Roy waded through the chaos of the dock life, his steps guiding him automatically around barrels and past crowded stalls. Sailors and dockworkers of all races moved gear to and from the ships, voices shouted over each other as they tried to barter their wares. Yseri hauled massive crates while Aven worked ropes whose purpose he couldn’t begin to guess at. Roy’s feet lead him as they always had, pausing here to allow a team loaded with sailcloth pass through, pivoting to avoid a Yseren pushing a wagon full of fresh fish. The idea of flight here was laughable, hooks and moving loading tools seemed to create an ever-changing obstacle course. It was difficult enough to navigate on foot.

Though his motions were easy and effortless, his mind was elsewhere. She made cookies for you! Isn’t that sweet? Roy felt his feathers ruffle anxiously, his jaw setting. That was just what he needed. Cookies. As if he didn’t have enough problems. His wings ached from the short flights, his body was eager for more sleep, and while his ribs no longer hurt, he had noticed the bruises had yet to fade from his skin. Pausing to let a crew pass with a massive broken levitation crystal, he caught his own reflection and gasped. Apparently the bruise had yet to fade from his eye either.

Groaning softly, he reached up to touch the discolored flesh and found that it was no longer tender. “...How is that fair?” He muttered to himself as the crew moved on. “I look like I’ve been thrown off a Spoke.” He laughed despite himself, then groaned again and continued on.

The Corvene Trading Company was busy as usual, but even inside the merchandise-crowded front was a welcome relief to the commotion outside. As he let the door slide closed behind him, he let out a relieved sigh.

“Roy! Oh wow, I thought you were supposed to be better for them to let you out of the Temple.”

“Ha ha, Valentin,” Roy grumbled. “Is it that bad?”

“You tell me, you’re the one wearing it.” The Raven man said. He was tall and thin, with white patches on the shoulders of his wings. Premature grey streaked his dark hair as he looked up from the weights and scales, a ledger laid out before him. The Peacock moved to join him at the counter, nodding a greeting to the stranger he was doing business with.

“Is your Mother in?” He asked calmly. Valentin suddenly perked up.

“Oh, yes. She wanted me to remind you that she’s made cookies for you. Wish she’d make some for me.”

Roy’s feathers ruffled slightly, but he put on his most charming smile. “Oh I wouldn’t be jealous, Val. She’s just trying to perfect her recipe without offending your pallet. You know how much she dotes on you.”

“Can it, Blue.” The Raven replied, but he barely hid a smirk. Finishing counting the coin, he scribbled on some ledger and slid it to the customer to sign.

Roy tilted his head slightly. There was something odd about this new man but he couldn’t quite place his finger on it. Sandy brown hair, dark eyes with a sunkissed tan. Falcon? No… A splash of freckles marked the bridge of the man’s nose and the tops of his cheeks. His hands were dirty and calloused, but there was just… something missing. He narrowed his eyes, realizing he was staring and --

“Oh! You’re a Human!”

The Human glanced over at him with an amused smirk. “What was your first clue?”

“The lack of wings.”

The man blinked at him. “I was being facetious.”

“As was I. Are you just passing through?”

“Aye. I’m just finishing some trade, then it’s back to the open skies. That is if Widowmourne here will give me a good deal.”

Valentin wrinkled his nose up. “Widowmourne is my mother. My name is Corvene. Why is that so hard to remember? She changed her name after Father died. Why would my name be ‘widow’?”

“Well she is the Matriarch so…”

“Yeah, Matriarch of House Corvene. Of the Corvene Trading Company. It’s written right on the door, it’s not that hard.”

“I dunno. That’s pretty confusing,” the Human said with a smirk and a wink, pushing back the ledger and taking his sack of gold, counting the coins quickly before raising a hand in farewell. “Matharell bless you, Widowmourne.”

Roy watched him go, leaning on the counter as he did. “So when is she naming her successor?”

“You’ll know before I do.”

“What’s that supposed to mean? You don’t think it will be you? I mean, you’re her son…”

“I pray it won’t be me. Sitting on the Council? I have enough trouble keeping the Company running, add running a House on top of that? No thanks. Besides, I’m not the one she bakes cookies for.”

“She’s not going to name me as heir, you don’t have to worry about that. Besides, I’m already in line for House Redquill.”

“Really? I thought that was going to your cousin. What’s his name? Jason?”

Heat crept up into Roy’s face, he felt his throat go tight but kept himself carefully in check. “Jacob is not going to be the Patriarch.”

“Are you sure? I mean… He’s pretty Eagle. And you’re…” Valentin trailed off with a vague wave of his hand.

“I’m what, exactly?”

“You’re… You. You’re not like them.”

“Why? Because my wings are blue? That’s a pretty shitty reason, Widowmourne.”

“Look, I didn’t mean to offend you. But you have to admit you’re not exactly what you think of when you hear Redquill.”

“Fine. Then my first decree will be to change the House name to Bluequill. Better?”

“That’s not what I meant and I’m pretty sure that’s not how it works. It’s not like you’d be king, you’re just sitting on the ruling council.”

“Then my second decree will be to make me King of House Bluequill. My name already means ‘King’ in the Human tongue. Call that Human back, he can verify.”

“Quit calling it the ‘human tongue’. It’s Common. We all speak Common.”

“Roy Azureplume! That will be my official title -- in the Old tongue. Do you know what that translates to?”

“You are the biggest pain in my pinfeathers right now.”

“King Bluequill. Formerly House Redquill,”

“You could form your own House and take it over. Merge it into House Purplequill.”

“Watch your tongue. It will be Violetquill, thank you. But I like how you think. You’ll be my first Squire.”

“Again, not how that works. But I both admire and fear your sudden enthusiasm for this.”

“Just wait til I’m King, everything I do shall make absolute sense. Or else,” he said with a dramatically wicked grin.

“Or else what, dearie?” Came a frail croak. Both men turned to the weathered and hunched form of Maven Widowmourne. She had seemed to appear out of nowhere, neither of them had heard the door to the back office even open.

“Why, or else they shall be denied the honor of basking in their King’s glory. They shall not know of the most epic of quests their mighty liege has conquered. Though of course,” he spoke smoothly as he moved across the stone floor to meet her, offering his arm. “The most prized and fantastic of them are saved only for you.”

The crone let out a weak, tittering giggle, her withered hand looping around his forearm. “Oh, my poor boy!” She warbled, her entire body trembling with the weakness in her voice. “What happened to your eye?”

“Ah, I shall regale you with the tale, my beautiful Maven,” he crooned, gently leading her across the shop. Valentin moved past them to close the door to the back room where she had come from.

“Did you finish reviewing the books, Mother? You know, you really should just trust me. I’ve been keeping up with them for a decade now, I’m sure they’re perfect.”

“Oh Val, my dear, sweet Val. Leave an old woman to her simple pleasures. It’s the only thing of your father I have left.” She sighed, a deep, shuddering breath that left both men to watch her worriedly. “My poor, sweet, Alejandro… When I see those numbers and those tables, I swear I can see his face. Your penmanship is just like his you know. It warms this old heart. Is it drafty in here?”

“Perhaps, Maven. Let me escort you upstairs and prepare your tea.”

“Oh my yes,” she said, delight brightening the wrinkled face, her cloudy eyes full of joy as her feet shuffled slowly beside the man. “Oh your poor eye. Did it hurt badly?”

“Oh my Queen, not half as badly as I hurt them in return.”

“Who was it, dearie? Who hurt my poor Roy-boy?”

“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you,” he teased, glancing up periodically to make sure that their route remained clear. At the stairs, he let her navigate her her own pace, one hand clinging to his arm, the other on the banister. Slowly, and relying heavily on his support, she made her way up each step. Left foot. Right foot. Break. Left foot. Right foot. Break.

“Have I ever told you the story of the Cloudmouse’s Wedding?” He asked her pleasantly.

“No, dearie! I think that’s a new one!”

Four steps. Left foot. Right foot. Break. Five steps. “Once upon a time, a Mage lived all by himself and was very lonely. One day, as he collected water from the river, he leaned his head back to the sky and wished for an answer to his sorrows.”

Left foot. Right foot. Break. Six steps. “At that very moment, a hawk passed overhead. As if in answer to his plea, it dropped its prey, a little Cloudmouse who tumbled to the earth below and landed right in the Mage’s hands.”

“Oh gracious!”

“Gracious indeed! The Mage saw this as a gift from the Gods, salvation from his solitude, and he used his powers to turn the Cloudmouse into a little girl, who he loved dearly and raised as his own child.”

Left foot. Right foot. Break. Seven steps. “As the girl grew, she became the most beautiful in all the land. And though being a father had given the Mage much joy and purpose in his life, he knew that he needed to do what was best and find a husband for his daughter. But who to pick? It must be someone who is the most powerful and exalted, so as to care for his child. So the Mage took his daughter and they flew to the Sun God, Solarus.”

Left foot. Right foot. Break. Eight steps. “‘Oh Solarus, He of Divine Light! Behold my beautiful daughter, who is to be your wife.’ And Solarus looked upon the daughter and saw that she was indeed lovely. But alas, the God shook his head.”

Left foot. Right foot. Break. Nine steps. “‘Your daughter is truly beautiful, but I am afraid I cannot marry her. For you see, there is one even stronger than me. Behold the Cloud! For he alone can smother my light and render me invisible.’ And the Mage thought on this and knew it to be true. So he took his daughter with him high up into the sky to the cloud bank where he commanded the clouds.

‘Oh great Cloud! More powerful than the Sun, whose light warms us all. Behold my beautiful daughter, who is to be your wife.’ And the Cloud turned its great billowy head and observed the Mage and his daughter.”

Left foot. Right foot. Break. Ten steps. “‘Your daughter is truly beautiful,’ the Cloud rumbled, his voice of thunder. ‘But I am afraid I cannot marry her. You see, there is one even stronger than I. The Wind can shatter my form and push me wherever he pleases. Truly he would make a good bridegroom for your daughter.’ The Mage thought on this and knew it to be true. So he moved on.

He went next to Wind and cried, ‘Oh great Wind! Shatterer of the Cloud, who smothers the light of the Sun who warms the world. Behold my beautiful daughter, who is to be your wife.’ And the Wind whipped and wailed and tore around the two before he howled, ‘Truly, your daughter is very beautiful, but there is another who is more powerful than I. Behold the Mountain. For eons I have blown and blustered but he refuses to bow to me. Surely he is more suited for your daughter’ And the Mage thought on this and knew it to be true.”

Left foot. Right foot. Break. Eleven steps. Just one more. “So the Mage and his daughter went to the Mountain. ‘Oh great Mountain!’ he cried, “Immovable by the Wind, who shatters the Cloud, who covers the Sun who warms our world. Behold my beautiful daughter, and take her as your bride.’

And the Mountain looked upon her and replied with an avalanche voice, ‘Lo, your daughter is truly beautiful. But I cannot wed her, for there is still one stronger than I. On my tallest peak there stands a Lighthouse whose point is higher than even I can reach. He is even greater than I.’ The Mage thought on this and knew it to be true. So he took his daughter and sought out the Lighthouse on the tallest peak of the highest Mountain.”

They had reached the top step, and he opened the door for her, holding out supportive arms as she stepped inside to her personal apartment. The smell of fresh baked cookies wafted out to him, and for a moment he closed his eyes to enjoy the scent. Then he followed her inside, closing the door behind him.

“The Mage went to the Lighthouse and said ‘Oh mighty Lighthouse, taller than the great Mountain, who is immovable by the Wind, who shatters the Cloud, who covers the Sun who warms our world. Behold my daughter and take her as your wife.’”

Roy looked around the apartment as the old woman toddled inside. Her purple lace shawl was tossed onto the plush couch, her black wings bearing the same white shoulders as her son. Once the door was closed and the lock clicked in place, however, she straightened. No longer was her back hunched, and the feebleness left her legs. Her eyes went from foggy and senile to sharp and cunning. She moved with the ease of a woman half her age. Gesturing for him to continue, Maven Widowmourne moved swiftly into the kitchen.

“Have a seat, lad,” she said, her voice no longer frail or warbling. “After all, I made you cookies.”

Roy struggled to keep his face neutral, despite the ominous tone in her voice. Her sudden transformation was of no surprise to him. Moving to the table, he sat cautiously down as if the chair could be boobytrapped.

“Are they actually cookies?”

“Finish your story, boy.”

“The Lighthouse looked at the pair and said ‘Truly, your daughter is beautiful, but there is one more who is more powerful even than I.’ The mage let out a mighty wail.

‘But you are the Lighthouse, who is taller than the Mountain, who the Wind could not bow! Am I doomed to spend eternity searching while my daughter becomes a spinster?’

The Lighthouse replied, ‘In my rafters lives a Cloudmouse, who nibbles and gnaws on my bones. Find him, and you will find a groom for your young bride.’”

Maven returned from the kitchen, her strides strong and purposeful, and gently set down a plate of steaming cookies before the Peacock. He looked at it carefully, and was cautious not to frown as she selected one specific cookie and set it before him on a lace doily. Then she turned and retreated back into the apartment.

“So the Mage went into the Lighthouse and called to the rafters. ‘Lo, Cloudmouse! He who gnaws the bones of the Lighthouse, who stands taller than the Mountain, who is immovable to the Wind, who shatters the Cloud, who covers the Sun who warms the land. Behold my daughter, who is to be your wife.’

And the Cloudmouse came down from the rafters and looked at the daughter and saw that she was lovely. ‘True, but she is beautiful! However I am but a tiny Cloudmouse, I could never be a good husband to your daughter’.”

Maven returned, this time with a wooden box. She set it carefully on the table and opened the two small doors, revealing a multitude of tiny bottles. Roy’s jaw set, but he kept his worry from his face.

“Then what happened, dear?” She asked, pushing the cookie towards him meaningfully.

“He threw up his hands, gave up on the whole ordeal and both he and his daughter died alone and unsatisfied.”

She stared at him sternly. Reluctantly he picked up the cookie, looking it over as subtly as he could. It felt normal. The color seemed right. It smelled okay. He bit into it and his mouth was an explosion of sweetness. Rolling it around on his tongue, he tried to discern anything off about the flavor. Perhaps a strange floral note? He wasn’t sure. He swallowed.

“And the Mage said, ‘Oh, what strange fates Kheylana weaves! My daughter, most beloved to me of all the world, I shall return to you your natural form.’”

His jaw started feeling weak, and his tongue didn’t seem to want to move as fluidly. The words, which had been dancing in the front of his mind seconds earlier, suddenly seemed muted and dragging.

“Lametongue Tonic,” he said, reaching for the box and pulling it closer to him. His mind was feeling numbed. “No… Something else. Lametongue and Magebane?”

“Finish your story,” the woman said calmly. The vibrancy of his wings seemed to be fading, the color of his hair becoming muted. Even his movements seemed subdued.

“The… Um. The Mage… turned her back into a beautiful girl. No, into a Cloudmouse. And um… Used his magic to make her a beautiful dress of the appropriate size and style. And the Cloudmouse daughter and the tower Cloudmouse were wed and lived happily ever after. The end.”

It was hard to focus, his mind felt like it was dragging. His hands fumbled with the glass bottles, pulling out vial after vial. Yellow powder in one, green paste in another. A third had a reddish liquid. Finally he chose one filled with large seeds and popped the cork, pouring them into his palm. Planting two seeds firmly between his molars he started to chew, leaning back in the chair and looking to her for confirmation. The Raven’s face was stoic and unmoving.

The nutty flavor flooded his mouth, and as he swallowed, he felt the fog beginning to release its hold on his mind, little by little. He capped the vial and returned it to the box, looking at her again.

Her focus was irritatingly intense and at the same time told him nothing. It felt like an eternity before she gave him a satisfied nod. “That was quick for you. You even managed to finish your story, however lamely.”

“One of these days your trials are going to kill me.” Roy replied grimly.

“No, not kill. We do not kill, Roy. Remember that. We are not assassins. But it is important to understand the tools of your trade intimately.”

“I’m injured, shouldn’t that earn me a break?”

“Have you learned nothing? Would you grant a target a reprieve because they were ‘having a bad day’?”

Roy hung his head slightly, jumping as he felt her hand go under his chin. “Who did this to you.”

It was less a question, more a demand for an answer. Even with the Milkseeds to counteract the poisons, his tongue felt heavy in his mouth and he had no witty retort. No riposte came to mind, and he found himself simply sitting stubbornly mute. She waited with equal patience.

After a moment, his eyes widened and he lunged for the box of vials again, only to have the doors snapped shut on his fingers. “Ah-ah. You had your guesses.”

“There were three, not two. Preacher’s Draught, I need… um. I’ll know it when I see it.” he reached again for the box but she dragged it out of his reach.

“Please, child. If it were Preacher’s, you’d be spilling to me every deep, dark fantasy in that pretty blond head of yours. And as amusing as that would be, I wouldn’t waste my precious stores on a test. You have no inkling how difficult that is to come into… Besides, there were only two. You were wrong about Lametongue.”

He growled in frustration, “Telltrue then. Mixed with Magebane it curtails my storytelling and feels like Lametongue,” Roy’s blue eyes went wide again. “Why?”

“Because Magebane subdues your natural charm, while Telltrue makes you unable to lie. Lametongue puts a lovely tarnish on that silver tongue of yours, but this mix puts a collar on it. I thought it was obvious, child. But it is so good to see you take an interest in your studies.”

He bristled. “That’s not what I meant and you know it,”

“Watch your tone, boy.” The Raven’s sharp eyes cut into him and he forced himself to calm. “Who hurt you?”

He stared at her with silent determination for a long moment, then smiled. “Oh, well, if you want a list. When I was five my mother left, when I was seven Father threw his first whiskey bottle at me. Around that time I got attacked by a pack of seagulls because they wanted the bread I had. Traumatizing, truly.”

Roy paused then to take a cookie from the main plate, smirking proudly. Maven didn’t seem amused, watching him with a subtle frown.

“I can see this is going to take a while. Did I tell you that I heard the most interesting rumor? Your father paid quite a loud visit to the Redquill house three days ago. I also heard your cousin is going to be Captain of the Guard. You must be so proud of him.”

So she knew. Roy’s teeth clenched so hard he was certain he would crack a molar. A distraction. He needed a distraction. But under the effects of the poisons, he could neither lie nor start a story, even if it was based in truth.

“I completed your assignment.”

“You’ve made me wait three days, what’s one more hour between friends?” She shifted comfortably in her chair. “Who gave you that bruise and what is the story?”

His jaw clenched, but the words rose in his throat, spilling out like bile. “Jacob Redquill. After I finished your job, I took a detour and picked a trinket from his pocket as a… bonus exercise. An Owl girl gave it to him, it gives him great pleasure. I wished to deny him that.” A snarl came into his voice, but he could do nothing to stop the flow of words. “He realized it was missing a few hours later and came looking for me. I ran him in circles verbally and he grew angry and drew his sword. Rune hissed at him and he made a move to force her back. From there it’s fuzzy.” Like a faucet, the flow slowly stopped. “As much as I hate him, I recognize I own half the blame. I don’t want him hurt unless it’s by my hand.” His mouth snapped shut, the final statement of his confession surprising him.

Maven studied him for a moment, then opened the small cabinet and slid a bottle of red liquid to him. “Good boy. Was that so hard?”

“Yes,” he grumbled, uncorking the vial and letting a few drops past his lips. He slid it back, closing his eyes and counting to ten.

“The sky is green, my father is a famous pirate, Rune speaks perfect Common.” Satisfied he opened his eyes in time to see her rising.

“Let’s go into my office. Will you get the lock for me?”

Following her, he strode across the room to a bookshelf against the wall. Mounted on the stone was a sconce with a half-melted candle. Roy’s hand came up to pry the sconce off and set it aside, revealing a keyhole.

“You are a stubborn one, I shall give you credit where that is due,” Maven said behind him.

Roy grunted in acknowledgement, reaching across himself to grasp the handle to one of his scroll cases. While Cara had struggled to find the secret to their opening, there really was no trick and certainly no magic involved. He pushed the handle inward, then gave it a twist and pulled again to draw. What slid out was no roll of paper. Instead a well-honed dagger appeared from inside the scroll case. Notches were carved into the base near the hilt.

“And it is impressive that you managed to hold out against the Telltrue as long as you did…” Maven continued.

Roy lifted the blade to slide it into the hole left by the scone, but suddenly found himself spun around to face the Raven woman. His left hand pinned roughly to the wall, his back slammed against the stone, crushing his wings. Maven’s body filled the gap between them, clutching his wrist that held the dagger and forcing his own blade against his throat. He could feel the razor edge against his skin and he craned his head back as best he could, his bright eyes locking on her fierce dark ones.

“But when I ask a question, I expect an answer. You do not lie to me. Do you understand?”

His response came in a squeaking whisper and the blade was pressed more forcefully to his throat. “Y-yes, ma’am,” he repeated. She released him then, handing his blade back to him as if nothing had happened. He took it gingerly and turned again to slide the blade into the hole, twisting the hilt.

There came a solid click, and then silently the bookshelf slid away from the wall, revealing a set of narrow stone stairs that lead down into a darkened hallway. Maven started down them effortlessly, Roy following a few paces behind. The bookshelf slid back into place behind them, plunging them into darkness. For a long while, the only sound was the soft rhythm of their breathing and the strike of their boots on the stone. Then the faint flicker of torchlight lit the large office. Maps of Avenholme, covered in cryptic marks hung on the walls. Stacks of tomes sat on high shelves, protected from the dank of the ground. They were close to the sewer he knew as he crossed over to her large desk. Beyond the main doorway were tunnels, some leading to drainage pipes that jutted from the lower edges of the floating city, some to secret passageways littered through sewage tunnels, alley ways and some even into the residential apartments themselves.

Roy was intimately familiar with the tunnel system and paid the maps no mind. Instead, he reached into his breast pocket for one of his bound journals and flipped casually to the center, drawing out a small stack of official-looking documents. “These are the originals. I copied them exactly with the changes you requested. Right down to the splatter marks.”

“Good boy. You’ve done well. Would you like to hear a rumor I’ve heard?”

He turned quickly, eagerness in his eyes. “You said you have news about my mother?”

“Patience, boy, patience. You did your job, trust an old woman to do hers.”

Roy’s face fell, but he leaned back against the desk, gesturing for her to continue.

“A little bird tells me that the Scholars will have a new apprentice beginning tomorrow. Isn’t that exciting?”

He tilted his head slightly. “That was decided only a few hours ago how did you -- nevermind, I don’t want to know.”

She smiled slyly. “This will be a marvelous opportunity for you, child. Plenty of chances to perfect your forgeries -- your signatures still need a bit of work.”

“I add too much flourish, I know. But if you know that then you’ll know this. I don’t want to be trapped in a stuffy old library all my life.”

“And you shan’t. A few years honing your craft while I plant the proper seeds. With your natural charm, you’ll have access to the restricted tomes in no time. Do you have any idea how valuable they are?”

“You ask much of me,” he said quietly. “I can’t thrive in captivity. Hunched over old scrolls and tomes all day, it will be the death of me!”

“You misunderstand what the Scholars are all about, child. Your mind is sharp and cunning, you’ll find it fascinating if you give it a chance. And I give you my word, on my honor as your mentor, as Matriarch of House Corvene and as guild mistress of the Court of Keys, you will not languish there.”

He looked at his feet, reluctant to agree. She moved forward, gently taking his hands in hers. “Trust your granny, child. I push you because I believe in you. You will soar to great heights if you let me guide you.”

Slowly Roy nodded. “Yes, ma’am… I’ll give it a try, I suppose.”

Maven caressed his cheek with maternal affection. “That’s a good lad. Now,” she said, releasing his hands and stepping back. “My contacts have news on your mother.”

He straightened instantly, eyes wide, waiting for her to continue.

“A merchant ship matching that of your mother’s was seen in Guildscore. The captain was an Aven woman, a blond Peacock matching her description.”

“Guildscore? How long ago? Could she still be there??”

Maven’s face was pained. “Not likely lad… The sighting was almost two months ago. But I have a job for you. And if you’re successful, I’ll see if I can’t find out which direction she went.”

It was barely anything, a mere crumb of information, but he savored it. In his mind, he imagined his mother, a proud, strong Aven, still as beautiful as she was in his father’s office portrait -- or even the one he kept in his pocket watch that he thought no one knew about. She stood at the helm of her ship, loaded with merchandise, exotic spices and silks, dazzling jewels.

Did she ever think of them? Of him? Why did she leave? Did she have another family? Was he replaced? His mind was flooded with questions and his heart ached for answers that would never be had. But one day… With enough jobs, with enough crumbs of information, he could find her and ask them himself. He could almost see the look on her face when he appeared before her, called her out in front of her crew where she couldn’t run from him anymore. Where she would have no choice but to give him the answers he desired. He set aside the fantasy and steeled himself, straightening.

“What’s the job?”