Thirty-two days after the imperial ambassador’s murder.

Tower of Gardens, oversurface of Radaar, 3423 AA.

The layout of the gardens that spread out before Seyleen was repeated in a pattern. Minute differences served as landmarks for the keen-eyed: carvings and inlaid patterns on the stone fountains, or a slightly different arrangement of flowers. She barely saw any of them now, striding onward purely on muscle memory.

Void swallow them, why did they have to show up now? House Lendrin had four things over her: influence, and what had passed down to her from her father was likely dwindling even now; power, she wasn’t an adept like they all were, plain and simple; a nine-year advantage while she had been living in the Kingdom; and the fact that she was still treated as the black sheep of the oversurface. How was she supposed to deal with all that? None of them are things I can change or gain in so little time.

Her father had always spoken of three options when dealing with highborn: don’t play their game at all, cheat, or make it your own game. She had to play, so that left the other two options.

The party will only have one game. That leaves cheating. Influence and power also depended on others supporting the person. She could take that away, sever the links that made them strong. Everyone had a weakness, and all alliances could be broken. The highborn, if nothing else, had enough dirty secrets to make it possible. I’ll need to schedule a lot of meetings.

The winding road slowly unravelled the thick curtain of hedges and boles of oak, maple, and birch trees. A wide area spread at the end of the path, revealing the familiar tranquil gardens that cradled a massive, white mansion. Home.

Two White Guards barred the way at the gate, weapons drawn but kept at their sides. They sized the group up, but when their gazes fell on Seyleen, their demeanour changed. They sheathed their weapons and bowed their heads with great alacrity, all the while surprise shook their pupils.

Though it barely showed in their conduct. “We welcome you back, mistress,” they said levelly in unison. They stepped aside and bowed once more while gesturing towards the door. “May glory ever follow your path.”

The mansion doors opened as if on cue, and two maids ushered the group in. The apparent calm didn’t fool Seyleen. The air was brimming with excitement, all the staff throwing glances in her direction when they thought she wasn’t looking. Ross will be here soon, she thought, a flicker of a smile on her face. The old butler had pampered her the most when she had been a child.

Inside the entrance hall, the staff stood on either side of that old but pristine-looking red carpet that had been there from before Seyleen had been born. Despite saying he’d never change it, her father had almost done it when she’d tripped on its edge and scraped her knee. Admittedly, running down the staircase may not have been the best idea, but her foot landing on a wrinkle had been bad luck. Not her fault at all.

“We welcome you back, Lady Seyleen. May glory ever follow you,” Ross said as he exited one of the side hallways. His expression was professionally impassive, save for his eyes that glittered with excitement like two black jewels, and betrayed his otherwise perfect decorum.

“I’m back, Ross,” she said. “Though I wish it’d have been under better times.”

The man’s eyes mirrored her own in sadness, but he forced a smile on his face. “Not at all. We are all happy to see you. I shall tell the kitchen to prepare refreshments for you and your guests—”

“No. Those can wait. We need to talk to you. Just you.”

“Understood, mistress. Please, if you would.” Ross headed into the hallway leading to the living room. The other staff scurried of in almost every other direction.

Red curtains bracketed the windows of the hallway. A carpet of green filled the outside view, interspersed with colourful flowerbeds and with a winding trail of red-leaved oaks. By the Ascendants, I can’t take another second of looking at that colour.

Ross pushed open the heavy, wooden doors of the living room and sauntered inside. At least this place was more subtle in its colour palette: pale sky-blue walls, wall-mounted tiles with black and white patterns that pulled the eyes to the chandelier, and a set of light grey couches. No reds.

“Now, how may I help you, mistress?” He had waited until the doors were closed, and was certain the conversation couldn’t be overheard even by accident. Still so prudent.

“You might be aware, Ross, I came because of my father’s death. I need to know what happened. Everything you can tell me, to the smallest detail, from before he left for the Kingdom to the days after his return. I need everything.”

Ross slowly nodded at her words. Sadness flitted across his face, but he wouldn’t allow it to show for more than a moment. “I shall start with the time before his trip then. After you and your mother left, nine years ago, the master was saddened for a long time. He would spend more time doing work and he had stopped meeting other highborn. We were all terribly afraid he would close himself completely one day.”

“He never said anything…” Seyleen said. “I’d always assumed everything was fine. None of that showed when he was with us on Ascion.”

“Of course, mistress. The master would never forgive himself if he caused you worry,” Ross said. “But around two years ago, he began to change for the better. Time must have healed his hurt, for, Ascendants know, he did not mention anything else.”

“Change how?” Raid asked.

Ross frowned slightly. “Naturally, the master returned to his normal life and continued his dealings with the other highborn. He especially spent a lot of time with highborn Trianos.”

“Trianos?” Raid asked.

“Dal’wan’s father,” Seyleen said. “The lovely woman we met just a while ago.”

“The master had had an arrangement with him,” Ross continued. “It seemed to be going well, but once – after what I am certain was a celebratory dinner with several other business partners – he returned furious and refused all we could offer him. I do not know what happened that night, the master does not confide in us, but it was the most recent incident prior to his trip.”

“So, the ambassador had fought with this Trianos before leaving,” Bale said. “What about after his return? He had left the discussions on Ascion in a hurry. Something major must have happened.”

Ross' face turned weary for a moment. “It was a dreadful time. The master was as lost as when mistress and Lady Mannock had left, but he dealt with it in a worse way. He went out every night – I do not know where – and returned inebriated in the small hours. He did not permit anyone to approach him.” Ross allowed himself a small sigh. “He often broke things in the house to vent his anger.”

“My father?” Seyleen said. “Ross, my father would never…”

He only shook his head ruefully. “We replaced everything, of course. We could not have the master seeing anything out of place, but it did little to help. I do not know what troubled him, mistress. It may be presumptuous of me, but I hope you will not do anything to endanger yourself because of this.”

“Thank you, Ross, but I have things I need to do,” she said, and the man bowed. “Do you know where I might find Castwick? I’ve tried contacting her, but she’s not answering.”

“She dare not ignore you, mistress,” Ross said. “Unless a grave illness has befallen her, though even then she should answer mistress’ calls.” He really can be extreme, Seyleen thought.

“Do you know where she lives?” she asked.

“We have it on record. I will deliver it to you at your convenience,” he said, regaining his poise.

“Thank you, Ross,” she said. “We’ll be fine from here.”

He nodded. “This House and its staff shall always be at your service, mistress. May glory follow you always.” He bowed his head to the others as well. “And may glory follow you as well.” Ross left at those words, gently closing the doors behind him.

“So, what’s our plan?” Raid asked.

“Castwick,” Bale said. “We’re lacking too much evidence and we need someone who knows a lot about the ambassador’s daily goings-on. If his sudden return had anything to do with the murder, then it’s paramount we find out.”

“Not the crime scene?” Raid asked. “You were staring at those photos so intensely I thought you’d actually set the projection on fire.”

“After we speak to Castwick,” Bale said. “Though I guess it’ll just be you and me there.” He glanced at Seyleen.

She didn’t answer. Raid said something then, or Bale did, but she didn’t hear. The voices had become so faint compared to the memories surging in her head. There were no pictures in this room. There should have been pictures. Did her father destroy those, too? She headed to the door. Someone called out to her, but she didn’t care.

Inside the hallway, she turned right, striding right past the paintings and suits of battle armour she had once marvelled at. Her father wasn’t – hadn’t been – a violent man. He loved – had loved – all the photos of Seyleen and her mother. He’d captured every moment of her growing up. She threw open the first wooden doors she came upon and entered. There had to be some pictures inside.

There were none.

She stalked outside and headed into the next room, then another one, and another, finally arriving at the stairwell leading to the second floor. It’s a coincidence, she thought. Ross had said her father had been devastated after she and her mother had left. The staff could have simply moved the pictures elsewhere. She climbed up and went into the first room on her left.

This one had pictures. She sighed in relief. As she went further in, she carefully inspected the furniture. It was impossible to fully mask the passing of time, and nothing was newly bought here. For all the damage her father had caused to the house, this room had nothing replaced.

She approached a long dresser topped with pictures, all framed with white wood inlaid with golden leaves and flower patterns. She took one of them in her hand, holding it by the frame and brushing non-existent dust off the glass, as if it were the most fragile thing in the world.

Three people were in the photo: her father, her mother, and she. The brat of no more than eight smiled a dazzling smile. Her father had always said her eyes looked like sapphires in this one. She could almost see it now. Almost.

That time was still vivid in her memory. A much simpler time.

Her father had played games with her every single day. They’d eat together: him, mother, and she – no servants, just family; he’d show her tricks with the Gift before sleep; and he’d kiss her goodnight after telling her one of his many stories. Growing up, even after her failure to touch the Gift, he treated her the same, and he fought fiercely to drive away those who wished her harm. As an adult, he gave her the freedom to choose her own path, even if it diverged from his own. After she had left for the Kingdom, he called every week, and visited as often as his work allowed him; twice a year, every year.

She lowered the picture back onto the dresser. There’d be no visit next year; no calls; no hugs or family dinners.

She left the room.

Wicker stood just outside the door, leaning on the windowsill. He stared at her quietly for a few seconds. “You’ve not slept enough.” What is he on about? She had slept for close to ten hours. “They’re discussing the next course of action. With everything going on, I assume we’ll be staying here until the party is over?”

She nodded. “It would have been fine if it wasn’t for… Never mind. I’ll need a place for meeting the other highborn. Somewhere public. I need to be seen outside the safety of the mansion. And I’ll give you a list of people to investigate. Use whatever resources you need to find their weaknesses.”

“Understood, ma’am.” He kept looking at her without moving.

“What?”

“You should be at your top game when dealing with those two. You’ve not been quite yourself ever since we came to the oversurface.”

“Blame the place, not the person.”

“Shall I heal your eyes, nonetheless?”

What in the Ascendants’ names is he talking about? She touched her cheek, the wet trails stinging beneath her fingers. She flinched.

“It will only take a moment,” he said. “May I?”

She nodded.

He brought his hand to her face. There was no light, no shiver down her spine as he channelled, nothing to indicate he was using the Gift; nothing except the warm waves gently caressing her skin. He lowered his hand.

“It’s done,” he said.

“Then let’s go.” She headed towards the stairwell. As she passed him, she mouthed a thank you. It was his fault if he didn’t hear it.