Wind swept across the land of Tereno, turning rolling hills of tall grass into an ocean of green. Mountains rose, looking down on verdant orchards and open plains echoing with the thunder of galloping hooves. A tumultuous river burst from one of those mountains, tumbling down waterfalls, speeding under wide stone bridges and winding through gently sloped valleys, courting north toward the sea where a divided. Sitting astride the river’s forked head was a great city.
The city of Sarcia shone white at its heart, a grand, sprawling palace of marble nestled in the river's fork and surrounded by similarly magnificent marble structures. Stately manors with white facades bordered verdant parks and gardened boulevards contrasted with narrow twisting alleys crowded with tenements of brightly painted plaster walls. The sun was cresting its peak, falling on Sarcia’s terracotta rooves.
Leto Avella stood at a window in one of those tenements, looking down on a bustling street. He was taller than most and broad. He has a wide, square face, bold nose and severe brown eyes under thick eyebrows. His short black hair curled back in artful disarray, he had a short, thick beard, and a small pewter ring hung from one ear. The city felt more alive to Leto, orders from the palace sending whole neighbourhoods into frenzies of activity.
He stood in a small apartment, with simple wooden benches and a sturdy table taking up much of the space. On one side was an alcove with a small brick oven surrounded by cupboards. On the opposite side, a bunk bed and a single cot were crammed into another nook. A faded and tattered rug softened the worn wooden floor. Two sturdy belts hung on the wall by the door and sheathed short swords leaning against the wall below. The apartment was clean, but a faint odour of feet wafted in the air.
“Big day.”
Leto turned toward the deep, rough voice to see Mak sitting on the lower bunk. He was a young man of average height and a broad frame bulging with muscle. He had square, rugged features and a strip of short brown hair along his otherwise shaved head. His orcish heritage was evident in his dark, green-tinted skin, short, tapered ears and the tips of small tusks poking out from his lips as he spoke. He was dressed in only a sleeveless red tunic, a hardened leather cuirass and black stockings on the bed beside him. Leto noticed the edge of a brown stain poking out of one of the folds of Mak’s tunic.
“Looks like it,” Leto said, “I know the palace likes to throw a party, but this one seems big.”
“I don’t even know why they’re throwing this one,” Mak said, “I got posted to docks. There’s been a rise in smuggling lately. A party must be a good cover or something.”
“It’s a retirement party,” Leto said, “Some adventurer who’s made some influential friends rescuing the right damsels, I guess. Has the ears of the Queen and the Stewards anyway. The way I see it, the more money the government and rich people spend on these things, the more it flows out to the rest of us, and the Vigil increases shifts so more money is in our pockets.”
Mak grinned, showing more of his tusks. “If that’s the case, let them have their parties. Where have you been assigned through all this? I haven’t seen your name on the posting the last few days.”
“The Hall,” Leto said, “I think the sergeant drew names out of a hat to decide who will represent our watch house. We all have to go through the same briefings as the praetor. I’ve been sleeping through lectures on who will attend and standing around while they rehearse the formalities. It’s mind-numbing. I’ll end up standing at the kitchen door, feet sore and stomach growling.”
“Life of glamour.” Make stood and looked down at his tunic. “Shit.” He pointed at the stain on his clothing. “Can you help with this? I have to head out for a while, so I don’t have time before my shift.”
Leto shook his head and chuckled. “Sure, leave it with me, and it’ll be ready when you get back.”
“You’re the best.” Mak pulled off his tunic, standing naked momentarily as he dropped it on one of the benches, then turned and squatted to pull a trunk from under the bed. He rummaged in the box for a minute, pulling out clothes, then standing again to dress in simple breeches and a shirt. He sat to pull on socks and worn boots. “I won’t be long.” I’m just helping old Pia downstairs with some shopping. Her arthritis is playing up, and she can’t carry anything.” He stood, putting on a thick wool coat that had hung on the frame of the bunk, and headed for the door.
The door opened as Mak reached for the handle, revealing a tall and wiry young human man with pale skin and blonde hair. He was dressed in the same uniform that Mak had left out, a leather cuirass and kirtle over a red tunic and black stockings, a red cloak draped over his body and pinned at one shoulder and a sword on his hip. His clothing was dirty, stained black and brown, and a dreadful stench rolled in with him.
“Gods, Kol, what happened to you?” Mak asked.
“A couple of Myr Rats were running a waste removal scam and just dumping it in the underworks,” Kol answered, stepping inside, “It strained the spells and let’s just say, it wasn’t pretty.” He removed his sword as he spoke, leaning it against the wall with the other two and hanging up his belt.
“Doesn’t smell pretty,” Mak said, “Good luck.” Then he left.
“Get them off,” Leto said to Kol, gesturing impatiently, “I’m cleaning clothes anyway, and we don’t want the smell to set in.”
Leto opened the two narrow windows of the apartment as Kol began peeling off his clothes, dumping them in a pile on the floor, heading for the kitchen, putting a large put on the metal stove plate, and arranging firewood in the oven.
Leto opened his mind to the power that ebbed and flowed around him and through the world. He twisted streams of energy into delicate threads of magic that he spun around the firewood, and when Kol moved back, Leto snapped his fingers and ignited the magic, sending flames shooting across the wood and starting a fire.
“Thanks,” Kol said brightly, pouring water from a ceramic urn into the pot on the stove. “It’d be nice if you could do a spell to pull this smell off me.”
“I still haven’t got the hang of doing it on people,” Leto said, “I still have the burn scar from the last time I tried it.”
Leto turned his attention to the clothing, weaving magic between the fibre threads and pulling out the dirt and stains. Kol pushed a bucket across the floor with his foot, and Leto spun a funnel of magic, guiding the power with small hand gestures, the grime from the clothing rising into the air before falling into the bucket. He wove another spell, smoothing out any wrinkles as he picked up each article with his hands and folded it. When he was done, the uniforms looked almost new.
“Just rinse off,” Leto said, “We can go to the baths. My treat. I’m expected to smell my best for my shift anyway.”
“I heard you got posted to the palace. Mak’ll be jealous.”
Leto laughed. “Mak just wants to sample the food. It should be a boring night.”
A short time later, Leto and Kol sat on a stone bench up to their necks in scolding water, steam rising in lazy curls toward an open sky. Thick columns rose from a mosaic floor, supporting the roof of the building that surrounded the large courtyard bath where small rooms contained scrubbing chambers, private bathtubs, steam rooms, stores of oils and soaps, and all manner of hygiene and relaxation facilities. The bathhouse was quiet, only a dozen men relaxing in the hot water where spontaneous eddies drew away dirt and produced islands of scented bubbles.
“Are you not excited about this palace job?” Kol asked, his eyes closed, “It’s the kind of thing people pay attention to. It could get you a promotion.”
“I’m not due for a promotion,” Leto said, “You know what the sergeant is like. She picked me at random. I guess she pulled my name out of a hat or something. I’ll be put on some back door and spend the night counting stars.”
“You think no one’s noticed you? Leto, you’re the only person on our watch who knows magic. That alone has earned you some attention. You’re smart, attentive, and good in a fight, even without magic. There’s good money on you being promoted to the Hall as an investigator by next year.”
“That’d be nice, but I don’t think it’s likely.”
“What does Pelea think?”
“Pelea thinks I should beg the Astrium for charity, study full-time, and go into medicine like mum. If I get a promotion before the end of next year, I’ll marry her, leave you and Mak alone in this smelly apartment and give Pelea all the babies she can ask for.”
“That doesn’t sound like a terrible life.”
“I thought the same thing.”
As evening approached and the sun descended, Leto stood in a crowded room, bare of furniture. He wore his red tunic and cape, leather cuirass, kirtle and boots, and black stockings. A short sword hung at his hip. All but three of the people in the room wore the same uniform. They stood with their backs to one of the walls. Their tunics and capes were blue rather than red, their armour made of steel polished to a mirror sheen. Two wore helmets with horsehair crests dyed blue and white.
The man in the middle wore no helmet. He had tanned skin, piercing blue eyes, and long black hair tied back with a delicate silver chain. He appeared to be in his thirties, though his tapered ears suggested elven ancestry, making his age difficult to guess. His armour extended to bracers on his arms and greaves on his legs. The metal appeared silver at first glance, though Leto noticed a faint blue sheen to the metal where it caught the light. It was also embossed with gold accents. He carried an air of authority, commanding the room with looks and gestures more than words. He called names, giving Leto’s red-uniformed colleagues their assignments, and eventually, when the space was almost empty, Leto was called forward.
“Prefect Kellier, sir,” Leto said, stepping forward.
“Vigilant Avella? You’re assigned to the main hall on a body detail.”
“Me?” Leto asked.
“Yes,” Prefect Kellier said gravely, “You. Come.” The prefect led Leto out of the room, speaking as they walked down a plain hall, and the two, blue-uniformed praetor following closely, “Virren Tivinnan will be in attendance tonight. He is from Ryn’av ath’Alu Quirea’nar and is an advisor to his city’s leaders. Tereno has no formal treaty with Quirea’nar, so Virren is no diplomat and thus falls outside the mandate of the praetor. In the spirit of hospitality and future diplomacy, we offered Vigil protection. You’ll serve that role this evening.”
“Me.”
“You. It is a simple assignment. Follow Virren around, talk to him if he engages you in conversation, and prevent any harm from coming to him.”
“Should I be expecting trouble, or am I simply to make this person feel important so he can go home and tell his important friends about it?”
Prefect Kellier raised an eyebrow. “My hope is the latter, though I suggest dulling your wit so as not to injure our guests.”
“I’ll try my best, sir.”
They entered a richly decorated vestibule, dignified portraits hanging on the walls, metal sculptures reflecting soft candlelight around the room and a colourful mosaic brightening the floor. People wearing the finest clothing Leto had ever seen milled around the space, sipping from delicate glass goblets. The prefect showed Leto through the crowd to a tall elf with teal skin and emerald-green eyes. His long white hair was braided intricately and studded with green jewels, and he wore a dark green robe trimmed in gold that crossed his chest and fell to the floor from his hips, exposing his midriff. Slits in the side of the elf’s torso opened and closed with each breath. Thin lines on his face suggested he was in his fifth or sixth century of life.
“Virren,” Prefect Kellier said with a bow, “Welcome.”
“Saroin,” Virren said in a voice that as an odd resonance, “To be greeted by the Prefect of the Praetor is an honour.” The elf gestured widely as he spoke, and Leto caught a metal glint in his long ear.
The prefect bowed again. “I have come to introduce your guide for the evening so that you can make the most of your time. This is Vigilant Leto Avella.”
“At your service,” Leto said, also bowing.
“I’m afraid I can’t stay,” Kellier said, “I must return to the Queen and King, but Vigilant Avella can show you to the main hall. Please, enjoy your evening.” The prefect gave a final bow and then left.
“To the main hall,” the elf said with a smile, “Lead on.”
“Who are you?” Leto whispered as they left the vestibule, “Virren’s ear isn’t pierced, and yet invisible metal shines all the same.”
“I thought we’d fixed that problem,” the elf replied, no reaction other than a polite smile as they passed guests, “Something to work on in the future. To answer your question…” The elf paused, waiting for two praetor to march by and leave the hallway empty, then bowed, a shimmer passing over him as the illusion dropped, revealing a younger elf with blue skin and shoulder-length white hair. One of his ears was pierced with two silver rings, and several rings decorated his fingers. He wore fine silk trousers, but his chest and feet were bare, showing his gills were genuine. “Al’ruaram Cor’sharo,” he said as he straightened, “As for your unvoiced second question, I’m merely here to meet people and make friends.”
“That seems unlikely,” Leto said.
“Perhaps.” The elf shrugged, and the illusion of Virren Tivinnan shimmered back into place, “I’m new around here and need to make connections and establish myself. As the venerable Virren Tivinnan, I can recommend myself to the most influential members of Tereno society. I promise to be on my best behaviour, my Vigilant friend. I suspect that’s why our perfect prefect put you in my path, to keep me honest. I’ve no doubt he’s seen through my deception as well and take him not picking me up and throwing me out on the street as a blessing. It could be fun.”
“I have my orders, I suppose,” Leto said, “If you cause any trouble, I’ll have to kill you.”
“Of course.”
They came to large wooden doors opened by attendants and stepped into the main hall. The room was large, with a floor of polished gold-veined marble and a domed ceiling painted with frescos of heroic deeds. Candles burned in gold chandeliers and wall sconces, casting warm light around the hall, and braziers burned low in corners and at the end of long tables laden with food and drinks. A troupe of musicians played merrily to one side, and a dais had been assembled at the far end of the room, upon which two impressing metal thrones were placed.
Leto scanned the room, taking in all the well-bred guests in their finest garments as they danced or talked, seeing many races and nations represented in the crowd.
“So,” the elf said, taking a goblet of red wine from a passing attendant, “I must admit that my inquiries about this evening's guest list fell disappointingly short, but you must have some insider insight. What can you tell me about these lovely people?”
“That would depend on what you’re looking for,” Leto said.
“Business contacts.” A smile played across the elf’s lips. “I’m a merchant captain. We sail the trade routes along the north coast. I’m hoping to establish myself between here and Ampton. Sarcia sees goods from Tevicii, Sel K’lar, Teni Gryr and An’Glad. Ampton shares borders with Manjadiid, Mekan and Wadawandra. I also have an advantage in building relations in Quirea’nar. Opportunities abound, and I’ll take what I can get.”
Leto frowned. He had the sense that Cor’sharo was being honest, despite the deception of his identity, though he was enjoying whatever game he thought he was playing.
“I’m not exactly an expert in trade,” Leto said.
“Indulge me. I’m sure in all your important meetings, you weren’t told anything that would expose any terrible secrets. Consider it no more than the preamble to the introductions and dry diplomatic discussions that are the real reason for these events. I’d imagine most here read up on each other, if for no reason than to refresh fading memories.”
“Very well,” Leto said, searching the crowd as they walked the perimeter. He was a tall, pale elf with long blonde hair and a stately green and gold robe. “Elran Thelmalere, Consul of Census and Excise. Keeper of the coffers and advisor on all things financial. He’s served as consul for almost two centuries, and the only objection people have is trusting an elf with the taxes of a human kingdom. Still, I think that has more to do with him being an incorruptible force of egalitarian fiscal policy than the shape of his ears. Still, it’s less controversial than objecting to feeding and educating the poor.”
“A widely shared sentiment?”
“It’s almost entirely exclusive to the wealthy arseholes who’d rather hide their money in holes in the ground like dragons than help contribute to the society they're exploiting. Speaking of which…” Leto nodded to a young man with an olive complexion and curly dark hair wearing a simple silver-trimmed black toga. “Sabian Di Marcia. Watch house gossip is that he’s recently taken over the family holdings but has little interest in business or politics. Not much is known about his personal life other than some time at the Astrium studying medicine. He’s avoided public attention before now. His family has been operating one of the country’s oldest and most successful vineyards, and his husband used the Di Marcia family money to start a trading company in Tevicii. Successful or not, the family might give Consul Thelmalere competition in charity between donations to the Astrium, the hospital in Rafiria and an orphanage here in the capital.”
“And the woman he’s with?” Cor’sharo asked.
The woman was short, with a heart-shaped face, a sweet smile, and rosy cheeks. She wore a conservative dark green gown with a high neckline and sleeves tight at her wrists. Rubies hung from her ears, brown hair, and throat. She giggled at something Sabian said.
“A noble from Evrys across the sea,” Leto replied, “A baroness or countess or something. I don’t know much more than that. Since Di Marcia’s husband’s company ships between the continents, I'd guess she’s come over on one of their boats.” Leto turned his attention to the pair of dwarves they were talking with. “Taznil Ungart is the ambassador from Teni-Gryr. Her partner, Galkam Thradig, is one of the few merchants with dealings outside the dwarfhold, and he has influence for it.”
“Looks like they get along,” Cor’sharo remarked, “He probably buys Di Marcia’s wine.”
“And that man there…” Leto nodded to a tall, portly, dark-skinned man. “Maurellius Di Savino. His family is newer money, but they have a flourishing olive oil business. That’s about all I know about potential business contacts.” He nodded to a tall, dark-haired man with dark red skin and horns curling back from his temples, grinning and stroking a goatee. “Valour the Warrior Poet is here to compose a heroic ballad for the occasion.”
“What about that lot?” Cor’sharo asked, gesturing to a group talking by a table of food.
The most obvious of the group was a tall, hulking orcish man with green skin, black hair and a full beard. He wore a brown kilt and a matching coat that fell below his knees. Armbands jingled as he gesticulated, and he bellowed his laughter. Beside him was a lithe catfolk woman with black-spotted pale grey fur. Delicate gold jewellery flashed across her body. More graceful still was an elven woman with tanned skin and pale blonde hair. She wore a bright red coat hemmed in gold thread that left bare her arms corded in wiry muscle. Beneath it, she wore trousers and a bandeau of black silk embroidered in gold with a swirling pattern.
Barely visible through the moving crowd was a dwarven woman in a brilliant yellow doublet, gold rings holding luscious hair in a single thick braid, and a tiny Hin girl in her teens with bright eyes and fast hands that snatched up food and drink alike.
“The Venator,” Leto said, “The guests of honour. A heroes-for-hire type mercenary group. Their unofficial creed is ‘good deeds don’t fill a plate’, but by all accounts, they’ve done much good across the continent in the last decade, helping rich and poor alike. The dwarf is the sister of Ambassador Ungart. Their leader, Stagmantle, is retiring, thus the party. There’s one more of them, I think. A shifter.”
“Like a werewolf?”
“No, not exactly. Some people say they descended from werefolk; others say they’re of a fey bloodline. I’m not sure it makes much difference.”
“Any more difference than how my people ended up in the ocean when our elven cousins kept to land.”
“From the description I got, he looks like a hairy half-elf, but I’m inclined to say he’s a person. Until I see him do something criminal, at least. Are you actually from Quirea’nar?”
“Ryn’av Nenaya Erenath’Alu.”
“Never heard of it.”
“Not many up here have. The city is deeper than most and keeps to itself. Any contact with the surface is through Quirea’nar. It was a dreadfully dull place, in my opinion, but pretty. If you’re wondering why I left, it’s simple. I was bored. Almost two hundred years, and nothing interesting has happened. Even by elven standards, that’s a special kind of dreary. It’s so boring, the sharks read and the local kraken knits. Come, let’s introduce ourselves to some people.”
Leto felt a cold shiver run up his spine, his hair standing on end, and he looked around, putting his hand on the hilt of his sword. He saw Sabian and his female companion standing straight, also surveying the room and no sign of polite gentility on their faces across the room. Flames writhed across Valour’s hand, his jaw set, and the Venator backed against each other in a defensive stance.
“Stay here,” Leto said.
“Not likely,” Cor’sharo said, a dagger in his hand as his illusory disguises melted away, “Can you see what it is?”
“No, but we’re not the only ones who felt-”
“It.”
Leto’s head spun, sudden light blinding him, and his knees betrayed him, sending him crashing into cold, hard stone. He groaned, blinking into the light as his eyes adjusted. He had fallen to a floor of large, white flagstone tiles. He looked up to the wood-panelled walls of a hallway. Light streamed in from a window on the wall behind him. As his vision cleared, Leto saw a courtyard at the end of the hall with lush shrubbery and a bubbling fountain.
He pushed himself up, his muscles weak and shaking, and a teenage girl appeared at the end of the hall, her eyes wide. “Gods,” she said, “Father! Father!” then she bolted.
Leto shook his head, clinging to the wall as he dragged himself upright, and he stumbled down the hall and out into the courtyard. Trees heavy with fruit shaded the garden, bushes bright with flowers and berries filled the air with sweet fragrances. Bees buzzed industriously, and butterflies leisurely drifted from flower to flower. Looking around, Leto saw the walls of a grand villa on three sides. A double loggia was open to the courtyard and halls leading into the rest of the building. The yard was open to the north, stone paths winding across lawns toward two more prominent buildings.
Leto drew his sword, turning slowly and wary of movement as he walked toward the open space. A face appeared in the upper loggia: a middle-aged man with an olive tan, deeply creased face and prominent nose.
“Please sheathe your sword, Segnori Avella,” the man said, “You’re not in any danger, but there are children here.”
“Where am I?” Leto called back, inching toward the open side of the courtyard, “What happened?”
“A lot has happened, I’m afraid,” the man replied, “It’s a story that doesn’t require weapons.”
A hand suddenly reached out beside Leto’s head and grabbed his sword arm, lifting him until the toes of his boots scraped helplessly across the ground. It was a large hand attached to a thick, muscular arm.
“Please put down the sword,” came a deep, soft voice behind Leto, “You’re safe.”
Leto twisted in the firm grip, seeing a man looking down on him. He was muscular with a square jaw carrying a neatly cropped beard. He had severe brown eyes and short brown hair and was dressed in a simple shirt, trousers and boots. The sleeve of his shirt slid down the arm holding up Leto, revealing an armband of two spirals of solid red and orange stones frames in silver. Behind the man was Sabian Di Marcia, wearing a knee-length robe.
“Did I get drugged and kidnapped by rich people?” Leto asked. He let go of his sword, moving his free hand to catch it, but the tall man snatched it out of the air.
“You can put him down, Taeo,” Sabian said, stepping forward, “Leto, you’ve been unwell. We brought you here for your recovery.” Leto was slowly lowered back to solid ground, and Taeo stepped back. “What do you remember?”
“The party at the palace,” Leto said, “I was talking to the sea elf, then I was here. Can I have my sword back?”
“No,” Taeo said shortly.
“Technically, it’s not your sword,” Sabian said, “And you’re not a Vigilant anymore. Leto, the palace was attacked. A mage petrified almost everyone there, including myself. A few successfully avoided the spell and stopped the attack, but there were… complications, the murder of the king among them.”
“I was the last on the list to be unpetrified, then?” Leto asked.
“In a sense. The mage’s death broke the spell, and everyone else was freed. For unknown reasons, you remained petrified. We brought you here while attempts were made to restore you, but nothing we could muster made any difference. In your absence, the vigil held your wages for a year before you were declared unemployable.”
“A year?” Nausea roiled in Leto's stomach, and his head spun, “I’ve been a statue for a year?”
“No,” Sabian said calmly, “You’ve been petrified for five years. I’m sorry, Leto. Many things have changed in your absence.”
“Gods,” Leto breathed, his knees abandoning him again, “Five years? Seriously?”
“I’m afraid so. Taeo?”
“I’ll see to it.” Taeo left, disappearing into the villa.
“I am sorry we weren’t able to free you sooner, Leto,” Sabian said, “We should give you some time to adjust. We’ve set aside a room for you in preparation for your restoration. I’ll show you when you’re ready.”
“Thanks,” Leto said weakly, “Of course. I’ll…”
“Take your time.”
After a few minutes, Leto found the strength to stand again, and Sabian led him back into the house and upstairs to a suite in the eastern part of the villa. The rooms were luxurious to Leto’s eyes. He walked into a living room with simple, sturdy furniture. A lounge and two armchairs were upholstered in purple velvet and thick with stuffing. A tall and full bookshelf was by the door, high stacks of broadsheets on a low coffee table, and a thick rug on the floor. Leto saw a large bed with blankets and pillows through an archway, and tall wardrobes stood in corners.
“This is a fancy kidnapping,” Leto said.
“You’re welcome to make yourself comfortable,” Sabian said mildly, “Taeo and I have a suite in this wing, though we’re rarely here. There is a library and bath downstairs. The kitchen and dining room are in the west wing. My uncle Stephanus and his children Teresa and Rocco have rooms in the upper west wing.” He gestured at the papers on the table. “We collected news from Sarcia so you could catch up on events. I learned you picked up classes at the Astrium when you could and inquired about your classes. I moved books up here to match your interests.”
Leto was surprised. “You did? Why?”
“In preparation for your restoration. There’s clothing in the wardrobes. I didn’t think a few measurements would be too familiar given that we carried you here from Sarcia.”
Leto frowned. “I’ll overlook it if you really have been trying to fix me this whole time. What’s the big picture of what I missed? You said the king was assassinated?”
“Officially, he was killed in the attack. No political motive has been revealed. Many claim night elves were behind the attack, and tensions have been high on the border, but Queens Olanea and Ilivarrra have been firm in denouncing the accusations. Garret Stagmantle was also killed trying to fight off the attackers. The Venator went their separate ways without their leader. The ambassador from Teni-Gryr almost died, so she retired, and the new ambassador isn’t nearly as agreeable. The sea elf, Al’ruaram Cor’sharo, is doing quite well for himself. As is Saroin Kellier, who is now Consul of the Interior.”
“What about your friend? The noble lady.”
Sabian’s mouth twitched in a brief smile. “Rhiannon is immutable. Those kinds of events are nothing new to her. I think a party without at least one count of violence is not worth attending in her mind.”
“Taeo’s your husband, right? Why wasn’t he there that night?”
“He’s never been one for social occasions. I suffer through them for both of us. I’ll leave you to settle in, but I’ll be downstairs if you need anything.” Sabian closed the door behind him as he left.
Leto walked around the rooms, taking an inventory of the books on the shelves and the diverse subjects they contained, flicking through the dates on the broadsheets, and opening the wardrobes to consider the clothing. He took off his uniform and quickly redressed in a plain tunic, then sat in one of the armchairs and began working through the newspapers. It was hours before Leto realised the light was fading, and he was squinting at the pages of a book. There was a knock on the door, and it opened to show Sabian.
“You made short work of the papers,” Saian noticed, glancing at the abandoned broadsheets.
“A testament to the education facilities your generosity no doubt props up,” Leto said, rubbing his eyes. He wove magic around the room and snapped his fingers, lighting the various candles in the suite.
“Do you truly have such animosity? My family has long believed that our success comes with responsibility and our blessing should be shared. You’d surely feel no better if my family hoarded our wealth.”
Leto sighed. “Sorry. I’m being ungrateful. I’m just frustrated. I get assigned to the palace, turned to stone, and locked up in your cellar for five years. It’s just rich folk dragging me around for their own reasons. Maybe your reasons are altruistic, but that doesn’t help me feeling powerless.”
“We put you in a well-lit hall,” Sabian remarked with a small smile, “You were a dramatic addition to our art collection. Are you hungry?”
Leto chuckled and shook his head. “It’s been five years for you but only a couple of hours for my stomach, and I think I’ve still got a bit of gravel rolling around in there.”
“I’ll leave something out for you all the same. I’m not great company, but if you need some, I don’t sleep much.”
Leto nodded, and Sabian left again. When the sun had set, Leto put the book aside and left the room. The villa was quiet, wrapped in soft peace. A light breeze rustled leaves and carried sweet smells. Torches burned, holding back the dark. A snowy owl perched on the rail of the upper loggia watched Leto as he passed, giving a soft coo but appearing at ease with a human presence. Leto continued downstairs, poking his head through doors, finding a library and office before opening the bath door.
It was a simple square room with high windows in the external wall, and the shutters closed to the night outside. The sunken bath took up most of the floor, large stone bricks sealed with lines of metal rather than mortar and a stone bench running around all sides. Wood shelves around the room were filled with plush towels, jars, bottles and soap wrapped in wax paper, with wooden benches between them. Steam curled up from the water to hang from the ceiling like a cloud.
The middle-aged man with the bold nose from earlier sat in the bath while a boy no older than ten sat with him, pushing a wooden toy boat across the water. Clothes and towels were neatly folded on a bench near them. As Leto entered, the boy’s eyes went wide, and he splashed through the water to the other side of the man, the boat bobbing away into the middle of the bath.
The man smiled, deepening his wrinkles like cracked earth. “Leto!” he chirped, “I hope you’re feeling better. Come and relax. I’m Stephanus. We didn’t get a proper introduction earlier.”
“Right, Sabian’s uncle,” Let said, “Sorry about earlier.”
Stephanus waved dismissively. “It’s understandable. You’ve been having a bad day.”
“I’ve been having a bad five years by the sounds of it.” Leto pulled off his tunic, leaving it on a bench and collecting a soap bar before descending into the hot water.
“This is Rocco,” Stephanus said, ruffling the boy’s damp hair, “You met Teresa earlier.”
Leto smiled at the boy. “Nice to meet you.” He shifted his focus to feel for magic, sensing threads running through the bath, spells of heat and cleaning woven through the structure more subtle than those built into the Sarcian bathhouses he was used to. He spun a simple spell, twirling his hand as he wound up an eddy of air, then sent a small gust of wind to fill up the cloth sail of the toy boat. The boat sailed across the bath back to the boy.
“Thanks,” he said, smiling shyly, “I wish I could do magic. Sabian tried to teach me some, but I’m not good at it.”
Leto shrugged. “I can only do a couple of little tricks like that. And maybe…” He wove magic through the flames that burned in the candles around the room and snapped his fingers, the candles blinking out to throw the room into darkness. He pulled the power of the fire into his hand, weaving a new spell that he tossed into the air. Hundreds of sparkling motes of rainbow light rose from his hand to float around the room, creating a fantastical ambience.
“Wow…” Rocco breathes, waving his hand through the lights, and they swirl through the air in the wake of his movements. Leto wove another spell and released it to shimmer across the water's surface, and tiny lights coalesced into figures of shifting auroras. A small rainbow figure appeared on the toy boat while multi-coloured tentacles rose out of the water and crashed down to send waves of light across the water’s surfaces. Rocco grabbed the toy boat and jumped into the bath to play.
Stephanus laughed. “I hope you didn’t plan on leaving anytime soon. He’ll have you doing that every time he has a bath.”
“I don’t exactly have anything else lined up.”
“You will.”
“What makes you say that? You want to put me to work on your vineyard?”
“It’s not so bad. I spend my days in the vines. Sabian and Taeo are pretty enough to sell the wine and smart enough to manage the money. I’m the farmer. We heard stories about you. Your parents and friends visited whenever they could, sat and talked to you—and told us all about you. They speak very highly of you, assisting your mother in the hospital and your father’s butchering. You taught yourself magic, as humble as you think it is, took well to weapons when you joined the vigil and had the makings of an investigator.”
“Everyone knows everything about me, huh?”
“Can you blame us? Your family and friends are proud of you. Makarth doesn’t know the meaning of internal dialogue, and I think some curiosity on our part is warranted since you have been here for so long. Any secrets are safe with this family. The children and I are too remote to spread gossip, and Sabian and Taeo barely talk to each other, let alone anyone else.”
“It’d still be nice to know a little more about you all.”
“There isn’t much to tell. Isolation breeds rumours far more interesting than the truth. I was born here and lived here most of my life. I spent some time in Rafiria and studied agriculture. The druids were setting up the Arboretum back then, and I thought I could bring some of their magic home, but I don’t have a talent for it either. I met Teresa and Rocco’s mother, however. She left us for the next life, sadly. A sickness took many in this area, including my brother, Sabian’s father, before healers could do anything.
“My brother was a troubled man, and I have no idea who Sabian’s mother is. Sabian was always serious. He never cried or threw a tantrum. Barely spoke a word that wasn’t needed. The time he didn’t spend reading, he spent out in the vineyard. Our neighbour at the time got a parcel of land from the military. His boy was Taeo. He spoke even less than Sabian but worked hard on his father’s farm. He was bigger and stronger than me by the time he was sixteen. I think his parents thought he was simple, the way he looked at people and never spoke. The boys talked to each other, however. They spent hours in the vineyards or fields talking and reading books from our library. Sometimes, it seemed like they had their own language. As they got older, their friendship matured. Then Taeo followed his father’s footsteps and joined the military, and Sabian went to Vestini to study at the Astrium Major. Ten years later, they came back here and got married.”
“Sounds fairly normal,” Leto said, “So Taeo went from military service to a shipping magnate?”
“He’s not as simple as his parents thought. He’s good with numbers. He was an engineer in the auxiliary. Now, he balances ledgers. It’s all numbers.”
“And Sabian? He studied medicine?”
“He did. He worked at the Domus Sanitatum after his studies. He has an interest in medicine of the mind. Healers can’t fix the mind with magic. They can close cuts, mend bones, remove curses and excise demons, but when a mind is broken or sick, all they can do is make the person comfortable and safe. Sabian wanted to change that. He never said what compelled his interest.”
“Well, thanks for sharing. It’s more than I knew this morning about the people whose house I’ve been decorating.”
“You brightened the place up.” Stephanus grinned at the twinkling lights, “Even without being a statue.” He stood and stepped out of the bath. “I should get this one dry and into bed. Come on, Rocco. It’ll still be here tomorrow.”
Rocco grumbled as he climbed out of the bath. Stephanus and Rocco dried and dressed and said goodnight, then left. Leto finished his bath shortly after, wrapping himself up in a towel, grabbing his borrowed clothes and heading to his unfamiliar rooms.
He slept poorly, the soft bed hugging him in unfamiliar ways, and his head sunk to a suffocating depth into the pillows. He tossed and turned through the night until dawn dispelled any sleep he had found. He rolled out of bed, pulled on a tunic and a thick cloak and headed out into the grounds.
The main house and the two buildings Leto had seen the day before sat atop a low hill landscaped with terraced gardens. Gravel paths branched off from the main drive to snake through the gardens as the hill gently descended to some outbuildings and a high, thick wall. Neat rows of grapevines stretched out beyond the wall. As he walked, Leto discovered the outbuildings were stables and storehouses, and he found gates leading out into the vineyard. Wandering the gardens, he spotted dozens of medicinal and alchemical plants among the bushes and flowers.
Leto found a spot on the hill's eastern side and sat on a low garden wall, closing his eyes against the rising sun's warmth. After a few minutes, he heard the gravel crunch and opened his eyes to see a massive, black-furred wolf sauntering along the path. Instinctive fear took hold of Leto’s stomach, and he flinched back into the plants.
The wolf calmly approached, sniffed Leto’s feet, worked her nose up his body, then sat, dropping her head on his lap and huffing. Leto froze, and the wolf looked up at him and lifted her head slightly before dropping it again and huffing.
“You should pet her.” Leto jumped, and the wolf growled until he settled, and she could rest her head again. Sabian stood on the path, a small smile on his lips. “She doesn’t like being ignored. Better to lose a hand to her fur than her teeth.”
Leto gingerly touched the wolf’s head and petted her soft fur. The wolf closed her eyes. “She’s a local then?” Leto asked.
“Taeo found her as an abandoned pup and raised her.”
“She’s tame, then?”
“No, she just isn’t afraid of people. If she’s here, it means Taeo is not far behind. He made good time. They’ll probably be back this afternoon. You should eat when you’re allowed to return to the house.”
“Allowed?” Leto asked, and the wolf’s fluffy tail thumped once on the gravel.
Sabian chuckled and stroked the wolf’s muzzle with one thumb. “Give him back in one piece.” Then Sabian continued along the path, his sandalled feet not disturbing the gravel.
After fifteen minutes, the wolf stood, licked Leto’s face with a big, wet tongue, and then walked away.
Leto looked up at the sky. “I’m dead, aren’t I? This is my punishment? Show me a path to salvation, and I will run it, but this place is cruel.” The heavens remained silent. “I suppose I do owe a few prayers.”
Leto returned to the house and found the kitchen in the west wing. It was a large room with two ovens with metal stove plates burning low and warming the space. The benches were clean, as was the large, heavy table in the middle of the room, and cabinets hung from the ceiling around the walls. A door was open to a pantry where the teenage girl Leto had seen the day before was taking things from shelves.
Leto knocked on the table, and the girl turned around. “Leto?” she asked, “Do you want some breakfast? I was making sandwiches.”
“Thanks, yes. Here, let me help.” Leto walked to the pantry, taking food from the girl. The air beyond the door was noticeably cool and dry, and Leto sensed magic in the room. “You’re Teresa? Sorry for scaring you yesterday.”
“Oh, that’s fine,” Teresa said with a warm smile, “Unless you were waiting for the perfect chance to scare me before you woke up. Sabian thought the spell could break spontaneously. No one goes into the east wing, so I didn’t consider it. I was only returning a book to the library.”
“I’d have thought a big place like this would be full of staff.”
Teresa laughed. “We have a few people to help us. The place is too big to take care of ourselves.”
“I noticed there’s some magic anchored into parts of the house. Did Sabian do that? Rocco mentioned he knew a few spells.”
Teresa shook her head as the two began slicing meat and bread. “I don’t think so. I think Sabian learned some tricks at the Astrium, but I’ve never seen him do much more than pull the wrinkles out of his clothes after a long night's reading. The spells around the house have been here as long as anyone knows. Before Papa was born, at least. Druids visit occasionally. They stay in the guest house and help all the farms around here. They come from the Arboretum in Rafiria. You ask many questions.”
“I missed five years, I’m unemployed, and now I live with strangers. I’m just trying to put everything together and figure out where I stand.”
“Makes sense.”
“What’s with the strange animals? I saw an owl last night and was cornered by a wolf this morning.”
“Susurri and Inedia. Sabian and Taeo have a soft spot for strays and orphans. Taeo takes in animals. Susurri was a hatchling. She fell out of her nest and broke her wing. Inedia was a runt abandoned by her family to starve. Taeo nursed them to health, and they’re fairly independent but always come back. You’ll see Citus at some point, too. Taeo’s horse from his time in the legion. Sabian adopts people. Calo and Jaina. Sabian hired them as companions out of orphanages in the capital.” Teresa smiled ruefully. “They’re as antisocial as Sabian and Taeo but good. They keep Sabian from becoming a complete hermit. Jaina teaches me to dance when she visits, and Calo doesn’t talk much, but he’s lovely and bakes. Then there’s you.”
“The statue with delusions personhood.” Leto finished constructing his sandwich, “Thanks for the chat.”
Leto returned to his suite and ate his sandwich as he reread his collection of broadsheets, then returned to his book. The afternoon was deepening when someone knocked on his door, and Sabian opened it.
“Visitors for you,” Sabian said.
Sabian took Leto to a sitting room on the second floor, double doors open to the upper loggia. As they entered, Kol and Mak stood, eyes wide and grins slowly spreading across their faces. Mak threw his arms wide and pulled Leto into a tight hug, lifting him off the ground. When Mak let go, Kol gave Leto’s hand a firm squeeze of the shoulder.
“Took your fucking time, Leto!” Mak said, “Had to do things your own way.” He hugged Leto again. “It’s good to see you in the flesh again.”
“It is,” Kol said, “We have wine.”
“Thank the gods for wine,” Leto said. They sat, and the wine was poured. “I’m caught up on the news of the kingdom, but you have to tell me what I really missed.”
“Not much has changed,” Mak said, “We moved out here to stay close to you. Kol and I got promoted. He’s posted to the Revalano watch. I’m in Rafiria. Your folks moved to Rafiria, too. Sabian got your mum a job at the Sanitatum, and your dad’s working at the Arboretum. We all… wanted to be close by when you got better.”
“We always knew you would,” Kol said.
“The Di Marcias sure are helpful,” Leto said.
“They’re weird, aren’t they?” Mak said, “Well, Sabian and Taeo. The others seem normal. But they didn’t spare any expense. They had druids and holy people, alchemists and wizards all here at one time or another trying to break the petrification on you. I'm pretty sure they had someone smuggling magic artefacts trying to find something to help you as well. What was it that finally worked?”
“I don’t know.” Leto looked back toward the door and saw Sabian had left them. “Maybe the spell just ran out.”
“Or the gods were done laughing at you,” Kol said, “There’s one thing, in any case. Pelea. She didn’t wait for you.” Leto’s heart sank. “She tried, but she met someone and got married.”
Leto nodded. “Yeah. I’m happy for her. I will be. One day for me is five years for everyone else. Wouldn’t be fair to expect her to wait that long.” His insides grew heavier. “I think the shock is wearing off. Fuck, how am I supposed to deal with this.”
“Wine?” Mak asked.
“Wine,” Leto answered, “More wine.”
“Hienar Himself will be put to shame,” Kol said, finishing his glass of wine and pouring another. “If we are not shaking the grapes from their vines by nightfall with our singing, I’m having Leto turned back to stone.”
The three men drank and talked and laughed, and Leto felt for a moment that he had last seen them only two days before, and the dark chasm of the last five years had disappeared. The singing started on the third bottle of wine, and as the night wore on, they stumble into the bath where Kol and Mak could drunkenly wash off their journey. After the fourth bottle of wine, they found their way to Leto’s suit and fell into bed before promptly falling asleep.
In the morning, Leto lifted Kol and Mak onto their horses and saw them to the gates across the wide main drive. He watched them ride away, Sabian standing beside him.
“Thank you,” Leto said.
“You’re welcome,” Sabian said, “Though in truth, caring for you hasn’t been much trouble. Until your restoration, you didn’t need food, and you didn’t take up much space.”
“My friends told me you let them visit when they wanted and spent a small fortune trying to cure me.”
“We had a small fortune spare and were struggling to find a way to spend it. Investing in you seemed more ethical than buying a politician. Even now, despite the midnight serenades, you’re not an imposition.”
Leto chuckled. “Sorry about that. As grateful as I am, I’m going to figure out what to do moving forward.”
“Don’t think there’s any pressure from us to do so, but we can help if you want. But before you flee the tortures of our hospitality, we’re hosting a festival, partly in honour of the gods for our success and partly for buyers to sample our upcoming vintages. It might be an opportunity for you to meet some people who might inspire the next stage of your life. I encourage you to use our family contacts.”
“A party? The last one I went to didn’t go very well.”
“What are the odds of two such disastrous events? And selfishly, I’m not good at these things, and Taeo is escaping entirely to attend to business in Tevicii. You can be charming when you want to be, and your revival will be distracting enough to keep attention off me.”
“Yeah, that does seem fair. What’s the dress code?”
“We’ll find you something.”
Steady hoofbeats approached, and they both turned to see Taeo astride a horse the size of a draft horse but with the build of a coarser and with a coat the colour of burnished steel with a lustre that caught the light and seemed to be liquid metal and with each movement of the beast’s powerful muscles.
“Travel well,” Sabian said, reaching up and putting a hand on Taeo’s thigh. Leto noticed they had matching armbands of spiralling red and orange stone set in silver metal that had a faint blue lustre in the sun.
Taeo put his hand over Sabian’s. He said nothing, but Leto saw the look that passed between them. He saw a tiny instant of absolute adoration and unbridled fear that Leto could only describe as genuine awe. Then, the moment passed, Taeo nodded, and Sabian pulled back his hand and watched his husband ride away. Leto expanded his senses, sensing magic on Sabian’s arm. From one of the spirals, he felt threads of power stretching down the road after Taeo, power humming back and forth along the connection. From the other, he felt a web of magic extending across Sabian’s skin. The spells were dense, complex and beyond Leto’s arcane knowledge, though he could make a few guesses as to their purpose.
