Seiren waited as the old man mulled over his words.

"You have to understand, my dear: Hannan culture is quite different from Karman culture. You value democracy, fairness, the benefit of sitting down and having a conversation. We Hannans value bravery, strength, the ability to lead the country for greatness. You discuss and elect. We fight and conquer. Only the strongest can lead the country — how did you think Hanna ended up this formidable size? — and up until eight months ago, the strongest had been King Mephis Tophalis."

"But he died," said Madeleine.

"Yes. He died, but he did not name an heir. Every year, offsprings of a family would engage in battle to find the strongest. And after several years' observation, a king would be able to name a rightful heir for after he passes away, although that heir would still be required to continue to maintain his claim against the challenges from his siblings."

"But Mephis didn't name an heir? Why?"

"Who knows? Perhaps he knew the uproar it would bring. He had many children, with the oldest being the current king, Fautos. Fautos was a bloodthirsty man. Where a son might disable or disarm his opponent during an annual battle, he would maim or even kill them to prevent future challenges. When King Mephis died, Fautos sprang into action, killing Prince Lufer, Princess Gerta, and taking Prince Magus as his prisoner. I am hopeful Princess Eleia is alive as she has not been heard from, but she is young and a cripple, so I do not expect her to live long. Fautos then began a systemic purge of all the people who supported the peaceful ways of his father."

"You were purged," said Madeleine with realisation. Seiren stared at her, and then back at Martel, who nodded, a grave look on his weathered face.

"House Solidor had served the Tophalis royal family for centuries. Fautos purged many families and many supporters of King Mephis. With the Daemonium at his side, he is untouchable. Nobody dares speak against him."

"Pretty cowardly of him to deliberately sabotage his siblings so they can't challenge his claim," said Seiren, unimpressed. "How good a fighter is he anyway? Can he even summon?"

"All those who lead our country have been able to summon. It is a prerequisite, a display of strength, to show you are able to connect with a daemon."

"Demon?"

"Daemon. Not demon. The creatures we summon are not monstrosities, but rather the embodiment of our ancestors reincarnated to look after us, support us, nurture us. They are very much a part of us." As if to demonstrate, Martel stuck two fingers into a pouch at his waist and waved them through the air. A glitter of black dust, tinged with gold, followed. A trail of black smoke flowed from Martel's fingertips, mingling with the dust. A familiar, nauseating scent of cinnamon reached Seiren's nose and she fought not to gag. She'd never seen a summoning this close before.

The dust swirled and then settled, revealing a reptile the length of Seiren's arm, bright red with spikes all along its back and tail and a haughty expression. Its neck was the same size as her wrist. It stared at her and then draped itself around Martel's neck as if about to devour the old man. It was all Seiren could do not to give in to her primal instinct screaming at her to run. Cold sweat trickled down her face. Waves of nausea and panic crashed into her; the air tasted of rotten fruit, sweet and sickening.

"You have a most apprehensive look, my dear," said Martel, raising an eyebrow at Seiren. Seiren flushed. "Why might that be?"

"Just had... bad experiences with de—daemons, that's all," she muttered.

"I'm assuming you mean the scoundrels who skip on their training and pilgrimage. For them, I do apologise. They are no daemon summoners and no children of Hanna."

Seiren stared. She hadn't expected such frank condemnation from the old man.

"From a young age, those with affinities are trained to connect with one single daemon who would accompany them for life. We are taught to treat them with respect and care, and they, in turn, will reciprocate. We feed our lives into them and they into us. The ones who seek refuge in Karma are summoners cast out of Hanna for failing to complete their pilgrimage, and as such do not have control over their daemon, and — most abhorrently — connect with more than one daemon, with even less control over them. Even King Feures Tophalis, our first king, who wielded a royal daemon more powerful than any, merged her with his original one, creating one born of his own flesh and blood."

Seiren was reminded of the man she'd caught at Garlinge after graduation day last year. He'd summoned two demons, both of them massive and uncontrollable.

"The daemons I've seen were huge."

"The summoners overcompensate," Martel said with a snort. "Aphriel is a typical size. Their sizes do not reflect their powers."

"And the Hannans we've seen have such deep scarring on their faces from the summoner's dust..."

"Improper use and use of impure or unrefined dust will cause that. The more unyielding the daemon and the more impure the dust, the more will be needed to tether them to this world — like I said, those rogue summoners overcompensate and seek the easy route."

The daemon stared stonily at Seiren and Madeleine before turning to poke its snout in Martel's ear. Martel's eyebrows rose.

"Aphriel tells me you have been experiencing aberrations since your arrival in Hanna."

Seiren's heart skipped a beat. How could the daemon have known?

"Aphriel has been around for a very long time, being a daemon of House Solidor." It was as if the old man could read Seiren's thoughts. Aphriel tilted its head, eyes unblinking. Seiren met Madeleine's bewildered eyes, her heart fluttering.

"It must mean this," Seiren muttered, raising her hands. The peculiar tingling sensation remained and a small bout of smoke floated from her fingertips. Martel's eyes went round as a rune circle.

"But that's impossible," he said in a hoarse voice.

"What's impossible?" Madeleine said, holding her own hands out. She, too, emitted a faint trail of smoke. "What is this?"

"When children reach the age of five, those with affinities begin to display their contacts to the netherworld. This is what we seek."

"Affinities for...?"

"No way." Seiren's throat went dry. Her heart rammed against her ribs. Bile burnt the back of her throat. This was all sorts of wrong. "We can't be summoners."

"No, I wouldn't go that far and call yourself that. You seem to have faint affinities for the art of summoning, but it's raw and untrained." Martel leant forward and placed his cup back on the plate, a fascinated twinkle in his eyes. "Now why would two Karman born-and-bred girls display affinities for a Hannan art? Am I missing something?"

The twins exchanged looks, but neither of them said anything. Martel chuckled, holding up his hands.

"Of course, I'm assuming Kommora Haigh is aware and is taking good care of you. I shouldn't pry. Knowledge is power, but knowledge can also bring devastation, as we have all experienced."

"So... if we train... we can summon?"

"Summoning a daemon is a long and arduous training. The pilgrimage lasts years across the country of Hanna where you learn to be one with your daemon through harsh challenges. First to the deserts in the east, and then the treacherous stormy lands in the north, and then the ice lands in the west, and then finally to the snowy, mountainous south. It's not easy. Many abandon their journeys or even die along the way. But..." He smiled. "I have never seen Karman blood display such affinities. It would be interesting to see where this takes you. As it stands, however, your little puff of smoke won't do you any good. It won't speak to you. It won't protect you."

"How does summoning work? With my ma—in Karma, magic drains core energy and is replenished over time. Is there a permanent expenditure here or...?"

"Karma and Hanna's magics originated as one, didn't you know? There is no permanent expenditure. A summoning uses mystical energy — I suppose that's what you Karmans call celestial energy — to bring forth the daemon you have bonded with from their world into this. Your own energy keeps the demon in this world and to work with you." He waved his hand. Aphriel disappeared in a small cloud of dust. "And when both of you are satisfied, the daemon returns to his world."

There was a moment of silence. Seiren studied her fingertips. The little trails of smoke could result in a daemon one day. She shuddered. There was nothing more horrifying and revolting than finding herself partaking in the same arts as those she'd despised for so long. Martel took the cups to his kitchen for a refill, humming to himself.

"Should we have told him?" Madeleine said in a whisper. "About the chaos magic?"

"Why? We barely know him."

"Kommora trusts him."

"Yeah, but should we?" Seiren tucked her fingers back into the folds of her robe. "This is ridiculous anyway. How on earth could we be summoners? There must be a mistake..."

"Celestial energy is the oldest form of magic and gave birth to summoning magic and rune, burst, and flash. We both have it. Maybe that's why?"

Martel returned with another fill of carmel tea.

"Now, correct me if I'm wrong, but I suspect you wish to go after the Daemonium to retrieve this escaped convict of yours. Is that correct?" The lines on his face deepened when Seiren nodded. "I can help you, but I can't say this is a good idea. The Daemonium are the most powerful summoners in Hanna. But if you wish to investigate them, I can get you into the royal palace in Falnash, where they're based."

"You'll do that?" Seiren leant forward eagerly.

"House Solidor still has some status despite the purge. The Daemonium want us, who supported Mephis, to be quiet. We have too much common support to be erased entirely. In twelve days' time is Fautos's thirty-second name day and there will be a royal feast. There will be hundreds of families connected to the royal family present. I can sneak you in as cousins of the House Solidor, but after that, it's up to you how you further your paths."

For the subsequent nine days, Martel Solidor coached Seiren and Madeleine in the culture of Hanna and how to behave as if they were Hannans, despite their appearances. They would maintain they were displaced from Falnash when their grandparents were young and brought up in Ettrick, where they picked up their accents. Their mother was born and bred in Ettrick, contributing to their fair looks and pale hair, but their grandfather was a Solidor.

Martel brought in help in the form of Ileida, the woman who had happened across Seiren and Madeleine when they first arrived, who was only too happy to help with their story and mould 'Eishet' and 'Takara Solidor', Martel's distant nieces.

"I have so many left from after my daughters married and left," Ileida said warmly, pressing handfuls of clothes into Seiren's arms. Seiren almost buckled under the weight. Illeida's home, the same shape and layout as Martel's, was as warm as her personality and colourful as leaves in the autumn. She hustled from room to room, stuffing the twins full of food before drowning them in clothes and accessories. Despite the wide-open windows and the flow of summer night air, sweat still clung to Seiren all over.

Hannan clothes were exceedingly colourful, light, and conservative. There were many types of hats and belts to choose from, all of them clashing colours of emerald and scarlet and orange. Ileida plaited Seiren's shoulder-length blonde hair into two stumps, sighing and shaking her head at what was apparently a great insult to beauty to keep one's hair so short. She took greater delight in fussing over Madeleine's luscious locks, weaving velvet ribbons like her own into the hair.

Martel instructed Seiren and Madeleine on the path to Falnash, the capital of Hanna, three days' carriage journey away. Hannans travelled on horseback and were often proficient on horseback from a young age. Used to runed motors, Seiren had never felt more displaced in her life when facing the broad chest of a muscular black horse, whose eyes displayed pure displeasure. Working a miracle once more, Martel convinced a merchant to take the twins to Heriot, another town, with his horse-drawn carriage and the girls would manage the onward journey.

Her hair in neat plaits and arms and legs swamped in a long, loose emerald dress that flowed to her ankles, with a scarlet leather pinafore-like garment covering the front, Seiren sat at the back of the carriage with Madeleine beside her. They set off from Leitholm with a collection of clothing 'worthy of the name of House Solidor'. They kept on the roads, but the wheels bumped on the loose rocks and all Seiren could see out of the window were endless stretches of arid land and almost no vegetation. Dried flora dipped their heads to the ground, bereft and forgotten by nature. The air remained desiccating, dragging the moisture out of mucosal membranes with the greed of a parched traveller. It seemed like an eternity of yellow above, yellow beneath, and there was little she and Madeleine could discuss out loud, for the merchant giving them the lift were not aware of their true identities, never mind their agenda. It would be too risky to talk about anything pertaining to Kristen, and it would give away the truth if the twins acted in any way un-Hannan. At night, the merchant built fires and they curled in their fur-lined sleeping bags beneath a sky filled with more stars than Seiren could imagine. It was as if a billion yellow runes had shattered overhead and shimmered as they descended onto Hanna, several falling stars winking as they plummeted to the ground until they were devoured by the ravenous darkness of the night.

Fautos's name day celebration gave Hannans a thrill that could be felt in the air. As they passed through villages and towns, colourful flags waved from atop houses and people moved about in dazzling attire: crimson and navy fur hats covering their entire heads and flowing tunics to their ankles in gold and silver, sashes and belts of emerald and cerulean. They carried goods in their arms, laughing and joking whilst running errands. It was not the wild, raucous community Seiren had expected or the textbooks depicted. Women wore their hair in two braids running down the front, covered in colourful velvets, whereas men wore theirs long, tied at the back in a single plait. It wasn't wholly different from the cheer at Danaway before its downfall.

After another few hours via carriage, they arrived at last: the holy capital of Falnash.

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