Half-crouching in pitch-black darkness with the sound of his own breathing in his ears, Zephyrin waited.

Would this really work? Foudris had given him the gist of his plan: on his way into the sitting room he had noticed an aloof character, standing at some distance from the milling intellectuals and making odd signals to another man leaning against a far wall; if a fuss was made in the vicinity, surely they would relocate to a more discreet location.

Though the idea had merit, it hinged on several uncertain factors. The men would have to be the individuals for whom he was looking, for one. They would have to move somewhere else inside the apartment, rather than resume their conversation elsewhere at a later date. They would have to not find Foudris’s antics overly suspicious…

And, of course, they would have to overlook the closet in which Zephyrin was currently hidden.

More than just physically uncomfortable, Zephyrin raised his hand in the darkness to push away from his face a clothes hanger’s worth of white twill-woven chemises, along with a miscellany of lacy attire that hadn’t seen the light of day in decades. Surely there must have been a better hiding spot…

Doing his best to forget the fact that he was surrounded by the courtesan’s moth-eaten garments, Zephyrin gave some thought to how he would respond in case of discovery. The excuse that he was playing a children’s game was tenuous, but should suffice to get him out of trouble… probably. If need be, he was prepared to use force to break out of the room and regain the safety of the crowded salon.

Time passed. Enough time to make Zephyrin wonder if he hadn’t made a critical mistake by putting his trust into Foudris’s plan.

That was when the door opened. A measured tread resounded on the creaking floor while another figure warily hung back, silhouetted against the light shed by the manifold candles lining the corridor. Presently he joined his companion and the duo made their way to the center of the neglected room, whereupon one of the men summoned a flame in the palm of his hand. The light source was too feeble to allow Zephyrin to make out facial features, but perhaps more important was the mana he felt radiating from the new arrivals. Both were bluebloods, and moderately powerful ones at that.

Daring to peek through the tiny gap between the closet doors, Zephyrin saw a head turn appraisingly, studying unfinished walls that he had scarcely had time to observe himself before being conveyed to his hiding spot by Foudris. When it finished a deep, rough voice like pouring gravel broke the silence. “Is this room really secure?”

“I heard from the brat’s own mouth that it’s undergoing renovations; the hag doesn’t want anyone in this part of the house. It’ll do for our purposes.” A lighter voice, marked by a distinguished accent.

It actually worked. Zephyrin held his breath as he sought to overhear the low conversation of the dark figures. Soon he become aware of something that was odd, but wholly outside the range of his expectations: it made his anticipation yield first to a faint puzzlement, then finally to open bewilderment as he become aware of a snagging sensation.

Why…

“Your report, enkindler.” A blunt imperative by the second speaker, followed by the crinkling of paper in answer.

Why does this voice…

“Only two hundred recruits?” Still the same speaker, but this time in a tone laden with disappointment.

…sound so familiar?

It was maddening, like having a word on the tip of one’s tongue. He knew this voice. But from where? If it weren’t for his cramped circumstances, Zephyrin would have given his head a shake to clear it. Hoping that the answer would manifest itself of its own accord in due time, he concentrated once more on the hushed tones.

“No matter, it will have to do. Now, what of House Kondatis? Has the Prince-Bâtard made an appearance?”

“No. I was only able to account for his wife.”

“Hmph. Has she made contact with any of her old allies? Dy Llegellion?”

“Not a peep. In recent years she seems more interested in personages that no longer count among the living…”

“Then the only obstacle is…”

“Indeed.”

Zephyrin prioritized memorization over comprehension; assembling the pieces of the puzzle would come later. He waited expectantly for the conversation to resume, only to hear the door swing open and close once more. Alarm surged through him; were they already leaving? Only once it became apparent that the door had opened to admit a third party did Zephyrin relievedly release a breath unconsciously held. Now there were three conspirators present.

“Selenophilos, what progress on the Constitution?”

“Judge for yourself, monsieur. My first draft is complete,” said the new entrant. Less deep than that of the second speaker, the voice of this ‘Selenophilos’ was mellower… and much more familiar than that of the first. Zephyrin’s eyes widened as from his hiding spot he caught sight of a swishing multi-colored robe. Merlinus? What was he doing here? Turning his head minutely to the side, Zephyrin strained his hearing.

“I’ve done my part to usher in the Age of Harmony,” said the flamboyant figure, handing over a stack of pages. “While regretting my poor orthography, I pray it will nonetheless prove useful to Monsieur—”

“Not another word, conjurer.” There was a chilling edge in the speaker’s tone. “He prefers not to be named.”

“O-Of course. My apologies.”

The conversation then became more subdued, frustrating Zephyrin immensely. He thought of bringing his ear closer to the closet door but feared a tell-tale creak would give him away. As he was deliberating whether or not to risk adjusting his posture, two members of the circle took a step back to allow one of their members—Merlinus, judging by his heavy tread—to pass by them and slip out the door. A silence fell, during which Zephyrin tried to make sense of this latest information, to little avail.

“Are we really going impose a charlatan’s scribblings on the Tirralese Confederacy?” Amusement lowered the first speaker’s voice to a nearly inaudible rumble.

“It would be an improvement on their laughably antiquated feudal code, but no,” was the dismissive response. “He does not wish it, and in the meantime it does no harm to let the fool fantasize about his utopia. And besides, though it will not be aetherocyclomantic in nature, a revolution will occur.”

“But not on this side of the border.”

“Of course not. That would be folly. Monsieur was explicit in his demand that the Transition be as bloodless as possible. All we want is the head; mutilating the body is to be avoided at all costs.”

Zephyrin frowned in the darkness. A bloodless changeover of power hardly lined up with what he knew.

“Even so, the fanatics in Keltia and the southern provinces may offer some resistance…”

“There’s no need for concern on that score. Much tilling has been done in the intervening years, and the soil is much more amenable. A few obdurate characters won’t slow the plow, much less impede the harvest.”

“ So I can hope we won’t see a repeat of the blunder that occurred in Baras during our last attempt…?” the first speaker suggested, before trailing off with a laugh.

The hair on Zephyrin’s neck rose, and it seemed that the air around him became electric from one moment to the next. The feeling superficially resembled that given by entering a powerful magical zone, or being confronted by a silvern-blooded noble. But this was much more unnerving. At the man’s casual reference to his home province Zephyrin felt an unearthly sensation traverse him, as if fate had run a frigid finger along his spine. The fire of ten years ago. Was one of these men…?

“That was an unfortunate incident. Since then we’ve been careful to only assign experienced agents to such missions. Enkindlers and æmergists only; no initiates.”

“I’m delighted to hear it. And now, for your own gratification, I have the satisfaction of announcing that more fuel for the fire has been found.” The other speaker’s self-satisfaction was fully communicated in the absence of his expression. “My sources tell me the Elysian wench has developed a predilection for decidedly… juvenile company.”

He can’t possibly mean… Zephyrin’s thoughts immediately flew to the worst case scenario. Despite his precautions and timely departure, his time at the palace was being turned into fodder for the libelers. First the rumors circulating in the lyceum, and now this…! Would he be a household name in the capital by the year’s end? All he could hope now was that the slander would be short on specifics, and it was in a stunned state of mind that Zephyrin forced his attention back to the conversation.

“A pity that your source wasn’t in time for the festival. How many?”

“Ten thousand copies, hot off the presses. They’ll be in the streets by the morrow.”

“Excellent.” A pause ensued. “What of the Blind Man?”

“Still in the capital, doing what he does best,” said the first man easily, suspecting nothing of the tumult his words stirred up in Zephyrin’s mind. “The plebeians will be feeling the pinch soon enough. Between the famine and his failure to bring the Exalted around to his views on taxation reform, the king has as good as signed his own death warrant.”

“What of His Eminence? Have we gained over Tenéval to our side?”

“He’s content to let us believe that we have, sly fox that he is. Still, so long as we aren’t strung up like cutthroats, there’s no doubting he’ll be willing to come to an arrangement after the coup.”

“And the marshal?”

“He refuses our overtures. A pity.”

“Then I suppose we’ll have to extend an offer to His Perspicacity.”

It took a moment for Zephyrin to realize that the apparent silence actually consisted of mirthless chuckles. Once their amusement had subsided the pair then exchanged parting words.

“May the True Sun illume your ways.”

“May He shine upon all your days.”

The light was extinguished and both men clasped hands, then turned on their heels to depart. As the larger of the two reached the door and made to open it, his companion halted and looked back in the stillness of the somber room. A scabrous face abruptly appeared in the darkness as the illuminative spell was recast. “…Hold a moment, brother. I thought I felt something.”

Zephyrin’s eyes widened. Impossible; his control over his mana was flawless, there was no leakage for anyone to detect, however skilled…! And yet the man’s head remained cocked to the side, like a bloodhound sampling the air. Retracing his steps, with the quick, weightless walk of a duelist he crossed the distance from the entrance to the rear wall against which stood the closet. As he halted in front of it Zephyrin drew his head back and held his hand over his mouth. The man narrowed his eyes, then closed his hand around the door-knob; incrementally, it began to turn…

“Who’s there!? Who’s there?!!”

Jerking back as if his hand had been scorched, the conspirator took a step back and wheeled around, leveling his companion a wordless reproach. ‘Is it the courtesan? I thought you said this place was safe!’ his features seemed to accuse the other man, whose mouth opened and closed uselessly like a landed fish. Before he could speak, the abrasive voice issued another insistent command.

“Get out! Get out!!”

A moment’s hesitation, then the two men hastily retreated and opened the door to present their excuses, only to cry out in surprise and anger as a flash of crimson shot past them. Both swiveled round but before either could investigate a third presence made itself known, glowing lamp in hand.

“Apologies, messieurs! He took advantage of his feeding hour to escape his cage…!” Zephyrin heard a youthful voice speak brightly as the parrot made wide circles overhead, indifferent to the humans below and incessantly repeating his hoarse refrain. “Pyri, no! You have to come down!” the voice then called in a chiding tone. Bringing his face forward to the aperture in the closet once more, Zephyrin watched as Foudris hopped in place, ineffectually trying to corral Mlle. Huron’s flyaway pet.

The first man glared at the bird balefully before sharing a disgusted glance with his companion. Without uttering another word they strode out the room practically in unison, ignoring Foudris completely as he halted his efforts long enough to offer a profuse apology joined to a deep bow.

Zephyrin waited a good half minute after the door shut behind the men, then pushed outward the closet doors and stepped out into the nearly vacated room. Foudris regarded him in anticipation as a disgruntled Pyriphlegetonymus alighted on his slim shoulder and began savagely grooming himself. “Well?” the boy mouthed. “Did you find out what you wanted?” His suspense gave way to a broad, genuine smile as Zephyrin nodded in confirmation.