Direct oversight is rarely necessary, but there have been rare instances of attempted rebellion which necessitated a strong response. Oversight requires repeated and direct contact, but is of undeniable value as a corrective measure when necessary.

Though affairs seem to have reached an equilibrium in recent years, we must not allow this essential skill to vanish. If the day comes when we must again enforce the decrees long set in place we must not be unprepared.

-A Technical Guide to Oversight

At first, I worried that Desten 3 would be upset by my extended absence. As I flew wearily back toward Varonhold, I wondered why I hadn’t at least left a note or something. Why hadn’t I anticipated things going wrong? It was Pelys. Things always went wrong!

How long had I been out of commission after the scan? I remembered waking up once, kind of, though maybe that was a dream? It had been at least all day, if not two days or more. I shouldn’t have forgotten Desten so callously.

It was still the middle of the night when I reached Varonhold. I tried the door quietly, unsure if he locked it or not. As it turned out, he did not. The interior was as cluttered as ever, making me feel the familiar anxiety of wishing I could reorder everything. Pel’s home was so tidy I’d almost forgotten the state of Desten 3’s house.

I crept through the front room as stealthily as possible and quietly slipped into my room.

I lay awake for some time, feeling a strange mixture of wakefulness and exhaustion. I wanted to do something, felt an urge to pace or write or continue practicing magic. But pacing might wake Desten, I had no commissions to work on, and my power lay strained and uncooperative. I worried that pulling any more from it today would be detrimental in the long term. Even flying over here had worried me.

Eventually, I slept.

“Astesh, you’re back! I don’t suppose you brought any food?” Desten asked, glancing up as I exited my room. Then he blinked in confusion. “Why are you dressed as a Sarosa?”

“No, I didn’t bring any food.” I glanced down at myself. I’d forgotten to change, my routines all gone to chaos, superseded by more pressing concerns. “Pel lent it to me.”

“I don’t know why you continue to associate with that madman.”

“He’s not actually crazy, just very focused and tends to disregard convention a bit.”

“A bit?”

“A lot, perhaps.”

“Not that I’d turn down lessons from a fourth either, but are you sure it’s safe?”

“Yes. He’s actually a qualified teacher. I’ll be fine.” It was past noon, but I didn’t want to rush out on Desten. And I should probably get changed before someone noticed I was impersonating a Sarosa. “I’m sorry I disappeared without telling you. I wasn’t anticipating it being such a long visit.”

Desten shrugged. “I’m letting you stay here, not demanding you share everything about your business with me. If you have secret rendezvous to attend, don’t let me stop you.”

“Still, I feel bad for worrying you.”

“Should I be worried?”

I hesitated. I hadn’t actually mentioned that I’d been involved in anything dangerous, or my brush with incapacitation. Probably better for Desten to continue to believe everything was fine. “I don’t think so. Pel is a bit extreme in his methods, but he’s never done anything unsafe.”

“Good luck, then. Could you pick up some groceries on your way back?”

In all the time I’d been living and traveling among the nobility, I’d never had reason or opportunity to go shopping. I’d never so much as visited a market. The closest would be the sculpting display in Metako, where they’d auctioned the finished piece at the end. It had sold for around 800 lines, but what exactly that translated to I couldn’t have guessed.

I didn’t know exactly where the commerce districts might be. Downcity, they always sprang up around delivery points where goods were transferred to the nobility. Or, more accurately, demanded and seized by the nobility. But what happened after the transfer, I had no idea. My lessons with Desten 1 were all centered around how to look and act like I belonged. We hadn’t discussed anything about economics before I left with Desten 3.

It felt surreal. Desten 5 and Retti were out there somewhere. Even if they hadn’t done anything yet, they might at any moment. But Pel still had his administrative tasks to do and meetings to attend. He couldn’t commit all his time and energy to our chase and training me couldn’t take precedence over his existing obligations. Hopefully he could find other allies and my participation would prove extraneous.

And here I was, doing Desten 3’s grocery shopping.

Thankfully, once I started looking it wasn’t hard to find shops. Wide glass front windows showed off the goods within, often highlighted with outlines of colourful light. The perfect clarity made me wish I’d invested in noble glass for my own shop back in downcity Midpeak, rather than the rather murky (but much cheaper) glass that came with the building. Many windows throughout the upcities were frosted or coloured with intricate patterns, though most left the center clear to look through. These display windows were perfectly transparent. It would be easy to imagine they didn’t even exist but for the reflection of the street outside.

I glanced at the money Desten 3 gave me, a pouch with three flat rectangles of crystal or glass, each with metal lines inlaid into it and around the outer edge. I pulled one out and ran a finger along it, marveling at the seamless integration. It felt completely smooth, no break between the clear surface and the silver. This would be very difficult to duplicate or falsify.

Each of the tiles had a different pattern; a single line, two lines at an angle from each other, and an X shape with a line across the top. He seemed confident this would be sufficient, so I hadn’t argued.

As it turned out, their denominations were 1, 2, and 4, for a total of seven.

I did wonder how one paid for anything in such low denominations. If seven lines was enough to buy the rather large quantity of food he’d requested - writing it out on a form for me to deliver - then how did anyone buy anything smaller?

Perhaps nobles didn’t do small? Everything was expensive, regardless of quantity?

A question for another day.

I had to stop in and ask a shopkeeper for directions after a half hour of wandering didn’t locate any sort of grocer. There was a baker and an eatery, but no marketplace with general food goods.

She looked at me like I was stupid, and directed me to the intercity gates.

I’d never actually visited the upcity through the official gate, nor had I bothered to use it when leaving, but there was an actual gate separating the upcity from the downcity, along with the ever-present faint white fog of the shield. Though as I drew nearer, I caught glimpses of purple and red within the fog, refracting like a broken rainbow. It reminded me uncomfortably of Desten 4.

The gates weren’t the reason I’d come here, though. There were a collection of offices spread throughout the area right around them, the roads spreading out from just beyond. Several people stopped to watch me approach, and one flew over to greet me.

“Good day, eirn. What do you require today?”

I handed over Desten’s list, and she glanced down it with a practiced eye. “We don’t have all these items in stock at the moment, but I can get most of them for you. Please wait here.”

She flew off to consult with two others, disappeared into one of the larger buildings, then returned several minutes later with a small wagon of goods. A pink glow outlined the wagon as it rolled forward readily at the slightest prompting, despite having no horses or oxen to pull it, and seemed unaware of the fact that it was rolling itself uphill.

“The other items will be available tomorrow. Is there anything else?”

I offered her the three tiles Desten had sent with me.

“What are your special instructions? I can’t accept prior payment.”

“Oh, uh. For the food and paper and everything?”

“We won’t have the other items available until tomorrow no matter how much you pay,” she said, eying the money in my hand.

“How much is the normal cost, then?”

“That depends on what you’re trying to buy.” She watched me uncertainly. “Do you want us to deliver it for you?”

“No, just the supplies, nothing extra. I can carry it myself.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Are you sure?”

I suddenly felt very much not sure. “Should I not be?”

“I won’t turn it away if you’re offering, but you might want to reconsider.”

I took the 4-tile back, watching to see if she was offended by my stinginess, but she continued to look mildly concerned.

“Is this a confidential order?”

I shook my head.

“Please, just tell me what you want.”

“I already gave you the list. That’s all I need.”

She frowned, but took the tiles and nodded as she slipped them into a pocket. “Come by tomorrow to collect the rest of your order. We’ll be sure it’s ready first thing.” She handed me the list back, with a black stamp beside the items that were already loaded onto the cart.

I thanked her and left. The cart turned out to be too heavy to carry, but it had a lead so I could tow it behind me while still flying at low near-ground speeds. It moved easily and before long I was delivering it to Desten along with his remaining 4-tile.

“They said the rest will be ready tomorrow.”

He nodded as though this were expected, and began unloading the goods. I helped him move them into his storage room and coldboxes. Yes, coldboxes plural. He had three, each set to a different chill level, the sort of luxury I’d never have believed possible back in my commoner days. Even having one coldbox in the entire town wasn’t something to take for granted, especially in towns further from the cities. Yet here Desten, who had little income and a relatively small house with no servants, had three of them.

“What did you get?” Desten asked when we finished. “I didn’t see anything.”

“Uh, what?”

“You said you needed money. What did you get?”

I blinked at him. “The things on your list?”

“Right, that was a requisition. What did you need the tiles for?”

“I, um…”

Desten’s expression shifted, and he tilted his head, a slow smile crossing his face. “Who is it?”

“Who’s what?”

He just smiled.

It took me a moment to realize what he was implying, then I laughed. “No! Nothing like that!”

“That’s fine, I won’t pry,” he said, still grinning at me.

I wanted to argue, but I had the uncomfortable feeling that I’d done something wrong with this whole transaction. It would be easier to let him believe what he wanted, so I shrugged and changed the subject. Hopefully, he would drop it. I had more important things to worry about.

Somehow, life fell into a pattern. I spent the early afternoons with Desten 3 or on my own, Pel and I trained from when he returned home late into the night, and through it all we waited with growing tension for any news.

Desten 5 and Retti weren't doing anything dramatic. They came and went, discretely observed by the locals when possible. Sometimes they’d be away for days on end, but they always returned to the small town where they’d stashed Desten 4.

But though much of their doings took place away from our watchers, there were no more mysterious deaths, no more deadly duels of exceptional violence. Which made a bit of sense on a normal level - the touring season was ostensibly intended to celebrate the Alliance and peace but it also tended to spark old rivalries and tensions.

Still, I couldn’t help but feel there had to be something more going on.

As winter drew nearer most people were occupied with their own affairs. A miveirn came by laying out heating grids of yellow light around houses; Desten 3 paid a single-line tile to add his house’s interior to the regional grid, guaranteeing us steady warmth even as the weather cooled.

I hardly noticed. More and more, the fight to master this stupid shield technique became my obsession as much as it was Pelys’s. As hard as he pushed me sometimes, I pushed myself more. Part of it was obligation, part fear, part just the only thing I knew to do. If I wore myself and my power out completely, then sometimes the past would leave me alone.

Only sometimes.

The tenor of my nightmares had shifted. The imaginary ‘killer Desten’ who’d haunted me for so long had disappeared, replaced by a woman I knew to be Retti though they barely resembled each other. Tonight she ran through an unfamiliar city, pursued by nebulous figures of darkness. She fought anyone who crossed her path, screaming for Desten 5 and I to fight with her.

He looked at me pleadingly as he fought desperately to defend her, and I only hesitated a moment before running to his aid. The dark figures clarified into Fylen and Pelys and Aneeyha, just as we finally struck them down.

I woke abruptly, confused and gasping, my power glowing brightly enough to cast shadows on the walls. I tried to calm myself, to dispel the mixed feelings of guilt and dread. I knew rationally that I would never do what my dream self had, that it was just the twisted illogic of a nightmare, but the memory of fighting and killing lingered, the emotion of it outlasting the vague imagery.

I stared into the darkness, trying to convince myself that the dream didn’t matter. I wasn’t that sort of person. I would never do something like that. I may feel bad for Desten 5, but I wasn’t going to join Retti!

I tried to push away the memory, but it remained seared into my soul. The sudden feeling of betrayal as I understood what I’d done.

I knew it wasn’t real. It could never be real.

I wouldn’t turn on Pelys, would never join Retti, no matter how pleadingly Desten 5 looked at me.

Would I?