The night smelled of spring already. A deceiving smell, because it was cold in the streets. The sun was gone for maybe an hour, and already Renor was thankful for the cloak he wore. When it was cold on the streets, it was always worse on roofs. And Renor was on a roof. He crouched on the roof of a utility house inside the walls of the Orniad’s estate. He had no idea what was in the shed but the roof was familiar.

In his dark gray cloak, with the hood shielding his eyes and face from the moon, he spent a lot of time on that roof.

Renor’s eyes were focused on the guards. His vision was cut short by the hood, and the world was muffled, too. What he heard loud and clear, was his heartbeat. Loud against his rib cage, he could almost feel it in his throat.

Every so often, he turned his head and let his eyes slide over the familiar front facing him. The whole estate was built from a soft limestone with a dark, reddish tone. One of the main materials used in Nahandrain’s older buildings, besides granite of course. But only the truly ancient buildings — only those touched and formed by the Regent — were built from granite and despite all the pull House Orniad had, their home had not been touched by a god. Thankfully. Renor remembered how obnoxious Inia’s great-grandfather had been. If this guy had lived in a house built by the Regent, he would have been assassinated way earlier. By Renor. Personally.

The limestone was crumbling in places, not so much that it could threaten the building’s stability in any way. It just created a great path to climb up to the window for someone who did not believe in shoes. And even after the trouble, he had had with his toes the last few times, he still rejected these devices of evil.

His feet and hands knew that path better than his eyes did; he usually didn’t spend that much time just looking at the path. But tonight, he was careful. The last time he had visited Inia, the guards had almost caught him. He had gotten too cocky.

Right now, however, the guards seemed to be preoccupied with something else. He frowned and squinted to get a better look at whatever it was they were doing. The three of them stood in the yard left of him. Obscured by the shadow of the wall, he could not tell clearly what it was that they were doing. But something seemed to jump and hop around down there between them, something much smaller, and they were looking down at it, as well as motioning towards it.

He carefully brought up a hand to his face and lifted his hood. Slowly and only high enough to allow sound to intrude into his left ear. Yes, there it was. A creaking, shrill cawing. The sound of fast flapping wings. Both were interrupted by the rough voices of men, laughing and mocking.

What the hell was that bird doing here? Renor wanted to touch the crow’s spirit to see if it was alright. But he didn’t. It left a bad feeling in his mouth but right now, he wasn’t focused enough to touch another person’s spirit, let alone an animal’s. If that wasn’t done properly, there was a lot that could go wrong for the both of them. And the last thing he needed, was for those damn guards to suspect anything.

He was not here to save tortured animals. His motives were far less noble, they were indeed entirely selfish. And the only reason Ilya had let him go despite his motives was, that Renor was about as useful as a spoiled fish when there was something else going on in his mind. And with everything that was at stake, he couldn’t leave without saying goodbye to the young woman living behind that window.

That was, of course, because he was ridiculously, utterly in love with Inia. It was the only type of love he knew, to be honest. Whenever he fell for someone, it was that type of love.

That love that made him break rules and laws, that made him stupid. That love that brought kingdoms to their knees, and always left him empty at the end. Drained, spent. The love that really mattered. No matter the pain, his heart refused to learn.

There was only so much that was worth doing in a lifetime without an end. And loving as only the most foolish mortal could, was among these things.

Between the two of them, they never spoke about love of course. Too big. They concentrated on the tiny things, the easy things to avoid getting crushed by the bigger ones. They just loomed over them, and eventually, they would crush beneath these things.

He didn’t mind it. He was used to it, and Inia was cold enough to survive. Not as cold as ice or the stars, but cold as freshwater from a mountain river. Cold as someone could be who was alive; but despite her family’s strong connection to the sun, there was much of the North running through her veins. More than she or her family liked to admit, he imagined.

A sudden rush of air close to his head almost made him jerk. The crow had freed itself from the guards; a quick glance upwards revealed ruffled up feathers but no blood. Still, bad enough.

How in the Shadow’s name did they even get a crow at this point of the night? Most of these poor birds had only just come back from their winter

habitats and already one of them was mistreated by humans. Cruelty like that was so typical for them.

His face burned with anger, his fingers twitched. He wanted to hurt them. And he would. At least a bit. These meatbags had brought that one themselves.

He crouched a bit lower on the rooftop and slowly brought his left hand to his lips. His fingers were cold and smelled of moss and wet dirt. He tried his best to ignore the small grains of dirt that stayed attached, even after he wiped his hand on his cloak. The woolen fibers that now stuck to his fingers, too, did not improve the situation.

With his fingers pressed against his lips, the words he mouthed seemed to stick to his skin. And indeed, when he lowered his hands, strings of lilac air — his breath — stuck to each of his fingers. The strings curled into a small cloud, dancing on his opened palm, warming and tickling his hand.

His teeth flashed beneath his hood when he blew the cloud in the guards’ direction. It fanned out into six owls, almost invisible against the night

sky, their claws and beaks lilac, looking like steel, their feathers the dark gray of his cloak. What a nice touch.

With a flicker of his hand, he sent them on their way, watching them descent silently.

He grinned when the guards began to shriek. From his vantage point, he saw them running away, clutching their heads and faces to protect themselves from the beaks. Idiots.

Halfsmists were not easily understood by people who did not know the spell. And Orniads’ guards might be on top of the line but they were certainly no spellcasters. Apart from a few scratches, nothing would happen to them, as long as they didn’t throw themselves off of a cliff or something.

He waited for a heartbeat just to make sure they didn’t come back. All the time, his eyes rested on the window. The curtain was too thick to make

out motion but there was the gentle lighting that betrayed a candle on Inia’s nightstand. And that light had not flickered.

Next to the shed stood a tree, a beautiful birch with soft, small leaves. Of course, right now it was naked. In the summer, it was a decent spot to hide, now it was still a decent ladder. Down at the ground, the wind did not tug at him with the same force as before. Even in the protection of the estate’s high walls, the wind was stronger up there. And the cloak caught the wind far easier than his own frame would have done. Oh, how he loved climbing with it.

When he looked up at the window again, he noticed that the curtains were not moved by the wind. So the window was closed. That of course explained why Inia hadn’t heard the guards. The thought put him at ease. Inia would not like what he had done.

He slipped his hand in his pocket and was met by the pebbles in there.

Ever so often, he spent a lot of time down at the beach, searching for good pebbles. Those that were round and flat and smooth not cracked, and looked good. He never left with less than ten of them but in his pocket were just four.

He grabbed one and threw it at the window.

The world stopped to turn while he waited. His eyes transfixed on the window, he didn’t blink. And nothing happened. The next pebble he threw harder, hard enough that he heard the satisfying, clear clank of stone against the glass. And now, something moved. The light grew bigger, and a shadowy outline became visible. The candle lowered. She had placed it on the windowsill.

Renor heard his heart beating loudly in his ears. And threw the third pebble.

The impact was even louder this time, and Renor cringed. If it weren’t for the wards, that window would be broken, now. Even the silhouette had flinched a bit. But the window was opened.

Renor sighed and grinned at the same time. One pebble left, and he didn’t need it. He ran over to the wall and began to climb. Excitement and anxiety drowning out everything else, he let his feet and hands do the job. When he pulled himself up on that windowsill, there was a big, stupid grin on his face.

And it fell when he looked into the room.

“Etenesh?”, he asked.

The young handmaiden’s smile seemed to ask for forgiveness. “The lady is busy, Renor”, she said. Her voice soft, her hands interlocked with each other.

Renor blinked. “Busy?”, he asked, his voice harsher than intended. “It’s the middle of the night.”

Etenesh shrunk away from him. “She has things to do… she can’t see you right now.”

Renor growled. What the hell was going on? He stepped closer, his hands curled into fists.

Etenesh licked her lips. She almost looked as if she was going to cry.

“Where is she?”, he hissed.

“Renor!”

The voice cracked like a whip and he spun around to face Inia. He couldn’t help but smile but when he tried to walk over, he was stopped by her outstretched hand against his chest.

“How dare you speak to Etenesh like that?” Her voice was icy, and there was no trace of a smile on her face.

“She… I—"

“She did, what I told her to do, Renor”, she said. She crossed her arms in front of her chest and looked at Etenesh. “Leave, dear”, she said. “I’ll handle this. And don’t feel bad.”

Renor’s ears and shoulders lowered. That did not sound good. He heard Etenesh’s footsteps and then a door. He didn’t turn around. It almost felt as if couldn’t move.

“Inia, what is going on?”, he asked.

Inia stepped away from him. “I don’t want you here right now, Renor”, she said.

“But…”

She shook her head. “I have a lot to do.”

Renor swallowed and looked closer. Her eyes were bloodshed, rimmed red, and underlaid with dark circles. Her skin wasn’t light it was white. Her lips were bitten up. It was always a bit difficult to tell differences in Inia’s face because of the scars but this was obvious. Her hair and nails were meticulous but her face… she looked like she hadn’t slept in days.

He made a step toward her, reaching out with his hand but she shook her head, and he lowered it. “What is going on, Inia?”, he asked again. Afraid, this time.

“I can’t tell you.”

He was taken aback. What was that supposed to mean? “Don’t you trust me?”, he asked.

Inia gave him a weak smile. “This has nothing to do with trust, Renor. I know you too well, to tell you.”

He pulled at his hair. “Is that supposed to put me at ease, Inia?”

“No. It’s the truth, Renor.”

In her eyes shimmered something else. Almost as if she wanted to tell him, as if she died to. But for whatever reasons, she couldn’t. And she asked him, she begged him not to urge her.

Renor licked his lips. He wouldn’t. Not if it would make her crumble.

“I’m sorry”, she said. “But you should leave now.”

Renor sucked at his teeth. “No.”

She blinked at him. “What?”

“I’m not leaving”, he said.

Her eyebrows rose. “Renor?”

“I’m sorry, Inia”, he said. “You might not want to tell me, but I have come here for a reason.” He stopped, swallowed. “There are things going on, things you need to know. And I don’t care if you want to, or if you care but I need you to hear them. And I am not leaving before I told you.”

She sighed. “Whatever it is, Renor, can’t it wait for another night?”

“No”, he said. “I’m leaving at dawn.”

Her shoulders sagged. “Where are you going?”, she asked.

Renor stuck his tongue between his lips. This was a threshold. Not a threshold, a bridge. He had already half-crossed it, and he smelled the fire and saw the smoke coming after him.

“I’ll go to the White Forest”, he said. Then, quickly, as if he needed to get it out of his system, he added: “There is a sick ongai, I have to heal him and wake him up. He might know important things.”

She narrowed her eyes. “Why can’t the ongai do that on their own? Healing is not exactly a woodelves strongest suit.”

He nodded. “Yes. But they won’t. They want to let him heal on his own.”

“That’s odd. But does not explain why you are a healer all of a sudden.”

He sighed. “Because I am the only one who can copy their work.”

Irritation flashed over her face but she put out a hand as if to hold the conversation. “Let’s sit down, shall we?”, she asked.

He nodded.