a bath later. The warm water would also help with her strained muscles.

Her fingers curled around the hilt of her sword still stuck deep into the dummy's neck and, with a grunt, she pulled. After a few tries, the sword clinked free from the cut, the absence of the dummy's pull almost driving April to her rear. She caught herself before she tripped over her own feet and spread her legs to regain her balance.

She looked down at the huge sword on her hands. Its once-deadly edges were now reduced into a chipped, jagged blade. Perhaps, one of the smiths would take up the job of sharpening it again seeing how she managed to wear it off. Well, whatever.

She was about to turn around and call it a day when something dark and flighty sparked in her periphery. Her feet froze, locking her into place. Something heavy rested upon her shoulders, like how someone's gaze boring into her felt like, and it wasn't because of the growing tightness the extensive workout brought. She whipped behind her, looking for the source of that unpleasant feeling.

Her gaze landed on a figure shrouded in shadows leaning against one of the arched windows by the second floor. They're no doubt watching her. How long had they been there? How long had they been watching? Moreover, how much of April's training did they see?

Someone was watching her.

A curse flitted out of April's lips as the realization sank into her. She threw her sword into the pile she passed by on her way out of the courtyard. A familiar shadow of the alcove's ceiling fell over her. Then, she looked for the nearest stairs and tackled it. Her footsteps were loud against the marble floor, echoing in the empty hallways as she tramped past the arches. When she reached her stalker's probable place, all she found was empty air.

She whirled around, looking for any exit points apart from the way she came from and the corridor's continuation leading to another stairs. She clenched her fists and made for the steps when a stray breeze blew into the windows, shuffling her messy and sweat-drenched locks away from her face. Something moved at the corner of her eyes.

When she turned in its direction, a single feather belonging to an air sprite's wings fluttered on the floor marred with dust from days of not being tended to. She approached it, bent down, and plucked it from the floor. Black as ink. The feather resembled the sky during nights without the moons' comforting and multi-colored rays.

Did the person watching her leave this? Maybe. Maybe not.

April pursed her lips, her jaw clenching so hard her temples started throbbed. Hera wasn't here to investigate this matter. It didn't look like her friend would be back anytime soon. For now, April was on her own.

Whoever thought it was wise to spy on April Sylkrana, they're going to regret it. Just they wait.

Without much ado, April swallowed her rage, letting her churning stomach digest it to smithereens of cold, calculating guile and calm. Then, she strode towards her room, bearing the inky black feather in her memory and in her hands.