Saul Courtnay, Count of Whitemoor, watched the liquid swirl in the goblet he held. It was a rich red color, turning a dancing gold as it caught the light. He had already taken a sip of it, felt the slightly syrupy consistency, the delicate taste dancing over his tongue. The wine connoisseur inside of him was both delighted and annoyed, the first for having found such a delicious new item to add to his collection, the latter for not knowing it already. He prided himself to be an expert on the subject, after all.

Taking another careful sip, Saul looked around, masking his attentiveness under a lazy glance.

The hall could easily be described with one word: dazzling. Burnished gold was the predominant color, and it was everywhere, from the finely wrought filigrees high up on the walls, to the polished marble of the floor, to the massive chandelier dangling from the pictured ceiling, bathing everything in light like a little sun.

Saul glanced toward a group of his friends and colleagues clustering by one of the buffet tables. The men and women were having a jolly merry time, drinking and sampling of the many delicacies while cheering at the host. Saul nodded and grinned as they lifted their glasses toward him, returning the gesture by raising his own goblet.

Even as he kept the expression, inside he was fuming. If Cartus had hoped to catch the hearts of the people of his Faction with that display of wealth… well, he was succeeding. Many of his associates wandered around, taking in the many masterpieces on display like children brought to a museum for the first time. Many were undoubtedly thinking that maybe it was time to find themselves a new patron. Him, he wasn’t so easily swayed.

He didn’t trust Cartus. Apart from all the questions the enigmatic old man brought to mind, there was something that simply didn’t feel right with him, and it wasn’t out of the antipathy Saul felt for bossy types like him. It was his instinct talking there, and if there was something that the Count of Whitemoor had learned to trust during his years as a merchant was his instinct.

But one couldn’t act on such a vague impression, couldn’t he now?

Just as he thought that, a nobleman accosted him.

“Nothing,” he murmured, low enough that only he could hear him. “This place is more guarded than the House of Swords. You can’t walk a step out of line without a damn sentinel looking at you like you had the plague. And the rest is - forgive me, m’lord, this room is just a storage, forgive me, m’lord, this is private space - or whatever.”

Saul regarded him with a lazy smile and nodded. Linner Terrytarn was a trusted friend and was among what he suspected to be a small group to share his suspicion toward Lucius Cartus.

“Can’t fault him with all this stuff lying around” he said with a small smirk. “Somebody could decide that his pockets are a bit too heavy for his age”.

Linner studied his face for a moment, trying to understand if he was being serious before his frown melted into a grin.

“He wouldn’t feel it, i reckon.” The man passed a gloved hand through his hair. Following whatever fashion had taken his fancy at the moment, he kept them long. “What did i miss?”

Saul shrugged. “Mostly just many of our esteemed countrymen starting to consider opening spots in their friendship ranges”. He nodded toward one of the cheering groups with a sardonic smile.

Linner grimaced. “Easy to expect. This place is…” He glanced around, then shrugged with a helpless kind of smile. “The old man wanted to make an impression, didn’t he?”

“That he did.” Saul wasn’t sure how to interpret the slight edge of admiration in his friend’s voice. Anyway, he didn’t like it. “Have the men returned?”

“Sure”. Linner called a passing waiter over, taking a glass from the tray he offered. He took a long gulp before replying. “Twelve minutes between going and returning on horseback, and that going full speed. No way the old man can make it, even if he has enough horses around. And there is no herd anywhere around”. He glanced at Saul with a challenging look, like he always did when there was a problem that Courtnay was expected to solve.

Saul snorted softly. He had an insolent streak, that Linner. That was why he liked him.

Still, the matter remained. How the hell did Cartus mean to hold two parties at the same time?

The merchant turned noble mulled over it. From what he had seen, the two mansions were close by, relatively speaking, since they were on the opposite sides of the same llittle hill. The hill itself was rugged and covered with woods, the terrain making it very difficult to traverse on foot, let alone on horseback. A man would be much faster rather by circling the hill, but even so, like the men Linner had sent to travel the route had demonstrated, one lacked the time; and surely Cartus wouldn’t be so foolish to host a party while looking like a sweaty mess. So, what did that leave? Going through the hill? From what he knew, and he made sure to gather everything that could be found about the place, the terrain there was too sandy to sustain any digging of that extension.

That left…

Something of his thoughts must have appeared on his face because Linner’s expression turned serious. The man surreptitiously looked around to make sure that nobody was listening, before leaning in.

“Still thinking that magic may be involved?” He whispered.

“Bite your tongue”.Saul smirked. “We don’t want our esteemed Bishop to think us heretics, don’t we now?” He nodded toward a small group milling about in the hall. Sanzanar was right at the center of it, exchanging words with a couple of ladies. In contrast with the lavish environment, the Bishop’s vests were simple and essential.

Saul had been slightly surprised to see the Bishop there. Sanzanar was more the type to mill about with the stuffy knights. The surprise had gone away in a flash as soon as a little birdie told him that a certain merchant lord possibly on the path to conversion would be present, one that the Bishop had been hounding for the past few weeks. But of course, it wasn’t like the good priest hadn’t some henchmen of his in the other mansion.

“Sure,” Linner snorted. He smiled, but his eyes told another story. Saul knew because he was sure it was the same for him.

Magic was no topic to joke around lightly, even for disrespectful assholes that gladly pissed over centuries of titles and honor and whatnot like them.

“No idea anyway,” Saul said, lowering his voice to a whisper. The idea that the new addition to their genteel world was a mage in disguise, or something of the sort, had brushed his mind. He had always been the open-minded kind of sod, that he knew. It was the speed with which Cartus had slithered his way into their midst to push him in that direction. The man was a bit too perfect for his tastes. Like if he had been… handcrafted.

A small shiver ran along his back. He masked it with a sardonic smile.

“Magic fell and disappeared, but our arts never did. If anything, we improved. Nothing escapes our sight”, he droned, putting up a serious expression, then smirked. “Remember this?”

Linner snorted. “I couldn’t forget it even if i tried. That damn priest keeps yapping it at every chance”. He regarded Saul with an interrogative look. “I wonder how much is a boast, though.”

Saul thought for a moment how to answer that. It wasn’t wise to show knowledge in the forbidden arts, even to trusted friends.

“I spoke with some priests once,” he said, watching the liquid swirl in his goblet. “They said Sanzanar and his Hunters would be regarded as excellent mage hounds even in the days of the Old Kingdom.” He glanced at his friend, seriously. “If there is magic afoot, they will feel it. Even if it’s the Sorcerer himself to do it”.

Linner hummed, apparently unconcerned by the mention of the Great Enemy. He had never been a big believer of that particular story.

“I too have spoken with some priests once,” he replied with a look that was a mix between challenge and derision. “And they told me that back in the old days, they had artifacts that could hide every act of magic, no matter how good peepers were”.

Saul threw him a warning glance, then rolled his eyes when Linner just smirked.

“Let’s keep an ear out for artifact sounds, then”. He drank from his goblet, wondering how long until he saw Linner hanging from a rope after a process for heresy.

“What does an artifact sound like?” Linner asked, feigning child-like curiosity.

Saul snorted a laugh. “Hell if i know. Something dark and terrible, if our esteemed priests are to be believed”. Just then, Sanzanar turned toward them, almost as if the old dog had heard what they were talking about. Linner was quick to put up a serious expression. Saul just lifted his goblet in greeting with a pleasant smile.

The Bishop watched them both with suspicion for a moment, before nodding and turning back to his conversation.

“Better nose than a dog, that one”. Linner wiped his forehead with a hand, an excited smile on his face.

“They didn’t call him a Hound for nothing,” Saul said with a conversational tone.

“Do you think he suspects of Cartus?”

“Do i think? I am positive he does”. Saul smirked. “Sanzanar suspects everybody. It’s in his nature. If he’s here tonight, you can be sure that it’s for making sure that our newcomer isn’t a mage in disguise, or whatever else”.

“Now that whatever else intrigues me”. With a delighted expression, Linner crossed his arms in front of his chest, looking like he was trying to imagine what strangeness Cartus could be.

“I sure hope nothing with more than two arms,” Saul joked, and laughed under his breath.

Linner eyed him. “Want me to try and send some men to sneak around? The windows don’t look very surveilled…” His eyes gleamed with excitation, his fantasy egged on from all that talk of artifacts and magic.

Saul refrained to inform him that his passion was taking a bad path. There was being enterprising and there was asking for the rope, after all. But Linner was the type that the more he was told not to do one thing, the more he did it.

“No need,” he said. “Let’s first see how our gracious host behaves”. He flashed him a grin. “Maybe our Bishop will bag himself another cat before the evening is over”.

“Fine”. Linner didn’t bother hiding his disappointment, something that made him chuckle. “But if we have to wait, i am getting myself another drink”.

“Couldn’t have spoken better”.

As his friend went searching for a beverage of his own, Saul was left alone with his thoughts.

Aside from Linner’s over-enthusiasm, he wasn’t very keen on risking having a man caught and interrogated. Such a move could end in all the bad ways. And yet, the patriot in him wondered if the risk wasn’t worth it. If a mage or something of the sort had infiltrated the city…

He shook his head, a self-mocking smile on his lips.

Maybe it was all a fantasy of his. After all, Cartus may very well be simply a fabulously wealthy man of someplace over the horizon that had decided to come to live in their city. Life was strange enough that even something like that could happen. As a man that barely managed to feed himself back in the days, he could attest to that.

He wasn’t going to lie: that old man annoyed him. He was a stuffy, authoritarian asshole, and he disliked that someone like that became as important as he seemed to be becoming in his city. Maybe it was that dislike keeping him on the lookout…

And yet, his instinct kept bugging him…

He had made his research about him or at least tried to. Hundreds of caravans like the one with which Cartus had made his entrance into Blackstone passed along the Silver Road weekly, and anyway too much time had passed for Saul’s relationships in the cities and stations where Cartus could have possibly passed to remember something out of the ordinary.

And yet, no way that all that wealth had come only with those few carts. Not like it was a mystery. Similar caravans entered Blackstone from time to time, just to stop at Cartus’ mansion. That left only one possibility: the old man had another place outside the city where he kept his wealth.

He had tried to have people sneak in the caravans, to follow them: all for nothing. Cartus’ goons kept attention bordering on paranoia, and none managed to follow them to whatever the place was that their Master kept in the countryside.

All that mystery would have kept bugging him a lot, and many with him, if not that, one day, Cartus himself had revealed the place: an old castle in a hidden valley, a ruin until he and his servants had taken residence in it, putting it back in order. Whatever problem the city could have with what was essentially appropriation of the territory was quickly put to silence by a few bribes here and there, and the happiness to have someone to rebuild and man an old fortification without nobody having to take out one dime.

Everybody was happy and trusting, but not Saul. His instinct was always there, that little voice telling him that something wasn’t right…

When he had advanced, as a joke, the theory that Cartus may be a creature of the wilds trying to infiltrate the city, they had laughed: the Fay were too chaotic for an approach like that. A Fay using money, following bureaucracy, signing documents? But my dear young man, that’s preposterous! A Mage? Just as much! Can you imagine? No mage could sneak under the nose of the Aethyr, let alone of our clergy! That’s simply impossible!

Saul had avoided pressing the matter. Something told him that further insinuations wouldn’t have been welcomed kindly, especially with how many had come to depend on the old man for their livelihood.

And yet, and yet…

Sipping from his goblet, Saul glanced slowly around, took in the dazzling beauty of the place.

A shiver ran across his spine as an impression crossed him. The impression of being puppets made to dance in a gilded cage.

He smirked sardonically, dismissing the thought. Well, no point in getting cold pants yet. The matter was still out for the jury to decide.

As the evening progressed, whatever prediction about Cartus’ failure seemed to come undone: the old man was present to give his welcome to the most important guests arriving at both the parties. From time to time, he disappeared from a company only to reappear in the other, always unruffled, always courteous, never looking like he was tired or at unease. His charm and personality were all there, and he entertained his guests with many topics of conversation, moving seamlessly from one to the other. And if he wasn’t there, Crickus or some other entertainment was, as if those mansions were bottomless treasure troves just waiting to be uncovered.

And so, the evening went on in gaiety, with lords and ladies partying merrily.

Not all shared that attitude, though; as soon as men dispatched to make the rounds between the villas went and returned, bringing to their masters the new that, yes, Cartus seemed to be everywhere, more than one forehead creased in a frown and more than a pair of eyes turned suspicious.

Linner didn’t bother hiding his astonishment, looking wide-eyed at the slender frame of Cartus, busy courteously discussing of economy with a merchant. Saul hid his intrigued smile behind his goblet. Sanzanar kept frowning without shame straight at Cartus, his gaze turning distant from time to time as he scanned the place with his mystical senses; and, as he found nothing every time, he frowned wrathfully to his entourage, only to see them shake their heads or hung them down in shame. The Bishop didn’t want to make a scene, not in front of all the city’s nobility, but the more that scene repeated itself the more his patience wore thin. Light be my witness, he said to himself, clutching his staff of office until his knuckles turned white, before the day is done, i will have my answers, one way of the other; and appearances be damned.

On the other side, Aurora gently squeezed the forearm of his husband, watching with concern as his smile turned strained. Edward wiped his forehead with the back of a hand, exchanging glances and frowns with his comrades. Having confined himself to the remotest corner of the hall, Joseph drank glass after glass, his constant use of the handkerchief a lost battle against the sweat covering his face and neck.

Still, that growing unease wasn’t the general mood by any stretch of the imagination. Most guests were merry, dancing at the sound of music, chatting, drinking, eating, or admiring the halls’ many attractions. In front of the small orchestra, Lucelle stepped light like a sylph, golden hair tracing a shimmering path in the air and smile enchanting as she danced with partner after partner. Edgard vigorously argued with a friend about one of the many bets he had taken, defending his case even as he stuffed his face with delicacies. They were so taken that nobody noticed the missing member of their family.

Still, unease and suspicion had made themselves at home, uninvited guests that kept to the corners, being present but not being much of a disturbance in that colorful place of cheer and laughter.

Yet.

Claire stopped by a corner, trying to catch his breath.

She flipped an unruly lock of raven hair away from her eyes with a huff. She was starting to get tired.

That wing looked much less magnificent than the one where the party proper was taking place. From what she had managed to see, the place was used as quarters for the small army of servants staffing the mansion, as storage for Cartus’ many toys and for the other thousand things needed to run a villa of that size.

Her internal clock told her that it wasn’t much since the start of her search, but it might have as well been a decade for all that it was worth.

She had been skulking that place non-stop, stalking guards and waiters, maids and valets. They were all busy with the party, so nobody had paid much attention to the maid holding her head down, large bonnet obscuring her facial features. Like that, she had been able to move around more or less freely, peeking into that or this room, eavesdropping on conversations and even carrying plates when she couldn’t excuse herself in a believable way.

All for nothing. She had seen a giant kitchen filled with steam and heat, sweaty cooks working at roasting spits while lines of waiters made their rounds; storages where workers were busy taking supplies, items needed for the animals or other things; or rooms that were empty and silent, tarpaulins covering precious pieces of forniture or stranger objects from Cartus’ many collections.

But for the life of her, she couldn’t find anything that could prove that Cartus was a mage, or something of the sort.

“Not like you’d be able to recognize it, even if you find it,” a tiny, bitter voice said from the back of her mind.

She ignored it. Who said that, anyway? In all the stories she had read, magic was always unwholesome and unclean. Surely, if she found something magical, she would recognize it, maybe from a shiver along the back or something.

It didn’t really mattered. What it matter was to keep searching.

She straightened herself with a puff, smoothing with the palm of the hand the maid dress she had borrowed from a storage room.

Just a little bit more, she said to herself. Just a little bit more and then she would sneak the way she had come. Nobody would ever notice she was even missing.

Just a little bit…

Yes, just a little bit until what? It wasn’t like she had an inkling as to what exactly she was sarching. And if they caught her…

She banished the image of his father’s angry face with determination. She was doing this for him too. She needed to make sure that Cartus wasn’t something unclean in disguise. It was too important.

Her mind set, she set herself back in the role of the maid and stepped out of the corner.

She was good at hiding her nature as an aristocrat, slipping out from the proud bearing that was expected from a member of the Crofford family and into the cast down look and demure attitude of a peasant maid as easily as a girl of her age could change clothes. Together with lockpicking, sneaking, climbing, and more, it was just another of the many abilities that she had picked up when she was little.

Blackstone was in turmoil back then, with the old Lord-Mayor just dead and his two sons fighting to assert their power. Father had preferred for his family not to dwell in the city during those moments, sending them all to Kaernarth Castle, the ancestral seat of the Crofford.

Unbidden, memories of those days came to Claire, and she remembered luminous summer days passed playing with the children of the village; the prickly touch of ears of wheat against her skin, the sweat on her brow as she ran, excitated and breathless, to hide before the count was finished; and then the crispy cold hair of the castle’s dungeons, the dust making her sneeze, the happiness of finding another room untouched by decades, maybe centuries. She remembered Tob, the old man with the nasty scar on his face, teaching her the arts of the thief after she had pestered him to no end. And then she remembered the smiling expression of her mother, always beautiful and radiant; while she held a baby Lucelle in her arms, as she took care of her after a bad scraping, as she gently reprimanded her only to hug her afterward. It had been Aurora to find her a master that’d teach her painting, and then another for ballet, and then another for paiting, for poetry, for writing, history, philosophy and more. She was a girl of many talents and many interests.

It had been a happy childhood, of which she conserved many cherished memories. But, as everything, that too had come to an end, and Father had brought them back to Blackstone and its stuffy world of etiquette and expectations, a world that she had come to hate with a passion. And with it, the clashes with Father had come, more and more as the years went on. Because, apparently, the good Duke Crofford thought improper for a lady of fine breeding to do anything else but sewing and gossiping and waiting by the fireplace like a damn puppy for her brave knight to return home.

She grinned as a feeling of vindication crossed her mind. No “proper lady” would have been able to infiltrate that place like she had just done. And now, whatever could Father ever say if she brought him the proof that Cartus was dangerous? Like, i don’t know, she’s been trying to warn him for months?

She could barely imagine his reaction. It would be absolutely priceless. And how proud Mother would be!

“But first i have to find something,” she reminded herself, taking rein of the giddiness.

Shaking slightly her head to clear it from unwanted thoughts, she focused on the here and now.

She had been meeting fewer servants as she walked, something that she hoped indicated there was sensitive stuff close by. Still, that meant that she had to be more careful as well. The guards had been easy enough to deceive until then, something she adduced to the place hosting a party, but even her disguise had its limits, especially if she wandered in a place not even a maid was supposed to be.

Hiding in a niche in the wall, where a fine-looking statue held vigil while holding a Sun Crystal, she waited for a couple of guards to pass, before scurrying the way they had come from.

After climbing a flight of stairs, she stopped in a large landing. Leaning against a corner, she peeked in the corridor beyond.

A large door opened on a side, the Pierced Goblin emblazoned on it in bronze and iron. More interestingly for her, there were four guards in front of it, more than any other door she had met until there.

Claire recalled the mental map she had made of the place. She was pretty deep right now…

She bit her lip. She could distract a couple of guards, but four? That was a tiny bit too much…

The answer to her hesitation came from behind her, with the shuffling of many feet and the murmuring of many voices.

Claire was quick to hide behind a tapestry hanging by a wall. From there, she saw a small brigade of maids and valets emerge into the landing. Conversing and laughing, they made their way into the corridor.

Claire grinned, eyes sparkling. As soon as al the group had passed, she darted out of her hiding spot and joined them, like a last straggler.

Holding her head down, hearing the thumping of her heart, she followed meekly.

Her hopes weren’t disappointed: as they got close, the guards pushed the door open, and the group, exchanging greetings, shuffled inside.

Claire felt her heart jump in her throat as a guard watched her pass. She nodded meekly and walked faster.

And then, she was inside.

The door closed right behind her, sending a thrill along her back. Ignoring it, she looked at the room she had entered.

The place looked like another storage: crates and barrels were piled up everywhere, alongside forms hidden by tarpaulins and sheets. The group was quick to split up and opening that barrel or that crate, just to riffle in it while chatting. Claire imitated them, choosing a spot for her that was far enough from the others.

As she did so, she noticed the smaller door by the side.

Taking the lid off a crate, she found a bunch of silverware, deposited on a padding of soft violet silk. Trying to look busy, she picked up a couple of spoons, then put them in another spot. She moved the padding, revealing some more objects underneath. She almost jumped. Under the silver, there was gold: forks and knives and plates wrought of the precious material, sparkling gently on the violet padding.

Feeling a knot in her throat, Claire put the lid back in her place and moved to another crate, this one thankfully filled with simple candied fruit.

Her mind was racing with the implications of what she had just seen. How rich was Cartus to actually have damn spoons in gold? Holy shit! And to think that there were people in the villages starving! Ah!

She repressed a retching sound. There was luxury and all, but that was decadence!

Stopping from her rustling about, she glanced at her “companions”. Waiters and maids had their arms full with precious things and looked almost about ready to leave.

Taking a moment that nobody paid her attention, she darted behind the crates. She hid there, listening for the servants’ rustling about, followed by their steps and then by the door closing behind them.

In the silence that followed, she frowned. Learning of Cartus’ shameless decadence had only hardened her resolve against the old man.

Getting up from her hiding spot, her eyes went to the door she had spotted earlier.

Making her way to it, she carefully pushed it. It was open. Maybe they didn’t expect anybody to reach that far? Anyway, it was good.

Carefully, she inched it open and peeked inside. She saw another corridor, walls covered by just white plaster. An unfinished section? It made sense. The mansion had been rebuilt in record time after all. There was a door at the end, the image of a large, half-lidded eye emblazoned on it in white wood.

Claire felt a shiver of anticipation. Maybe…?

Softly closing the door behind her, she made her way down the corridor.

As she walked, she felt a queasy feeling forming at the bottom of her stomach. She had the impression of hearing a strange, rhythmic sound coming from beyond that strange door. After a moment, she realized that it wasn’t just an impression: it was real.

Excitation flooded her, and she redoubled her pace.

Reaching the door, she put her hand on the handle. The sound felt like someone was beating two hollow metal tubes one against the other. Claire looked at the eye. It was carved out of white wood, the iris painted red. Was it just an impression or it looked like it was watching her?

She swallowed and opened the door.

She found herself in front of a large, dark thing. It towered over her, sending out that rhythmic sound. She was unable to discern if it was made of dark wood or stone, but her gut twisted in a knot just by looking at it.

Enthralled, she advanced in the room, unable to tear her gaze away from the strange thing.

She didn’t notice that the room wasn’t empty.

“Hey!”

Claire started, her heart jumping in her throat. She whirled around and started again.

There was a brutish-looking man there, in front of what looked to be a workshop table. He wore a leather apron, just what a blacksmith could have worn, and protective goggles covered angry eyes pointed straight at her.

“What the fuck are you doing in here?” He growled. “This is off-limit to you lot”.

Claire’s mind exploded with a flurry of excuses, but, before she had a chance to even open her mouth, the man paused, expression turning surprised.

“Who the hell are you?” He asked with a low, threatening voice, thick eyebrows lowering a frown.

Claire stepped back. She opened her mouth to speak, but couldn’t muster anything to say.

“Well…?” The man grabbed a large chisel from the table. “I asked you a question…”

Claire stepped back again, heart picking up as he advanced toward her. She had to… he couldn’t…

Suddenly, the man stopped, eyes widening. He swayed, as if sudden dizziness had taken him, then a tremor shook him all over, and he stood still, gaze unseeing.

Claire blinked in surprise. She made to speak, but before any word could form, something slammed into her from the side.

She yelped as she was dragged away, hands roughly grabbing her. A door was opened by his assailant, that then threw her inside.

She slammed against a wall, air exploding out of her lungs, but was quick to recover. She took out the knife she kept hidden in her sleeve and set herself in a defensive position.

Her assailant closed the door and turned, stopping as he noticed the knife.

For the first time, Claire was able to take a good look at him. He wore a waiter uniform, but, as he turned to her, she saw that his face was half-hidden with a scarf, allowing her to see only a pair of blue eyes. Eyes, that, as the surprise for the knife ebbed, turned condescending.

Claire had to repress a growl.

“Who are you?” She threatened.

“That’s how the Crofford thank their saviors?” The other said, his voice betraying him as a young man. Despite the conversational tone, Claire was fiercely satisfied by how his eyes didn’t let go of her knife.

“Savior?” She repeated. “Who are you?”

The masked man shook his head in an exaggerated manner. “Alright alright, as you want”. He pointed at his chest with a thumb, eyes shimmering with satisfaction. “You know me as the Crow”.

Surprise hit Claire like a punch. “The Crow?!?”