“There's one thing I don't understand.” says Octave, following them out of the rendez-vous point at Trila's humble room. “Why was Tal at the party?”

Eje gives Trila one last hug and a promise to return shortly before closing the door. She turns to face Octave with an incredulous frown on her tight features. “That's what you're asking? Not how she started a fire inside another person, or how she persuaded those people to admit everything?”

“I've known her to do stranger. What I've never known is for Tal to attend a party without some deeper motive.”

“She didn't exactly say, did she?” Salaya looks up at the sky, trying to remember. “Just that it wasn't guild business. Maybe she was there to enjoy the party?” Octave's hollow laugh says otherwise. “The other explanation is that she knew in advance there would be an attack.” Salaya's voice trails off for a moment. “She had her eyes out for them.”

“She's after something, and it's not a coincidence you were at the same party.” The houses of Lakeview fall behind them in little clumps of wood and brick as the castle looms overhead like a great stone goliath, welcoming them back.

“We'll worry about that later.” announces Eje. “Octave, I need you to show me the next step of teleportation.”

“You mastered the first step?” Ariel sounds impressed.

“I had to do something for two weeks on the road. Grounding, light, sky, envisioning. I got it all.”

“The next step is to feel the ground beneath you. Don't rush. Feel the ground until you're a part of it.”

“Eje, don't stop. We'll have time to try that later. What do you make of war between Gaskaback and the Upper Realms?”

“Before this I would have laughed. I would have said for them to bring it on. We won't lose to a bunch of hunters and highland barbarians.” Eje casts a hollow gaze downward. “Now the outcome doesn't matter. I've seen enough corpses to last the rest of my life.”

“Would you fight if the call came?”

“Maybe.”

“Yeah. Same here.” A stray ghost of a snowflake drifts into the group.

At the mission board, Salaya reviews their score, the passion gone from her voice. “Our merit is slipping toward the bottom again. I guess it's because we haven't completed anything since Rol Blaketik. It doesn't matter. Let the other gloat while they round up bandits or guard convoys.”

“We can still earn some merit here and there.” Eje surveys the available missions. “Nothing relating to firegems. No surprise there. Or celestials.”

“Shocking.”

“Hush, you. A big one relating to orcs though. We still need one of their hearts, don't we? We can get that and some bonus merit. It's not too far away, either. Near the northern desolation. Where it all began for us. Strange though.” Eje frowns as she scans the mission details. “There's no option to sign up, nobody to speak to.”

“I'm not keen on it.” says Ariel. “It says a warband. Not a foraging party, or some raiders. A warband. A band that makes war. That's a job for the army.”

“That's where the army is headed.” Ariel jumps at the intrution. When they turn, it's to find Brant standing behind them, tall and straight-backed as ever, the rest of Team Four at his side. He nods to them briefly. “Hello girls. And Octave. Good to see you.” Octave gives him the slightest of nods in return and his face splits with a grin like an axe blow.

“How big is this warband?” asks Eje, ignoring the slight.

“Pretty big.” says Irprinon. “They torched a whole town a week back. How do you not know?”

“We've been busy with a long-running mission. A lot of travelling.” Eje sighs.

“No wonder you're near the bottom. You'd better shape up.” Irprinon leaves, not seeing the rude gesture Eje makes at his back. Amiel and Arrigos go with him.

“Sorry about them.” Brant gives a pained smile, not himself realizing the insult he caused. “We just had a tough mission out in Arrow City and they've been listening to the rumours about Octave a little too much. Scared, I think. I just want you to know that I'll always stand by you four. I haven't forgot what I owe. If anyone's giving you trouble, I'll help. You have my word.”

“Thanks. You were in Arrow City?”

“Yeah. You been there? Some guy in an old manor got robbed by bandits. Murdered too; nasty business. We tracked 'em down, all right. Get this: he had a mute butler who was in on the whole robbery business. I reckon he had a tough life too, the poor bastard.” Brant shakes his head. “Anyway, we're off to join the general. He's made a camp up north where he's gathering as many as he can. I'm sure you'll get the summons soon enough.” He winks at Octave and saunters off after his team.

“At least someone here admires you, Octave.” titters Eje. “Are you interested in younger men?” Octave snorts but doesn't respond. “Come on. Who are you interested in? You can tell us.”

“Eje, this isn't the time for teasing.” reproaches Salaya. They enter the castle and head toward their room. “Was that Rol Blaketik who was murdered?”

“Maybe. Guess we won't be able to get his firegems now. Hello, what's this?” An aide blocks their path, her jacketed uniform pressed into perfect edges.

“Team Twenty-Four? You've been requested for a special mission.” She holds out a missive. “This will fill you in on the details.”

“Yes, yes. We know about the military camp and the orcs.” Eje takes the missive but doesn't open it.

“I said a special request. Read it.” She turns to Octave. “Ranim Harki wishes to have a word with you.”

Octave stands, back against the wall, eyes fixed on the empty chair behind the table. It's lined with real velvet, dark as a cold caress, wooden armrests burnished like brass. Everything in the office speaks to an obsessive neatness, a desperate desire to be seen as orderly and respectable. Books sit on a shelf, arranged from royal decrees to scholarly musings on life beyond death. Papers are stacked so that not a single sheets sticks out. Beside them, a dry inkwell nestles beside a sealed bottle of vinegar; water lacks the aged sharpness that Harki infuses his writing with.

The door opens and the man himself enters. He's got a bag weighing down one hand, and a self-deprecating smile weighing down his face. “I do apologize for the delay. A small matter of no real importance, but it had to be dealt with.” When Octave offers no acknowledgement of his consideration, no assurance that she experienced no inconvenience, no response at all, he hurries to sit down. “Take a seat.” He gestures to an open chair beside her. Still nothing. He shrugs, a flutter of intangible emotion playing at his lips. “How have your missions been going, Octave? Any problems with your teammates?”

“None.”

“None?”

“Their performance has been exemplary and continues to improve.”

“I'm glad to hear it. Those rumours floating about...terrible business. I, of course, quash them wherever I can. I'm sure you can handle yourself though. Now.” He raises a finger to stress the point. “That isn't why I called you in. I have something in mind for you. A sort of extra mission, if you will.”

“I'll get my team then.”

“No, no. This must stay between the two of us. A mission for you and only you.”

Octave pushes off the wall. “I don't like to keep secrets.”

“That might be the most absurd thing I've ever heard.” Ranim leans back in his chair. “This sort of mission has its own special pay rate.”

“It better. What you do want me to do?”

“An assassination.”

“I don't do those.”

“I've heard contrary.” Ranim reaches into his bag and retrieves a stuffed sack which he drops onto the table with a heavy clink. “As I said, a special pay rate. You were unhappy with our standard rate, weren't you? Here's a chance to earn real gold.” Octave pokes through the bag, takes a gold coin and scratches it to verify its quality. “Your target is Lady Tal.”

Octave looks Ranim in the eyes for a few seconds. When she's satisfied he isn't joking, she places the coin back in its bag. “Have you lost your mind.” A statement, not a question.

“Not at all. In fact, I've finally found it. Tal is, and has been, a danger. You know that better than any of us. She has too much power, too much influence. It weakens the nation, makes it privy to the whims of one shady person.”

“And you'd rather have that power and influence concentrated where?”

“The court. Naturally. Are you defending her? I thought the two of you were finished.”

“We are. But I have other concerns in mind.” Octave leans over the table to accentuate the height disparity between them. “Would this be linked to the potential war?”

“Tal has been a great opponent of going to war.” admits Ranim. “Personally, I have no opinion. My job is to follow the orders of the King, and to ensure the stability of the nation. She contravenes me on both points. If you're so concerned, let me assure you that the King has little interest in war. He is both a wise and magnanimous ruler. Tal on the other hand is nothing more than a busybody, interfering, watching, strong-arming behind closed doors. We want her gone, and I know you wouldn't miss her.”

“Not enough.”

“You want more reason? More than it being in the best interests of the nation? More than everything she did when she cast you out?”

“Let me clear.” Octave straightens up and pushes the bag back to Ranim. “Your payment is not enough. I don't think you can afford this one.”

“Let's not quibble over coins, Octave. I can offer you more. Far more. I have many resources at my disposal.”

“Not enough.” Octave turns to the door.

“What's your price then? Don't try to walk out on me like a grocer at the market with a dirty beard.”

Octave turns back, sizing Ranim up for several moments. “You say that this is solely for the good of the nation?”

“I do.”

“You love the nation, don't you, Ranim? The king? You give anything for the king, wouldn't you?”

“I would.”

“You do not stand to gain anything from the power vacuum that Tal's death will create?”

“I do not.”

“Then my demand is simple. I want your head.”

“My head?” Ranim's smooth exterior cracks.

“Yes. Your life will be forfeit, Ranim Harki. In addition to the money, I want to kill you. To sever your head from your neck and display it for all to see. We can call in official witnesses to formalize the contract. One life for another. Fair, no?”

Ranim's hands slip from their smooth armrests. “You...you are crazy.” He splutters and gasps. “You've lost your mind, haven't you? You're mocking me?” Octave folds her arms and stares him down. “I can't agree to that. Why would you ask that?”

“It's my price.”

“I...no. No. That's not a fair price, Octave. You're taking advantage of me. I'm not young anymore. I don't have the stamina for this outrageous haggling.”

“So you wouldn't give anything for the nation and king?”

“Stop it.” Sweat glistens on Ranim's forehead. His hands clench and unclench on the table. “You truly are vile. No wonder Tal said –”

“Fine. Here's my alternative.” Octave holds out her empty palms. “I want Tal's position.”

“Her position?” Ranim mops his forehead with a sleeve. “You mean on the council?”

“Yes. The Mage Guild council. Oh, not for me. I would rather beg in the streets than sit at that table. For one of my teammates.” Octave pauses to think. “Salaya or Ariel. They're all keen on it, but Eje has enough connections. She'll make it there herself one day. I want either Salaya or Ariel elevated to Tal's position on the Mage Guild council.”

“Those two? They're practically novices. They haven't even gotten into the guild yet.”

“They're young and have fresh perspectives. They're improving every day, which can't be said for most of the skeletons on that council.”

Ranim shakes his head. “Even if I wanted to, I don't have the authority. The guild sets its own leaders.”

“It's my price.”

Ranim sighs and kneads his temples. He speaks after a long pause. “I'll see what I can do.”

“I'm certain you will.”

“So we have a deal?”

“Not until I have a more concrete assurance.”

“Very well. I, Ranim Harki, guarantee that I will use my means to elevate one of your teammates to a position on the Mage Guild council in exchange for Tal's death.”

“And the gold.”

“And the gold.”

“You give your word?”

“I do. My word is binding.”