Light snowflakes fell from a gray morning sky, fluttering along whistling winds before landing on the stall awnings of a vivacious market square. Counters covered the venue’s engraved stone floor with a merchant standing behind each one. They shouted and clapped to advertise everything from overpriced wild game to iron nails.

However, the most eye-catching were those promoting a recently restocked commodity—fish. They bragged about their low prices and high-quality merchandise, how aquatic demons finally bowed to the queen’s ingenuity and superiority, allowing them to source produce from the best fishing spots beyond Malten’s rivers.

Eager citizens huddled in heavy cloaks stood on long lines. To pass the time, the impatient customers chatted amongst one another in excited but dubious tones. They savored the smell of ample, raw fish, yet couldn’t accept the end of a century-long war ordained by the Church. Rumbling stomachs in a famine-ravaged land forced them to wrestle with an unlikely truth.

Dimitry’s plan came to fruition, and the queen didn’t waste time.

Not even three days elapsed since he negotiated a truce with the myrmidon, and that was all she needed to put his blasphemous ideas into effect. Either Amelie placed her trust in him, or desperation over a crumbling city and its starving populace drove her to extreme measures.

However, Dimitry didn’t come here to gauge the opinions of the public. His boots crunched over a thin layer of snow all the way from Elias’s blacksmith shop—where he delivered schematics for a flintlock musket—towards a tall building across the market.

Malten’s Blue Compass branch.

Although its construction was of carved stone and supportive iron beams like most buildings in Malten, luxurious stained windows and a towering height distinguished it from its peers. The blatant display of wealth wasn’t solely decorative. It sought to intimidate business partners before they passed through the doors, coercing them into one-sided deals that no one would normally agree to.

Dimitry walked into its trap to see a pristine lounge.

Sat on chairs glowing faintly red with incendia enchantments were four people in fox and mink fur cloaks. They wore impatient expressions, squirming in their seats or tapping their thighs. On the wall above them hung expansive maps of oceans, inland rivers, and Remora at large.

“Hello,” a soothing voice called out. It belonged to a receptionist with a beautiful yet emotionally distant face. She stood behind a spotless counter. “Are you here to meet with someone?”

“Yes,” Dimitry said. “I need to speak to Sophie.”

“So does everyone else. She’s busy right now.” The young woman pointed to a vacant chair beside those of the other hopefuls. “I’ll tell you when she’s ready.”

Dimitry glanced back at four people who looked like they’ve been here for hours. Unlike them, he couldn’t afford to sit around. He came here for black powder reagents that would prevent the city’s collapse, and every moment wasted here was one less he could use to process and test them before the night of repentance. “I’m sorry, but would it be possible to see her now? It’s important.”

“Every customer is important, but Sophie has a schedule to keep. You’ll have to wait like everyone else.”

“Is that so?” He pulled back his hood to reveal his identity. “Ask Sophie if she would like to keep her supplier of plague curing enchantments waiting.”

“Jade Surg—” She jumped up. “Allow me a moment of patience!” The receptionist rushed out from behind her counter and up a staircase. It wasn’t long before she stumbled back down with heavy breaths. “Jade Surgeon, you’re just in time for your appointment!”

His appointment? Was that a lie intended to pacify the other customers? Their enraged faces weren’t convinced. Walking by them, Dimitry followed the young woman until he reached an office smelling of sweet citrus.

The receptionist bowed and shut the door behind him.

A long, azure painted fingernail tapped on a desk struggling to uphold two mountains of paperwork. Between them was an aging woman’s face. Wrinkles in the corners of her smile, Sophie’s eyes focused on the only other person in the room. “Jade Surgeon, what a pleasant surprise.” Her brightly colored nail pointed at the cushioned chair across from her. “Care for a seat?”

Dimitry took a deep breath and released it slowly. He came to a serpent’s den to ask its cunning resident for a favor, so playing the part of a gracious guest was in order. “I appreciate the offer.”

“How has business been?”

“Pretty good.” He sat down. “But judging by the wealthy patrons waiting for you downstairs, not as good as yours.”

“Does it surprise you?”

“On the contrary, I wouldn’t expect anything less from you. I’m sure you’re enjoying yourself more than anyone else right now.”

“My, my.” Sophie’s smile widened, deepening her wrinkles. “Despite your youth, it only makes sense for you to be versed in the ways of the world. Merchant and doctor, we both stand to profit from war. But I’m sure you didn’t come here just to chat. What can I do for you?”

Dimitry folded his hands onto her desk. “The first matter I wish to discuss is the grain and dried meat I’ve asked you to purchase for me. Did you store them in granaries and warehouses as promised?”

“I am many things, Jade Surgeon, but I’m no liar. Only fools trade trust for short-term gain. They await you in storage.”

“I want to send someone to collect a portion daily.”

“One of the two dozen people working in your new hospital? Or the four remaining in the church?”

Dimitry’s eyebrows furrowed. He opened the cathedral for business last night, and his chemistry lab underwent renovations. How did she already know how many employees he assigned to each? “I see you’re well informed.”

“Out of every commodity, information is always the most valuable.” She reached for a quill and dipped its sharpened edge into an inkwell. “Who do you intend to send for collection?”

“A giant man named Milk. You’ll know him when you see him.”

Sophie scribbled the name and a brief description in foreign but easily discernible characters. “Anything else?”

Dimitry came here to buy black powder reagents, one of which was potassium nitrate. The queen didn’t know if a sizable source existed in Malten, and producing the chemical manually required many months. Even with the help of accelall, the reagent was unlikely to precipitate before heathens attacked the city. Sophie was his best hope of acquiring some in time.

However, learning of her informant network gave him second thoughts. Would she eventually learn of potassium nitrate’s importance? Even if she did, it was useless without understanding how to create and use black powder—a process that would take years to fully unearth with only scraps of information.

“I need saltpeter.”

“Interesting.” She leaned in. “Why would a surgeon need food preservatives?”

“It’s not just a food preservative. It has medicinal uses, too.”

“What kind of uses?”

Dimitry preferred not to lie, but giving her a false lead would delay her from discovering his true intentions. “Saltpeter keeps wounds fresh. They’re harder to treat if they get old and dry.”

“Interesting.” Sophie leaned back. “I only have one cartfull in Malten.”

Cartfull? He heard the term used as a unit of measurement during the queen’s summit. “Approximately how much would a cartfull weigh?”

She tapped her azure fingernail against the desk. “This heavy.” Her wide smile resurfaced, reaching her cheekbones. “I’m sure it’ll last your patients a long time, but I’m afraid I can’t give it away.”

Precious pinched Dimitry’s abdomen thrice: the merchant didn’t lie.

“Why’s that?”

Sophie stood up and pulled a curtain aside to reveal a window overlooking a busy market square. “Do you see them down there, lining up for whatever little food this country can provide? When aquatic demons return, and imports from Ontaria and Feyt diminish once more, what do you think nobles will want most?” She glanced back at him. “Food preservatives. Salt and saltpeter.”

Judging by her words, potassium nitrate was a rare commodity in this world. If people knew how to produce it, Sophie wouldn’t speak of it with as much affection as she did. The knowledge allayed Dimitry’s fears of black powder technology leaking to undesirables like the Church.

However, its value harmed Dimitry as much as it helped him. He needed saltpeter now. There was only one thing he could offer that would convince Sophie to hand it over.

Modified preservia blankets.

Time, vol supply, and enchantresses limited how many he could produce, but with the plague’s grasp on Malten waning, selling the remnants wasn’t an issue. The opposite was true. By giving them to Sophie in exchange for potassium nitrate, he could prevent unnecessary deaths from infection in foreign cities and reduce the number of heathens attracted to their enchantments.

“I see what you mean,” Dimitry said, “but I think I have an enticing offer.”

She shut the curtain and sat down. “I’m listening.”

“Over the past few days, I’ve enchanted sixty plague curing blankets for you, right?”

“That’s correct, Jade Surgeon.”

“If I’m not mistaken, they’re earning you endless sums of money in some foreign country as we speak.”

Excitement burned into her eyes and disappeared just as fast. “No. You’re not mistaken.”

“What if I said I can give you fifty more?”

“When?”

“By the end of this week,” Dimitry said.

“You mean the ones that have been lying around for days? What of their enchantments?”

“I guarantee they’ll work fine, even if they take a little longer to take effect.”

Sophie’s tapping hastened. “Are you sure?”

“Just as it is true for merchants, lying is a fool’s errand for us as well. Dead patients don’t return for medicine or checkups.”

She twisted one long and slender leg over her other, studying Dimitry as if searching for chinks in his armor. Her eyes glazed over as if in deep thought. Then she pulled back, turned in her seat, and flipped through a stack of papers. After writing something down, she set her notes aside. A wide smile returned to her face. “Where would you like it delivered?”

Relief flooded Dimitry’s body. If her indecision was an act, it was a good one. “Have someone bring it to the church where we first met. Someone there will be ready to accept it.”

“Very well. Anything else I can do for you, Jade Surgeon?”

“There is. Do you have any sulfur?”

“Sulfur?”

Dimitry stroked his chin. “It’s a yellow rock or powder that smells like rotting eggs.”

“Ah.” Sophie crossed her arms over her chest. “Although the Church no longer officially exists in Malten, we make it a rule not to carry holy sands.”

“Can you explain?”

“I’m sure you have the best intentions, Jade Surgeon, but some things are best left unsaid.” She rose. “Just remember one thing: even if you think they aren’t watching, they are. Be careful of what you say to who.” She strode towards the door to open it. “You know where to find me if you ever need something less… dangerous.”

In a parlor on the castle’s third floor, a luxurious chandelier hung over a round table that played host to a single person—Dimitry. Aside from the clacking of his ceramic cup and saucer, he sat in silence.

Stood against the wall was a yellow-robed woman. The court sorceress’ eyes followed his every movement from the shadow cast by her hood. However, unlike the day he arrived in this city, her gaze didn’t bear hostility or suspicion. Only caution. She watched him while he awaited Leylani’s and the queen’s arrival.

Although Dimitry preferred not to contact Her Royal Majesty of his own initiative, he had to after his transaction with Sophie. The merchant’s words unnerved him, sent shivers down his spine like a realistic nightmare made manifest by a wretched twist of fate. But what concerned him wasn’t a lack of ‘holy sands’ necessary for black powder production.

The Church did.

If what Sophie said was true, Zeran informants observed Malten as the city made pacts with demons, saw the return of their enslaved princess, and housed the ‘disappearing man’ who assaulted a bishop to free Saphiria. All forms of sacrilege and potential excuses for their reappearance. Last time the Church interfered in politics, it demolished a mighty empire. Would a small, impoverished kingdom be next, or would the capture of a defenseless surgeon for questioning and God-ordained punishment suffice?

Dimitry didn’t intend to find out.

The first step was to identify who was leaking information. Was it the common man wandering the streets, wealthy merchants and craftsmen, or did the Church corrupt the very upper echelons of society? Perhaps the queen herself? Unlikely. Although she sold out her country to the Church before, the chance she would do so again after losing her family to them and agreeing to deal with demons was low.

Consulting with her was safe.

And, to save time and fix his sulfur shortage, he requested Leylani’s simultaneous presence. When she guided him around Waira, they passed acid lakes surrounded by sulfurous rocks. Unfortunately, the relic told him of sulfur’s use in black powder after he left. That meant he would have to do something disrespectful: beg an ambassador to return home to gather a resource immediately after arriving in another country. But there was no choice. Neither the queen nor Sophie could supply the chemical. He needed to convince Leylani of its importance.

At the sound of a door’s twisting handle, Dimitry stood.

Amelie marched into the room, followed by a stewardess with light-blue hair, a heavily cloaked myrmidon, and a court sorceress.

Dimitry knelt. “Your Majesty.”

“Skip the pleasantries.” The queen fell into a chair. “I have little time.”

After everyone sat around the table, Dimitry did, too. “Do you remember the weapons I said could kill heathens more efficiently than any crossbow?”

Her piercing red eyes urged him to hurry. “Rifles that don’t use vol.”

“That’s correct. I gave Elias the plans for their production earlier, but a problem remains.”

“What problem?”

“Although I obtained willow charcoal with your help and saltpeter with that of a merchant, I still need holy sands to produce black powder.”

Her eyes furrowed. “Holy sands? I recall you asking for ‘sulfur’ when we discussed the matter previously.”

“They’re the same thing. It’s a dialectical difference from the village I come from.”

“Is your intention to baptize heathens?”

Dimitry struggled to digest her words. “No. There are much better uses for it than that.”

“I’ll trust you’re right.” Amelie leaned in, resting her chin on her hand as if in contemplation. “What is my part in all of this?”

“I know our first merchant vessel to Waira leaves at the end of the week, but I need it to depart as soon as possible. Myrmidon lands are the only place I know where we can gather sulfur in time. Black powder requires extensive preparation before use in combat.”

“Are you sure you saw holy sands on an island populated by demons?”

“There’s no doubt.”

“I see.” The queen glanced at her stewardess. “How soon can we get a ship out?”

Klaire dropped her leather-bound book onto the table, then flipped to a page near the end. “This one believes that if we postpone tomorrow’s fishing trawler, we can free a captain to set sail on the same day.”

“Do as he asked.”

“Yes, your majesty.” Klaire retrieved the metal pen-like object off of her ear and began to scribble.

Amelie slumped back in her chair. “That is our side handled.”

All that remained was for Dimitry to convince Leylani to temporarily abandon her post as ambassador, and the best incentives he had were guns and explosives. By arming her people with superior weaponry in exchange for sulfur, he would lessen the number of heathens reaching Malten and establish a codependent trade route vital to both nations. There was no danger of lash back either. If negotiations broke down in the future, myrmidon didn’t have the infrastructure or resources to produce and transport ammunition offshore. They couldn’t use guns against humanity.

A flawless plan.

He glanced at the myrmidon sitting in silence. “Would your people be interested in weapons that can easily kill rock giants from far away?”

“If you speak of your voltech rifles, we have no use for them,” Leylani said. “The ascendants requested only moonstones.”

“I refer to weapons that don’t require moonstones. Although they can only be used on land, even warriors without the ability to cast spells can wield them. Yours included.”

She fiddled with the blue spike lodged in her pale pink earlobe. “Do such things exist?”

“They do, but I need your people’s help to make them.”

“How so?”

“Do you remember the acid lakes you showed us?”

“You speak of the rancid pools? Although beautiful, their waters burn skin. Do you imply they would do the same for rock giants?”

“Close.” He held out his hands as if holding a small boulder. “What I need are those big yellow rocks around it. If your people can collect some for me, I will show you a weapon stronger than any spear on the next full moon. Naturally, myrmidon would be among the first to have it. There’s a ship filled with goods leaving for Waira tomorrow, and I hope you can board it to deliver my request.”

Her round eyes, like topaz-colored pearls swerving across a black canvas, studied his face. “Your intent isn’t to banish me from your home?”

“I wouldn’t dream of it.”

“Why do you not go yourself?”

“Because I’m needed here to produce those very same weapons. As no other human can relay my message, that only leaves you.” Dimitry cupped her soft and cold hand. “I promise you’ll return within two days of departure.”

She didn’t respond immediately. “Very well. I’ll forward your request to the Hierarch.”

Dimitry gave Leylani a smile. “Your kindness will not go unnoticed.” He shifted his gaze towards Amelie. “The ambassador agreed to my request.”

The queen stood up. “Is that everything?”

“No. There’s another matter of far more import.” He lowered his voice to a whisper. “The Church.”

Klaire’s eyes opened wide.

Amelie motioned a court sorceress to stand against the door, then sat back down. “Explain.”

“First, allow me to ask everyone in this room a question. I promise to explain afterward.”

“Speak fast, Jade Surgeon.”

Dimitry tapped his cloak’s inner pocket to warn the faerie within to watch for lies. “Who here works for the Church as a spy, informant, or something else of a similar nature?”

Two yellow-robed women shot confused glances at one another. “We are eternally loyal to her highness.”

Klaire blinked as if unsure of how to respond. “T-this one doesn’t.”

“I look forward to your explanation,” Amelie said.

Precious pinched Dimitry’s abdomen three times.

No one lied.

He looked around the room. “I have mentioned my strange magic before. It allows me to speak to demons and make any target invisible. However, I have another spell—one that grants me the ability to detect lies. I am pleased to say that everyone here spoke the truth.”

The queen jumped forward, her bundled white-streaked black hair coming loose. “Do you jest?!”

“It is a skill Saphiria and I relied on to escape Ravenfall. You can ask her for confirmation.”

“I-is that so?” She took a deep breath, patted the sides of her red and gold mantle, then sat back in her chair. “Why do you share this news with us so suddenly?”

“Because I fear the Church is watching us, and I have a plan to blind them.”