“First thing first, how are we to get in to the Palace?” Kyla softly whispered, whilst making an effort of having her dress’ frills behave. She was quite comfortable in such manner of garb, but the brisk night’s breeze had a will of its own. She tucked her short cape closer around the black velvet. The stark contrast between their attire and their white hair made both of the twins strike a very impressive figure as they walked down the streets of the Platinum District, especially when considering that both of them stood taller than most Költonians, a trait reserved for the Highlander tribes of the Land of Ice and Snow, the northern-most parts of the already northern land.

“The easiest would be if we could simply sneak in through the sewers, a window or something like that. Problem is…” Gileth paused to politely bow to a gentleman passing by them, clearly affected by some beverage. “… that we have no clue about where this book is held, nor what security to expect.”

Walking and talking had always been an excellent way to spark creativity in the twins.

“True. We need to have a look inside the Tower first. How to do that is then the next question.”

“The old trick with the splint?” I believe it is necessary for me to explain that the twins would pretend Kyla was injured with a broken leg, have a household take pity on her and invite the two in, after which Gileth would steal something small and valuable. It had worked wonders, if one feels inclined to use such a word in a context like this.

“Perhaps a bit too basic for this scale, brother. You could pretend to be a delivery man for the North Star or something akin to that.” The North Star Trader’s Guild was and is the largest of Költonos’ merchant guilds, and it alone commands a rather sizeable fleet. A lesson, children: Never underestimate Költonos’ naval force just because it isn’t used offensively.

“Or you could pretend to be a maid.”

“Also an option.”

As the twins kept walking, they crossed from the Platinum District in the north-east end of the city to the Gold District, which was more central in location. Of Yggrisa’s five districts, the Platinum and the Gold were the most luxurious and…

Lass, I realize that you think yourself terribly clever for having noticed that I use both past and present tense, but that is no reason to interrupt me so constantly. I should have thought that your esteemed parents would have taught you more wisdom.

I accept your apology, little one. Now, sit down and be quiet, if you could.

Now, where was I? Oh right, the districts! Yes, the Platinum and the Gold were reserved for the upper class and the more reputable guilds, respectively. Meanwhile, the Silver District housed the middle class, whilst the Copper District was the home of the lower class. The last district, the Harbor, was equal in size to the Gold District, and it was there that Költonos’ enormous fishing and shipping industries conducted their business, earning it the nickname of Crimson District for all the blood that flowed there.

Walking now in the Gold District, under the shadows of the Yeti Gaze Peaks, the mountain range that currently hid all but the tallest of the Palace’s spires from view, the twins made their way past the various guild halls and similarly grandiose buildings often intended for meetings or parties, before arriving at their destination and the reason for their quality of clothing: The place of business for one Lady Evelynn Orithea, wife to the master of the Familiar Fashions Guild, one of the leading competitors in the ever-relevant clothing business.

Gileth sighed to steel his nerves.

Kyla clapped him on the shoulder before rounding the final corner to the front of Familiar Fashions’ guild hall.

“Good evening, my lady. My lord. How may I assist you tonight?” A servant in a black suit and the traditional blue scarf around his neck stood next to the gate that guarded the entrance to the beautiful, three-storied, stone building.

“We are here by the invitation of the lady Orithea, to partake in tonight’s event.” Kyla’s voice had taken on a particular air of respectful superiority, as was expected for a member of the upper class speaking to a servant. The man gave her a courteous bow before asking for their names.

“Sir Horai and miss Erin Velstan,” Kyla continued. Gileth, silent for the moment, bit back his impulse to clarify that they were siblings, not a married couple.

“The lady Orithea and the Familiar Fashions Guild are honored to receive such distinguished guests from Karn. Please, go right in.” The servant curtsied and a pair of Shields of Oron, the city’s guards, opened the gate. Both twins nodded slightly and made their way inside the massive cedar doors. The difference between the cold night and the warm interior was stark, both in temperature, color and mood. Suddenly, the silence was replaced with chatter, the clinging of glass and the occasional half-drunken lady wanting for a dance, not to mention the half a score of musicians filling the air with wonderous melodies. Crystal chandeliers illuminated the room with a golden glow, whilst servants did all they could to ensure that no cup was ever allowed to run dry. And yet, amongst all of this extravagant luxury, one ruby stood out amongst the crowd. Garbed in a scarlet thigh slit dress and outfitted with just enough jewelry to emphasize that she and no other was the center of attention, a tall and slender woman with red-golden hair and a face lightly decorated with freckles was engaged in conversation with an older gentleman, all whilst her green eyes kept a close view on everything that went on in her domain. As her gaze met his, Gileth could not suppress a small yelp. Kyla subtly pinched his lower back.

The woman casually broke from her previous conversation, the expression of a discarded subordinate on the gentleman’s face being visible to all as she did so, and made her way to the twins. One could be excused for comparing her effect on the crowd to a rocksmith’s on a canyon, if only her influence was much more exclusive than the arcane. One can choose to learn Moonshadow’s gift of magic, but in Költonos one must be born to power.

“My, I must say… Highlander blood and not from Yggrisa at the same time. What a strange and curious pair that have graced us with the honor of their attendance. I do not believe we have had the pleasure of meeting before.” The woman cocked her head slightly to the side and assumed a playful, yet questioning, expression.

“Indeed, lady Orithea.” Kyla did a courtesy as she spoke. Gileth similarly greeted their hostess properly. “I am Erin Velstan and this is my brother, Horai. We are most delighted to partake in an event as coveted as your own.”

“And I am most curious about all the talks that we shall have of the happenings in the beautiful, southern port. Tell me, is Karn as steeped in controversy as always?”

“I’m afraid that our business often prevents us from engaging in that more exciting side of the city, sadly.”

“Ah, that is a shame. Still, I would love to hear more about it in a more private sanctum. Come upstairs if you find yourselves in a fit of boredom. I’ll be in the lounge.” And with that, mistress Evelynn of the Familiar Fashions Guild and the lady of house Orithea, turned and left the twins to their own devices.

Continuing to play the roles as emissaries from Költonos’ second largest city, the twins partook in light conversation, entertaining a noble’s jests about their tribal heritage here and being mildly frustrated that brawn was not an accept method of telling someone that their advances were not appreciated there. Eventually, Gileth was a heartbeat away from twisting the arm of a particularly handsy – and quite tipsy – young lady, and if his better judgement had not intervened, he might just have gone through with the impulse. Eventually, both of them felt that they had done their duties as guests and excused themselves to find the mistress in the lounge as previously invited.

The Familiar Fashions Guild’s hall was a two story building with the ground floor being dedicated to larger receptions or day-to-day business. In contrast, the first floor was largely used for offices and more private meetings. Caretaker Evelynn Orithea, Guild Master Bron Orithea and the guild’s housekeeper all oversaw their duties here. When the twins ascended the rather ostentatious marble staircase, they found the lady in a light conversation with a girl, perhaps the same age as Cecilia. As the twins were let in by a servant, the young woman, dressed in a buttoned-up shirt and a skirt, quickly got to her feet, curtsied and left in a polite, yet rather obvious hurry. It was only when the three of them were alone, that Evelynn addressed the twins.

“Please, sit.” She poured a glass of red wine for both guests as they took their seats. Any observer might have claimed to feel a certain tension coming from the room. She continued. “You have been scarce with the details. To what do I really owe this visit?”

“It’s about a contract,” Gileth said, his voice betraying his nerves, even if this was just another business meeting.

A playful smile danced just above the rim of Evelynn’s glass.

“To be blunt, we require a way into the Palace.”

The swirling, red liquid suddenly came to a standstill. The smile grew.

“And here I was, thinking this would simply be another dull and unambitious request from the Thoroughfare. How wonderfully… unexpected.” Neither of the twins could avoid feeling just slightly uneasy at the way that she pronounced the words. Evelynn’s expression in that moment was one better reserved for the patrons of the Thief’s Guild, far away from the eyes of decent folk.

“And what, pray tell, would you be doing in the Palace? I would not think that you would go to this length just for a pleasant visit to our dear Queen Freia, although her company is quite delightful.”

“Not quite, no.” This time, it was Kyla that spoke. “The Guild has received a contract to steal the Winter’s Warren…”

“Oh, my.”

“… only problem is that we know next to nothing about its location nor the security around it. We have yet to do a proper scouting run, but we expect that we won’t get in there at all if we aren’t invited. Hence, our visit here.”

“While I would so love to see Yurosa’s face, when the book vanishes under his watch, I really do need to warn you. The Palace is a deathtrap. The only time that it has ever been robbed was during a Sunshift, and they have even compensated for that now, not that you could rely on one happening anyway.” Once, when the sun had stopped and retraced its steps, opportunistic folk had stormed the Palace, since the Isouri Guard was as powerless as all mages during a shift. It was a lesson for Költonos, and even though the cosmic event only takes place once a few thousand years, the nation learned not to rely so fundamentally on magic and artifice. It marked a change in a lot of nations’ approach to infrastructure.

“We have heard only a little about the Isouri. Would you mind filling us in?”

“Only because I like you, dearest Kyla. The Isouri Guard is a group of ice-mages led by a long-haired pretty boy named Yurosa. That in of itself would be enough reason to want to avoid being on their bad side – I’ve heard that hypothermia is terrible for the skin –, but inside the Palace they are damn near unstoppable.”

“Why is that?” Gileth, like his sister, had little understanding of the sciences beyond their own experiences with mages.

“The spires aren’t called frozen for no reason. A lot of the Palace is constructed from ice that is sustained through a system of pipes and arcane engines. Oh, and don’t get any good ideas. Crawling though those pipes would boil you inside out. My point, however, is that the Isouri have all the ice they would want and a place to move all the heat from the air and their targets. Their casting is nigh-effortless and they command quite a lot of mana with each spell, primarily due to the difference in temperature between their targets and their surroundings. In other words, they hold all the cards, and you are left defenseless. You have to avoid the Isouri at all costs.”

Kyla was the next to speak up. “Are the Isouri all men?”

“No, and those who aren’t, aren’t necessarily women either. But under any circumstance, I wouldn’t attempt to pass for one of them. They all know each other far too well for that.” The Isouri is in fact the only legitimate Költonian organization that echoes the paradigm of self-expression and -identification found here in Therem.

“What about the Winter’s Warren itself?”

“I don’t know much about the book. What it contains is a very closely guarded secret, and only young Freia is allowed to read it. The talk amongst the aristocracy is that it contains state secrets, but then why wouldn’t the council be allowed to use it? I do not know where it is held, nor what kind of attention the Isouri and the Shields of Oron give it, but getting to it is going to be difficult and more likely than not, extremely chaotic. You made a mistake taking this contract. An entertaining mistake, but a mistake nonetheless.” The wine once again swirled.

Gileth winced slightly under the weight of that comment. Not that it was a thing worth dwelling on, nor was it a thing that he felt regretful about, but still he could not ignore the feeling that they were walking into certain doom. Then he found his voice again.

“I’m certain that this will be more than entertaining for everyone involved, Mistress Orithea, but how will you yourself be enjoying the show? Do you have a way into the Palace that we could partake in?”

Evelynn pushed a stray lock of ginger hair behind her ear before answering.

“What time of the year is it, darling?”

“The Month of Growth? The end of spring. Which of course means that the new year begins soon… oh.”

“There you go.”

“Can you get us in?”

“Perhaps. But not so hasty, darling. It is not so easy to acquire invitations to such a prestigious gathering as the queen’s soiree that I could simply do it out of the goodness of my heart. Besides, I’m not so sure that the two of you are fit to participate. I mean, Gileth darling, your brow has been damp since before you stepped into this building, and I guarantee that the pressure of the Palace is far higher than what my little party can muster. You think me intimidating? You have not met the councilmen, nor young Freia. She might be a sweet girl, but she is still Költonos’ mother, and all within the Palace and beyond answer her call.”

“Well, consider me thoroughly intimidated.” Gileth spoke with a deflecting, dry humor.

“Mistress, surely there must be something that we can assist you with that would compensate for your efforts?” Kyla asked, both the twins knowing very well what lady Orithea was playing at.

“There is one matter, but I am not so sure that you are the correct people to entrust with it.” She made a show of her internal debate, putting a finger to her lips and tilting her head slightly backwards.

For a moment, no one spoke. Both twins were aware that they would be painting themselves into a corner if they were too adamant in defending their ability, and so they found it best to hold their tongues. It was Evelynn that finally spoke again, pretending to having reached a conclusion with herself.

“Perhaps you would be qualified, though I do not think that this is a service provided by your guild.”

“What would you have us do?” Kyla was on the verge of losing her patience.

“I would have you cut the throat of a dock manager.”

“You are not wrong, then. The guild does not provide assassinations,” Gileth replied.

“Ah. That is a shame. I suppose I will have to enjoy the coming of the new year without your company then.”

“I believe I said that the guild does not provide hired killings, but we might. Who is this manager?”

“So eager! I knew I liked you, darling. His name is Joron.”

“Okay… any more details would be most welcome.”

“And spoil the surprises? Why would I ever want to do that? Go, let the Crimson District live up to its name, and I’ll give you a way into the Palace.”

The twins shared a look and stood up.

“A pleasure as always, lady Orithea.”

“The pleasure is all mine.”

The twins stood at a crossroads in the tunnels leading from the Finder’s Thoroughfare. Both were once again dressed in their muffled fabrics and dark cloaks and equipped with the weapons and tools of their trade. Kyla also carried a bag containing a couple of different outfits.

“It isn’t too late to trade places, sister.” A teasing grin moved with the words.

“I am sure that you could pass exceedingly well in a maid’s skirt, and that I wouldn’t be horribly misplaced amongst the sailing crews.”

“We could always get one of those transmorphings at the Academy.”

“A great idea, really, those aren’t entirely permanent or anything. Just ask Cecilia, she would know.”

“You aren’t wrong there. Will you be okay at the Palace, though?”

“Yes, I believe so. Unless some overseer knows every maid or servant in his service, I won’t be made. You?”

“Quick in, quick out, a gentle cut in between. I just hope this Joron guy isn’t too paranoid. Which actually reminds me: Do you want the ring?”

“I might need it in a pinch, yeah. Thanks.”

“Good luck, Kyla.”

“Likewise.”

The Harbor’s odor was oppressive for those not used to it. Gileth, having spent next to no time there, would have expected it to be comparable to the scent of the underground, but that assumption turned out to be entirely wrong. The smells of fish, guts, puke and a general lack of hygiene didn’t push against his senses as much as they punched them like how a professional fighter would their opponent. He had made his way past the forest of masts, the slaughterhouses and several of the many and excessively rowdy taverns, stopping only to slip a coin to a barkeep here or a whore there in exchange for information on this Joron, who turned out to be more elusive than expected. Eventually, Gileth had managed to track him down to a three-storied warehouse located in the middle of a busy street. This meant three things: Gileth would have to find an unsuspicious way in, the kill had to be quick or else many people would come to aid Joron, and should Gileth need a quick getaway, he could probably lose himself in the crowd. All in all, it was doable, but risky. Gileth would have preferred if he could catch the man isolated in an alleyway or something, but he could work with this. After all, the Knife of Paralysis would enable him to silence his target, assuming that he could get close enough to use it. As he was standing there, pretending to be drunk while inspecting the building, he lightly cursed the fact that he had neither Kyla’s bow nor the Obscure Ring with him. Either tool would have made this infiltration a lot easier.

Perhaps he could climb up to the third story, which was where he expected Joron to be. The pipes connected to the building’s rain gutter seemed sturdy enough. Once again, he would have to be quick about it, as to avoid some random passer-by seeing him. Nimbly, he began his ascend past the first floor and approached the second before realizing just then that he had been wrong in his assessment: The mortar upon which a particular section of the pipes were installed was faulty, and so Gileth very quickly went from vertically scaling the wall to tipping backwards. He had but a moment to act before his fall was assured. With great dexterity and greater luck, he managed to jump just in time, catch the next set of pipes above him and use his feet to readjust his weight against the wall. He had caught the failing section between his thighs, which – considering his other actions with which it might have been compared – had been relatively easy. With care, he got it to stay in place, thus avoiding a spectacle, and continued his climb.

The third story had a few windows, though none of them were accessible from the pipeline, so Gileth instead made it all the way to the flat roof – one questions the sanity of a flat roof in a place so snowy, but at least it gives work to the urchins of Yggrisa, when it becomes time to clean. From here, he could circle around, until he found a spot above a window. As stealthily as he could, he hung himself head first to sneak a peak of the place that he was to infiltrate. He immediately noticed what he assumed to be his target, a large and hairy man standing behind a desk made of bone. Gileth had never liked the Krathenian aesthetic, finding the reliance on bone a bit brutish. Still, he couldn’t deny that it went well with that bear of a man. He really hoped that that was actually Joron; otherwise, explaining the situation to Evelynn would be quite awkward. Not for the first time, he cursed the noblewoman for not giving any details of the job, not that he was near brave nor foolish enough to do so to her face. Continuing to inspect the room, he saw another man in there, one armored in full plate and carrying a shield and a sword. Gileth very quickly agreed with himself that engaging such a person in a fight was suicidal, so… something had to be done. He pulled himself up again to consider his options: Getting the bodyguard out of the room might be simple enough, assuming that he would react to something like, say, a pipe falling from the walls. Then, Gileth could use the momentary opening to slip in through a window that he would have to unlock ahead of time, and kill Joron before making his escape out the same way. From there, he would simply wait for the bodyguard to return into the building, before scaling down to the streets and disappearing into the crowd. What could possibly go wrong?

Setting his plan into motion, Gileth firstly ascertained that one window was out of sight for both men, lowered himself down again with his tools in hand and steeled himself. He would have to be quick and silent, and even then this was still risky. As he got to work, he silently praised himself for the additional hours that he had put into honing his skills. One tiny click was all the sensory evidence associated with what Gileth had done to the window. Then, he pulled himself up again. The entry and exit point was established. Now, to kick down the pipe and hope for the wanted reaction. It fell smoothly and crashed into the ground with a satisfyingly loud impact. Gileth wasted no time in returning to the roof to look through the window that he had prepared. He could hear muffled voices on the other side:

“Go take a look… Be quick about it, though.”

“Yessir.”

Perfect.

When the bodyguard was out of the room, Gileth slowly counted to ten, before swinging down, opening the window… a sound. The frame was imperfect and so the act of opening the window had made a creaking noise. Shit. Joron was turning around. With superior speed, Gileth crouched and launched himself at the man, his knife already in hand. The time for finesse was over. All he would need was one prick and the infusion would take hold. Joron, however, managed to just in time avoid the tip of the enchanted blade, leaving both combatants off-balance. Gileth struck again, but he was sloppy in his haste, somehow missing the enormous frame of the other man, not that Joron was in a position to counterstrike. Had Gileth not been filled with adrenaline and a single-minded focus, he would have noticed that Joron moved like someone not used to a fight, putting himself out of balance with every dodge, but even without knowing this fact, Gileth still capitalized on it, moving from a sloppy stab to a skillful, low spin that ended in a cut across Joron’s shin. As expected, the infusion took hold, although not instantaneously, probably due to the sheer size of the man. The venomantic infusion works much like a poison, only far more potent and focused than most of its mundane counterparts. Gileth then got to his feet, breathed once and slit the paralyzed man’s throat cleanly and deeply. Assured that his job was complete, he got to the window, purposefully left it open to make just outside it the first place the bodyguard would look, got to the roof and scaled down the building again on the opposite side, before vanishing into the crowd as intended, his face masking the thrill and ecstasy pumping in his veins.

Entirely unlike the disgusting part of Yggrisa that her brother found himself in, Kyla was surrounded by the most awe-inspiring structure that the metropolis of the North had to offer. Neither of the twins had ever laid eyes on the Palace of a Thousand Frozen Spires before, as the place was hidden behind the Yeti Gaze Peaks when the observer was wandering Yggrisa proper. Besides, it was not a place that just anyone visited and especially not without reason, even if one was a member of an organization that made a living out of ignoring such societal restrictions. The seat of the Frosted Queen and the ruling council was always spoken of with an air of reverent caution and mild fear in the Finder’s Thoroughfare, and, as Kyla had now seen for herself, that was with good reason. Five massive towers stood erect in an oval shape with the largest one overlooking the Evening Sea from the edge of a cliffside, all five of them adorned with their own ice-blue crown of spires. A tall wall ran between the five, open only to reveal a massive gate of reinforced cedar. The entire circle was again surrounded by ten additional, decorative, slimmer towers for a total of fifteen. When she had first arrived from the tunnels and the short trek, she had had to take a moment to calm herself upon seeing the sight: This was the place that she was about to infiltrate, unarmed and with no reliable escape. Once again, she cursed herself and her brother for having accepted this mission. It was going to fail, she was sure. Then again, they were guaranteed to go out in a blaze of glory, assuming she wouldn’t just get caught and executed right now. She had then proceeded to find a spot amongst the hills at the bottom of the mountains where she could hide her bow and quiver alongside her regular clothes as she had changed into one of the outfits that she had brought along: The black and blue skirt and shirt of a Költonian maid. She had then sneaked as closed as she could and then put on the Obscure Ring to hide her as she had made her way into one of the outer towers, narrowly dodging a guard in the process. Getting inside, she had slipped the Ring into a pocket before beginning her masquerade proper. She found herself in a hallway right outside a dining hall where other servants, both men and women, where eating what she assumed to be their midday meal. A stew, by the smell of it. Noticing how people were tickling both in and out of the hall, Kyla decided that she might as well begin mingling with potential informants immediately instead of skulking around where she could be found and questioned. Assuming the posture of someone having just spent hours cleaning the stone floor, Kyla went straight for the pot of stew, picking up a bowl along the way and making an effort of mirroring the hunger of those around her. The seating in the hall was set up in neat rows and columns of tables, so she decided that the best course of action for one who intended to listen first and be asked questions later was to seek the back corner, where currently only a couple of maids sat and seemingly did more chatting than eating. Thing was, with her Highlander blood, Kyla naturally drew attention to herself, being half a head taller than most in the hall and definitely brawnier. The tribal heritage was a boon in many cases, but not when trying to remain invisible in a Költonian crowd. Deciding that it was better to simply go with the flow instead of ignoring the two pairs of eyes suddenly locked on her, she took the initiative:

“Excuse me, is this seat taken?” she asked somewhat timidly and unsure.

One of the two, a blue-eyed blond – describing a majority of Költonians here – with a look that betrayed excitement at probably anything, was the first to answer: “No, not at all. Are you new here, or have I just missed the really tall girl every day?”

Kyla let a smile go through her mask: “You haven’t, no. I’m Mikhaila. Nice to meet you.”

“Nice to meet you too. I’m Iyna. And this is…”

“Anne. Pleasure.” The second blond with blue eyes was the ideal model for the posture that Kyla had imitated on her way in. Sounded like it, too.

“Likewise. Don’t let me interrupt your conversation, by the way. I don’t want to get in the way.”

“No, it’s fine. I was about to leave anyway. Have something I need to finish before old Björn takes my head.” With that, Anne left the table.

“Old Björn?” Kyla asked the excited girl, Iyna.

“Yeah, an overseer here. You haven’t met him yet?”

“No. Is that bad?” She felt a need to direct the conversation away from the details of her imaginary hiring.

“No, no. That’s fine. You’ll meet him eventually, can’t be helped. More importantly though, did you begin today?” And just like that, all of Kyla’s efforts were null and void.

“M-hm,” said between mouthfuls of stew. “Actually, I sort of wanted to ask; would you show me around for a bit? I was just given broom and told to clean a room. I honestly don’t know where anything is.”

“Sure. Come with me.” Iyna was already halfway out of her seat.

Kyla quickly gobbled the last of her stew – hungry workers don’t leave food behind – and followed the girl into the hallway. On her way in, Kyla had not paid much attention to it, but the walls were not made the same stone as the floor or the ceiling. Instead, they glistened and shone as the clean ice that they were, cooling the air and filling the entire hallway with a soft light, the reflection of the sun and, as Iyna explained when asked about it, the light of small crystals embedded in the ice that would shine during the evening and night. The two continued down the hallway, Iyna explaining something about the duties of the servants and Kyla listening with half a ear while she tried to observe as much as possible. The tower that she was in, she learned, was appropriately named the Tower of the Servant with the Tower of the Shield being the one directly across from it, the one reserved for the Shields of Oron. The two towers between these and the big one were the North and South Towers of the Esteemed Guest, which consisted of guest rooms, the private quarters of the more high-end staff like the Isouri, and a few rooms meant for meetings and small gatherings.

“And the largest tower, the impressive one overlooking the water, that’s the Tower of the Queen. The Frosted Queen lives there, which is pretty self-explanatory. There is also a big ballroom there that is a pain in the ass to prepare, let me tell you.”

“Huh.”

“And there is a secret room at the top that no one is allowed into, at least no servant. I wonder what they keep there.”

“That sounds really weird. Do these Isouri guard it?” A risky question, perhaps.

“I don’t know. I just remember being rudely rejected by a Shield there when I tried to enter. That was before anyone told me that it was a no-go.”

“Damn.”

“Yeah…”

Iyna was about to continue when a growly voice suddenly cut her off.

“I’m sorry, but is chitchatting considered work these days, young Iyna?” The owner of the voice approached from behind. Kyla repressed her initial reaction in favor of one more akin to the one own shown by Iyna – tense shoulders, a surprised grimace and raised eyebrows. Then, almost synchronized, both of them turned to face the older gentleman that had stopped them. A salt and pepper goatee decorated an otherwise bald head, while two stern, blue eyes stared Iyna down. Then, they shifted to Kyla.

“And I don’t think that I have seen you around before? What is your name, lass?”

“Mikhaila, sir.” Again, she made sure to weave the timidness into her words.

“And when did you start work her?”

“Today, sir.” Eyes finding her feet on the ground.

“Why am I never told anything… I have a job for the two of you. Go clean Councilman Yoruk’s quarters in the northern guest tower. I want everything in pristine order before his arrival tomorrow. Got it?”

“Yes, sir.” Iyna this time. “Come on, Mikhaila. This way.”

Before the man could begin another reprimand of work ethics, Iyna took Kyla by the hand and pulled her in the direction that they were already going. This hallway ran through the wall between the Servant and the northern Guest Tower, Kyla realized after having walked a greater distance than could fit into the Servant Tower itself, and apparently functioned as the main path between the two towers; many servants and even the occasional Shield of Oron walked both this way and the other. Sometimes, the two of them had to put their backs to the ice to make way or someone stopped to let them pass. It seemed to be on a whim who did the passing and who did the letting, or maybe the servants had their own unspoken rules that ‘Mikhaila’ was just supposed to figure out over time. One such encounter during this short walk to room of Councilman Yoruk Islar – yes, child, that Islar – would prove important, however, as Kyla took notice of a strange character amongst the many uniforms of the Palace. Dressed in a thick, woolen and very concealing shirt with a scarf and fingerless gloves to accompany the baggy trousers, the figure suggested neither this nor that. Kyla immediately had her suspicions, and Iyna’s words after the chance encounter proved them right:

“Did you see them? That’s one of the Isouri!” Kyla couldn’t deny that somewhere deep in her mind, beneath layers of plotting and mild anxiety, Iyna’s energy was contagious.

“Really? I’m not going to lie, I expected someone more intimidating. Like, someone old in long robes or something. With a pointy hat.” Did she try a little too hard to present the face of an uneducated village girl? Maybe.

“No, no, none of them are like that. All of them are young, actually – well, somewhat. And they all dress weirdly, really can’t miss them. That one is named Sera; I managed to talk to them once when they just joined, though they aren’t that talkative. We aren’t really supposed to talk them either. The Isouri, I mean.”

“How many are them are there?” Perhaps a bit forward of a question, but she doubted that Iyna would suspect anything.

“Six, I think. I’ve never seen more together at once, even when the entirety of the staff was called together for some ceremony.”

Kyla decided to push it a little: “Wouldn’t it be kind off dumb to have all the Isouri leave the halls at the same time, though?”

“You’re sharp. I like that. Maybe. I haven’t seen more than six different of them, though, that being the same six. And I have a pretty good memory for faces.”

“Hm, alright. Thanks, Iyna.” The twins could use this.

“Oh, no problem.”

Kyla continued to play the role of maid for the rest of that day, cleaning with Iyna and continued to gain as much information on the various nooks and crannies of the Palace as she could. Then, after the evening meal, she slipped the Obscure Ring back on and made her way out of the Tower of the Servant, back to her things and ultimately back to the tunnels beneath Yggrisa, her mission a success.