The palace walls were designed to discourage anyone from scaling it at merely one glance. Mersem's neck hurt from craning it in an extreme angle just so he could gauge how high they were. He gave up as soon as he started seeing black dots in his vision. He blinked and massaged the muscles on his nape.

"How long before your contacts let us in?" Mersem turned to Haeral who tucked his hands underneath his armpits even though he was already wearing gloves.

Haeral looked here and there, no doubt searching for a familiar face among the servants dressed in thin coats milling outside the walls, lost in their own meager tasks. "Not sure. I did tell him to come at around midday," he glanced at the sun. "Should be any time now."

Like clockwork, a wooden door creaked against its hinges somewhere to Mersem's left and out came a boy not older than Silke. His orange bounced in wavy curls on his head as he bounded towards the paltry party Mersem, his sister, and his friends made. To the servant, they probably looked like wet fendugin chicks more than people who would rob the armory.

"Follow me," the lad said, gesturing towards the door he had just come from. "I've managed to clear the halls leading to the armory free of servants. You should be good."

Then, he narrowed his eyes on Chenric. "Remember to pay me well for my help."

Chenric waved his hand in the air. "Sure, sure," he said, stepping close to the lad and slinging a hand over his shoulder. "When we get out alive and have gotten our piece, you'll get yours."

The lad bobbed his head and continued the walk. Mersem was left to stew in the background, eyeing the small, square windows punched out in odd patterns on the wall, delivering what little sunlight shining outside into the fortress. Silke cracked her knuckles to free the cold building in her joints and stretched her arms while she walked. Just doing that would get them noticed one way or the other.

Mersem turned his attention back to their orange-haired guide. For a servant, he was dressed better than any of the guys back in Falkmena were. Back home, most would forgo the thick coats and the second overcoat to just strip down to the first layer. It wasn't enough to ward off the cold but it would be to stop oneself from freezing in one's sleep.

The palace servant, however, was dressed to the nines in up to the third layer of coats that even had a line of fur at the hem. Hmm. Should Mersem enter the palace's service? Maybe he'd get to see Leara Madris from time to time as well.

Before he could get any funny ideas, however, he was flattened against a wall when Haeral's arm swept in front of him. He looked to his friend to demand what's going on but his friend's urgent expression and the finger pressed to his lips relayed the message perfectly. Beside Mersem, Silke had her fist pressed against her mouth to stifle the sound of her breaths. Smart girl.

From the seeable corner, voices bled in muffled ringing, bouncing against the stone walls and echoing in the vast emptiness up high. "Bah, if I were you, I'd carry those buckets like my life depended on it," a male voice said. Fabric rustled and wood cluttered against stone. "You don't want to end up like the king and queen of Lotherne."

Mersem raised his eyebrows. Lotherne? What were they talking about?

Another voice, a deeper and harsher one at that, spoke. "What use would those rumors be?" he said. "My back kills me and this harsh cold isn't helping. I don't care if the king assassinated me. I'd even welcome it."

They both snickered and Mersem and his friends waited until their footsteps receded to nothing but mere patters against rough stone. Mersem let loose a breath he didn't know he was holding. Silke removed her hand on her face and flicked her gaze at Haeral. "You said you took care of them."

The ginger-haired lad stepped in between them. "My apologies," he said. "But they're gone now. Let me lead you to the armory."

"Who's to say you'll not betray us and call the guards yourself?" Mersem asked.

The servant glanced at Chenric. "I'm not Chenric's friend for nothing, sir."

Mersem turned to his friend who slapped the servant's back and chuckled. "Friend?"

"Yeah, Mersem," Chenric said. They had resumed their walk as soon as he let go of his friend. "Garde and I have been childhood friends before his parents sold him to the palace when they couldn't pay their taxes anymore."

Mersem didn't speak after that. It would be useless to. The fact that certain realities exist was enough proof that the world he and sister were born in was broken.

After a few minutes of nothing but walking past towering walls and banners hanging from the ceiling, Garde stopped in front of a pair of tall, wooden doors gilded with metal locks. "The armory," he announced, like Mersem hadn't figured it out already. "I'll unlock the doors and shut it behind you. When you are ready to get out, I'll unlock it again."

Haeral and Chenric gave the servant brief nods and, with bated breath, waited for him to unlock the door. Then, after the lock had clicked free, the servant braced a hand against the doors and pushed. The hinges were as silent as a drizzle of snow and soon, they were inside.

Mersem blew an amused breath. The Palace Armory. Those icicleheads really did it.

They broke away from each other and headed out into their chosen paths. From the corner of his eye, a dull sword stuck in a slab of stone whizzed by. He kept his laugh to himself. Who would even use a sword stuck in a stone? Why didn't they pull it out? If anything, it just made the entire palace and the order of knights ridiculous in his perception.

The armory was a bit smaller than what Mersem had imagined it to be. He expected a glittering ballroom or a grand museum of weapons but all he got was a barracks crossed with a stable with an occasional glass case creeping in and out of his vision.

Mersem followed Silke when she headed north, keeping his eyes on the tiles and on the back of his sister's head. She passed by racks after racks of wicked swords and glinting axes, never once breaking her stride to admire the metal finish of the weapons. Her voice played in Mersem's head almost automatically. Eyes on the prize, babes.

Before he could cringe at the memory of Silke calling him babes and him letting her, Silke swerved to the right and came to a stop in front of a glass case. Mersem opened his mouth to say something but his words died when he saw what's inside the case.

It was easily the most precious thing he has ever seen since he discovered premi trees grew in a certain spot in the forests surrounding Falkmena. The dagger glinted gold with all kinds of gemstones he didn't even know the names of embedded in the hilt.

Silke rubbed her hands. "This one's mine."

Mersem laid a hand on her sister's shoulder. "It might be rigged against thieves."

"Psh, with what magic, Mersem?" Silke rolled her eyes and shrugged him off. "Mages ran out of oil a long time ago, if you're not aware."

He sighed but stepped away from his sister, watching her curl her gloved fist and move it back a few inches off the glass. Then, with a strike as quick as a viper, her hand went through and her fingers wrapped around the dagger's hilt.

"See, that's beautiful," Silke muttered under her breath like she was admiring her nonexistent offspring. "Help me brush the shards off."

He did as he was told. At least Silke had already got her share and they could get out of here now. He ran his hand over Silke's knuckles, plucking the sharp shards of glass stuck between the threads of her glove. After a while, Haeral and Chenric found them, each bearing a satchel-full of more decorative weapons.

"Come on," Chenric leaned over to check what Silke got. When he saw the dagger, he gave a smooth whistle. "Damn, Mers. Your sister got the eye."

Silke flicked her hair back. "Step aside, losers," she said. "I'm coming through."

She stepped forward, her foot landing on a tile.

It was blue.

Shoot.

A wailing sound resembling a dying cossum filled the room as the door to the armory quivered. Something crashed and thudded against the wood and Mersem didn't miss the curses which flitted out of Chenric's mouth.

He turned to his friends. "What do we do?"

Haeral stuck a hand into his satchel and drew a sheathed dagger. He didn't need to elaborate further.

When the armored guards broke through the door, Mersem and his friends scattered in every direction possible. He kept Silke close at the same time eyeing the men charging towards them. One soldier lashed out with his sword and Mersem ducked and scrambled away before it cleaved him in half. His back pressed against a display rack and with a grunt, he sent it tumbling towards the soldiers, ultimately burying him and about two more behind him under a shower of knives. Oh, that must have hurt.

He cursed. Where's Silke?

Something whizzed past his periphery. He turned too late.

"Mersem!" Silke's voice rang in his ears. He opened his eyes which he didn't even realize he had closed. What he saw didn't make sense.

His sister was standing there, a sword in her hands. She blocked a blow that would have separated his head from his neck. Something churned in his gut. That sword. He knew that sword.

It was the one stuck in the stone.

But what did drawing that sword mean and why was his sister able to do it?

Before he could think, though, Silke kicked the soldier in the shin which did nothing but surprise him due to his shin guard. "Mersem, get up!" she screamed, throwing her sword aside and running towards the center of the room where the real action was going on.

Mersem rammed the soldier and, with a quick strike to his exposed neck, knocked him unconscious. A useful trick Mersem had learned from their father. He joined Haeral and Chenric who had been holding their ground against six soldiers with nothing but puny decorative daggers. Judging from the fact that three soldiers collapsed on the ground bleeding from several slashes on their faces and arms, those blades weren't as useless as Mersem thought them to be.

"Let's get out here!" Mersem shouted at his friends and knocked the last of the soldiers out. His friends gave him quick nods and followed him out of the armory. Lying just by the door was Garde with a line of blood trickling down the side of his head. "Leave him," Mersem said through gritted teeth when he spotted Chenric beginning to crouch towards his friend.

Chenric pursed his lips, his eyes misting and his features crumpled with worry, but he nodded and ran along with them. He didn't look back to see how his friend was doing.

They tore through the familiar corridors flanked by the tall walls. It was the same way they went in but it sure went by faster now that they were running and might possibly lose their lives in the next few minutes.

The corner came and went. Soon, they were on the last stretch that would lead them outside of the palace and into the wide streets of the Imperial City. It would be easier to lose their pursuers there. Mersem didn't fight the elation bubbling into his throat. They're going to make it. They've actually raided the palace armory.

Then, something flared at the back of Mersem's neck and he felt his knees give out. What..?

The last thing he saw before his world darkened was Silke's turned back and his friends' legs poised to run and leave him alone in the ground. Mersem would be lucky if he ever woke up from the sleep that gripped him after.