The metallic stench of fresh blood and bile wafted in the cold evening air as the sky darkened to a pitch black overhead. In the back garden, torn out innards lay splattered across the grass in a coiled mess, marring the beauty of the lush rose bushes and stone statues. Crows circled overhead, despite the Royal Guards brandishing their spears around, some even daring to swoop down and fly off with a chunk or two.

At the end of the blood trail, leading from the dungeons deep in the bowels of the palace to the gardens, lay the lifeless body of Dion Edsley, stomach slit open, his insides scattered about.

Shadows of the trees shivered across his pale face, frozen in a scream at the terror of his final moments.

The soldiers stood around the corpse, silent as though frozen by a spell, all except Princess Lysandra who by her royal temper, defied the resistance of the guards and brought the party of soldiers inside the palace premises to the scene of the murder. Her footsteps thundered across the paved garden path as she paced to and fro, still dressed in travel gear.

Behind the gruesome scene, the royal palace of Byton stood towering in all its glory, an imposing structure so breathtaking as to make Migdros jealous. The pale blue flag of Midaelia rippled from the topmost tower. Farren dragged her gaze back to the crude reality--the corpse at her feet.

"One moment. I turn my back for one moment and there's a murder not a hundred paces far from the palace," said princess Lysandra through gritted teeth.

One of the Royal Guards began meekly, eyeing the soldiers. "Your Highness, you shouldn't be allowing these outsiders..."

"Outsiders?" The princess spun to face him with a burning glare, at which the guard reared a step back. "Mind repeating that?"

Needless to say the guard did not dare. She heaved a frustrated sigh. "Now you're worried about outsiders, after the murderer managed to break in, did their job and got away unnoticed."

It seemed to Farren as though the shadows of the trees grew darker, unseen figures lurked in the corners of her eyes, even the rustling of a nesting bird sounded ever so ominous.

She wished Xenro and Captain Walric hadn't parted ways at the steps of the Council and headed for their new base. They were needed here now, more than ever. She did not trust these Royal Guards one bit.

The same thoughts seemed to trouble Lysandra as well, for she crouched beside where Farren knelt beside the corpse and spoke in a hushed tone. "Have those damned Drisians already got their hands on the palace layouts?"

"I doubt it was the Drisians, Your Highness," said Farren. "Or whether this has anything to do with the layout plans."

The princess frowned. "Your meaning, Corporal?"

"Private, now," corrected Farren, gesturing to the corpse. "Guts torn out and scattered about for crows to feast upon--that's how the Guild punishes its assassins who fail to finish a contract, or compromise a client's information."

"Or anyone who double-crosses the Guild," interjected Karles. "Told me the same thing, this poor bastard. And look who's dead now."

"So naught more than the execution of grotesque policies of a gang of murderers, huh?" said Princess Lysandra. "A shame that the esteemed Royal Guard cannot stop mere local thugs barging into the palace."

Linder cast a wary look at the guards. "In all likelihood, they let the murderer in. Sir Troth runs the Silver Knife Square, where the Guild picks up contracts. See what I'm getting at?"

"Aye." Farren remembered the Royal Guard Miveresk, who had once arrived in the Kinallen camp, inquiring after the dagger and left enraged when he did not get what he wanted. "Sir Troth's brother, Dasterian Miveresk, is in the Royal Guard, for one." The more she saw of the Royal Guard, the more she agreed with Lysandra's decision to seek out the company.

"We've got a bigger problem at hand, I'm afraid." Linder got to his feet, brushing his cloak. "We no longer have a witness, nor solid proof to convict Alfred Henris. Gods, all this dragging around, keeping him under watch--all for naught."

Witness, eh? Farren had seen everything with her own eyes. She'd been in the manor the day the conversation between Alfred and Dion took place.

"I could--" She cut herself off. What weight did her words hold now? She was someone with a rather grand track record, with a demotion under her belt and blazing thief's brand to mark her for life.

"Yes, you could," said Princess Lysandra.

Farren shook her head. "Forgive me, Your Highness, but we wouldn't have to haul Dion all this way if my word was enough."

"It would have to be," said Linder. "Now that the witness is gone, we have to make do with what we do have."

Klo pushed herself off the wall where she'd been leaning. "Very well. In that case, I will speak to His Majesty as well. I interrogated Dion myself, after all."

Boots shuffled behind them. They turned to see Rendarr and Gray, their expressions set. "Count us in, too. We were present during that interrogation," said Rendarr.

"Aye, didn't spew my guts out just to go back empty-handed!" said Gray. "Let's go say hello to His Majesty."

Lysandra took a deep breath and nodded. "Alright. Let us not waste another moment."

They left the garden and followed the princess back into the palace, up the steps to the front gates and into the marble-walled main hall. All around flashed the crimson and gold of the Royal Guards, gauntleted hands on ornate sword hilts. Inquisitive eyes fell upon them, only to be averted the moment when they saw the princess in the lead.

Linder fell awfully silent, his face pale and clammy. He looked anywhere but at those guards. He flinched as one passed by him.

When Farren's hand brushed against his as they walked, she found he was shaking.

"You alright?" She glanced up at him, who almost jumped.

"Why...Why wouldn't I be?"

There was no fooling Farren, who had once seen him awaken from that nightmare, and watched what a toll it took on him.

"I am perfectly alright," he insisted.

She was not one to be deceived. "Don't look it."

He shook his head, as though to clear his own mind. "No...I do not. But now is not the time, Farren. Far more important matters lay ahead."

But ahead awaited another trouble they did not foresee.

Outside the courtroom doors, there stood the Royal Guard, Dasterian Miveresk, speaking to his older brother, Sir Troth Miveresk--the man under whose command the Silver Knife drained the city's lifeblood, the man solely responsible for Linder's exile in Brittlerock, the very same who dragged Farren out of the dungeon after the branding, to keep her mouth shut about his involvement in the illicit dealings.

They promptly abandoned their hushed conversation as they saw Lysandra. Farren noted, rather regrettably, the captain's insignia glittering at Miveresk's chest. Bastard has bagged a promotion already.

"Your Highness!" said Sir Troth. How glad I am to see you safe! These are dangerous times indeed."

She met his eyes with a steely stare. "Evening, Sir."

The nobleman glanced around at the group, if only to escape her unnerving stare. His eyes fell upon Linder and Farren. Recognition dawned. A nasty grin twisted his face.

"Interesting company you have there, Your Highness," he said, his voice sickly sweet. Farren felt Linder tense up beside her.

"Ah, if it isn't dear Valerius! Long time no see," The man came up to him, face still stretched in that false smile. "Here to see the King?" he added, rather unnecessarily.

Sensing the venom, faces turned to Linder at once, half-expecting him to retort. Yet Linder didn't answer.

Now Miveresk came forward beside his brother. "Oh, is this the lad you told me about?"

Sir Troth chuckled. "The very same." He patted Linder on his back, who looked as though he was going to be sick. "This is the brave young man who aimed to free the city of corruption! Didn't you, Valerius?"

Linder stepped away from his reach, drawing his cloak about himself, his expression stone-like. His eyes were lowered, fixed upon the toes of his boots. He seemed strangely guarded, almost embarassed-- a rare sight for those who knew him.

"A noble effort if I've ever seen one," said Princess Lysandra. "Why the hint of mockery in your tones, gentlemen?"

"You misunderstand us, Your Highness," Sir Troth said, "we wouldn't dare. I merely seek to...encourage him, for his last effort did not end too well. The thief he captured roams free today--worse yet--in the army." He gave Farren a look of disdain. "The laws of this land are falling apart."

Miveresk shook his head in pity. "A shame, that. But no matter. We've all been at that age, Valerius. Young, naive and...perhaps a bit foolish. We thought the world was broken, and sought to fix it," he said in mock empathy. "We need more people like you. Truly."

Before Farren could let loose her array of colorful curses--or anyone else could provide a more civilized answer, Gray elbowed his way to the front--nearly knocking foreheads with the nobleman. "Yeah? Is that why you had him transferred away?"

"Why you filthy little--" Sir Troth made to shove him away, but he'd be fooling himself if he believed he would best one of the Iron Arena's champions. He failed almost comically and staggered sideways.

Gray turned to Lysandra and cleared his throat. Then he began, with great annoyance, "Since my dear friend here would rather sell his soul than say a word in his own defense, let me explain to you."

And that, he did--recounting the sordid tales of the nobleman's involvement in the dealings of the worst part of the city. Farren but had to begrudgingly admire the alarming lack of damns he gave about Sir Troth who had all the strings arrayed before him, a light tug on which could land Gray into something far worse than a dismissal.

"I had an inkling something of this sort happened behind our backs," said Lysandra at last, who probably knew it all from her network of espionage. "But not many have the gall to speak it out loud."

"Nonsense! Surely--" Miveresk stuttered. "--Surely you do not believe some random cadet's words over that of His Majesty's most devoted servants?" he said, gesturing to Farren and Linder both. "I mean, you need only look at the pair of them. Once a city guard, and now ganged up with that lowly thief--"

"Silence!" shouted Princess Lysandra, startling them all, her voice carrying all around the hall. Servants and guards froze in their tracks. "I will not have you insulting my guests. Out of my sight, at once."

"If that pleases Her Highness." Sir Troth muttered an apology and stomped away, but not without a last look at Linder.

Miveresk sighed, staring after him. "What a disaster..."

But nothing escaped the princess's notice, especially when she was this angry. "What was that?" she snapped.

"Nothing, Your Highness! Just wondering about that murder in the gardens."

"That's a disaster that could have been prevented, had some of you been doing your jobs."

"Oh, I'm terribly sorry for my incompetence." He bowed deeply, but the sly smile did not vanish from his face. "But may I just ask--I see Her Highness has been away for the past few days. Is everything... "

"Fine." She squared her shoulders. "Decided to take a stroll around the kingdom I am supposed to run one day. My findings do not impress me, just do you know."

The Royal Guard swallowed the little jab. "While we were reasonably relieved to find you have been travelling with the Royal Sorcerer, you could have simply asked us. We would've been delighted to accompany you. Going out unguarded like that--no, I must admit you have made quite a rash decision. His Majesty is worried sick."

She gave him a wry smile. "Do try to come up with something more believable, will you? As though Father gives a damn."

The Royal Guard captain's eyebrows rose. "Such crude words, my lady! But of course he does. After all, you are--"

"Heiress to the throne. That's the sole reason," she said tiredly. "I know."

"When you are in his position, you'll know there can be no reason more important than that," said Miveresk. "Go on ahead, Your Highness. He awaits you inside."

The great ornate doors to the courtroom swung open.

✦✧✦✧

The sound reverberated off the walls as the doors slammed shut with a bang. Night had fallen outside, the sky visible through the windows an inky black. A great chandelier glimmered overhead, and in the column of light sat King Forthwind on a gilded throne. The courtroom itself might appear unguarded, yet rows of Royal Guard were posted right outside the doors.

Beneath the jeweled gold crown, his dark hair was shot through with silver, eyes a light blue and deep-set. His expression was troubled, face much too lined and gaunt for his age.

He acknowledged them with only a nod as the soldiers greeted him.

His eyes filled with exhaustion soon as they landed on his daughter. "Lysandra, my child...just what have you been doing?"

"Only what our revered ancestors should have done long ago. I've brought the Silverhaarts back."

She awaited his response with a defiant smile.

But in his face there was no surprise, let alone the slightest hint of appreciation--only annoyance. "One would have thought I have enough to deal with already! Have you any idea what I went through when you and the Royal Sorcerer disappeared without a notice? Has that man lost his mind as well?"

Marches winced. But Lysandra was relentless. "Would you have given me leave if I asked? No."

Farren felt like she had intruded upon something she was not supposed to see.

"I have returned alive--you still have an heir. And that's all that matters," said Lysandra. “Doesn't it?”

The king narrowed his eyes at her, fists clenching on the armrests. "The more I see of you nowadays, my child, the more I fear the day you sit upon this throne is the day Byton would burn."

Lysandra let out a dry laugh. "Byton would burn long before that, Father. And here's why."

She motioned them to speak, without further ado.

King Forthwind did not say anything for a long time while they spoke, recounting the strange happenings since the arrival of the package in Kinallen, to the very recent murder of Dion Edsley by the guild of assassins. Klo handed Farren the dagger, which she now presented before the king.

Klo, Rendarr and Gray got no trouble, but Farren hit quite a few rocks when her turn came.

"You were spying around the manor in the pretext of delivering a news to Lady Henris?" asked the king, his eyes inevitably going to her marked arm.

She grinned nervously, twiddling her thumbs. "When you put it like that, Your Majesty..."

King Forthwind looked as though about say something sharp, but they were interrupted--rather rudely--yet luckily, in Farren's case.

Several Royal Guards burst through the doors with a hooded stranger dressed in the Midaelian army uniform.

"Your Majesty!" cried Miveresk, "this young man was found lurking near the gates under suspicious circumstances. We bring him to you posthaste, for Her Highness has, shortly before, expressed grievances at the efficacy of the Royal Guard."

"And for good reason," drawled Farren, casting one look at the captive. "He's our lot. From Kinallen, I mean."

It was Alastair, who looked quite done with his life.

Miveresk looked suspicious still. "He a pal of yours?"

"Gods, no-- I would trade him to Lord Atruer for a loaf of bread," said Farren, "but not a foe, either."

"We would very much like it if you unhand him, sir," said Karles.

Alastair, however, unhanded himself with a scoff. "Now you've heard it! I arrived today on Second Lieutenant Audryn's order--and I have a message for His Majesty."

The captain of the Royal Guard stood unmoving.

"...One that I would like to deliver in private," said Alastair, eyes on Miveresk. "Please."

"Surely, if His Majesty is willing to be left alone with a suspicious stranger, right after there's been a murder in the premises," he said.

The king smiled, and his response rather caught her off guard. "Why, I feel quite safe surrounded by my soldiers who risk their lives at the frontiers every day. But you are forgetting, my friend--I am very much capable of protecting myself."

"Of course, of course." The Royal Guard took his leave, flashing them the fakest of smiles.

The king sighed after they were gone, and looked at Lysandra. "You see, this is why I warn you not to do anything reckless. Enemies at home pave the way for enemies beyond the hills."

"Your Majesty," began Alastair, lowering his hood and raising his eyes to the king. Recognition dawned on his face.

"Why, you are the youngest of the Henris," said the king.

"Brother to Tassya and Alfred Henris. And I bring charges of treason against the latter."

Silence fell like a shroud around the hall. What they all had been trying to convince the king, Alastair, the brother of the accused--hit the point home with a well aimed arrow. Farren no longer needed to dance around the point, for Alfred's own brother was here to prove it. He glanced at them all.

"They all speak true, Your Majesty. It is as they say. My brother has been communicating with the Drisian general, Reylan. Alfred aims to steal the layout plans of the palace and send them to him. And the moment that happens, he would be able to predict each of our strategies-- and needless to say, the palace would fall."

"And so will the city," finished Lysandra for him and turned to her father. "We must apprehend Alfred at once."

"No. Any hasty moves right now means the enemy would be alerted--and that's the last thing we want," the king said calmly.

"Forgive me for asking, but who among the Royal Guard is in charge of the plans?" asked Linder, who had been silent for long.

"Not anyone specific, really. For they are trained to know the complete surroundings of the palace, so they may defend it well in times of battle. There are a few copies, although any skilled Royal Guard likely has a mental map clear enough to draw the approximates from memory."

"But Reylan wants the exact plans, so there's a fair chance he'd be after one of those copies rather than hauling a guard around." said Farren.

Linder considered this for a moment, forehead wrinkled in a hard frown. He turned to the king and the princess. "Your Majesties, I believe I know a way to both apprehend Alfred Henris red-handed and foil General Reylan's plans."

The king stared at him for a long moment. "You are the son of Valentinus, if I'm not mistaken? Your father was in the Royal Guards when I was a lad. A great warrior."

Unpleasant as the subject was to him, it gave him a certain credibility than his identity as a sergeant from a far off mining settlement. Linder gave him a forced smile. "Yes, Your Majesty. My name is Valerius."

"Let's hear your plan then, Sergeant."

Karles tugged lightly at his cloak."Listen, Valerie, if this plan of yours involves me hiring killers and your arse opting to be the target-- I'm going to punch your face for real this time," he whispered.

"And I want in. No secret businesses," Farren added.

"Of course. And your punches last time felt real enough," said Linder with a chuckle.

"Oh, they're going to get even real-er, if you put yourself in danger again," said Karles.

"Not this time. It's all harmless paperwork, really," said Linder, then took a deep breath and addressed the king. "I request you to grant me permission to view those copies of the palace layouts."

King Forthwind frowned, but nodded nonetheless. "That can be arranged. You need to visit the Royal Archives, in that case. Anything else you would need?"

"Parchments, Your Majesty. And ink." He smiled.

The king squinted at him, oceanic eyes studying him from beneath thick grey brows. Then his face lit up in a quizzical smile. "I see what you are getting at, Valerius. Are you sure you wouldn't need a quill?"

Linder grinned in response. "Oh, I already have one. A blessed one at that."

And from his aggravatingly smug smile, Farren was certain he was referring to that blasted raven feather he carried around.

✦✧✦✧

That night, sleep did not come easy to Farren, despite her weariness and the filling supper at the guard quarters of the palace. After rolling into the small but comfortable bed in one of the many spare rooms down at the barracks, she lay awake for many an hour, the day's incidents churning in her aching head. The king insisted they stay the night--and there was no denying a royal's request. Snow fell silently outside the frosted glass. The next days flew by, their time wholly occupied by discussions with the princess's council of spies, and filling them in about what went on around the capital city.

Farren was thankful for it all, for the others being busy meant less pondering upon the incidents of the day of their arrival. But her mind was ever in unrest.

When hours of laying beneath the covers did not grant her weary body the sweet oblivion of sleep one such night, many a stray thoughts clouding her mind, she got out of bed and tiptoed down the hall.

A thin column of golden light peeked from beneath one of the doors, while others were one with the darkness.

The lamps were still alight in Linder's room.