They reached Vinnith soon after their first month’s voyage. Warships with purple flags prowled its clear waters, leaving them be as Arcadia’s red colors billowed with the blowing winds. The Vinterlands was made up of a series of islands, the main island, and its largest, named Vinnia. Two curving walls surrounded the harbor. The port city of Ivalon was a tiered mass of red tiled houses sweeping up the hills. Sprouting in between the buildings like weeds round cobblestones were willowy trees that bloomed with purplish-pink flowers.

Though the port was wider than even Casparn’s, only smaller fishing or merchant vessels were moored to its wooden piers. The crew moved with a renewed step, eager to be on land. Even Thael watched with interest as the city grow ever closer.

“We leave at dawn,” Captain Arnas announced. “I expect you lot to do your business here, and if you’re going to sleep you sleep in the ship! Anyone tardy will be a week in the brig.” He gestured to Krystos. “You, mage! Change your uniform. We must maintain secrecy on this mission. We’re a naval ship sent to reinforce Shen-La. Brand this into your minds. Loose tongues will only be cut off in the city of knives.”

The party awaiting them was two sparse lines of dull-plated guardsmen in purple tabards embroidered with the emblem of Vinnith, a floral insignia stitched of flaxen thread. Each rested their hands upon the pommels of their sheathed swords. A portly man of violet garb strode to meet their walkway, standing with his hands clasped at his back. He had greying hair and eyes as blue as the waters surrounding them.

His frown shifted to a wooden smile. “Welcome to Ivalon, sailors of Arcadia. I am Basot, Minister of this great city. Who is your captain?”

“That I am,” Arnas grunted, stepping to face the man, shaking his proffered hand. “This is quite a welcome for such a ship.”

“Any ship heralding Arcadia’s colors is a friend to Vinnith,” the Minister coolly replied. “We are happy to replenish your supplies. You must be weary after such a journey.”

“Willing to resupply us for a price?” the captain said. “Trade must be scarce here. We have the coin, don’t worry. We’ll only stay for the night and leave by dawn.”

“Of course.” Minister Basot flashed a grin. “Tell me, why is such a ship not in fleet? I must ask as I am quite puzzled. To what is the purpose in your journey?”

“We’re to resupply the forts in Shen-La,” Arnas answered. “Now, my men are tired, Minister. As soon as we are able to resupply, we’ll be off on our way, with some silver in your treasury.”

The man frowned, silent for a moment before he said, “Of course. Ivalon is open to you all.”

As the captain and the minister discussed their trade, Thael and his cadre walked past, surrounding Krystos, who now wore the same damp, frayed clothing as them all. Though Thael and his cadre ignored the minister’s glance, Krystos stared back before passing his gaze.

“Do not separate from us,” Thael murmured. “And do not walk ahead. Loric, you’re Vinnishborn. Take the lead for whatever tavern you think best for a hot meal. And close by as well.”

The now Shroudless Wraith scowled before moving ahead. “I was brought up in Liberius.”

“Where the fucking crux is that?” Cyrus asked.

“It’s an isle of the Vinterlands, you bumbling oaf,” Loric responded.

The larger man shrugged. “Backend of this backend, seems like.”

Loric did not deign to reply, and so they walked in silence along the narrow grey stone steps up the slanted city. The trees that grew alongside were blooming with flowers, the winds softly wafting pink petals to float and flitter around them. Freckled and fair-skinned people glanced at them as they passed. Men with grandiose mustaches smoked curving pipes while playing cards or rolling dice along long tables between the many levels. The women played card games with the men, laughing and cheering as they did. They wore the same brown or grey clothing besides their white blouses. Most were blonde or of chestnut colored hair styled in thick braided ponytails or tresses down each ear.

“Where’s the nearest whorehouse?” Cyrus asked. “Fuck me, the tits on that one!”

“We eat our meal, then head back to the ship,” Thael said.

“Ye of little pleasure, eh Commander?” the man grumbled. “Well… I could do with a proper meal at least.”

A boy stumbled toward Krystos and Thael grabbed the arm that had reached for the coin purse. He shook his head and pointed down the steps The boy retreated, head down with his failure.

“Little bugger tried to steal our meals!” Cyrus swore. “You never mentioned this city was rife with pickpockets, Loric.”

“I told you, idiot, I’ve never even been here!”

“You said you were in whatever backend of Vinnith, not that you hadn’t been here! What countryman never visited his own capital?”

They argued until Verena interrupted, “Loric, if you’ve never been here where are you taking us?”

“The finest taverns and inns are always at the highest tiers. We will also get the best view.”

“I told you somewhere close to harbor,” Thael growled.

Loric shrugged. “Apologies, I did not hear you, Commander. We won’t be harried by locals or pickpockets this way.

Cyrus nodded vigorously. He clapped Thael’s back with his huge hand. “Let’s enjoy our meal in the best this city has to offer, eh?”

“Shut up, Cyrus,” Thael ordered. “And watch our flanks.”

A man in purple vestments stood before the steps, waving to them. “Please, friends of Arcadia, follow me to the finest fare Ivalon has to offer.” He was the first Vinnlander to have spoken Cadish.

Loric turned back to give Thael a questioning glance.

“Let’s go, then,” Thael grunted.

They followed the man until they reached an alleyway where he seemingly disappeared.

Loric pointed to a wooden sign – Meliora’s Way. Four guards flanked a woman that stood at the entrance to the inn. Around them tarps sheltered the men and women sitting round tables that were served by purple uniformed attendants with their platters of silver. The patrons chugged on tall waterpipes, breathing out cloying white smoke in between bellying laughter.

The woman facing them looked up from the wooden stand, flipping through the tome upon it, holding a quill. She set her quill down with delicate precision and waved them off with a slender hand. Loric began to speak in flowing Vinnien, the woman shaking her head, locks of her auburn hair swaying back.

She said in nasal and clipped Cadish, “You need reservations, and you have none. I suggest heading to the lower inns and taverns.”

Krystos stepped forward. “We are Arcadian. The minister himself said Ivalon was open to us all. Would you rather we speak of this place going back on his word?”

“Even if you—”

An attendant walked to her, whispering in her ear; the man that had led them here. She frowned then, taking the quill once more. Her grey eyes flicked up to them. “Our esteemed Grand Duke Lothair of the line Inon has requested an audience with you. You shall all share his table. It is a great honor. But before you do you must relinquish all arms to these genteel men before you.”

After every blade was surrendered, she asked, her quill at the ready, “Your names?”

Once their names had been noted in the book they were escorted by the man that had led them to the inn.

A lone man ate with a silver fork and knife, watched over by stoic guards in suits of armor at each side. He was as blonde and pale as most Vinnish, blue eyes sparkling at their approach. A thinning beard tufted from his face, a mane of hair flowing to his purple uniform, the same as the attendants. The long table he sat behind had been positioned to face the view of the sloping city, the coast below, and the distant Oceanum, darker blue than the indigo horizon.

The man pointed to Krystos with his knife and said in perfect Cadish, “You, please. Sit beside me.”

Thael sat at the opposite side from Krystos next to the man, Verena and Cyrus sitting to his right. The man at their center sighed, drinking from his silver goblet. Several attendants passed, holding shining platters of diced fish and mixed vegetables fragrant with fresh herbs and lemon.

The Vinnish man gestured out to the sweeping city. The sun was descending as if ebbing, a final display of brilliant orange and pink flowing out over the sea.

“Is it not beautiful?” he said. “I confess, I have watched from atop here since Meliora herself was alive, when this was just her common inn. Now her granddaughter oversees this place. Ah, Meliora. Only this compares to your beauty.” He turned to Krystos, who had not yet taken a bite from his food. “I am Lothair Inon. What is your name?”

“I am Krystos.”

“Come now, Krystos. You join a man’s table and do not reveal your entire name? Some would deem it rude. So, Krystos, what is your line?”

The young man paused. “I am Krystos, of the line Danir.”

The Grand Duke smiled. “That is better. It has been a long time since the Danir line has visited my shores. Tell me, how are you related to the arch queen?”

“She is my half-sister.”

“And how is your half-sister? Oh, I am getting ahead of myself. Please, enjoy the ceviche. It’s as fresh as the sea.”

Indeed the dish was, compared to the smoked herring they had eaten for weeks. The food was refreshing as the cool sea winds that wafted to them. The servants glided silently behind, taking their empty dishes to replace them with plates of blue shelled creatures, cracked open over leafy vegetables with a small bowl of melted butter.

Cyrus poked at the meal – pale meat fell away from a shell. Thael skewered the shellfish with a fork and dipped it into the sauce. It was savory and rich, a faint smoky aftertaste mixed with the creamy butter. He heard Cyrus moan and grunt to a server, “Can you bring another?”

Krystos wiped his mouth with a napkin. “My sister, she is… focused upon the present events of the Empire.”

“Indeed,” the duke said. “I hear of much turmoil within Arcadia. The Great Cleansing… what a horrid thing to blemish the Empire’s history. And the Haolan Invasion… halted, but at great cost. Arcadia’s legions must be spread thin, no? Added to that the rebellions which fester throughout your lands, just as your people wither from famine.” He held out his goblet for the servant to pour. “But why would your half-sister send you alone upon a supply ship, with but five of your compatriots?”

Krystos took a swig of wine. “My half-sister sent me as envoy to discuss treaty accords with Haol.”

The duke laughed. “That is quite an undertaking. You do realize that Haol is not one nation, but as divided as the Empire was before your half-sister’s reign?”

“I do,” Krystos said stiffly. “But then I’m sure you do know of the mage who succeeded in uniting most of Western Haol?”

“Do I? What is his name?”

“They only call him the Demon King.”

Lothair chortled. “I would accompany you just to see such a man who deems himself a demon. Perhaps he is the height of a dwarf?”

“You could come with us, but where then would Vinnith’s protector be?”

The duke smiled. He gestured and globules of water rose from his cup, forming orbs that spun over his hand.

“It has been over a century since Vinnith was founded. I have heard of empires torn asunder and made anew in the span of a merchant’s journey here. Here, Vinnith is not a coalition of kingdoms – it one kingdom. It has been united and will remain united… though I fear the arch queen’s reign will soon come to pass, as so many others, despite her long reign. The Empire, though a powerful friend, changes its next in succession quite… sporadically one could say, as do its allegiances. Who is a friend if they change heads every decade or so? Do you agree with this?”

Krystos looked down at his meal. “The Empire will remain whole, in the end.”

Lothair smiled, the water falling back into his goblet. “Yes, I believe it will, Krystos of the line Danir. Know this, however. Vinnith will remain a friend to you. I believe you will go on to do great things, my friend. Great things.” He clapped his hands. “Now, let us enjoy this meal before you set off back on your journey!”

It was dusk by the time they ambled down the winding staircases. The last remnants of the orange sunset tinged the darkening sky.

Cyrus belched. “Could live in a place like this. Yes, I wouldn’t mind it after I Greyed.”

Loric wafted his hand against the stench emanating from his companion’s backside. “Do that again and I’ll stab you in the back.”

Cyrus turned to grin. “Eh, all you’re good for in a fight is killing the unwary. Reckon you can have a go when I’m facing you proper?”

“Gods save me for when you’re ready,” the Vinnish Wraith said gravely. “I’d probably be Greyed, or dead by then.”

Thael gripped a shortsword, eyeing the alleyways as they descended.

“You should be at ease,” Krystos said. “If the grand duke wanted us dead, we would have never reached the city.”

Thael relaxed his grip. “The duke is your friend, but what of your half-sister?”

“She needs this treaty,” Krystos said. “And she cannot focus her attentions both in and outside of the Empire. Perhaps she hopes that the Haolans will bring her back my head? Either way, she will have fulfilled more than one purpose.”

They reached the ship, the walkway unguarded. The stars dappled the rippling waters. Once they came upon their quarters Cyrus immediately laid over his hammock, soon snoring.

Loric shook his head. “As unapologetic as a pig. Who will take first watch, Commander?”

“I will,” Thael answered. “Rest up for the night. Verena, I’ll wake you before dawn.”

Loric nodded, leaning back into his bedding. “Many thanks.”

Krystos paused before he entered his quarters. “Perhaps we may even return after this journey?”

“Perhaps we will,” Thael answered.

Before he closed the door, Krystos said, “You’re a good man, Thael. Watch for us all.”

Thael gave no answer. He did not need to, as he knew what he was, what he had done, and what he would do. For if the arch queen had ordered Thael to assassinate her own brother, he would not have hesitated.