Earlier that day, Ailn had presented Kylian with a nigh-impossible task. At least, impossible with the little time they had.

  He wanted Kylian to find Noué’s real childhood home.

  “It can’t be done. That’s absurd,” Kylian had said, as the two had met at dawn. “There is no certainty that Sussuro is even her true hometown.”

  They were outside the Fleuve estate’s dining hall waiting for it to open. Even here, the estate showed its hospitality. Plentiful stone benches lined the area, complemented by round stone tables for outside dining if one wished.

  All around were bird baths that were currently being partaken by the chirping birds. The sounds of them splashing as they bathed, played, and preened had made for a peaceful morning which belied the arduous work Kylian was about to be assigned.

  “I told you that I’d need your intellect on this trip,” Ailn said. He drew close to one of the bird baths, surprised they didn’t immediately fly away. “This might be the nicest hotel I’ve ever stayed in…”

  “Sussuro claims her birth and childhood as their own—it serves their interests to monopolize her legacy,” Kylian reasoned. “Even if she had grown up here, what are the chances that a commoner’s home would endure three centuries?”

  “That’s a start, isn’t it?” Ailn asked. “If Noué made sure her mausoleum would start the path to her vault, then she’d make sure the clues survived too. It could be a lark, but you’re the only one I can trust with this.”

  “Sir Dartune was raised here,” Kylian countered.

  “Then use him as a resource,” Ailn shrugged.

  That had been Kylian’s plan, initially. Yet, while he took his breakfast in the dining hall, attempting to recruit the homecome knight into his task, Dartune’s eyes only grew dubious. He plainly didn’t wish to take on what he saw as futile drudgery.

  “Did His Highness order my assistance?” Dartune asked, cautiously.

  “...He did not,” Kylian replied honestly.

  A certain mage came up to the knights table, apparently an early riser herself. Dressed in a flowing chestnut tunic with a braided sash around her waist, it appeared she was off-duty.

  “I happen to be free today, Sir Kylian,” Naomi said. One hand on her hip, with a half-skeptical smile, she seemed to have caught the gist of their conversation. “Sometimes you can’t help but chase a goose, no?”

  “Is that so?” Kylian asked. “Then I’d be happy to receive your assistance.”

  “It appears you have your guide,” Dartune said, relieved to have dodged the task entirely.

  Naomi’s half-smile took on a note of annoyance, as she eyed Dartune.

  “Sir Dartune, is it? I heard you hate Sussuro, which was once your home,” she said, crossing her arms. “If you’ll indulge my question, why?”

  “Need I a special reason?” Dartune asked. “This town is maddeningly dull.”

  They lacked the outstanding glimmer of ruby eyes—nor did they carry the almost tangible sense of being true gemstones, carved into place—but the emperor’s intense red eyes were striking all the same.

  “The imperial family has red eyes?” Ailn asked. “Seems odd, when there’s an active taboo regarding red eyes.”

  “The taboo regards flashing red eyes, specifically,” Ellen corrected him. “Not that there’s a lack of whispers about the imperial family.”

  “The imperial family has many stories of origin,” Renea told Ailn. She hugged one of her arms, uncomfortable with the topic of red eyes. “They’ll claim to be descended from dragons, or even gods, depending on what suits their fancy.”

  “Or they claim the first emperor Radoslaw defeated the king of dragons, with the help of the fae,” Ellen added.

  Walking up to gaze at the portrait, where Emperor Claude’s smile seemed so soft, Renea’s shoulders sagged a bit.

  “And then… many say they’re simply the descendants of demons,” Renea said gently. “Was this man really a tyrant?”

  “He was certainly a conqueror,” Ellen said. “He expanded the empire in every direction except north. Three of the great noble houses owe a quarter of their territory to him. He claimed what he wanted. Except…”

  The bottom of Ellen’s eyes drew tight into an expression that was hard to read. There was something there…

  “Except?” Renea asked.

  “Except for Noué,” Ellen said. She stared at the emperor’s portrait silently for a while.

  “...So the legend goes, anyway,” she added. “The emperor gave her The Dragon’s Promise freely, as a sign of his unwavering faith. Despite it being the great mythic symbol of the imperial family’s legitimacy—some say their divinity.”

  Was it jealousy Ailn was feeling from her? That could go in more than one direction, depending. Given how intimately she spoke of Noué, and the fact she’d dedicated her life to studying her, he had a guess which way, though.

  “So, what exactly did the dragon promise?” Ailn asked.

  “...Who? The emperor?” Ellen asked, snapping out of her thoughts. She gave an almost indifferent shrug and a chagrined smile. “He promised he’d make her happy.”

  “And she ran away?” Ailn asked.

  “He let her go,” Ellen said. “Because more than her person, he wanted her heart. And he asked her to—when she felt she could give it—come back to him.”

  Ellen met Ailn’s eyes.

  “And if that truly happened, you can see how it turned out,” she said wryly.

  “Poor guy,” Ailn said.

  “Owning an entire continent, I’m sure he managed to live,” Ellen laughed. “As for whether The Dragon’s Promise actually resides within Noué’s fault—let’s just say as a scholar who’s studied her my whole life, I have my doubts.”

  Her eyes took on a sharp, almost harsh glint. “She would never be the type to keep anything but her own art in that vault.” Ellen’s tone turned brusque. “I’m sure she would’ve thrown it into a chest somewhere and forgotten all about its existence.”

  “...Uhuh,” Ailn nodded along.

  “At any rate,” Elenira started, “With this piece, you’ve seen the main attraction this villa has to offer. Still, if we go back to that stairwell and continue on—”

  “We’ve actually got something we want to test,” Ailn said. “Could you bring out the perspective finder, Renea?”

  All at once, Renea—who’d seemed to have lost her energy for a moment—perked up again.

  “Of course,” Renea said. Though with her tone, it sounded more like ‘finally.’ “It’s here. Do you… Can I use it first?”

  She brought out the gold-framed perspective finder they’d retrieved from Noué’s mausoleum. Renea was so excited to use it, and examine the painting of the emperor with it, that she didn’t notice how Ellen momentarily froze at the sight of it.

  Ailn caught it, though.

  “This perspective finder came with the portrait,” he said. “Actually, the way it was handed to us was pretty strange—”

  Renea’s face paled a bit, but she pretended not to mind. Ellen, though, looked rather sick.

  “...Nevermind. It’s not that interesting, actually,” Ailn said. “Alright. What do you see, Renea?”

  “Well—” she lined it up with the portrait,“—oh! There’s sketch lines of… of a figure next to him. Their stature looks female. Maybe it was meant to be Noué? But I guess that wouldn’t make any sense if she painted it…”

  Then some sort of realization hit her. Her fascination turned to outright gawking.

  “Sometimes artists paint themselves into pictures from imagination,” Ailn said, then added on. “It’s different from self-portrait, though. Can I see?”

  The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

  A bit reluctant to give up her turn, she nonetheless handed it to Ailn.

  “There’s a female sketch, alright. Oh, his palm—” Ailn realized that his outstretched palm was meant to be on her shoulder. Except, it wasn’t quite doing so.

  “He’s hoverhanding...” Renea let out an uncomfortable laugh, and it faded as her expression wilted. “That’s... kind of mean, actually.”

  “Ellen, do you want to—” Ailn turned around, and noticed Ellen had stepped to his side, matching his movement. He lowered the perspective finder, easing it in her direction slowly. “Want to look?”

  “Oh yes, of course,” Ellen said, her disposition turning more pleasant. It looked less like… excitement and more like relief, though. “Wow! It’s amazing that after spending my life studying her art, I’d get the chance to see something like this.”

  “There could be something hidden in every painting,” Renea said, breathlessly. She was already headed back out into the corridor. “Let’s go look.”

  And when they’d reached one of the paintings in the corridor—this one titled ‘Lonely’ and depicting, bizarrely, a volcano—she held her hand out expectantly to Ellen, who politely handed her the perspective finder and quietly stepped to her side.

  “This one…” Renea’s fidgeting excitement stilled a little, “...there’s nothing new with this one. I suppose not all the paintings have a secret. Let’s try—”

  “Er, excuse me,” Ellen raised her hand with an embarrassed smile, her eyes scrunching. “Something just came over me all of a sudden… I hate to do this, but I think we’ll have to continue tomorrow. Perhaps we can return after you show me the famous portrait?”

  “Sure. We might return,” Ailn said.

  “Of course,” Renea nodded. She gave Ellen a genuine smile. “Thank you for today.”

  And with that, with Ellen helping them navigate the complicated changes of layout, they started making their way out of the villa. They didn’t come back exactly the way they came—passing through a kitchen, and a living room even—and there were paintings intermittently through their walk: landscapes, depictions of individuals unnamed, and even the classic still life of fruit resting on a table.

  On the final stairwell, just before the exit to the outside of the villa, hung one last painting—another landscape of Sussuro, the only other one in the villa. It was simply titled: ‘There She Is.’

  At a glance, there was no ‘she’ to be found. The painting seemed to depict only the Sussurokawa, its water low enough to reveal a sharply curving limestone cliff.

  Squinting, though, something like a small cave in the cliff could be seen—no more than a square centimeter—with what looked like a young woman looking out. At this distance, her face was devoid of detail, which made it more unsettling.

  Soon enough, they exited the villa.

  “It’s a bit strange, though, isn’t it?” Ailn asked, as they exited the villa, out to its gaudy forecourt. “Ellen, you pretty adamantly believe Noué grew up in Sussuro, right?”

  “What’s strange? Of course, I do.” Ellen didn’t seem to take offense, but the question still drew out her caution. “Did something catch your eye?”

  “It’s more what my eyes never caught,” Ailn said. “Isn’t it a bit weird for someone who grew up here to never once paint naiads?”

  Kylian and Naomi’s search began the way any worthwhile one does: with records.

  “I should let you know,” Naomi muttered, “for a goose chase to be fun, one needs to at least see the goose.”

  “Then I’d say a proper hunt begins long before the prey is in sight,” Kylian replied, flipping through receipts of in-kind taxation. Property records for small homesteads, especially those lost to time, were nearly nonexistent. This was the first alternative he could think of. “I’m curious, Naomi. Are you of the belief that Noué Areygni was raised in Sussuro?”

  Naomi, having decided to lounge on a sofa, gave a slight tilt of her head. “To be quite honest with you, Sir Kylian, I cannot bring myself to care,” Naomi said. “When you live in such a beautiful place, does it not seem wrong to be so obsessed with the dead?”

  “A reasonable sentiment, however calloused it is,” Kylian said.

  “The rank of First Mage is rarely earned by the oversensitive,” Naomi shrugged. “One must duly dispatch of bandits and all threats to the realm. Were it simply a matter of talent, then…”

  Her eyes took on a melancholy look. “...Then the First Mage would be Lady Fleuve.”

  Kylian arched an eyebrow at Naomi’s subtle change in disposition, but didn’t prod. He merely continued thumbing through the ledger while she retreated into her own thoughts.

  After a few minutes, something strange caught his eye. His hand stilled over the page. “Do you… have peat bogs here?” Kylian asked.

  “Of course not,” Naomi said. “The river is not that slow.”

  “Two barrels of veenlyn liquor were delivered every year,” Kylian said, flipping through the ledger.

  “I suppose it is a little odd,” Naomi said, not exactly taken aback. “So, someone of wealth imported veenlyn. Taxation that lavish would need to be noted.”

  “These deliveries last the entire century.”

  “What?” Naomi pulled the next centuries' ledger off the shelf, and started thumbing through it. Her expression grew more astonished as she did so. Then, she pulled the current ledger off the shelf, and shook her head as if she didn’t understand. “These deliveries continue to this day? The ledger lacks even the property being taxed.”

  “These records have them,” Kylian said. “A house, located in Aakdrift.” He thought back to his conversation with Ailn this morning. “It’s possible the taxation serves as payment to maintain the dwelling, even after the owner’s death.”

  “Aakdrift?” Naomi’s brows furrowed. “Aakdrift is abandoned…”

  She paced back over to the sofa she’d been lounging on, and lay back once again to think. Staring at the ceiling, her head tilting with her thoughts, she sat up with a chagrined smile.

  “Ah. I see,” Naomi said, her eyes twinkling. “The contract has been written, yet two centuries ago—when the side channel is abandoned—the property is surreptitiously left off the ledger, as the service can no longer be rendered. And yet the payment every year is duly received.”

  She gave an exaggerated, palms up shrug. “We had such fine bureaucrats even then.”

  “Clever, at the very least…” Kylian muttered. “The timeline matches. It’s as good a lead as we’re likely to find.”

  “Less good than you seem to be hoping for, Sir Kylian,” Naomi said. She had an apologetic expression slightly offset by a playful smile. “The ledger merely says Aakdrift?”

  “That’s right.”

  “Aakdrift is a stretch of land seven miles long.”

  It took a while to return to the Fleuve estate, since they went on foot. Ailn had expected Renea to rest early—as she tended to nowadays—given the wistful looks she kept giving the scenes of Sussuro’s afternoon: fishermen cleaning their knives and packing up their stalls, laundry being retrieved from lines by the river, children running home before dinner.

  But instead, she chose to sit in as he met with Count Fleuve again. While they waited for the count to arrive, Renea’s brows furrowed, her hand resting lightly against her cheek in thought.

  “It doesn’t make sense,” she said suddenly.

  “What doesn’t?”

  “Elenira Lirathel.” Her voice was slow and thoughtful. “You choose a surname if you’re granted nobility. You don’t change your given name,” Renea said, meeting Ailn’s gaze with a ponderous look. “And why would nobility be conferred on her too? That portrait she painted for Noué seemed like a personal favor.”

  “Noué did have a lot of clout. You don’t think she could’ve pulled Elenira along with her?” Ailn asked. He still didn’t fully grasp the subtleties of the empire’s high society.

  “I suppose it’s possible,” Renea replied. Then she averted her gaze as if sorry to say something unkind. “Ellen got a little strange at the end.”

  “No kidding,” Ailn said.

  Her skittishness wasn’t exactly subtle. Yet, for whatever reason, what stuck out to Ailn the most was her reaction to his last question.

  “Isn’t it a bit weird for someone who grew up here to never once paint naiads?” Ailn had asked.

  “Is it really that weird?” Ellen hadn’t been bothered by the question at all. “She must not have cared.”

  Truthfully, Ailn wasn’t even sure why he was so hung up on it. It was odd that an artist as prolific as Noué never once painted the most beloved draw of her hometown. But being odd didn’t make it unreasonable.

  By the same token, Ellen’s answer wasn’t unreasonable either. It was the way she said it that bugged Ailn.

  He’d have to let the question marinate, though, because Count Fleuve—Conrad—had just arrived with an anxious expression.

  The count placed the obsidian jar on the table.

  “I’m afraid to say we’ve made little progress,” Conrad said. “You’ve brought me something rather insidious, Ailn. And powerful, too. Even our strongest mages can hardly touch it.”

  “...So handling it’s a matter of the mage’s strength?” Ailn asked.

  “Strength, yes. The dexterity with which they wield their mana to shield themselves against—” he grimaced, “—whatever manner of evil this is. Your holy knights… can they handle it?”

  “They can. But they haven’t gained much in the way of insights,” Ailn said. “Can I ask who the strongest mage in Sussuro is?”

  Conrad hesitated. “...My daughter.” His expression tightened. “I will do what I can to enlist her help. However, Duke Ailn, I would advise you not to hold your breath.”

  “We’d appreciate it,” Ailn said with a nod. “The Azure Knights don’t even know what questions to ask.”

  Renea’s gaze had been fixated on the obsidian jar since it was brought in. Her tension was understandable. After all, its contents had been central to the plot that killed her brother, and had almost led to her execution.

  “Something so vile, and we don’t even know what constitutes it…” Renea muttered. “Does it feel like mana, Count Fleuve? Or—”

  “I believe it’s as it appears on its surface,” Conrad said, shaking his head. “I’ve experienced the honor of being healed by your mother once. The contents of the obsidian jar feel like the inverse of the divine blessing.”

  He grimaced. “The more I’m exposed to it, the more I can feel it attempting to consume me.”

  “Confirmation’s better than nothing,” Ailn said. “The real question, then, is why this doesn’t disperse naturally.” He fiddled with his wrist. “Or, put another way: how did someone either transport or recreate the miasma?”

  Then, pausing thoughtfully, he added: “It’s also worth asking why I can touch it fine.”

  “Why not let me try touching it?” Renea asked. “Neither of us can use the divine blessing.”

  “...Then, let’s get a sturdy volunteer who likes taking dares,” Ailn said.

  “You know as well as I do that’s not the only way we’re similar,” Renea said earnestly. “We’re… kin.”

  He couldn’t argue with that. Given that he and Renea were almost exactly similar in the circumstances of their ‘existence,’ she was the natural next test.

  Conrad looked conflicted as he watched Renea carefully reach for the jar on the table, but held his tongue.

  Renea pulled out the cork, turning pale as the miasma started to billow out. Wincing, and slowly reaching her hand in—

  She jerked it out immediately, turning her face away and shoving the jar in Ailn’s direction. When he’d hurriedly grabbed it from her and replaced the cork, both her hands flew to her face as she started to wretch.

  “Are you alright?” Ailn asked.

  “Lady Renea!” Conrad knelt down in a panic and held the back of his hand to her forehead. “That was foolish… of both of us. I should have stopped you.”

  “We—hrk… well we learned something, didn’t we?” Renea asked.