Although I steadfastly repudiated the notion of garnering sympathy through pity, I found myself left with few alternatives. Lady Lunatora arrived in person, for I refused to see anyone else. She discovered me huddled in the corner of the carriage, shivering beneath the coachman’s cloak.

  “By The First Sun! What have they done to you, my kitten?” Lady Lunatora lamented, covering her mouth with a hand, her voice trembling with concern.

  “I-I-I must look like such a hypocrite,” I stuttered, feeling the full brunt of the cold outside as the door was opened. “Coming to you, crawling back, begging for help; a-and after all of what I said.”

  “Please forget that! None of it matters at all!” the kind young woman climbed into the stagecoach and offered me her hand. “Come, Aufelia, let’s get you inside.”

  I had relayed only an abridged, fatalistic account of the events. The servants were entrusted with delivering my message, and soon after, the gates were opened to us. I was ushered through a side entrance near the kitchen, where Lady Lunatora had found me. The house mirrored Lord Faringoth’s, albeit larger, boasting nearly twice the number of rooms. It belonged to a friend of hers.

  Though the chill outside threatened to devour me whole, warmth soon embraced me within the kitchen. I approached the hearth, extending Princess’s frozen hands as close to the flames as I dared without risking burns.

  “Come here, near the fire. Rest, warm up,” Lady Lunatora urged, gently seating me and patting my back with kind insistence. “I will send for some clothes. Wait here; I’ll be back soon, kitten.”

  She hurried off, skirts lifted to preserve her dignity, calling for aid only once she had left the kitchen’s warmth.

  Nearby, a gleaming knife caught my eye, its surface reflecting my gaze. “I would sooner march right out that door, covered only in this ridiculous rag, than endure whatever it is you think you are doing here, Dubart,” Princess snarled within, expressing her profound disapproval.

  “You cannot possibly mean that. Do cease this childishness. I may not know the particulars of your quarrel with her, but it is high time to make peace,” I whispered under my breath, shrouded by the cloth.

  “She betrayed me after I trusted her with everything. She hurt me. I will never forgive her,” Princess declared with vehement passion, yet offered no further details. “I will never forgive you if you force your way into something you don’t understand. Let her lend me some clothes, check carefully she didn’t sabotage them, paint her if you must, and then let’s get out of here.”

  “I have already sent for someone,” Lady Lunatora announced as she returned to the kitchen. “A dress will be brought for you shortly. I realize it must be… humiliating to be seen in such a state,” Princess scoffed, “but the maid we summoned is discreet and won’t gossip, I promise. She’ll boil water and assist with whatever else you require. Are you ready to speak about what happened? I heard only that you were attacked,” she inquired gently.

  There was little reason to come to this place if not to share the tale. Lady Lunatora had once spoken of connections in the city. With the right motivation, she could render the search for Chelyo far more effective than it might otherwise be—perhaps not sufficient to capture him, but enough to convince him never return to Bernan or meddle with anything linked to this place, Princess included.

  “First and foremost, I must express my gratitude for your help. I am truly grateful,” I said, bowing deeply, for it seemed an ill-suited moment to curtsey.

  Lady Lunatora shook her head. “Forget about it. Don’t even mention it. This is not about who is mad about what or who owes what. This is a matter of common decency. Anyone would have helped, noble or not, and I am so glad you thought of me and are safe. Aufelia, is it true what your servant said? Were you really… attacked by a magian? What happened to your clothes? Did you get mind-controlled? Did he… make you do things?”

  I nodded gravely, speaking with the urgency the situation demanded. “He introduced himself as Chelyo. An elderly man, at least ninety years of age; dangerously thin, bald, with ashen skin, a full set of yellowed teeth, and bushy gray eyebrows. His eyes were brown, his nose large and bumpy, and he stood a palm taller than me,” I described him with every detail I could recall. “I entered his shop, mistaking it for a library; my driver recommended the place.”

  “Do you think that boy is involved?” she suspected a possibility that I had not completely ruled out.

  “I hope not, though questioning him and the neighboring shops could be a prudent beginning for an investigation. Tirrha…” I addressed her by her given name, for Princess and the Lady were supposed to be on such terms. “I am terrified of him. I fear he may seek retribution for my escape—that he might try to silence me. He spoke of deceiving others, and what he intended for me may have already befallen numerous affluent victims.”

  “I will call for the city guard. You are in no condition to speak with them, so allow me,” she kindly offered what I had been insinuating.

  The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.

  The concept of city guards patrolling to prevent crime and enforce the Lord’s laws had been a standard practice for centuries. Whenever a population grew large enough, it was reasonable to establish an organization dedicated to maintaining peace. My father, however, approached the matter differently. Twenty years ago, he devised a system that had proven successful. He increased their funding, divided their organization into specialized departments, instituted formal training, and required them to follow protocols and report their activities.

  Irghumin had since adopted this system across five duchies, which had notably reduced crime, especially murder and conflict, though it demanded significant investment from the Lords. An effective city guard could not merely be soldiers on rotation, enforcing laws at their discretion. There needed to be teams for patrolling, investigating, tracking criminals, and maintaining records, all subordinate to their central headquarters. Each team required distinct training and equipment, with its own internal structure and hierarchy. My father had authored no fewer than four books on the subject and was quite proud of the results; ‘The Constabulary’, he called his experiment.

  Since Lady Lunatora would be speaking on my behalf, I recounted the events in as much detail as I dared, avoiding the topic of spiritual possession. Revealing that would make Princess seem, at best, a dullard, and at worst, utterly mad.

  My narrative described Princess entering the store in search of rare manuscripts, a hobby she had recently acquired. Chelyo, insistent that I was afflicted with imaginary ailments, offered remedies, which I refused. My rejection enraged him, prompting an intimidating display of the Artan Legacy. He then demanded Princess surrender all her belongings, including her clothes. When the maverick attempted to use mental sigils to render Princess a helpless slave, sheer terror surged through her, causing her to hurl objects in desperation before fleeing.

  Escaping from a magian was no trivial feat. Armed, trained men could easily fall in the attempt. I hoped not to be questioned too closely on that point.

  “What a vile beast!” Lady Lunatora censured, flushed and furious. “Despicable man! He must be found and dealt with. There is no other way to feel safe in Bernan. And to think that he did the same to others that he did to you… and they just can’t remember because of his tricks! By Sabiens’s Mantle… mavericks, what a terrible ilk.”

  We conversed further as a sturdy woman in her mid-thirties directed two younger servants to assist us. Despite Lady Lunatora’s assurances, three women, not one, saw to our needs.

  Princess, ever displeased, expressed discomfort at being nude in such a place as a kitchen, subjected to the hands of strangers scrubbing her body. To me, it was a perfectly ordinary occurrence, far more dignified than much of my day-to-day existence.

  The water was heated to a comfortable temperature, three full buckets prepared. Princess’s body was washed thoroughly, the dirt from our misadventures scrubbed away. Scrapes and bruises adorned our skin, the most concerning being a bruise on the lower pelvis, which caused Lady Lunatora great alarm.

  We were dried, though Princess’s long hair required three towelettes. While warmth enveloped us, I could not shake the suspicion that Lady Lunatora had deliberately prolonged the exposure of her friend’s form.

  Clothes were brought, but they were not what I was expecting.

  “Oh, I am so sorry, Aufelia. This is the best I could find in such short notice,” Lady Lunatora apologized profusely, but I detected a hint of falsehood in her demeanor. “I only brought one other dress, which I plan to wear to supper after a bath, and Ramioda is currently absent. I would not want to grab her belongings while she is away.”

  Ramioda Telenhart was the Lady of the House, sole daughter of Samnuel Telenheart, a merchant so affluent that he had purchased his own legacy. Through dubious means, this new ‘Lord’ had obtained ancient documents declaring himself the heir of the extinct Telenhart line. His generosity and charm had rendered his false claim largely unquestioned. Lady Telenhart was the friend Lady Lunatora had come to visit in Bernan, and it was peculiar that she was absent while hosting guests.

  Aufelia was garbed in the same attire as the women who assisted her in dressing—like a maid. A plain black gown, complemented by a white apron, and practical shoes designed for laborious tasks, along with a modest headdress, completed the ensemble. Certainly, it was not the sort of attire befitting a noble-born Lady. Once the maids had finished their work, they were dismissed with little fanfare.

  “I suppose this shall suffice for the moment,” I remarked, rubbing my arms as I noticed the coarseness of the sleeves. “It is certainly more glamorous than this ragged cloak.”

  “I am glad you like it,” Lady Lunatora presumed. “It really does suit you! Anything looks good on you.”

  “Quite. Thank you, I suppose.” It was hardly a compliment, but I chose to give her the benefit of the doubt, suspecting she had committed a minor solecism, one that was forgivable, and thus, I let it pass.

  Lady Lunatora cleared her throat. “Is that how you’re supposed to talk to me now that we’re all alone?” There was a sudden change in her attitude and how she addressed me. “I hope you still remember your place.”

  “Of course, she is going to make us play along with this,” came Princess’s vexed murmur, echoed by my reflection in the remaining water within a nearby bucket. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you!”

  “What exactly…?” I whispered, my voice barely more than a breath, perplexed by what was expected of me.

  “Just behave like you’re her servant. Like, uh, a really, really humble servant,” Princess explained. “It… pleases her.”

  “What sort of relationship…?” I mouthed quickly, hoping the remainder of my question was self-evident. Lady Lunatora’s frown deepened, her lips pursing as though in warning.

  “You’re the one who got us into this! She’s scary when she’s ‘displeased’!” Princess pressed, blaming me. “Just say—‘I am so thankful for your gracious compliment, my Mistress’.” She must have sensed my puzzlement since she added, “No, seriously. Do it. And try to sound like you mean it,” she nagged, oddly enough.

  With not much avenue for argument and two noble Ladies expecting me to act, I decided to comply. “My humble apologies; I meant to say, I am so thankful for your gracious compliment, my Mistress.”

  “Much better,” Lady Lunatora said as she smiled mischievously.

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